ZACHARIAH

Of course you would die when the ground’s hardest to dig in.

I lifted my hammer again, striking the chisel hard and fast.

Clang. Clang. Clang.

I could feel my wrist jarring with each impact as I carved into the Thunderwood arch. The shock of the repetitive motion made the bones in my wrist rub together. It burned like kindling. What did Rowena say those little bones were called again? Right. Carpals.

Gods. Does everything I say turn to ash? Are you even listening, Zachariah?

I could see the sly smile spread over her face as the memory boiled to the surface. Had it already been over ten years? It may as well have been a lifetime. A millenium.

Bones.

That is what Rowena’s body was becoming six feet below my boots at this very moment. It still hadn’t sunk in that I would never see her again. Not in this life. Not in the next.

Come on Zachariah. Just admit you’re happy you don’t have to deal with my bullshit anymore.

The hammer paused as I waited for the pain to arrive with the constant stream of memories. But it didn’t. Had I gone numb to them so fast?

She always said she was going to the hells if she died.

If. I now knew why she had chosen that word.

I thought at the time she was joking, but now I knew she hadn’t been. I’d been too blind to see it. Everything changed after Fayra died. Of the three of us, she may have been the one who ended up in the ground. But two of my friends died that day.

Sighing, I brushed a hand over my tired face, massaging the cold flesh and muscles. The joints in my fingers clicked as I bent and flexed them.

There was still work to do, so I shook my head to clear it. Cold air burning my cheeks, I began to carve again.

Clang. Clang. Clang.

“Happy now?” I asked the wind as I finally finished my carving. Right above her name were two dueling pistols with the barrels crossed like an X. It wasn’t perfect, but I did my best to recreate her pistols.

It was right next to two hands cradling a bird. The symbol of the Physician’s Enclave.

We held a small funeral for Rowena after the wedding. That was about two months ago. We decided it would be best to not wait too long. It was small. Just Myra, Levi, Oji, and myself. We were surprised when Lord and Lady Beaufoutonte arrived. I guess they were grateful for what Rowena had done for their daughter.

I even spied Levira Casanaddi lingering in the trees at the edge of the clearing. When I noticed her, she strode forward. Before any of us could argue, she placed a bottle of bourbon at the base of the arch.

Rowena’s father never came.

Maybe that was for the best.

Even as the coffin was lowered, I didn’t feel like Rowena was dead. I didn’t understand it. I had watched her body placed in the ground. Watched icy soil spread over it. Watched her soul disintegrate.

But she still didn’t feel dead.

So I spent the past two months looking for everything that mattered to her. Even the damned box the Chosen had stolen from Fayra’s grave. I sent a gaze to the freshly patted down sod where it was now buried.

I never looked inside.

My muscles shook with fatigue. The hours of stabbing the ground with my worn shovel had made me sore. I knew I didn’t have a right to complain. I could have used Elemancy, but I chose not to.

So it had been hours upon hours of bone-jarring digging. Hitting ice and rock. Lifting larger stones out of the way. Then pressing the box next to her coffin. Even that didn’t seem like enough, so I spent several more hours decorating her arch.

My breath fogged in front of me, the wind more gentle in this serene space. However, winter had finally made its way to even here.

But the arch still wasn’t finished.

I looked up at the one next to Rowena’s.

Fayra Marvella Stone

1821-1845

Beloved Daughter, Friend, and Wife

Daughter. Friend. Wife. Such words were always on graves, but I didn’t know what to write for Rowena. What best encompassed her?

Friend? She abandoned all her friends for the sake of revenge. A revenge she never fulfilled.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Daughter? Her father hated her, and her mother was gone to the Far Shore.

Wife ? Well…at least their bodies were side by side now. Even if their souls weren’t.

I twirled the hammer and chisel in my hands again before–

I spun around, calling on the magic written on my arms. Gooseflesh pricked my skin, and my hair stood on end. I was being watched. I knew it. Something thrummed in the Earth Elemancy tattoos on my skin.

But there was only silence. Not even a footfall on the icy leaves and snow. The wind blew gently on my skin. The small Toge bushes lifted their heads to glance at me. Sunlight trickled down from the barren branches above. A minute passed. Then two. But there was still nothing.

Losing a breath, I turned back. The Earth Elemancy tattoos crawled up my arm again as I coaxed them back onto my skin.

And yet, I still wasn’t surprised when he spoke.

“Shruni kanuah humani kadini, Brunan?”

My mind translated the Kaze as if it were the common tongue.

Still upholding human traditions, Brother?

I closed my eyes, my grip tightening on the hammer and chisel. Looking over my shoulder, I scanned the one place I had forgotten. The trees.

Up.

Up.

My brother, Prince Oji of the Kenshi Ethereal Forest sat perched upon a branch of the thunderwood tree at the opposite end of the clearing.

I turned to face him, hardening my jaw.

Smooth as wind, Oji dropped down to the snow with a crunch.

“I understand the need for closure when humans have such short lives,” Oji said in the common tongue, coming closer as he spoke, “But why do you linger here, Bruneii?”

I scowled as he said his favorite name for me. Bruneii. Little Brother.

I stayed silent, hoping he would leave if I refused to answer. It didn’t work.

Oji’s keen eyes went from one arch to the next, a crease forming between his brows.

“Ah. It is unfinished.”

Drawing cold air into my lungs, I followed his gaze.

“I don’t know what to write.”

Oji considered the carvings. His throat bobbed as his hand went to my shoulder. I stiffened at the contact but didn’t push him away.

“We have a saying if you would hear it,” he said quietly, his eyes not straying from the arch.

I looked at him. Waiting.

“Buanti aze don kan ran tuhe.”

I closed my eyes, massaging the bridge of my nose as my mind translated automatically.

Pretty words do not change a darker truth.

Looking at the hammer and chisel, I considered it. Maybe Rowena’s life couldn’t be simplified to a few chiseled words into a Thunderwood arch. And maybe I shouldn’t try. Words were never really my strong suit anyway.

“I have a suggestion!”

Oji and I both started as another voice came from the treetops. We looked up to see Renjin there, blue fire weaving in and out of her fingers. A catlike grin spread over her face, and she too dropped to the forest floor.

We could both feel the heat coming off her immediately. The blue fire melted the snow around us, revealing green grass and fallen leaves.

“Renjin, I do not require your help,” said Oji quietly, all warmth gone. Renjin tilted her head, the smile unaltered as she pulled the fire back onto her bare arms beneath her dark red cloak.

“You have it all the same, Your Majesty,” she replied.

She came straight to the arch without preamble, placing a hand right below Rowena’s birth and death years. There was nothing friendly in the expression.

“I know what you should carve. There’s only one word that fits that woman,” she said, her hand grazing Rowena’s name.

“Dakari.”

A breath hissed out through my nose, and I felt the power in me stir. Oji’s mouth turned down in distaste as the meaning hit us both.

Demon.

My hands clenched into fists around the tools, my tattoos stirring again. Renjin looked at me, a brow lifting.

“Oh? Did I strike a nerve, Halfling?” she asked, fingertip tracing the grooves of the pistol symbols now. That power moved up and down my skin, but then there was another sensation. One at my neck. Death’s Marks began to burn, and a radiant blue glow trailed from them to my eyes.

Oji’s eyes widened as he saw it, his gaze going from the Marks to Renjin. I tried to calm myself as I had always done. But this power was still new to me. An animal locked in a cage.

Renjin chuckled, turning to face me fully. The flames in her hands became the figure of a woman, unmistakably Rowena with her hat. Horns slowly protruded from her head.

“Winds, that’s a new trick, Halfling. Where did you learn that?” she asked, pointing to her neck where a Mark would be.

I still didn’t answer her, loosing a breath as the sensation finally retreated and I regained control.

Oji hand clasped around Renjin’s wrist.

“Why are you here, Renjin?” he asked, colder than the air around us.

She glanced at him, staunching the flames.

“Your mother sent me. She wants to talk to the Halfling directly.”

“She sent me to speak with him.”

“She changed her mind,” Renjin countered, breathing into her hands, “You took too long indulging in human sentiment.”

Surprised, I looked back at the tree Oji had been in. How long had they been there?

Oji loosed a breath through his nose. Eventually, he looked my way.

“We need you to come to the village.”

I blinked at him, not moving. My mother had never asked me to return to the village itself. Not once in over twenty years.

“What were you supposed to talk to me about?” I asked too quietly.

Oji turned away, starting to walk deeper into the Ethereal Forest.

“Namely one thing.”

I began to trail him, Renjin following behind me.

“A strange creature is roaming the land. A creature that only the oldest among us have heard legend of. A creature solely controlled by The Lady of Death.” he said, glancing back at me. He swallowed.

“Answers are needed. And as Death’s new Chosen, we need you.”

I stopped, the snow crunching under my frozen feet. They both glanced my way until I finally began to follow them again. How was I supposed to explain why I didn’t have their answers?

No, I thought to myself, dread coiling in my stomach.

You need Rowena.