Entrt 54
1777 IST.
They held a memorial service today for Juan in Farrador.
While writing his book, he spent a great deal of time in west among the Order of Orrir’Ullral. I’m told they’re a guild of beast hunters - and they provided Juan with regular work. The Orrir’Ullral live in a remote, unmapped part of the world and relied on Juan to help them categorize and navigate their lands. Farrador is an extremely long way away from Helena, over the mountains and through dense forests. I considered not attending the service, but I felt compelled to go in spite of the great distance. Juan was my best friend. If he’s watching from the Seven Skies, I want him to know I still care about him.
Icroth and I packed our things and traveled to Farrador together. Icroth is an old hand at camping in the wilderness, so he didn’t mind escorting me. I expected the journey to be unpleasant, but it really wasn’t so bad. The landscape around Farrador is beautiful to behold, full of dewy pines, proud boulders, and babbling brooks. We followed a river up into the mountains and, every morning, Icroth would catch us a fresh fish for breakfast. He’d lend me his knife and watch as I prepped, cleaned, seasoned, and cooked the fish over the campfire. When I asked him why he insisted on fishing - after all, we packed plenty of rations - he smiled at me. “I like to see a master of their craft do their work,” he said. “It’s graceful.”
I’ve never heard of anyone refer to cooking as graceful before. But I suppose after hundreds of years, I’ve become a very practiced hand. Some aspects of my work are more instinctual than conscious thought now. Back when I lived with Mr. Gyffard and the Black Fox Company, I once prepared a full-course meal while black-out drunk - and it was delicious. Or at least good enough to please a gaggle of intoxicated monster-hunters. I was a teetotaler much like Icroth before dear Mr. Gyffard got his hands on me. The only thing I really got out of that marriage was a drinking problem - one I’m still struggling to deal with.
After several days of travel through the wilderness, we arrived at last in Farrador. There, we met Celestine and her bodyguard Chirr. It’s been a while since I last saw Chirr, so it was nice to meet up again. Chirr’s another old ’ker. Not quite as old as me, but close. Her earliest memories date back to Anthos. Strange to think that I was a grown adult, married, when Chirr was just a child. Elven aging is… strange.
In Siramenor, I met three generations of elf - a grandmother, a father, and a son - and they all looked exactly the same age. I’m too used to Oren where old men become decrepit and grey haired.
Chirr kept looking at Icroth strangely as we stood in the fortress courtyard, waiting for the service to start. She stared at him with a furrowed brow, searching his face as if trying to place him.
“You seem familiar,” she said at last. “Have we met somewhere before?”
Icroth blinked, taken aback by the inquiry. “I… do not believe so,” he said. “Perhaps? From where do you hail?”
“Ah, the million-mark question,” Chirr joked.
But before she could say anything else, Vyasaldris - the mistress of Farrador and our hostess for the evening - announced the beginning of the ceremony. She requested we follow her out to the shores of the nearby lake, where they had erected a pyre in honor of Juan.
The Farradorian funeral rites are a good bit different from Canonism, but I found them very charming regardless. The memorial ceremony would have three parts. The first was a ritual burning; the second was a feast in Juan’s honor; and the third would include releasing paper lanterns at dusk. Vyasaldris presided over the burning ritual. She opened the ceremony with a moving tribute to Juan.
“Thank you to those whom spent the time to journey here,” she began, nodding toward Celestine. “Juan was a beloved friend and ally to us. While his departure left many of us grief-stricken, he would not want us to mourn. So, instead, let us celebrate the vibrant and fulfilling life he led.” She gestured to the pyre burning brightly on the lakeshore. “This flame is meant to symbolize Juan’s life, how it brought light and warmth to everything around it. Juan showed us that no matter how hard life can be, we must embrace every moment. Juan was a true adventurer. For him, each day was a chance to discover something wonderful. He showed us that even the old and tired can be made new again. What I remember most about Juan is his mischief, his zeal for life, his creativity, his passion, and his sincere belief in man’s fundamental goodness.” Vyasaldris looked back over the crowd. “Juan may be gone, but we still feel the warmth and love he gave to us."
At the sermon’s conclusion, Vyasaldris invited us to take a slip of paper and write down our favorite memory of Juan. I took a piece and stared at it for a long time. The blank page gazed back at me. I had so many memories of Juan - so many of them happy. How could I possibly pick one? My eyes wandered over to Celestine. Her head was bowed, her hand darting across the page as she wrote, her eyes glazed with a sheen of unshed tears.
And suddenly the perfect memory dawned on me.
Juan sometimes hid his true feelings behind a mask of swagger. I remember the first time he really opened up to me. He and Celestine had been together for several months at that point and they were considering marriage. Celestine even introduced Juan to her mother. Juan’s life had begun to change in a profound way. He was in the midst of a transformation and he felt it. He used to be a freewheeling, free-loving adventurer without a care in the world. Now he had a woman who loved him and a growing burden of responsibility. He told me how much it scared him, to see his life take such a turn.
I have been married several times - both successfully and unsuccessfully. I’ve given my heart away more times than I can count. But I wouldn’t trade those experiences - both the good and the bad - for anything. It’s a wonderful and beautiful thing, to join your life together with the right person. A well-chosen spouse elevates you beyond your past self. You see yourself reflected in the eyes of your love. It sharpens you, bringing your flaws and strengths into greater clarity. You’re accountable to your partner, who not only wants you to become your best self but expects it. Requires it. There is perhaps greater freedom in independence, but one cannot become the best version of one’s self without seeing themselves through another’s eyes. Life is a dance - one that only becomes more intricate, more beautiful, more complex with a partner.
I told Juan as much. He and Celestine were perfect for each other - a match surely made in Heaven. Celestine feared a man would hold her back, but Juan loved freedom just as much as she did. He admired and respected her work. He would never demand she give it up for his sake. Their passions - travel, learning, exploration, adventure - fit together like hand in glove. They could only make each other better if they married. That was why I’d happily set my own feelings for Juan aside. I knew I couldn’t sharpen him the way Celestine could.
Juan would later tell me that he wouldn’t have proposed without my counsel. He wanted to, but his fear held him back. I was the one who eased those fears and pushed him in the right direction.
That’s the memory I wrote down on the scroll.
I tied mine into a lover’s knot before casting it into the fire.
Celestine threw her scroll into the fire after me. As she cast her missive into the flames, her stoic outer demeanor failed her. Tears spilled down her cheeks, reflecting orange in the firelight. Celestine has always tried to present herself as a strong woman, not prone to girlish feelings. As the tears began to fall, she turned away and walked swiftly into the woods.
I moved to follow her, but Chirr put a hand to my chest and stopped me. “Give her a moment alone,” Chirr said to me quietly. “Even just coming here was hard for her.”
Out of respect for Celestine’s feelings, I did as Chirr said. Celestine didn’t return for the rest of the evening.
After the burning ceremony, we went back inside the fortress for a feast in Juan’s honor. Chirr, Icroth, and I sat together at the table. I have to admit, I felt a bit snubbed because Chirr and Icroth only talked to each other the entire dinner. I sat next to Icroth and he didn’t turn to speak to me once. I ate and drank in silence. Temptation got the better of me and I put away several glasses of wine. Chirr and the elven women of Farrador seemed… rather taken with Icroth. Vyasaldris’s sister kept smiling and laughing when he talked to her. And Chirr studied him with an avid interest the entire time.
Isn’t Icroth supposed to be courting me?
He’s a handsome man. He doesn’t look like any other Mali. He has a rugged, masculine edge - but with a gentlemanly core. I should be glad that other women admire my beau. After all, doesn’t that mean I have good taste? Even so, I am so old. I’m nearly twice Icroth’s age. And while I am reasonably pretty, I daresay I don’t compare to most elven women. The years have taken their toll on me. Chirr is so lovely. Her skin is so dark, it’s almost midnight black. A perfect shade of ebony obsidian. And her hair! Such perfect, snow-white ringlet curls! They bounce and shimmer with every movement of her head. She looks so fresh. Not to mention she’s a seasoned warrior and adventurer - someone who could assuredly keep pace with Icroth out in the field. But me? I’m more of a liability than anything else when dangerous situations arise.
But this is my flaw. I’m a jealous woman. I always have been. For example, Mr. Toov would often leave me for long stretches of time. Every time he left, my mind came alive with all kinds of torturous images. I pictured him cavorting with beautiful girls in detail, to the point where I made myself furious and sick with hypothetical situations of my own making. It got to the point where I wondered if I secretly wanted to be cuckolded. My mind created these scenarios compulsively, completely unbidden, with no basis in factual reality. Mr. Toov was always a loyal and devoted husband. Up until he departed on the Exodus, he only ever had eyes for me. I know he probably lost his mind with panic when he realized I wasn’t on board the ships to Aeldin. He remarried eventually, yes… but so did I. I can hardly hold that fact against him. Who knows how many years he spent trying to contact me? Trying to get back to Asulon to be with me? At least that’s what I think to comfort myself when I imagine him remarrying.
Chirr’s interactions with Icroth were probably completely innocent and I’m making up some fantasy scenario in my own head again. Even so… I’m mad that he never once talked to me the entire dinner. But maybe he was just eager to talk to someone else after traveling together for several days. Who can say. But we’re going together to Mary Lucille’s wedding soon. Hopefully he’ll be more attentive to me then.
After dinner, we returned to the lake where the pyre in Juan’s honor continued to burn. Vyasaldris and her people handed out paper lanterns to the crowd. “Our final rite in honor of Juan’s memory,” Vyasaldris said, “is lighting and releasing these paper lanterns. They symbolize the light that Juan brought into our lives. Just as his light touched all of us, may these little lights journey forth and bring the warm glow of Juan’s memory to others.”
I took two lanterns - one for me and one for Celestine. I think she and I will light it and send it off later by ourselves. I want her to be able to participate in the rituals too, even if she left early. I lit my lantern and said a prayer for Juan as it lifted off into the sky. It’s my hope that the lanterns will find him somewhere in the Seven Skies and remind him how much we all loved him. We had a moment of silence as we watched the lanterns disappear above the trees, growing smaller and smaller in the darkening sky. With that, the memorial service concluded and the guests dispersed.
Icroth noticed how quiet I was as we walked back to our camp. “You’re upset,” he said. “Did you dislike the service?”
“No, it was lovely,” I replied. “A good send off for a good friend.”
“You’re missing Juan, then,” Icroth theorized.
“Of course, but…” I trailed off.
“But what?”
I didn’t want to tell him the real reason why I was upset. It seemed so petty. How would I sound to him? I’m angry at you because you spent the whole evening talking to Chirr and barely said a word to me. By God, I’m five hundred years old. Jealousy like that is juvenile. I’d expect that kind of behavior from a fifteen year old, not a five hundred year old.
“It’s nothing,” I said.
He scoffed. “I can’t stand when women say it’s nothing,” he replied. “That almost always means it’s something.”
We didn’t talk much more after that.
We returned to our campsite and I’m here writing now. Icroth is asleep on his bedroll and I’m up scribbling by candlelight. I’m trying to talk myself out of being jealous but it’s hard.
I’ve prayed so long for a Mali man to come and be my companion. Perhaps it’s foolish, but I ended up pinning those hopes on Icroth. I let myself be overeager. I want a soulmate. Is he my soulmate? It’s too early to say. Our relationship is still new.
When I introduce him to people, I still refer to him as ‘my friend Icroth.’
I need to temper my expectations. Maybe this relationship with Icroth will last. But then again, maybe it won’t. Few romantic bonds truly stand the test of time. We might be together forever. We might be together for a few years. We might only last a few months. Only time will tell.