by J. Naomi Ay
The sun had set over the Blue Mountains, coloring the rigid peaks in shades of orange and red. The heat of the day was gone and a cool, bitter wind drifted through the open doors of the Temple. The flame in the Eternal light flickered and for a moment taunted us, threatening to extinguish.
“We must begin,” my cousin the High Priest declared. “It is time. We cannot delay.”
I nodded. It was late. We could not delay past sundown. My son had chosen to disrespect his ancestors and our customs through his absence. My stomach churned again. My father had abandoned me and left me alone to deal with this arrogant, stubborn, supercilious son who would now rule us all.
Footsteps ran across the stones outside the Temple, becoming silent as he entered the chapel, his bare feet padding against the smooth marble floors.
“Sorry,” my son whispered, kneeling down between me and my nephew.
“At the last possible moment,” I replied scornfully, though in truth, I was much relieved at his arrival.
“Bit of a long trek from Rozari.”
“You know how that may be resolved.” I turned my attention to my cousin for the last thing my son wished to hear was a demand for him to return to this Rehnor permanently.
The High Priest chanted the prayers of mourning and we joined him in this. Despite my irritation, it was a comfort to say the words that had been said for millennia by our ancestors when they were similarly bereaved. It soothed my heart because I loved my father and I wished him peace in the afterlife. I would miss him greatly.
The sun had fully set and it was dark by the time that we arose from our prayers. The chiefs of our people come forward and they made obeisance before my son who was now their king and soon would be king of the Mishnese people too.
My son was all but the king in name now for he decided everything for Mishnah. The old king, my father-in-law was ailing and had been befuddled in his head for some time. I glanced askance at my son, and because the drink was no longer staining my thoughts, my heart filled with pride though still I was irritated at his late arrival.
Six of our highest chiefs and cousins stood before the casket and made ready to carry it to the burial ground. The others carried torches. The three of us followed the casket, my nephew and I on either side of my son. Our procession paraded slowly through the village, through the silence.
The women and children, the warriors and old men were all on their knees. As we passed, they rose and followed us. I saw the MaKani and the little prince, Shika, on the steps of my father’s house, which was now my nephew’s home. Rekah’s first wife, Letitia and eldest son, Tuman stood next to them. Rekah’s other wives, Carina and Seesi stood behind them. The women came down the steps together and followed us, the two little boys regarding each other warily. We processed all the way to the high mounds of the steppes and the casket was laid in the ground above the village. My father would lay next to his father and his father before him. My father's sons and my brothers, Lot and Pedah would lay at his feet.
Our cousin, the High Priest chanted more of the ancient words. Then he spoke of the wars. He named the de Kudisha princes and all the men of Karupatani who lay beneath the soil we stood upon, who gave their blood and their life spirit for this Rehnor and before that, Rozari, the motherland. He spoke of my noble father who lost three sons to the wars but still knew there could be peace. Merakoma, my father humbled himself before the Mishnese king and gave our most precious commodity, the seed of a de Kudisha prince to the Mishnese because he knew it was the only way to make peace.
Unbidden, tears came to my eyes for it was I that provided this seed and my little Mishak Princess who did nurture it. I missed her even now. Perhaps it was because she had been taken from me after so brief a time together that I still longed for her. Had we been married instead for these forty odd years, perhaps she would be but a cold stone in my heart, a heavy ball affixed to my ankle by a chain. I glanced at my son, our son, but his face revealed nothing in the dim light of a flickering torch.
The High Priest closed his prayers and made obeisance at the feet of my son. He gave our new king the Firestone ring worn by my father and my son slipped it on the fourth finger of his right hand. Then he knelt down and took a handful of dirt, tossing it in the open grave. My nephew and I did the same. We left together, although my son paused before the grave of my brother Pedah. He bent down and placed a shiny silver stone upon the headstone. This silver stone glowed with a light that came from deep within it. My son smiled at this. The stone glowed and for many years after, my brother’s grave was always alight.
“What is it?” I whispered to my nephew as we walked back to the village, guided by the torches held by our chiefs.
“I don't know,” Rekah replied. “How would I know such a thing?” He wiped at his tear stained cheeks.
“It is fermium,” my son said. “Pedah and I once argued about this metal and whether or not it contained a combustible energy. As you can see, it does and because of it, Rehnor will become…”
“What?” I asked as his voice went quiet. “What will Rehnor become?”
“It doesn’t matter now,” he shook his head.
