by Justin Wayne
Chapter Twenty Three: Pillar of Smoke
The news had come as a shock to everyone. The entire clan had known and loved Durgen; Durgen who took care of his people and acknowledged when he was wrong, who led for the good of others and honestly. All had grown up hearing of his great deeds.
The fact that he was found burned and deformed beyond recognition didn’t help. The only way they were able to identify the remains was when Norsd woke up and explained how Durgen had taken over his post as sentry.
Then it was a matter of discussing how it had happened when the cloak was found, actually Robaine’s, and it was assumed he had caught fire whilst asleep. After all, they decided, he was getting along in years.
As typical with Warriors, they recovered quickly, and once the shock was over they were on the march for Rusk to honor their fallen comrade and lay him to rest with their forefathers, where he would hunt and feast with the founders of their tribe. They were a hardy people and chanted songs of honor and praise of great wars and battles the long walk home.
But to Dradewen it was a different matter.
“Uncle Durgen wasn’t decrepit and senile. He was always alert and still the smartest man I’ve ever met.” he pleaded with his father. “There is no way he fell asleep and caught fire like a useless husk of a man!”
His dark eyes set in a fierce frown as he considered all that had transpired. He searched his father’s face for a sign of recognition but was only met with a mask of Dunawar. The chief’s blank eyes stared ahead as if dead and numbly replied in vague responses.
“I know you were close, Dradewen. But accidents happen.”
Dradewen cursed and quickened his pace away from his father, fuming all the while.
Nearly a tenday later, the pyre was prepared and soaked in oil over night to ensure its effectiveness. Just outside of Rusk’s outer wall they congregated. Incense was burned and gave the chill air the sweet smell of oak and pine. Torches were placed in two lines pointing down to the pyre until they leaned over and actually touched the large stack of wood.
Those there to pay their respects were placed between the two walls of torches and their voices rose in song and prayer. Calls out to Griphon and Dirringyr echoed across the tundra and praises of the fallen warrior rode the wind until it could be heard miles out. The very trees seemed to lean toward the funeral to hear them.
Dradewen and Dunawar at the helm carried a stretcher laden with Durgen’s remains wrapped within a buckskin sheet and his old axe laid by his side. Slowly they descended the hill toward the pyre, matching the pace of the song’s beat.
A heavy war drum pounded out a slow melancholy tempo for them to follow and the music matched. As they passed the rows of viewers, torches were lit from a single torch within Dradewen’s hand and another within Dunawar’s. These cast flame to those lining the partition made up of the taller torches set in the ground.
As they neared the end of the hill the song grew more rapid, steadily gaining speed as the war drum ascended. The song rose in volume until it was deafening, hundreds of voices as one. More torches were lit.
The hill was behind them then. They were within a small valley in which the majority of viewers stood in wait. Across this they went and continued to gain speed and momentum, carried by the song and driving bass. The line of light on either side was nearly solid then.
Passing through the valley they ascended a smaller hill with the song at a maximum crescendo. The viewers called with all their might to the heavens within their praise and song, for them to accept their brother, father, and teacher, Durgen into their house of old. The loudest and most frantic beat set at last, they lowered Durgen onto the pyre.
Dradewen and Dunawar illuminated the last pair of torches meant for them, which in such close proximity to the leaning line of more torches, lit themselves in a quick succession until the last; bowed so far it touched the pyre, ignited and engulfed the ornate wooden set in flames.
Durgen wore a shroud of fire then and the hardened buckskin slowly blackened as the song cut away, all silent. Only the crackling fires remained audible. A few here and there wept for their lost friend and kin, with Dradewen among them.
The Warrior chief took his place in front of the pyre and looked down from the hill onto all those in attendance. He cleared his voice and wiped his bloodshot eyes, for Robaine had full control of his every little emotion and physical response from them.
“Friends, family, and well-wishers, I thank you all for coming here today. In this time and season I know the journey for many of you was no easy feat, so you have my most sincere appreciation. My brother was always a people person and reached out to all those he could, whether to lend a helping hand or to cast down those evil. As such I am sure he reached out and touched many of your lives.
“And I know he would have wanted you here to see him off.” He beckoned for Dradewen to stand beside him and gripped his son around the shoulders. “I remember when my son, Dradewen, was born. Durgen predicted the boy would grow strong and wise; a true successor to lead our tribe. So he placed his hands upon the newborn Dradewen and proclaimed he would be the next Durgen.
“He said it would be only fair we still have Dradewen even when he would leave us to embark on the next journey of life; death. He has told Dradewen something every year since.”
He took a step back and allowed his son to stand in the center. Dradewen stared at the crowds, hundreds he knew and hundreds he didn’t, and worried he would forget what he had to say. He looked back and saw the flames upon the pyre and the figure within, and his heart steeled.
“My uncle Durgen always told me, to take what you can get and not what you think you deserve. He said every man and woman has to earn what they want and that nothing is given freely. He told me blood is thicker than water but you need both to survive, so I shouldn’t draw lines between family and friends, but to make them one in the same.
“I have taken these to heart and I pray many of you will too, for he will live on through us. Never forgotten and always loved, he helped shape our lives for the better in death just as he did in life.”
With that, he bowed out and Dunawar returned to the front. “Now let our brother become one with nature, with the land we thrive from and have depended upon for generations. Let his ashes meld with the soil and earth even as his soul departs from it.” He turned to the pyre and kneeled down on one knee to his brother. “To Durgen!”
“To Durgen!” the hundreds of voices called together as a single. Songs arose as they marched back the way they came and up the hill to feast in celebration of their kin’s ascendance.
Dradewen stared from the hill at the sunset and watched the pillar of smoke rise from the pyre; his uncle’s very being merging with the land and sky. Upon this sight he swore to himself to avenge both his death and memory.