movement in his lithe limbs and no smile on his beautiful face. She sat for about a minute, unable to move or speak.
“What shall we do, Miss Felice?”
“You must take him home,” she said.
“We cannot. The weather is too hot.”
She shuddered at the idea. “Then what is the local custom?”
“There are three,” Kendric said. “The guardsmen here burn their dead. It is the custom with guardsmen everywhere. The sailors give their dead to the sea, and the practice is adopted by many of the people here. Some lay their dead in the earth and mark the spot with a carved stone.”
She considered them briefly. Somehow she did not think of it being Todric that they were going to dispose of. It was a part of him that he had left behind. She did not want to bury him in the ground. Todric was gone, and a stone bearing his name would be no comfort, certainly not here. When people died they were no more and it was the way of things that life moved on. The dead were remembered, even honoured or avenged, but that was all. Neither did she like the idea of the sea. It was an alien element – not familiar to her or her family. Todric would not have wanted to lie in the sea, to be eaten by its creatures. He should have gone home to be farewelled by his family and friends, to have tears shed over him, to lie in the ground with all his line and be part of the Scar which had given him life.
“We will burn him, Kendric,” she said. “We will burn him tonight.” Burning, she knew, left bones, and the bones could go back to the Scar. They would make the journey well enough. It rankled that he had been killed by a guardsman, and burning was a guardsman’s way, but is was not important. The murderer would have a less respectful end.
“Very well, I will see to it,” and he was gone.
She sat still for a moment, not thinking, her eyes filled with the off-white canvas of the tent, and her ears deaf to the noises outside. She shook herself, and idly picked up a mirror, studying her face in it. She did not feel shock at the sight of the scar. It was angry and red, running from her brow just above the left eye, down her cheek, touching the left corner of her mouth and ending on her chin. It had been stitched, presumably by the doctor before she had awoken, and it looked as though an apprentice seamstress had been working on her face. It was certainly a thing to scare young children. The eye patch, however, had a sinister look, hinting at terrible things concealed. She did not lift it to inspect her damaged eye, but left the tent.
Kendric had unloaded two of the wagons, and she could see them on the road into town. Picking up wood, she guessed.
Now the Kalla House. Now the warrant.
She walked into town again. She felt stronger this time, and paraded her terrible injury all the way through the streets of the town without a sideways glance, though she was aware of people stopping and staring. It was strange that she had not noticed this the first time she had come this way. She had been too occupied with her own struggle, her own pain and weakness, to see what others were doing.
The lieutenant was waiting for her. Now that she had seen what she looked like she was amazed at the man’s self control. He did not stare at her, or grimace, or attempt to commiserate. It was as if he was unable to see the wound that disfigured her face.
“I have the warrant as you requested, Trader Caledon,” he said.
She wanted to speak to him, to ask him questions about Karnack, but somehow it didn’t seem appropriate, so she stood awkwardly for a minute.
“Thank you,” she said, finding her voice at last.
“Be careful,” he said.
She nodded, but there was nothing more that she wished to say, and so she left the Kalla House and began the walk back to the tents. She must finish packing. It was only a couple of hours until dark, and then there would be the fire, and the farewell to Todric.
And tomorrow there was the ocean.
5. The Sea
“What shall we do, Miss Felice?”
“You must take him home,” she said.
“We cannot. The weather is too hot.”
She shuddered at the idea. “Then what is the local custom?”
“There are three,” Kendric said. “The guardsmen here burn their dead. It is the custom with guardsmen everywhere. The sailors give their dead to the sea, and the practice is adopted by many of the people here. Some lay their dead in the earth and mark the spot with a carved stone.”
She considered them briefly. Somehow she did not think of it being Todric that they were going to dispose of. It was a part of him that he had left behind. She did not want to bury him in the ground. Todric was gone, and a stone bearing his name would be no comfort, certainly not here. When people died they were no more and it was the way of things that life moved on. The dead were remembered, even honoured or avenged, but that was all. Neither did she like the idea of the sea. It was an alien element – not familiar to her or her family. Todric would not have wanted to lie in the sea, to be eaten by its creatures. He should have gone home to be farewelled by his family and friends, to have tears shed over him, to lie in the ground with all his line and be part of the Scar which had given him life.
“We will burn him, Kendric,” she said. “We will burn him tonight.” Burning, she knew, left bones, and the bones could go back to the Scar. They would make the journey well enough. It rankled that he had been killed by a guardsman, and burning was a guardsman’s way, but is was not important. The murderer would have a less respectful end.
“Very well, I will see to it,” and he was gone.
She sat still for a moment, not thinking, her eyes filled with the off-white canvas of the tent, and her ears deaf to the noises outside. She shook herself, and idly picked up a mirror, studying her face in it. She did not feel shock at the sight of the scar. It was angry and red, running from her brow just above the left eye, down her cheek, touching the left corner of her mouth and ending on her chin. It had been stitched, presumably by the doctor before she had awoken, and it looked as though an apprentice seamstress had been working on her face. It was certainly a thing to scare young children. The eye patch, however, had a sinister look, hinting at terrible things concealed. She did not lift it to inspect her damaged eye, but left the tent.
Kendric had unloaded two of the wagons, and she could see them on the road into town. Picking up wood, she guessed.
Now the Kalla House. Now the warrant.
She walked into town again. She felt stronger this time, and paraded her terrible injury all the way through the streets of the town without a sideways glance, though she was aware of people stopping and staring. It was strange that she had not noticed this the first time she had come this way. She had been too occupied with her own struggle, her own pain and weakness, to see what others were doing.
The lieutenant was waiting for her. Now that she had seen what she looked like she was amazed at the man’s self control. He did not stare at her, or grimace, or attempt to commiserate. It was as if he was unable to see the wound that disfigured her face.
“I have the warrant as you requested, Trader Caledon,” he said.
She wanted to speak to him, to ask him questions about Karnack, but somehow it didn’t seem appropriate, so she stood awkwardly for a minute.
“Thank you,” she said, finding her voice at last.
“Be careful,” he said.
She nodded, but there was nothing more that she wished to say, and so she left the Kalla House and began the walk back to the tents. She must finish packing. It was only a couple of hours until dark, and then there would be the fire, and the farewell to Todric.
And tomorrow there was the ocean.
5. The Sea
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