Page 80 of Gryphon in Light

Jak and Serenshey stayed with him as he moved around the stern of the barge to see that the brother and sister had, indeed, set up a kind of camp under the canvas wing, their own little fire in a firepit, their bedrolls and belongings up against the side of the barge. They were both red-eyed, with faces blotchy from crying, although they were not weeping now. At the sound of foot- and hoof-falls, the two looked up.

“Your grief is mine,” he said formally, stumbling a little over the unfamiliar syllables of the Ghost Cat tongue. “Your grief is shared by us all.”

Rina gave him a watery smile. “Your accent is terrible,” she replied in the same language. “But your words are true.”

He squatted down on his heels beside her. Tutack remained silent, though his hands were busy. He and Rina seemed to be bundling up all of Uglik’s possessions inside mats of woven reeds. “Is there anything I—or anyone else—can help you with?” he asked.

She hesitated, then a tear ran down her cheek, and she sniffed, struggling with her emotions.

“We send our brother on his way at sunset,” said Tutack, hands still busy. “There will be a funeral bonfire; the hertasi are building it. Redlance has said he can hide it from view until it is no longer needed.”

That must be that pyre-like thing they’re making out of driftwood.

“We would like all to come,” Tutack concluded simply. “He thought of all of you as good friends and comrades.”

Hallock turned his head slightly and looked meaningfully at Jak and Serenshey.

:We’ll see to it,: the Firecat promised. :Everyone will be there.:

“We would like you, god-cat, to light the fire, and give us the blessing of your god,” added Tutack. He shrugged. “Our gods will know him, but it is fit that your god should give him honor too.”

:I absolutely will do that.: Serenshey nodded his head vigorously.

Hallock was used to professional soldiers and how they handled a death among their comrades. But this was new to him. Uglik had been their brother, and yes, they were mournful and grieving, but this wasn’t the utter emotional collapse he had anticipated. And he wasn’t sure why. “Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked finally.

Tutack nodded at the crude reed mats. “Wrap for burning. When warrior dies, we burn his things, to set him free.”

He nodded, although that seemed a bit wasteful. Still, it was a good bit better than having people squabbling over who was going to get what. He’d seen that a time or two in the Guard, and it was always ugly and depressing and demoralizing. Maybe this way was better.

So he picked up a couple of reed mats and some grass cord, and wrapped up an old leather belt-pouch, adding it to the pile. There was something inside, but he didn’t bother to look to see what was in it. It was all to go in the fire, so what did it matter what was inside?

The work was curiously soothing. And after a moment of silence, the siblings resumed a conversation that his arrival had evidently interrupted.

“You remember when he made the sheath too tight on this knife?” Tutack said as he wrapped up a well-worn eating dagger.

“And he came to the cookfire and could not get it out?” Rina managed a thread of a chuckle. “And he danced around like a shaman with his cloak on fire trying to free it, while the rest of us were eating and watching him? Because he was too stubborn to cut the sinews he’d sewn so carefully?”

“Ah! Ah! Ah!” Tutack replied, bouncing in place a little, holding the knife over his head as if he was trying to free it. “That was all he could say. Ah! Ah! Ah!”

“Oh, and this shirt—what’s left of it.” Tenderly, she rolled a much-abused linen shirt into a mat. “I kept trying to tell him he looked like a crazy old man living in a cave because it had so many patches and worn spots, but he kept saying, ‘There’s plenty wear in it still!’”

There were more such stories, and gradually it dawned on Hallock that this was how they were mourning their dead. Remembering good, touching, or funny stories about him as they prepared his possessions for the fire. He didn’t have anything to say, but they took care of that for him, starting a new story with every object he picked up to wrap. Funny stories only a sibling could have or tell.

And in the end, when the task was done, and they thanked him for his help . . . somehow, he felt better too. He certainly felt that now he knew enough about Uglik to properly mourn him.

And that wasn’t a bad thing.

What would you call this, I wonder, Kelvren thought as he joined everyone else around the pyre. It wasn’t a funeral; there was no body. A memorial, I suppose. He was glad of it. He had not known Uglik well, but he had known the Ghost Cat warrior well enough to want to mourn him properly.

Dusk had fallen, but as yet the fire was unlit, and no one had put up any mage-lights. The siblings put a heap of mat-wrapped bundles on the unlit pyre, as the rest of the party straggled in to stand in the rain around the stack of wet wood. And that was when something occurred to Kel that made him blink in alarm.

“Isn’t this fire going to show across the river?” he whispered to Hallock, who stood next to him. “Is that a good idea?”

“Actually, that was what I wanted a word with you about,” said Redlance, on his other side. “I have a spell I would like you to power—if you can?”

Redlance proceeded to try to explain this variation on a shielding spell he had constructed, which would essentially turn a shield into a reflective surface, so that no light would escape. Kel’s head was not up to the detailed explanations, so he just cut Redlance off and asked, “Does this need as much as a Gate?”

“No, no! It’s trivial, really, not even as much as a real shield. You see—”