103. The Necessary Path
Chapter 103
The Necessary Path
27 th Day of the Blood Moon
Western villages of Illyanara – Winter, Year 3081 After Doom
The light of the morning sun shone over the peaks of Wolfpine Ridge in the distance, glowing bright across the treeline of ?lm Forest. Calen and the others had set out on horseback at sunrise, Valerys soaring overhead. He had asked Tivar to remain at Salme to watch over the city with Avandeer and Varthear. Tivar and Avandeer agreed, Varthear however had other intentions.
The great blue dragon followed Valerys, vermillion wings pale and glowing in the morning light.
They had spent some hours helping to take the bodies down from the trees along the Oak Road. Calen could have used the Spark, but the thought of it made him feel empty. Those people deserved the care and attention of living hands. They deserved the respect that had been denied to them.
At that moment, Lanan Halfhand was coordinating the dig of the burial site. Calen and the others would return to pay their respects once they left The Glade.
Ahead, Calen could see the burnt remains of the place he had once called home, the place he had once believed he would spend the rest of his life. With every step the horse took, Calen’s heart hammered heavier against his ribs.
“It’s strange seeing it for the first time,” Dann said, pulling his horse alongside Calen’s.
“Do you remember the night Rist had his first mead?” Calen gestured towards the charred remains of a tree stump that had stood near the western edge of the village.
“Like it was yesterday,” Dann answered. “Erdhardt stood in the puddle of puke the very next morning.”
Erdhardt looked back from atop the mountain of a horse he rode, Erik and Tarmon riding beside him. “He handled it better than you did your first mead, Master Pimm.”
“It’s not a competition,” Dann called back, a fleeting smile touching his lips.
The memory gave Calen a brief moment of joy, but it died as soon as his thoughts turned to the Firnin Mountains. To Rist. He still hadn’t told Dann. How did you tell someone something like that? He knew he needed to… but he also needed to find the right moment.
Calen tilted his head back and looked to Valerys and Varthear in the sky, then brought his gaze back down to the burnt buildings that had begun to creep around them. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat when he noticed that Haem had dismounted ahead.
Haem stood before a line of thick, silvery lavender bushes, one hand gripping his horse’s reins.
Calen threw one leg over and slid from his saddle, charred wood and ash crunching beneath him. He approached as slowly as he could without coming to a halt. As he walked, his mind drifted back to that day – the day everything had changed. The day Therin had saved his life. The day his mam and dad had died.
A hand rested on his back, and he turned and gave Anya a weak smile.
“Erdhardt planted the lavender,” Anya said. “He took it from the bush Freis had planted by his own home. It was one of the only things that didn’t burn when the Uraks attacked.”
Calen looked over to try and find Erdhardt with his gaze. The man had drifted away and knelt amidst the charred remains of his home.
Haem had told Calen of Aela’s death, of the night The Glade had been attacked, of how the man had fought like a god, only to lose the one thing he loved. Calen allowed Erdhardt to mourn in peace and went to join Haem by the silvered lavender bushes that now stood where their home had once been.
The silence stretched for what seemed like an eternity and yet could never truly have been long enough.
“I’m sorry you had to face that alone,” Haem whispered, staring down at the patch of turned earth within the lavender bushes.
“I wasn’t alone.” Calen glanced at Dann, who stood only a few paces behind him, Lyrei at his side, Anya, Vaeril, and Tarmon close by. He looked back over at Haem, who stood in silence with his hands clasped behind his back, staring at the dirt.
Calen rested a hand on Haem’s shoulder, then returned to the horse, where two saplings hung in a satchel from the saddle. They had been given to Erdhardt by a forester from Salme, and Erdhardt had given them to Calen. Seeds wouldn’t grow this time of year without constant tending, but the saplings stood a chance.
Calen pulled out the clay pots from the satchels and handed one to Haem.
His brother took it as though being handed a newborn babe. He inclined his head and gave Calen a fragile smile.
“They’d stand a better chance in spring,” Calen said, standing beside his brother.
“Calen, we had the same mam. I know what season is best to plant ash.” Haem elbowed Calen in the shoulder gently, then looked down at the pot in his hand. “Thank you.”
Calen nodded. “After this, we’ll fly to your temple. I promise.”
The air shook, wingbeats thumping overhead, and both Valerys and Varthear alighted on the other side of where Calen’s home had once stood. Sorrow and loss radiated from Valerys as the dragon stared down at the patch of earth, a low rumble in his throat.
Valerys had never met Vars and Freis, never seen their love with his own eyes or heard it with his own ears or felt it with his own heart. But the dragon knew their love through Calen, and he mourned them the same.
Calen stepped forwards through the gaps in the lavender. He set the clay pot down and, with his hands, he dug a deep hole in the earth.
Beside him, Haem did the same.
Together they pulled their saplings free and set them gently in the ground, covering the roots with soil.
Anya handed Calen a waterskin, and he poured water onto the loose earth.
He knelt there with his hand pressed into the soil, his eyes fixed on the small sapling.
His mam and dad had been gone for so long now, but this was the first time Calen was truly saying goodbye. A hand came to rest on his back, and he didn’t have to look to know it was Haem’s.
After a few moments, Haem pulled his hand away, and when he returned it, he held a red silk scarf with vines of gold and cream leaves blowing in the wind.
Calen looked from the scarf to Haem, asking the question with his eyes.
“I thought it would be nice if you finally got a chance to give it to her.”
Calen let out a soft laugh and took a piece of the scarf between his thumb and forefinger, feeling an immediate sense of relief at its soft touch. “You’re sure?”
“It was never mine. I was just minding it,” Haem answered. “You bought it for Mam. She should have it.”
Calen nodded softly and took the scarf into his hands. He scooped a layer of earth away, placed the scarf down, and covered it.
“The sun will set,” Haem whispered, pressing his hand to the ground beside where Calen had buried the scarf. “And it will rise again, and it will do so the next day and the next. The gods are in charge of such things, but it is by our own will that we pick ourselves up when we fall.”
Haem’s eyes glistened with tears, but none fell. He squeezed his hand into a fist, soil slipping through his fingers. “I’ve seen a lot since the day Kallinvar found me, but still our father is the greatest man I’ve ever known.”
“Cassian Tal,” Calen whispered. “Lies over lies.”
“He was still Vars Bryer.” Haem rubbed the dirt between his fingers, looking to Calen. “He still raised you, fed you, cared for you. He still held a damp cloth to your head for days on end when you got that fever, remember? You’d only seen five, maybe six, summers. He never left your side. Not for a minute. He slept on the floor beside you. Erdhardt was losing his mind because he needed horseshoes and Dad hadn’t stepped foot in the forge for days. He will always be that man.”
“I remember.” Calen did remember. His mam had said he’d been lucky to keep his life with that fever. He only remembered flashes, but his dad was in all of them.
“He taught you to use that sword,” Haem said, gesturing to the sword at Calen’s hip. “And he did a damn good job.”
Calen dropped his hand to the coin pommel of his father’s sword, the cool touch of the steel calming him.
“Cassian Tal, Vars Bryer – the name doesn’t matter. He was our dad, and he was a hero of legend to me long before I knew anything about Cassian Tal.” Haem dropped the last of the dirt from his hand. “I wouldn’t change a day.”
Calen gripped the coin pommel tighter. “Neither would I.” He drew a sharp breath. “I just miss him. I wish he was here.”
“Me too.”
Valerys lowered his neck, his snout brushing the ground beside the two saplings, a low rumble reverberating in his throat. The dragon blew a warm breath over the soil, a wave of loss cresting into Calen’s mind. He let out a whine, Varthear watching from behind him.
That whine grew into a deep growl as Valerys lifted his head. The dragon spread his wings and roared at the sky, Varthear joining him.
The roar was sadness, and emptiness, and a deep sense of sorrow for a father he had never known. A father who had forged half of his soul.
Both Calen and Haem stood as the two dragons roared. And when their voices grew silent, Calen saw that Erdhardt, Dann, Tarmon, Anya, and Vaeril and all the others stood about them.
Tarmon still wore his steel plate, which he’d clearly polished the day before, white cloak clasped at his shoulders. The five Dracur?n who’d accompanied them all stood behind the High Commander, heads bowed.
“Nur temen vie’ryn valana,” Vaeril said, loud and clear, a closed fist pressed to his chest. “Vir v?ra v?na aier andin i’il n?ra un ael Heraya. Du vyin alura anis.”
Calen was about to translate when Vaeril took it upon himself.
“For those we have lost,” Vaeril said. “We will see them again in the light of Heraya’s arms. You can rest now.”
“May The Mother embrace you,” Calen said, tears falling slowly.
“And The Father protect you,” Therin added.
Haem placed his hand on his chest. “May The Warrior guide your hand.”
“And The Maiden guide your mind.” Dann inclined his head to Calen.
“May The Smith keep your blade sharp.” Anya’s voice was barely louder than a whisper.
“And The Sailor see you to safe shores.” It was Lyrei who added the last line, her hand wrapping around Dann’s, their fingers interlocking.
One by one they all stepped away, leaving Calen and Haem standing over the ground beneath which their parents had been laid to rest.
After a while, Haem squeezed Calen’s shoulder and left him alone by the saplings. Calen had no idea how long he stood there. The sun had moved across the sky but still burned bright when he heard Kaygan’s voice.
“He really was something with a blade.”
Calen snapped his head around to find the kat god standing beside him, staring down at the saplings. A portal closed behind him as Una stepped through.
“Why are you here?”
“The paths we walk are ever winding.” Kaygan tilted his head to the side, his pupils narrowing to black slits. “The gods are waking, Calen Bryer. Efialtír stirs them from their slumber.”
Calen said nothing, turning his gaze back to the saplings. He would not play Kaygan’s games. He had done that enough already.
“Sometimes, Calen, you have to burn something down to build something better in its place. Sometimes you have to burn a whole world to create space for a new one. Our people have hidden for so long, and yet, even if we hadn’t, we are so bent on killing one another we would have wiped ourselves out eventually.”
Calen looked at Kaygan for a moment, then over at Valerys, who stared at the god with those lavender eyes.
“I have spent millennia carefully cultivating this path, meticulously pruning every weed that grew, filling every crack. Valerys was meant to be our first. A new dawn for our people, wielding the power that brought us to our knees. The souls of Cealtaí and the Evalien and all the mortal bloods are so easily steered. If you offer them what they want, what they need , they will ignore the cost, ignore any dangers that lie right before their eyes. But those born of Danuan blood are not the same. You are stubborn beyond measure. And sometimes what will not move must be moved. And let’s not forget those damn Enkara. No path is clear when they meddle.”
“This is not the time,” Calen snapped, attempting to hold down the rage that burned within him, fed by Valerys. This moment was not his. It belonged to Vars and Freis.
Kaygan only smiled, a fang pinching his bottom lip. “Do you know the one truth I have learned in all these years, Calen Bryer?”
Calen pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth, holding that anger down. He didn’t answer.
The kat god let out a long, mournful sigh. “All great things require sacrifice. That is an immutable truth. You altered the path, Calen. Not I. You. For what little it matters, I did not want this. I wanted you to be the tip of our spear. I wanted you to be our future. But you chose to be the leaf that fought the wind. You forced my hand.”
Calen turned to speak when a burning pain seared through his chest. His breath caught in his lungs, his body shaking.
He looked down to see Kaygan’s claws buried in his chest, bloodstains forming in the tunic around them.
Pure fury and fear consumed everything within him as Valerys roared, and Calen felt pieces of himself begin to break.
“You strayed from the path, Wolfchild. That life you could have saved was your own… if only you had just listened.”
“Valerys…” Calen’s voice trembled, and he could feel Valerys screaming in his mind as the dragon leapt towards Kaygan. “Valerys…”
Something cracked, and the world went dark and cold.
Haem’s entire world stopped.
He heard Valerys roar, saw the man pull his hand from Calen’s chest, saw Calen fall.
Valerys lunged at the man, Varthear with him, but he moved like a ghost, slipping past the dragons as talons raked earth. Dann and Therin ran to Calen, screaming. Tarmon and Vaeril charged the strange man, swords drawn.
The man raked his claws across Tarmon’s chest, gouging the steel, then spun and slipped past Vaeril.
Valerys unleashed a pillar of fire, bright as the sun. The flames washed over the ruined homes but parted around the strange man.
A white portal opened like a tear in the world and the man slipped through, a woman with him. And then they were gone.
Screams sounded all around, and Haem could barely move. His heart felt as though it were going to split open his chest.
It was Valerys’s roar that broke him free from his mind. The dragon was fury and loss, his roar shifting from clapping thunder to a hissing shriek. He swept his tail and smashed through the remnants of old houses, lifting char and dust into the air, shrieking and roaring.
The blue dragon, Varthear, shrieked back at him, but Valerys smashed his tail into her side and unleashed a torrent of fire over her.
The Dracur?n that had stood behind Tarmon drew their swords, and Valerys reduced them to ash. The roar that left his throat shook the earth itself, and Haem could feel the dragon’s pain tearing his own heart.
Valerys whipped his head around to Calen’s body, where Therin and Dann had dropped to their knees, screaming and shouting.
The dragon snapped his head forwards, jaws opening.
Haem leapt, his Sentinel armour pouring from his Sigil. He set himself between the dragon and Dann and Therin, slamming his gauntleted hands against Valerys’s snout.
The dragon roared, and Haem roared back, memories flooding through him. Memories of an egg cracking, of eyes looking up at a young man who held him. Memories of riding at the nape of a horse’s neck, of sleeping on Calen’s shoulders, of feeling the pain in Calen’s heart.
In that moment, Haem understood. Calen was everything to Valerys. He was his heart and his soul. He was his joy and his solace. And he was gone. He was dead, and Valerys was alone.
Haem gripped Valerys’s snout, forced his helmet to recede into his collar, and stared deep into the dragon’s lavender eyes. “We can save him. There’s a chance. We can save him… We have to try.”
Valerys stared back at him, talons carving into the earth, his breath like the heat of a forge. The dragon’s eyes were two pools of agony and rage. Valerys let out a low whine and rested his head on the ground.
Haem turned immediately and pushed Dann and Therin out of the way, ignoring their shouts. He scooped his hands beneath Calen’s lifeless body and carried him to Valerys.
Cradling Calen in one arm, Haem climbed atop the dragon’s back, his Sentinel armour granting him the strength. He laid Calen before him and leaned forwards, pressing himself as close to the dragon as he could and wrapping his hands around small horns that grew about the dragon’s scales.
Valerys roared and lifted into the air with such force Haem was almost ripped from his back.