As Hashim lay in bed, he shut his eyes and thought of Silverreach. He tried his best to imagine he was there, about to wake up and go to drill, or perhaps to greet his father, home from a research trip to the far North. Though he had witnessed death before, the shock of the battle was difficult to overcome. The Saffremi had been as comforting as possible, but they themselves were nearly as shocked as the soldiers, and had difficulty understanding the overt emotion displayed by the Gahlalians. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since the ambush on their camp. Hashim’s mind was still too jumbled to remember things clearly, but by talking to Salah, Sophia, Humeera, and Kashira, he had gathered some idea of what had happened.

Two hours after midnight, a strike force of five Galyrian assassins had begun attacking their camp. They set fire to tents with soldiers inside and slaughtered them as they tried to escape. All in all, they had killed twenty-five of the fifty-two soldiers who had originally set out from Silverreach. Other than the four he had been with, and himself, Instructor Sara had managed to escort several others to safety before returning to the battle. By some miracle, both Sara and Sub-Commander Akash had survived, though Akash sustained a nasty wound to his side.

The Saffremi soldiers had found their group huddled in the forest, and carried them back to the town. Salah’s chest was badly bruised, and he had a number of broken ribs, but he would live. Now, almost exactly a day later, Hashim lay in an army cot, staring at the ceiling. Occasionally, Salah’s groans would snap him out of a thought spiral, and he would panic for a moment before realizing his surroundings. After an indiscernible amount of time, a familiar voice made itself known.

“The Saffremi funeral service will be performed in two hours.”

Hashim sat up slowly, Sara’s words slowly registering. He had been informed earlier in the day that the town would hold a funeral at the site of the murders, twenty-four hours after their occurrence, as was the custom. Hashim had been worried that the Galyrians would strike again, but was assured by the townspeople that Galyrian assassin squads never struck the same place two nights in a row. According to Sub-Commander Akash, it violated their rules of honor, in which an unsuccessful kill is not to be re-attempted until the target has had time to fully heal.

“Sick bastards,” Salah had said when he was informed. “Burning sleeping soldiers alive is fine, but striking them again the next time is off the table.” Hashim had to admit that it did not make much sense to him. But the Saffremi seemed very confident, and so he had decided to attend. He began to walk toward Sara, but Salah stopped him.

“Wait.” Hashim turned to face him. “Help me up. I want to come.”

Hashim furrowed his brow. “Are you sure? It would be painful.”

“I want to come.”

“Very well,” said Sara, somewhat impatiently. “Help him get up quickly then Hashim.”

After a short horse ride and a lot of groaning from Salah, they arrived. Where the camp had been, there was now a huge pile of firewood. On top of the pyre lay bodies, wrapped in the same cloth Saffremi soldiers wore over their helmets. If this was the funeral of a member of the town, the cloth would have been dyed to reflect their life. But since the townspeople did not know about the lives of these Gahlalians, they simply dyed the cloth blue, the colour of peace. Hashim felt a pang of grief over the fact that the bodies could not be returned to Gahlal, but he understood that they did not have the men or equipment needed to transport them.

The men and women of the town stood around the pile, humming a single low note as they finished arranging the firewood. Hashim and Salah found a place to stand near the road, which made the pair feel a little safer. Salah leaned against Hashim, visibly struggling with the pain every breath incurred. Instructor Sara, standing nearby, shot them both a sympathetic look, then noticed the slightly bewildered look on Hashim’s face.

“There won’t be any talking,” explained Sara. “Saffremi culture emphasizes the importance of what is not said. The humming is meant as an outlet for emotion, rather than crying or talking, which are more… looked down upon.”

Hashim nodded, but was surprised when this information was almost immediately contradicted.

The lord of the village, who seemed more like a political representative for the people than a king, walked towards them, and grasping Hashim by the forearm, spoke to him in a quiet voice.

“We understand that the Snoweyes have an affinity for eulogies. We would like to offer you the chance to make one, if you would like.”

Hashim looked at Sara and saw that she was just as surprised as he. “Um, thank you. But I didn’t know any of them very well. Maybe someone else does.” The lord nodded and moved on, giving Sara a nod as he did.

“They have been very kind to us,” Salah said matter-of-factly. Glancing at his friend, Hashim saw that he was tearing up. Eventually, after the pyre had been completed, the humming ceased. Kashira, the girl whose partner had been killed, gave a short speech. Her partner’s name had been Anna, and they had grown up together. They had requested specifically to be a pair during training, and had proved themselves to be capable warriors. Two other soldiers said a few words before the camp returned to silence. The pyre was lit, and the Saffremi hummed until the crackling of the flames drowned them out.

As they stood before the fire, a sense of resolve began to cement within Hashim, for the first time since they had set out on their journey. He would not let the Galyrians get away with this. He hadn't chosen to join the war, but he was sure as hell going to do his part to make sure the Galyrians regretted it. An even more surprising sentiment accompanied this one. He wanted to fight not only for Gahlal and his people, but for the Saffremi as well. The brutality of the Galyrians was not limited to the snoweyes, so why should his alliance? A warm anger materialized in his stomach, filling him with determination. He would not forget the ambush. He would not forget the funeral pyre.

As they rode slowly home, Hashim decided to approach Sub-Commander Akash. The commander did not seem very formal, but he still worried that doing so would violate etiquette in some way. Despite this, he had a question he needed answering. The Sub-Commander leaned back slightly in his saddle, clearly trying to relax his injured torso as much as possible. Hashim had seen an elderly woman dressing his wounds with an elaborate mix of herbs, and helping him to drink a large quantity of tea. He assumed that this was similar to the healing practices performed by shamans in rural Gahlal. These remedies, passed down from practitioner to practitioner, were known for their miraculous ability to heal and reduce pain far more effectively than the techniques used en masse in the cities.

Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

Focusing himself, Hashim took a deep breath, before prompting his horse to pick up speed, and pulling up close behind the commander. “Excuse me, Sub-Commander Akash?” Akash turned his head to look at Hashim. Hashim took his silence as a sign that his approach was not unwelcome, and brought his horse nearer to Akash’s, so as to prevent others from overhearing him. “There were twenty-eight bodies.”

Akash did not flinch at this question. “There were.”

“The Galyrians who killed all those people. They were Saffremi, weren’t they.”

He already knew the answer. He had seen the jet-black eyes of the man they had killed. Akash answered anyway. “You are correct.” Hashim was silent. He could not understand why. Why someone would do this to their own people. And why their people would still give them a full funeral even still. Hashim was not sure if Akash knew the answers either

“It is a great sadness for my people that so many of us left their families, their people, and their religion, for this Above they speak of. But perhaps we failed them before they failed us. This is why, I think, they are given a funeral.”

Hashim did not have an answer he felt was worthy of giving, and Akash did not seem to mind. From there, they rode in silence.

After all the townspeople had returned from the funeral, they gathered in the town’s meeting house. There was no table here, only an intricate rug on which the people sat cross-legged on. At the center of the rug lay a pile of weapons and armor, and when Hashim took a closer look, he was taken aback. The bright red armbands he had seen on the assassin were there, along with boots and gauntlets made of the same metal. Three sets of this strange equipment were arranged on the rug, along with a pile of white robes. Hashim found a place next to Sophia, and helped Salah to sit as well.

Once everyone was seated, Sub-Commander Akash thumped the floor with his fist a single time, drawing the attention of all present. “According to the culture of our people, the weapons of a slain Saffremi are to be placed on the pyre with his body. His armor, however, belongs to the Saffremi who took his life. Having conquered his enemy’s defenses, he now owns them.” Salah and Hashim looked at each other in concern. Sophia clenched her jaw, and Kashira leaned in to whisper something to Humeera.

Akash continued. “Since I contributed to the taking of two of these lives, I am entitled to the largest share of the equipment. However, Instructor Sara aided me in battle against my first opponent, and she, therefore, inherits some equipment of her choosing. This armor is… strange, to say the least. But as proven last night, it functions well.”

Hashim looked to Sara, whose eyes were locked to the armor in the center of the circle, her expression indiscernible. Then Akash turned to Hashim and the others. He gestured towards them with one hand, wincing as he raised it. “These five warriors were responsible for the killing of the final assassin.” Hashim suddenly felt dozens of dark, unreadable eyes turn to him and his companions. “You are therefore entitled to his equipment. Those who struck the killing blows may choose first.”

Akash gestured to the pile closest to the group with an expectant look. Salah and Hashim turned their gazes to Humeera. “I… I don’t want it.” Humeera said firmly. “I refuse to inherit the armor of he who slaughtered my brothers and sisters.”

Akash looked at her for a moment in surprise, then nodded respectfully.

Hashim expected Sophia to affirm this sentiment, but instead, to his surprise, she stood. She walked over to the pile, and after pausing for a moment, picked up the two armbands which had made the battle so difficult for her. The many Saffremi eyes followed her as she returned to her place and stowed the blood-red armbands in one of the many pockets of her heavy robes. Akash turned his eyes expectantly toward Kashira, but she shook her head quickly.

Before he even looked at Salah, the soldier spoke. “I don’t want anything either. If it were up to me, I would have let that bastard rot in the dirt.” He spoke through strained breaths, but his anger was clear. Hashim winced, half expecting Akash or one of the other Saffremi to take offense. But instead, all eyes turned to him, seemingly unconcerned with Salah’s rejection of the offer. Hashim’s heart began to beat more rapidly. His logic told him that Salah was right. He didn’t want to carry around a piece of that night. But something else made the decision. Standing, he quickly made his way to the center of the rug and retrieved the two gauntlets that lay there. He took his place in the circle once more and stared at them, somewhat dumbfounded by his actions. He glanced at Salah, expecting to see contempt, but he could read nothing from his partner’s expression.

Eventually, Sub-Commander Akash had collected the lion’s share of the equipment, and Instructor Sara took hers as well, wrapping the items in one of the pairs of robes as if to conceal them from herself. After this, the townspeople sat in silence for a minute, before departing seemingly spontaneously.

That night, after they had returned to the barracks, and Salah had fallen into a deep sleep, Hashim awoke. The creaking of the barracks in the wind seemed… louder. Was that even wind? Rubbing his eyes, he sat up. Something didn’t feel right. There was someone nearby. He didn’t know how he knew, but he did. Looking around in the dark, his eyes were suddenly caught on an inscription of the Ra’khemi proclamation that hung above the door. He had read it before, but the words seemed to be twisting and slipping into one another.

“Heaven has descended like rain descends upon those who have made themselves tall, as those in the depths of the sea cry out for mercy from the sky.

…

…

Truly, having sung of this union, now and forever, like those in the depths of the sea, may you cry out to the sky.”

Hashim felt himself being sucked into it, the letters imprinting themselves into his mind. It was a uniquely Saffremi translation. At that moment, he saw the truth the Saffremi had sought to convey completely. Rather than the Gahlalian celebration of the perfect union of nature, the Saffremi world was one where the sea cries out for the brotherhood it has lost with the sky.

Hashim heard the faint sound of coughing from outside the barracks. His heart beginning to pound, he slipped on his shoes and crept to the door, pressing his ear against it. Could it be more Galyrians?

Suddenly, the coughing stopped. “Hashim.” Hashim jumped back in shock, then after a moment, slowly opened the door. “Step out here, don’t worry.”

Every bone in his body told him not to, and yet he did. Stepping outside into the frigid air, he closed the door behind him and turned to face the source of the voice. An elderly man in strange blue robes sat by the door. On his lap rested what seemed to be… a crown. Hashim had never seen this man in his life, but he did not seem like a stranger. He was short and had blue eyes, which suggested that he was a Snoweye. But his ears were large and oval-shaped, which was a defining characteristic of the Sai’Ath, the race that inhabited the south-east of Eroth, and made up a majority of the population of Galyria.

“How do you know my name?” Hashim did not know what else to ask. He thought that perhaps he should be more frightened, and yet he felt… safe.

“I knew your name well before your time,” the man answered with a chuckle.

Hashim’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t speak in riddles. Who are you?”

“You know who I am, Hashim. Your companions swear by me, and your father’s books speak of me. But then again, they also speak of you.” The man chuckled again. “Perhaps they will even swear by you one day too!”

Hashim was growing frustrated, desperate even. As he lost himself in the Ra’khemi proclamation moments before, he felt himself beginning to disappear into the words of this man. “Please. I’m not sure what this is. Who are you? This doesn’t feel real. I just want to know…”

The man smiled, and Hashim found himself rendered speechless. “Continue south, to the Iron City. Inquire of Mistkeep.” And then he was gone.

When Hashim awoke in the morning, he didn’t remember the man disappearing, nor did he remember returning to his bed. But he felt deeply that it could not have been a dream. He found himself completely unable to focus during breakfast, and when Instructor Sara informed him and Salah that they would be leaving the next day, he had to will himself to say even “Yes, instructor.”

That day, through the night, and as he packed the next morning, the words of that night weaved in circles around in his head, demanding his time and consideration.

The City of Iron. Mistkeep. My father’s books. A sea that mourns the sky.