An Enayran Funeral

Excerpt from Dragonkin
** SPOILERS **

The funeral was planned to be stately but humble, honouring Hunter and his service, as well as all who had died defending Xiar, without being insultingly opulent. The procession would take the column of mourners and dead across most of the city, going in winding paths from the palace to the Holy Temple, allowing much of the city to see the procession, mourn and remember their dead, and mourn the loss of their Regent Prince.

On the day of the funeral, Kanaahn and the Khaleeshir lead the processions atop black horses, draped in fanciful funerary clothes. Their robes had been cut from black cloth, and their cloaks were woven from the blackest of wool.

Behind them rode Cecil and Kyeit, dressed in their armour, but draped in black tabards and black cloaks. Kyeit wore a crown of black roses—as was the Xiaran custom.

Next was the remainder of the Ruling Council, dressed similarly to Kyeit and Cecil, with black robes, and armour among all. They were followed by the seven surviving dragons who had helped to defend Xiar. Valence and Kinokaze walked at the head of the column, behind them trailed the rest of the Khaleeshir dragons in neat rows. Then, the three hundred Senators of Xiar were all dressed in black ceremonial robes. Finally, in the procession of the living, were the highest echelons of the Xiaran clergy, waving their censures of incense and anointing the crowds with sacred oils, while burning bundles of herbs and pine nettles.

Behind them was the long trail of bodies.

Hunter was in a funerary carriage, his body covered by a crimson shroud, hidden from the populace who sobbed and mourned him. He was dressed in full armour, his sword and shield with him. He wore a crown of laurel leaves atop his head, which had been carefully sewn back on for the funeral. His carriage was pulled by adorned oxen.

A lone carriage followed Hunter’s, pulled by plain oxen.

The carriage carried thirty silver urns, each one carrying the remains of the thirty Dragon Knights and their dragons. They had been cremated and buried together—dragon and human. They had died fighting the black dragons and defending Xiar, giving their lives for the city and its people because it was the right thing to do.

The two thousand soldiers and volunteers who had died brought up the rear of the procession. Each soldier was laid out ceremoniously, five to a funeral carriage, all towed by oxen. Each soldier was tightly wrapped in a crimson sheet, like Hunter, with a sprig of pine nettles laid across their chest.

The carriages walked the streets, five abreast, eighty rows of carriages long. It was a massive funeral procession, the largest that Xiar had ever seen in its millennia-long history.

Bell towers sang out across the whole city, ringing in solemn harmony and reminding the Xiarans of all they had lost for their great victory.

Ölüm’s head had been burned, reduced to ash within the purifying sacred flame, and was now kept in a small, silver urn that had been tucked underneath Kanaahn’s arm, beneath his cloak. It would be buried with Hunter, protected and safe in the Necropolis beneath the city, where physical traps and magic seals and wards prevented and dissuaded grave robbers from daring to take anything from within the hallowed tombs.

The procession seemed to take an eternity and moved at a slow, doleful pace. But the dead needed to be honoured by every man, woman, and child in the city.

Everyone in this procession had made the ultimate sacrifice for their fellow Xiarans, for their city, and for their loved ones.

It was two hours before the procession finally arrived at the Holy Temple. Once inside, the massive temple housed all who took part in the funeral, including the three hundred senators, the dragons, and several hundred members of the citizenry who had managed to cram themselves into the back behind the main group of mourners and senators. A wide aisle was left, for when the carriages would be wheeled into the massive temple so the bodies can be brought into the crypt.

The High Pontiff of Xiar and his other Grand Pontiffs, stood atop the central dais, outlined, and illuminated by the sacred flame. It burned the colour of the five Metallic Dragons: brass, bronze, copper, silver, and gold. The flame itself seemed to stretch several metres high, in a solid iron brazier.

The entire temple was, unsurprisingly, made of marble of varying hues and colours—some that Kanaahn didn’t even know had existed before.

The High Priest gave a touching eulogy.

Even Kyeit nearly shed a tear at the kind and gentle words that were given. She could not take her eyes off the crypt entrance, where her father would soon be carried by the lesser pontiffs and attendants, never to be seen again.

The living could not enter the Necropolis unless they were clergy.

Kanaahn could not take his eyes off Kyeit. Something in his heart ached for her; for what she was going through. He could never, would never, understand it, but his heart ached all the same.

He had already lost his parents before he could even know or remember them. The closest he had to a parent was Menalaea Gainsborough—wherever she was now—and even Kanaahn had a hard time understanding how he could be allowed to mourn her. Arial, in his mind, had a greater right to mourn than he.

As the High Pontiff ended his eulogy, he called in the funerary carriages to bring forward the dead, one by one. Hunter’s was brought in first.

The stretcher beneath his body was lifted from the carriage by several grey-garbed attendants, led by a Grand Pontiff with a swinging censure and holy oils. He sprinkled the corpse and doused it in smoke.

Kanaahn stepped forward—as was agreed—and placed the silver urn that he held under his cloak beneath the red shroud, by Hunter’s right hand.

Ölüm would forever sleep beneath Xiar, unbeknownst to most of the citizens. They could never know.

No one outside the Ruling Council could.

As Kanaahn stepped back, he got a deadened look from Kyeit, who merely lowered her gaze when she noticed. Kanaahn sighed and returned to his spot in the crowd.

Hunter’s body was taken down into the crypt, through an entrance hidden beneath a massive stone slab in the floor that, when replaced, would create a seamless floor tile once more, hiding its secrets from all again.

After Hunter came the thirty urns of the Dragon Knights and their dragons. Then, all two thousand soldiers and volunteers who had died in the Battle of Xiar. Each of their names was read off, recorded on a long scroll, and eternally remembered. For each body carried below, a stick of incense and a candle was lit and placed atop the dais that upheld the sacred flame.

Countless candles and blocks of incense were placed on the dais so that it was unusable by the end of the service. Candles were eventually placed on any spare bit of floor that remained in the temple.

A solemn moment of silence was called for as the floor tile was replaced and resealed with magic.

One final resounding boom of the floor tile closing for good echoed through Holy Temple. The people slowly began to disperse to go about their daily lives and return to the rebuilding of the city.

The dead were buried, but still so much had to be done.