Priya sat next to Anissa and Galia on the cold, hard earth.

She could still see the charred remains of Tohki hanging by her hands on the Spring Pole.

All that remained of the vale’s community had been herded on the far southern corner of the village, far enough away from the fire and smoke. There they sat, carefully guarded by the cleric’s armed men.

Serah, please do not come, Priya prayed, silently. Please stay away.

But Priya knew that she would come; Serah, Zachael, and their tiny, unborn child. The smoke from the fires rose high. It would act as a signal, drawing them towards it.

And then what?

It wasn’t clear what Cleric Ingolf intended for his captors.

It was clear that what happened that day was not what Cleric Ingolf had intended. He spoke quietly to his men, gesturing towards his captives, then back towards the western slopes from whence they came.

“They are going to take us away, aren’t they?” Galia asked quietly.

“Aye,” Anissa replied. “That much seems certain. Though I am not sure how we will make the journey with only the clothes on our backs.”

Josif held his two daughters in his lap. “Eusou will provide,” he whispered.

Anissa leaned forward, wetting the edge of her cloak with her mouth and using it to wipe some of the blood from Priya’s forehead and cheek. “Did that man” —she gestured to the cleric— “did he have his way with you?”

Priya trembled. She couldn’t speak. Speaking and breathing it out into the world made it real. But she nodded and her mother pulled her close.

“He will pay for what he did to you,” Anissa said. Her voice was low, brimming with anger. “Either in this life or the next.”

Josif shook his head. “Oh, he will pay in this life. I’ll be sure of it.”

Tahel and Damon, Josif’s remaining sons, still too young for their passage, sat whispering with their foreheads pressed together.

“What are you two plotting?” Josif growled.

Tahel’s leg was still bound from the arrow wound. Gingerly, he and Damon scooted closer to their father. At the movement, one of the archers turned to watch. Seeing that it was just children, he spat on the ground, turning back to Ingolf.

Damon pointed across from where they sat, near the blacksmith’s forge where Asa’s charred remains sat. “If I make for the woods, Tahel and I could circle around to Asa’s and bring back any weapons we can find.”

Tahel nodded. “He will be fast and sneaky. They won’t catch Damon.”

Josif leaned forward. “Aye. They may not be fast, but their arrows are. They brought down ten of our own in a handful of breaths. You saw your brothers die. They still lay where they fell. Kuji too. And Arcas. They will cut you down, string you up, and gut you like rabbits. Do you want to die a fate worse than your brothers? Your brothers died quickly. I did not have to hear them scream out their suffering as I had to—as you did—with so many of our friends.”

“Da, what about when it is dark?” Damon asked.

Josif shook his head. “When it is dark, they will be even more careful.”

Noise. All of this noise. Priya could hear Josif as he whispered to Damon and Tahel, but it was just noise. Anissa whispering soothing sounds to her was just noise. The archers and Cleric Ingolf talking was just noise. Noise. Noise. Noise. What did any of it mean? What were these words? These plots? This guesswork of what might happen? It was an annoying fly, buzzing around Priya’s head, trying to land, trying to worm its way in, trying to take her away from this noise so that she could settle again inside herself, reliving the moment when the cleric laid his hands on her. When her clothes were ripped off. When she was held down. When—

Priya tipped her head back and screamed.

She screamed until she ran out of air, her voice breaking.

Her scream reverberated down the vale, stretching its length and width, bouncing and ricocheting off the rocks and mountain peaks.

And when the final echo sounded, it was quiet.

The buzzing had stopped.

But while the buzzing had stopped, there still wasn’t clarity about what had happened.

She had been raped. What hadn’t been hers to give had been taken from her. It was taken from her in a cruel and brutal way by someone who claimed to be of service to God.

Her teacher, dearest Tohki, had been burned alive. Her hovel where Priya had spent countless days and nights measuring and mixing herbs was gone. All Priya had of Tohki and of her hovel laid in her satchel and in her memory.

The boy she loved lay face down in the dirt, dead. Arcas, sweet Arcas. She had saved him from himself. She helped him see the light and see the light that resided within himself.

Her father, Artamos, Asa, Gal, Kuji, Aiden, Samuel and all the others had gone to rest in the bosom of Eusou.

What was left?

Her mother, her best friend?

Josif, who now claims her as his wife? What does that mean? Even if Josif’s claim saved her from Tohki’s fate, why is she someone who had to be claimed? What did it mean to be his wife? Would that mean she would have to mother and raise his children?

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What about her taking the Path of the Crone? To be a Crone meant that she took no man as her own and mothered no children. She was to be a servant for the village and the vale.

Village. What village?

What they knew and loved lay in ruins.

Could they escape and make their way to Serah and Zachael’s? Perhaps, but certainly the cleric and his men would follow. Certainly their logic would prevail and they would follow the footpath until they found their farm and that too would be burned to the ground.

All they had were each other and the clothes on their backs.

Josif stood up slowly, raising his hands to show the archers that he meant no harm. “Ingolf,” he called.

Ingolf turned to him, his hands folded at his waist, a look of disdain stretched across his face.

“Cleric Ingolf,” Josif said, bowing his head humbly. “Our dead, our loved ones lay all about us. Can we follow our customs and give them the rest they deserve?”

The cleric shook his head. “These people came against me. Me, a servant of God. Sent here with the blessing of the Almighty. And they came against me. There is no rest for them. Let them rot where they lay.”

Josif pointed to the still forms of his two boys. “My children lay there.” He pointed towards Galia. “Her brother, mother and father lay there. Please, give them the dignity of a decent burial.”

“No,” snarled Ingolf. His voice was cold and even. “If you disagree, you are welcome to join them.”

“What is your plan for us?” Anissa asked.

Ingolf looked down at her. “I came to bring you the salvation of God. You have rejected it. I will bring you across the mountains to the great cities that lay beyond and there, living in the shadow of his radiance, the Imperial Master, there you will find God. Or—” he paused, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Or, perhaps, there you will die.”

“How?” Galia asked. “You took everything from us. How will we journey across the mountains? How will we make it to this great city you speak of?”

“If God is merciful, you will make it. And if you do not, then that will be a mercy in itself.” Cleric Ingolf turned his back on them.

But Josif did not sit down. Holding his head high, he walked to the pile of wood that Tohki was burned on. Reaching up, he pulled at the charred ropes that bound her hands to the Spring Pole. Gently he laid her down on top of the pyre.

Cleric Ingolf and his men looked on, but they didn’t make a move to stop him.

Josif dragged Artamos’ large form to the fire and hoisted him to lay next to Tohki’s body.

Then came Aaron, Kuji and Asa.

When he came to Arcas, Josif bent down to pick him up. Priya watched him, unable to cry anymore tears. But her heart cried out, mourning her friend.

Kneeling down beside his son, Aiden, Josif brushed the hair from his face. Priya could see him whisper to him before he bent down, kissing him on the forehead. Then, he picked Aiden up, carrying him to the pyre and laid him down as well.

He did the same with Samuel. Samuel looked like his mother with his soft round face, pale hair, and blue eyes. When he laid Samuel on the pyre, Priya could see that they were lain so that everyone was being held. It was a beautiful, peaceful sight.

Going to the wood pile, Josif began to stack fresh wood on the side of the pyre. Just enough to provide some fuel for the fire to start burning. There were still embers hot enough in the center of the pyre. Josif stuffed dry hay in between the firewood and blew hard and deep until it caught. Smoke began to rise and the flames grew higher and higher devouring the fresh fuel.

The smell of burning flesh filled the air. It was thick. It reminded Priya of when they would tan elk hide and the smell of the fat as it bubbled off.

Priya wanted to turn away. She wanted to dissociate. But she couldn’t. She, and the few other survivors, were all that was left and they would stand vigil.

She was now their Crone.

As broken as she felt in that moment, she knew that much was true. She had seen fourteen winters and if she was lucky she would survive to see fourteen more. She was broken, but she was not broken.

What would Tohki do? Priya thought. If Priya had been burned and Tohki stood now in her place, what would she do?

The answer was there.

In the horror of the day’s events, Tohki would turn her peoples’ eyes back to Eusou. She would show them love. She would sing the old songs and show them love.

So Priya stood, holding her head high, straightening her back and throwing her shoulders back. She stood against the dark smoke of the fire and acrid smell of her loved ones burning and she sang.

Beneath the willow tree

There was a child of the sun.

He was a golden-haired angel of the summer

Was lost to all but the night winds that whispered her name

And cried for her.

A night of tears was her dying

And the song of the mourning sea.

The first night of the winter solstice sun

Takes a sip of the waters of the ocean

And rests on the back of the midnight queen

As she sleeps in her deep and starry room.

She will walk through the snow

With crimson fingers, red as the sun

And a silver gown

And the king’s crown will shine

On her silver hair.

Her skin will glow like moonlight

As she walks through her kingdom.

And children who have fallen will arise

And walk with her hand in hand.

The people will wake from their sleep

And the birds will go back to their trees.

And the sun will rise

And his hands will come to Terra

And he will rest, he will rest.

Terra will rest on her back

And her breath will be like the winds that blow

And she will sing with her mouth a song of gold.

And in the air she will throw stars.

And all the worlds will turn to her

And she will hold them in her hands.

And her name will be heard by the people of the land.

The children will see the stars fall from her body.

They will walk on the paths that the stars have made.

And her blood will run like the sun.

And it will be so red that all the trees and the snow

And the sky and the earth

And the sea and the mountains and the vale

And the clouds and the sun and the moon

And the wind, the wind, the wind

And the wind will rest in her eyes.

Then the land will rise to greet her

And Eusou will make her his bride.

He will cover her with flowers

And take her away from the night and the trees

And the forest and the lake

And the mountains and the rivers

And the wind, the wind, the wind

And the wind will rest in her eyes.

The children will dance through the night

Till they are as warm as the wind

And the wind will sleep in the snow

And the frost and the cold will cover her eyes.

Priya’s voice carried the final note into the stillness.

Beside her she could hear Galia sniffling. Tahel and Damon stood before their father and Thekla and Ami clung to Josif’s hands. Anissa rested a steady hand on Priya’s shoulder.

Looking up, through the smoke, it was then that Priya saw her: Serah.

As she took in the destruction and the burning bodies, Serah's knees buckled. Zachael caught her, letting her fall to the ground, a soundless scream etched on her face.

When Viggo saw them, he pulled back his bow. Zachael through his hands up and stepped defensively in front of his wife. Grabbing him roughly by the shoulder, Viggo pushed him forward. He was more gentle with Serah, lifting her to her feet and steadying her before guiding her to the survivors.

Survivors, Priya thought. That is what we are. If we are to be more than that, it will be determined tomorrow and the next day and the day after that.

When Serah and Zachael joined them, Priya put on the face of the Crone. She would care. She would provide aid. She will be a shoulder to cry on or hold those that needed to be held.

But she would not forget what the cleric did to her or to her people.

She would have her revenge.