Sequel

Yes I was excited to write this. I think that by the time you guys get to the end, you'll understand why.

They didn't have a sit down ... thing in a temple or whathaveyou. I don't think the people have those even, they might sit after the body is buried, or while they watch the body to be certain the person is actually dead, but it wouldn't be an open casket, come pay respects. Up until Norash was established bodies were actually cremated. But they abandoned that tradition along with their surnames, adopting their own traditions and surnames (which was, unimaginatively a consonant followed by a vowel and then followed by two consonants such as Koln and Taln)

Rel has pissed someone off.

And there are hints all throughout so have at it.

No, I still don't know if Mik lived or not. *grumbles and goes to bed*

Read, Review and Enjoy.



The program had been informed first about the funeral, thus, the partners and Sidhe got there with little problem. But it wasn’t long until there was a gathering crowd. All dressed in black, all quiet and watching from a distance. Mik’s mother arrived on the arm of a Sidhe, face veiled. The woman was burying her eldest and last living child. How terrible must that feel?

The strange Sidhe had brought several members of his own tribe, each of whom he introduced to Paw. Whisper acknowledged their existence, but little more than that. Paw looked grief stricken, eye bright red, a cloth handkerchief clutched in one hand. The other hand clutched the wrist of the hand holding the kerchief.

Talen and his council arrived, each with several assistants. Delwar, with her own entourage, not her assistants, no, her followers were cameramen and editors, her producer and director. Delwar was dressed in black, yes, but she still had the little paper things tucked into the top of her shirt. She had walked off mid-makeup, on hearing about the funeral. Delwar nodded to Paw, then to Rel, before she took up her place at the end of the dug grave.

Six by six by three. The mound of dirt had been removed from the grave and put directly into the back of a truck, allowing the mourners to gather around the grave.

Several female reporters stepped out of cars, earpieces still in. Ell and Ellen. The two who had done interviews with Mik and Paw in the past. Wern came next, along with several women who looked quite upset by the whole thing. Wern was dressed in the black of mourning, skirt and all, and the others were dressed in military issue uniforms.

Apparently no one had been told about the funeral until the last moment.

Then came politicians who Rel dimly recognised. There came professors and university students and mothers pulled along children. When the priest lines arrived a hush fell over the crowd. Mari didn’t move to join her family, she stayed right where she was, a determined look on her face. The Illuen ignored Mari completely, standing beside Delwar. The high priests of each line gathered together, on one side of the grave, and conversed quickly and quietly over who would say the prayers, who would deliver the speeches and represent the dead.

Paw glared at the high priests then looked at Rel, something about the Sidhe’s demeanour seemed to ask Rel to do something. Rel gulped. He knew the hymns of the dead, he knew what to do in the event of a funeral, of course he did, he knew Illuva’s and Rahl-ta’s bibles word for word. Had read the other bibles as well. But he didn’t know how the Sidhe paid respect to their dead. Paw’s look became more desperate as the priests slowed in their conversation.

As the long car pulled up, carrying the casket.

Rel opened his mouth and raised his voice as the driver got out of the car. He began singing the song of grief, a praise of Ill-rin, as several people went to meet the driver and move the casket to beside the grave. Voice after voice joined Rel’s, rising up and down in the waves of grief that moved through the crowd. Rel finished the song and was startled to hear the crowd all around silence, one by one.

He turned and looked around him. The cemetery was packed full of people. Each of them had been singing with him. Rel looked back towards the grave, catching the annoyed, angry thoughts of the high priests. They were upset that he had claimed first place when they were clearly there and when a high priest was present, all funerary rites were to be handed over to the high priest without question.

Rel met the Illuen high priest’s clouded eyes and gave the man a mental flipping off.

The casket was set on the side of the grave by the high priests before it was very carefully placed on the rollers that would lower it into the grave. Rel glanced up at Paw. The Sidhe’s eyes were bright with tears again.

The Sidhe all had a blank look on their faces. Rel glanced at Muan, the male’s head was cocked to the side only until Rel glanced at him. Then Muan straightened and set a hand protectively on Rel’s shoulder, giving the barest of nods.

“Today we gather to lay to rest a great man, a good man. Mother gave him life and so to Mother he returns,” the Illuen high priest started.

Rel rolled his eyes and looked at Paw. The Sidhe looked like he wanted to skin the high priest.

Alive.

Possibly while dumping salt on the open wounds.

Rel yanked himself back from Paw’s thoughts and said quickly, “he was not of the people, yet to our graces we accepted him.” the Illuen went red in anger even as the Rahluen looked like he was trying not to laugh behind the older man’s back, “to the people he came and we took everything from him and gave him nothing in return but still a service to our gods did he pay. May Ill-rin,” Rel made eye contact with each of the high priests’ eyes and watched the flush of purple, of rage, wash through them, “accept him into her good graces and give him a place in the heavens to await the arrival of his one true love, of his mother. May he spend eternity in happiness and peace, along side his younger brother.”

A murmur of agreement went through the crowd.

Rel paused as a florist began handing out roses, one to each person she could reach. Some were upset, some were happy. And undertone to the entire thing was some… happiness, some peace. A restful feeling. Yet above that all was the anger and rage, the thoughts of those who believed Mik deserved worse, who were happy to see him gone. Rel struggled to shut out the voices of so many minds. To ignore the people around him who were thinking of how they could make money or success off of Mik’s death.

Bastards.

Rel and Muan each accepted a rose. Rel gave the florist a small nod and the woman smiled at him before continuing on. She ran out of roses before she reached the high priests.

Six males. Three people, Souse, Hohi and Raoh, took up their places around the casket and lowered it into the grave. Slowly it churned downward. Rel took a breath as he heard the small sound of the casket touching the bottom of the grave. He turned to Muan to tell Muan what to do with the rose.

The Sidhe had the rose bloom in his mouth and was chewing slowly, as if trying to decide if he liked the new taste.

…

Rel turned back to the open grave and dropped his rose onto the casket. Others approached slowly, some murmuring to themselves, private prayers offered to the gods in praise of Mik, others in damnation. More than a few kept their minds carefully blank as they dropped the rose onto the casket below, too afraid to think about what they were doing.

Saying goodbye.

Paw was the last to hold onto his rose. He held the stem gently between two fingers and looked like he might burst into a fresh set of tears at any moment. Some of the people looked at him, wanting him to finish the ceremony so that they could all go home.

“Some need longer to say goodbye,” Rel said, turning the crowd’s attention from Paw and to Rel. Rel tilted his head back and began the song of mourning, the song of remembrance for the dead. The crowd of common people chimed in but the politicians, priests and reporters were focused on Paw. As the song drew to a close Paw approached the open grave and bent down, letting the rose go at the end of his reach. Then the Sidhe bolted.

Across the road and the crowd parted for him.

“Damned to hells,” Rel muttered, motioning to Muan and Mari to follow him.

The crowd parted easily for them, no one seeming to want to touch Rel. Fuck them then. Past the newer part of the cemetery the crowd thinned out, but at a rise Rel turned and looked back. The cemetery was filled, and then the crowd spread down the road and off, towards the city.

“By the gods and spirits,” Rel said, staggered by the number, “lookit the crowd, all for a common…er… Muan…?”

The male was snuffing the air, like a dog on a scent, from one side of the path, to the other, Muan skittered back and forth, back and forth. Muan made an excited hand motion and started walking off in one direction. The path Muan took pulled the trio deeper into an old part of the cemetery, a place so old the names were worn off of gravestones, the statues of the dead, a once popular marker, were so ravaged by time that it was impossible to tell if the statue was for a male or a female.

Muan stopped several times and snuffed about in the air before he pulled to a stop in front of a mortuary. Made of solid slabs of stone, the door was a wrought iron gate and it was locked from the outside. Paw was sitting on the grass in front of the mortuary, sniffling to himself, picking at the grasses.

“Paw…” Mari rushed to the Sidhe’s side and dropped her knees into the grass and dirt, “oh, Paw, it’s okay,” She pulled the Sidhe towards her, hugging him tight even though she barely came to his shoulders, “it’ll be okay, you’ll see.”

Mari had no idea what she was talking about. Rel wanted to growl at the woman even as he realised that that thought was not his own. Something… was there.

The woman was a fool to think that a Sidhe would be fine after the loss of a mate, anyone with a brain between their ears knew that. A slurry of thought collided with Rel’s conscious mind, making him and Muan both shudder and turn around.

A male. A man. Almost as tall as Paw was, wider than the Sidhe at the shoulders with bright blond hair that had been hacked off recently at all kinds of angles some three inches from the scalp. A smooth, strong jaw line. Skin like fine marble that lacked that polished look, lacked the look of life. And those eyes… dark, almost black.

No. Rel looked again at the eyes. A deep, vicious purple. A most unnatural shade of purple and there was something about them that said this person would let on little and know oh so much more… those eyes made promises and then suggested breaking every one of those pledges.

There was only one myth, one legend with eyes like that, with skin like that. One being who could possibly look like he was about to bed someone when he had just walked out of a grave.

“Una?”



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