by S. J. Higbee
The surrounding towns and villages responded to desperate yells for help from panicking organisers, while the village Elders rearranged livestock, cleared areas and posted all those available to assist with handing out supplies, or unloading them. Many soldiers volunteered, particularly those who’d fought at the Scarlet Horde Caves. Felina had the most fun she’d had in years. I could hear it in her voice, as she bellowed commands, followed by insults at those not responding fast enough to said commands.
It didn’t help that nearly every zine, quarterly, flashnews or daily journolog saw fit to send some long-nosed wet-brain with a fleet of auto-cams. There were so many, we had to ration them to two auto-cams each. Even then, the airspace above everyone’s head was thick with the roaching things buzzing around, with frequent collisions. A number of sunscreens were damaged as auto-cam bits rained down on the mourners crammed beneath them.
In theory, I was s’posed to catch up on missed sleep and have plenty of time to get ready for the ceremony. In practice, I was twitchier than a jaspered chicken and, instead, got involved in the general panic over the unexpected multitude of mourners descending on Cnicus. Because while rushing around in the thick of the emergency I didn’t have time to think.
I was shaken when Madam Stylist appeared at my elbow while I was poring over the lists of supplies stacked in the village stores and working out with Felina what could be used and what needed to be held back.
“It’s time to get you ready, Your Ladyship,” she chirruped, before throwing up her hands. “Just what have you been doing to yourself? Looks like those nasty nemmety things have been chewing at your braids. And now you’re not wearing goggles, can you try not to rub your eyes? Or maybe I should ease up on the eyelash extensions…”
“Off you go, Raindrop. Can’t have you looking anything other than your shady best at your Ma’s funeral,” declared Felina, unflatteringly relieved at the prospect of coping without my input.
“Just let Arlester know if you need any more help,” I said, unwilling to face the upcoming ceremony.
“I will. Now off you go, before Madam Stylist bursts a blood vessel,” said Felina, shooing me away.
Madam Stylist worked her usual magic on my appearance, tying bright blue ribbons into my hair and, as I’d asked for some sort of mask, she’d painted a swirling, silver pattern radiating from my eyes across my cheeks.
I stared at it, struck at the sheer weirdness of my appearance, as my silver eyes intensified the effect. “That’ll have them all yammering that I’m some kind of alien monster.”
“It’ll also hide any tears, Your Ladyship,” murmured Madam Stylist.
I recalled how she’d slipped that nail file up my sleeve when no one else could or would help, as I stared once more at my reflection. Now I was getting used to it, it looked both practical and striking. “Thank you muchly, Madam,” I said, smiling at her.
Seth was also transformed. His normally subdued Priestly tunic was replaced by long flowing robes in a hectic electric blue that shimmered and flickered with variweave colouring. I stared at this colourful version of my normally soberly dressed partner, wondering at the transformation.
“It’s a wet-witted mess, isn’t it?” he said, tugging at the flickering collar. “Reckon I look a roaching fool in this—”
I put my hand on his arm. “You look magnificent,” I said softly. “So handsome and special.”
He sighed. “I’ll know if you’re feeding me a load of old slurry, when I get to see my own image across all the journos on the planet during the coming week.”
“We all will,” I agreed, gloomily. I generally tried to avoid pics of that silver-eyed, grim-faced Gloriosan splashed across the journos. That upswept girl didn’t remotely look how I felt.
He snorted. “Don’t know what you’re fussing about, as your beauty could dazzle the seraphim.”
In the event, we were both outdazzled. As everyone taking part in the mourners’ procession started assembling in the area behind Felina’s house, there was a sudden hush, followed by exclamations of admiration as Vrox strode into the clearing.
Someone had spent hours polishing his scales, intensifying the bioluminescence pulsing across them so they glowed like living flames, writhing in flickering patterns of pinks, greens, oranges, with electric blue as the overriding background colour. Whoever groomed him had also gone to the effort of varnishing his claws and adorning his neck crest with the same coloured ribbons threaded through my hair. The mantivore looked magnificent and knew it, as he reared to his full height, his neck crest erect as he slowly rotated, in display mode.
You are beautiful, Vrox!
You are also looking acceptably like a Queen, my Cub, he churrs, his Sending full of magnanimous generosity.
I was also pleased to see that under the glittering variweave cloak Jessob always wore, he’d showered off the layer of soil normally smearing his skin and that his tousled, dusty hair was now combed and gleaming. With his hood down, his silver-flecked eyes glowed eerily in the growing dusk.
We formed up in a procession behind Mother’s coffin which was mounted on a hover sled decorated with woven arrangements of locally grown flowers, seeds and leaves, and surrounded by her followers, all dressed in mourning blue, their hair loose. As Mother’s only living relative, I came next, with Vrox alongside. If we’d been married, Seth could have also walked beside me. But as we were only engaged, he had to follow several rows behind, no matter how hard I’d argued that I needed him right there. Because right on my heels were the village elders – Rayvon Harvester and his flit-witted young wife, along with Lupita Honey. As Rayvon and Lupita had tried to have me convicted and Collared for murder, I wasn’t comfortable having them at my back, especially on this of all days.
If they so much as reach for you in Threat, I will have their entrails steaming at your feet.
Um. Thanking you muchly, Vrox, but perhaps bellowing a spatter of ThreatDrool would get them to reconsider any kind of attack.
Have no fear, My Queen, we will not deliver any killing blow without first asking your permission, will we, Vroxy?
Thank you, I Sent, deeply comforted they were watching out for me. Since the coup and without Helston’s presence, the double escort of guards ringing me felt more of an irritating obstacle than a reason to feel safe.
The singing from the Cnican women surrounding Mother’s coffin was unexpectedly beautiful, as the dissonant chords and crashing counterpoint combined to create a hauntingly sad accompaniment as we marched through the village. Every so often, Vrox would raise his muzzle to the darkening skies and howl. The sickly smell of incense, accompanied by the underlying stench of rot, filled my nose and coated the back of my throat.
Mother is rotting in that coffin. Even murmuring the words under my breath couldn’t make it seem real.
As we processed past the crowds, many took up the tune, evidently also knowing the words, so while the women in the procession held the core of the melody, the song swelled and diminished throughout our slow, unending journey. I was so hoed flat by the whole business that it wasn’t until we’d trudged more than halfway along the winding route, I realised it was probably one of Mother’s compositions.
People were weeping, some hysterically, others silently, but the sound of sobbing continued throughout the ceremony. As we entered the cemetery, tears were also pouring down my face. While some were for Mother, whose life was cut short just as she was starting to fully enjoy it, mostly I wept because we’d never now have a chance to put aside our hatred and distrust for one another.
We funnelled inside a circle of outward-facing soldiers, to be confronted by Mother’s final resting place. Her funeral pyre was built in the style of the oldentimes, which Master Trask had researched on the Node. These days we consign our bodies to the bio cycler, a far less wasteful method. But the village Elders decided burning her corpse in the traditional way and afterward building a shrine on the spot to house her ashes, would show the world how much Cnicus h
onoured her memory.
Giving a nifty boost to the tourism now powering the village economy, as her followers would probably visit to pay their respects to Mother Mai’s remains.
My cynical reflection was hauled to a halt when a flaming brand was waved in front of me. Grasping it, I waited for the signal. Vrox shifted beside me, still flaring like a living rainbow as his bioluminescence, instead of being diminished by the firelight, somehow seemed to absorb and reflect it back.
It was now completely dark. Mother’s coffin was manoeuvred onto the flower-strewn platform and Ermina raised the brand she was carrying high in the air. It danced and flickered in the steadily strengthening breeze. Along with the others also holding brands, I followed her lead, stepping forward to push the flaming end into one of the gaps built into the stack of logs supporting the platform bearing Mother’s coffin. Heat washed up my arm as the flame whirled and eddied while I held it horizontal. There was a dull roar and a sudden swirl of thick smoke as the layer of flowers hissed and spat, before shrivelling.
Suddenly the flames exploded through the platform, igniting the coffin in a white-heat sheet of fire as whatever accelerant they’d used took hold. I stepped back, my face hot, tears itching against my cheeks as the inferno raged.
Kaila recited one of Mother’s poems in a loud, carrying voice that somehow made sense of the rambling words, giving me an insight as to why Mother had cultivated her friendship. She’s one of the few people on the planet who can make Mother’s dreadful poetry sound halfway plausible.
But even that thought couldn’t stop my weeping, especially when the choir started up yet another of her sad dirges and Vrox broke into a series of sobbing howls. We stood vigil as the flames roared and smoke billowed. Smells of roasting meat underneath the scent of burning wood had me swallowing hard, determined not to puke in front of the world’s journo hordes, still buzzing overhead like gigantic gnats. How long we stood there, I can’t say.
The flames were still burning strongly and Mother’s followers were singing another song, when I felt Seth’s hand at my elbow. “Let’s go, Libby,” he muttered. “You don’t want to see the next bit.”
As Mother’s skull was now visible through the blaze, Seth was right. I wanted to recall her beauty and vitality, not how her body sputtered and burned. I turned away, grateful when my escort closed around us and marched slowly away from the pyre.
It seemed to take a lifetime to process to the Meeting House, even though a path was cleared through the milling crowds by a line of guards. I walked up the aisle towards the small stage at the front of the Meeting House, where I was to stand and receive the great and the good who’d attended, given a surprising number of Gloriosans had made the long, arduous journey to do so.
Another way in which my unmarried state chafed – it was decided that Seth couldn’t stand by my side while I received the hundreds of guests. Though from my vantage point, I could see he was busy greeting many of the people packed into the building, either ushering them to join the receiving line, or redirecting others towards the tables laden with food and drink.
Not that I had much time to stand and gawp, as I spent most of my time acknowledging bowing mourners and their mumbled condolences with a grave nod, which I’d practised in the mirror to ensure I got it right.
So I was startled when a tall, sandy-haired man in expensive robes stepped forward and took my hand. His piercing blue eyes met my silver gaze without flinching. “Hector Gator,” he announced, in a drawling Gloriosan accent. “May I offer my profound condolences at the untimely death of your mother. Losing a relative unexpectedly is always a jolting business.” He paused. “As I well know.”
If you’re expecting me to apologise for killing your sorry nephew, then you’re in for a long wait. “Indeed,” I said, retrieving my hand, expecting him to move on as he was holding up the queue.
He stayed put, a small smile twitching his lips. “I think those of us among the First Families in Gloriosan society have somewhat underestimated the pair of you. Coming, as you do, from the poor end of the planet and talking like a badly educated servant meant we all thought you wouldn’t get past the first week. And yet, here you are. Still in office a year later.”
I remained silent, unsure whether to take offence at the remark about speaking like a servant, or be gratified at the back-handed compliment over exceeding expectations.
“I travelled here to say how much I regret Clete’s outrageous behaviour and hope that perhaps you could put that behind you, when we restart talks about how you intend to rule, now you have The Council’s support.”
“And you chose the occasion of my mother’s funeral to tell me this?”
He shrugged. “Word is, the two of you weren’t close.”
He’s deliberately jabbing at me. Trying to provoke a scene right here in the middle of my village, during Mother’s funeral. I kept my face blank. Living alongside Mother and nursing Osmar from the age of nine hadn’t made for a shady childhood, but it did mean I learnt early on to keep my temper tucked between my teeth. Something this upswept Gloriosan wouldn’t know, given how much my control had been frayed by the drugs Madam Healer Prime had illicitly given me – and coping with Vrox regularly crashing through my head.
I slowly blinked, aware how alien my silvered eyes looked. “Your consideration of my feelings at this difficult time will certainly be taken into account. When we resume talks.” And I turned away from him, towards the mourner patiently waiting behind him in the queue, forcing him to move on.
But as I continued greeting the never-ending stream of visitors who’d seen fit to make the journey to Cnicus to honour Mother, or to hug my hem given I wasn’t conveniently overthrown after all – I realised that after tomorrow, I’d be back in the middle of the nemmet nest that was Gloriosan politics. Thank the Mothership I’ll have Seth alongside.
One of the putrid aspects about being the Overlord, is the expectation that I’ll have something to say, no matter the occasion. Though being Mother’s only living relative meant I’d have spoken at her funeral, anyway. Given the shoddy state of our relationship and that everyone knew it, I was dreading it while I now faced the packed room, glad of the wide-open doors for a breath of cool night air as the crowd overflowed into the square and beyond. Screens and speakers had been rigged for the wake to be broadcast across the village.
Might as well get this over with. “Mother and me – we didn’t line up about all that much. And we certainly parted on bad terms…”
The crowd stilled, though there was a murmur of surprise at my words. Whatever they’d been expecting me to say, it evidently wasn’t this. Felina frowned, clearly worried, as she stood right at the front, flanked by Jessob and Vrox.
I continued, “That didn’t mean I didn’t care, though. I always wanted to make her proud and hoped that one day – her and me – we’d sort ourselves out and she could come to Gloriosa…” Something that’ll never happen. I took a breath, resisting the temptation to wipe my hands across my flickering robes. “Many of you knew her better than I did. And I know her loss has been hard to bear. I hope today will mark her passing in a way that will honour her life and her memory, rather than how she went. I hope wherever she is, she’s looking down on us all. And Mother Mai approves of how we’re honouring her memory. I recall…” I went on to recount a story of when I was little and she brought me a lily that was just opening, to show me something that no one else had ever seen before.
I didn’t add that when I looked up at her blankly, unable to understand why it was special – I’d seen lilies in flower lots of times – she’d told me how stupid I was and swept out, leaving Auntie Hester to comfort me as I wept.
I cleared my throat. “Would anyone else like to share their memories of Mother? If so, please approach…” I gestured towards Felina and Vrox, who were in place to ensure only folks who knew Mother would be permitted to speak.
Full of worry about what to say, I hadn’t given much thought to those who m
ight also want to say a few words, assuming a handful of her followers would praise her to the skies and back. But a surprising number of other villagers lined up. While, inevitably, some were clearly there to hear their own voice booming across the village, a number spoke warmly of her kindness, her skill in growing plants and her generosity in sharing her knowledge. A side of her I never saw.
I stamped on that thought hard, as I fixed my gaze on a scuff mark on the floor, concentrating on not weeping again, while yet another Cnican shuffled onto the stage to tell the world another story about how much better they knew Mother than I did…
Most kept it reasonably short, but Cupert Peaceman was busy using ten words when one would do, when Rajen Dairy yelled, “Make with the fast-forward why don’t yer? Them cheeses of ours are callin’ to be eat ʼfore the flies start spittin’ all over ʼem!”
In amongst the raucous laughter, Felina bellowed, “Another word outta you, Rajen an’ I’ll stamp on your tongue!”
But many of the Cnicans were now heading for the tables to tuck into the feast in Mother’s honour, done with listening. As a tide of hungry villagers advanced towards the food, Gloriosan Uppies and Bridgedeckers were swept aside, clumping together like a flock of bothered hens as they drawled amongst themselves about the disgraceful lack of manners and poor organisation that didn’t take account of their importance.
It was almost funny enough to make me smile.
Nearly over… I circulated, thanking all those who’d spoken sincerely about Mother.