Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
G ood on his word, King Caisa had sent a man around to the Talius residence with an invitation to visit the ancient Ruins of Pasiara, which were located just to the east of the city.
Upon arriving at the designated meeting point, Leander was surprised to find that Thiete was the offered tour guide.
“Lord Thiete,” Leander greeted, extending his hand to shake. “Moonlighting away from noble duties?”
Thiete grinned. “I studied history before commissioning into the military,” he explained. “The king thought me to be the most appropriate option to guide two princes and a demigod through our nation’s proud history.”
“Princes, plural?”
“I know very little of the ruins, so I thought I would tag along too.”
Leander turned at the sound of a new voice and bowed his head in respect as Lucien approached. “Your Highness. ”
“Oh, none of that, Myracle . We are just Lucien and Leander today, as with all days.”
“As you wish.” Leander smiled. “We’re waiting on Prince Jarryn?”
“Who might well expect us to keep referring to him as such, yes.”
Leander was not looking forward to seeing the Desannian prince again, not after his hazy recollection of how Jarryn had rescued him when he had had more alcohol than blood coursing through his veins. The embarrassment still hadn’t passed.
Minutes passed and the three men traded light ribbing and banter as they waited. Leander wished it could be just the three of them; Jarryn was not the easiest to pin down. The demigod had no notion of how he would be received by the exiled prince at any given moment.
“Ah, there he is. Hello, Your Highness,” Thiete said. “Right, the sun is growing in the sky and it is going to be a crisp but beautiful day. Let’s get the horses and be on our way.”
They entered the stables, where four horses were saddled for each of the nobles.
Also waiting were more horses and a small contingent of guards from both Lucien’s and Jarryn’s personal retinues.
The two princes never did anything without a protective shadow of armed men, especially when leaving the city proper.
Once mounted, the four aristocrats, flanked by the six guards, made their way out of the palace gates, wound through the cobbled streets of Saeren and passed beyond the city walls into the wilderness.
“Have you had much time to explore Vyrica, Your Highness?” After they had been riding in silence for some time, Thiete called over to Jarryn.
“No. I have visited these lands with my father, but always with a purpose. There was never any time for sightseeing.”
“A shame, to be sure. I am glad of the opportunity to rectify this. You have chosen a truly remarkable site to visit first. The Ruins of Pasiara are shrouded in legend.”
“So I’m told.” Jarryn glanced sideways in Leander’s direction. “Something to do with your mother, Lord Leander, I am led to believe?” he pressed.
Leander nodded. “But it was long before I was born. I’m sure Theite knows the story much better than I do.”
“Really? This is your heritage. Your legacy. Do you care so little for the history of your immortal mother?”
“She is a millennia old. More. It’s hard to cram a thousand years of stories into my small brain.”
Jarryn frowned. “Not even the touchstone events? As I understand it, the Ruins of Pasiara were the site of Vyrica’s first settlement. Sounds like something I would endeavour to remember.”
“What may seem like an event of some significance to you is not necessarily what my mother or I would consider to be worthy of remembrance. We place value on that which brings us joy, not sorrow. For the sorrowful events are only worth what lessons they teach us, not because we wish to be reminded of them,” Leander responded monotonously.
“Oh, so you do remember the story then. And you know it is not a happy one,” Jarryn returned with a cold smile .
Leander scowled. “I remember enough from what my mother taught me. I remember the lessons she instilled in me for what can happen when a god interferes in the lives of mortals.”
“Oh really? You understand the impacts, then?”
Leander looked over at Jarryn sharply as he took a moment to ensure his mental barriers were securely erected.
“We’re here,” Lucien interrupted Leander’s reply, and the demigod was ultimately glad for the reprieve from Jarryn’s attention being solely on him.
Dismounting, the horses were secured to a post and Leander followed his companions up a hill to see what stones still stood proud as the enduring reminder of his mother’s involvement in the welfare and accomplishments of Saeren.
Moss covered stones, weathered by centuries of wind and rain, stood as a testament to the engineering ingenuity of builders and architects of the time.
On the grassy ground, there was a carpet of fallen leaves in amber, gold, and rusty hues.
The autumn sun shone brightly in the azure sky, filtering through the treetop canopy and casting shadows upon the ground and cracked stonework of columns and crumbling archways of what had once been a grand cathedral.
A chilled breeze caught Leander, and he shivered as he walked slowly through an archway, eyes cast upwards. He told himself it was due to the wind and not a result of the haunting beauty that sang to his heart, reminding him of his mother. Reminding him of his home.
Thiete fell into step beside him as Leander reached out to trace the remnants of the durable grey stones. “What do you think?” Thiete asked softly.
“It’s… I can tell how this would once have been a majestic place of worship.”
Thiete nodded his agreement.
“It was so much more than just a church, though, Leander,” Lucien called over. “Tell them, Thiete.”
Leander looked in askance in Thiete’s direction, waiting with uninhibited curiosity to learn more about the ruins.
Thiete began. “Centuries ago, these lands, lands that would one day become Vyrica, were plagued by a drought, leading to famine.
Crops could not grow, livestock were dying.
The people were starving, suffering, desperate for salvation against the devastation on the land, on their very lives.
They could not survive this alone, and enough had already died, so they prayed for divine intervention to save them.
“Touched by their plight, the goddess Leía, deity of storms, descended from Estalian, and summoned forth a mighty storm that brought life-saving rains from thunderous clouds, saturating the sun-baked lands with the water it desperately needed.
“However, this act of mercy came at a price. The unleashed fury of the storm wrought havoc upon the land, causing floods that ravaged entire villages. That’s what ‘ Pasiara ’ means: ‘withstand the storm.’ This lone hill is all that survived that storm brought by Leía.”
Everyone, even the Saerian soldiers who had grown up on this legend, were listening with rapt attention.
For his part, Leander knew of the story, but had not remembered it as it was being told now. The gods always had a different spin on it, as it was their own story, not the story of their ancestors. They remembered it correctly.
“Remorseful, Leía wept tears of sorrow, and these ruins are all that is left of the civilisation from before Vyrica’s union into one kingdom.
Leía vowed to always support Saeren as penance for the destruction of so many lives.
And the ancient ruins of Prasiara now stand as a warning, a reminder of not only the benevolence of the gods, but also the consequences of seeking divine intervention. ”
“As well as a warning as to the fickle nature of the gods’ involvement in mortal lives,” Jarryn, who had also been listening in, interjected.
Everyone looked in his direction. The Saerian members of the group looked shocked by Jarryn’s blatant and unapologetic blasphemy. Even the Desannian soldiers wore uncomfortable expressions.
“Your Highness, this is a place of worship for many, hallowed ground if you will. It is not a place to insult?—”
“Then Leía may strike me down in one of her lightning storms if she so pleases. And in doing so prove me right in my assessment of the lot of them.”
“Do you mistrust all gods, or only those you haven’t met?” Leander asked quietly.
Jarryn’s eyes flashed as his gaze landed on the demigod. “Oh, I trust those I’ve met even less.”
“Why?”
Jarryn’s eyes were hard, a gaze that spoke of pain turned into armour. “The gods are nothing but manipulative beings, toying with mortals for their own amusement. Their actions despoil our lives, and they are not deserving of our trust.”
“But... have you not considered the possibility that the gods have reasons for their actions beyond our understanding?” Lucien said slowly, carefully.
Thiete nodded his agreement. “Yes. Perhaps they allow hardship to teach us valuable lessons.”
“Or test our resilience,” a soldier piped up, before hastily respectfully adding, “Your Highness.”
“Just because we don’t always see their intentions, it doesn’t mean they are malevolent. Maybe through their actions they’re guiding us towards a greater purpose,” Lucien finished.
Leander didn’t voice his inner musings, but he thought they all sounded a little indoctrinated into a philosophy passed down by their forefathers. In his experience, the gods didn’t measure the worth of individual mortal lives so much as looking at the collective.
“I find it hard to believe in the greater purpose of the gods when all I see is suffering and chaos caused by the whims of them,” Jarryn said confidently.
“How can we trust beings who actively cause suffering like Leía did in the story we just heard? If they truly cared for us, they would prevent such tragedies in the first place.”
Lucien, devout as he was, had a look of revulsion on his face for all of two seconds before he remembered himself and schooled it into something more neutral. When he spoke, his words were measured and calm. “Maybe our limited perspective blinds us to the bigger picture.”
“We must have faith and trust that the gods have a plan, even if we cannot comprehend it,” said Thiete .
Jarryn shook his head, an ugly smile marring what was otherwise a beautiful face. “Faith is a luxury for those who haven’t suffered as deeply. I’ve seen too much pain to believe in your so-called benevolence of the gods.”
“But if you?—”
“Until they prove otherwise, I will continue to question their motives and hold them accountable for the suffering they allow to exist in the world,” Jarryn interrupted, and Leander could sense that he so very vehemently believed what he was saying.
There was a murmur of dissension through the group, and it was clear most disagreed but, with the exception of Lucien, no-one could justifiably argue with the prince of Desanne.
“And what of you, Lord Leander?” Jarryn turned on him at last. “You who have divine blood running through your veins. Are you going to defend their actions, are you going to justify their indifference to our suffering? Or are you also nothing but a callous being, manipulating us for your own amusement?”
Leander, visibly uncomfortable at the accusation, said, “I have no puppets or pawns, Your Highness. And I am certainly not indifferent.” He lied without thought.
“But you, by your very nature, are tainted by their influence. Your newfound mortality does not automatically absolve you of your divine blood, nor does it make you stand alongside humanity willingly. What self-serving crime did you commit to have you cast out of your realm and abandoned in ours, your family saddled with a bastard no one wants? I would put good money on it being an offence against us mortals. You suffer here because you caused us pain?”
Vitriol dripped from Jarryn’s every word and their stunned audience was forgotten for the moment.
Leander’s patience was wearing thin. “You speak from a place of anger and pain, but your accusations will stay as just that: unfounded, until such a time as when the Nine deign to bring you into their confidences, you can go on believing what you want to about me.” Leander took a step forward and raised his chin to meet Jarryn’s hard gaze. “I don’t give a shit what you think.”
Undeterred, Jarryn lashed out with greater intensity: “But you care deeply about your lot in life. You are wasted as a mortal. I can still feel your aversion for your mortality rolling off you in waves. Is that the reason for your drinking? The gambling and prostitutes?”
“Jarryn…” Someone, Leander wasn’t sure who, tried to stop the verbal lashing. They were unsuccessful.
Jarryn’s eyes, like daggers, spoke of untold scars, of some terrible tragedy, but there was not a flicker of weakness as he spoke.
It was a hardness born from too many battles, too many losses.
“You hate us all with such a passion that you now hate yourself and you will seek any outlet you can just to escape your growing self-awareness. You cannot hide from it though. It’s pathetic to watch. ”
As if physically struck by Jarryn’s harsh words, Leander took a step back, his expression a mixture of sadness and resolve.
“You’ve told me once before that you refuse to define me, or anyone else, by our actions, and by the choices we make.
Yet… here you are, passing judgement on me for something you have decided is less .
You have decided this in a few short meetings and I will not argue against your judgement of my character. ”
Leander glanced around at Lucien, Thiete and the soldiers, all of whom waited expectantly for wisdom to be woven by his tongue.
They would be disappointed.
He looked back at Jarryn. “I have learnt to define myself by the values I uphold. If you cannot accept me, then so be it. But know this, I did not raze villages to the ground in a flood to earn my punishment. And what I did is no business of yours.”