Sword and Urn (Edited & Revised)

Chapter 4

I flung myself onto his bed, not caring if I woke him. I just needed to see or hear him breathe. He did not stir. His skin looked more gray than pale. I stuck my ear to his open mouth, but heard and felt nothing. I placed my hand upon his chest, but it did not rise or fall, and felt made of stone. I jumped back, realizing he was gone. Somehow he knew. He had been right. I fell to the floor and started to cry. At some point I must have fallen back asleep because the healer had come back to check on my father. I woke to the gentle tug on my shoulder.

"Have you seen your father?"

I raised my head, unsure of where I was or who was talking to me for a moment. Then it all came back to me like a boot to the face. The tears came again.

"You already know then," the healer said.

"I am sorry lad. I really did think he had a chance."

He looked at me with kind eyes, but it seemed he couldn't think of anything else to say.

"I'll leave you in peace then young man."

I didn't respond. I'm not sure I could have. So violent were my shuddering cries. I didn't leave the house that day immobile in my grief. I tried to wade through it, but it was like a sand pit that had pulled me in. Now all I could do was stand still to avoid sinking all the way in. It wasn't like when mother died, because I still had my father, and I had always been closer to him. Some of my earliest memories are of going to the market with him. Playing games at our table between selling things. Now I was truly alone with nothing but my tears.  

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The next morning it all felt real. My tears were all dried up and I knew that I had a lot to do before I could get on my way. It all came to me with crystal clarity. I wasn't alone. I had people to get to. I had a promise to keep, and I was going to keep that promise to my father. I was going to fulfill his dying wish. I had a family waiting for me at the other end of a long journey. I wouldn't always be alone.

I pulled myself out of the pit with the hope that one day I would see faces that looked something like my father's. I couldn't remain in the house any longer. I needed to sell the house and get my father out of it. I gathered up our belongings and took them to the market. One by one, I sold each item until I had a heavy purse of coins. I also purchased some strong perfumes to pour upon my father.

I found my appetite had come back to me. When I thought of my father I forced myself to think of the lantern glowing in view of the river. I could see it glowing past a field and trees. Its glow filled my heart and kept me going. I was even able to sell our table where we sold our goods in the market. Then it was time to do some purchasing of my own. I knew there was no way I would be able to get my father's body up the river to my grandparents. Even if I had some way, the state of his body would not be something I wanted to travel with. So I walked up to the wood craftsman's table.

I needed to buy an urn.

I decided that I would skip the lady who sold things made out of clay. I needed something sturdy, that would hold up well as I traveled. I knew a thing or two about wood. I could sand scuffs and scrapes. We would trade and buy things made from wood all the time, and then sand them down and sell them for a good profit.

"Hello there young man. How is your father? That was the bravest thing I have ever seen."

"Well, that's why I'm here. I need to buy an urn."

His face sagged.

"I am very sorry to hear that. He was a good man."

I felt pride rise within me. He was a good man, which is why I was fulfilling his dying wishes.

"Thank you."

"Do you know what kind you are looking for?"

"I'm not sure. I have a long way to travel, and I'm taking my father with me."

"I see. Well, this urn here has no paint on it. It will withstand the weather. The seal is excellent. If you dropped it from a high tree, your father's ashes would still be intact. If it fell in the river you would have no worries of its contents getting wet. Yes, I would choose this one. It costs less because it is not decorated with paint yet. That takes a long time to do and raises the price considerably."

The man looked around making sure no one was near. He spoke just above a whisper.

"Listen, I'm really sorry to hear of your father's fate. I will give you a good price, but only if you promise not to tell anyone."

I felt a rush of gratitude for the man before me.

"I promise."

He handed it to me.

"Thank you."

I held it in my hands. It was not as heavy as I was expecting. Could this really be the resting place of my father until I made it to Grandfather's home? A small urn from the market we used to spend every day together in?

"Well, it would fit nicely in my pack. Are you sure it will hold all of his ashes?"

"Oh yes. This will be a good resting place for your father as you carry him on your journey. I've seen your handy work with a brush and some paint. Perhaps you could splash some beauty upon it once you're settled where you're going."

"Alright, I'll take it then. Thank you."

"Yes, of course."

I paid the man and took a long stroll through the market as I held the smooth wooden urn in the palm of my hand. The market looked much different from the other side of the tables during the busy hours.

I thought that this place would always be my home—that my father and I would spend our lives laughing and joking behind our table as we sold things. It felt wrong walking through the bright busy market that teemed with life while my father lay dead in his bed. It stacked another layer upon my grief, but I kept looking around at it. I knew I would miss the market, just as I missed my father.

I will have to walk once more through here with Father before I leave, I thought.

I returned home. I went into his room with the potions I bought and emptied the potions upon his body. It was a strong new strange smell, but definitely an improvement. Then I spent one last night in our house with my father.