Chapter 173: Chapter 159 – A Modest Funeral

"Give me not, a box made of tree corpses,

Nor a hole, in the ground where I'd lay restless,

Stack the wood, douse with oil, and set them afire,

That I may, leave this world by a funeral pyre." - Ancient burial poem of the Gewesi tribe, passed down by word of mouth through the ages.

Veros Family Mansion

Western Elmaiya

Third Elmaiya Empire

4th day, 3rd week, 11th month, year 119 VA.

 

The next time Aideen visited the Veros family mansion, it was under far less joyful circumstances. The old patriarch of the family, Artair's father, Illyvich Veros had passed away, and they were gathered there that day for his funeral.

 

For an old, retired man's funeral, the dignitaries that attended the event were definitely a luxurious lineup. The emperor himself came, along with Lucea, now officially the crown princess. The new prime minister, the new minister of war, and many other nobles of Elmaiya also attended.

 

Illyvich Veros had retired from his position as minister of war four years ago, when he turned seventy-five, and had since lived in the family mansion in peace, often playing with his younger grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

 

He had passed on peacefully in his slumber one night, at the ripe old age of seventy-nine. He was survived by two of his four wives, his five children, and a multitude of grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

 

Other than Artair's half-siblings and his surviving two mothers, Aideen had a harder time recognizing the rest of the family. They were much younger the last time she visited after all, and she mostly remembered them as kids.

 

Now Grigori's and Zoya's children had long been married, with children of their own. One of the sons of Grigori's oldest son was even expecting a child of his own in a few months. Even little Maria had children by now, though hers are still young.

 

Aideen also learned that Artair's older sister Tatyana had stayed single through her life, as was apparently the norm amongst therians rendered infertile from heritages that were too mixed.

 

For one of them to marry, like Artair and she did, was a rarity, and she had to admit that it was rather unusual circumstances that saw them first find attraction with each other in the first place, back then.

 

Aideen looked at Artair, who wore solemn black mourning clothes, with some worry in her eyes. He was fifty-three already, and they had been together for nearly thirty years now. She couldn't help but worry about the future, when old age would catch up to him, and even now the sight of the few gray hairs in his mane worried her.

 

She too wore all black for that occasion, as she followed the local traditions. It was already well into winter by then, and it was lightly snowing, yet none of the guests and dignitaries made a protest, although a few did shiver in the cold.

 

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Illyvich's body, well preserved by magic until this day, was laid atop a pile of logs, all of them freshly chopped down from their own lands. The man looked almost as if he was just sleeping, with a serene, peaceful expression on his face.

 

Then again, he was likely quite satisfied with what he had achieved in his life.

 

His five children walked towards the body, each with a torch in hand. They all knelt and paid their respects to their departed father for the last time, and silently uttered a prayer to the deities to wish for a good afterlife for their father's soul.

 

They placed their torches together at the base of the pile of wood. Despite the snowing weather, the wood had been treated with oil beforehand, and immediately caught on fire. Even as the five siblings walked back, the funeral pyre burned behind them, the flames rising high, completely obscuring their late father's body.

 

Everybody stood solemnly in the cold, even as the light snowfall made their black clothes momentarily speckled with white. They paid their final respects as the fire burned and consumed the former patriarch's remains.

 

Some of the people who came cried, the late man's two surviving wives, his daughters, and many of his younger descendants. Even his eldest son quietly shed a tear, though he quickly wiped it before others noticed.

 

They remained still until the fire slowly petered out, and finally extinguished. Grigori and Zoya led their siblings as they walked to what remained of the pyre, and together they solemnly gathered the ashes left behind, placing it in a leather container.

 

Grigori then walked towards the large stone where the ceremony of succession a decade and a half ago took place, grabbed a handful of the ashes, and scattered it over the stone. The rest he kept in the container, to be later scattered in the western isles, where his late father's ancestors came from.

 

Only then did the guests and dignitaries turn around, and headed for the mansion, where platters of finger foods and warm beverages were already prepared for them.

 

The emperor sighed deeply, and shook his head in sadness as he turned around and went inside with Lucea beside him. Illyvich was the last of his surviving friends from the civil war, as old age had claimed the others even earlier, and now Khaer Ul felt alone, with all his old friends gone.

 

While he had the people's support, and the country was at peace, prospering under his rule, the sight of so many newer, younger faces in his cabinet at times pained him. An indirect reminder, of old friends and compatriots who were no longer with him.

 

Aideen was probably one of the few who understood his pain, as she too had outlived many of those she cared for. The pain she felt on losing those she loved never waned, even after so many times. It was a pain most long-lived people who lived amongst those with shorter lives were all too familiar with. A pain she would never get used to.

 

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