a moment I’m not sure what he’s doing…until I realise that he’s praying. A god himself, and he’s actually praying. I can’t blame him.
There was some discussion about whether we should invite Hugo’s girlfriend. She needed to know, that much was obvious. Even back in Scotland, she always kept in regular touch with Hugo, and the last thing any of us wanted was to cause her undue worry. Mum was insistent near the beginning that she be allowed to attend the funeral, but the rest of us knew that was a bad idea. Just because she knows about the existence of gods doesn’t mean she’s ready for the truth about what happened, and it would be even worse for another innocent to get wrapped up in Neritous’s schemes. He’s victimised too many people already. In the end, we settled on telling her that there would be no service, and although she was devastated, she understood; Hugo was never very much of a traditionalist.
Other than us, there is nobody else at the funeral. It breaks my heart to see the chapel practically empty, but I also know that involving any of his many friends and acquaintances would only put them in danger, too, so I force myself not to get choked up as dad goes to the podium to address the nearly-empty room. “Thank you, all of you,” he says, his voice cracking, and I can see the dark circles under his eyes. “This can’t have been an easy thing to put together on such short notice, but it brings me some relief to know that we can send…” He struggles for a moment, raising a hand as he tries to compose himself, before continuing. “It brings me some relief to know that we can put Hugo to rest today.”
I glance over at the coffin behind dad, which is closed; the magic rendered his corpse almost unrecognisable, and I think we would all rather remember him the way he was in life.
Dad clears his throat. “I’ll keep this brief, since time is, unfortunately, of the essence. Hugo was my son, and I loved him. I remember the day he was born. He cried blue murder and scared the living daylights out of us all.” He nods in mum’s direction, and she gives him a sad smile of acknowledgement. “But I couldn’t have asked for a better son. Even as a child, he was always full of life and joy. No joke was ever unfunny to him, and he had this…way of looking at the world like it could be good even when it’s dark. I think that’s what I’ll remember most about him, and…” He swallows, clearly getting choked up. “And I think that’s what we should all remember: what a bright, optimistic, and kind man he was. I hope, wherever he is now, he can continue to share that love and joy.” Bowing his head, he murmurs, “Thank you,” and then backs away from the podium.
I can already feel my throat getting thick again, my eyes prickling with unshed tears as I watch mum slowly get to her feet, hobbling up to the podium on unsteady legs. She’s been utterly inconsolable for the past few days, going back and forth between spending all day in bed and working herself to death in the garden. Michael was in the dark about what happened for a while, an unfortunate casualty of our distraction, and when mum finally let him know that Hugo was gone, he spent the next day lying by the tree, his head on the ground and his eyes downcast. It’s a shame that he can’t be here today, but a goat in a church would draw raised eyebrows, and the last thing we need right now is attention.
Mum stumbles through her eulogy, going back and forth between memories of Hugo as a baby and times that made an impression on her when he was older. She doesn’t bother to hide her tears, soldiering bravely through the speech like the fighter that she’s always been. I wish I could be more like her, sometimes. Letting her emotions out does seem to make her feel marginally better, and when she returns to her seat, her head is held high. Damien goes next and, like I predicted, does his best to bring some levity to the ceremony, discussing some of the antics he and Hugo got up to over the years, and the lessons he learned from having an older brother. After