“My father!” Sheiji cried and flung himself over the dead king. “My father! My father!”
“Come now, young Vua,” Fa-Ying said soothingly, using the title of vua; king. “We must let his spirit go in peace.”
Sheiji would not move. He clung to his father, arms around the thin, lifeless body. The tears rained down the prince’s face and splashed onto the king’s bare chest. Yet no more than one small sob escaped his throat.
The death rituals began around him. The men pounded their chests and their thighs with their hands, stomped their feet, and wailed. They must carry the king’s spirit safely to Doi Doi Mãi Mãi, “The Eternal Forever.” Their clapping and stomping would scare away the spirits who would try one last time to snatch the dead man’s soul.
Now Kawa’s wives began to wail and pull their hair. Other women of the palace slipped into the room and they also took up the stomping and wailing.
Sheiji trembled in fear from the noise. This was the first death ceremony he had been allowed to attend. His tears had stopped and he clung to his father, his whole body quaking in fear and sorrow.
“Come, Sheiji,” Fa-Ying whispered gently in his ear. Sheiji allowed himself be dragged away from his father’s body at last. He stood shakily by Fa-Ying’s side in the far corner of the room.
Candles were being lit and placed in a ring around the king. The light would guide his soul to Doi Doi Mãi Mãi. Evil spirits were afraid of light, preferring the darkness where they could not be seen by the gods who would help the poor soul that the spirits were trying to ensnare.
The light from the candles threw ghostly shadows on the wall as Sheiji watched, making the dancing, screaming figures seem supernatural; like sinister monsters.
Fa-Ying put his arm around Sheiji’s shoulders and drew him close. It was a crime punishable by imprisonment or even death, to touch a king or queen, but Fa-Ying remembered a time when he had needed the comforting touch of a friend and had not received it. And so he comforted the sad and frightened boy.
“Let’s go,” said Fa-Ying gently. “You’ve seen enough.” He guided Sheiji by the shoulder. They pushed through the crowd toward the door.
Sheiji felt a hand squeeze his arm and gasped in pain. He turned his head and saw his brother Sui-Tsai glaring at him with narrowed eyes and holding his arm in a grip of iron. His expression was hideous and inhuman. “You…will never…be…king!” Sui-Tsai threatened between clenched teeth. “I will personally see to that.”
Sheiji saw a small glimmer of metal and knew Fa-Ying had heard the prince’s words and had drawn his dagger. Sui-Tsai quickly released Sheiji and disappeared inside the Death Room.
“Pay him no mind, Sheiji,” Fa-Ying said.
Then they were in the hall. The door closed and the dancing and noises were locked inside the room. A sob escaped Sheiji’s throat as he thought of his father, of the ceremony and of his brother’s threat.
“It has been a long night, my king,” Fa-Ying said.
Soon Sheiji was back in his room. He undressed and climbed into bed. An armed servant sat nearby, under Fa-Ying’s orders to draw his dagger on anyone who tried to enter the room, but still Sheiji could not sleep. The whole scene of that night’s activities played before his eyes: the picture of his majestic father, lying helpless and weak on the Death Bed, the sound of the stomping and wailing and beating of chests, and Sui-Tsai’s threat.
He lay awake thinking until dawn when Fa-Ying returned to fetch him.