12.1

Lord Sorcerer Urul had been quick to provide Jewel with even more detailed instructions on the specific rites Veoul would have wished for, calling forth a beautifully illustrated scroll which not only provided words to describe it, but the signs and flowers expected.

One of the mere wizards had gotten into a heated argument with Euewyn and Tsulogothulan to arrange for such flowers to bloom overnight.

Fizzbunches surprised Jewel by being somber about the whole endeavor. No smugness, no inserting himself into the affair.

He simply provided an old and obviously well loved doll.

Simple burlap for its smock over a wooden core.

Face a crude lump of wood that Jewel could only somewhat guess was the right way around.

Sparse scraps of wool for hair.

It spoke of an age to her that was so advanced it amazed Jewel it was still in one piece at all.

That its simple dress fibers were as complete as they were.

That the wood was not dust from dry rot.

That any wool at all still clung to its ‘head’.

His only words regarding it were.

“We have no body, but that was once passed by Veoul to a young and very foolish child he caught trying to pickpocket him in an alley. It will remember him for us.”

And with all of these parts together they were prepared.

Jewel stood before the simple little doll, which was so old that it should not have been whole at all.

Arranged around it were bright pale golden red flowers that honestly reminded Jewel of floppy oversized clover.

She felt the world’s attention on them all. The keening pain was still rising ever quieter and thinner.

But it was witnessing them.

Against the overwhelming attention of the air and earth itself, the curious knights, Barons and Counts (Thurzó included) were an inconsequential drop in a deep well.

Not even the wizards’ presence with Jewel was anything against the feeling of the world itself watching and judging.

The dawn had broken; it was time.

It was important to do this in the fresh light of a new day — so had Urul written for her.

And now they began.

Jewel recalled the words that Urul had given her to speak. And she raised her head and opened her voice for them. Her tongue and throat shaped the sounds in that strange twisting fluid manner that she had heard Thurzó speak.

That she had drilled to produce correctly despite not even being quite sure where one word began or ended.

The speech of the land of Free men.

But she also spoke them in her flame, in the manner she had come to understand all Wizards could whisper and shout.

And in those she knew their truth.

I remember

of these past moments

without even knowing you.

I remember these moments

Which still remain in spite of me.

Of us two there was Fear and Terror

and scant few hours

Where we fought for life and you were vanquished

I remember you

Because your presence has remained

In my heart, in my life.

In my pain and in my cries.

I remember you.

Of your presence and your voice.

In my heart, in my life.

In my thoughts, your memory grows.

I remember you

That at any moment, I cannot forget you.

Jewel dipped her head and raised a Rochford-made spear. It was one of the ones made for the levy.

If she was a man it would have been a sturdy wood and this effort a great endeavor.

But the wooden haft snapped between the twisting grasp of both her foreclaws with a thunderous crack.

And then she laid it to rest amid the flowers beside the little wooden doll. The weapon of an enemy broken. Their feud surrendered in death.

And in the air all around them she could feel a shift to the pained keening of the world. There was still suffering but it was shifting, growing deeper and less strained. More open.

Next approached Fizzbunches. And Jewel was again surprised by the sombreness of the cat.

He walked up to the pile of near-crimson flowers and dipped his head amongst them, just over the head of the doll.

There were words spoken that not even Jewel could hear clearly despite how close he was.

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And then a wave of the paw and a clatter of two silver coins settled on where Jewel presumed was the doll’s eyes.

Another almost choked sob of an echo washed over her from the world. The anguish of loss becoming somehow deeper and yet lighter for its release.

Next was Urul, who naturally said nothing, but there was a whispering scratch of quills on parchment that rose like the cacophony of a flock of birds.

It filled the air with soft skittering noise that ended as suddenly as it had begun.

And with its passing there was upon the ‘chest’ of the doll a tiny book sized to it. Leather bound. Sealed with a metal latch of gold.

Another echoing cry, another shifting of the near piercing wail.

Like breaths finally being taken between the shrieks beneath the wind.

It was helping.

Jewel was not expecting any others, only Urul and Fizzbunches were apparently at all close with the Weird of Fortresses.

But Jaksa the Red of all people marched up from amid the crowd of wizards to stand before them all.

He raised his right arm high, the sleeve sliding down to leave pale skin and blue veins in the dawn light.

Then with his left thumb he dragged a line across those veins. Parting his skin like wet clay under the nail.

Spilling an arc of red blood which spun in the whisper of his working. Sinking into the flowers around the effigy with meanings of life, vigor, strength, the indomitable will of blood and the joy of life lived.

He said nothing with his voice and his wound had closed before he even finished lowering his arm back into his sleeve and stepped back amongst the wizards.

No speech for mortal ears but plenty of respect given in sorcery.

And that too helped, not as strongly as those before but it opened up gaps in the thin reedy howl of the world. Forced gasps and release instead of ever tightening pain.

And then each of the other mere wizards took their turn. Adding a single working that was at once a reinforcement and preservation as well as a declaration and affirmation.

Life and knowledge.

Solidity and strength.

Honor made solid.

Each prying open the pain of the wind, the wood, the rock and stone, the earth and air itself.

Forcing a painful sharp release that nonetheless seemed to bring relief to a wounded world.

When it was Euewyn’s turn the weird looked a little put upon by the whole affair.

She glanced around at all the soldiers and lords and their peers in sorcery.

Then fixing Jewel with her absence of a face and slumping of shoulders that the Weird had manifested solely to move as such in mock sigh.

A breeze in the wind of chill autumn passed amongst all of them. Icy and sharp and brief.

Jewel was still only somewhat fluent in Autumn Forest but it sounded dismissive to her.

The absolute barest acknowledgement that Veoul was ‘probably alright maybe’.

And for the first time since the Weird had been slain by her flame Jewel felt a shocked bubbling amusement under the torrent of anguish.

Like a surprised laugh choked in a sob.

Then the Weird flounced back to stand with the rest of the wizards behind Jewel.

Which left her friend Tsulogothulan last amongst their number.

The Bog Weird strode up with a lot more grace then the Autumnal one, then turned to fix all the soldiers with a piercing glare of their one eye.

Sparing a softer glance and a nod to Jewel before turning to stare down at the effigy. And finally broke the silence that every wizard until that point had more or less maintained.

“Veoul I have a thing to say to you.”

The words were round and full of disdain. And yet speaking out loud the name seemed to draw a sudden anticipatory silence.

The keening had finally stopped.

“Fighting you was an absolute pain. You dug up my waters like a pig rooting in shit and you tore away my marshes with stone and timbre. Before this battle you spoke little and stupidly in what meetings of the circles you even deigned to attend and it took me half the battle to even recognize who the fortune’s damnation you even were when we met in opposition because you hardly ever talked to any of us before that day.”

And again there was that bubbling burbling joy and pain intermingled together. A familiarity and stinging reminder.

But a memory that was good coming up from the stones.

With that the weird nodded sharp and hard.

“I never liked you at all. But I’m sad to see you gone.”

And then turned away and slid across to undulate into place behind Jewel.

The world was crying again, but it was different, not some ongoing neverending silent screeching note that ever rose in higher and higher tension.

It rose and fell with the wind. It rustled in the breeze, it shifted and settled in the earth.

There was still pain. But it was no longer tightening ever harsher.

She nodded to her friend then scanned the crowd of men who had come to witness a Funeral overseen by a Dragon for the death of a Wizard.

“Are there any others who have words for the dead?”

For a moment Jewel thought none would come and they would have to move on to the traditional songs of farewell and then the burial and the last draft of wine.

But then as she had hoped, Count Thurzó walked up to the place at the head of the effigy.

“I called for the mustering of the Lord Sorcerer Veoul, Weird of Fortresses to join me on this campaign. The high king agreed, but it was my command under which he was called and it was under my command that he fell in an honorable battle.”

There was a dipping of his head in consideration.

Jewel felt a suddenly disturbing gnashing malice through the wind.

“His last words were spoken to me, warning that he could no longer sustain against the powers brought forth against him. He did not flee in the face of the unbeatable. But stood firm and passed on to me news of his defeat with his last breath.”

More wroth buzzed and hummed in the earth, in the blades of grass, in the very flowers that surrounded the effigy. Jewel could see some of them bending subtly inward to coddle around the doll that stood in place of a corpse for the dead Weird.

Thurzó raised his right hand with the signet ring of his house shining proudly in the early morning sun. Jewel thought it was probably brass by the smell of it.

The attention of the mourning of all things around him narrowed and sharpened with attention on him.

“As Count of Árva and consul confidant of the High King, I pledge that the land and people who once sheltered under the demesne of Lord Sorcerer Veoul will suffer no tithe or tax so long as I reign. And when our business in Viznove is concluded, a heroes memorial will be held in his home to honor his service to the Realm of Cantor Reborn.”

The tension fell out of the wind and grass so suddenly Jewel had to brace herself to avoid flopping onto the ground like a slack rope in shocked sympathy.

“Let today be just the first of those celebrating the memory of this great man.”

And the bittersweet rising joy and agreement that rose up had Jewel cheering along with it before she realized what was happening.

By the time she had, almost everyone else had chosen to join in the cry.

Jewel composed herself as well as she could and did a quick glance around. It looked like the funeral was a success.

Although some faces were staring at her.

Father was giving her a look that was equal parts proud and pained.

For some reason, Count Fiebron was beside him and laughing so hard he had to bend at the waist and gasp for breath.

Jewel shook her head and moved on with the rest of the ceremony.