“May this birdun carry you to the Light and Beyond,” proclaimed the Grand Incinerator, his bloody sword held aloft. “May the offering of your flesh and blood bring life to our barren soil. Ashes to dust. And may Femera and Amali grant you your Harmonious Equal that you may find Harmony and Balance in the Afterlife. From Flame we have risen and to Flame we must return.”

The Grand Incinerator raised his other hand high to the heavens. The long line of acolytes did the same, almost simultaneously as if in ritualized salute. Each held a small HEX in their hands, more diminutive than the combat version, but still potent.

The Grand Incinerator dropped his arm like an executioner’s blade and hurled his HEX decisively into a mound of ebony-colored rock, as luminous as dark crystal, which was piled beneath the scaffold. Upon impact, both HEX and stone exploded in a massive fireball that engulfed the dead warman above it.

In rapid succession the ignition was repeated down the line of scaffolds with their similar mounds of crystal, and the ground fairly rumbled with the rippling explosions. The grief-stricken wails of the mourners filled the air, along with black smoke and flickering tendrils of flame. The Which watched silently, as she had so many times before.

Will it ever end? she thought.

* * *

Everson recoiled reflexively, entirely unprepared for the thunderous pyrotechnics during a funeral ceremony. He stumbled backward, his ears ringing and his nose stinging from the smell of sulfur and charred flesh.

He bumped into something large. Instinctively, he knew it was not a tree. He cringed and turned in dreaded anticipation. There, as certain as suns rise, stood one of the large laborers, his eyes bulging, an expression of equal astonishment on his boulder face. Everson winced as the behemoth’s mouth yawned open, then the high-pitched shriek coalesced into a single, intelligible word.

“Help!”

The sound was almost instantly muffled as the brute wrapped Everson up in his arms. Everson struggled with all the success of a newborn against its swaddling. He could still hear the giant’s squealing cries for help, and he knew he did not have long before the crowd of Manoliths came to investigate.

His arms pinned, Everson couldn’t reach for the sword sheathed on his back. He clawed at the creature’s sides, to no avail. He tried stomping on its feet, but the thick work boots of the laborer offered him little impact. Finally, in feral desperation, Everson opened his jaws and bit down hard on a mouthful of hairy chest.

Everson would not have thought it possible, but his captor’s cry of pain reached a volume and pitch more strident than before. The thing’s huge arms ripped him from his suckling grip. Everson was flung to the ground, and then the laborer retreated, whimpering pathetically.

Springing to his feet, Everson spun around. The mourners had drifted toward the orchard thanks to the commotion. An older woman nearest the dais stepped forward beyond the others. Her blue eyes were blazing and still wet with tears. Angry red scratches were clawed into her cheeks, made by her own fingernails in demonstration of her grief.