🚀 go-pugleaf

     It was already past midnight when the dark doors of the
chapel were pushed open. On happier occassions, when filled with
the lights of a hundred candles the ancient chapel's worn grey stones
were soft and warm. But now, in the coldness of a winter's moonless
night, lit only by the few flickering torches carried by the cowled
group, the walls repelled these invaders of their sanctuary, while the
floors sent chills through the softly slippered feet that trod across
them. At the head of the small procession, unable to as yet fathom
the horror of the deaths of both his king and his archbishop, came
Father Justain. Having never expected to outlive the archbishop and
thus assume his mantle of authority, yet knowing that the burden of
spiritual leadership now fell upon his ancient shoulders, he
hesitated, then moved to the alter that would become the bier for his
fallen and dishonoured sovereign. Following closely behind, as if
looking for guidance from his bowed back but finding nothing to allay
their shock and fear, came the bearers. Anxious to be rid of their
shameful burden, they laid the body on the stone alter and hurriedly
flung a mantle over it. No royal funeral garlands would deck this
bier, no velvet coverings woven in sorrow would shroud this king, no
grief-stricken people would sing their dirges at his passing.

Elyen dragged herself silently behind them, head covered but
unbowed. Her battered frame upright but quivering slightly, she
appeared brittle, as if the merest touch would snap the icy self-
control that kept her upright, and send her toppling, broken, to the
ground. Although her wounds had been hastily cleaned, she had
allowed only a robe to be thrown over her torn and bloodied shift
before proceeding to the chapel behind the broken body of her cousin
and tormenter. She saw Father Justain's frightened and confused
eyes pleading for her to begin and so release them from this
nightmare, and so, gathering her strength about her, she prepared
to begin the ritual expected of her.

Before she could speak footsteps came ringing across the stone floor
and the Commander strode from the shadowed doorway.

'My Lady' he said firmly 'I cannot let you continue in this folly. You
cannot mean to stand vigil over this body.'

Her eyes, dark and feverish, turned towards him. Her voice
roughened by exhaustion and pain strove pitifully to match his
firmness.  'Indeed, my Lord, it is my  duty and I will not be turned
away from it.'

'You are hurt' he continued more gently. 'If the body must be
watched is there no one who can assume this duty for you?'

She shook her head slowly. 'I am his cousin, I bear the kyriac stone,
I am the only one who can see him through his first night of death. It
is his right.'

The Commander stiffened. 'Rights! This animal has no rights. He
held you prisoner, tortured you, would have killed you if by your
death he could have gained the stone. He had no honour in life and
deserves none in death, certainly not from you who have suffered at
his hand.'

She clenched at the corner of the alter as if to tear off a piece of
that unyielding stone to hurl in his face. The black stone at her breast
flickered to life with a sickly but intense yellow
gleam. Her voice held all the anger, the grief, the intensity of the
last brutal months.
'You forget, my Lord, that his actions against me are nothing as
compared to his baseness to my people. Your very presence proves it.
It was his betrayel that allowed you and your army to sweep through
our land and steal our freedom. His desires of conquest would never
have come to fruition if he had not had your army to back them up.
You have conquered our kingdom but I will not allow you to conquer
our traditions, nor will I throw away those traditions because this
king is not worthy of them. It is dishonour to myself and my people to
refuse this vigil. This king has done harm enough. Worthy or no, I
will not let him destroy, in death, that which is our way. Nor will I
let you, an invader, tell me what I shall or shall not do.' Shaking,
she released the corner of the alter, defying him to remove her.

'Lady,' he said decisively 'I have assured you that we do not wish to
destroy your people or their way of life. If the only way I can convince
you of that assurance is to let you stand this vigil then you will do so
unhindered by me.' So saying, he turned abruptly and strode from
the chapel.

As if his presence had been the only thing keeping her on her feet,
Elyen crumpled to her knees leaning her forehead againt the alter.
'Leave us' she whispered to the priests, huddled about the other side
of the alter.

'But my lady' began Father Justain.

'Leave us' came her anguished voice 'I will say the prayers that
must be said. Nothing will be omitted. I must stand this vigil alone
and I would begin now.'

Father Justain bowed, then pulling his cowl over his head, motioned
to the others to follow. Their robes hushed against the floor as they
left the chapel, taking with them all but one of the torches. The door
fell shut with a muffled thud and then all was silence.

At the alter, Elyen's great eyes stared into the gloom, seeing nothing.
For a long time she sat thus, then rousing herself, she painfully
pulled herself up and crossed to the table that held the candlesticks.
Slowly, as if nearing death herself, she placed a candle at each end of
the alter