Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Two
Settling Dust
Four sleepless nights. Five broken days. Eleven resting wounded. Forty-four gravediggers. And two hundred graves.
Through cold, wind-swept rain and sweltering sun, the survivors drove their tools into the muddy soil, filling the eastern clearing of Fort Guardian with rows upon rows of dark pits. As they spent the tireless days and thundering nights digging, Syon and Flinn travelled to Istol to purchase a carriage and cart big enough to empty the stronghold of its more precious artefacts.
By the next morning, it had become apparent the walls had been slowly corroded by the thousands of Shanii slain upon them. Within the magical stone, their essence was eating through the rock like termites. From certain angles, one could see as they began to kilter inward, and it became clear there would be no way to remain at the stronghold.
Klaryah and Jack discussed what should be done about the Location Tablets, as they were both immovable and integral to the safety of other Legacies. As they weighed back and forth, a chip of stone fell from the wall and landed in the grass.
The walls were wilting like flowers in a dry summer.
Klaryah bent down, picked it up, and said, “Food for thought… what if we let thousands of tonnes of stone bury it?”
Jack nodded tiredly. “So long as we set enough runes to ruin the entire courtyard a hundred times over, then yeah, we might be okay there.”
So, they set to work.
The main gate was beyond annihilated, and as the limping Avery looked them over, Jack approached, asking, “How’s it look?”
“We’d need a dozen cranes just to move the wreckage. But, honestly that would just take time, the real problem is in the magic. Ancient protections were inlaid in this gate and now that it’s been breached that spell-work is gone. It’d be half as strong as it used to be, if we managed to get it back upright again, and that’s a hard if.” A long, deep stone crackling echoed across the valley as the walls tilted some more, resounding like shifting glaciers.
Jack shrugged. “I think the gate would be the least of our problems. Seems like we’re being politely told to leave.”
Avery climbed onto the left gate, bent and gnarled on the ground, to make their way to an obstructed panel of stone behind it. They placed their hand on the blank stone, and mumbled a command-word, dissipating the slab of rock like fog on a mirror, and out from the great space behind it, thick chunks of curved and shattered metal tumbled out.
The one-armed blacksmith leapt back to save their feet from being crushed and swore loudly. “I might have to agree, Commander.”
At the med-bay, Lillian slowly moved through the eleven majorly wounded Legacies, and by the end of the third night, herself and Jordan dismissed Carlisla for the second time. There was no way to save her arm, unless, as Lillian so tiredly put it, they planned on fishing the rest of it out of the Mountain Wolf’s stomach. So, the restorician sent Carlisla to see Willem and Avery, certain that if anyone could design a shield for half an arm, it was them.
Lillian sat down on an empty bed, ignoring the streaking red stains across it. She wiped her eyes of blood from the last surge of Arcancy, feeling her skin finally settle as her magic faded at last.
Jordan silently tidied the medical tools, casting occasional glances to her. After having nothing left to clean or stow away, he sighed and said quietly, “I was scared, okay.”
Lillian dunked her head in a bowl of fresh rainwater and roughly cleaned away the dried, rust-coloured gunk from her face. She stood and turned to leave, speaking as though offering a prognosis. “Jordan, I hope you live a long happy life, free of any further pain or fear. But if you ever speak to me again, I’ll dismantle your organs while they’re still inside of you.”
Jordan’s face pale and he swallowed as Lillian stepped close to him.
“Am I understood?” she asked, with perfect, horrible earnest.
Jordan opened his mouth and only narrowly caught himself. Instead, he nodded.
Lillian nodded too and she told him to finish sterilizing the tools.
In the centre of the forum, the dining tables lay in splintered heaps, and in their place Legacies slowly stowed anything necessary or precious to be cleared out. By the time night had come again and the stars woke in the sky, crates and crates of food, armour, weaponry, and literature were piled in great rows, ready to be painstakingly transported to the carriage.
Rose helped clear out the library, slowly making her way through the mounds upon mounds of books, charged with the duty of picking what would be left behind.
As Rose picked up a thick, pale-leather tome marked Poems of the Discoverer’s Age, she glanced between the now relatively empty bookshelves, as many scrolls and volumes were disregarded to the ground. She thought of the day she’d interrupted the class that Michael and the others had been in, remembering the way he’d poured over the first Legacy tome he’d ever seen. Rose imagined how excited he’d have been to be going through the books alongside her, and she pictured the young archer holding armloads of books, smugly convinced he could fit them in one crate.
Rose opened a leather satchel slung over her shoulder and slipped Poems of the Discoverer’s Age inside, hearing his voice in her head goading, Really? You have all the secrets to a hidden world within your grasp, and you’re picking a book full of rhyming words?
Rose knew it was her own mind, but the tone of his imagined voice made her smile, and she replied quietly, “Don’t be mad, just because you can’t pair up two sentences to save a life.”
The invented voice scoffed and muttered, I’m a great poet. I have proof, but I won’t show it.
Rose grimaced and laughed, shaking her head. “Sweet Rii,” she said, taking a copy of Jax Luck’s The Crek Invasion of Riniglacia and the Colonisation of the Ringlands, and slotting it into her satchel as she pictured him rolling his eyes.
Poems and essays, she imagined him saying.
Rose gave another chuckle, raised her head to reply aloud once more, only to remember he wasn’t truly there. She looked gently around the room and bit off the end of her breath, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders, running her fingers on the outside of the material, if only to feel Michael’s textbook in the pocket within. She eventually hobbled back out of the library hauling all of her chosen books, wishing she could take more.
The rain had cleared the day before, and a good bout of sun meant the mud was beginning to dry again.
To deposit the books at the storage space, Rose past by hundreds of six-foot pits in the ground.
The graves had been roughly dug, for every day they spent in their crumbling home was another day they toyed with fate. Additionally, Sidney reminded everyone that the raw Arcancy around them would be attracting all manner of unkind personalities.
The third night following the battle was spent walking the fort’s supplies to the great wagon parked on the nearest Imperial Highway. Slowly they filled it, carrying the heavy crates between two or more Legacies, ignoring the prying eyes of travelling traders and the odd mercenary. Magnus offered to stay with the carriage as they went about the most terrible of those final days. Rose handed him another crate and he stowed it before climbing into the driver’s set.
Rose said, “They were your companions too. You’re allowed to be there.”
Magnus nodded thankfully but shook his head all the same. “Someone has to take care of the horses. Besides, I can feel the curse-work coming to the surface again.” His eyes glittered red and he shut them softly. “If possible, I’d like to avoid ruining anymore funerals.”
*****
The surviving fifty-five members of Fort Guardian dressed as tidily as they could manage, though for most that was little more than a black, mourning cloak and spit-polished boots. Darkness of early morning covered their faces as the sun rose deep behind the walls, and slowly the herd of grieving soldiers made their way through the rows and rows of the dead.
There hadn’t been enough time to make nearly two hundred coffins so the bodies were draped in simple burial shawls and placed beside their allocated graves, waiting to be lowered, far from ceremoniously.
In the cold of the morning a pale fog misted between the ankles of the survivors as they gave their honours of silence to the fallen. Some broke the Legacy funeral rites with short eulogies, but before long it became clear that most who’d have known the dead well enough to speak were lying somewhere else in the graveyard.
James folded his hands as he, Avery, Willem, and Sidney visited the resting place of Lain. After they’d knelt by her headstone and each made their peace with her, it finally came to James’ turn.
James looked down to the freshly packed soil and approached with her iron broadsword in his hands. It was heavier than he expected and didn’t know how anyone could’ve wielded it the way she did. James raised the blade to plant it beside her headstone when he sighed and turned to Avery and Willem.
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The young warrior delicately said, “You knew Lain better than me. I don’t want to speak for her, but would she have wanted this sword left here?”
Willem’s face was puffy and red from tears and he signed softly, No, she’d call it a waste. Hand it here, maybe I can use the metal. The blacksmith held out his hand.
James handed the long sword and its sheath to him and Willem gripped it tight, holding back tears as he strapped it to his back, for Archie’s blade already took the place at his hip. James looked back over the grave, and unlike the tradition Fort Guardian headstones, these were simply a title and a few words in honour of the fallen. Some had books in their rooms where small quotes were taken. Others were figured out on the spot. Lain’s read:
Paladin Lain Sparrowson
“Fear lives in the hearts of the living.
So, do not weep when your courage is shaken,
for it simply means you are truly, unapologetically alive.”
Before long they came to the grave of Archie himself and Oliver aided Willem in lowering the young boy’s body into the ground.
Rose took off her necklace, the ones Archie had made for their company. Though most of them had lost them in their various kidnappings, battles, or the fall into Kavoe Farnea, she had managed to hold onto hers. She gave it quietly to Willem, who sat beside the pit. Slowly, the other Legacies filled it in with soil in silence.
Willem held the chain in his hand, running his fingers across the smooth Brightsteel. He looked up to the head of the grave. There sat a small, pillow-sized chunk of stone which Sidney ripped from the battlements and smoothed over with her Arcancy. On the face of the rock were etched the words:
Paladin Archibald White-Steel
“We will sit together in the sun and we will sit together in the dark.
I don’t care for the moon or sun. I am here for you, not them.”
Willem fell into deep, stomach-wrenching sobs, and while the others silently moved on, leaving him to grieve, Oliver sunk to his knees beside Willem and held him, tears running down their faces. The swordsman was only alive to be there because Archie had been brave enough to be who he was. As he listened to Willem’s cries, Oliver memorised the quote, fixing it into his mind and slowly spoke it between his teeth. After he knew he would never forget it, Oliver sat with Willem for a long moment, knowing there were so many others to mourn, but for Willem, no one quite like Archie.
As the eulogies both silent and vocal, continued, the stone in the walls groaned ominously, but beyond them birdsongs could be heard. On the edge of the battlements high up above, the light of the new dawn touched the soil.
Carter fell in beside James and hooked his arm gently through the crook of his elbow. He rested his head onto his friend’s shoulder and James sighed, whispering, “He’d have loved a sunrise like that.”
Carter sniffled and nodded. The days had been cold. He’d been doing his best not to think about all the things he’d said, and all the rest he hadn’t. He and almost everyone else in the trembling castle had caught very little rest, and while it made for long, weary days, Carter was glad in part that he didn’t sleep, for on that first night after the battle he slipped into a small dream. And it hadn’t been anything great or terrible. But upon waking Carter wept upon his pillow so loudly he’d have startled James, if the young man hadn’t already been up. Carter knew Michael had struggled with sleep and he himself had never quiet understood it until then. The concept warmed him, as though it brought him closer to his something lost, but another part of him only felt the grief more coldly.
The problem wasn’t with the dreaming but having to wake up without him.
Karmine and Nydol knelt beside the grave of Sylvia, speaking softly beneath their breath in Old Crekaen and Ou’eré, one of the tongues of the Driftiken Isles. As they finished their gentle speeches, Karmine opened a bottle of the Raspberry wine she’d over-ordered and poured a small splash onto the soil.
“I’ll polish it off for you, dear,” the Crekaen man croaked, his eyes glistening in the dark.
The procession continued and slowly the Legacies found their way to the final graves among which lay Michael covered in a thin white sheet. Though a touch dirtied by its time atop the soil, it was still bright. His two oldest friends lowered the young man’s body in the ground and before they began burying him, Carter drew one of his silver daggers.
“I don’t care if it’s a waste.” He knelt down and placed the gleaming knife upon Michael’s breast. “I’d leave my Coin of Writ too, but I know you’d hate it.”
James helped him out of the grave and together Michael’s friends filled in his grave in silence. Handful by handful, shovel by shovel, they covered him and patted the soil down.
As the other Legacies moved on, the seven mourning friends stayed.
Oliver looked to Carter and James’ first but they both shook their heads. Oliver felt the words thicken in his throat and stepped forward.
“I owe you a debt, Michael. And now I can’t repay it. Before I met you, I was just some person... who made his way through people’s lives, never stopping, never staying too long. I’ve had more expulsions from boys’ homes and orphanages than I’ve had birthdays,” he chuckled tearfully. “But when I met you, I never felt pushed away or rushed. You made me feel brave and charming and… hopeful. You spent so much time thinking about what the right thing to do was, that it saved every life here. It even saved mine twice. And that has nothing to do with what I owe you. My debt is in the kindness you showed me for no other reason than because you could. And nothing could ever make me forget it. Or you.”
Oliver wept and didn’t try to hide it. And finally, he knelt down to the grave, running his fingers through the dark soil, and said, “My Ergaen Aawharu.”
Sarah took Oliver in a gentle hug as Rose stepped forward. She had buried so many people, and watched so many terrors she almost thought she was done crying. But the moment she started talking, she realised she’d scarcely begun.
“I don’t know what to say.” Rose smiled through her tears and turned helplessly to the others before glancing back to Michael’s tomb. “I’ve been here for cycles. And these last couple spells have been the worst... and greatest days of my life. And I think that’s because of you. You ridiculous, lovely, idiotic, funny, charming… fool. I mean, I’m mad, because I only want to look back on this time as terrible,” she wiped more tears from her face as they continued to fall. “But I met you and all these amazing people properly for the first time and I can’t.”
Rose knelt down, and with a sobbing flourish of her wand, a bouquet of yellow roses bloomed beneath Michael’s headstone. Upon her knee, she sighed and shook her head. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I promise I tried.”
Oliver took Rose’s hand as Sarah stepped over and sat down, cross-legged as his grave. She plucked a daisy down by her leg and just began to speak, like Michael was sitting opposite her after a day of sparring in the arena.
“You were really good at tying up those cords on that dress. I never gave you proper credit for that. You were the best servant-boy that a newlywed lady could’ve asked for.” Sarah gently wrapped the flower’s stem around her ring finger. “And I know how much you risked by just coming with me- Well, maybe I don’t know. Not really. And it’s funny, because despite all the terrible things I know have happened to you, you seem to have this gift with people. You bring them together. They trust you.” She pulled the little daisy ring off of her finger and set it down atop the soil. “You know when to talk. When to shut up. Oli sucks at it but he’s trying.”
Oliver threw his hands up as the others chuckled gently and Sarah smiled, still looking at the grave.
“You did ask just so many questions, I’ll be honest,” Sarah said, grinning into the dirt. “But now I like asking questions. Because we should. And I promise I’ll ask all the questions you would’ve.” Sarah croaked and stood back up, adding finally, “well, most of ‘em. Again, so many questions, love. But I hope you found some answers,” she said at last as tears rolled off her chin. “I love you, Michael.”
Oliver took her arm and wiped the tears from her cheeks. Sarah smiled and more fell and they rested their against each other’s head.
Aroha and Nichole both stepped over to the grave together. Aroha took a deep breath before turning to the others, tears upon her face. “I don’t how you guys did this...”
Nichole took her hand tightly.
Aroha nodded and after a long moment, she said, “I’m sorry I yelled when we first met. Gods, that feels like it was cycles ago and somehow it was... only a cresk or so, right? Oh, by the way.” She let go of Nichole’s arm and presented his long silver arrow, slightly bent with even less of a point than before. “I managed to find this after everything calmed down. I’m going to see if Avery or Willem will bend it into an armband, because I know that if I put it back in my quiver then I’ll fire a fond memory of you on accident, and that’ll really fuck me up.” Nichole chuckled weakly as Aroha shook her head and sobbed, “I think that’s all I have right now. You go.”
Nichole squeezed her tight, rubbing circles on her back and finally opened her mouth to speak but nothing come out. She frowned looking down into the soil, and deep in her heart Nichole just knew everything she wanted to say was so deeply empty. Sorry I killed you? Sorry I pulled you out of your home? Sorry this and that and everything else.
Even as she ran her hand through her hair, her fingers caught on the braid she’d tied, wanting to look somewhat presentable, but for what? Nichole let out a hard breath and looked over his gravestone. She’d read it so many times, but each time she still struggled to know why they’d picked it.
It read:
Paladin Michael Eddy Williams
“Love foolishly, for there is no other honest way to love.”
Nichole clenched her teeth and after a long moment of silence, merely shrugged. “What could I possibly say?” she asked him. “You felt like the kind of person I would know when I grew old. We would live in small shacks far away from the empire somewhere the world couldn’t bother us. Somewhere better. But you’re here and there’s nothing I can do.” Nichole let go of Aroha and sunk down to one knee. “Why wasn’t there something I could do? Did I miss it?” she asked desperately, and her words began stifled with sobs. “Did you mean for me to do something else?” She looked up at her girlfriend as tears rolled down her face. “What else was I supposed to do, Ari?”
Aroha fell to her side as Nichole broke down into heavy sobs and her friends stood around her in silence. She stayed there for some time before finally she opened her eyes again, looking blearily to the grave and breathed, “I know you can’t hear me. But for some reason I need to know I at least said this aloud. We all loved you so much. You’d never believe how much.”
Aroha helped her to her feet and they both stepped away from the grave, leaving only Carter and James.
Michael’s two oldest friends looked to one another softly, and they both turned away, leaving Oliver to ask, “You two don’t want to tell him anything?”
James kept walking as Carter turned and gave a weak smile. “There’s nothing we could say which would do the last ten cycles of our lives justice. Besides… he knows.”
Jack watched from afar as the young men walked away and shortly after the band of Legacies followed. A footstep squished behind him and the Javen turned to see Klaryah waiting patiently on the edge of the funeral grounds. He walked over to the woman, a sad, though unsurprised look upon his face.
“You’re off, I take it?” Jack asked, nodding to a travel pack over her shoulder.
Klaryah nodded, glancing to the small gathering in the distance. Though still coloured with bruising and the odd cut on her face the assassin was back to looking as regal as she had upon arrival. Her undercut and face were clean-shaven, her longbow hung over-shoulder and her hair was braided expertly down her back, coiled into the hood of a comfortable travelling cloak. She held out her hand and said, “I’ll see you again, Jack. I’m sure of it. Before I leave, I did want to ask if I could pay our friend a visit?”
The Mace of Mhairia creased his scarred face with a smile as he shook her hand. “Send my regards.”