Chapter 6: Chapter 6 – Final Rest, Part Four

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The Pyre Stone rested a hundred or so feet from the gates of the village and had been used for the traditional Final Rest for centuries. It has stood the test of time, the elements, and the countless fires that burned there. The symbols on the stone had little meaning to the inhabitants of Harm's End but most assumed that they had something to do with the ceremony. Even after several centuries of exposure to the elements, the symbols still looked as fresh as the day they were carved.

The Kalma Hoiva had stacked an impressive wooden pyre on the stone, used peeled split logs several layers high, and tinder stuffed in all the layers to make the initial burn start easily. She had rolled a three inch wide ribbon made from cotton dyed blue over top of the pyre, under Furlon's head and his feet. Another blue ribbon was laced intricately over the shroud, most of the damage hidden beneath the bindings. The symbols that were carved on the stone were embroidered upon its fabric that used expensive colored threads, another item that denoted wealth.

Hannele had used nearly half of the silver for the pyre and the shroud for the body. She put a lock of Furlon's hair and a piece of clean leather from his clothes into a vault for his wife. She could add anything she wished when it came time.

Ta'rak stepped up to the pyre. He had no emotion reflected in his eyes. He looked at his friend's body on the pyre only. Most of the villagers were wise to give him whatever space he needed. Hannele stood by, the torch in her hand, and waited for him to do his duty for his friend.

Nongul had an arm about the widow's slender shoulders while she cried. She watched her husband's friend light the pyre with the torch, but couldn't watch him burn. She wasn't coherent enough to recognize the expense that was paid, or the care that went into her husband's Final Rest.

Ta'rak watched his friend's body turn to ash in front of his eyes, the flames burning brighter and higher then he remembered they could, but had no words for what he felt. He was dead inside. He had hoped to watch his friend raise children while he spoiled them horribly.

Rodan walked up to the pyre, took the torch from Ta'rak, and turned to face those assembled.

“Our friend Furlon now joins his ancestors, and his family asleep in his Final Rest. We celebrate his life tonight and the richness he brought to us just by being alive, even though we mourn his passing from our lives. His family has provided food and drink for your enjoyment just inside the market square. Please, take this opportunity to tell the stories in your memories so that he may live on in us.” Rodan walked back out through the crowd, nodded here and there, told those who asked that he would be there for years to come, to quiet their fears.

They had a right to be afraid. The last Crossing had killed many more people. The elder of the time was not a Raaka, had no power to protect them, but he had done the best he could during his reign. The memories of that attack were still strong within this village.

Reima, the elder of Harm's End, learned that Stromgren had two Raakas and the second would need to go to Arouna Dell as he would not have a title or position in Stromgren. He sent and offered the position to Rodan, and the village rejoiced. They've not had an Elder Raaka in close to a century. The only one who was not happy about the situation was Mia, Reima's son. When his father went to his Final Rest, Mia took every opportunity to undermine Rodan's authority, hoping one day that he could take the title for himself.

Rodan's presence in the village was a calming influence. With a Raaka to protect them, even a riivaaja* (demon beast) from the Jakt Agor would not be able to withstand his attacks for long. In the dim light of the evening, Rodan could still see a fear in their eyes.

Nongul walked Akeena back to her home, her shoulders shook, her small body wracked with sobs. Her straight black hair blew around her head, sticking to her face where the tears ran down her cheeks.

Ta'rak remained outside the gates of the village, alone. He stood and watched the flames with no one to see his eyes go from black to gray again.

 

* * * * *

 

Rodan walked through the crowd of mourners, many stopped and asked him if he would be there to protect them. He kept his smile on his lips, even though inside he practically screamed from frustration.

No matter how hard he fought to protect his people, the village council fought him every step of the way. The only people he felt that he could count on were Ta'rak and Nongul, but every time it came time for a vote on an issue, they would hold their vote back until they saw what the council would do, and if the council disagreed with the Elder, they would abstain. Every single time, they would abstain.

Rodan sighed. He knew it had nothing to do with his physical size. He was a small man, just under five and half feet tall, and less then a hundred and fifty pounds, but it wasn't his physical stature that earned him the position of Elder of Harm's End. He was a Raaka.

Hajjakar gave him a natural ability to store and generate vast amounts of elemental energy. He could generate static on such a level that it would arc from his fingertips to any target he chose. Raakas preferred the static as it was more easily generated, but they had other tools at their disposal.

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There was also a price to be paid for this power. As an Adept Raaka, he aged twice the normal rate, which shortened his lifespan by decades.

The religious aspect of being the Elder, such as verifying a bond between a man and woman, or tending to a person's spiritual needs, was a tolerable aspect of his position. He didn't really know how to interpret the supposed intervention of the Ancient in their lives, but the people of Harm's End were strong in their faith that the Ancient noticed the way they lived, and died.

Politics made his skin crawl. He endorsed ideas that he thought were great, such as rebuilding the palisade with stone, but they rejected that idea. He wanted a bridge guard that would inform them of any Crossings, but the council rejected that idea more then once. He didn't understand why they didn't want to spend the silver on things that would benefit them in the end. He knew Mia instigated a lot of the disagreements. He just had nothing to charge him with yet. He hasn't broken any laws.

With all of this on his mind, and a Crossing, Rodan was practically seething inside.

“Of all things to happen! A Crossing! Why couldn't the bloody beast have come up to the walls and let me kill it! No, it had to kill one of my people!” He was angrier than he had ever been before.

He had never dealt with one of the denizens of the Jakt Agor, the riivaaja or demon beasts, when he was training his abilities under the Elder of Stromgren. He knew they were a curse left over from the time of the Fallen, but no one knew anything else about them. They didn't know why they crossed the bridge, or why they didn't cross more often. They didn't know where they came from other then the other side, and they didn't know how large the Jakt Agor really was. It could be larger then their country, or smaller. There was no information on it.

Rodan needed some solitude and walked away from the courtyard. He returned to his home, and he allowed himself to sag against the railing outside. He didn't know if he had the stomach for the troubles associated with his position. Normally Rodan was an easy going person. Every time they had a council meeting though, that fool Mia found ways to make the council vote his way.

“Piece of Kirosi dung! Take my position? He doesn't even have Hajjakar! Polkkypaa!” His anger soared, his mental control eroded, and he felt that familiar prickling sensation down his spine. Rodan looked down at his hands in alarm.

“Hitto!” he cursed. He had generated enough energy, built up enough of a charge, that he could more then hurt someone. He looked around the village for a safe place to release the built up energy, walked to the side of his home, and let the static arc to a tree just over the palisade in back of the village.

“Hitto!” The trunk of the tree burst into flames as the arc struck the bark. He sighed in frustration. Using his skills to suck all heat from the fire, he watched the small amount of flames die away and ice over.

A few of the villagers who had witnessed the display of power showed a measure of pride in their Elder. It may have been a fit of temper, but they had an Elder with power again. He would be able to protect them inside these walls. He failed to see that pride.

Rodan tried to recall the peace he felt when he first arrived in Harm's End four years earlier. The day stood out in his mind more then others. The village had accepted him with open arms and treated him like royalty. They showed him the amazing structure that was the traditional Elder's home, introduced him to all the council members, and showed him around the village. It was like he had come home.

Now every meeting was a battle, and he kept on losing. Unfortunately, because he lost, so did the village. Mia didn't realize an important detail. Without Rodan, they would return to the times where bandit attacks and raiders were common. They haven't had one in the last four years.

Rodan straightened himself up as the councilors for Harm's End came into the courtyard of the village, and one by one entered his home. They wore somber expressions, disturbed by the news.

'Bloody sekopaa! They refuse to do anything to help themselves, but look to others to protect them. Polkkypaa, all of them!' Rodan's anger was through the roof, as though something had walked over his bottom line.

“Don't piss me off tonight, polkkypaa!” The thought that there might be another service tomorrow for Mia floated briefly through his mind.

When he dismissed that thought without further consideration, it showed he was not ready for the position of Elder.

If someone prevented you from protecting the people, they were an enemy, and had to be treated as such.

 

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