The Warden's Awakening

Chapter XII - Grief

Senara walked amid the charred piles of what once were the red and gold curtains that had draped over the windows of the Prand villa. She remembered they were long enough to swing from when she was a child. Her mother gave her a sound scolding when she tried climbing them and fell, resulting in a slightly broken arm. They also made the gray stone walls look a bit more lively.

All around her was soot and ash; remnants of other pieces of the home that had been burned to nothing in the attack. The stone walls remained intact and unscathed, and the mortared ceiling only had a bit of smoke stains on it, but all of the fabric, the wooden furniture, the glass lamps, the kitchen, the paintings, everything was destroyed. She held back tears, reminding herself that everything could be replaced.

Everything except for her mother.

Her mother's body had been carefully moved by Militia, and placed her into a darkwood casket under the watchful eye of Senara. She made sure they were not too rough with the baroness. Many Militia, even many Calcinians respected the dead more so than other places in the Theln, so there was nothing for her to worry about, yet still, she watched. Just to make sure. As her mother would have wanted.

"Baroness," Thelan, the Militia woman she had tricked before all of this happened, began. "There is a crowd gathering out front. Shall I disperse them?" she asked. Her voice sounded heavy, yet caring, as though she knew Margia.

"No. Let them see what they wish to see," Senara replied quietly. The casket would be wheeled around the corner, down the main road of Agalor, and into Baron's Rest: the large cemetery at the eastern edge of the city. There, her grave would be cared for by the attendants, and Senara herself when she came to visit. It would be a fitting burial for her.

Better than what Nmevra and Tbres would get.

To Senara's disgust, only barons, baronesses and their issue were allowed to be buried in Baron's Rest. There was a second, smaller cemetery at the other edge of town, which did not have the amount of staff there to tend the graves. It was disgraceful; there was such a difference in the eyes of the wealthy that even in death they should be separated. In the Ether, there was no separation. Right? If she died, was she to see all those who were above and below her in rank? What even was the Ether like? That was a morbid thought that she did not want to dwell on.

Senara walked beside the slick black casket. She placed her hand on it's smooth surface and held back her tears. She needed the people to see that she was strong enough to get through this. Baronesses did not cry at hardship. They overcame. Whether it was the death of a loved one or a loss of status, all barons overcame. As she pushed back the tears once again, she began walking, pulling the casket along side her.

Outside, a huge crowd had gathered. Larger than she had anticipated. Thelan had only said "crowd," this was more like a mob. A quiet, reverent one, but still. This was huge. And all of them saw exactly what they expected to see. Senara, looking divine in her white dress with gold shoulders and trim along the base of it. The standard practice in Imperial funeral services was to wear white as a sign of respect, as those who served the Theln well, as well as served others would be welcomed in the Ether. Those who turned and walked the path of the Skellund, or became possessed by the Other, were said to be doomed to Sann. No one had ever come back from the dead to dispute these claims, so many simply believed them. Who knew if they were correct?

Senara wheeled the casket down the stone ramp that the Militia had brought for just this occasion. She noticed thousands of flower pedals along the path leading to the cemetery, and saw more and more civilians throwing more down for her. She could not exactly understand it. Margia Prand was the owner of a section of the city near it's edge, and the docks. Many of the people who lived there were a mix of farmers, fishermen, bakers, servants to other barons, and a varying assortment of other craftsmen, such as candle makers and leather workers. These people paid rent to Margia every month in order to live. There was no way in Sann they all loved her for it.