The Book of the Blessed

Kingsboro

Abbey

The Abbey was filled to capacity that morning, far more full than at Cedd’s coronation, loaded with all of the black robed mourners for the great funeral in this space of white stone, where the sun shone through the new windows. Entering last, even after the royal family, came the nuns and monks of Saint Clew, led by Hilda. The nuns, like the monks, were bareheaded and bald, all of them but for the very old nuns, having shaved their heads in honor of Hilda’s shaving. They came to the front where there was a great empty space with only the royal children before a dais where was a table, and over the table, legs folded under him, was a blue stone image of the Ard, the first of monks and the last incarnation of God, eyes closed in peace, hands folded in meditation. They all assumed his pose. Anson and Cedd, Imogen and Morgellyn were in black as well, and, excepting Anson, they were the only ones with hair, though fair wisps were growing back on Anson’s face. From the galleries, Ohean, Idris and Wolf watched him along with Myrne, and Thano whispered to his cousin, “I can see why you love him.”

“I think all the kingdom loves him,” Wolf said.

But just then, Hilda, sitting like every one else in the sanctuary, struck the bell beside her and sang out, her alto voice ringing through the nave:

“Jeso Dharani!”

All the monks and the nuns began to sing:

“Om ha ha ha vis ma e sva ha!”

Now the whole abbey took it up, singing it over and over again.

Hilda reached forward and lit three sticks of incense, and then burned them before the Ard, smoke lifting while Ohean watched Anson, sitting there, clean shaven, the light on his high cheekbones, looking as peaceful and sorrowful as the Ard himself while he chanted. Prayer beads slipped through his fingers as singing filled the abbey.

Main ek timaahee mein vyaapak rahoonga
ek daya ke saath pyaar dayaalu ke saath imbuaid;
isee tarah doosara,
isee tarah teesara, isee tarah chautha;

Suddenly a rage and a great sorrow filled Ohean. Oh, if only he were Elwin or Ellison or one of the great kingmakers of old! If only this lover of his, so strong, so true, gentle, laughing, loving and weeping in the middle of the night, was the King and not this Cedd. If only he could have turned the way of things. Ah, but this was how wars began, and as Ohean looked over the crowd and saw the fair head of Anthony Pembroke, he realized this man felt the same way, only about the black haired man who truly was King.

Beyond the altar some could smell the burning. It had begun some time ago. When Anthal had died they had taken his body to the coldhouse under the palace. There were some far off lands where the bodies of the dead were embalmed, but here this was considered a desecration. Of old the Ayl had burned bodies right after death. But this was a state funeral, and when many days must past between death and burning, after the bodies of the dead were washed and bound, they were placed in the coldhouses. Anthal had been brought out, and finally lain to rest in the basilica yesterday evening for all to pay their respects. He was under a golden sheet, coins upon his eyes. And then, this morning, as people came to fill the abbey, as the royal children except for Hilda came, the priests of the basilica bore the king away. Beyond the sanctuary, they shaved his head and gave him a new name, and then they took him to the burning house and, as the chanting was continuing over and over again, the burning was ending.

To oopar aur neeche, aasapaas aur har jagah;
aur sabhee ke roop mein mere lie
main sabhee ko shaamil karane mein sarvavyaapee hoga
dimaag ke saath vishv ek daya ke saath pyaar dayaalu ke saath imbuaid

prachur, ooncha, aparivartaneey,
shatruta ke bina aur beemaar bina
main ek ke saath ek timaahee mein vyaapak rahana hoga
man kee karuna se prabhaavit;
isee tarah doosara,
isee tarah teesara, isee tarah chautha

The image of Ard was before the final altar where the choir and the lords and royals sat. Two doors were on either side of that plain stone altar and, out of one, came black robed monks bearing a golden urn, elaborately chased with dragons. As they approached the table before Ard, Hilda struck the gong, and there was the end of that round of chanting, and then silence.

Anson, Cedd, Morgellyn and Hilda rose, Cedd a little stiffly, Ohean noticed. Though Cedd had put his hands out for the urn, the unseeing Abbot placed the urn in the arms of Anson, and Wolf hissed, “Well, that did it!”

“I’m afraid you’re right, my friend,” King Duncan of Senach said beside his wife, Queen Bereniece.

Thano said, “We’d better make a line to Anson as soon as we can.”

But Anson had already handed the urn to Cedd, who tried to hide a scowl, and then turned, leading his siblings out of the Abbey past the main altar while the black monks and nuns, minus their future Abbess, began to take up the chant again.

“Well, now they are both gone,”Imogen said. “My mother and father. I am an orphan.”

They stood on the porch of the Abbey.

“You know you can come with us,” Prince Adrian of Senach said. He was dark haired, red cheeked, open faced.

Queen Bereneice, his mother, said to Imogen, “It is not required. You are a woman grown, but if you wish it, come to Senach.”

“Thank you, Aunt. Thank you both.”

Adrian hugged her quickly, and Imogen was touched by how gentle her cousin was, though she often wondered if so gentle a person could one day be a king.

“We’re your family,” Adrian said, “if that means anything.”

“It means everything,” Imogen said. “Still, I may be taking another path.”

Myrne, so heavily veiled in black no one could know her, walked beside Isobel who said, “That Wolf!”

“He laughed the first time I called him Sir Wolf, but he thinks you’re quite striking.”

“And I think him striking as well,” Isobel said. “You might not want to take him for granted.”

“What are you saying?”

“I think I just said it. Or do you look down on him because he is a servant?”

“I do not look down on him at all!” Myrne said. “I have not looked at any man. Men have not been on my mind. Only I am surprised the Princess of Sussail would suggest I marry a servant.”

“Well, we all serve someone. If I marry Cedd and become Queen of Westrial, that is its own service. But you can be with whomever you wish, Lady Herreboro, and when you think that no matter how long our royal lineages may go back, at the head of them is a pirate, a raider, or a soldier, what does it matter if you fall in love with a tall, strong, courageous, red head with broad shoulders-”

“Maybe it’s you who should make a pass at Wolf.”

“Broad shoulders,” Isobel continued, “and not just any servant, but the servant and ward of Ohean Penannyn himself!”

“I am truly sorry for this tragedy,” Queen Hermudis was saying to Morgellyn.

“If by tragedy you mean the natural consequence of being an insanely old man who outlived all of his much younger wives, then yes, it is quite a tragedy.”

“Try to pretend you have some manners,” a golden haired woman, veiled in black murmured to Morgellyn. They were not unalike, for this was Queen Bereniece of Senach, the younger sister of the late Queen Emmaline.

Morgellyn frowned at her aunt, but King Stephen said to Hermudis, “Please, your Grace, forgive my queen.”

Hermudis, who looked like she had not only forgiven Morgellyn, but forgotten her as well, shrugged.

“We are traveling home immediately,” King Stephen continued, “Pray ask your husband if he and your family would journey on with us to Raymond House.”

“How long have we known the King and Queen of Sussail?” Morgellyn said. “Whatever they call Hermudis, you know it is she who is King in that household.”

“How large is Raymond House?” Hermudis asked.

“Quite large,” Stephen confided in her.

“Big enough,” Bereneice said, “for you to never have to see anyone you do not wish to see.”

“Will you be coming, Aunt?” Morgellyn asked her.

“Unfortunately, no.”

“Yes,” Morgellyn said, “That is a misfortune. But she is right,” Morgellyn turned to Hermudis. “Raymond House is an old castle. If you come it will be like we’re not even there.”

Hermudis fixed a long smile on Morgellyn.

“Do you promise?”

On the streets, while bells were ringing from the carillon of the Abbey, Ohean and Princess Isobel approached with Myrne veiled and Wolf beside her. Anson came to them, and swooped down, wrapping Ohean in a tight embrace. He was heavy and he hung upon him, and Ohean said, “You looked so noble, and I was so very proud, I wanted to reach out and touch you.”

Anson wiped his face with the back of his hands. “I don’t mean to be such a baby. Really. And I hope I did not embarrass you.”

“My friend,” Isobel said, stepping forward and deliberately embracing the tall prince, “you did the best thing you could for yourself. You publicly let it be known that you were allied with Ohean Penannyn, the most powerful mage in the island.”

“Politics was not on my mind.”

“No,” Ohean said, “and that is why I love you.”

“Well, then there is some good in all this,” Anson said.

“Come,” Ohean said, including Wolf, Isobel and Myrne. “Let us attend the repast with as light a heart as we may.”