Chronicles of the Errai

[Karmotrine Dream]

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[31/07/827]

We speak.
Amidst thin plumes of orange smoke and draped in the ancestral habits, ivory silks and azure lapis with gilt inlaids and our gauntlets, we address what little remains of the Kith on the topmost deck.

His voice, soft and sombre, resounds through Qadesh, the Garden of Stars.
The ripple of the echo, as it first came upon his ears, silenced him - shaken, deeply and painfully, he was, as he recalled times when one's voice struggled to breach the hubbub of hundreds of souls basking in the floral beauty.
He faltered, and the sister took his hand and exchanged a look of shared sorrow, and nodded. He blinked away the mist in his eyes, caught his breath and began anew, to lead the funerary rites.

The last farewell - to theirs, to us, to home.

Her gaze swept the monumental garden, ignoring its verdant delights for the tired and dejected expressions of their kithsmen, as the brother entreated stars and deities alike to bestow their blessings on the departed.
As he struggled, in spite of all his erudition and profound knowledge of the ways, she held his hand and looked on calmly, resolutely - all the while driving her own anguish within.
His memories are hers. The ties he made, the sights he saw, the dreams he dreamt, are hers as well; his pain, too, is hers, and as he struggled, she fought back with all her might the urge to curse and rage.
Against who or what, it was of no moment - there was only anger at an unjust turn of fortune, judgement passed on by an uncaring universe.
She treasured it.

It fell upon her to speak, at last.
The anger she felt was then released, channeled in a show of defiance at the vagaries of fate; a pledge to hold their ground and stand against the oncoming storm, and emerge victorious as they ever did. To endure, to rebuild, to prosper.
Spirited vows, spoken from the soul and on the crest of emotion, and all the more gripping for it.
They all clung together, a chain of man - and spoke, shouted their vow for all to listen, be they kith or stars or gods.

Only later, as the haze of emotion cleared and only we remained in the Garden, would she come to regret them. To promise without certainty of one's ability to uphold their word is to betray, but the fumes - they stir the heart, awaken the senses, set the mind ablaze.
One speaks out of turn, says she in disapproval; one voices their true self, says he in consolation.
No matter.

"The vow is spoken, and it shall be upheld", say we, and kneel in prayer for one last time.
To our forefathers, to their legacy, to the path they carved for us to walk, we render thanks and honour their memory - that they bestow upon us the wisdom to see it through.

We pray, in the Garden of Qadesh, that we may one day return.

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