“As is a tale, so is a life: Not how long it is, but how good it is, is what matters.”

Seneca

My funeral was a sad occasion.

Super senses, Echolocation, Eavesdrop, and Mana Sense allowed me to hear it from afar and see it to an extent, hidden as I was, in a backpack carried by Des who stood side by side with Sinis, alone alongside Grandfather’s boat. They were waiting till after the funeral to head to the island with me. No one had really questioned what or who the two boys were in the light of the news of my death and my two servants, slaves, employees or whatever they were, would be accompanying their lord in his escape into exile. Their lack of the language Bussola was a blessing in disguise as they were unable to confirm or deny any story of my demise. There was no need for them to lie unable as they were to understand or answer any of the questions they had been asked. The story of what had happened rested with my maternal and paternal grandfather’s. One a pillar of the community the other, well I was still unsure what precisely it was my more militant grandfather did exactly.

Des and Sinis spoke quietly to one another watching the ceremony unfold. Another language to learn another skill and experience to gain but I had not started yet too wrapped up in the events unfolding on the shoreline.

I had a small coffin, more a wooden box than anything fancy, it was placed on a raft which was about to be pushed to sea. Obviously, it didn’t have my body in it and everyone knew that. The story of my demise was that I had or rather my body had never been found after I dropped off the cliff into the sea. It was not a difficult story to tell as it was for the most part true and it wasn’t hard to understand that a baby would never survive the fall. In fact, it would have been more challenging for the people of the town to know that I had survived. People were cross but it was a wave of diffuse anger spread out among a few the people blamed. Some blamed the attempted murderer or man acting as an assassin, some the merchant, some the nobles, some my grandfather. It all depended on how they viewed the world and how much of the story they were aware of. Either way, it was a shock to the system and the majority were stunned by the sudden disappearance of the latest addition to the island not through accident, illness, or injury but through foul play. Their emotions seemed to switch between sadness that debilitated and a wave of anger that drove them to action. But held by the service, they stood in silence as my family stepped up to the coffin. Before they pushed it out onto the lagoon they had some final words to say.

“To Kai, the song of my heart.” My mother spoke quietly but clearly for all to hear, remembering all the times we had sung or hummed together. She placed a little whistle on the raft next to the box.

“To Kai, the sailor of our little sea.” My father intoned, louder, proud of the progress I had made, yet still clearly sad about my passing. He placed a small sailboat alongside the whistle.

“To Kai, my brother a merchant in the making and a tall tale cut short too quick.” Aleera said. As she placed a little bag of salt and a toy soldier or doll down with them.

I wonder where they got the items from as I had not seen them before, or who they were for

. . .

Wait a second!

. . .

Are those my birthday presents?

Do we really need to burn my birthday presents?

That’s so not fair!

. . .

My parents stood there watching as my raft was pushed out onto the lake it was small and hastily cobbled together rather than the fine and probably false Viking funeral my imagination conjured. Still, the small cloth sail was filled by an errant gust of wind which took it out further onto the lagoon. If I had been in the crowd I would have raised an eyebrow suspiciously at my sister, but hidden as I was all I could do was wonder whether my suspicions were correct, rather than watch her face to gain an answer. My Grandfather removed a bow and with a burning arrow lit on fire fired it out onto the little raft. Four arrows later, the box and base packed with kindling were blazing away. The crowd murmured, talking quietly as they watched the memory of my mortal remains quickly burn to the waterline before sinking under the water. It was a poignant way to sell the story, making me wonder what had happened to my first body in my old world. Had I been buried or cremated? I couldn’t remember if I had ever written a will or what I had decided to do on my death. It hadn’t been something I had ever really considered. Also, what happened to you here when you died? Would I start another life in another world? No one else here seemed to have done so. I certainly couldn’t bank on it happening again, so holding onto the new life that I miraculously had again was my goal in life. But it also made me wonder about what people believed here. I found it interesting that people can have similar rituals despite living in different times on different worlds. A question for another time, my parents had not talked to me about religion yet but I’m sure there are some. All cultures have some form of faith, either in god, spirits or simply themselves.

After the raft had sunk below the waterline, we all made our way to the grandfather’s boat. Today it was just Des, Sinis, and I. Mother, Father and Aleera would follow tomorrow. My family after watching the raft sink set about packing up their house before they planned to move out to the island.

The plan was to be on the island for at least 3 years before returning to the town. One year to allow mother to be pregnant again. One year to allow to pretend that a new baby has been born. Finally one more year to allow the imaginary baby that I am going to pretend to be to be old enough that my 4 years of age could be confused with a child that is supposed to only be 2. That all seems rather complicated and indeed it is but it will hopefully give us a window of opportunity free from noble interference to consolidate our position and let me grow up a little.

“Everybody ready?” Grandfather asked after we had climbed aboard. “Good, let’s get going then.”

Without waiting for an answer from two boys who couldn’t reply or me who was hidden away in a bag now in the bottom of the boat he set sail for the island. I grinned to myself. My island.

Do you think anyone had mentioned to him that I was now his landlord?

Probably not.

. . .

I could just imagine the conversation in my head.

“Where’s my rent?” baby me.

“Kai?” confused grandfather.

“You pay me now!” baby scream.

“I’m going to go get my bow and arrow, time to practice your dodging skills.” Sardonic grandfather.

. . .

Somehow, I didn’t think it would go as well as the 2-year-old landlord Pearl I had laughed at all those years ago.

. . .

As we sailed across the inner lagoon of Wester Ponente, I was not bothered by the fact that I had been packed away in a bag. I closed my eyes and napped or daydreamed about what was to come next.