The journey to the ruins of Iverst was shrouded in an eerie quiet, the remnants of the previous night's tumultuous events lingering in the air. Nat, usually a fount of information, found himself grappling with an unfamiliar sense of uncertainty. The high-performance car navigated the winding road, approaching the desolate remains of Iverst. Abby, her gaze fixed on the ruins, seemed lost in her own thoughts.
Nat broke the silence, his voice betraying a touch of hesitation. "Abby, what can you tell me about Erik's time here in Iverst?"
Abby's eyes flickered with a mixture of sadness and nostalgia. "Erik and I used to come here when we were kids. Our parents would bring us to visit the Monument of Remembrance, a symbol of the town's history. Erik always admired High King Sevas, the founder of New Iverst, whose statue salutes towards the ruins."
As the car passed through the remnants of Iverst, Nat noticed Abby's subtle gestures, the tightening of her grip on the steering wheel, the distant look in her eyes. He could sense there was more to the story, but the current limitations of his narration prevented him from fully grasping the depth of Abby's emotions.
"Beyond these ruins lies New Iverst," Abby continued, her voice tinged with a heaviness. "That's where we're headed."
Moments later as they approached the grove leading to New Iverst, Nat couldn't shake the feeling of unease. He had narrated countless stories, but this one seemed to elude his understanding. The boundaries of his knowledge were becoming starkly apparent. The grove enveloped them as they entered and parked, the Monument of Remembrance standing tall before them. The statue of High King Sevas saluted towards the ruins, it’s left hand over the right side of its chest, a solemn guardian of the town's history. At the statue's feet lay gravestones, a silent testament to the passage of time. They exited the car and Abby lead the way down a path. Nat soon saw a very small grouping of people, perhaps a small funeral.
Nat and Abby stepped closer, and Nat's gaze fell upon a casket and a priest. The priest, an elderly figure with a long greying beard, clutched a worn wooden cane in his right hand, using it for support. His left arm and hand were conspicuously missing, and the absence of his right leg added to the aura of fragility. It appeared to Nat that the priest was conducting a final rite over the body, perhaps invoking the blessings of some unseen air spirit he held sacred.
As Nat observed the scene, the priest's eyes subtly shifted in his direction. Unbeknownst to Nat, the priest, with a gaze that hinted at depths of perception, seemed to look toward him. Nat, absorbed in examining the casket, absently circled around the priest to get a better view. Despite Nat's inadvertent movement, the priest maintained a tranquil exterior, betraying no acknowledgment of Nat's presence. Abby, catching the subtle interaction, turned her gaze toward the priest, puzzled by the faint sense that his eyes followed Nat.
“This grove attracts all kinds,” the priest remarked, motioning towards a deer-rabbit peacefully grazing on the grass. Abby sighed in response, her attention drawn to the creature that coincidentally moved in the same direction as Nat, albeit at a safe distance.
As Nat moved his way towards the front of the casket, the body came into view. A sudden, chilling recognition gripped Nat as he reached the front of the casket. The body within, once a familiar ally, now lay in serene repose, etched with the scars of battle. His pale face showed signs of a battle, and a stitched gouge that looked to start at his neck traveled under the pristine shirt.
He stopped dead in his tracks, the weight of his limitations pressing down on him. Abby began to weep, and in between sobs, she uttered words that cut through the heavy air, “This is why I didn't want to come here. Then I would have to say goodbye to the last little bit of family I had left.”
“Erik,” and that is all Nat said.
As Abby mourned and the Monument of Remembrance stood silent witness, Nat confronted the harsh truth: some stories eluded even a narrator's comprehension. The humbling realization settled upon him, a phrase he used commonly, that narrators were not, in fact, all-knowing.
Other than Abby, Nat, and the Priest, there was one other person there, head bowed in reverence. The Priest began the funeral.
“We are all gathered here today to mourn the loss of this loved one. He loved his family and his country and died in the midst of battle with the Tyrant king’s forces…”
Nat didn’t pay attention to the rest of what the priest was saying. Abby was shedding tears, and the grey-cloaked guest was standing with tears streaming down his face. He knew exactly where he left Erik and his troop, and it was well within the depths of the Wylde Wood Sanctuary. No where near the battlefront. He looked towards the statue of High King Sevas, his mind working through what the truth could be.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
Twenty minutes later a grounder came up to the casket and closed it. Abby, Nat, and the grey-cloaked figure all placed their tentacles and hands upon the casket and held them there until the grounder moved the earth around it with his abilities. He slowly brought his hand to the casket, and it began its decent into the earth.
“And now I call upon the spirit of Erik to help guide his family and friends to a new world without him and may he wait for them until they too join him in the glow of the spirits.”
Nat placed a hand over Abby’s tentacle so that she could see a truth. When she saw it, she gasped, and tears began to flow more. Touching their hands was an ethereal hand, one Abby knew all too well as it was once the hand that grasped her when she was dying at the edge of a coast all those years ago. She looked up to see Erik’s spirit smiling and pointing behind her. She followed the direction to see her late parents surrounding her in an embrace. She fell to the ground and wept.
The priest rose an eyebrow and took a seat waiting for the emotional toll to wear away enough for a discussion. The cloaked figure too took a seat, muttering prayers as well.
Nat took his leave of Abby so that she may say her goodbyes and walked over to another gravestone and sat. After a few minutes the spirit of Erik stood next to Nat, smile still plastered on his face. Nat looked to his previous charge to find Erik giving him two thumbs up. Nat rolled his eyes.
“I bet you’ll become a jovial spirit of some kind,” he remarked. Erik smiled wider, then it faded as quickly as it appeared. Erik then pointed to the monument; a stern face replaced the jovial one. He shook his head in disapproval.
“I get it,” said Nat. “Don’t trust Sevas nor the military he presides over.”
Erik’s spirit nodded, he then pretended to write, then shrugged confused.
“I’ll find the narrative he wrote don’t worry,” Nat said with confidence. “I’ll find out what happened in the sanctuary. Narrators don’t cause stuff to happen, just write out the events that take place.” He paused, seeing a raised eyebrow from Erik. “Listen, I know you still hate me for the spider thing, I have a little more leeway than my brethren.”
Nat smiled and Erik nodded with his own smile. He made his way back to Abby and gave her a final hug. Abby accepted it and waved to the fading Erik and her adopted parents, knowing she would never see them again while alive.
Abby sat beside the grave in the seat saved for her, watching the grounder finish up the burial of her brother. Soon all that was left was a patch of green grass and a tombstone garnishing Erik’s name across it. Nothing other than their presence and a new stone showed a funeral had taken place.
Silence was broken by the grey-cloaked figure. “Your brother spoke highly of you Abby,” he said with a gravely voice. “And I see a fellow spark of fire within you that matches his. If you want to train your abilities, please seek us here.” He passed her a card with a map and an association name attached. “Whenever you feel like.”
“What abilities.” She stated.
The man tilted his head slightly in confusion, “Us walking the path of fire can sometimes be burned, but burns can heal.” He held out his hand and a gentle fire erupted out of his five fingertips coalescing into a single fire ball. He wrapped his other hand around it as sand slightly flew out where his hands joined together. “A gift if you come to our abode.”
He moved the top part of his hand to show the fireball now encased in a thick glass. The fire, still lit within, produced lights dancing at the edges of the glass. As she took it, he bowed and left along the grassy path. As he moved down the path, Abby had the sudden realization that she had nowhere to put the glassed fireball. Before she could say anything, Nat poked her and pointed down with his finger.
“I wrote it into existence when he was making it,” he whispered. “don’t worry I didn’t make it too magical, just slightly. It only opens to you and only you can hold it.” He then gave her a thumbs up.
Abby rolled her eyes but didn’t complain. She took the bag out from under her chair and carefully placed the gift inside. Now only Nat, Abby, and the priest remained. Silence lingered in the air as they sat gazing upon the solemn stone epitaph of Erik. “Fought to the death with Honor, kind and loving brother and son.”
“You know,” the priest started after a few moments. “The town of New Iverst is more prosperous than the old one.”
“Really?” asked Abby, really questioning where this was going.
“Yes, the buildings and town were all funded by a surprising person.” He chuckled.
“Who would that be?” She asked not caring, but emotionally drained due to recent events.
“Well just so you know,” he looked around and lowered his voice. “This graveyard, and memorial were also funded by the same person. In fact, technically we aren’t on Arvendon soil at all. We are on Rothurd Kingdom soil.”
She then repeated her question, this time interested. This was news to her, the kingdom of Arvendon had always claimed this memorial and the new town.
“The lord of this land funded it with his own money. Not one cent came from his people. Although you all would know him by The Tyrant King, Umbra.”
Abby paled, but somehow it wasn’t that surprising. Erik had told her about his personal experience between his family and the Tyrant King thousands of times before.
“What really shocked me about you, Abby, other than the fact you are Auctian. Was that you could see the spirits around you. You didn’t continue with the normal burial proceedings for a while. At first, I thought it was grief, seen it a lot myself being a priest. But then you were hugging air as if something was there. Most people play along with the rites having no idea when we bury our loved ones, they come to see us off, not the other way around.”
He looked to her with a knowing gaze, that seemed to tell her he knew more but would not tell, “Care to come to New Iverst and have a chat?”
Abby gulped, and Nat smacked his own forehead. In the emotional scene it had left his mind that no one else could see what was going on, but he didn’t regret it. He knew Abby needed to experience it.
“Sure.”