Iana went back inside the old house to make sure nothing valuable had been left behind. In her hand she held a couple medals suspended on frayed ribbons, the last of the mementos to be picked off the creaking wood floors of the bedrooms. They were made of gold. Lion gold. She doubted more than a handful of people in the world could tell the difference anymore.
She entered the carriage through the back to hand the medals to her grandfather Kaligo, the only one who could speak coherently anymore. The others were asleep.
“I suppose we’re expected to sell these if we run out of money before we die,” he said.
“I’ve paid the driver,” Iana said. “He will take you through the safe roads through the Cadeau-Ralagast junction.”
“You’re not coming with, are you?”
“No.” Some things have been made clear over the past few days. She had run the idea so many times through. “I’ve spent a long time working for others, for family, but not for myself. I don’t want to remember our lineage through my labor. I must find my own path.”
“You want to follow your lord, don’t you?”
“That- that isn’t necessarily-”
“Just tell him, Iana,” Kaligo said. “About time you found a man. Go on. Don’t worry about us. I’m still strong enough to run a house. And you’ve given us enough money to live a few years.” He chuckled, glancing over at Iana’s other grandparents. They were sound asleep. “Look at these decaying bats. I’ll probably be the last one to go.”
“Okay. Thank you.” Iana stepped off the carriage. She called out to the driver. The carriage began to roll away.
Kaligo stuck his head out with one last thing to say.
“Never forget,” he said. “The pride is everything. Live a good life. And for any god’s sake patch things up with your brother.”
“I will,” she said.
She watched the carriage recede down the road, diving slowly in and out of waving plains. Only after she could not see them anymore did she return to Edeard’s home. There were a few tasks left to be done to make the house presentable.
--
Jorge put June back on her feet. They looked at each other, waiting for one to speak first before the other. The typical awkwardness pending a parting. Jorge hadn’t known the girl very long. But in a way he felt paralleled to her, differently than the way she thought herself paralleled to him of course. He felt most understanding of the anger she harbored. She was most convinced of his nobility as a human being.
He disagreed with the assessment. Not that there was a need to have that argument again.
“Where will you go?” He asked.
“Back to the palace,” June said. “There’s some paperwork to be done. I’m being stationed here. The work of the Order has always been to act as a moral compass. And this city is in dire need of more like me.”
“Almost as though your leaders knew this would happen.”
“The Archbishop assigned me before all this,” June said. She reigned her voice back, realizing she was being defensive.
“I didn’t accuse anyone,” Jorge said. “There’s a reason you thought I was.”
“…I know.”
“I’m not familiar with your abilities, but from what I know, this city can’t be healthy for you.”
“There are things I owe and duties to perform. A free man like you wouldn’t understand.”
Jorge understood debt. He himself had depended much on the help of others and a fair share of luck to have lived so long. The difference was his debtors didn’t seem to care about collecting. They’ve all either gone their own way, or died. As people tended to do.
“Good bye.” Jorge slung his axe tightly over his shoulder and walked away.
“See you.”
One walked back towards the palace at the center of it all. The other caught up with a friend. Jorge had never seen Edeard make such an expression.
“Is that a good friend of yours in this world?” Jorge asked, nodding at Ayden’s body in Edeard’s arms. Edeard shook his head.
“No,” he said. And then nothing else. Jorge decided not to pry further. They returned to the residences just outside the palatial district. The place was mostly untouched, sandwiched between two classes of people, never quite belonging in either. Blameless in their neutrality.
Jorge whistled at the sight of Edeard’s house.
“They give it to you,” Edeard explained. “When I leave, they’ll freshen it up and assign it to the next knight.”
“Still, you’ve done well for yourself.”
“I really haven’t. I haven’t done anything. Open the door for me, will ya?”
Jorge held the door so Edeard can enter. Jorge heard footsteps descend the stairs, followed by Edeard taking a sharp, unsteady breath. A young woman in a maid’s outfit entered the front hallway. She had a welcome smile on her face. For a moment at least. Her smile evaporated in an instant.
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Jorge stayed by the door as Edeard walked forward with the body in his arms. A common instinct had told him he better linger back. He watched the young woman’s face redden and lose composure, collapsing under the sheer weight of emotion. Edeard gently set the body down. The woman held Ayden tightly, wailing, trembling. Somewhere along the way, her shaken, lost expression turned to anger.
“You were with him!” She screamed.
“I’m sorry,” Edeard would say. He said it many times, and did not deny any of the flurry of accusations thrown his way. Jorge couldn’t watch any longer. He twisted the door handle and stepped out.
He glanced up. It really was a beautiful afternoon. The raining Spell had long cleared and the maelstrom had gone. Not a cloud was in sight. Eventually Edeard left the house.
“That was her brother,” he explained.
“Was it your fault?” Jorge asked.
“Doesn’t matter. I was there. And Ayden died.”
“That young man was murdered, Edeard.”
“I know.”
“I don’t know a single example of a free world where authorities can execute anyone at a thought.”
“Do you want to challenge her?” Edeard said, raising an eyebrow. To that Jorge said nothing. Edeard sighed. “Iana came from a nation called Pyrelion. No one remembers it now. That’s because Lady Velvedere had wiped them off the face of Etrylis. Not their lives, but their history, their words, their pride. The books would say pride made them reluctant to expand, building inward rather than conquering outward, resulting in their loss.”
“And you worked for this lady.”
“She was so warm when she found me in that crater, when we were pulled to this planet. So compassionate. I could scarcely believe the word of the books when I happened upon them. I guess what one sees blinds one to the pen.”
“Right.” Jorge took a deep breath. “I’m off.”
“Where are you going?”
“Anywhere else. Come with me. Maybe we’ll find the rest of us.”
“Do you mind waiting until I can get the funeral stuff done? For Ayden, I mean. I… need to help Iana with this at least.”
“Sure.”
--
Lisŗa arrived at the palace with her team to see the other runners already there. The place was crawling with administration. New groundskeepers and guards were already being assigned. She saw dead bodies being piled onto carts to be shipped off to the churches for their last rites. Medical mages were in the courtyard, treating any survivors. The runners stood in escort of Yavi. He had seen better days.
The arrow had pierced between his ribs, missing his heart but leaving a lung damaged. The arrow had been removed and the wound closed with healing Spells. Despite this he had no problem issuing orders.
“The last team,” he acknowledged as they stepped up. “Report.”
Yeoman explained what had happened enthusiastically, including what Lisŗa had done. The way the account was told was perfect as well; Yeoman did not take credit for coming up with the plan, instead framing it as teamwork.
“Once we have that verified with the citizens I’m sure it will look good on your records,” Yavi said after.
The runners chattered excitedly. There was a chance then, that they could leave this humiliation and rejoin their families at a station more appropriate for nobles. Yavi noticed the odd one out among the runners.
“What are you thinking, Lisŗa?” He asked.
She did not speak for a few heartbeats.
“I want to be discharged.”
Her team stopped their talking immediately. Yavi nodded.
“Sure,” he said.
“Wait, what?!” Yeoman exclaimed. He turned to Lisŗa. “Why? You don’t know what you’re giving up!"
“I really do,” Lisŗa said.
“You’re really just going to let her go?” Yeoman turned to Yavi.
“You’re all here because you want something, no?” Yavi replied. He nodded to Lisŗa, his expression stony, but approving. “Leaving a place you can’t abide in is a wise choice. I wish I had done something similar around your age.”
“Where will you go?” Yeoman asked, crossing his arms. “Why did you join in the first place?”
“I thought it was freedom from my mother,” Lisŗa answered honestly. “Now I know it was freedom. Just that. I don’t want to play in and around rules to add new titles to my name. I don’t want to risk my life riding alongside packages to line storefronts. And I don’t want to use other people.”
Yeoman retreated. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re just doing what it takes,” Lisŗa said, “What you feel you need to do. I’m going to do the same thing.”
--
The funeral was quick. An unelaborate stone marked with a single name and nothing else was set above a buried jar of ashes. There were only three people in attendance after the priest finished the rites. Jorge hung back while Edeard and Iana talked.
“I shouldn’t have blamed you for everything,” she said. “His choices were always dangerous. This was going to happen eventually.”
Edeard almost apologized again. He cleared his throat.
“I’m discontinuing service to this city,” he said. “If you like…”
“No,” Iana said. “Family is everything. And I haven’t much left. I’m going back to my grandparents. They don’t know this happened yet.” She cast a forlorn look at Edeard. “Maybe in a different world.”
“I’m sorry,” Edeard said. He regretted not biting his tongue. This need to be sorry was useless, and worst of all pitiful.
“You should go.”
“Iana?”
“The truth is, Edeard, I love you, and I think will for a long time. But I can’t separate your face beside my brother’s death in my mind. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time, not doing enough. I don’t blame you. But I can’t stand you.”
“I understand.”
Edeard stepped back. One remained by the grave.
The two Wayfarers made their way out of city, quiet for some time. The winds shuffled the endless fields of grains outside the borders. It sounded like whispers from the plains itself, shushing those about to leave a world behind. Behind them, the city no longer smoldered. In the couple of days since the rebellion failed, almost all the damage had been repaired. Families mended, mourned the loss of their youth, their homes, their place in the city, and then moved on. Edeard doubted there’d be any mark left on Ralagast in a week. None of it would be possible without Lady Velvedere’s ruthless control. Anyone involved in helping the insurgents make their foothold in the city would spend a long time in the dungeons beneath the palace. The insurgents themselves would be hunted down. It took him a lot of groveling to get the Highcaster to let Jetrois, the mechanic, off with a more lenient punishment. Jetrois would spend the next two decades in service to the State rather than rot in the dungeon. It was a better fate. Edeard’s last act as a knight would be to beg.
But it helped someone.
“Jorge,” he said. “Do you regret coming here?”
“What’s the point? Is there a way to get back to Earth?”
“If there’s a way in, there’s a way out.”
“Do you want to find it?”
“The thing is,” Jorge said, thinking about it a little while longer, “The entire catharsis of your journey can’t be to leave a place. Because none of your experiences would be relevant afterward.”
“That’s what retirement is.”
“I don’t what to retire from living yet, Edeard.”
“Right. Let’s just follow the beaten path then—”
“Wait.” Jorge stopped and looked around.
“Ain’t nothing but the wind and the grass, Jorge.”
“Come out!” Jorge said.
The fields parted. Lisŗa stepped out onto the road beside them.
“Who’s this?” Edeard asked.
“You seem interesting,” Lisŗa said. “Mind a stranger tagging along?”
“She looks really sketchy,” Edeard said.
“She’s a friend of a friend,” Jorge said. “And her head is on straight. From what I gathered. Come on then.”
The three walked together, leaving a barely notable history behind. The farther they walked, the more their conversation would be lost to the winds of the shifting seasons. Eventually, their backs would disappear over the curvature of the steppes, their fates unknown. For now.