104. The Waters of Life
Chapter 104
The Waters of Life
27 th Day of the Blood Moon
Temple of Achyron – Winter, Year 3081 After Doom
Kallinvar stood in Brother Gildrick’s study. He had not allowed the Watchers to move a thing after Gildrick had been given the rites and laid to rest. He had searched every inch of the room, every book, every shelf, chest, drawer – everything. And still he’d found nothing.
Whatever book Gildrick had been reading before he died was lost to them. Tallia had likely burned it. But if it was a book worth burning, that meant it had something deeply important within its pages.
Gildrick’s voice rang in Kallinvar’s mind. “Well, I’ve known you all my life. If I didn’t have some idea what you were thinking, I wouldn’t be a very good Watcher.”
Those were the words Gildrick had spoken when he had given Kallinvar the chronicles of the Grandmasters written by the Watchers. Perhaps if Kallinvar had paid half as much attention to Gildrick as Gildrick had to him, the man would still be alive. He tried not to dwell on the thought, but it was easier said than done. Outside, the rain had not ceased in days, thunder rumbling. He had asked Watcher Poldor and the others to speak to the people of Ardholm, to calm them and assuage their fears after the other night, but a tension still held in the air. The porters and servants in the temple stared at the ground as they passed him in the halls, and all conversations grew quiet whenever he approached.
Ruon and the other knights had reported similar. Kallinvar didn’t blame the people. The knights were meant to be their protectors, paragons of honour and strength. And the other night, the people had watched Kallinvar draw a sacred weapon against one of their own, a weapon of the gods. Wounds from broken trust were a long time in healing.
A commotion sounded outside the door, and Ruon came bursting through, Ildris and a number of Watchers with her.
“Arden is back.” Ruon didn’t need to say more. Kallinvar reached out, and he could feel the hollowness in Arden’s Sigil, the deep aching loss.
He pushed past the others and sprinted through the great halls of Achyron’s temple, following the pulse of Arden’s weeping Sigil.
Haem held Calen’s body in the waters of Heraya’s Well. Clusters of bright light swarmed around him, shimmering amidst the dark water, pulling the pain from his body… but not his heart.
Where the luminescent clusters shifted and reacted to Haem’s movement, the water around Calen’s body was still and dark.
The colour had drained from his little brother’s face, and his lips were a pale blue. Haem brushed away a spot of dried blood from Calen’s cheek. Claps of thunder answered Valerys’s roars in the skies outside the temple. The dragon had shifted between pure rage and abject sorrow. As they had flown, he had set fire to entire forests, pouring flames from his jaws as they’d moved, roaring like the void itself had spilled open. And then he had been silent, drifting weakly on the air, dropping listlessly through the clouds.
And every movement of the dragon’s heart had matched Haem’s.
Haem wanted to scream and roar and cry, but his body did nothing. No tears came, no rage swept over him. Everything was just… still and empty.
He looked down at Calen, one arm wrapped around his brother’s waist as Calen floated, the other resting behind his head.
The last time Haem had held Calen in his arms, Calen had only been a child – a baby, really. He had always loved having a brother. He loved Ella to the ends of the earth, but it was different. Ella had always been her own. She had always been twice as sharp as Haem, and she’d known it.
But Calen had followed Haem around from the very start and looked at him as though he were some kind of hero from the Age of Honour. Anything Haem did, Calen did too. As soon as Haem had been old enough to hold a sword, Calen had picked up a stick. When Vars had taken Haem hunting for the first time, Calen had snuck past Freis and tried to join them, only to trip on a rock less than a hundred feet into ?lm Forest and slice open his arm.
Haem gave a melancholy laugh as he held his brother’s body in the Waters of Life. Freis had been furious with Calen that day, but Vars had just picked him up and placed him on the counter.
“All real warriors fall, Calen,” Vars had said, pretending to check the bandage Freis had applied.
“No, they don’t,” Calen had said through sniffles. “You didn’t. Haem didn’t. Just me. I wanted to help.”
Vars had pulled his shirt off and counted off every scar that laced his chest, back, and arms. There had been so many.
“You see this one?” Vars had asked, pointing to a long thin scar across his ribs. “I got this in the war. Not in a battle. Nothing heroic. I was told to dig a latrine pit. I ran to get a shovel, tripped, sliced myself open on a rock. Just like you.”
“You did?” Calen had stopped sniffling at that.
“I did. You’re a warrior now, Calen. A true warrior. With a battle wound and all.”
Haem clenched his eyes shut at the memory.
“I should have gotten to you sooner,” he said, letting out a long sigh. “I’m sorry, little brother. It should have been me.”
Footsteps sounded, and Haem didn’t open his eyes.
A few moments passed before a splash sounded and he felt the waters shift around him.
“Brother.” Kallinvar’s voice was soft. “He’s gone, brother. The well cannot bring back the dead.”
“I know.” Haem trembled, squeezing his hand a little tighter at the back of Calen’s head. “I had to try. I had to do something…”
Haem felt Kallinvar place a hand at the back of his head and pull their heads together.
A second voice surprised him – Brother Ildris’s. “You are not alone, brother.”
Haem opened his eyes to see Ildris, Ruon, and Kallinvar standing in the well with him, the glowing lights of the pool swarming around them.
Ildris rested a hand on Haem’s shoulder.
“I should have protected him.” With those words, tears flowed from Haem’s eyes and rolled over his cheeks, silent and cold.
“We cannot protect everyone,” Ildris whispered. “That is something we must accept. It was something that took me a long time.”
“He is my little brother,” Haem whispered. “Protecting him was my only purpose. And I failed.”
Holding Calen in his arms, Haem pushed past Kallinvar, Ruon, and Ildris, moving towards the pool’s edge.
“Brother Arden. Where are you going?” Kallinvar asked.
“That’s not my name.” Haem laid Calen on the well’s edge and climbed out of the water, his saturated clothes dragging him down. He lifted Calen back into his arms. “I’m taking him to Valerys.”
Haem turned and walked away from the well.
Sylven, Varlin, and Kevan all stood in the garden, each of them bowing their head as Haem passed. The Watchers waited at the entranceway, whispering their blessings as Haem moved through them. Servants, porters, maids, cooks, and every other hand in the temple waited along the great halls. They had all seen him arrive on a dragon and walk through Ardholm with a body in his arms.
The rain poured down over him as he descended the stairs to Ardholm. The people were out in the streets, parting as he passed and walked towards the plateau where Valerys lay, listless.
As Haem walked, some of the children pulled closed fists to their foreheads in a sign of honour. The gesture was mimicked by every soul that Haem passed.
When he reached the plateau, Valerys lifted a wing and Haem sat on the cold stone, his back resting against the dragon’s warm scales, the rain sheeting down over them, and his brother’s body in his arms.
Valerys let out a low whine and shifted his neck so it curled around Calen and Haem, a lavender eye fixed on the pair of them.
“I’m sorry,” Haem whispered to the dragon.
Valerys’s only answer was to move his head closer, the scales of his jaw pressed against Calen’s side.
Haem closed his eyes, pulled Calen close, and sat there in the rain with no intention of ever rising.