Chapter 20
Grandmother Grass passed on that night. Chain never got to give her a final Attendance with everything following the Uprising, but she would, sure as Sol shone, give her a proper Pyre.
Chain stood in Buckle's community hall, all-purpose room with decorations for summer festivals and Cleansing Day. In her hand was the torch that would ignite those who had died as Solarists. Their corpses rested behind her on three stretchers. Merchants and Stationless folk waited outside, prepared to carry them to the Pyre.
Buckle traditionally waited until at least three people died before hosting a Pyre: the community had originally lived on limited means, so saving up their dead for when they could afford to buy wood from the Artificers was the only practical things to do. There was even an outbuilding at the edge of town for their storage, a cool stone building with a deep cellar. The manner of Side's and Tissue's deaths, though, meant the Farmers had granted the town special permission to chop trees down for a timely Pyre.
With no Lords within a hundred miles, Chain had to lead the Pyre. These duties were infrequent due to Buckle's traditions, so it had been months since her last one. And she'd never performed a duty so important to the remaining townspeople and Sol: Grandmother Grass was a beloved, ancient figure in a community shocked that it was riddled with Disciples like parasites. If the town were to survive the recriminations and inspections to come, it would need a proper send-off for its heroes.
To that end, and as Side and Tissue had essentially died in war, Chain decided that everyone deserved oil to help them go up; burn bright for their friends and families. It was an old ritual, used for such heroes when Lords decide people’s spirits need to be lifted. Using it before would have felt awkward, underhanded even, but she only had the interests of Buckle in mind.
She started the Pyre by tending to Grandmother Grass, the lightest of the three. Getting her onto the ceremonial burning blanket was easy: tying her up was much harder. Refusing even the suggestion of help – she had to learn to tie knots one-handed – she struggled and swore a set of knots on to the old woman. Tissue was easier thanks to practice, but her ravaged form was horrible to see and, more so, smell.
Side was the most difficult, perhaps because his death had bought Chain's life. Fighting to get him onto the blanket was an eerily familiar experience. She struggled to swaddle him too: seeing through tears was a skill she'd not mastered.
When they were all tied up, it was time to start the ceremony. Chain took a deep breath that tasted like warm oil. With her back straight, she shouldered the common room's door open and stepped out into the Buckle’s main square.
Hundreds of eyes greeted her: adults and children, Stationed and Stationless. Muster had ordered the Family Mine closed until trusted Merchants inspected its operations: losing countless thousands of Circles was a tremendous embarrassment, and he was not about to lose more by not having 'proper care' for the Mine. So every person in Buckle was out for the Pyre.
The volunteer body-bearers jogged into the common room. Chain looked around, then held the torch aloft and approached the Pyre. The great wooden structure had been constructed with great care and love, dozens of shorn and dried trunks forming a plinth the deceased would lay on. Underneath, oil-soaked wood would ensure the Pyre went on long into the night.
She circled the Pyre twice, allowing everyone present to see the torch. By the time she was done, the body-bearers had lain Tissue, Side, and Grandmother Grass on the plinth. They jogged away, forming a line north of the Pyre, and left Chain alone with everyone's attention.
“Good day, people of Buckle,” Chain projected.
“Good day, sire,” they responded, almost as one.
“We have a tremendous bounty for Sol today. Three brilliant, vibrant, wonderful, and devoted people have been taken from us. They will be burned as a tribute to Sol, who will know how great and wonderful they were by the strength of their flame and the joy of our tributes.”
She looked along the crowd and picked out Bracket and Carmen. Her daughter was already in tears, hated every Pyre she'd attended. Chain wouldn't normally bring her, but this was an important one, as it could be her last time seeing the people of Buckle.
“We start with Grandmother Grass,” she said. “I have so much to say for her, a Stationless woman who earned a title and made it her own. Grandmother Grass was older than anyone here, had lived so long that she heard stories of the First Invasion on her grandmother's knee. She was a fixture of this town, as tangibly there as the Family. When people think of Buckle, they think of Grandmother Grass.
“I had the joy of Attending to her during her final weeks, an archaic ritual she had to explain to me!” The crowd dutifully laughed. “She was bright. She was strong in her faith and in her heart. She was loved. There is no one here that she did not grace the hearts of, I am certain of that.
“To that end,” Chain said, stepping back and lowering the torch, “I will throw the floor open. Grandmother's youngest son, Nature, will start by saying a few words.”
Many people spoke warmly of Grandmother then, most of them Grass' family members. There were a good number of stories: Grass met five generations of her line during her life. Everyone who wanted to tell an anecdote or celebrate the woman got a turn. Chain listened intently, trying to take every tale to heart.
When Grass' family lost impetus, the Contegon stepped forward and raised the torch again. A hush fell over the crowd, who had been whispering amongst themselves or quietly consoling their friends and family: audible crying was a bad sign at a Pyre. She paused, gathering their attention before she continued.
“Miner Tissue wasn't Grandmother Grass' age, but she certainly could have been. She earned her living deep beneath the earth, digging, pulling, carrying, like many of you. She was born for her Station, like her father and his mother before him. When Buckle was first formed, her family was amongst the first here, and Tissue quietly and efficiently went about living up to Buckle’s great name.
“Tissue often led me into the Family Mine. She was my guide, my window into a world I didn't understand. I had the pleasure of knowing her, of dining with her, of calling her a friend. She did not deserve the manner in which she died: this brave woman gave me the first warning of wrongdoing in the Family Mine. Sadly, her bravery led to treachery from Grain, who sent a Disciple after her. She died in combat. She died fighting for Sol, for the benefit of all of Geos. Tissue was a true Servant of Sol. I thank her personally as well, for Lun only knows what would have happened without her conscientiousness.”
Yes, she embellished Tissue's involvement, but Pyres were performances. What would be the point of saying less when people needed to know heroes were burning? As Chain stepped back, let Tissue's friends and family talk about her, she felt justified in her decision.
Tissue's praise lasted half an hour. Most of the Merchants and Miners who worked with her sang her praises. Resting men and women told stories of the 'young buck' who took to digging like a duckling to water. The beautiful stories centred on her achievements, on the affection she fostered with her abrupt, no-nonsense style, and the occasional, surprisingly good joke.
“And so we come to the final hero on our Pyre: Miner Side of the Merchants. Side was another who helped to uncover the Heresy, another we owe our thanks to. He truly alerted me to the facts in the case, was brave enough to fight on against death. He was a brilliant and faithful man.
“This bravery earned him an attack from the Disciples: one was sent to kill him. He fought it off, survived the ghoulish attack. But the monster poisoned him, left him weak and addled. Side was bed-ridden, facing the darkness that was shot into his veins.
“Yet, in spite of this, and the dangers to his life, he came to save me when I needed help most. Marsh will tell you, he worked out that the key night would be that month's delivery, and knew where to find the fight. Despite his weakness, he raced like Sol's light to fight the Disciple monster. It is only thanks to him that I survived, and that t
he Disciples did not. I owe him my life, but, more, we all owe him a great debt. Thank you, Sol, for placing him in our lives and guiding his actions.”
She stepped back and allowed the final round of stories. Marsh led them, reporting on the wounds Side earned in saving Chain. Then his friends and two of his cousins spoke. There were no more stories because he had few family members, was someone who usually kept himself quiet... and because he was thirty years younger than Tissue.
“Three people,” Chain said when the stories had quieted. “Three people beloved by Sol. Three people who enriched and improved our lives. Three people Sol will gladly accept into his ranks. I thank Sol for them. Everyone here must thank Sol for putting them in our paths, for allowing us to know them. He knew what would come to pass, lamenting the pain they would feel and celebrating the love they would inspire. How about, my friends, my townspeople, we see how brightly Sol will let them burn?”
Cheering, vivacious and wonderful, echoed between the buildings that framed the communal square. It was a great burst, solid as a fist, which momentarily pressed Chain back.
She raised the torch high and walked toward the Pyre. A round of the town’s favoured hymn – “A Song for Sol” – picked up at the southern edge of the crowd. It spread, becoming louder and louder, until Chain couldn't hear her thoughts over the voices blasting out that wonderful song.
They were at, ‘This song for Sol I give to him, along with all I am,’ when Chain touched the torch to the Pyre. Brilliant flames leapt hungrily onto the wood and made it their home. The chorus boomed as Chain skirted the Pyre, lighting every few feet. Another round was about to start when she threw the lit torch onto the centre of the Pyre. Then it truly ignited, bathing the square in golden light and warmth.
The crowd fell silent. All watched the fire find Tissue's and Grass's corpses and dance across them. It took more than an hour for the whole Pyre to catch, and another hour for only ashes to remain, but some people still cheered and shouted the departed’s names. Others chose to mingle instead to discuss the departed and hold private prayers. Chain stood at the Pyre, in the uncomfortable heat, her eyes streaming. She watched the corpses burning, watched them complete their journey into Sol, and did nothing more.