The sun sank towards the horizon, shadows growing long as he worked, watched over by Avena and Dualayn. Soon they stood in the hole, digging it deeper. It rose up to their knees. Their waists. Then their shoulders. They tossed the progressively darker soil, full of wriggling worms and squirming beetles, out of the pit. Roots from the tree poked through midway down, feathery tendrils that swayed at every brush. Just as the grave reached the height of Ōbhin’s head, they found tough clay. The men grunted and groaned as they hacked through the last cubit.
Cold bled up from the earth, soaking through Ōbhin’s boots as he dug the final shovelful. He shivered, the sweat on his arms almost freezing. The light dwindled fast, the sun vanishing behind the western farmland. He scrambled out of the hole, panting, his lips caked in dirt, chapped and dried from the exertion. More filth streaked his sweaty face and matted his hair.
Ōbhin and the bulbous-nosed guard hefted Carstin’s burial wrapping. The emptiness deepened in Ōbhin. He felt so remote after the exertion like he stood apart from his body and watched with mechanical disinterest as they lowered the corpse with care into the depths of the earth.
Did Taim’s parents feel this way when they watched his coffin vanish into the King? wondered Ōbhin.
Dualayn cleared his throat. “Ōbhin, would you wish to say anything about your compatriot?”
Ōbhin swallowed, his throat raw and burning from thirst. He scooped up a fistful of the earth they’d excavated and tossed the rich soil onto the clean linen. In his native Qothian, he prayed, “May the seven Harmonious Tones welcome your soul. Let Vatsim forever hold your earthly vessel, and may Qasigh guard your remains. Let Lausi guide your soul from the pain of this life, and allow Zolinee to bathe you in her cleansing melody. May Otsar keep your essence warm and hold back the treacherous reach of Disharmony’s chaos so that you may reach Raleth’s revelations and awaken to the enlightenment we all search for. Lastly, may Aliiva soothe you of all your hurts so that your eternity can be filled with bliss. You are free of the prison of your body. You are free to sing with the Harmonious Tones. No longer will Niszeh’s discord disrupt the perfection of your existence. Find the Truth and know Peace.”
“Rise up and be welcomed to Elohm’s bosom,” Avena whispered. “Do not let the Black weigh down your soul. Let the Colours polish you bright. You are at rest now. At peace.”
Ōbhin nodded. Tears burned his eyes. His hands flexed. “Thank you.”
Carstin had awakened Ōbhin from his malaise. He couldn’t undo his terrible crimes, but so long as he lived, he could fight against Niszeh’s discord instead of aiding it. That started here. With Dualayn, Avena, Miguil, Pharon, and the others. They sought to lessen the pain in the world, to defeat disease, sickness, and suffering. He knew how to fight, so he would use his blade to defend them. To allow them to work.
I hope you found peace, Taim, Ōbhin whispered, tears spilling down his cheeks.
He said not a word as the three guards and Miguil shoveled the dirt back over Carstin’s form, letting the Earth, the domain of Vatsim’s resonance, accept Carstin’s vessel. His soul was free of the burdens of this life. Ōbhin ached that the stories were true. That more existed beyond this world.
The last shovelful of dirt covered Carstin. A raw patch of disturbed soil marked his final resting place. The bulbous-nosed man gave a grim nod. “Find peace, brother.”
“Peace,” the other two guards and Miguil echoed.
“Come on,” the bulbous-nosed guard said, taking Ōbhin’s arm and leading him from the hilltop. “There’s a public house not far. Just across the bridge in Breezy Hills.”
Ōbhin didn’t resist, tears wet on his cheeks, his eyes raw with grief. The other two guards formed around him, the four trooping down the hill, boots thudding. The older guard’s hand shifted to Ōbhin’s back, providing a comforting strength.
“You’re one of us,” said the smiling guard. “We’ll get you through this. Lost my brother. I know.”
“Smiles is right,” said the bulbous-nosed guard. “You ain’t gonna lose that grief, but maybe you can ease it. Set it down for a time. ‘Sides, it’ll be good to talk. He must’ve been a good friend.”
“I hardly knew him,” Ōbhin said. “We just walked the same road.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” said Smiles. “Do we ever know anyone? There are times my Jilly seems like a stranger, and she’s my wife.”
“Can’t trust wives,” muttered the bulbous-nosed guard, his grip tightening on Ōbhin’s shoulder.
“You can if you don’t marry the village mare, Fingers.”
Fingers, the older guard, spat. “She weren’t that when I married her.”
“You sure? From the way you talk . . .”
“You’ll see, Smiles. One day you’ll realize your Jilly’s tryin’ to poison you to marry the butler.”
“Pharon?” Smiles grinned. “I think my wife could do better ‘n that. Wot you say, Bran? She could at least marry Edglin. He owns a bakery. Good money in a bakery.”
Bran, the youngest guard who seemed more boy than man, gave a nervous giggle.
“You sound like you want your wife to share her Red,” Fingers growled.
“Well, I’m just sayin’, if she were gonna trade me in, that she should aim high. My Jilly’s a prize, you know.” Smiles nodded to Ōbhin. “A ripe strawberry. Sweet and lovely.”
“You’ll see. One day, you’ll bite in and find her all wormed through. She’ll destroy you.”
Ōbhin let their talk drift around them, the two men trading back and forth about wives. He stumbled, Fingers
