Author’s Note: This is inspired by my paper on Electra (by Aeschylus, Sophocles and Euripides), playing on the idea of a reunion by the grave side, only this time it’s the grave of one still living. It’s a fictional world, so don’t worry about the smattering of modern and classical. The thing I fear is death, as clearly demonstrated by the fact the death was not real. As for the pun, I try to avoid them, so it’s hard to actually write one.

Funeral Rites
By Musashi

The umbrella shuddered and grunted with every drop of tears which fell from the sky above. The mourning of the umbrella matched the mourning of the one sheltered beneath it. But it could not prevent the rain from the mourner’s eyes. The ground drank its fill of the shower and let the excess run away from the figures to mire within the gaping hole before them. It seemed as if the very earth and heavens were weeping for the lost soul.

Quiet sobs were the only sounds to be heard amongst the falling tears as the rune-carven casket was lowered with solemn reluctance. One by one the mourners presented themselves before the hole to bury with their fallen one last word and view. It was never so much a tragedy as when a young man lost his life before it had truly begun. Flowers accompanied handfuls of dirt as each member of the family, each friend, and every acquaintance said their final farewells.

The last, the most wrought with sorrow, was a girl of such beauty the gods could not contest: his bride to be. His bride to never be. Hers was the sole red rose cast into the chasm, hers were the only words of a lover lost, hers were the only tears of a soul mate lost. Once the rose and final handful of dirt were cast, her mud stained hands marred her beautiful face as she tried to stem the river of her heart from pouring from her eyes. Comforting hands tried to pull her away.

“Come away, sister. It’s time to let him rest.”

“Are you sure it was him?” She asked, looking up into the ashen face of her brother. “Tell me it’s not. The body... it was so badly damaged. Could it not be his? Could the fire have claimed someone else?”

“I saw him fall, dear sister. Others were claimed by the fire, but all were identified save him. He is the only one missing. There is no one else this could be. He is gone, sister. Let him rest in peace.”

“Better I die with him.”

“Hush, the gods will hear.” He began to pull her away with greater force, nodding to the men waiting to fill the hole with the mud that waited. Though she resisted, she had not the strength to fight his heroic strength and thus was pulled from the chasm, forever parted from her beloved. “Come away. It’s time to feast in his honour.”

“How can one who suffers as I ever think of food? I vow, I vow upon this sacred earth smeared upon my face and hands, I’ll never take pleasure in life again. No food will pass my lips and please my tongue. No wine will slake my thirst. No silks will adorn my body. No music will ease my soul. No man shall thrill my heart. Nothing will make me live until he comes back for me, even if I must wait until the skies fall and the gods with them!”

“The gods will not like to hear that, coming from their treasure on earth.”

“Then they should have protected him!” She wept all the more.

Her brother looked up at the skies as if asking the gods for patience and advice. In the end he could only shake his head and lead her away once more.

---

“Tell me why, again, I must be a lizard crawling upon my belly into my own hometown and neighbourhood, my good friend.” A man asked, hunkered in the bushes before the gates of the cemetery. “Why can I not simply stand proud like the people of my family past?

“What is lost in the past has passed indeed, young master.” The man teased. “They think you amongst them. Look there, amongst the proud figures of your family’s past – aside great Tiander and before the mighty Melion, who slew the harpie to save the gods – there lies a grave marked with your name.”

“Spare me the puns, Phiades, neither I nor the gods have patience for your witty wit. Surely they think I perished in the fire from all those years ago, then? Though it nearly took my life, clearly I am as alive as you!”

“Doricles, your enemy and mine, who rules this land lawlessly has let it be known that it was you in the fire. No doubt the body buried is one of another who would not be missed. For three years I have kept you in exile to protect you.” Phiades explained. “But now it is time for you to rise from the grave. Doricles, ever jealous of your glory, wealth and virtues, has set his eyes on your bride.”

“Of all that is rightfully mine, my house, my servants, my wealth, my true claim to the land, he can have it all. But never, never may he have she who is my bride.” He subconsciously reached for the sword he wore at his side. “She has captured my heart and the gods have promised her to me and me alone.”

“So she swore, too, at your funeral.” Phiades reported. “She said she would not live another day until you returned to claim her. Not a day goes by that she does not pour libations over your grave and mutter prayers to the gods to return you.”

He stood up. Pulling his sword from its sheath, he headed for the tombstone. “Then let this be the sign from me that the gods have heard her prayers.” He took from his golden mane a lock of hair and a chain from about his neck. Tying the hair with the chain, he placed them on the stone, offering prayer to the gods for keeping his presence secret from his enemies and asking they reward those who had thought him dead and honoured him. “Has she come yet this day?”

“No, my friend. She comes with the dying sun, to keep the grief fresh in her heart. Or so my friends have told me.”

“What a maiden, to reopen the wounds of the heart each day! Not even the greatest of the heroes do such to their wounds to relive their glory. Let us wait, to see this marvel of loving loyalty. If it is as all have said, then I will reveal myself to her and we can be together once again.”

---

When she came to the grave as usual, a gentle breeze blew oddly from the west, as if urging her towards the graveyard when her lover’s body lay buried. She wore the same clothes she wore every time she came, black and ruined. She lived by her promise, never taking pleasure in the life she could have. To her, life was nothing more than perpetual suffering and mourning. There was no light, no lover, no hope.

A glint of metal at the stone, where there ought be nothing, dragged her to it with haste. For the first time in three years she could feel the pulse of her heart quicken. It was hope, prodding her to excitement. Upon the stone, which had as yet only bourn libations and flowers for honouring the dead, rested a lock of golden hair bound in a chain of silver. Shaking fingers took up the offering and held it in the dying light, as if trying to conjure the man who’d left it.

“It can’t be.” She muttered to the sky. “Can it? This chain was lost to the fire, melted in its fury, the remnants found about my lover’s body! This golden hair can be from no one but he or the gods. But which god would play such a cruel joke? Which of the gods on high would see me suffer all the more by placing such false hope at the resting place of my heart? Who would see more tears fall from these eyes and hear more sobs from this broken breast?”

“None would see such.” A deep male voice said from the side. “None would see you suffer without cause. Do not take this offering as such.”

She whirled about in fear, knowing Doricles, who sought her for himself, was not without guile. The wind, as if taunting her, blew her own spun silk hair across her face and marred her vision. Slowly it died and a man stood before her, broad and proud in the light of the dying sun.

“What god are you to present yourself in all your glory before one so pitiful as I?” She demanded. “Who are you to take the form like that of the man I lost years ago? What torment have you in mind for my poor broken heart? Has not my suffering these three years, my vow to live the rest of my life thus, been enough? Begone from me, spectre of agony and malice!”

“What hurtful words you utter in your suffering.”

“Rightfully so.”

“How rightfully?” The figure asked, stepping forward. “I leave tokens by which you are to remember your Charises and you shun me for it.”

“I need no tokens to remind me of the dead!”

“Who said these were tokens of the dead? That hair was cut from the head but a few hours ago. I swear the body was living when the sword severed the locks. And the chain yet holds the warmth of living and loving flesh. These are tokens of the living, that you would cease in your false mourning.”

“False mourning! Oh, the sacrilege of your words! We buried my Charises three years past. A horrendous fire claimed him and his household, leaving nothing but a shrivelled corpse over which I could mourn. Nothing of his glory was to be seen. But I have mourned him as one who died the day he did.”

“Then your mournings are in vain, for here your Charises stands, as living as the sun is setting.” The figure came closer and took her trembling hand. “Three years have passed since the plot of Doricles came to my surprised ears from my friend and rescuer Phiades. It was he who took me from my household and fled into exile. The body over which you mourned lacked my glory for it is full here, standing before you.”

“Is it truly you?”

“It is. I returned ere word arrived our ear of Doricles’ intent to have you. He might have everything of mine but you.” He caressed her face gently. “For three years I have let you suffer and mourn for me day after day. For each day that you have poured libations over what was to be my body, I intend to return with sweet kisses and tender embraces. I praise the gods that led me to you, to safety and to return. May the gods reign ever upon this world, for all the fortune they have showered me.”

“We will be together?”

“Always.”

“What of Doricles. Never will he permit your return. He killed you once, he might again, for real this time.”

“I will deal with him as the gods order. But for now I must seek safe haven from the night and my enemies. Return home and pretend nothing is amiss. I will come again once the deed is done.”