Continued from The day when you left us that took place some years ago, when Waelden's wife Eda passed away. This story is set later that day, and is a recollection of Eda's farewell as Waelden experienced it.
You lay there in my arms; wrapped in sweaty linen upon the green, lush grass, no more than a lifeless shell of the once strong, proud woman I loved so dear. The sun kept rising over the mountains, quietly mocking us all with its warm, yellow warmth. A multitude of curses I sent towards the heavens for taking my beloved wife from me. Little Ethel had no more tears to shed for now, her eyes dry and red and empty, her head resting on my shoulder, and tiny, fragile arms wrapped around my own. I do not know how long we sat as such, until I felt a hand upon my other shoulder, and a familiar voice whispered quietly in my ear. “Waelden, she’s gone. I know it hurts, but all we can do now is to see her well into the next life.” A quiet nod I gave to the man, and before I could react, Ethel let go and ran away, promptly followed by lady Tiubar, so she wouldn't run too far. My arms had never been weaker than in this moment, all my strength and fortitude gone in an instant together with your final breath. I had to call upon help to carry you, for I could barely raise myself from the ground. They took you into our house until your final bed was ready; a bed of fire would it be, to bid you farewell in flames and smoke, as is the way of things.
The women of the village tended to you with the greatest care and love; your long, golden hair they brushed and braided, and they clad you in your finest garment, with a gilded belt across your waist, the wedding gift from your father. I went to find Ethel, and we sat down as the men and boys gathered wood for the pyre, and I just held our little girl in my arms - for we had naught but each other now, and I swore I'd always be there for her. A lie it was of course, like so many other parents tell their children. One day we shall all die and our ashes scatter with the wind, and such a vow has a time limit. One day, it will be broken. Death waits for no man, or woman. Yet it's something we all promise to our children, knowing it's a lie. With her little hand buried in my own, we sat there in silence and watched the sun ride across the heavens through a clouded sky, marking the kind of life we'd have henceforth, just she and I.
Hours passed. The sun rose at its highest peak, and it was midday. In the village, preparations for your departure were already in full bloom. The pyre had been swiftly built and stood nearly ready upon a hill outside the tall wooden walls, and all the food and drink for the feast of remembrance was going well. The pleasant smell of roasted venison and boiling stew filled the streets of Floodwend. Saying farewell to a loved one was no rare occasion, as sad as it is, and everyone knew just what to do to soothe the pain we all felt. I wandered aimlessly for a time while the people worked, until Ehris found me later on the brink of evening. The lord I had served for so long, and who had treated me like a brother for all my time by his side, like our own fathers had done before us. He said nothing at first, and then he laid his hand on my shoulder.
"It's time, Waelden.", he said. “It's time to say farewell to Eda. I'm standing by you all the way, my brother, and whatever you need, you will have it."
We walked together to our house. Ethel was outside, and she sat together with lady Tiubar who braided her hair with the gentlest of hands. Once we reached the doorway, I took a deep breath and entered. There you lay on the bed with arms folded across your chest; lifeless and cold, but at peace - and never had you slept more peacefully than now. No dreams of horror would ever disturb your sleep again. You wore your finest white dress of wool and linen, embroidered with knotwork and horses galloping over golden fields. Never had you been more beautiful to me than in that very moment. My chest ached and hurt as if a thousand hammers were pounding upon it. But, as Ehris said, it was time to say farewell and let you go to the next life, even if all my very being longed for was to feel your warm touch again. The stretcher was already there, and so we laid you upon it and carried you outside towards your final resting place. Ehris and I held the front, with two other good men at the back. Ethel walked right beside me, wiping her eyes. “Why does mama have to go?”, she sniveled. I had no good answer, for I did not know either. Such a question was perhaps more suited for her forebears, who had called her home.
Ethel squeezed my free hand as we walked slowly towards the hill. Behind us walked a drummer and a flutist, and they played a song that Eda always loved. Along the streets stood the folk of Floodwend with bowed heads as we passed, each and everyone knowing the feeling of losing someone to age, to war, to accident or sickness, and they paid their respect as well they could. We soon reached the hill, and there the pyre stood, both imposing and peaceful in it’s own way. A construct of wood and dry grass, built by skilled hands who knew how to pay due respect to the one who'd lie there to make their journey to the one true home where we all must go. We lay you down upon your final fiery bed with loving hands. Your golden, braided hair glistened with the setting sun, and a cool gust of wind disturbed a few loose strands that danced across your face. The townsfolk slowly gathered around the pyre with torches in their hands. The sun was setting, and the torches' light spread far into the looming darkness. Ehris quietly asked if I would like to speak first. I shook my head, for still my tongue was stuck, and no words would escape my mouth. He understood, and he - my lord, my friend, my brother in arms - stepped up to address the crowd in my stead.
"People of Floodwend!", he said with a strong, commanding voice; the voice of a leader, a true captain of men who had seen death a hundred, if not a thousand times. "Today we have come to say farewell to Eda; wife of Waelden, mother of Ethel. A strong woman she was in life, loving and caring, yet with a fiery temper that would put many men to shame. I'm a proud man to have known both her and Waelden for so many years, and to see them build their life together. Hardships they have faced and conquered; joyful times they have revelled in; and Eda’s spirit lives on in Ethel, her pride and joy. Eda will be well remembered in all our hearts. May she rest now, and find the way to the halls of her forebears."
He paused for a moment and turned to Ethel and me.
"Waelden. Do you or Ethel want to say a word?"
I took a deep breath, and walked up to him. Ethel followed closely, squeezing my hand. A man passed a torch to Ehris, who took a few steps back. I turned to the crowd for a moment, but Ehris had already said it all, and all I wanted to say was for her ears alone. So I turned to my dead wife, and laid a last glance on the woman that had stood by me through so many years. Ethel wept and clung to my arm as we approached the pyre.
"Eda, my wife." I said, loud enough so Ethel would hear, but no one else.
"I'll always love you. Ethel will be safe with me. I'll make it my life's work to give her the best of lives, no matter what it takes. In her I see you every day, and nothing makes me more proud than to think of the life we shared and the life we created together. Thank you, my love. We'll meet again one day, and I hope you'll be always watching Ethel and me as we travel into the unknown without you. We will make you proud, and you will always remain in our hearts. Farewell Eda, my wife and mother of our child. Farewell."
I kissed my wife’s forehead, as Ethel tugged on my arm. I lifted her up so she could say her farewells, and once she had whispered her final goodbye to her mother, I took a step back. Ehris stood there and laid a brotherly arm over my shoulder. He handed me the torch and I knew what had to be done, and so with a trembling hand and eyes still red and hazy from weeping, I set fire to the dry wood. Once the first flames had taken hold, the people who knew her well did the same; saying their own kind of farewell by lighting the pyre, a final act of kindness and respect to the woman we all loved so dearly. The fire lit up the green fields around us as the sun disappeared behind the mountains, and all we could do was watch as Eda started her final journey, while our own journey without her had just begun. All we could do now was to carry on, and remember.
