He was thundering across the plains on the back of his kaiila, leading an extra by the reins, in hopes that having two, would keep him from having to stop and rest as he would need to do with only one. Kailla are strong, resilient creatures able to travel long distances with a minimum of food or water to sustain them. His personal kaiila was even more suited to this, due to being a desert kaiila, one bred for long periods with only the barest amounts of water and food. A hold over from his days in the Tahari, and the salt pits of Klima. They animals carried only him, and the bare minimum of supplies, as he did not want to overburden them. It was imperative that he travel with great speed, and that he reaches his goal. A matter of life and death, in all truth.
The haruspex Fonce had sought him out, with a plan of action to save Cana. Finally! The Spex affirmed what he already knew in his mind and heart, but had not voiced to the woman. Ba'atar was dead, killed in battle. He and his companions lay on the killing fields, their spirits unable to join those of their ancestors, without the ritual of a proper pyre. This was to be his personal quest, to use the map Fonce brought him, to find them and give them the honorable send off they all deserved. He is not a stupid man, but he does not always understand the worlds that the spex travel in, but he did respect them and their special talents and abilities. So, when Fonce told him that he felt like Ba'atar's spirit had to be released from the shell of his body that no longer lived, in order for Cana to be released from the grip of her dreams, he did not question it.
Preparations were made in short order for his quest, but he had one thing to do before he left. Drawling Tug away from the platform of his mother's wagon, he talked to the boy. He did not speak to him as an elder would a child, but as one warrior would speak to another. In the past year, the eldest son had earned that kind of respect by his actions, and the care he had shown for his mother and his siblings. Rook had explained to him his part in what was about to take place. His task was to keep his brothers and sisters together. Their combined love was needed as a beacon to maybe draw her back to them, and they needed to stay together for protection.
So that was where he was now, riding the plains stopping only when necessary to change kaiila and to consult the map Fonce had given to him. He thought he knew every hort of this land that they claimed as theirs, but he was seeing parts that he was unfamiliar with, which gave him pause. He had stopped to allow the kaiila to drink from a small stream, and to stretch the map out to get his bearings. Running a gnarled finger over it, he realized that he was close, very close. Remounting he rode cautiously in the direction that the map led him. As he drew closer, he could smell the aftermath of the battle, feel it in his core.
He is no stranger to death, just as no other warrior his age is, but he hopes that he never reaches the point where it still does not shock him. Where the futility of it all, does not make him stop and think. As he rode over a rise, a small valley stretched out before him. He stopped to take it all in. It was a scene of death, destruction and mayhem, but the one thing that struck him immediately, was that the only bodies that he could see, the only animals that were dead, were the ones from the group that Ba'atar had led. Had the enemy chosen to take their dead away with them? He had heard of such, but this was the first time he had seen it first hand.
Riding slowly onto the field, he stopped the kaiila and dropped to the ground and walked. He was thankful that he was alone, and could let the emotions loose at what he saw. A great battle had been fought here. He could almost see it in his minds eye. A smaller force, overwhelmed by a larger one. They fought with honor, courage and heart, as all warriors of the Tuchuk do. From the eldest to the youngest unscarred one, they died an honorable death. Finally he did see what he was seeking.
Dropping the reins he moved to crouch down beside the body of Ba'atar, reaching out to lay a hand along the man's neck. There was no doubt that he was dead. His flesh was cold, there was no sign of a pulse, and his wounds were grievous. Bowing his head, his hand still resting on the chest of the former Ubar, he spent a few quiet moments preparing his heart and soul for his task.
He is an old man, not as strong as he once was, but there was that something deep inside him that gave him the strength to carry all of the remains and lay them out in a small clearing side by side. By the grace of the Sky, there was a small grove of trees nearby, that would provide the fuel needed to give the heroic band proper pyres.
Stripping out of his tunic, he took up and axe and set to work felling trees. Over and over he swung the axe, his mind settled into a place where he has not been in many years. That place where it went to draw strength, when he was in the underground salt pits of Klima. That place where only the body worked, and the soul replenished itself. He did not even seem to tire until he had cut enough trees to build a communal pyre. The kaiila were used to drag them to the place he had chosen to arrange them.
Kneeling beside each body, he took a bota of water and cloths and tried to clean their faces and hands as best he could. Each one was anointed with oils provide to him by the spex clan. He would do the best by them that he could, under the circumstances. The last body he worked on, was that of Ba'atar. Carefully he cleaned not only his face and hands, but his wounds up to a point. The blood was dried, crusted, and in some places the flesh was already sloughing from them. He looked at peace, and that usual arrogance that the man usually showed, did not seem to be there. If it can be said, there was a look of determination still on his face. A tear fell from the old man, to land on the warriors' chest.
He arranged the other bodies on the pyre like spokes from the hub of a wheel. The final body that was placed at the hub, at the apex was that of their leader, the one known as the Favored Son of the Sky. Walking around the pyre, he sprinkled it with the ritual oils that would not only appease the senses of the Sky, but would also aid the fire to burn hot and long. As he worked, he sang old Tuchuk battle anthems in honor of them. Songs would be written about this band of intrepid men, but they could never do justice to the sacrifice they had made for their people. It was simply impossible for that to be.
At last, he lay the torches to the pile of wood and watched the flames begin to take hold, and lick along the wood to the bodies. Mounting, he sat with his lance in hand, his eyes lifted to the Sky in a warrior's prayer. Prayer over, he sat on his kaiila and watched them burn. All the rest of that evening, and far into the night. Unmoving, lost in his own thoughts, and thoughts of the woman back in camp.
He has done his part. He can only hope that the haruspex Fonce, fares as well as he has.
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