1??????????Soul Bound


    1.2????????Taking Control


    1.2.2??????An Awakening Epiphany


    1.2.2.36???Tears for tlaloc


    She was nearly the last to make an offering. Just before a group of brightly dressed Iberians picked up the coffin, Rudy and Vessel-Bulgaria made theirs. No, on checking her map she saw it was Spirit-Bulgaria. At some point he’d logged in. And, as normal, he hadn’t informed her. Now even small habits of his seemed annoying and significant. She gave herself a talking to. Don’t pre-judge him. Give him a chance to explain himself first.


    Melafon started off, walking with a straight spine despite the pain in his joints. Directly behind him came the coffin bearers, not just swaying in time, but energetically dancing, so unified that the coffin itself swooped and circled but was never jerked or jostled. After the bearers came the musicians, blowing ram’s horns and clashing cymbals, producing an effect that was both celebratory and suitable to marching warriors. Behind them came the mourners, walking, chanting or dancing as the mood took them. And on both sides of the column were the torch bearers, who whirled them in great circles leaving trails of sparks in the night sky and plumes of smoke in the air.


    On they marched, in the shadow of the great south wall of Torello, winding through the streets. It seemed endless; hypnotic and alien. She was startled out of the trance by a small hand on her shoulder from behind.


    Nicolo: “Kafana. You haven’t spoken to me at all. Have I offended you?”


    She switched her mage sight on and, now she had the curse over Vittoria’s head to compare it with, she could spot the faint glow of a pattern protecting Nicolo. She zoomed in to see the details. She’d show it to Wellington later, see what he could make of it.


    Kafana: “No, Nicolo. Rather, I’ve been afraid that you will blame me for finding out what happened to Antonio in such a way that it all got dumped upon you with no warning. I wish I could have done things differently.”


    Nicolo shrugged: “I’ve noticed that most adults get a bit screwy around kids, like your brain stops working. You’re my friend, Kafana. I’ve lost my brother, do you think I want to lose you too? Friends talk to each other. Next time ask, huh?”


    Kafana: “Life contains some pretty shitty stuff, and the decent adults are generally hard wired to want to protect kids from bad stuff. But you’re right. We get confused over the difference between protecting you from bad stuff, and protecting you from knowledge related to bad stuff, even when you need that knowledge in order to remain safe. Sometimes, though, we think there’s stuff you don’t need to know about, because it doesn’t help you or because we can defend you. And knowledge can hurt. Maybe not the same way that being stabbed can hurt, but the hurt is real none the less.”


    Nicolo looked at her steadily, with his beautiful clear blue eyes.


    Nicolo: “You’re not good at keeping secrets, are you? There’s something you know that you think will be painful for me to learn. You’re trying to decide whether or not to tell me.”


    Damn. Nicolo was a smart kid. Maybe too smart for his own good. He certainly picked up magic at a frightening speed. Did he get that from his parents, whoever they were? She gave him a small nod.


    Nicolo: “I think I’ll want to know eventually. But maybe not today? You’re my friend. Can I trust you to keep a clear head, and let me know at an appropriate time?”


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    Kafana gave him a big hug.


    Nicolo: “While I’ve got you here, I’ve a favour to ask. Normally at funerals around here, I’m the one who is called upon to sing The Farewell. All the rest of the funeral songs are group singing, but The Farewell is a solo, sung as the coffin departs on the White Gondola. It isn’t a particular tune, just something fitting for the dead person, that their nearest will remember positively. And, well, I really don’t feel like singing to myself. Will you take the role of last singer, and sing on behalf of us all?”


    She felt a gulp in her throat. Nicolo was handling this amazingly well. Perhaps the grief relieving spell she’d tried earlier had worked? On the other hand, he’d had one heck of a hard life and people matured earlier in this world; he’d seen a lot of death, and most of his friends at the orphanage were without any kin at all. Except for each other.


    She nodded more firmly.


    She was about to reply “Of course, Nicolo. That I can do.” when she thought back to the decision about boundaries she’d made earlier in the day.


    Kafana: “I can try to find something fitting, Nicolo, but my way may not be the usual way. I don’t promise to succeed. Is that ok?”


    Nicolo grinned: “If you fail humiliatingly, I reserve the option to laugh. Fair?”


    Kafana: “More than fair. Thank you.”


    Kafana: {Hello Bulgaria.}


    Bulgaria: {Kafana. I got your message on the Burrow. I never met Tlaloc in person, though we shared friends in common. But I spent quite a bit of time with him online. I liked him. And he was very brave doing what he did. I’ve asked some of those friends to look into the ex-wife’s new partner you mentioned.}


    Kafana: {I’m going to be singing a song shortly. In my mind, it is for Tlaloc as much as Antonio. I doubt you’ll get a chance to go to any memorial being held for Tlaloc in arlife, but perhaps this will serve?}


    Bulgaria: {Thank you, yes. He deserves at least that much. Afterwards we can talk, and you can let me know what’s on your mind.}


    A few minutes later they arrived at a small lake with a large watermill at the eastern end, past which water flowed down a tunnel, presumably through the sewer system and eventually out to sea. On the western side water flowed into the lake past the city wall through an entrance guarded by a portcullis that was currently raised. On the southern side were flat bottomed gondolas lined up at docks, filled with nets and other tools used by those who gathered resources from the marsh. On the longest dock, sticking twenty meters out into the lake, was moored a single large gondola gleaming white under the clear night sky.


    The procession came smoothly to a halt and all sound stopped. Then, to the slow beat of a single drum, the Fidelis led just the pallbearers forwards, to place the coffin on the gondola. They retreated, leaving him standing alone at the prow. At the rear of the boat stood a tall, well built gondolier wearing dark leathers and holding a steering pole. Next to him, respectfully holding a wide brimmed hat in his hands, was a soberly dressed undertaker.


    The torch bearers spread out along the shore, each with a pile of teasel heads.


    Nicolo: “Kafana, you walk quietly until you’re halfway along the dock and wait facing the gondola. When you hear the drum beat three times, the boat will set off and you sing until it goes out of sight past the gate.”


    She nodded, and started down, noticing that the mourners were using the torches to set the teasel heads alight, then throwing them into the water where the current spread them out, a pall of smoky floating candles matching the mirrored stars above. She got her violin ready, shivering slightly in the cold.


    *DUM* *Dum-Dum*


    She sang Angèlia Grace’s slow arrangement of Rachel Portman’s song “Never Let Me Go” and the lingering notes soared far out over the water, filling the space, echoing off the stone wall. It wasn’t quite long enough, and she improvised with her violin, concentrating on her memories of Antonio, putting some of his streetwise vitality, courage and hidden vulnerability into the music. By the time the gondola slid out of sight, her eyes were filled with tears.