Gohenur protects Luneder like a watchful guardian.
I believed my father. It did not protect my home that day. But perhaps it would protect me, so in the forest I hid myself away. I wrapped that shattered promise around me and clung to it.
I would rather not spend any longer than I need to dwelling on those early years in the forest. Days spent wandering, lost. Nights wasted in tears. The trees and the moon were my only comfort and company.
The emptiness clawed at me. I howled and hated and, after a long time, healed. My heart was a shrivelled scar, barely mended but just enough to go on. I accepted that they were gone. That everything I knew was gone. That even something within me was no longer there.
Eventually, you learn that nothing is quite as heavy as nothingness.
My father taught me to appreciate the nature of things. To pay attention to the stirring of each leaf and the startling of every petal. I learned to consider the starlight and life that flows within each. But on that day of fire, it all fell apart as I saw everything around me and within me come to nothing. Perhaps knowing how each piece is connected to the whole made the pain all the worse, like eyes that had never beheld true light suddenly thrust into the sun.
My father’s spear never again gave light. But his lessons continued to sustain me. It was all I could do to keep from seeing red and black each time I closed my eyes. To keep my sleep from being haunted by that monstrous face.
I focused on the life around me in Gohenur. I learned new things as the creatures of the forest became known to me. Something of the sorrow I felt faded as my childhood passion for the living things of Gohenur took over.
But I suppose this chapter of my life really begins with the building of a dwelling place. My home, my humble cottage sequestered among trees. I spent my first winter dwelling in tree hollows, as deep and warm as I could nestle. By my second, I had a modest burrow, mere fallen branches tucked together by an old root and covered over with mulch and undergrowth.
Around this time, I learned to forage for berries and other fruit. Aresa’s vase came in handy to collect rainwater. Once I managed to consistently light fires, it doubled as a cookpot. Hunting became necessary to sustain myself. How thankful I am for the lives that fell so I could go on. I have never taken the ending of a life lightly, and each song cut short panged me. But some drive to survive kept me going. And so, my father’s spear was steeped in blood for the first time.
For a while, I feared forgetting those who were taken from me. But as I found myself scraping through season after season and pushing through each day, I realised. The memory had not disappeared, but merely sunk beneath the surface, like water seeping into the ground. And out of that nourishing flow, something grew. Something which would rise defiant and deny the pirate lord’s prophecy.
To do that, I needed a more permanent foothold in the forest. A structure to weather the rolling storms. Too many nights had been cold and damp. I needed to build a lasting home.
About two years passed before I dared to venture out of Gohenur’s depths and to the river. I had been collecting water from a tributary stream, mostly by night, but the Valarion is the main thoroughfare. That would give me access to travelling traders. I cannot say I had a true grasp of the world’s size then, but my vague recollections of Luneder’s itinerant merchants led me to believe if any would pass through Gohenur, they would do so via the river.
And so, I came out to the river for the first time. The Valarion. Never-failing, ever-faithful. Always moving when everything else in my life had stood still. I traipsed to its banks, lighter than a ghost. I felt exposed and nearly overwhelmed, but I knew I needed to do this if were to thrive in Gohenur.
I kept watch for several nights, unseen. Sure enough, people travelled through and I caught glimpses of a group about once every tide or so. I had not the courage to engage the first few travellers and I retreated to the forest’s heart. But rising necessity forced me back out. I left small signals of my presence—marks in the trees and what few items I could spare—to begin my approach.
At first, I was at a loss for how I would purchase what I needed. I did not quite understand the flow of coin, but I remembered enough of my time among Luneder’s markets to know that people appreciated items of value. And what did I have around me if not the richness of Gohenur itself?
My first encounter was with a family of traders. Their carriage stopped by an old maple tree where I had left a scratched-out marking in the trunk and a bundle of chrysanthemums. The man who hopped out had a kindly look, a weathered face and portly figure. The bark-coloured hat atop his head looked older than he did.
I chose that moment to swallow my fear and emerged from the foliage I had been hiding behind. The merchant noticed me. He stepped back and motioned toward the carriage. His other hand flexed toward the scabbard at his side. The reaction was familiar, a paternal instinct I had seen somewhere before but could only dimly recall.
‘Hello there,’ the merchant said. ‘Can we help you?’ It took a while for his words to register. It had been a long time since I last heard human speech.
‘What’s going on out there?’ A woman’s voice. Calling out from the carriage. She peeked out and her eyes fell on me. ‘Oh, blessed Regulus!’ she cried. She rushed out to stand beside her husband. She had long, flowing hair of a washed-out colour like oak. As she spoke, she wiped her hands on an apron which had seen considerable use.
The man relaxed and put an arm around his wife. The woman looked around, seemingly in panic. ‘Who is she? You don’t think it’s bandits?’
The merchant cut in and said, ‘No. I don’t know who this girl is but I think she wants to trade.’ That seemed to placate the woman. The merchant pointed to the markings I had left in the tree. ‘Was this you?’ he asked.
I nodded.
‘The mark of an old mercantile contract. So, you must be from a trading town around here?’
I did not answer.
‘Don’t be daft,’ the man’s wife chided. ‘Look at the poor thing! She’s all skin and bones, unkempt, and weary. She probably doesn’t have a home. Oh, Regulus, you don’t think she’s from…’
Whatever the woman was thinking, she did not finish saying it. I wondered how I must have appeared to them, a wildling child bartering with a strange collection of tokens from the forest. Ridiculous and desperate. But they were gracious.
‘Well, come on, then,’ the man said. ‘Show us what you’ve got.’
I shuffled forward at the invitation. The woman took my hand and led me to their carriage. I nearly resisted. It felt so sudden and the woman’s touch was warm and unnerving, reminding me of something I could no longer have. But I relented, and she took me around to where their possessions were held.
‘Why have we stopped, ma?’ a young girl called out.
‘We have a guest, Dina. Let’s put on a brunch,’ the woman said.
The merchants’ daughter—somewhat younger than myself—eyed me curiously and smiled. She was wearing a spring-coloured dress splashed with lively flowers and butterflies. It was the loveliest thing I had ever seen and I thought darkly of my own ragged and stained robes.
Mother and daughter began preparing a meal while the father showed me their wares out of a handsome leather chest. He brought out weapons and tools of all kinds, parchments and maps, fine silks and wools from far-off places, and even a few moonglint articles.
I showed him what I had on offer: the spring saps I had been harvesting, collected dried resin, and a few choice herbs and flowers I had picked. The man ran over them with interest, as if in that moment they were the most valuable things he had laid eyes on.
‘Hmm, yes, we can use this to make syrup and oils,’ he mused to himself. ‘And these would be lovely for my Dina.’
With more gestures than words, we traded. The man accepted the forest’s bounty of sap, resin, and plant. I acquired a hunting dagger, a carving knife, and a map of Western Anardes. The merchant even threw in a tinderbox in our deal.
Afterwards, the woman insisted I stay for a meal. I dined with that family there, in the carriage nestled beneath Gohenur’s maple boughs. Even the smell of that family’s cooking made me realise I could not remember a time I had been truly full. But the food they gave me filled out this hollow shell. Slowly, I regained semblance of my former energy.
I did not speak much, but they told me of their travels and their home. They spoke of the happenings in the world, and they even mentioned the disaster which had befallen Luneder. I did not give any indication that it was anything but a point on a map to me. I did not even give them my name.
As we finished eating, the family presented me a gift. The woman unwrapped a bundled dress. It was a gorgeous thing, arrayed with summer greens and sun-bright yellows. Dina handed me a fine wooden comb as well. I had not the time to think of beauty or preening in Gohenur, but this reminded me I was becoming a lady. How I wished my mother could have seen me grow up.
Then a question came like a crack of ice in a winter-river.
‘We’re on our way to Guladran. Would you like to come with us?’
I quailed at those words. Seeing the family there together, I felt a jolt of pain. I treasured their hospitality and their gift, and I would go on to wear that dress ‘til it was frayed and frail. But I could not accept this. Some darkness within me screamed and warned my heart to retreat.
I rose, took my traded belongings, and left the carriage without looking back. I dashed back into the labyrinth of trees. Leave the forest? No, I could not abandon its protection and expose myself so.
Over time, I continued trading with passers-by, but I had to learn to distinguish between merchant and mercenary. For not all company in the woods was kind. Some would pass through with nefarious intent, seeking to harm others or my forest. I would fend them off as best as I could. There was no military tact to my assault – mere forest savagery. I laid traps, struck from shadow, and held off against bandits with my father’s spear.
My other endeavours were not so belligerent. I took up my father’s craft and carved small wooden trinkets. Rough at first, hardly worth trading, but I improved. I fashioned small mementos of the forest’s life and so had more of a repertoire to present to travellers. I also brewed herbal remedies and poultices. With these, I bartered for planks of timber, panes of glass, and other wooden instalments, as well as smaller necessities like linens and clothes.
Slowly, I gathered enough materials to build something for myself. I chose a spot in a clearing deep in Gohenur where I had been tending to flower-beds. There, I erected a cottage. While it was not quite the cabin you know—that would come later—it was home. Ramshackle, rickety, and not quite right, I still looked on it with pride. Gohenur festooned the hut in an embrace of branches from nearby trees, so I took that as approval.
Inside, I settled Aresa’s vase on the mantel and filled it with new flowers. It felt as if a tension long held had finally given way, like a chord resolved. The vase was in its proper place again, purposeful and full of the hope that I could be set right too.
When I came out, the smiling sunlight filtered through trees and garden. It settled on my skin, my hair, my dirt-scuffed dress. I knew that day this would be my life now. Looking back, I can tell it was that imperceptible passing milestone when you can almost believe that a matter had always been this way.
As I stood among my flowers, a song escaped my lips before I knew its full shape. The words were my own and will remain so. The garden’s colours became mine. The light and life of the forest belonged to me, and I to it. There I could have remained.
Five long courses of the sun passed.
At sixteen, I was discovered. I remember the day well. It was autumn. The sky was the colour of an old parchment. The entire forest felt a change as a bizarre wind tussled trees the wrong way with a tune I had not heard before.
I was out drawing water. Sounds were carried on the breeze. Rough voices. The stamping of horses. I did not know these signals would herald a new chapter of my life. The gentle pattern I had settled into was disturbed when the Empire found me and I uncovered more about who I am.
At the time, I had not realised this, of course. All I knew is that intruders had tread upon my forest. My instincts were to protect and defend. So, I grabbed my father’s spear, hauled on what little protective gear I had acquired from merchants—a simple leather cuirass and greaves—and met the assailants.
It was a curious cohort which appraised me as I confronted them, attempting to look as ferocious as possible. I had never seen the Empire’s soldiers before, and though they seemed hostile at the time, how treasured and familiar these faces would become.
At their head, an imposing flaxen-haired warrior sat astride an even more imposing midnight-black stallion. Amarant Darius was there, donning his usual furs and furrowed brows. Beside him, on a fair horse, rode a fair-haired man. Though he appeared much milder than the warrior next to him, he still bore authority and even the contours of his face seemed given to discipline. Dear Ishak was younger then, his facial hair the colour of mountains untouched by snow.
And at their rear, riding a golden steed, was the most impressive and powerful woman I have ever known. In her twinkling plate mail, she emanated authority. The pale autumn light fell on perfectly cropped sun-blonde hair, and she regarded me with cool eyes of deep and living blue. She hoisted a long, silver spear on which was proudly hung a banner of the Anardaëan lion. It was like seeing the legendary Lady Vildia in the flesh.
Her name was Roëthia, Amarant of Fara’ethar’s infantry.
I felt small under their gazes. It was the woman who spoke first.
‘Two Amarants and a maneling for a little girl. What is the meaning of this, Amaleron?’
I did not know whom she was speaking to at first, for she gazed back at something I did not initially notice when I stumbled onto the Empire’s entourage. Behind the group was a golden, gilded carriage which, in my stories, always carried princes. But it was no dainty prince who stepped out.
Amaleron stepped forward at Roëthia’s beckoning. To my eyes, he looked like someone who had always been old. He moved slowly and carefully, as if his feet would soon sprout roots and he would turn into a tree. He came to the front of the group, hobbling along on a staff, and his eyes found me. He did not say anything for a while.
‘Is this what we’re after?’ Darius asked. Roëthia grumbled something with disapproval.
Amaleron raised his hand to placate the growing discontent among the three warriors. To my surprise, despite his apparently perpetual state of eldership, Amaleron was in charge.
‘We have heard reports of a trader of marvels here in Gohenur,’ he spoke up. ‘Who are you?’
I was hesitant to answer.
‘I suppose it is only kind to begin with my own name,’ the old man said. ‘I am Amaleron, steward of Anardes.’ He also introduced the rest of the emissaries. There was something in Amaleron’s ancient eyes, some bright and vivid energy, which was very familiar and comforting. His amicable mannerisms reminded me of my father, and I suppose that is no surprise to me now.
When he completed introductions, Amaleron asked, ‘What is your name?’
I spoke.
‘Adélia Amal’ethar, daughter of Menkalinan and Cassia.’ It felt strange to be speaking again. Somewhat cumbersome to be giving my name.
The old man looked troubled. He trembled. I did not know then the simple speaking of my name would so reverberate. I felt almost weakened, as if revealing my name had exposed some raw and fragile part of me.
Amaleron leaned harder on his staff, deep in thought. I noticed then that the gem on the steward’s staff bore a likeness to that embedded in my father’s spear. Only, Amaleron’s gem was still alive with light within.
When the steward spoke again, there was great gravity in his tone, though I suppose that is natural for someone bearing as much responsibility as he does.
‘Adélia, I knew your father,’ the steward said. ‘I knew him in ages past, when he lived simply as Merenor the woodcarver. I was beside him when he shone as Menkalinan the Unfading. And I was deeply grieved by his passing and the darkening of his star. In truth, I am Antares and I, too, am of the Nodirìm.
‘I am sure that your father and mother raised you to know the story of Ulmìr and the fall of the Dragonking. What happened to Luneder and to your family is merely a prologue to what will be unleashed if the Dragonking returns in power. I, along with the remnants of the Empire, are attempting to hold fast hope for this world.
‘Adélia, you have suffered much and seen more than someone your age rightfully should. But it seems that you have a part in this, one that I did not foresee. This will require a great deal of trust, but would you be willing to come with us?’
That question again. That invitation. Amaleron’s words about my father did not astonish me. I had known who he was and always beheld him with wonder and pride for it. I had known about myself also, and did not hold others in contempt for not sharing my status. My parents taught me to keep my nature secret and comport myself with humility. But I could not have guessed what being the child of an Elder would entail.
And in that moment, I did not want it.
Some part of me was sick with the pleasure that I only had a single target. Accepting the steward’s words meant opening myself up to something far larger.
‘Get out,’ I said, low and angry. ‘Get out of my forest.’
The steward looked at me, at a loss for words. The others frowned. ‘What did you say?’ Roëthia growled.
‘I do not want this.’ I raised my voice, scratchy and unused as it was. ‘I do not believe you! I do not want this!’
I am ashamed of my response. In that instant, I wished Gohenur would swallow them up. I fled again, clutching to the broken memories of my parents and the rising, roiling hatred for the pirate lord. Selfish was my suffering, but to Amaleron’s credit, the Empire did not pursue me immediately.
They returned eventually, and day after day their attempts were met with stubbornness from me. It was not until a lucid moment, afforded by the nothing-thoughts of long nights, that I changed my mind. In Carinae’s grace, I was afforded to see things clearly and given courage. I cannot now tell you exactly brought it about, whether a newfound awareness of my dying forest garden, or a stab of guilt over dishonouring my parents’ hopes for me through selfishness. But I realised, buried somewhere in the blankness of my soul, was a love for this world, its stories, and its songs.
‘I will come with you,’ I told Amaleron one day. The steward’s face beamed, in contrast with the exasperated look of those with him.
And so I left Gohenur for the first time. I hopped into Amaleron’s carriage and glanced back at my forest as we left along the river. It was a plaintive morning under a copper sky as I watched the passing trees and the home I knew receding from me. I may have been my father’s dove, but it seemed about time I left my wistful nest.
On the way to Fara’ethar, I recounted the destruction of my hometown and the death of my parents to Amaleron. I told him of the pirate lord and his band. I spilled like a dam that had been restrained for far too long. I tried to hold back tears but they flowed, black and unbidden. Amaleron listened intently, horror-struck, as if what I was describing had happened to his own.
After that confession, it felt like I had only then truly woken up, as if the previous years in the forest passed in slumber. The wounds felt fresh, almost as if I was still in the cleansing rain after the fall of my home and had just escaped into Gohenur. But no, the years had gotten on, I had grown, and it remained to be seen what I would do with my life from this point.
Amaleron warned me that secrecy would still be needed going forward. ‘You will need to craft a new name for yourself,’ he averred during the ride.
I retreated to my own thoughts. What kind of name would I spin? It needed to be right, but unyielding and opaque like a truth half-concealed in song. What my spirit poured out was a weather-beaten thing, eroded until there was naught left but the song itself.
‘I shall be known as Catena.’
The steward gave me a simple, solemn nod.
At Amaleron’s encouragement, I travelled alongside Ishak as well, on horseback. As the landscape rolled from forest into plains, he told me about the region, about the castle, about the army, about his family. Darius and Roëthia rode ahead in pointed silence.
‘Don’t worry about those two,’ Ishak said quietly, gesturing towards them. ‘They talk mean but they have large hearts, you’ll see.’
We reached the Bay of Anardes as the setting sun cloaked all it touched in orange. No speech can do justice to the beauty of a land kissed by the sun, so our words were few then. The trees grew sparser, as did my thoughts of home. Some childlike sense of wonder rose in me, and I could almost imagine I was off on an adventure.
Then I saw it again. It first made itself known in a salty smell. Next, I heard it as we came out into the open bay. I heard that immense, all-surrounding roar of the ocean. Then, as our course wound away from the guiding arms of the river and over the last hill, it came into view. That frothing colossus. Striving, striving against land. Raging, raging in the sunset like liquid fire. Teeming, teeming with shapeless darkness.
I turned my eyes away from it and focused on another sight which met me with dim recognition, like blowing dust off an old book. The town of Guladran lay before our entourage. The road led into it and into the unmistakeable, chaotic signs of life. More life than I had ever seen in one place. Larger than Luneder, the districts I glimpsed ahead were full of sounds and motion: step and song and laughter, push and shove and banter. I held on to delight even as fear wound its way and threatened to constrict my wonder.
Even the smells held my attention. The scents of Guladran were not as fresh or natural as the forest but inviting and reminiscent of things I once knew. Smells of activity; sweat, smoke, and honest work. More appetising was the wafting aroma of baked goods and spiced meats. I looked around the markets at the stalls of bakers and chefs with longing and hoped that my watering mouth was not obvious.
But of course, eventually my gaze fell to the capstone of our Empire. You do not need me to tell you of Fara’ethar’s stunning beauty. But it impressed me also, this unfading mark of a bygone age’s glory. It has lasted like a stamp on an old envelope, still visible, still bearing authority. I saw that even things of brick and stone may be wondrous.
Ishak caught me staring. ‘It’s wonderful, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘Tell you what, after you’re all settled in and Amaleron is satisfied, I’ll show you around the castle.’
I told Ishak that I liked that idea very much.
The others must have overheard, for Roëthia slowed and hung back with us. ‘You will not be pampered here,’ she said to me. ‘You will have to pull your weight.’
I cowered, but Ishak cut in. ‘That should be simple enough, considering she weighs so little.’ Sweet Ishak. He has always been quick in wit and slow to find fault. Roëthia shot him a nasty look but did not engage him further.
Ishak burst into laughter and I saw a crumpled smile appear on Roëthia’s face. Clearly, there was genuine friendship and trust between them.
The Amarant turned back to me, her eyes on the spear resting in its holster on my back. ‘Are you any good with that?’ she asked.
I was not sure what to say. I defended my home well enough from invaders, but my skills were scrappy, cobbled together from half-remembered lessons and necessity. I could not compare to an Amarant’s training.
When I answered, I had a sudden, clear picture of the phantom pirate in mind. ‘Good enough to do what I did in the forest, but not yet good enough to do what I wish to.’
Roëthia studied me silently, nodded, and then trotted away again. Ishak looked at me and raised his eyebrows. If he expected me to understand what our exchange meant, I had missed it. And it would be a while yet before I interacted with the Amarant again.
Once we entered the castle grounds, Amaleron entrusted Ishak to show me to my lodgings. Given the hour, the steward postponed further meetings and formalities. The two Amarants went about their duties and the steward himself retreated to his quarters.
Ishak kept to his word and gave me a tour of the castle. ‘Amaleron seemed satisfied enough. We’ll take the long route to the Hall of Residence,’ he said, winking. By the last light of day, we visited the halls and courts of Fara’ethar. He showed me the battlements and towers, the housing of the army’s divisions, and the various training areas.
We were traversing the castle by torchlight when we stepped into the Hall of Records. And there in the library I rediscovered magic. It had been a long time since I’d seen a book or heard a story. I was parched, and I slaked my thirst for the heroic with every volume my hands and eyes could drink.
It felt strange to be reading again, to have words form stories in my cobwebbed mind. But it also felt warm and right, like nature’s awakening in spring when flowers push through winter thaw. I could have spent all night among those tomes—and indeed I would return time and again—but it was late, and out of respect for both Ishak and the master of records, I reluctantly closed the books and followed my guide to the Hall of Residence.
Once there, Ishak bade me goodnight and called over the master-servant to ensure I was given a meal before bed. I did not deserve the kindness shown me. I still do not.
A yet more peculiar experience awaited me when I entered my new chambers. It had been unthinkable to have access to so many luxuries. Even though I had nothing in the forest, I was no beggar. I rose with the sun, slept with the moon, and basked in the forest’s wealth. But what I now had felt like excess. The comfort I enjoyed at the castle was unreal, as if it were happening to someone else.
My room even had a mirror. I saw myself for the first time after the fire. The girl looking back at me was not who I wanted to be. Gaunt, scraggy, weak. Surrounded by grandeur. So instead, I pictured the woman I wished to become. Catena. I focused hard, as if willing the image in my mind to reality.
Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.
I do not mean to sound ungrateful, but I would have traded it all for my father’s touch, my mother’s kiss. I would have given it for the power to do what I desired. My first sleep at Fara’ethar was filled with dreams of another time, another place.
At seventeen, I began my time in the army. I met Amarant Roëthia properly, and Ishak’s words proved true. Her heart was wide and welcoming like the forest in summer. But she was also stern and strong, determined on her course. She seemed willing to turn me into the woman I wished to be. It would not be an easy path, but I welcomed the challenge.
I had grown accustomed to my duties at Fara’ethar over my first year there. I assisted the servants in the kitchens, the clerks in the communications department, and the record-keepers in their Hall. The tasks had given me a small measure of purpose, and I grew affectionate of the people I worked with. Even the master-servant’s peculiarities and pedantic sensibilities had become endearing.
And all the while, Amaleron filled gaps in my understanding of this land’s history and developments. Childhood stories became matters of chronicle and concern.
But the academic and domestic necessities of castle life were not enough. I wished to fight. I am grateful for my parents’ example and the values they instilled. I knew the world was not quite right, and many suffered and hurt. I wanted to do my part in bringing justice and healing. No doubt the sense of awe for my father’s heroic tales coloured my understanding, but I was glad for the determination such sense provided me.
Yet the undercurrent driving me has always been the craving for strength to take on my phantom. My world, once filled with love and laughter, is now cold and quiet. I want to heap that great and terrible silence back onto him.
I apologise if that makes me appear callous or ingenuine, but that is the immutable pattern of my heart.
The opportunity to step into the role of soldier came after a scouting expedition turned into a skirmish. I had been helping the merchants in setting up new trade routes to a town beyond the bay and our caravan fell under attack by marauders. A frequent enough occurrence, but the dormant reflexes which came alive in that conflict reminded me of what my hands were itching to do. Perhaps there was a life in battle for me.
My fellow merchants thought so too, it seems, for their gratitude reached the ears of the Amarant. Before I knew it, Roëthia herself approached me. One morning, barely out of my bedsheets and the sun scarcely in the sky, there was a rap at my door. The Amarant all but barged in, full-clad and expectant. ‘Follow me,’ is all she said.
I complied, bemused. I was led out to the barracks, outside the castle’s enclosure. On the beach in the chill of the morning and the shadow of the cliff, Roëthia thrust a spear into my hands.
‘Show me,’ she said.
I was not sure what she meant. I stood there, dumfounded. So Roëthia took the initiative. With an effortless flick and spin, her own spear now pointed at me. The Amarant’s stance shifted and she threw out a few testing jabs with her weapon.
Mild panic took over and my instincts kicked in. I parried as best as I could. But the Amarant was flowing water, blowing wind. She seemed to dance around me, easy as a child playing with a favourite toy.
It was an embarrassing but inevitable defeat. I rasped, weary and worn out. Roëthia stood still and undisturbed. Then she addressed me.
‘You spoke truly. You are not yet good enough. But don’t look crestfallen. You could be.’
I learned that Roëthia’s encouragement was to be much like the rest of her, terse and direct. But I savoured her praise, more than a thousand compliments from elsewhere.
‘Congratulations, little flower. You are a soldier. We go again tomorrow.’
Before I fully processed her words, she turned heel and left the beachfront. I returned to my lodging elated and confused, but also feeling like part of me had been freed.
Over the next while, Ishak took care of the paperwork and introduced me to the rest of the regiment. He also appealed to Amaleron to let Roëthia’s appointment stand. The steward was uncomfortable with the idea of my being in battle. I sensed that I was an anomaly—a thing not quite accounted for in his mind. I did not appreciate until recently that even someone as wise as him could have been in the dark about what was really going on.
But Roëthia’s influence and charisma, in addition to skill and judgement few questioned or denied, meant she got her way. I am sure she was delighted when Amaleron agreed. In her words, she was glad to see ‘more damn women in the force.’ For all Roëthia’s coarseness, I discovered that smile and cheerfulness came to her more naturally and often than she let on.
Joining as a soldier also meant getting entangled in the more complex social realities of castle life. For me, making friends was challenging. Though I was agreeable enough, I found it hard to open up. Even those closest to me—the warriors who were with the steward in Gohenur—did not know as much about me as I would have liked.
There were those who wished for more. Would-be suitors were common, but those who truly wanted to understand me less so. I treated them unfairly and kept my distance. Cold and heartless did I seem to them. But how could I even think about that sort of passion when so much about me was awry?
I am aware of the other name they have for me, unkind but not unearned. There is something wrong with me. In me. Some void. A flow which should be there. When I look within, all I feel are echoes of echoes, derelict reflections of my passions. I hear only whispered longings drowned out by the dark. And so, my companionship was as it has been since that day of undoing: loyal but subdued, filled with the unspeakable and unexpressed.
But what I could not feel and show, I turned into intent for battle. The remnants and impulses of the qualities I possessed were tuned to my desire to protect what light there is in the world. And so I gave it my all in training. Gave until each swing of my weapon rang true as if the steel had been a part of me.
I admit that, more than once, I feared failing and found it hard to go on. Sometimes, all I would see in my opponents is the pirate lord, his looming profile behind their figures. So I stepped back, retreated. I am not sure what I feared more in those moments. I was afraid I would overstep and do horrible things to those I swore to protect. And my mind was numb with the fear of what I would do had I come face to face with the one who took everything.
But while I feared being dismissed as weak, Amarant Roëthia berated my ignorance.
‘Taking a step back is not weakness,’ she said. ‘Weakness is failing to take a step at all.’
More than other words she had spoken to me, this had set some knotted cord within me loose. I felt as if I could let go of a weighty thing I needlessly carried. I nodded and returned to the training sessions. A lesson given with speech can be as valuable as one carved out with spears.
Roëthia showed this time and again as she halted practice and directed her words at all involved.
‘Listen, all of you,’ she said one morning. ‘We don’t do this because it’s glorious. There is no glee in battle. We do this because it must be done. But such a task will ask a great deal of you. You will need to know yourself, better than you know your enemy. You will need to understand when to allow yourself to step back, and when it is time to trudge forward.
‘I know most of you have come to this with your own aspirations. None here are a blank slate. Such business is your own, and I would be a seven-shade fool to believe that this will not colour your commitment. All I need is an affirmation that when the moment comes, all can be set aside for what needs doing. The rest will take care of itself, and time will show the worth or folly of your endeavours.’
I once told my father I wished to become a knight. Well, there I stood, ready to honour that commitment. Others may judge if that commitment is tainted by my purpose, but Amarant Roëthia did not. She saw some fortitude in me when we first met, and she wanted to bring that out, to fashion it for the best.
Motives are tricky things, mixed at the best of times. But a heart set on seeing others flourish is precious.
At twenty, my world shattered and reformed itself, fragile and imperfect, for the second time. All that I had come to hold on to was tested, as fire and tragedy fell once more. The name of that testing ground was Feres.
It began with the arrival of Tel’aren, a refugee from Pleiadë. Our patrol found him on a moonless night out near the Scarred Fields. It was strange to see anyone from the East, stranger still for them not to be a simple travelling merchant. Tel’aren declared himself to be an exiled warrior with urgent news for Fara’ethar. Apparently, he had braved a journey through the Undorn, slipping by the guarded borders of the Eastern Nations.
Once he was deemed to not be insane or dangerous, he was brought before the Amarants with haste. He offered information on the governance of Hyadë and Pleiadë, and the truth behind their refusal to cooperate with Anardes. He claimed that an Elder had been living in hiding in the East for decades. And he confessed that this Elder had been murdered by a deranged cult manipulating the Eastern leaders.
Amaleron himself became involved, for he knew that if these matters truly involved an Elder, the stakes would be immense. I understand now that the steward’s greatest fears were beginning to manifest as the first Elder fell with Maia’s death and the Dragonking’s seal weakened.
By this point, I had become a maneling under Amarant Roëthia. I had settled in my role, some measure of competence replacing my timidity. The name Catena had become a well-worn cover, a banner for who I was with steel in my hand and a company by my side. I could almost forget who I was beneath that cowl. Almost.
The news about the Eastern arrival came to me as news often does: like a sudden bolt of lightning whose rumbling effects are only afterwards felt. A messenger announced the strange discovery during a routine drill. Our interest was piqued, but we could not have guessed the course of events which would unfold.
Tel’aren was given shelter, yet he preferred not to live in the castle itself. The life of an exile had made him averse to large settlements, so he dwelt with a garrison in the outpost on the outskirts of Fara’ethar’s province. Imperial delegates would visit him, for information at first, but soon for genuine bonding as his winsome manner garnered soldierly trust.
I saw Tel’aren only briefly, for he took a great liking more to Darius and Guldar, but when I beheld him, my curiosity and wonder were kindled. His garb was odd and his weapons peculiar. He had the look of a well-travelled man, tanned and broad-shouldered. His journeyed face, patched with lines upon lines like winding roads on a map, was alert and kind despite its roughness. He stood proudly mantled in many dusty cloaks, like an evergreen tree showing off its splendour.
But none of us were able to enjoy Tel’aren’s presence for long. Mere weeks after his appearance, what we believed was a squad of Eastern soldiers had taken him back by force. We arrived to a ransacked lodging and signs of struggle.
It would not come to light for a while longer that the Order had put these things into motion. We figured that Feres, the last known location of the Elder Maia, was as good a lead as any. But in the end, it was chosen as bait for our army. It was a cursed town on the border of the Eastern Nations, a ruin prior to the battle there. Less than nothing remains now.
Amaleron and our governing council pleaded for the East to see reason and to investigate the Order’s influence. The East dismissed the claims and accused Anardes of meddling and vested interest. Worse still, the events surrounding Tel’aren were twisted to appear as if Anardaëan fanatics had kidnapped an Eastern citizen to pry for sensitive intelligence.
I was not aware of the tangled and sorrowful decisions which led to the declaration of war. But war came, hammering down on the innocent and the guilty with equal, heartless force. I could not see the larger painting, but I knew my strokes would need to be added to the canvas, and sometimes that is all the foresight we are given.
The night before our deployment, Amarant Roëthia treated our company to drinks and revelry in the Commons.
‘This may be our last chance to be frivolous,’ she said, waving her tankard around as if it were a flag announcing victory. ‘Take this moment by its horns and enjoy yourselves. To youth! To those who dare to dream! To those who wish for a better day!’
Resounding cheers went up and drinks spilled as we raised our hands to the Amarant’s toast.
It was a night of music. A night of pure companionship and words which feed the soul. I cannot remember a time I have laughed more heartily or felt the grip of darkness so loosely. There are so many faces I never saw again, but if my memory of them remains as they were on that final night, it is a small kindness. That is how I remember her also. Resplendent smile, boundless energy, life unending.
The previous night’s cheer was fuel for the morning as we set out, leaving castle walls for perhaps the final time and onward to the unknown and uninviting.
I do not remember much of the journey east to Feres on those dull and colourless days. We travelled along the coastline before turning north once meadows gave way to the tundra at the foot of the Undorn’s southern peaks. We warned each town along the way to seek shelter, to arm themselves as best as they could, and relocate if possible. Where we could spare it, companies were posted to defend key routes and locations.
Once we neared Feres, our divisions split up to approach the area from multiple angles, in keeping with our objectives. The bulk of the manes remained in safehouses along the coast. Darius’ team was to ascertain Tel’aren’s location and attempt negotiation or rescue. Roëthia’s squad aimed to uncover more information about the Elder Maia and confirm Tel’aren’s report. Other platoons spread out to map the enemy’s supply lines, while others hung back to act as reinforcements or send signals back to the main force.
We used messenger eagles to coordinate our movements and report to one another, for we soon discovered that Feres could not be ably tracked by one team alone. It was not a single city—or the skeleton of one—but a complex of ruins spread across several hectares of cold and rocky platforms. What structures once stood in Feres had collapsed to uneven sections of ground, buried beneath a blanket of dust and peppered with snow. Only a few were still perched along the cliffs like stubborn concrete sheets.
The first couple of days yielded nothing among the gnarled trees and twisted stones. In fact, Feres had not looked like much of a habitation at all, and we wondered whether we would find any sign of life. But we were wary, as the layout of the locale offered many hidden vantage points, plenty of cover, and protrusions perfect for ambushes. Even from our makeshift camp in the shadow of an overlooking platform, we perked up at each sound; the tumbling of a rock, the screech of a mountain goat.
The cold was the worst of our enemies at first. We felt the chill in our fingers, and our arms resisted every effort to command our weapons. Besides that, we had received messages that skirmishes had broken out to the north-west, near Taeladran. Fighting ensued further north as well, and we could not tell if the East was merely hassling us on multiple fronts or planning a full invasion. Certainly, the imposing terrain and uncomfortable temperatures seemed tranquil compared to what we heard was happening further afield.
But the company was warm while we took shifts to patrol the desolation. I was part of a small band comprised of Roëthia, Ishak, El’enur our dear archer, and a few other soldiers: Baldran, Kel, Sonëlle. I realise their names may not mean much to you, but the fallen are as important to me as those who lived on. Their quirks and jests kept the pallid greyness at bay while we sifted those ruins for clues.
The relative calm did not last long. A simple exfiltration turned into a rescue attempt. The rescue turned into a ravaging ordeal. Eventually, we caught hints of movements on the upper terraces of the ruins. Some of the other divisions reported their scouts disappearing. Then one night, it all came loose, like a spinning top tottering to a halt. Darius’ company met an injured Tel’aren, who had escaped from his captors in Feres’ holding cells. We heard the cry. In our haste to catch up with them, scrambling over boulders and cliffside ramps, Sonëlle tripped over a concealed wire. This triggered a contraption which set off a landslide. Kel rushed in and pulled her out of the way but could not save himself in time.
This would be the first of my heartbreaks at Feres, and not the last reminder that, with all my strength, I could not protect all those I cared for.
That mechanism seemed to do more than loosen a volley of stones. It acted as a signal and soon, enemies were upon us. They had been biding their time, waiting to trap as many as possible in the rocky entanglement of Feres. Scores of Eastern warriors poured out from the passageways around us, forcing us to engage or retreat and call for aid.
With our companies cut off from each other by the landslide, we thought it best to turn back and fight our way to a more secure and defendable position. We ran, ducking scimitar strikes and whistling arrows, retracing steps to the campsite. Baldran remained behind to win us some time. I do not know how long he lasted, but I have never stopped being thankful for his sacrifice, for it afforded us the chance to recover and send a message to our reinforcements. Soon, we were backed up by our own platoon of archers, suppressing enemy fire with their own rounds in a draining battle of attrition.
That first night of blood in Feres was the first of many. Weeks of protracted battles in enemy territory carried on, taking lives and resources with them. Eastern forces continued to issue from the mountain in endless supply and our routes were shrinking. While steel rained from the sky, our small bands engaged the enemy in the trenches and gullies. We trod the mud and icy slush as we held off in difficult terrain. The eyes of my companions around me were glassy and glazed over, not merely from debilitating cold and fatigue, but from the numbness of the heart that settles into all those who take life for a living. We lost count of bodies and names which perished under those grey, grey skies.
I could tell Roëthia did not enjoy the killing, terrifying though she was with weapon in hand. When faced with a single opponent, she would often give them a chance, request their name, and ask if they wished to return home. Many took her offer. Those who betrayed her trust and sought to strike her down while her back was turned were quickly picked off by El’enur.
There is no glee in battle, she had said. We do this because it must be done. She lived those words. Lived them out to her final breath.
On some uncounted morning, we woke up from unnatural warmth but could not see the sun. No cloud or heavenly body marked our way anymore, for the sky was filled with fire and smoke. We found out that Feres held yet more in store. One of our scouts had returned with a report of the source of our troubles: the ruins of Feres were fed by a network of tunnels leading into the mountains themselves. The Eastern supply lines were being bolstered by this subterranean cantonment.
Worse still, these caverns hid a factory of siege engines. An array of stonelaunchers and fireflingers rarely seen in operation had begun demolishing our encampments. We felt a rumble in the earth, a hum which permeated our very selves, as structures—both natural and manmade—came undone.
Suddenly our strategies had to be made, unmade, and remade with reckless speed as the very landscape changed before the mobile fortresses facing us. Siege towers and battering rams toppled hulking stones over our camps. The upturned, broken chunks of earth were all the gravestone many received.
The earth burned. There was no sky. Dust and smoke flung up by the unearthed debris covered our company as we fled. By chance, we met up with two other escaping companies, who informed us that our situation was complicated by Darius’ division. Darius and his men had been pinned a few acres to the north among the jagged terraces. He and Guldar had managed to rescue Tel’aren but were now trapped by stone and steel.
‘To me, all companies present,’ Roëthia called. ‘We have a new objective: we rescue Darius and his troops so something may be salvaged of this nightmare.’
Understandably, groans and complaints went up from many, barely heard over the grumbling, crumbling, screaming all around us. Even the chain of command barely holds up against such wanton disaster.
‘With all respect, there is too much in the way,’ one said.
‘Darius will find his way,’ said another. ‘That man is immortal.’
With time running out, I spoke also. ‘What if we used their own engines against them?’ I asked. A hopeless, desperate plan.
‘This girl has more stones than any of you,’ Roëthia said. ‘Where you see terrors, she sees targets. Let this be my testament: if I perish here, Catena is to become Amarant in my place.’
I did not share the Amarant’s faith in me and could not even begin to entertain what she was suggesting.
El’enur seemed taken by the idea. Sonëlle was still with us, and Ishak also, and they agreed. With a few other brave men, we charged the advancing line of siege engines. Madness, it seemed. But when even retreat was uncertain, what else could we do but risk it all for those we cared about?
One last push. That was all we had in us.
We dashed through dust and flame and wracked our minds desperately for some way to bring one of the machines under our command. We dodged through wheel and axle, looking for a way into one of the siege towers. El’enur began firing some testing shots upward into the exposed platforms. Some found their mark and men fell, their demise drowned out by the deafening, fiery chaos all around.
El’enur then spotted some exposed ladders and ramps at the rear of the tower he had been aiming at, and called us over. With the lookouts in confusion, we were able to snake through the stampede and hop onto the first level of the tower. Ishak made quick work of the sentries near the ramp.
Inside, we stepped into the machine’s inner workings, its cogs and turning cranks. This gallery was manned by what we believed were slaves. Roëthia persuaded them to turn the tower around. She raged at the despicable tactics of our enemy and offered the tower’s workers freedom in exchange for aid.
With the tower’s course changing, we were certain that the remaining soldiers on the upper levels would come to investigate. Ishak, Sonëlle, and myself headed up the layers in order to cut them off. Surely enough, three men were preparing themselves in the chamber at the tower’s top as we ascended the final ladder.
Ishak and myself took on the ones who approached us with drawn swords. But the third ran to a nearby storage space and rummaged about with something. When he turned, he was holding a strange device. With a spark, a fuse was lit and acrid smoke poured out of the thing in his hands. We realised that the enemy was prepared to take themselves down, along with the machine, rather than have it fall into another’s hands.
Quicker than I could react, Sonëlle rushed forward and tackled the warrior holding the explosive. I screamed, but could not hear myself. Both Sonëlle and the startled man tumbled through the tower’s open windows and down into the dust. The following explosion rocked the tower but did not destroy it. I do not even remember Ishak felling the two warriors in the upper chamber, but I will always remember beautiful Sonëlle falling through the air, her life gracefully given for ours.
El’enur came up a few moments later. He looked around and understood. He ran his hand roughly through his hair, grief expressed in this simple gesture. Ishak breathed heavily and his eyes would not meet any of ours.
Then, El’enur noticed something yet again. He pointed at something in the distance through the tower’s opening. From this height we could see, beyond the platforms of Feres, the caves from which siege engines and soldiers spewed forth. The hordes were emerging from the mountain’s yawning mouth at the bottom of a slope.
We relayed this information to Roëthia. The Amarant took on a solemn look and she spoke with finality which brooked no dissension. ‘Darius, his company, and the Easterner—that is your objective now,’ she said, gazing at each of us in turn. ‘I will deal with this.’
Her attention was turned to halt the advance of the machines. She intended to cut them off at the source, like a stopper placed upon a bottle.
But first, we had the tower manoeuvred to the edge of a high cliff-platform. Ishak led the remainder of our companions up through the layers and used the overhanging balcony at the top to transition across. With a final look back at his commander, Ishak signalled his gratitude—not simply for this moment, but for a lifetime of instruction and companionship—and took off in the direction of Darius’ plight. El’enur and the rest followed.
When my turn came, I resisted.
‘I see you still have some of your stubbornness,’ Roëthia said, something of a smile on her face. ‘Don’t worry, I don’t intend to blow myself up.’
I did not budge. After a few moments, Roëthia resigned herself and said, ‘Make yourself useful, then.’
I waved to the rest of the company and assured them we would be reunited soon. For now, Roëthia and I had a siege tower to exploit and a group of frightened slaves to set free. Yes, I wanted Roëthia’s plan to succeed and ensure the deathly trappings of Feres did not continue. But I also wished to savour this woman’s presence a breath longer. I felt clutched by an unsettling dread, and was nagged by the sensation that I would regret not having spent enough time with my mentor.
The Amarant explained her plan to the tower’s drivers. She would have them wheel the machine to the cusp of the slope leading into the cavern entrance. From there, they were to exit the contraption. I was to protect them and lead them to refuge. We reiterated our promise that once this was all over, they would have their freedom and a chance at a new life wherever they wished.
As for Roëthia and the siege tower, momentum would do the rest once it was over the hill. Roëthia was to steer the craft into the enemy’s battlements. To assist with the tower’s payload, the Amarant procured the remaining explosive devices stored in the upper levels of the tower. We shifted uneasily at the sight of these tools, but Roëthia seemed confident, eyes ahead as we charted a course for the cave.
The time came too soon. Evening had fallen and the grey skies had given way to black. The tower was over the hill. We could see a darkened, rocky landscape upon which torches and fires were arrayed like fallen stars. The appearance of our tower seemed to have surprised the enemy, as we could hear sudden shouting and spotted panicked movement.
‘Go!’ Roëthia yelled as the wheels kept turning and the tower was on the verge of picking up speed. The twenty or so men and women that had piloted the machine scrambled out and dived to safety. I followed, meeting the unwelcome embrace of solid ground in a roll. My weapon broke and was lost somewhere in the tumble.
The slaves gathered around me, like dust-tipped sheep around a shepherd. I made sure the area was clear of assailants before turning my attention to the rolling tower. I could see Roëthia through the tower’s mechanism, one arm on a lever, the other holding a beam for support. She faced forward, a proud captain steering a wavering ship to its doom. The tower ploughed on for the last couple hundred yards, heedless of the capering soldiers who had become aware of its intent too late. Some tried in vain to block the tower’s advance or halt it. But neither stone nor flaming arrow could stop the beast.
I saw Roëthia leap out at the last moment before the tower collided with cliff-face.
Then a blast which silenced the gabbling forces and shook the mountain itself.
There was a blaze like a second sun had lit up for a moment. Night turned into day. I drew my arms up to my eyes as fire engulfed the mountain. When vision returned, I could see the mountainside had collapsed. Wooden battlements had blown away like chaff. Machines lay strewn about in pieces and motionless bodies were scattered among the rocks. There were no sounds left, no voices, only the constant whisper of flame.
Then I saw her.
Roëthia’s figure emerged from between wrecked men and material. She was bruised and bloody, armour in shreds and appearance a mess. She planted her spear and raised a battered arm in victory. She let out a primal roar, a beckoning cry which warmed my heart and let all know that she was one who dared to dream, dared to act.
I ran forward to greet her and tend to her wounds. The distance between us seemed to stretch as I sprinted over fire-kissed stones. I never made it.
A second silhouette joined Roëthia ahead of me. Slow, stalking steps. A raised glint of steel. A heartless slash.
It was happening again. Someone was being taken from me and I was powerless.
I panted and choked as I got close. Roëthia was no longer standing. I stumbled in the ashfall and crashed to my knees beside her.
‘And thus falls even Fara’ethar’s finest,’ a voice said.
I looked up to the figure looming above us. He did not seem like a normal soldier. He was not an Easterner. Red eyes like fire looked at me. The rest of his face was hidden behind cloth and cloak. He bore a scythe, its blade bloodied from its fresh infliction.
‘I am he who puts out hope,’ he said.
There was a great ache in my chest.
‘Darius is next,’ he continued.
I could not give full heed to the killer. I almost gave in to the sorrow. But this was the moment Roëthia had spoken of.
So instead, I grabbed hold of Roëthia’s still-upraised weapon and stood up. Oneledim, a venerable elegy written in silver and gold, an appropriate song to honour the woman whose life had changed mine. I took hold of her spear, and in that instant, there was an almost-burst of light. A half-picture. I felt a synergy of fire and light within me, willing to be uncaged. But as I tried to focus this newfound flow, it was restricted, like an overstuffed chest forcibly held shut.
The intruder stepped back. But it was not enough. Though my awakening was only partial, I felt quickened by this rush of starlight. I struck with the spear in one maddened motion. The weapon tore at the man’s face and he gave a howl of pain and surprise. When he looked back at me, bloodied and unnatural teeth were visible through disfigured lips and cheek.
I faced him down, wheezing hard. The shadowy pain had overcome me and it took effort merely to stand. My vision was blurry, like a smear of ink. My helmet was heavy and seemed to press in around me. But I did not back down then. I pushed through the dark’s constriction.
I did not intend or foresee what happened next. The freed slaves, who had taken shelter in an opening by the cliff, joined me once more. They drew up a battle line on either side of me, picking up discarded weapons and implements from the fallen. I do not know what compelled them so. Perhaps it was a gesture of solidarity with one of a broken heart, one who had also suffered at the hands of oppressors. A wordless but worthy kindness.
He-Who-Puts-Out-Hope seemed put off by this reinforcement. With hand tending to his injury, he was not ready to take on an entire troupe. He spluttered and spoke, somewhat slurred, before retreating into shadow. ‘We will go on unhindered.’
He fled, but before I could even think to give chase, a weak voice beckoned me. I rushed back to Roëthia’s side and grasped her hand.
‘Adélia,’ the Amarant whimpered, ‘you are a flower, trampled and beset by flame. But you must rise and bloom again.’
The freedmen around me lowered their weapons and bowed their heads. They knew what was to happen. They knew she was falling into the sleep which takes us all one day.
I held on to her hand. It was going colder.
‘I see a doe,’ she said suddenly, her eyes lucid, focused on something before her that I could not see. Her songlike voice continued. ‘I see her tread o’er air and land with graceful leap; with tender tears she gently comes my soul to reap.’
Her grip on my hand loosened and she finally slipped beyond the veil, to the place where we may not follow. I do not know what she meant, but under that acid sky, Roëthia died as she lived: with strength and pride.
My next actions are a blur. With dirt and ash and tears in my eyes, I turned my efforts to re-join the group on their way to rescue Darius. Those we saved from the siege tower offered their swords and service once more.
We left the Amarant’s body there and together, we traced our steps back to the platform where our companions had left and found a way to climb up the snaggy rocks. A strange stillness came over Feres as we ascended the cliffs. Floating debris from the explosion Roëthia had caused continued to float on the wind, butterfly-cinders in a dead, dead land.
We must have found Darius’ group, and before break of dawn, more blood was spilled. I do not remember much of it. I was numbed, moving automatically with unfeeling limbs. I cut through the final foes, but it was not me. It was as if I were far away, watching it happen to someone else.
Ishak’s steady hand brought me back.
‘Let’s go home,’ he said.
It was over. Tel’aren was dead. We could not save him, though we managed to rescue Darius’ troops. Our reinforcements came with daybreak and took down those who still opposed. Others fled, taking their machines with them. We remained briefly, burying those we could find and recognise.
Then, we limped home, confused and broken, hearts aching. We bore the weight of what was lacking. I am still not sure if what happened at Feres is a victory. Time will tell the worth or folly of our endeavours, indeed.
But one last insult followed us.
‘The Order of Seven shall once more serve the Dragonking.’ This message came back via our eagles to all the companies. Each parcel bore some gruesome token of its former handler. This, along with the presence of the scythe-wielding intruder, was our first tangible confirmation of the grand, wrangling schemes of the Order. That ancient enemy is even now pulling strings to bring about calamity. The battle of Feres may have ended there, but the war over light and shadow continues on, and I suspect we will soon be entangled in it again.
I was twenty-one on the day I knelt in the Hall of the Elders, speaking the words of my oath of Amarantship. I do not think I earned this honour, but nor have I taken it lightly.
Amarantship involves overseeing conscription in one’s respective mane, approving and appointing the sourcing and distribution of equipment, overviewing training, setting divisions and their commanders, and disseminating pay and benefits.
The sundry skills in administration I had been taught during my tenure in Fara’ethar would come in handy. But beyond this, I wanted to make sure that those who returned from Feres would receive care and attention. I wanted them to recover or retire in peace. And if I could, beside all that, be a force for the good of the world when fighting alongside them, I would consider it a blessing.
There was dissension about my age. Some were hesitant to place such a great task on one so young.
‘She had Roëthia’s blessing,’ Ishak protested at the ceremony.
‘Aye, she fought like the Spearheart of yore,’ another said.
I did not know what to say, but there was a chorus of approval. The steward bade me approach. He eyed me, questing whether I truly wanted this.
‘Once chosen, you will carry out this position until death,’ he said.
I looked up, determined. The faces of my mother, my father, my mentor, my companions, were in mind. I bowed my head.
The other Amarants stepped up beside me, hands behind their backs. Amaleron laid a ceremonial flag over my shoulder and spoke.
‘You are thus called into the service of light’s song, elected for the mandate of love’s obedience, and chosen for Amarantship. In allegiance to Anardes, your blood and starlight are to be given for this world’s protection. For three hundred years this duty has been upheld. Do you, the twenty-ninth, swear to do the same?’
My reply was resolute. ‘On Regulus’ honour and Carinae’s love, I swear.’
‘Your oath binds you, Amarant Catena.’
I did not emerge from that ceremony a changed woman. I was still grieving. I was still feeling the erasure of my starlight. It did not ease the passing of all whom I had lost. But that public declaration did renew and refocus my commitment. Undeterred by suffering, I stood ready to fill my role, knowing that while aspects of me may be in disarray, I need not question the rightness of my affection for this world.
And in all this, part of me was still in Gohenur. I yearned for my forest. So, I asked if I could go there occasionally. Amaleron was generous. He allowed me to retain some of the life I had in my old lodging. More than this, the Empire arranged to fix up my dilapidated home so I could have a more stable presence in the forest.
This was my step back to a place I truly belonged, where I could deal with my grief. What I could not do in the crippling haze of Feres or in the thin, stretched days that followed in the castle, I offered out in the recesses and solitude of my forest. A final memoir for the fallen.
I am a paradox of steel and petal. If you wish to understand me, look there – my garden, my flowers, my forest. My bent and broken dreams. There I mourn and rejoice. There ever and forever I’ll abide.