Book 2, Chapter 13: The Funeral

The smiths had erected a large structure. It was already complete, so fast, I could scarcely believe it. Six thick logs were planted into the ground, two thick logs running their length and well past, like a strange, unwalled hallway. Atop those, straddling both, was a mini-house with a V-shaped roof angling low on the walls. It had to be a shrine, not quite resembling Shinto shrines. No gold, nor metal on it at all, but it had been planed, the bare wood exposed to the sun.

I turned to Brin, who stood by me before we were to ascend the hill upon which it was planted and around which stood the majority of our army, their wives and children, and assorted camp followers, “How did they finish that monument so quickly?”

“That’s unimportant! They did and they did it for you. Cayce,” she held my hands, “they love you. You inspire them. That is your position.”

I don’t know where Brin dug up this dress. Black silk, with golden trim and a dark red streak bending from my right shoulder across my right breast down along my left leg. The white highlights in my hair contrasted dramatically against it. Long black gloves, red frills around the wrists on otherwise bare arms. High, black leather boots. I’d never seen this costume before. But the foreignness of it all, the unusual presentation, somehow put me at ease. I was here to perform for an audience that expected it. No need to worry, just stick to the script.

Except I didn’t have a script. So, I had to pretend. I walked up the hill, slowly and deliberately, doing as Brin had instructed, knelt before the shrine, hands together, eyes closed, head bowed. I heard the soldiers fall into the same position, metal clacking, weapons banging.

After a time, I stood, they stood, I faced them. Etienne made my words heard by each and every member of the audience. I didn’t have to shout.

“My fellow countrymen. You have suffered. We have all suffered. Your homes attacked, our villages pillaged. Our brothers, slain. Our sisters, taken! You all, all of us here, we all know pain.

And now, this,” I spread my arms along the baggage train where the sorcerer killed so many. “They lay traps for us! To harm us, to murder our loved ones. Are we going to let them kill us? Are we going to let them keep our homes? Our sisters and children?

“I say no! What do you say?” I had to gesture at them to get a few to shout out “No!” Audience participation just wasn’t a thing here. I tried again, “What do you say? I ask you, shall we give up?”

“No!” I waited a bit, put my hand to my ear and got a louder response, “NO!”

“That’s right. We are strong people. Strong and sturdy people and we won’t give in or give up, but we will embrace the struggle!

“My countrymen, fellow soldiers, we are in trouble. I won’t lie to you. Our situation is dire. The enemy has taken everything from us. They are ahead, waiting. They are behind, pushing. We have to press on with all possible haste. We have to beat them to the next river crossing and there, there we will put them down once and for all. They haven’t broken us. They can’t break us!

“Am I wrong? Am I mistaken to think we are so strong? Will they break us?” I waited. A little longer. Put my hand to my ear again, “I ask you, will they break us?”

Finally, they clued in, “NO!”

“Then, let us remember our dead and our troubles this morning. And as the sun climbs into the sky, that is our strength climbing, our joy returning. When the sun reaches its zenith, we are soldiers once more and we march on. And we will catch them and drive them from our lands.” I paused and then couldn’t resist, “To victory!”

“Victory!”

***

Back at the tent, I felt oddly drained yet full of energy. Speaking in front of so many, at such a solemn occasion, took a lot out of you. But the crowd had poured their loss and anger and hope into me, and it moved and empowered me.

The soldiers and their families were having a sort of mass wake. Talking, mingling, eating, drinking. The memorial held significance, but the healing was all human.

Part of our army, of course, remained on the alert. And these I was soon to go and meet with, talk to, reassure them with my princessly presence. My job wasn’t done and all the mingling I was to do was functional.

Lots of Your Highnessing and so on, hard to break the ice, but one event left me smiling. As I walked away, onto the next bunch of soldiers guarding our baggage train, I heard one say to another, “Wasn’t she the one who sewed me up? In the hospital.”

“Nah, couldn’t have been.”

“I swear! How many girls have those eyes?”

That was enough, and it lifted my spirit for the rest of the day. Come noon, we moved on from this place of so much misery and now of such reverence. We would return one day and place a stone monument here.