Tara The Great [Nuworld 2] (51 page)

repeated, “Is that good for you?”

“Yes,” Tara said. “Jolee, thanks.”

“Don’t say another word.”

Tara could hear Jolee typing.

“I understand. My grandpapa passed away last winter.”

That’s right. She’d forgotten.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” Jolee sounded concerned.

Had Jolee noticed her fear? “I’m fine. Darius is here.” Tara turned off the comm and

looked up at him.

He stroked the side of her face, and with his other arm, pulled her gently into his

grasp once again.

She wanted to stay there all day.

* * * * *

Darius read her thoughts. In fact, he’d seen right away that Tara wasn’t handling

the tragic loss well. He’d anticipated her falling apart when the time came. She idolized

her papa. It might be the only time during their relationship, but for now, he was in

charge. Something inside her had shut down the second she’d heard the tragic news.

He would take care of her, willingly.

Darius suggested she rest while he instructed the servants. She looked so beautiful

lying on the bed. The usual lustful feelings didn’t enter his thoughts when he studied

her body. He felt compassion. He’d never loved anyone the way he loved her right

now. She needed him, and she wanted him to care for her. He’d longed for this

moment.

Fulga accepted his instructions with a nod of her head. She’d take Tara’s meals to

her. No one was to speak to her unless cleared through him first.

Darius knew Tara wasn’t fit to rule at the moment, and he wouldn’t let anyone see

that. He’d keep her confined until the shock wore off. Tara was numb, and no one

would confront her with anything he didn’t know about first.

Hilda apparently had taken Reena under her wing. She confronted Darius on

Reena’s behalf after he’d finished briefing Fulga. “She’s Gothman, Darius, she is.” His

mama reminded him of the Gothman burial traditions. “Of course, she respects the

Runner traditions, she does, and understands Runners bury their own according to

their rituals. But she’ll be needing to have the traditional dinner here. She has a right to

mourn according to our customs, yes. I’ll organize everything.”

“That’ll be fine,” Darius agreed. It would keep his mama busy as well. Everyone

would be affected by this death.

Quick footsteps along the hallway upstairs alerted him that someone had

approached Tara’s bedroom. He hurried back up the stairs to investigate.

Tara still rested on the bed, but Syra was now draped across her. Their arms

intertwined and Syra was sobbing hysterically.

“You need me, and I want to be strong,” Syra choked out through hiccups, and

more tears.

“I want to be strong too.” Tara stroked her niece’s hair and pulled the blanket over

the two of them. “But right now, all I really want is Patha to tell me how to be strong.”

Darius stood silently in the doorway, remaining unnoticed, as the two women cried

together. He could see Tara’s swollen eyes and tearstained cheeks, and watched as she

brushed Syra’s hair to the side and stared up to the ceiling, crying the whole time.

Torgo stood beside the bed. He turned when Darius entered the room. His eyes

looked watery, but only for a moment.

Darius saw his brother tighten his upper lip and toughen up.

Tara and Syra didn’t seem to notice either one of them.

He took Torgo by the arm and led him out of the bedroom. “Let them be women for

a change,” Darius whispered as he slowly shut the door.

“The way Syra’s acted for the past couple of days, I’ll be glad to have my warrior

back, I will.” Torgo shook his head. “But I guess I never had a chance to get to know

what a docile woman is like before.” He grinned.

Darius understood that Torgo wasn’t in mourning like the women were. Sure, he

had known Patha, but not as well as the women. Darius reflected that it would be good

to have someone levelheaded and able to follow instructions by his side over the next

few days.

“There are advantages to both, yes.” Darius allowed a small laugh and slapped his

younger brother on the back. He then sobered quickly and added, “Runners have a

Time of Sadness, they do. The family is isolated and the friends prepare the burial

ceremony. No one will disturb them in our bedroom, under my orders. Let them

mourn, I say. Meanwhile, I want you to keep close eyes on any incoming traffic. Word

will travel through Nuworld quickly, it will. I want our defenses up, yes. Send the

orders through to the Runners, as well. Contact Jolee. Tell her the orders come from

Tara.”

Torgo raised an eyebrow at Darius’ last comment.

He saw the questioning expression and narrowed his eyes. “Do as you’re told,”

Darius ordered. “If any messages come in for Tara, bring them to me, you will.”

Now Torgo did question him. “You can’t—”

Darius grabbed his brother by the arm and led him forcibly down the hallway to

the computer room. “Now look,” Darius hissed when the two of them were alone in the

room. His voice wasn’t quite harsh, but very controlled. “Tara isn’t thinking clearly. She

went numb, she did. If the wrong person realized the leader of the Runner nation

wasn’t thinking clearly, they might decide to take advantage of the situation. She’ll snap

out of it soon enough, she will. We’ll all know it when she does, and she’ll start giving

her own orders, yes.”

“That’s for sure.” Torgo chuckled, but it sounded forced as he eyed the grip Darius

had on his arm.

“In the meantime, do as I say.”

“Yes, my lord.” Torgo still smiled as he gave his brother a foolish salute. Darius

swatted at his head, but Torgo ducked causing Darius to send blond curls flying.

* * * * *

Tara and Syra remained in the bed together for the rest of the day. Several Runners

visited the Bryton home, but were escorted to Darius instead of the women. He

wouldn’t allow them to be disturbed. Flower arrangements and baked goods arrived

with solemn condolences. By evening, the living room was full of flowers, their

fragrances filling the house. This wasn’t the smell of death, Darius thought to himself as

he wondered at the Runner tradition of flowers at funerals; this was the smell of

mourning. Mourning was for the living. So maybe they viewed flowers as a way to

remind themselves that they still had their lives ahead of them.

Darius awakened the next morning to Tara pounding the keys on the computer in

their bedroom. He rolled to his side and rested his head on his hand as he watched her.

Tara’s hair lay damp and silky past her shoulders. Her elbows moved in and out

slightly as she hit the keys with her fingers. She sat straight, proud, and never hesitated

as she worked. Her white undershirt hung on her, revealing the outline of ribs and the

inward curve at her waist.

“How are you feeling?” He broke the silence.

She jumped. “Did I wake you?” She turned in her chair to glance at him, then

turned back to the computer. “I woke with a start this morning, realizing everything I

have to do. I guess I lost it a little bit yesterday, huh.”

He got out of bed to stand behind her, massaging her shoulders. “What are you

doing?”

“Writing my speech.”

“Of course, for the burial ceremony.” Her muscles were so tight.

“You’re familiar with it?”

He almost said Patha explained it, but caught himself. He remembered the vague

details. It was an all-day event, a celebration of a life now over. A description of the

person’s life was given, their accomplishments. Usually the oldest child did this, in this

case, Tara. Runners didn’t believe in an afterlife. He wondered if Tara would

incorporate her new belief in Crator into her speech.

“I know it will create a stir, but I think Patha would like it.” She pulled a piece of

paper off the printer. “What do you think?”

Darius glanced at the first few paragraphs Tara had typed. The speech was an

introductory lesson to Crator.

“Patha believed in Crator.” She justified as he read. “I’m in a position where I can

introduce His ways to many people at the ceremony. I know it’s just the beginning, but

Runners will learn of His power. Patha would approve, don’t you think?”

He saw the look in her eyes. She wanted Darius’ approval. She needed his

approval. Her mourning wasn’t over, but she was in control once again.

“Yes,” he said.

* * * * *

A mini-tower stood in the field by the Blood Circle Clan for the burial ceremony. It

was made of large white bricks and shaped like a triangle. The bottom was square and

over twenty feet in diameter. It narrowed as it rose to the sky. The top was flat, and

Patha’s body lay on its surface under a glass coffin. His body was dressed in full

Runner uniform, and all badges of honor he’d received through his lifetime adorned his

chest. After the ceremony, his body with all his dearest possessions would be

incinerated, forever removing him from Nuworld.

His memory would live through stories told by the fires.

Wooden benches created rows in front of the burial tower. A wide middle aisle

separated the benches into two groups. At least thirty Runners could sit in each row

and there were over one hundred rows. Twelve large wooden torches, standing over

twenty feet high, lined either side of the burial tower. Each torch represented a clan. As

the clan leaders arrived for the ceremony, they assisted in lighting a torch using a long

narrow rod.

It was an incredible sight.

Tara lit the torch for the Blood Circle Clan last, and thousands upon thousands of

Runners cheered their new leader.

Each leader spoke briefly of their knowledge of Patha.

When Tara gave her speech late in the afternoon, it was so quiet, wind could be

heard blowing gently through the pine trees.

“Patha and I discussed a new way of looking at the world, not too long ago.” She

stood in front of the burial tower, using a handheld voice projector in order to be heard.

“And today I will share that new way with you.”

“I have been shown the way of Crator, my fellow Runners, and today I stand before