Chapter 123
Chapter One Hundred Twenty-Three
Faylinn
It took four days to clear the hills of Deucena of evidence from the battle.
Bodies had to be moved and tagged, then identified.
The injured ushered into a makeshift healer’s tent to be triaged and helped accordingly.
Campsites set for those who wished to stay and help—bathing areas established while food and water were found.
Creation Magic pushed into the soil to restore the grass once more.
Funeral pyres lit and performed en masse.
Rohak, my mother, and I worked nonstop since the end of the battle, helping as many as we could in as little time as possible. The injured were my mother’s and my focus, using our Blood Magic and runes to help ease people’s passing into the ether or heal their wounds.
It was Isrun all over again.
But this time, I wasn’t alone.
My mother was here, gently touching my shoulder or shooing me to my bedroll to sleep when I’d been on my feet too long, woozy from blood loss.
Ellowyn and Torin were here, once they returned from Meru, providing support and bolstering emotions with their magic.
And Rohak was here, steadfast as ever, directing the recovery efforts and supporting me in ways I didn’t even know I needed.
Some nights, the despair and grief built deep within my belly before it stuck in my chest, threatening to pull me under completely.
Other nights, I needed to talk about what happened, reminisce about Ben and Asha, laugh about the years Ben and I spent together in Isrun.
Still, other nights, I needed the silence, the stress and grief of the day battling with guilt for surviving relatively unscathed when others had not.
War wasn’t fair, and it didn’t discriminate, yet that thought didn’t make the passing of our friends any easier.
The funeral pyres were the worst—we burned the leftover bodies of the Samyrians and Solace’s sycophants first, after no one came to claim them. A pang of sadness swept through me at the thought that there was no one to come claim these people.
Yes, they had fought against us, killed our friends and families, blindly bought into and defended a dangerous ideology. But they were still people, still mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, daughters and sons.
They were Elyrians, and they had no one.
Suspiciously, Razia’s corpse was absent. Either he’d survived the battle and fled or was ferried back to Samyr.
Despite grumbles and protests from a select few survivors, the majority consensus was to build pyres for our fallen enemies just as we built pyres for our own unclaimed fallen. If we were to lead Elyria into a new age, hatred and grievances would have to be cast aside.
We were all one—all Elyrians—and we needed to act in a manner befitting that claim.
My breath hitched, and I nearly bit through my tongue when I helped hoist Sasori’s cold and stiff body onto the lowest rung of a stepped pyre.
Her creamy white skin was even paler in death, the bloating of her corpse not enough to disguise her outward beauty.
Yet, even in death, she clung to her anger.
I did cry, then, as I carefully rearranged her limbs, pressing her sword into tightly clenched hands.
The fact that no one from Samyr had claimed her—the sitting Lady of their territory—brought pity and rage in tandem. There was no denying that she made despicable choices in life, yet I wondered how much of a choice she really had.
We burned their bodies quickly, constructing tall and wide pyres to burn en masse at once. Their ashes floated along a gentle breeze, the cosmos seeming to sigh with our choice to honor them despite our differences.
The ceremonies for our own fallen were longer, more drawn out. Those who had known the dead in life shared small anecdotes or words of remembrance, and when there were no friends or family present, Rohak and I stepped in to deliver the same.
It was difficult to listen to hardened soldiers break down into sobs as they recounted the lives of their fallen brethren. Tears glistened on my cheeks and pooled in my eyes throughout it all, to the point that I thought they would never be dry again.
When I thought I couldn’t possibly cry anymore or any harder, it was time to send Asha and Ben’s physical forms onward.
My body shook so hard that my hands were completely unusable as I reached for Ben and Asha. With a firm yet gentle hand, Rohak pushed me back from their corpses and indicated for three other surviving soldiers to lift them onto a pyre wide enough that they could burn together.
A pained keen echoed in the night as Rohak gently clasped their hands together, joined in death just as they were in life.
It took me a moment to realize that the sound of grief had come from me, and I collapsed to my knees in broken sobs, threading my fingers deep into the grass.
My skin was numb, my mind even more so, as Rohak gently helped me to my feet before pressing my head into his chest. He let me sob for long moments, stroking my curls as my hands tremored against his tunic.
“It’s not fair,” I cried down the Bond.
“No. It’s not. War is never fair, my love, yet the fairest of judges all the same.
No one—regardless of age, status, or gender—is immune to her choices.
Why did you and I survive, yet they did not?
Why did some of our more grizzled soldiers or our less powerful Mages emerge unscathed while Ben and Asha paid the ultimate price? ”
“They have a daughter,” I whispered before stiffening. “We . . . we have a daughter, now.”
He hummed, pressing a kiss to my head.
“We need to return to her.”
“We will, my love. Let us send Ben and Asha into the beyond first. Then we can go to their daughter. One thing at a time.”
His words settled my soul, the remembrance of their child left behind renewing my purpose.
With a gulp of air, I loosened my white-knuckled grip from Rohak’s tunic, wiping away the tears and snot in embarrassed swipes.
Rohak hummed before capturing my hands with his and pressing a soft kiss to my palms.
“You need to say a few words, my love. You knew them best,” he murmured, stubble scratching at my hands.
I sighed shakily, the residue of my grief clinging powerfully.
Turning slowly, I looked to see more than one stricken expression and red-rimmed eye. A Life Bonded couple I’d Forced Bonded a year ago stood to the side, clutching each other as they wept.
“Ben and Asha—” I began before pausing to clear my throat, my grief building once more. “Ben and Asha wanted nothing more than to be together,” I began, finding my sadness quelling slightly as I spoke about my friends.
“Funny thing was, Ben was mine first,” I laughed a watery thing as I pawed at my eyes.
A few other hesitant chuckles followed my statement.
“But he was never mine, not when he was supposed to be hers. And, gods, did he love her. They were the most perfect pairing. He was a bear on the outside and spun sugar on the inside, someone who melted for the right person yet would do anything to protect his family. They loved hard and were loved just as hard in return. Their memory will live on in their daughter, in all of us that knew them and loved them, in the halls they walked and the lives they touched.”
I paused again to wipe my nose as more tears fell. They were less volatile this time; softer almost, as if speaking aloud to people who knew them, fought with them, was cathartic. I was releasing my grief with my love. Rohak’s hand squeezed my shoulder in comfort, and I closed my hand over his.
“There are not enough words to describe Ben and Asha, and not enough time to tell you how amazing, kind, and loyal they were. They will be sorely missed by so many, but I know that they are in the ether together, and that gives me some comfort,” I finished, rapidly blinking back a fresh wave of tears.
“Can I say something?” the young male Vessel from the Force Bonded couple spoke up, his voice tentatively wavering. His Mage wrapped her arms tighter around his torso, resting her head against his chest.
I nodded.
The Vessel wasn’t much older than the age of Awakening, but battle had hardened him, turning his once-youthful coal-black eyes to something older.
Rohak’s words rang true once more.
“Ben and Asha were the greatest teachers and influences I’ve ever had.
I came from nothing, snatched from the streets by King d’Refan to serve in his army before I was .
. . forced into a Life Bond I originally didn’t want.
Asha and Ben were there for me . . . for us”—he kissed the top of his Mage’s blonde head—“through everything. Sharing wisdom about Bonding and what was normal, helping us through discovering our relationship.” He shook his head.
“I would be dead without them—would have killed myself long ago, taking my Mage with me. They shouldered my grief, held my hand as I cried, and refused to leave me until they knew I was going to be okay. I owe them my life and will miss them fiercely every day for the rest of my time on this plane.”
His Mage buried her face further into his chest with a sob, tears tracking down his own cheeks as he turned toward her, folding his body on top of hers.
My heart warmed even as my own grief made itself present once more.
That was Ben and Asha’s legacy, one I would never let die.
Rohak lit their pyre moments later, choosing to do it manually rather than with magic. There was a personal element to his motions, to the way he gently laid his hand on Ben’s chest, then Asha’s, as he bowed his head and whispered words I couldn’t hear.
With one last pat over Ben’s heart, he lit the pyre, the dry wood catching quickly until their bodies were obscured from view completely.
The red and orange flames brightly lit the dark night, washing all of us in their glow and heat. Slowly, soldiers left. Paying their respects briefly before moving away. As the ashes and embers floated upward on a swirling wind toward the glowing moon, I let go of my self-hatred and flagellation.
I would forever miss Ben and Asha—would see them reflected in their daughter every day for the remainder of mine. But no amount of grief and blame would bring them back.
Rohak and I stayed with the other Life Bonded couple well until the early hours of morning, deep purple streaking across the horizon where the sun was begging to peek over the hills again.
We stayed pressed together, taking comfort in our tight embrace, until the last of the flames flickered and died, the pyre and Ben and Asha reduced to nothing more than ash.
With a sigh I felt deep in my soul, the Mage conjured an urn from the soil adjacent to the burnt pyre. With sure steps, she approached Rohak and me, handing us the vessel before stepping back just as quickly.
“They deserve to be laid to rest somewhere their daughter can visit, somewhere their legacy can live on,” she said quietly, her words hiccupping slightly.
Rohak took the proffered urn with a nod of thanks, sentimentality pulsing down the Bond.
The Mage cleared her throat once before backing away, tucking herself beneath her Vessel’s arm once more as they walked slowly back to the lines of bedrolls, eventually disappearing from sight.
I stood frozen with Rohak, emotionally exhausted but not ready to sleep.
“What do you say we bring them home?” he asked into the quiet early morning, his words punctuated by the soft calls of morning birds and the chirp of crickets as the world began to wake once more.
I smiled thinly and squeezed his hand.
“Yes, I think that would be best.”