Many will call me heartless. Cruel. Unforgiving. And they are all right. I'm all those things and a great deal more. A great deal darker then they will ever be able to find words to describe it.
What I did with Yew. What I did with the keep sakes and memories of hers. What I plan to do with the rest of her belongings.
And what I've done to her. The things I said. They were not the cruelest words I could have flung at her, but they did the intended job by all appearances. I watched her cry, but her tears were simply cheap lies that would only poison me if I let them.
But the pain I inflicted upon her was real, though. The blood that poured from her mouth was tangible. Even now, days later, my own knuckles are bruised and scratched. I think I cut the skin on a tooth. I'm not sure. But looking at the discolored skin, the scab near a knuckle, I find no remorse swimming among my rage and hatred.
I returned yesterday from my pilgrimage out to the plains. Immediately, I began the cleaning up of the mess I had left at my wagons. Shoveling the ashes into a cart so they could be disposed of and the grass could be given a chance to grow once more. To heal. I was thankful for the work I had to do, though. Not necessarily because it kept my mind occupied, because it didn't. But it gave me an outled to expell the energy that was constantly building up inside me lately. But as for keeping my mind distracted? No, there was no chance of that.
I also saw that during my abscense someone had recovered my wagon. The canvas was bare, nothing had been painted on it yet. Later, I would have to find out who had gone to the trouble of having it replced. And thank them.
In fact, my mind kept wandering back to the pyre I performed yesterday. I know her ghost still walks among the wagons, but I've done what I can to honor the death of the last of my family. To ensure that the spirits of Lazlo and Saitirri are at peace, even though I know they will never truly rest again.
The inside of the wagon was a riot of color. A playground for the senses. The walls and floor were decorated with a lifetime of artwork. More than just canvas and paint. Everything in the wagon was a representation of a certain place and time in a life that had ended. Just as surely as the scars upon my cheeks represented certain times in my own life. In the middle of the wagon, laid out upon the finest set of sleeping furs I had, was a skirt and vest that she'd decorated with her own hands. I always thought she looked like a very attractive woman in it. I could imagine her taking her first steps inside a wagon she shared with her man. Those dreams for her were over, though.
Laying atop the vest was the tin that held Yew's heart. It was placed in the general area of where a persons heart lays in their chest. Laying beside this 'figure' were the set of quiva I had recently given her. Also nearby was the arrow she'd hit her first bullseye with the day I took her out to teach her archery. At the 'head' were the white bone combs that Saitirri had made for her daughter. The ones I had passed on to her to wear during her ringing ceremony. Line along one side of the 'body' were a row of jars that held pigments. Lazlo had made them for his daughter, that she might have something to keep her supplies in. On the other side were laid out the set of brushes that she used most often when painting. I had also placed Yew's body inside the wagon, to burn with the rest of the memories, that the woman I once called family might have her stallion to ride, if nowhere but in my mind.
The inside of the wagon was a memorial to a woman that had died. And in the center of it was the only body that I had to place there. A body made up of the details of her life.
I stepped outisde the wagon and removed a torch from the campfire, which was then thrown inside the wagon. It took several ehn before the flames started to spread. But when they did, they spread as if accelerated by oil. I stood there for ahns as I watched the flames burn. The leather canvas disintigrated relatively quickly. The artful designs she'd painted on its surface gone. The framework for the dome was next to sucumb to the flames. Splintering and falling inside the frame of the wagon. It all burned for some time before I began to hear the cracking of wood. It was one of the axles. The fire had weakened it and it could no longer support the weight of the wagon. It shattered and the wagon sagged to the front now. When it dropped to the ground a shower of sparks flew into the air.
The pyre burned for ahns before it finally started to reduce itself to little more than embers. The husk of the wagon was still discernable, but the wood was charred and splintered.
Looking up at the sky I bid my last fairwell to the spirits of my family. Then turned away from a life that had been shattered and went to the second kaiila he'd brought with him. And that woman, the Turian, stood in her ruined robs, a length of rope tied around her throat, which was secured to my saddle horn.
She being the only other witness to Seveya's Pyre.
I climbed back into the saddle and took the reins in my hands. Behind me, there rested a chest that was also secured to the saddle. I turned the kaiila and pointed it back towards the harigga.
I had much healing to do when I arrived.
Many failures to atone for.
What I did with Yew. What I did with the keep sakes and memories of hers. What I plan to do with the rest of her belongings.
And what I've done to her. The things I said. They were not the cruelest words I could have flung at her, but they did the intended job by all appearances. I watched her cry, but her tears were simply cheap lies that would only poison me if I let them.
But the pain I inflicted upon her was real, though. The blood that poured from her mouth was tangible. Even now, days later, my own knuckles are bruised and scratched. I think I cut the skin on a tooth. I'm not sure. But looking at the discolored skin, the scab near a knuckle, I find no remorse swimming among my rage and hatred.
I returned yesterday from my pilgrimage out to the plains. Immediately, I began the cleaning up of the mess I had left at my wagons. Shoveling the ashes into a cart so they could be disposed of and the grass could be given a chance to grow once more. To heal. I was thankful for the work I had to do, though. Not necessarily because it kept my mind occupied, because it didn't. But it gave me an outled to expell the energy that was constantly building up inside me lately. But as for keeping my mind distracted? No, there was no chance of that.
I also saw that during my abscense someone had recovered my wagon. The canvas was bare, nothing had been painted on it yet. Later, I would have to find out who had gone to the trouble of having it replced. And thank them.
In fact, my mind kept wandering back to the pyre I performed yesterday. I know her ghost still walks among the wagons, but I've done what I can to honor the death of the last of my family. To ensure that the spirits of Lazlo and Saitirri are at peace, even though I know they will never truly rest again.
The inside of the wagon was a riot of color. A playground for the senses. The walls and floor were decorated with a lifetime of artwork. More than just canvas and paint. Everything in the wagon was a representation of a certain place and time in a life that had ended. Just as surely as the scars upon my cheeks represented certain times in my own life. In the middle of the wagon, laid out upon the finest set of sleeping furs I had, was a skirt and vest that she'd decorated with her own hands. I always thought she looked like a very attractive woman in it. I could imagine her taking her first steps inside a wagon she shared with her man. Those dreams for her were over, though.
Laying atop the vest was the tin that held Yew's heart. It was placed in the general area of where a persons heart lays in their chest. Laying beside this 'figure' were the set of quiva I had recently given her. Also nearby was the arrow she'd hit her first bullseye with the day I took her out to teach her archery. At the 'head' were the white bone combs that Saitirri had made for her daughter. The ones I had passed on to her to wear during her ringing ceremony. Line along one side of the 'body' were a row of jars that held pigments. Lazlo had made them for his daughter, that she might have something to keep her supplies in. On the other side were laid out the set of brushes that she used most often when painting. I had also placed Yew's body inside the wagon, to burn with the rest of the memories, that the woman I once called family might have her stallion to ride, if nowhere but in my mind.
The inside of the wagon was a memorial to a woman that had died. And in the center of it was the only body that I had to place there. A body made up of the details of her life.
I stepped outisde the wagon and removed a torch from the campfire, which was then thrown inside the wagon. It took several ehn before the flames started to spread. But when they did, they spread as if accelerated by oil. I stood there for ahns as I watched the flames burn. The leather canvas disintigrated relatively quickly. The artful designs she'd painted on its surface gone. The framework for the dome was next to sucumb to the flames. Splintering and falling inside the frame of the wagon. It all burned for some time before I began to hear the cracking of wood. It was one of the axles. The fire had weakened it and it could no longer support the weight of the wagon. It shattered and the wagon sagged to the front now. When it dropped to the ground a shower of sparks flew into the air.
The pyre burned for ahns before it finally started to reduce itself to little more than embers. The husk of the wagon was still discernable, but the wood was charred and splintered.
Looking up at the sky I bid my last fairwell to the spirits of my family. Then turned away from a life that had been shattered and went to the second kaiila he'd brought with him. And that woman, the Turian, stood in her ruined robs, a length of rope tied around her throat, which was secured to my saddle horn.
She being the only other witness to Seveya's Pyre.
I climbed back into the saddle and took the reins in my hands. Behind me, there rested a chest that was also secured to the saddle. I turned the kaiila and pointed it back towards the harigga.
I had much healing to do when I arrived.
Many failures to atone for.
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