The Speaking & Rest - Chapter #94

Free Enterprise  -   The Speaking & Rest -  Chapter  #94




Tyr had just enough time to get ready for The Speaking. He'd been escorted to his families wing, showered and with the assistance of his personal servant, donned his Nietzschean finery, including Drago's cape.

It was going to take some getting used to. Having a personal servant dress him even though he was more than capable of dressing himself. Barbarossa has never allowed anyone to dress him except his Matriarch, and only during very special occasions when it called for him to make an overwhelming, outward impression.

“As if being a Nietzschean is not overwhelming enough.” Tyr thought as he sat quietly and waited. Most races automatically backed off when they saw the bone blades. Tyr privately enjoyed the intimidation factor they possessed. Barbarossa called it: “Snuffing the fire out before it starts.” Tyr thought as he smiled.

“It's good to see the Viceroy smile for a change.” Khan said. Tyr had nearly forgotten his Katay brother was in the room.

“I was thinking of Father.” Tyr replied. “He died in my arms. It was if he was waiting to do just that. I don't understand. . . . . . .” he continued.

“He did wait, Tyr. According to his doctor, Barbarossa was gravely ill, and should have died weeks ago. Even though to the Katay there is no such thing as staving of, or fighting off death, he delayed his departure so that the two of you could spend his last few days together.” Khan said, sagely. “The Katay believe once The Divine dispatches the Death Angel, there is no turning back, however he can be delayed.” he continued.

Tyr frowned and gazed back at Khan.

“He knew that in your arms was the safest place to die. Tyr, there have been countless studies, done by countless specialists of every race. Why do the dying hold off death until they see a particular loved one. Depending on the race it is considered either an honor to have a loved one pass away in your embrace. Yet to others it is considered an omen or curse. Tyr, Barbarossa sought to honor you.” Khan said.

Tyr was about to reply when Atlas appeared.

“It is time, Sire.” he said, simply. Both Tyr and Khan rose and followed him out. Behind him Cornelius and his guard formed up behind them and followed them down the corridor. At the corridor's juncture they were met by Victoria, Tamara, Xena, Amanda and Desi. From there they continued on their way to The Speaking.


* * * * * * * * * *


At the last minute, the venue of The Speaking was changed. It was usually a small and private affair which would be held in a small chamber. But, since Barbarossa was so well-known and liked, dignitaries and ambassadors from all over the universe showed up to pay their respects. In order to accommodate them all, an amphitheater like chamber was being pressed into service.

When Tyr and his family entered the room all were seated and they were escorted to seats which were reserved in front.

The Speaking was named so because family members would stand at the podium and speak good memories of the departed loved one. Everyone who was going to speak was given a lit candle in a tall, clear, glass-like container.

The entire chamber was dark except for the lit candles. After each person spoke, they would blow out their candle and place it on a shelf behind the rostrum. The room would progressively grow darker until after the last person spoke and put out their candle. The Speaking would be concluded then.

Tyr looked around the chamber, and out of the hundreds of people present, there were about 30 lit candles including his. A few were dignitaries but most were Pride Kodiak members, which meant they were not going to be long winded.

“Thank the Divine.” Tyr thought. He detested long winded eulogies.

The chamber quieted as Anaru, The First Elder of Pride Kodiak stood, and started the ceremony without preamble. The first speaker up, according to Nietzschean tradition was Matriarch Victoria.


* * * * * * * *

Exactly one hour and 47 minutes later it was Tyr's turn to speak. In the almost completely dark chamber, he stood and carried his candle with him to the podium. Up until that second, he'd not a clue what he was going to say about Barbarossa. Now, that he stood there, he still wasn't sure.

“I remember my Father's eyes.” he started. “Barbarossa was not a man of many words. He only used them when there was no other alternative but to speak, but he used his eyes the most.” he continued. “I recall an incident when I was about two and a half years old. I was given some finger paint and paper on which to draw. However, I quickly grew bored with the paper and decided to express my artistic talent upon the compound walls. So focused was I that I didn't hear my Father enter the room. I happened to look up and there were those eyes, glaring down at me. All I recall thinking was: 'I need a really, really, big eraser.' ” Tyr said. Polite laughter resounded through the chamber.

However, he did not tell them about the "tanning" Barbarossa had given his posterior. Or the fact that he was given a small bowl filled with soapy water and a small rag to help the servants wash away his masterpiece. As a consiquence, he never finger painted again.

“From that point on Barbarossa kept a eye on me. I was never too far away from him, and all he had to do is glare at me from across the room. If I was into mischief I would stop immediately, or else, his reaction was swift. I've seen the same reaction from his troops. All Barbarossa had to do was look at them and that one look would communicate volumes.” Tyr continued.

“Those eyes were what I saw before he died. They communicated what he could not say, which was, he was well pleased. That I had done well by him.” Tyr said. He then blew out his candle, turned and set it on the shelf behind him and walked down the darkened steps towards his family. This signaled that The Speaking was over.

There was a sob and sniffle or two, but the crowd quietly filed out of the dark chamber. Nietzscheans, Katay and Vulcans, assisting those out who couldn't see in the dark.

“Sire, there has been repast prepared.” Atlas told Tyr as he emerged with Victoria on his left arm. The Viceroy mentally rolled his eyes and sighed. All he wanted to do is to crawl into bed and sleep for a month.

“Tyr, when was the last time you had a decent meal?” Victoria queried.

“Before the Insurrection landed.” Tyr replied.

“What? That is nearly three weeks ago! What the dickens were you doing? Fasting?” an outraged Dr. Kori asked. “And look at you! You've lost weight too! What am I to do with you?” she continued.

Tyr blinked in response.

“Have you been getting any sleep? You look about to fall on your Nietzschean a. . . . . . . . “ Kori continued with her assault.

“Tyr, she is only looking out for your personal welfare.” Victoria soothed, as she sensed the storm clouds building. "After all, she is a doctor." she continued.

“Ditto.” Tamara said.

“Amen!” Amanda seconded.

“Damn Skippy!” Desi thought.

“They are all against me.” Tyr thought. Tamara grabbed his right hand and pulled him down the corridor to the room where the repast was set up. Once inside the crowed and noisy room, Tyr grabbed the first things he saw and sat in an out of the way corner.

Now that The Speaking was over, which signaled the official end of the mourning period. People felt safe to yak and yuck it up while stuffing their faces. Tyr sat on a low stool at an equally low table and went about devouring his plunder. He tore apart a freshly baked whole wheat pita, dipped pieces in and red pepper humus, and ate, while he sipped cool water.

“Is that all you gonna eat?” Amanda asked. Tyr honestly wanted something more, but he was just to drained to move.

“Don't you move. I'll get you something.” she said as she hustled away. Seconds later, a servant returned with a Shawrma plate. It contained pickled red cabbage, onions, carrots, pickles, lettece, topped with tender slices of curried and roasted lamb. He was also given a large mug of Chai.

“Sire, before you start, let me take that cape.” Atlas said. Tyr stood, removed the heavy garment, handed it over, and watched as the man whisked it away. Then Tyr sat and began to eat with gusto.

Three hours later, Tyr was ready to pull two tables together, stretch out on them and call it several days and several nights. Desi came to his rescue.

“Poor thing. You look all done in. Come on, let's get you back to the families wing so you can get some sleep.” she said.

Tyr stood and looked around. Strangely, all of his wives except for Desi had disappeared. Presumably, they had gone back to the family wing early to put down Alexander and Lysander. And of course, Amanda was sleeping for two.

The first thing Tyr did when he arrived in his apartment was shuck his chain mail shirt and toss it to the floor. Desi picked it up and hung it up. She turned and found him trying to scratch his own back.

“Damned thing makes me itch!” he groused. Desi was behind him in a second, using her nails to give him a good scratch.

“Here, lay down.” she said. Tyr lay down on his bed, as she continued to scratch his back. Seconds later the Viceroy was dead to the universe.

“Poor thing.” Desi whispered, as she pulled his boots off, stripped him down and covered him with as sheet and quilt.