Inspired by "River Flows In You" by Yiruma.
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The fire blazed brightly in the dark forests of Elwynn, a sight that the young elf could see from a distance. He didn’t want to be there. He didn’t want to see his mother’s body disappear before him, surrounded by the wailing of mourners. Cristianno simply hid behind a distant tree and covered his eyes and ears, in tears.
The next day, right before the sun peeked over the horizon, Marcus woke up his sun up and helped him dress. “Where are we going, father?”
“We’re going to spread your mother’s ashes all over the world.” Cristianno pulled his growing hair back in a ponytail and walked out with his father, who was holding the small wooden box containing his wife’s ashes. He helped his son onto the back of his horse and climbed up himself.
“Here son, you hold on to your mother.”
Cristianno looked at the box. “That’s not momma. Momma’s gone.”
Marcus sighed and signaled the horse to start trotting. They rode out to Elwynn Forest, where the caravan was still located. Cris hid his eyes from the gypsies. He didn’t want to see them and thankfully, they weren’t going to pry. Marcus slipped off his horse and gently took the box from Cris, walking to the center of the camp and allowing someone to get the ashes and spin in a circle as the mournful music began. Cris didn’t see any of it. He simply hugged the horse’s neck and hid his eyes against the chocolate brown mane. The cries and music and laughter made him furious. His mother had passed away and they were celebrating?
It wasn’t too long before Marcus tapped his shoulder, signaling that he was about to lift himself up. Cris moved back, his eyes looking down and still avoiding eye contact. A few hands touched his legs, saying goodbye silently, but he didn’t notice who they were. The horse rode off and Cris held on to the box once more, this time a little tighter.
“You mustn’t be rude son.”
“They were celebrating her death. That’s rude.”
Marcus sighed. “You know your people more than I do. Have they ever really celebrated death?” Cris leaned his head against his father’s back. All the times they did funeral dance, he watched with eager eyes, knowing that they were dance of honor, not of celebration.
“No.”
They continued to ride into Westfall, Cris holding on tightly to both the box and his father. His looked at the rolling hills and endless fields. “We were going to move here, Cristianno,” Marcus said softly. The elf boy lifted his head and looked around, wrinkling his nose. “Your mother had mentioned that she wanted to show you and Emii the serenity of nature and what better way to do that than to live as farmers.”
“But your business…”
“I would have given it up for my family.”
Looking closer, Cris could imagine himself running around the fields with his sister while his mother placed the clothes out to dry and his father plowed the small patch of field, but that was now just a dream. They stopped atop a hill, the breeze blowing in their hair. Cris saw Marcus open the wooden box in his arms and grab a handful of ashes. “Rest on the land we would have called home, my love,” he said solemnly before opening his hand. The ashes scattered in the wind and Cris watched as the particles danced around them, like one of her many dances around the bonfire, before flowing away onto the fields. For a moment, Cris smiled, reaching for Marcus’ hand.
“Momma,” he whispered. His eyes glanced up and saw Marcus taking a deep breath, muttering something into the wind. Their hands were squeezed together for a brief moment before his father led Cris back to the horse.
They rode for a long while through Stranglethorn. The jungle was comforting for Cris for it was natural, just as his mother had once raised him to be. Free of magic and spells. Only the trees and animals ruled the land. Their long journey through the jungle led them to Booty Bay. Cris looked around curiously, noticing the number of pirates and sailors, who saluted Marcus. Even those bickering stopped when they saw the horse approach a passenger ship. While he helped Cris get off the horse, he braved a smile and greeted pirates and overdressed buffoons, all who seemed to genuinely pat his back and offer their condolences.
Cris held the wooden box close to him, looking at the men who glanced at him, giving him a faint nod. They were left alone for the entirety of the trip, which gave Cris the opportunity to inquire about those men. “Who were they, father?”
“Old friends. When you have friends like those, Cristianno, the world can end, and you will still have someone to comfort you.” Marcus leaned his head against the ship and Cris looked down at the box. He knew that Marcus’s personal apocalypse had arrived in the form of his mother’s death. He had lost his wife and the woman he had given everything to. She was the reason he became a notary and an attorney. She was the reason he lived and at this very moment, he was struggling to simply breathe to stay alive. Marcus’ arm wrapped around Cris and pulled his son close to him. Cris looked up at the man who had given him everything his real father denied him and he reached his hand up to touch his bearded face.
“It’s okay to cry, father,” Cris whispered. “It’s just me.”
Marcus looked down at his son’s sea-green eyes and smiled faintly, tears slowly falling down his face. He nodded and hugged his son tightly. Cris held his mother’s remains in his arms as they travelled in silence for the remainder of the trip to Ratchet.
Upon arrival, they waited for their horse to be returned and they rode off to Mulgore, the place where Cristianno was born. With his guidance, Cristianno led Marcus to the place where the caravan usually set up camp. He ran around, telling Marcus about is adventures as a small elf and how he learned the ways of the Tauren. He told him about the first time he discovered magic and how furious his mother was, but he also spoke of the time when he got lost and his mother’s song led him back to the caravan. This time, Marcus held the box in his hand and allowed the young elf to reach in and grab the ash. Cristianno held it in his hand before running around the land, slowly releasing the dusty particles into the air. He laughed, as if his mother was chasing him. In fact, he could hear her laughing behind him and even see her long auburn hair flowing in the wind. When the final particles were gone, he looked behind him and saw only the land. His smile disappeared and he walked back to Marcus, burying his face against his belly. Once again, Marcus muttered something and patted his son before they walked toward the horse.
“One more stop, Cristianno,” Marcus softly said as they rode back to Ratchet. The sun was starting to set and they rode quickly before it was too late. Marcus paid a captain for his boat and the two sailed away from the docks, into deep waters. Not being used to the sea, Cris trembled slightly and looked at Marcus for comfort. The man took the wooden box and looked at Cristianno. Their faces were illuminated with bright oranges as the sun began to set.
“I am a man of the sea, Cristianno. When I left its comfort, it was because I found comfort in your mother. She was my sea. She was calm and tranquil, yet dangerous and cruel. She was life giving. She was my existence. With your permission, son, I would like to return her to what she loved: nature. The sea surrounds the continents. Therefore, she will be all around us. Forever.”
Cris looked at the water, reaching down to touch it, his hands getting wet for a moment. He looked at Marcus and whispered, “And momma will always be there? In the water?”
“Yes, Cristianno. Always.”
The elf boy nodded and held on to the box along with Marcus, both of them tilting the box over and watching the cascade of ashes fall into the ocean. As Cris watched the ashes disappear within the water, Marcus placed a candle inside the wooden box and lit it, leaving the lid open.
“Father, what did you say when we let momma go at the other places?”
Marcus stared at the candle and sighed, “In Elwynn, I said ‘May your people’s music guide your spirit back in times of joy.’ In Westfall, I said, ‘Enjoy this land which would have been our home.’ In Mulgore, ‘Protect the land that saw your precious gift come to life.’” He looked at Cris and smiled. “I still haven’t said anything here.”
“May I, father?”
“Of course, son.”
Cris took the box from Marcus and leaned over, gently placing it on the ocean. “Protect us, momma and always accept us in your arms when we travel by the water.”
Marcus smiled and nodded, adding, “Embrace us with your love forever.”
As they sailed back to the docks, Cris stared at the floating box that illuminated the now dark ocean. He waved a little before turning back and seeing the lit up town of Ratchet.
“I miss momma,” Cris whispered as he sat outside the inn, staring at the night sky.
“I miss her too, Cristianno.” No more words were exchanged for the evening. They held each other, not afraid to cry if they had to, and only moving from their spot when it was time for bed. Their lives had been changed and their foundation had been rattled.
The shores of Westfall were somewhat violent that evening. The earthquakes had made the sea a dangerous place to be and he had experienced severe rocking when they were travelling to Sun’s Reach Harbor. Cristianno walked alone, his hand on his dagger as he passed several murloc guards, but even the guards were terrified of the shaking and they didn’t pay him much attention. Cristianno knelt by the water whispered, “Protect me, momma. Let me be your strong boy again. My heart aches and I don’t know why.” He sighed and dipped his hand in the cold water. He then kissed his hand and touched the water once more. “I need you momma.”
He looked up at the night sky and broke down in tears. “I need you, momma.”
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