The Wilting Ballad

2

Weather on what folks on Iruil known as the Hidden City called Il-Zektes was as gloomy as hearts of the people living in it, for it was the third and final day of mourning.

Lady Divione was not just the Lord's wife, the mother of her only child and grandmother to her grandson, whom she loathes.

She was the mother for every orphan who, if not for her kindness, would have lived and starved on the flea streets where even rats and mice hunted each other for supremacy. They would have begged on the streets with half a hope of having a full belly after a day of hard begging and being thrash about by cruel men and women of higher society who know nothing of their hardship.

Lady Divione had lived a full life of kindness and peace, peace which she brought with her wisdom. Wisdom even the most hard hearted men bow to in respect. She accomplished many wonders in her life and she prides them. In her old days, she has only one thing she wished to accomplish but couldn't.

Before she was to be put on a sepulcher her husband was to say a few words of farewell, as was the tradition.

A grey man few years shy of reaching his eighty dressed all in white rises and walks up the castle's highest balcony that overlooked the entirety of the city he has ruled alongside his wife. He glanced back to where she lay, soulless yet so harmonic, like drizzle after tears. The serenity of the scene was elegant amidst the somber mood felt by all those present.

He turned and saw over eight thousand of his people's eyes focusing on him. He bowed a little, the kind of bow that was almost like a nod, he touch his forehead with his thumb and forefinger.

The whole city goes quiet if there had been a sound before it has gone all the quieter at the gesture as if some kind of god had removed each of their tongues and sewn their mouth, if a leaf falls from a tree they would hear it as it hits the ground.

What a waste of time this is, why must I express my grief to people who will cry about it today and forget about it tomorrow. Gariel thought flatly, he was not a man that have words for his emotions, at least to a crowd. He clenched his teeth, in his mind he was going through that same fourteen words that have given him sleepless nights since the death of his wife.

"Any Il-Zektis know I'm no great spokesman. At least when I'm a tinge bit emotional." He sighed, pausing. The smile he bore was one wringing with misery. His eyes wandered to the Charred Mountains that were so far away, Il-Zektes was beyond that mountains, with the Neat Gate that has caged them, which only an Il-Zektis can open.

He has never liked being shut in, hiding from the rest of the world but the love he has for his wife was so strong that should she told him to jumped down from the top of Tereciouth he would have done so gladly. It was pathetic but he cannot help it. He thought of how once more it would feel to walk the outside world with his own two feet. He thought of Divione and the words she had once spoken to him, 'You stay here for my sake but I have always known that you were never meant to die here, you were meant to die out there, being what you love being, an explorer who doesn't mind his own business'.

He smiled, a smile that was sad but also happy, he knows now more than ever what he wishes to do. He thought about that same fourteen words that have stained his mind. He glanced once more back to his wife and over to where his daughter, Malori was seated. He gestured for her to rise and stands beside him, she did so. "It's time." He whispered to her.

"I abdicate being your ruler. Malori is her mother, she will rule you well." Declared Gariel. The buzzing confusion of an entire city was like a loud festering bee in his ears but their confusion was followed by loud cheers of applaud that he thought very much not appropriate for exequies.