Oracus: The Lavorian Rider

Eight - A Lavorian's Voice

More than four-hundred people attended the funeral of Oracus's father. In a vast cemetery full of old gravestones, flowers and oak trees, most of the villagers from Thessley were present, and even some citizens of Afarra had come to pay their respects.

The midday sun shone down on the crowd as they gathered around the grave, and everyone listened to the stories that were told by those who Oracus's father had known best. For most of the ceremony, Oracus had tried his hardest to stem the tears, but during his speech he hadn't been able to hold back the sobs of despair.

The man who had taught him everything was dead. Gone forever. It had been his father who had showed him how to use a bow and arrow, let him assist with caring for the livestock on the farm, and helped him to get a job at the blacksmith's workshop in Thessley's village centre. Never again would he listen to his father's voice or hear his advice.

When the ceremony reached its climax, the coffin was lowered into the grave and soil was shovelled over it. Oracus tried to offer some final grateful words, but his throat tightened, and the words never came. He sobbed harder than he had ever sobbed in his life, and he felt Garrin's arm wrap around his shoulder.

"Don't blame yourself for what happened," he was told. "There's nothing anyone could have done to stop this."

I could have not gone hunting in the forest in the first place, Oracus thought. Or I could have ran home when the Lavorian fell from the sky.

Garrin's grip stiffened and Oracus rested his head on his friend's shoulder. "Life was simple," he said, trying to hold his voice steady. "But now all this has happened and I don't know what to do."

"I'm sorry, Oracus, but I don't think life will ever be simple now you're a Rider."

"But I don't know if I want that, Garrin. I had a good life back in Thessley. Since Bandor showed up I've lost my father and lost Thessley too. And I nearly got killed myself. What am I going to lose next?"

Garrin withdrew his arm and dodged the question. "It'll take time, but you will feel better eventually."

Oracus sighed and wiped the tears from his face. "I hope you're right," he said, unconvinced.

When the grave was filled with earth, the crowd slowly thinned until Oracus was left alone. Soon, the cemetery was empty and silent, with not even the bustle of the markets audible in the distance. Oracus knelt beside the grave and placed his hand on the corner of the gravestone. The feeling comforted him like he was grasping his father's shoulder.

"Thank you for everything," he said simply. He let the words linger for a moment in the hope his father would respond to him. But when the silence endured, he spoke on, "I promise I'll make you proud."

The tears returned to his eyes again, but this time he didn't hold them back. He let them flow until the afternoon became evening, and then evening became night. When darkness arrived, the air turned cool, but Oracus still didn't leave his father's side. He would stay there until morning, or until all his tears had dried up.

*

Several days passed after the burial and the dull ache of grief and anguish persisted. Only when preoccupied could Oracus prevent the sadness, so he'd often take walks through Afarra's streets with Bandor tucked safely inside his shirt. For the most part, he kept Bandor well hidden, but sometimes the Lion's head would pop out of his collar for a look around and someone would inevitably spot him. On those occasions, Oracus would quickly find the nearest alley or doorway to escape through before a crowd began to gather.

When he wasn't exploring the city, he was usually avoiding Garrin or other villagers of Thessley. For hours, he would lock himself inside the room where his father had died, and either sleep or talk to Bandor. Although dusty, cold and empty, the small room comforted Oracus somewhat – the air in there still carried the scent of his father; or maybe that was just Oracus's imagination.