No one enjoys funerals like musicians. Israfil thought bitterly as she glanced at the only smiling face around. A drow with an elegant silver updo puffed out a mournful melody from the cluster of reeds perched on his knee. The somber tune seemed to have little effect on the one making it, as he sat contently in the grass while sobs filled the air around him. Israfil turned away from the drow, Limerin was his name, and looked instead to the intricate funeral pyre in front of her. A body far too small lay motionless on the heap. It was odd to see him so still. The body once belonged to a young boy named Emir, who was so full of life that it seemed to spill out of him wherever he went. But not now. Emir's family sat behind the pyre as people filed past to pay their final respects, usually presenting a gift of dried herbs or spices that would be burned alongside the body. Israfil waited solemly in the line of mourners. She wasn't close to Emir, but his mother was always very kind to her, and she felt deeply sorry for her loss. The que in front of her dwindled and Israfil began preparing herself for what she was about to see. She knew Emir's body had to be sewn back together before the funeral, and she also knew the caravan's seamstresses had never been asked to perform such a task before. It had taken hours and the whole caravan buzzed with rumors about what could have possibly done so much damage. The last person in front of Israfil bowed and stepped away from Emir's family and at last Israfil stood before the pyre. It took a moment for her to find words. Tears flowed silently and freely from the eyes of Emir's mother as his father sat, silent and unmoving next to her. Israfil placed her bundle of herbs next to Emir's body and fought back her revulsion. He was unrecognizable. It was obvious he had been so destroyed that the seamstress couldn't tell what was supposed to go where. Several spots along his figure had been burned so severely they crumbled, while other spots looked engorged and green like the body of someone that had drowned. The only thing indicating the pieces once belonged to the same body were the uniform slashes that ran along the length of it, neatly stitched back together by the poor caravan's seamstress, who would likely be having nightmares for the rest of her life. Israfil swallowed down her horror and glanced up at Emir's mother. She knew no words that would be of any benefit, and Emir's parents looked too shell-shocked to pay attention anyways. Silently, she stepped aside. What horrid creature could have done this to him? She returned to her spot in the grass and knelt with her eyes wide. As the last few drow trickled past the pyre, she looked up at the sky. It was difficult to see anything except the mottled colors of Emir's mangled body. It was as if his image had been permanently seared to the back of her eyes. Finally, The chieftan rose from where he knelt in the grass and stood in front of the pyre. He placed the last bundle of herbs beside Emir's body and turned to face the crowd of drow that knelt respectfully in the grass. The mournful melody faded into silence and the musician laid his pipes gently on his lap.
"This is a tragedy unlike any that have befallen our people." He began with a soft and tender voice. "Never before has one so young been taken so violently." As he spoke, he looked into the eyes of each of the listening drow, finally coming to Israfil. She shifted as he stared at her. Was he looking at her longer than anyone else? He looked away, but only for a moment before his eyes flicked back. He was definitely looking pointedly at her. Did he suspect she had something to do with the boy's death? Israfil found that hard to believe. Everyone in the caravan knew her well, and no one believed she was capable of violence.
Certainly not like that. She thought as she glanced back to the boy's body, now partially obscured by the chieftan's agitated pacing.
"We pray the gods take his soul into rest." The chieftain continued. He was about to begin the traditional mourner's rite, but Israfil could tell he was distracted. She shifted uncomfortably in the grass. Kneeling was always hard on her bad leg, which was why she had joined the pyre que at the end of the line. She could feel it starting to go numb.
The drow around Israfil began chanting the mourner's rite and Israfil joined in. Eventually, the last voices trailed off and the night air carried the sound skyward. Israfil hoped the boy could hear them. The chieftain dismissed them after a few more moments of respectful silence, and Emir's parents walked off together without a word. Israfil watched them as they fumbled back to their tent, stumbling as though drunk. She glanced back at the pyre. Why hadn't it been lit?
"I need to speak with you." The chieftain's voice made Israfil jump. She hadn't noticed his approach. He held out a hand and Israfil grabbed it, hoisting herself to her feet. The chieftain glanced around at the few stragglers that stood nearby. Several glanced their way, wondering why he had stopped to speak to Israfil. "Walk with me to my tent." He continued, turning towards his bear-skin dwelling. Israfil followed after him, hurrying to keep pace. They walked in silence, but Israfil knew she only had to endure the awkwardness for a few moments as she could easily cover the distance from one side of camp to the other in about 5 minutes. The drow were a minimalist people.
They arrived at The chieftain's tent and he pulled back the edge of a skin to allow Israfil to enter. She ducked inside. The floor was lined with two bearskins that had been expertly sewn together. The seamstress has more practice on bears. Israfil thought with a grimace. A small set of wooden plates and bowls were piled to one side, and a rucksack had been hastily dumped next to them, still mostly full of belongings.
"I haven't had time to unpack much." The chieftain apologized, noticing where she was looking.
"Neither have I." Said Israfil, thinking of the tent she still had to erect. The caravan had stopped very suddenly when they discovered Emir missing and began a search. After his body was found, they immediately began building the pyre while those closest to his family comforted the parents. Very few families had taken the time to erect a tent yet. The chieftain must have asked someone specifically to set up his. "I haven't even set up my sleeping tent."
"I'm sure the Grimes will allow you to share your tent." He waved his hand dismissively. "I expect we'll be talking late and I'll ask them to oblige you." Israfil nodded. The Grimes were a kindhearted family with a young girl and an older boy. She had stayed in their tent many times before.
"What did you need to talk to me about, Rai?" Israfil asked, curiosity prickling her mind. Rai stepped inside the tent and allowed the flap to close behind them, plunging them in darkness. Not that light mattered, as drow could see in the dark.
"You saw Emir's wounds." He sat down on the bearskin and gestured for Israfil to do the same. She lowered herself and stretched both legs out, leaning back on her hands. This was much more comfortable than kneeling.
"They were horrible." She agreed. "I've never seen anything like it. But what does this have to do with me?" She tilted her head at Rai. He stared at her intently, as if waiting for her to catch on. When she remained puzzled, he continued.
"Surely you realized how quickly it must have happened. Poor Lis rarely let him out of her sight. He must have wandered off for just a few seconds. He couldn't have been far. And yet no one heard a sound."
Israfil nodded. She had wondered how such a killing could have happened without being noticed. Emir's body was found not far off from the caravan. But everyone else had asked the same question. "Right. It must have been some horrible magic."
"Exactly." Rai looked Israfil dead in the eyes. "And the only magicfolk capable of such deadly precision would be the elves."
Israfil felt her skin prickle. "What are you implying?"
"I only meant to call on your knowledge of the elves. Only the elves are capable of such magic, and I'm sure the elf king would never order an attack on a young boy from such an inconsequential species as the drow." He trailed off, waiting for Israfil to agree. She nodded slowly, unsure where this was going. "Which would mean it was some kind of criminal that attacked Emir. I'm going to have some sketches made of his body, and then I'd like you to take them to the elf king and tell him what happened. He should know what one of his people has done. And I'm sure he'll want to hunt down such a dangerous killer."
Israfil blinked slowly, processing what Rai had said. She felt a strange desire to laugh. "I think you misunderstand the elves." She began slowly. "They are nothing like the drow. You don't just 'talk to the king'. Only a select few are even allowed to enter the palace. And out of those, an even smaller number are allowed to enter the throne room."
"I know they're very different from us." Rai said, unfazed. "Which is why you are the one who has to go. You are the only one who would be granted an audience."
"I don't know that I would." Israfil said. "The elf king has thousands of subjects. Thousands. He wouldn't care about a single criminal. Even with such a serious crime."
"Which is why it has to be you that goes to see him." Rai said again. "None of us would be heard. You have to do this for Emir. He needs to be avenged. He needs justice for his soul to pass on to the next realm. We have to try. Even if the king doesn't see it that way." Israfil opened her mouth to protest again and Rai placed his hand on her shoulder. "Think of his wounds. What kind of killer is capable of such evil? And on a small child no less." Rai shook his head. Israfil felt her stomach lurch as she remembered the mottled colors that splotched Emir's skin. "He has to be caught. You have to take this to the elf king, Israfil. Please." He gripped Israfil's shoulder firmly and stared imploringly into her eyes. "Please do this for Emir."
Israfil ran a hand through her fine, silver hair. It was a ludacris thought. The elf king never wanted to see her again. If she was the messenger, it would probably make the message less likely to reach him, not more. But she could see that Rai was serious. And it would probably be good for Emir's parents to know she tried. She rubbed her forehead. "I'll think about it." She finally conceded. "But I make no promises. I really don't think he would grant me an audience."
Rai smiled in relief. "I'm not asking for a promise. I'm just asking you to try. You can let me know tomorrow." Israfil scoffed at the timeline. Rai shrugged. "It's a long journey to the elf kingdom. You can't take long to contemplate when a killer is on the loose." He stood and helped Israfil to her feet. "Let's go see if the Grimes have some extra room in their tent."
The Grimes were more than happy to let Israfil spend the night with them, as she knew they would be. But she didn't sleep well. She didn't have happy memories of the elf kingdom. If she was honest, her hesitancy at returning had more to do with her fear of the elf king than her fear of wasting such a long journey. She squeezed her eyes shut as a sudden flood of memories washed over her. Her daily etiquette lessons. The enormous palace. The elf king's cold, unfeeling eyes. The incredible pain that seared her flesh as an elvish healer used magic to fuse a deer bone to her shriveled, useless leg. As she remembered the violent itching that always accompanied healing sessions, she absentmindedly reached down and ran her hand over the ugly stretchmarks and scars it left behind. "Don't bother making it pretty." The elf king had said to the healer as he looked down at Israfil like she was nothing more than an injured rat he simply elected to keep alive. "Purely functional. Royalty should at least be able to walk." He had emphasized the word royalty, as if it amused him. Over the next few years, she continued to meet with the healer periodically so he could lengthen the leg as she grew. When she left the palace, she had no one to lengthen her leg, so she developed a permanent limp. Her limp was worsened by poor circulation plaguing the parts of her leg that had been added on unnaturally. Kneeling limited her circulation, squatting limited her circulation, and various other activities reduced her circulation as well. It had been that way ever since the healer began his work. As long as her leg didn't necrose on her body, the elf king didn't think it was worth troubling him further. What were arteries when you had deer bone? Israfil rolled her eyes and directed her thoughts back to Rai's request. It was ridiculous. The elf king would never see her. She was a stain on his kingdom. A tarnish on his family line. She had run away and probably disgraced him further in the process. But she thought of Emir's body. Rai was right. A killer was on the loose. And he needed to be stopped. Only the elf king would have the resources to do anything. Israfil rolled over. She supposed she had to try.