Chapter 17

This chapter is incomplete. I'm still working on a fitting end, and may not even get one until after I go back and edit previous material.

Chapter 17

Ivarus aided a young Acustian girl who was fighting two robed men. He stepped in, taking one of them out in ten seconds before turning on the other, who had backed the girl into a corner. She was wielding a dagger, but was about to be overtaken. Ivarus, still too far away when the man's sword began to come down on her, threw his own sword at the man. Its point stuck between his shoulder blades, causing him to drop his sword and fall to his knees. The girl, crying with relief, stood and ran toward Ivarus, hugging him and thanking him for saving her life. He reminded her that there was still a battle going on, and she released, smiling at him. Together, they helped out Astor, who was facing two of his own hooded men.

Ashira saw the light coming from Kirdan and his convulsions.

“No!” she screamed. The pile of debris was behind Seren now. Ashira commanded the rocks to fly at the witch, which they did. A ton of rocks hit the old woman, knocking her to her face, then covering her completely. The spell released, and Kirdan fell to his knees. He looked over at Ashira with gratitude, but his face changed instantly to horror as he looked beyond her.

Ashira felt a jerk in her lap. She looked back down to her father, who was gazing into her eyes and smiling. A sword stuck from just below his ribs.

“Ashira. . .” he whispered. “You're beautiful.”

Zagalis pulled the blade from Arthoir's stomach. Ashira watched in unbelief as her father convulsed from the pain, then calmed. His face turned serene, and he continued to look into her eyes.

“Ilora,” he barely whispered. “Ashira.”

He stopped breathing, blood soaking his tunic and Ashira's leggings. She cried, paying no attention to Zagalis, who had run out of the ruins and into the trees. Her world seemed to be ending right then, when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Clarris knelt beside her, taking her hand in her own. Ashira leaned into her friend's shoulder and sobbed. Kirdan let her cry for ten minutes. When the sobs had become hiccups, he gently removed Arthoir's head from her lap. Clarris moved Ashira away a few feet and leaned with her against the altar.

Ivarus, Astor, and three other Egregia chased after Zagalis into the woods, but after spending half an hour searching without luck, they returned to the ruins. The scene was bloody. In all, there were all thirty-five of Zagalis's men dead, all twelve of Seren's acolytes slain, Seren herself crushed, and fifteen Acustians killed. No Egregia had died, though most were injured to some degree. Viridan had fainted from his wounds, and he lay against a wall with the woman in black tending to him. The Acustians tended to the injured, while the other Egregia moved the dead away toward the bonfire, which had nearly died out.

Kirdan, Clarris, and Ivarus moved Arthoir's body to one side with the other slain of his people. The other bodies, except for Seren Tuwil, were piled onto the bonfire to be burned. Some Acustian men brought wood to build the fire back up.

“Some of these men were Camenian,” Ivarus said, staring into the flames and the bodies within.

Kirdan, standing beside him, looked sidelong at him, then at the flames.

“They betrayed our country,” he said, knowing what Ivarus had in mind.

“It makes no difference,” Ivarus said. He stepped forward. The other Egregia that could stood in a circle around the bonfire. Kirdan shrugged slightly and stepped into the circle.

A low hum began from Kirdan. The woman in black stepped forward, a handful of soil in her hand, and held it toward the fire.

Vita ad terram.

Carnes ad pulverem.

Mater accipe hos defunctorum animas

et da eis requiem sempiternam.

The melody was haunting, echoing of loved ones lost. After the first line, the woman released the soil and it swirled around the flame, lifting high into the air. The words continued, the woman's voice floating over the tenors and basses in a high, sorrowful descant. When it had ended, the gathered Camenians each held up their right hands at a right angle in farewell to the souls of the dead.

Ashira knelt by her father's body, still in shock. Clarris came and held Ashira's head against her shoulder. The friend did not speak, not daring to break the sacredness of the moment.

“We would normally bury them,” Viridan whispered beside them, leaning against the wall. “But, given the circumstances, it would be a huge undertaking that we do not have time for. This is a traditional Kadencian burial, and is treated with respect by our people as well.”

Clarris held her for a few moments. Presently, Kirdan came and knelt beside her.

“I've talked with one of the people from your village. He said you would know where your father should be buried,” he said softly.

Ashira nodded mutely. She took a shuddering breath and looked into his dark eyes.

“With his wife,” she whispered.