CHAPTER 22
The Rabeh Bridge spanned the Koreg River at a narrow point, stretching one hundred yards across the water. Its gray stone was worn down by countless feet, its rail smudged by time and the touch of many hands. It felt ancient, its lines simple but timeless.
As Reynald, Kaiden, and I walked across it now, it felt like passing from one world into another.
The sounds of the bustling city behind us receded with each step.
Ahead, at the other end of the bridge, a beautiful garden bloomed.
Slender willow-like trees dripped long thin branches to the river, washing their scarlet leaves in the water.
Behind the red willows, taller trees rose, bright green and bearing big white blossoms.
“Where are we going?” Kaiden asked for the third time.
“You will see,” Reynald said.
We crossed the bridge. A wide, paved path unrolled in front of us, stretching into the distance, flanked by greenery and flowers. Other paths branched from it, each marked with a signpost.
I pulled the scrap of paper from the pocket in my sleeve and checked it. “Row 202.”
We started down the path.
Above us, ragged clouds slid across the sky, dappling the garden in light and shadow. Little winged lizards, colored like gemstones, scuttled up the trees and occasionally leaped off and glided to other trunks. Birds chirped in the canopy.
As we passed the paths branching off, I caught glimpses of wooden signs that hung from the tree branches. Most were sealed with several coats of resin, but a few were worn and weathered. Some had small pieces of colorful glass embedded in them, and when the sun caught them, they glowed like jewels.
“Where are we?” Kaiden asked.
“Sonndor,” I said.
Kaiden eyed me. “And that is?”
“The cemetery,” Reynald told him.
Kaiden fell silent.
Finally, we reached the right row and made our turn onto a narrow path paved with stone blocks. Lines of trees greeted us on both sides, each identified by a stone marker with a number on it. The wooden signs on their branches swayed gently in the breeze.
We passed more red willows, some goldenberries that reminded me of dwarf oaks, and a handful of twisted marse trees, their split trunks braiding over each other.
Let’s see, 202–18, 202–20, 202–22. There.
I stopped before a twisted marse, its leaves a beautiful green streaked with purple veins.
Over a dozen wooden signs hung suspended from its branches.
This plot had been recently tended to—the weeds had been removed, and new flowers had been planted in a ring around the tree’s roots, their blossoms small and white like little stars.
The clerics of the Dridag had done a good job. Well worth the fee.
Two wooden signs, brand new and sealed with resin, hung off the branches. One had a glass flower with pale blue petals and the other had a small lock attached to it with a tiny chain.
Kaiden stared at the signs.
“Your father was born outside of Kair Toren,” I told him. “But your mother’s family is from the city. I didn’t think he would mind joining them. I’m sure that if we could ask him, he would want to be with your mother.”
Kaiden stared at the tree.
“She found your parents’ ashes,” Reynald told him. “They were stored in the Temple of Dridag because nobody paid the burial fee. Maggie paid the fee and had them buried here.”
“This is your family tree, Kaiden,” I said gently. “All rites have been performed. Your parents’ ashes are nourishing the roots. Your grandparents are buried here as well, and their parents. Five generations. You can come and visit them whenever you want.”
He blinked and turned away from me, hiding his face.
Reynald opened the bag he had brought and took out a small wooden canteen filled with water. He held it out to Kaiden. “Make your offering.”
Kaiden took the bottle. His voice was hoarse. “What do I do?”
“Pour the water on the roots and talk to your parents,” Reynald said. “Tell them how you’ve been. Ask for guidance if you need it. Request their blessing. Maggie and I will be over there. Take all the time you need and then find us when you’re ready.”
The boy stepped toward the tree. Reynald and I strolled farther down the path.
Finding his parents hadn’t proved difficult, only time consuming. The Scribe Chamber kept meticulous records. Now Kaiden knew where they were, and nobody could take them away from him again.
The people of Rellas had several ways to bury their dead.
They were a mix of many waves of settlers and invaders, and each had brought their own traditions and rites.
People from the north, like Reynald, sometimes built cairns or erected stone pillars over the graves.
Coastal southerners did water burials, sinking their corpses off the islands in the ocean.
But the majority of Rellas burned their dead and buried their ashes under the roots of their ancestral trees.
A family tree took on a whole new meaning.
The unbroken line of trees on our left ended abruptly, and we came to a massive statue.
A huge beast, carved out of wood and sealed with resin, gripped a slab of stone with four enormous, clawed paws.
Its body bulged with muscle, promising sudden explosive power.
It was sheathed in razor-edged scales as large as my hand.
They blended into a mane of blades on its thick neck and turned feather-like on its colossal wings, which were tipped with bone spikes.
Its tail split into three long, flexible whips, studded with spur-like protrusions, and they curved around the beast as if aiming to strike.
I stopped. Reynald halted next to me.
The creature’s head, lowered slightly toward us, was a meld of lion and dragon, with terrible square jaws and a mouth bristling with fangs. Its eyes seemed to stare straight at me, alive with malevolent intelligence and rage.
Someone had thrown paint on the statue’s paws. There were cuts and gouges on its legs. People had tried to destroy it, but all that their efforts resulted in was mere scratches. The great beast stood undaunted.
“A dursan,” Reynald said next to me.
One of Ralinbor’s creatures? “This can’t possibly be to scale, can it?”
“I’ve seen bigger.”
Bigger? It was larger than the huge steppe mammoth I once saw at the Smithsonian. This thing was movie-dragon size, and it looked like it existed to kill and rip its prey apart.
“How could it fly?”
“Magic,” Reynald said. “Its power isn’t limited to humans. Beasts use it as well. The dursans infest mountain ridges all across the continent. Do you know the story of Ralinbor’s Rebellion?”
“Sauven and Ralinbor were half brothers and the best of friends. Then Sauven took the throne and realized some people thought the wrong Savaric had entered the Eagle Roost. Ralinbor’s maternal uncle was one of them, so Sauven accused him of treason and had him beheaded.
Ralinbor turned on him and marched into Kair Toren with his army.
He was killed, his rebellion was put down, his wife was brought to the capital in chains, tried and executed, and his only son died in the fire set by the king’s knights. ”
“That about sums it up,” Reynald said. “Ralinbor of the Wilds inherited the power of Exultant Call from his father and the affinity for the dursans from his mother. He tamed them, and he called on them in battle, which was how he got the name ‘of the Wilds.’”
The idea was horrifying. “How did he lose with those things on his side?”
“They have magic and they’re powerful, but they are still creatures of bone and blood. They can be killed. Fatefire can cut one. So can a weapon coated with Rageglow.”
Wow.
Reynald shrugged. “Ralinbor didn’t lose his war on the battlefield.
He lost it weeks before, when he failed to adequately equip his troops, neglected to put together a functioning supply chain, and chose the wrong place and time to engage his enemy.
He counted too much on the dursans, but they are just animals.
No matter how powerful a magical beast is, it’s no substitute for proper planning and strategy. ”
A stone bench waited across from the statue, on the other side of the path. I sat on it. Reynald joined me.
“Why is it here?”
“This statue was commissioned by Wynand Bors’s father, Sagred,” Reynald said. “He’d managed to kill a dursan single-handedly during the conflict, and he was very proud of it. He presented this monstrosity to Sauven on the first anniversary of the battle. ‘Behold the mighty enemy we vanquished.’”
“But Sauven didn’t want a reminder of his dead brother,” I guessed.
“So Sagred Bors found out,” Reynald said. “Sauven would’ve loved to set it on fire, but he’d needed the Conquerors’ support, so he had it put somewhere in the Tangle.”
The Tangle was the collective name for the northern slums. The last place Sauven would ever visit.
“Someone must’ve realized that it had been defaced. It was still a royal gift, so it was carted off and must’ve ended up here. I’ve never seen it before. I’ve only heard the story. This was before my time.”
The dursan glared at us, scarred, stained, and yet defiant. I had the strangest feeling. A kind of vague anxiety, as if I were looking at a sign of things to come.
“It’s fitting that it’s here,” Reynald said quietly.
“Ralinbor’s mother and his uncle were his only living relatives besides Sauven.
Ralinbor died on the battlefield. His wife was tried, convicted, and beheaded.
His son perished in the fire when Sauven’s personal guard set Kair Tred on fire.
Everyone is dead now. It stands here as a monument to the fallen family. ”
“I’m not so sure,” I told him.
He gave me an odd look. Like he was both amused and admiring. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Reynald Karis, the ice-cold blademaster of Rellas, found me endearing.
“What?”
“I’m not even surprised anymore,” he said. “Tell me more, Maggie.”