Danica sat on the low stone wall looking out over the large wheat field as the men and women went about harvesting the golden stalks of grain and preparing for the coming winter. Farmhouses dotted the landscape ahead, and past them were the beginnings of the jagged Frostback mountain range. There was a simplistic beauty in this little farming village only a half a day's ride from the bustling city she’d spent her whole life living inside. Things here seemed so peaceful and serene in a way that she’d never really thought possible.
The sound of a shovel scraping the dirt took her out of that moment of contentment she was beginning to feel. She turned and saw the grave digger and his son going back to work after their short break. The younger man would occasionally steal a glance up at her, she noticed. Had things been different, then maybe there would have been something that could come of it, but that door closed shut so very long ago.
Not so far away, Landon and Dannig were taking care of the horses, giving them a much needed break after pulling the wagon so far. It was more than the beasts had travelled in quite a while apparently, being so used to shorter trips in the city. She watched for a moment as the men tended to the animals, brushing them down and giving them grains to enjoy.
It was a miracle they were even still around. Apparently they had found their own way back to the barracks after they’d been taken. She used to think of them only as dumb beasts of burden, but it seemed that they were much more intelligent than she’d given them credit for. The more she learned about horses, the more she grew to admire the creatures as capable and resiliant.
Danicas eyes drifted over to the wagon she’d rode in on, and in particular, the simple wooden box it carried. They’d found Angela’s body inside a slum dwelling, wrapped in a white shroud. She was thankful at least that it was fully intact and not missing any vital parts. Had he spared her the same fate as his other victims out of some sort of sense of respect for his opponent? She had a morbid curiosity about it, but knew that question would never be answered, Galen was dead and he took his secrets with him to the grave.
“This was only the beginning,” he said.
What did he even mean by that? The beginning of what?
She sighed and went back to watching the farmers tend their fields. The sounds of domesticated animals mingling with the gentle breeze helped to distract her thoughts. Landon had chosen this small little village named Yeville, because it reminded him of her home in Honeyfield Pass. Before the destruction, Angela’s home had been a lovely little community. Now it sat as an overgrown ruin full of unmarked graves filled with those men, women, and children that died there so long ago.
She had been so distracted that she hadn’t noticed the doddering old man walking along the fence until he was almost next to her. “Light’s blessing upon you child,” he said, with a slight bow. “May I sit?”
She looked at him warily, unsure of his intentions. He looked older than she imagined a human could be, and was obviously exhausted from the physical exertion of walking. He wore a simple brown robe, with a few small holes that had been sewn up in many places. Was he a beggar looking for a handout?
“If you want,” she said, rather curtly. Not meaning to be outright rude, she tried to change her tone somewhat. “The rocks aren’t very comfortable, but it’s better than nothing.
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He sat down near her, but far enough away to avoid making her feel crowded by strangers. “Oh, yes I know all too well. I helped build it so many years ago. We took the stones from that mountain over there.” He pointed off into the distance with a smile.
She looked at where he was pointing, not really interested in a history lesson. “You’ll have to excuse me if I’m not in the mood for a conversation. We’ve come to bury my friend.”
His smile faded away and he nodded solemnly. “I know. I will pray to Zaphel and Myrra to help her soul find peace.”
Her eyes darted towards him, and a hint of spite crept into her voice. “Do you really think the gods listen when people pray?”
“I do,” he said solemnly. “I’ve been the priest here for nearly my whole life. I’d like to think I didn’t waste all my good years for nothing.” He chuckled softly to himself at that last remark.
Danica looked over at him skeptical. “You don’t look like a priest.”
He raised a bushy grey eyebrow. “How should I look?”
“Well,” she started but then paused, trying to form the right words without bringing up too many bad memories. “White robes trimmed with gold. Fancy jewelry adorned with gemstones.”
He nodded at that description. “I do love gold honestly.” He waved his hands out over the fields in front of him. “Every year I see vast quantities of it and I know that the people won’t go hungry. A rich man would trade his entire fortune away for a loaf of bread if he were starving to death. That is where true wealth is.”
Danica gave some thought to his words, seeing the wisdom within them. “I doubt the ones I’ve met would agree with you.”
“You refer to the clergy of the cathedral I suppose?” He held up his gnarled hands to her, showing the many scars and calluses he’d acquired over the years. “This wall here wasn’t the only thing I helped build. I helped lay the stone there when they rebuilt it to what it is now. I poured my heart and soul into that place, trying so hard to create something that pleased the gods I loved so much. When we’d finished, I tried to attend the very first service after they opened it. They turned me away and suggested I attend one of the older churches within the city.”
“What did you do then?” she asked, feeling sort of drawn unexpectedly into his story.
“I went to the other church. Even there, it was less about encouraging faith and more about enriching the wealth of those who preached. I came back here to my home village and took up service in something more true to what I believe in. The people of Norport have lost their way sadly, and I will always regret having a part in building that most beautiful abomination to my beloved gods of light.”
She sat in silence with him for a moment, just staring off into the distance. Soon Landon came to get her and they all worked together to carry the simple coffin to its final resting place. They lowered it gently into the ground while the priest said a prayer for Angela.
He began to sing a hymn to Myrra that stirred the tattered emotions within her. His voice was smooth and calm, belying what she’d expected from the way he had sounded earlier. She took a moment to glance at Landon, seeing him standing there stoically at attention. Dannig was holding a hand over his eyes, fighting back the tears as best he could.
She closed her eyes and remembered the woman who had helped take her in and gave her a decent home. The one who had scrubbed her clean in a large tub the first time they met. The memories they shared and the moments they had together had finally come to an end. If there was an afterlife, hopefully they would meet again. She’d get a chance to say all the things she meant to and never did.
She’d ask forgiveness, because she couldn’t help but blame herself for all of this.