Left alone with his thoughts, Mitth'raw'nuruodo felt another sudden twinge of guilt at having left Alana alone once again. However, she had insisted that she would be fine, arguing that this was something he needed to do alone, or at least as alone as one could get under full guard. A brisk morning breeze stirred the dark red leaves in the trees that formed a sort of tunnel around the pathway. He pulled his long cloak tighter, shivering slightly either because of the chill in the air or the sudden chill in his heart as he realized just how lonely this pathway seemed. Besides the usual two guards who kept a respectful distance behind him, there was not another soul about; he had left the city quite a distance behind and there would almost certainly be no one to greet him at his destination.
It wasn't long before the tunnel of foliage abruptly ended in a large stone arch. Beyond the arch, the path, which was now lined with much lighter colored flowering plants, continued up to the entrance of the sepulcher. He stood within the archway for a moment, thinking about how symbolic the whole thing was--the dark pathway symbolizing the dark and troubled journey of life, the stone archway symbolizing the end of life, and the far lighter setting at the end symbolizing the entrance to Eu'top'ia.
He then turned his attention to the sepulcher which lay ahead. It was quite a breathtaking construction; unlike the structures of the city, it was composed of a sort of very light colored stone. An enormous set of stairs led up to a large, open entrance under the cover of a large veranda supported by elaborately carved stone pillars. Statues of the god and goddess stood on each side of the entrance as if guarding those who rested within. The building itself was a large square structure with an elevated, spherical roof.
He began the somewhat daunting climb up the immense expanse of stairs, thinking back to the other times he had been here. They numbered all too many--too many of his family had passed due, either directly or indirectly, to this ongoing battle for survival. They were all different Enemies, different circumstances, but much the same story. And how many times had he attended the sepulchral temples of other family groups for the ceremonies of friends? And yet he had only come for the wakes; he rarely came to the temple at any other time. It was not a place he enjoyed, for it bore too many memories--too many thoughts of his own shortcomings.
His steps faltered for a moment as another thought occurred to him--he had failed them all again by refusing to face those failures. He trudged on his way, his steps seeming heavier and heavier as his heart sank more and more, weighed down by feelings of guilt and failure.
He arrived at the apex of the staircase and knelt before the entrance and whispered the necessary prayer to the guardians of the temple. Leaving the guards posted at the door, he stood and made his way into the temple, following the path to his family's area of the sepulcher. The corridors through which he walked were lined with hundreds of small alcoves. Within each of these lay the sarcophagi of various members of various families, all belonging to the 'Nuruodo sect. He soon arrived at the his family's alcove. The doorway was marked with the Mit' family name and emblem--the image of the ta'pok dragon, symbolic of his family of warriors. He stood in the entry for a moment, admiring the gentle glow cast by the p'ela'en t'ans--small, glass globes which held candles. There was one nestled into the small niche above each sarcophagus. The objects were traditionally crafted by someone close to the deceased and were kept eternally lit by a priest or priestess, symbolizing eternal life and acting as the spirits' guide to Eu'top'ia.
For an instant he was unable to move any closer, the heaviness of his heart seeming to anchor him to that spot. He had not visited this place since the day his father and sister had been entombed. Taking a deep breath and attempting to banish the memories that assailed him, he stepped into the room. Sarcophagi lined the walls and in the center of the room stood a large pillar around which a representation of his family's lineage was carved. He stood for a moment, admiring the somber beauty of the room. Each of the sarcophagi was made of a stone similar to that from which the temple itself was built and decorated with carvings of vines, ta'pok dragons, and various personalized decorations. The vines, like the p'ela'en t'ans, were a common symbol of eternity.
He finally brought himself to step to the back of the room where the sarcophagi of his parents and sister lay. He stood before his mother's sarcophagus, a finger idly tracing the beautifully carved floral pattern.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, the logical part of his mind laughing hysterically at his act--he was talking to a chunk of stone and a decaying body--but his spiritual side overcame logic.
"I'm sorry I didn't come here more often, I'm sorry you weren't here to see me fight for you and our people, but I am grateful that you aren't here now to see how far I've fallen."
He took a small object from the pocket of his cloak. It was a small figurine he had carved for her when he was a child. He had planned to give it to her, but that wretched, Enemy-inflicted disease had taken her before he had the chance. He had kept it since then but had decided to give it to her now because he would never have another opportunity. He placed the figure in the alcove next to her p'ela'en t'an.
"I suppose it's better for things to be delayed rather than terminated entirely," he said quietly, quoting an old axiom.
The next sarcophagus was his sister's. It was basically the same as the others, but it was smaller since she had been only a young child at the time of her death.
"Sheran," he whispered. "I hope you have forgiven me." He paused to wipe away a tear that slid, uninhibited, down his cheek. "I painted this for you," he continued, pulling a small piece of framed parchment from a pocket. "I know you always liked mzaris. I remember when we used to go into the square and feed them seed pods from the trees in our yard. I have always said that when I have a child I will take them to the square to feed the mzaris. I wonder what sort of avians will inhabit the world they're sending me to. I wonder if Alana will take my daughter to the square. More than anything, however, I wish that you were here. You always knew how make me feel better. Perhaps tomorrow I will go to the square for you."
He set the picture of the colorful avian in the alcove next to her p'ela'en t'an and stood still for several moments, trying to bring himself to move on to the final member of his family--his father.
He had failed them all in some way--his mother by not upholding what she had taught him, his sister by not protecting her as he had vowed to, but his failure to his father had been his worst. His father had told him to take care of Sheran before he went to fight the Enemies; not only had he failed to do that, but he had now disobeyed the codes that his father had followed so staunchly. He had always liked to think that his service would have made his father proud, but now...Now what would he think?
"I'm sorry," he sobbed. "I always tried my hardest to do what was right and what would have made you proud. But more than anything I have tried to do whatever it took to keep my people safe. I suppose I went too far. It seemed logical at the time, and I was so sure."
He pulled one last small object from his pocket. "I feel that I should leave these with you. I won't be needing them any more, and were it not for you and the example you set for me I would never have earned them," he said through tears that now fell freely. He set his ranking bars at the head of the sarcophagus above the tip of the scimitar that he had placed there the day that his father had been entombed.
"I tried so hard to follow that example," the remainder of his words were choked off by tears he could no longer hold back. He fell to his knees, sobbing. Never before had he shown his feelings so freely, even at the wakes of his family members and friends. His position had always required him to control his feelings, and he had carried this habit over to his personal life. Now, however, he expressed no control.
As his sobs quieted, he noticed the sound of footsteps that stopped in the doorway. He took a moment to compose himself and turned to look at the visitor. It was a young lady--she appeared to be barely more than a child--wearing a simple white gown and carrying a white candle. She was a temple student tending to the p'ela'en t'ans. She looked down at him with a concerned gaze.
"I am sorry if I have intruded," she said meekly. "Or perhaps I should not apologize. Perhaps it is the will of the gods that I have found you."
He looked away from her, up at the softly glowing lights. Will of the gods, indeed. He had never been very religious. Perhaps because his duties had made it rather difficult or perhaps because it seemed that he had always been cheated by the gods. These merciful gods--givers and creators--had only taken all that he loved away from him and created only pain for him. But when he looked up into her big, innocent eyes he could not bring himself to say these things.
"Perhaps," he said quietly instead.
She stepped into the room, sat her candle down, and sat on her knees beside him. She looked into his eyes, frowning slightly. "You have not been here before have you?" asked quietly.
He looked away from her innocent, concerned gaze again. "Not since the day my father was entombed," he confided.
"May I ask why?" she questioned, hoping she wasn't prying.
For some reason, he had no reservations about telling her the truth. "I was...afraid," he told her. "I didn't want to face my feelings."
It was her turn to look away. "Is this all of your family?" she asked, sounding somewhat sad.
"All of my immediate family, yes," he answered. "But I still have my lifemate. And a daughter soon."
She smiled at this. "You see! Life is a cycle. Your first family has passed on, but now you have begun a new one."
Were circumstances different, he would have found that thought rather comforting; under his current circumstances it just seemed to mock him. Certainly he had begun a new family, but now he would be the one leaving.
Obviously sensing that this had not comforted him, she went on with her questioning, looking somewhat disappointed. "Why did you decide to come now?" she asked.
He hesitated for a moment, wondering if she had heard about the trial. "I have one more day here before I will be forced to leave my people, my new family, and my old life forever," he said quietly.
She looked down at the floor, frowning. "I have heard about you," she stated simply.
"I'm not surprised. I'm certain you've also heard that I am insane, violent, that the battle was nothing more than an ambush and massacre. What would your gods think of me now?" he said this perhaps a bit too viciously, for the girl seemed a bit taken aback.
"Yes, I have heard those things," she admitted. "However, having met you, I do not believe them. And as for the gods, they would forgive you. As would those you came here to visit," she said, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"How could they? I stood by and watched my mother die of an Enemy-inflicted disease, I let my sister wander off into the middle of a battlefield and get both herself and my ever-faithful, law-abiding father killed," he said, rising to his feet and pacing in front of the sarcophagi.
She rose as well and met him head-on, undaunted by his brooding manner. "And yet they still forgive you because you are their son, her brother. They loved you unconditionally when they were upon this world and they will continue to do so for all eternity," she spoke softly, looking up at him. "The gods will do so as well. If you can find a way to forgive yourself, they will forgive you. We have all made mistakes--all of us. I must ask daily for the gods' forgiveness, for I am flawed, as are all of the others who abide here. None of us can be perfect--not even the gods. They created all in this universe; how could the Enemies have been anything other than a mistake?"
He stood with his back to her now, intently studying the pendant he wore which his lifemate had given him. If he closed his eyes and let his mind wander from the usual tight control under which he kept his thoughts, he could almost truly believe what the girl said--almost.
She stood at a respectful distance as he tossed this idea about between his logical mind and his imaginative one.
"What about my daughter?" he asked, the words nearly catching in his throat. "Do you think she'll be able to forgive me?"
He turned back to face her, and saw what may have been doubt flicker for the first time across her face.
"I am certain she will," she replied, once again sure of herself and her gods. "Unlike the rest of the populace, your lifemate will tell her the truth."
For a long time he stood, silently gazing at the sarcophagi, at the images engraved upon them, and at the beautifully glowing light of the p'ela'en t'ans. After a while he slowly turned back to her, his eyes now dry and holding a new peace and resolve.
"If I could ask a favor of you..." he began sounding a bit uncertain.
"Of course," she encouraged him brightly.
"Please, pray to your gods for me." he requested quietly, his logical side, once again, laughing at his sudden belief.
The girl appeared to be on the verge of tears herself, and he caught himself wondering, for a moment, if somehow she could here the laughter. "I will. And so will all of the others," she replied happily. So she had not heard. "And we will pray for your lifemate and your daughter, as well."
He took a step forward and took both of her hands, looking down into her big, child-like eyes. "Thank you," he whispered.
"You're welcome," she whispered in return, "and Peace be with you!" The latter she called out as he left. Once he was out the door she looked down at the small object he had placed in her hand--a pendant carved with the image of his family crest, which was also engraved above the door of the chamber in which they had just stood.
The girl dashed to the main door of the temple. She stood on the topmost step and watched as he made his way back down the dark, narrow path, heading for the light at the end of the tunnel, flanked by his ever-present guardians. "Thank you."
*****
Alana had done her best to keep herself busy throughout the day with various household chores--cleaning, reorganizing, anything at all to keep her mind busy. Now, however, having exhausted her supply of busy-work, a single, horrible thought had sneaked through between thoughts of mending her dress and cleaning the food-prep unit: was this what her life would be like when he left?
This single thought had put an end to her productivity and now she sat on their bed surrounded by still boxes full of still images and various items such as letters they had sent one another and had received from various family members. She was surrounded by mementos from their past. It seemed strange that the past was so very visible--images and writings made it easy to view the past--however, no matter how hard she tried, she could see no vision of the future.
Finally, having grown weary of perusing the boxes in an orderly manner, searching for the single image she wished to see, she had dumped out all of the boxes. Now she was surrounded by a sort of collage. It didn't take her long to find the image she had wanted--it practically fell into her lap as she emptied the last box. She stared down at the image of her lifemate and herself on the day of their Union. They had been so happy on that day; when they had found out that they would be bringing a child into the world, they had been even more so. It had seemed as though their lives could not get any better. Now it seemed as if circumstances could not possibly get worse. She looked around at the other images--her parents, other members of their families, various images of various events, and there was a picture of his family.
She picked up the image, her heart aching as she realized that he must have simply buried it in the box because it hurt him too much to see them. Tears filled her eyes as another question struck her: would it hurt him too much to think about her when he was gone? Or would it hurt more to be unable to see her? She sat for a moment pondering, and then, having come to a decision, stood and stepped over to the desk that stood in the corner of the room. Rummaging through the drawers she finally found the image recorder she had been searching for.
She went back to the bed and began gathering images that she knew were important to him. The others she put back in the boxes and replaced the boxes on the shelf from which she had retrieved them. She also kept out several important letters. Suddenly, she heard the main door open--he was home. She quickly placed all of the items in a drawer which she knew he never used and went to greet him.
She practically ran to him and was in his arms before he had even closed the door. She wanted to confess to him that she had hardly been able to endure a single day away from him and that she did not believe that she would be able to survive alone. She refrained from doing so, however, for she knew that he felt the same way and did not want to cause him any more pain than he was already feeling.
She released herself from his grasp long enough to shut the door but quickly returned to his side, smiling.
"You? Enlightened?" she asked incredulously.
He smiled slightly in return, but the small bit of levity quickly vanished. "Yes, actually. I met a temple student who...made me feel much better about my decisions. Apparently something was missing from my own appraisals of them."
Her smile was gone now too, replaced by an expression of concern and curiosity. "And what was that?" she asked quietly.
He looked down into her crimson eyes, "Forgiveness."
She drew him closer to her, embracing him gently and offering a sort of physical comfort that easily matched the peace of mind that he now had. They stood for some time, relishing in the comfort of each other's arms and soon in the pleasantness of one another's lips.
Next
I'm a feedback junkie. Like it? Hate it? Let me know!
celina_marniss864@yahoo.com