14. The departure

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As soon as the King began to speak, every apprehension and doubt that might have lingered among the onlookers was lifted at once, as they responded with unstinting hearts to the gentleness and sureness of a voice they had heard so many times before.

“My friends,” he began, “the time has come for the obsequies of my brother, whom most of you have long held in dread, but whom some among us also once held dear. Duty and old love alike guide us, and direct our hearts to give honor and proper rites to one who has caused us much sorrow and would have surely spurned the trouble we now take. Just as some things can not be remedied, there are offices that must be performed, loath as we may be to perform them. The state of this kingdom has been disordered for too long, and with these actions we will set it once again aright.

“Scratch away the surface of any of us and there is no telling what you will find beneath. My brother was seized by a hatred and a madness that I can not begin to explain or fathom, but which I must never deny or seek to extenuate. It was not always so. Before many of you were born he was a golden child, full of the joy and promise of youth, but as sometimes happens he turned away from love, from the love of his fellows and the love of this world, and the farther away he turned the more bitter his heart grew, until all that remained alive inside it was the fury and cruelty of which many who are here tonight have suffered or witnessed the terrible consequences. I am sorry on his behalf, and sorry for his sake as well.

“I would be remiss in my obligations, both as sovereign of this realm and as a host, if I did not address a word to the one who is responsible for our deliverance.” At these words Oren tensed. He felt a flickering impulse to steal away, but as no one seemed to be paying him the least attention the notion quickly evaporated. “Do not mistake our grief for ingratitude. Our pain is of ancient standing, and is ours alone. You were an instrument, no more to blame than the head of the lance or the air through which it passed in its fatal course. You have our benediction and our thanks, and our welcome, always.

“The stain of violence may be, perhaps, the mark of our fallen nature, but so too is the ability to love, to give, to nourish, and to feel and attend to the suffering of others. Let no one from this day raise a hand against another, and let the time of killing come to an end. Let the fire purify the body of my brother and release his spirit to the stars to which that spirit is kin, and let us each put away our private sorrows as much as we can, and live without bitterness or fear, and find in our hearts a way to forgive one who has done great harm but who will never stand among us again.”

Saying this, he took in his hand a burning brand and touched it to the bottom of the pile. It ignited quickly and flared, and soon the body of the great Swan was totally engulfed. The fire roared up, radiating a brilliant light across the terrace and beyond, even as its ferocious heat forced everyone who was near it to back well away. The King tossed the brand over the parapet of the terrace; he watched it fall through the darkness and break up into a thousand dying sparks as it struck the ground.

As soon as the fire peaked the crowd began to break up. Mira, who had been lost in thought watching the blaze, turned her back on it and took Oren's hand. She did not hurry him but waited until he too, turned and was ready to go. When they were one again within the walls of the palace they walked along the corridor by the windows for a while, now and then looking over at the fire, which continued to burn on the now deserted terrace for as long as they could see it. By the time they were out of sight of it they were alone in the galleries again. He let her lead the way, not minding if they walked all night, until at last they returned together to his room.

In the morning he was the first to wake. The lamp shone dimly, and a line of grey light, enough to see by, was coming under the door. He got up and dressed while Mira slept on, poured a cup of water from the carafe to slake his thirst, and sat on the edge of the bed until she stirred. He moved closer to her. She smiled up at him drowsily and took his hand, then closed her eyes again and remained still for a long while. He might well have sat there, exactly like that, for hours, had it not been for a muffled knock on the door. Untangling his hand from her fingers he got up to see who was there.

Lying at the cheetah's feet was a small knapsack, as much, Oren figured, as she could have carried in her teeth. “Whenever you're ready,” she said, neutrally.

“Who is it?” came Mira's sleepy voice from within. He looked back through the doorway.

“It's Lucinda.”

“Tell her I'll be ready in a few.”

The cat nodded and sat back. Oren returned to the room and shut the door behind him. Mira was just rising, without haste, and embraced him when he approached. He kissed her once, on the side of her neck, then left her alone while she gathered her things.

When they opened the door Lucinda gave Mira a perfunctory nod, then waited until Oren slung on the knapsack and signaled his readiness. The cat led the way, remaining several yards ahead of them as she walked, at a little less than her normal pace, without ever looking behind. In the morning light the halls of the palace were deserted once more. Hand in hand with Mira, Oren barely looked around him as they passed out of the building, down the steps, and onto the plaza beyond.

Later, at midday, they spied the silhouettes of the three dogs sitting at rest, waiting for them in the road.

Finis.

July 26, 2007

Copyright © 2007 Chris Kearin. All rights reserved.