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Memento Mori: 10


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#1 Guest_Rose of Jericho_*

Posted 17 February 2003 - 03:56 AM

Memento Mori 10

In which a lost loved one is found and lost forever, the varieties of funerals are explained, and the rites and cerements of mourning are laid out.




The Hunter recognized the emotion behind the cry before she entered the room and put away her bastard sword. Someone was crying for someone lost; it was not a warrior that was needed now.

Atop a battered table, she saw Jaheira clutching a man's body to her breast, rocking back and forth on her heels as she sobbed out a name, over and over. Khalid. Khalid. Each anguished repetition of the name made Imoen flinch and Minsc's large head bow lower, and quickened the Hunter's steps as she hastened to the table.

"No," Jaheira sobbed, shaking her head. She bent to gently deposit the remains back on the table. "This ... this is an illusion! Yes. Yes! This is only a dream, a bad dream!" Tears scored clean lines down her dirty face, and she rubbed them away with her fist as she looked about wildly. "Where are the mirrors, the switches to pull, to ... to show where he is hidden? Oh Khalid, Khalid!" she wept as she collapsed again on the body.

The Hunter took the half-elven woman by the arms and tried to pull her away from the remains. "Come, drabengra," she said, "come, me kestra, come away now. There is time for such things, by and by, but for now come away."

Jaheira writhed away from the Hunter's touch and swung her hand back in a wild arc, clipping the Hunter's cheek with her knuckles. "Keep away!" she cried, huddling over the remains. She turned to fix a mad eye upon the Hunter. "You cannot take him away from me!"

Unfazed, the Hunter again took Jaheira by the arms. It was not the first time a grieving woman had displaced her emotion onto the Hunter, and it certainly would not be the last. "That is not my intent. I only wish to see what can be done. Would it be that you allow to me this?" She chose her words carefully, to convey kindness rather than patronization, for the Hunter knew that this was not a woman to be coddled, even now. When some of the rage on Jaheira's face faded, the Hunter relaxed, but she did not let her guard or her gaze upon Jaheira falter until, with the Hunter's help, she finally crawled off the table.

"I will have the head of who has done this," Jaheira said through clenched teeth. Under the Hunter's firm grip, she quivered like a winter-dry leaf in a gale. "I will have his eyes!"

Greeneley's white head popped up on the other side of the table as she boosted herself up to look at the remains. "Tough," she said with a low whistle. "Looks like the dumbass finally got himself killed.

I would not say such things if I were you, the Hunter thought, but she said nothing as she released her hold on Jaheira. The half-elf sprang forward and grabbed Greeneley by the hair, hauling her up to bring the hin's face even with her own. Greeneley's feet kicked in the air as she struggled to free herself.

"Be quiet!" Jaheira shook Greeneley so hard that the fistful of hair ripped free of her scalp. Blood popped through the newly bare skin, spotting Greeneley's white locks with crimson. "You have given him nothing but grief and humiliation, but you will say nothing now, do you hear me?"

Greeneley scowled and pressed her hand to her wounded head. "What're you so freaked out about?" she cried, pouting like a wronged child. "So he's dead, so what? You just get him raised is all! Just take his arm off and let's hit the road!"

A low noise emanated from Jaheira's throat, and she leaped again at Greeneley, but this time Minsc stepped between the women, likely saving Greeneley from an even more painful injury. He clumsily patted Jaheira on the shoulder. "A brave man has fallen here, Lady Half-Elven, a very brave man. I know he was brave because he was married to you and you loved him so," he said gravely. "Here, Boo shall comfort you in your weeping."

He put his cupped right hand under Jaheira's nose, and the Hunter saw within it was a small, fluffy, white and tan hamster, nosing busily about his palm. Jaheira's lip curled and she pushed Minsc's hand away. "Imbecile," she snapped. "Affront to nature! What do you and your rodent know! What can you know!"

Minsc's hand closed protectively over the hamster, and he looked imploringly at Imoen, who timidly stepped forward. "Jaheira," the waif said tentatively. "I just, I just want to ... to say ..."

Jaheira put her fists to her ears and shut her eyes. "No! Say nothing more! Save your speeches and your proverbs!" She turned her back upon Imoen and looked again at the Hunter. "And that goes for you as well, or would you share some pithy quote of Kelemvor's that you think would take my grief from me?"

The Hunter squarely met Jaheira's hard glare. "I have none of his words to offer to you, for mine is not a loquacious god. My words are my own, and I say only du'dera, I am sorry. I know my voice speaking these words mean nothing, but I offer to you the sentiment just the same."

"The only voice I wish to hear is ... is dead," Jaheira said, the admission again pulling the sobs from her chest. "Oh Khalid, why are you dead?" She fell to her knees and rested her forehead against the gore-smeared table, her shoulders shaking as she silently wept.

"Helllloooo!" Greeneley's whine tensed every muscle in the Hunter's back. The hin stood beside the table with her arms crossed beneath her breasts and her foot tapping in irritation. She singsonged, "No big deal, get a priest, give him money, Khalid comes back! Any of that sound familiar?"

"Enough," the Hunter said quietly.

"I don't know why you're being so uptight about this!" Greeneley rolled her eyes. "Whip out a resurrection spell and let's get on with it. Or does it cut into your church profits if you don't get to do a funeral?"

"You would do well to watch your tongue lest someone cut it from your head!" The Hunter's fierce tone let Greeneley know in no uncertain terms that who would be the one to do such a deed. "In these matters, one should not speak so lightly."

Before Greeneley could reply, Jaheira raised her head. "He is ... Khalid is dead," she said, her voice thick and husky, altered by the grief choking her. "He is dead and has been so for some time. Beyond a point, there can be no raising."

Greeneley shook her head. "Nuh-uh. Remember the Nashkel mines? Oops, you wouldn't because you were dead! You were dead three days before we raised you, and you're fine now. Admit it, you're just being-"

"Enough!" the Hunter snapped, and thankfully the terrible infant fell silent. "It is known to me, more than most, the ways in which life may return. But a line exists that cannot be crossed. Especially when the remains are in such a state."

This was not a conversation the Hunter wanted to have so publicly nor so bluntly. The drabengra knew in her mind that her man was beyond a priest's touch. But in her eyes the Hunter saw a fledgling hope, so small and precious that Jaheira likely would not know it was there until she felt the pain of its death. Though the Hunter was loathe to murder it, she would, for Jaheira's sake and for her man's. The change of her duties from hunter to undertaker was almost complete, but for one necessary and dreaded affirmation.

"This time in which we live, it is a time of miracles," the Hunter said softly. "Many who have passed beyond the veil are returned, but we must question ourselves on the worth of our intentions. Is what we do for our peace or for theirs?"

Jaheira closed her eyes and sagged beneath the weight of her acceptance, though she squared her shoulders and bore it nobly. If it had been possible for a dhampir to weep, the Hunter would have, for even after fifty years of attending to the dead and the ritual of mourning, she had not hardened to such emotion. She would not allow herself to harden. "Lady Harper," she asked gently, "what would you have done?"

Jaheira's hand did not tremble as she gently caressed Khalid's pale cheek. "He is gone. I know that this is nothing except what he has left behind. But I could not bear it if he were harmed again." Tears sparkled in her dull green eyes. When she looked up they spilled onto her hollow cheeks.

The Hunter nodded. When she looked up, she saw that every stare was fixed upon her. Even Yoshimo, who had retreated to the far corner beside the mephit cage and had not taken part in their discussion, was watching intently. In the room she saw no materials that would allow them to easily build a cairn. Soft earth might exist somewhere within this place, but to bury him would be time-consuming. And neither would stop a foe who truly wanted to reach him. The Hunter recalled the made women, floating in their tanks in the room adjacent, and shuddered. "Fire," she decided, "for in this way he would be safe from all that lurks within this place."

Jaheira nodded and said no more, and as if waiting for a cue, the others came forward silently. Minsc pulled his greatsword from its scabbard and hefted it between his hands. "It is the only fitting way to send great warriors to their ancestors," he said. "Minsc and Boo will bring great mountains of wood."

"In this place, there is not enough wood or time to accomplish such a task, and we have not the hours to build a suitable pyre." The Hunter gave the remains another cursory glance, then said to Jaheira, "A method is known to me that will suit our purposes for time and efficiency. It is somewhat crude, but quick, and what remains will be useless to all, even the foulest of necromancers. Will you allow this?"

Jaheira did not answer and continued to caress Khalid's face. Taking silence as affirmation, the Hunter continued, "A blanket is needed, one with size enough in which to wrap him. Is such a thing to be had?"

"I know where there's a blanket," Imoen piped up. "It was in ... in his, his bedroom. I'll go get it." She took several slow steps toward the door leading to the room with the strange device, then stopped and turned. "Minsc," she whined, "come with me? Please?"

"I would go anywhere with little Imoen," the Rashemi warrior said. Imoen darted back and tucked her hand in Minsc's elbow, relief evident on her peaked face. As they walked out of the room, the Hunter heard Minsc say, "We shall quest for the blanket of the mad shattered wizard together, and we shall protect one another from the evils found in bedrooms. Boo says there are more evil things in bedrooms than any other household location! Except closets under stairs, of course. And in outhouses, Minsc thinks, but Boo says that is another kind of foulness." Thankfully, the whoosh of the device as it swept them away swallowed the rest of Minsc's musings, leaving the small party in silence.

The Hunter turned her attention back to the corpse, half-heartedly studying it. What had killed him was a mystery, for what had been done to him after death had obfuscated any clues to the manner of his murder. His torso had been opened, from collar to groin, by a long, ragged incision. The breastbone had been hacked apart and his ribs opened, providing a clear view of his organs. Or rather, they would have if they had been there. Several dark lumps of flesh lay helter-skelter upon the floor -- a spleen, liver and kidneys, she realized -- scattered by Jaheira when she scrambled atop the table to embrace the corpse. One kidney looked as if it had been sliced in two, and the Hunter did not see where the other half had fallen. Circling his feet were several dark, bloodstained blots, where the organs had been neatly arranged in a semi-circle. But his heart was missing and not to be seen in the room.

There is blood, but not enough, which means this act of butchery was done after his death. But why? By whom? She sighed bitterly. Would this Shattered One be a mulo then? Or just a necromancer who has gone where even Velsharoon would tremble to walk? Questions, so many. What I would give to find answers before I leave this place.

She turned her back and put some distance between her brooding thoughts and the mangled remains, then tried to shrug out of the straps holding her black satchel on her back. Though her left arm was still stiff from her injury to her collarbone, she could move it. "Here, let me help you," Yoshimo said from behind her, taking the pack, but the Hunter shook her head.

"Do not," the Hunter said over her shoulder, shrugging again to settle it on her shoulders. "Instead, do this: Within, you would find a roll of leather, stained indigo. Fetch it for me." She stood still while the bounty hunter delved into her pack, but she said, "So you are part of our group once again?"

"I was keeping watch on the door," Yoshimo said blandly as he pulled the oblong, fat roll tied with silver cord from the Hunter's pack and handed it to her.

"Were you. How enterprising." The Hunter knelt to untie the cord and unroll the leather on the floor.

"I was," he muttered. "Look, I'm not really comfortable around all this. If death's around, I like to be elsewhere. I'm sure I'm not different from most people whenever there's a corpse-" He halted midsentence and stared at the tools of the Hunter's secondary trade -- sharp knives of all sizes, a flint-and-steel striker, a silver flask filled with kerosene, rope, needles and strong black thread, bandages and ointments, and a small gardening spade. He plucked a serrated knife from its leather moorings. "Do I want to know what this is for?" he asked, brandishing the knife at her.

The Hunter snatched it from his hand. "Air burials," she answered. His eyes widened, and again she sighed. She was keenly aware of Jaheira presence, though likely in her grief she was not listening. "In some places, in some circumstances, remains are taken to high places and given over to raptors. These tools are used to ease the process of transferal." Yoshimo made a disgusted noise, prompting the Hunter to say, "It is an unkind thing to pass judgment when you know little of such things. How is it in your world that your folk are sent beyond?"

"Where I'm from, the dead are taken out to sea, into the deep water, and they're set into the ocean. That's the civilized way to do it."

"Of course. And what, pray, do you gather is the fate of the remains after the mourners have gone?" Yoshimo did not reply, but a perturbed look settled across his features.

"Hey!" Greeneley said, skipping up to punch the Hunter hard in the arm. "Did you know there are dead people in that room over there?"

"This is not unknown to me," the Hunter replied through gritted teeth, trying not to rub her bicep.

"So what're ya gonna do about it?"

It was more a challenge than a question, and it took much of the Hunter's patience to murmur, "Such things will be dealt with, by and by. No mortal to die within this place will be left without rites and cerements. But that is a task for another time."

"So you're not gonna fix 'em now?"

"I am not."

"Why not? Oh, I see, you play favorites. Just like all priests, always picking and choosing who to help," Greenely said smugly, rolling her eyes.

"Enough," the Hunter snapped and regretted it when she saw Greeneley's satisfied smile. She took a deep breath. Jek, dui, trin, schtar, panj, tschov, efta, otor, enija, deque, bis, she counted to ten silently, then said, "You misunderstand the purpose of such rites. They are for the living, not the dead. We gather for Jaheira, not her man." Thankfully, Minsc and Imoen entered the room, a large red blanket bundled in the big warrior's arms, and the Hunter was able to leave off her discussion with both Yoshimo and Greeneley to attend to more vital things.

With Jaheira's help, the Hunter wrapped Khalid in the blanket and lay him out on the table. After she sprinkled him with the kerosene from the flask in her kit, she took out the striker and waited. The rest of the group stood near the north egress, a respectable distance away, the lines of their faces hidden by the shadows. No one spoke as Jaheira stood beside the table, staring at the contours of Khalid's face through the blanket.

After a silence that stretched almost into eternity, Jaheira spoke. "Sil ... Silvanus," she said softly, and her voice broke as her tears again flowed. "Guide the light ... to the source. Take this man to what he justly deserves. By ... nature's will, what was given is returned, what was turmoil is now ... is now peace." She bent and uncovered his pale face, then kissed his cold lips. "Khalid of my heart," she whispered. "Let my love ... my love guide the way." She did not look at the Hunter as she ran from the table, her sobs choking her as she fled from the room.

Slowly, the Hunter covered Khalid's face again with the blanket. Her hand over the body, she struck a spark with the flint and steel, then stepped back as the cloth caught fire. The flame devoured the kerosene-soaked blanket, then settled into a slow, intense burn. The blanket would act as an outer wick, sustaining the flame as it burned away Khalid's mortal remains. In three hours, when the fire would finally die away, nothing would be left of him but a few charred bones and dust-colored ash.

"Akana mukav tut le devlesa," the Hunter murmured, bidding this man she did not know farewell. She turned and saw Yoshimo standing in the doorway, the roll of leather that held her undertaker's tools still in his hands. The others had already journeyed out of sight.

"What now?" he asked as he handed helped her stow the kit in her pack. "Do you have to stay and watch him bur-... er, watch him?"

The Hunter settled the satchel on her back, then reached behind her to unsheathe her bastard sword. "One duty passes to the next," she said. "Come, tshorave. We hunt again."



Glossary, Romany
drabengra -- healer
me kestra -- my friend (dear acquaintance)
dhampir -- half-vampire
mulo -- vampire (m)
tshorave -- thief
Akana mukav tut le devlesa -- May you go with god




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