It's the next morning, and yes I slept like a log.
I stretch out my shoulder blades, and test the mobility of my hips.
The beds were stiff and the blankets itchy, but I'm not complaining, warmth is warmth.
The surrounding crowd talks amongst themselves at various chairs and tables, stocked with bottled rum and dried meats all served on small hand-carved skewers.
I was worried about getting Tim out of bed this morning but he got up before me, and when an entourage knocked on the door he let them in and dragged me out of bed. I guess he couldn't wait any longer for this.
The chatter slowly dies down around us as I let out a yawn.
"Father Jiord will now say a few words to the deceased" A voice announces.
Two steady footsteps can be heard but the crowd blocks the view of his entrance until he stands up on the makeshift podium and he begins projecting his prepared speech.
"I will not greet his passing with furrowed fare or mourning — that is not what he would have wanted from us. His death was expected, timely. Honestly, I'm only surprised his constant yammering and sacrilege didn't kill him sooner."
A ripple of wild laughter rolls through the crowd.
"We all knew the second we came here that our time was up. This job… Well, you don't need me to explain it. He was one of us — a friend in passing to some, a brother to many, and to more than a few… a dear nuisance who touched our hearts in ways we didn't even want him to. But God knows he did so anyway. He was one of us. Family, through and through."
"Artie — as he was known back then, by his pen name. He was too clever for the rest of us, and a menace to the social order. He was fifteen when he wrote the so-called Heavenly Scripture we still joke about and use to this very day.
He titled it A Charmer's Sutra, supposedly after obtaining an Eastern manuscript. From it, he acclaimed divine inspiration, something about 'the ineffable visage of God and how His love could sway the masses.' Or at least, that's what he told Mistress when he got caught. She wasn't having any of that yonk-mort."
A lone Chuckle squarks through the audience.
"His beating was especially rough that night, and his cries would still ring in my ears, if I wasn't too preoccupied reading that same forbidden knowledge myself.
Some of you might question whether that book truly belongs in the House of the Lord. But I assure you — the bosom described and illustrated in that very book was indeed… heavenly.
Even though he limped from his room the next morning, it didn't stop him. Oh no — the worst was yet to come. After weeks of effort and persuasion, he slipped the book into the church library, past all the wandering eyes of our fellow Sisters of the Ink.
Righteously confused they were when word of its existence spread, having more than half the congregation showing up in their inconspicuous attires, participating in premeditated tactics discussed over scattered beer mugs the night before, trying to deceive their gaze and divert suspicion. All to obtain the holy grain of forbidden knowledge."
"Though they were like hawks, they couldn't stop everyone. Their number grew so vast the library was busy for weeks. Demand was so great that even Minister Wang himself was caught with a copy — though we didn't find out until after he emerged from closed prayer.
When the clan's cleaners found it open to the legendary page thirteen… well, I couldn't even describe to you their shock. And yes — it was 'that' page. On this matter, I will say no more, lest I tarnish my beloved mentor's legacy."
He wipes his brow and mutters, half in jest, half in prayer:
"Lord, why did you test me so? You granted us free will — of course we'd have a gander at something new and intriguing. Forgive me, and my fellow brothers and sisters, for our idle curiosity. Perhaps it was that same foolishness that led me here today, standing before you all. Talking about this makes me too ashamed to look at you further, or say your divine name with this unclean disciples mouth."
Laughter breaks out across the audience — especially among the men.
"Anyways, I digress, afterall Jimson is what this speech is about — and let's just say, you couldn't meet anyone as nice yet as antagonising as he was. If we were a flock of chirps, only he would be the one to ruffle feathers."
"He was the kind of man who loved yonks so much he even named them. I know, right? They're just cattle! We'd ask, 'Why in the yonk would you even do that?' But that's just old Jimson.
He's the reason we even say phrases like that. It was his persistence — how he'd convince every newcomer to use the word yonk like it was perfectly normal. He said it was for 'a gathering of yonk.' We always thought it was some community event… but none of us dared ask."
"And remember when the yonks escaped their pens last year? Who was it that went out to drag them all back? Who else but him — the renowned Yonk Whisperer. No one was more satisfied than he was.
The worst part was what came after, when he drained us of all our tabs for weeks! Feckless bastard. And he knew we couldn't even say no."
The crowd roars with laughter.
"That was just one of his quirks. He had another skill, you see — a way to read people like the Heavenly Book. He'd pretend to be dumber than you, just so you'd feel smart. Then, when you were grinning at his stupidity, he'd flip the winning hand and clean you out of your last stack of primstone. Shameless bastard.
And when those Eastern cultivators came down west demanding a land tax — who convinced them we'd hidden our beast cores in the Eyeless Lake? Him! Swamp rats and prowlers ate well that night. Legend says their ghosts are still searching for treasure to this very day."
The tone softens.
"Throughout the years, he carried an immense brightness in this camp. And though it's said the brightest lights cast the darkest shadows… the burden he bore was immense. What happened to him back then was beyond horrific.
We all carry scars and stories. But the fire he lit in our hearts will never fade. I won't name names — but let us all remember… Rest in peace, Aisha and Sophia. May you find love and peace again in the eternal afterlife."
The crowd murmurs in unison:
"May you find love and peace again in the eternal afterlife."
Clearing his throat, Jiord continues:
"For those who didn't know him well, he raised two children — beautiful, cared for with devotion that made the rest of us ashamed by comparison. Let me take this moment to offer my sympathies to the young lad left behind.
I've never seen someone with such a pure heart, nor a personality as steady and kind. Tim, we mourn with you. We will be your support through this trial."
Tim's hand finds mine. He squeezes, and heads around us nod in solemn approval.
"I know some of you worry about entrusting this child to a newcomer," Jiord adds. "But remember — no one could find treasure in the stones better than Jimson could. For that reason, I trust his eyes, his judgment, and his heart to do what's right for his boy's future."
Then his gaze hardens.
"And to you, Desmond… we'll be watching you. You're family now. Treat him well."
All eyes turn to me; some with scorn, others with curiosity, a few with reluctant acceptance.
Someone puts a glass in my hand, to which I raise.
"For Jim," I preach.
"For Jim!" the crowd cheers back.
A faint dissatisfaction crosses Jiord's face, but he masks it, announcing further to guide the function along.
"Well, that begins our ceremony. Please line up in an orderly fashion and be courteous to those behind you. Thank you, and may the Lord bless us."