Chapter 55 Sariel #2
He closed his eyes, memories of his coronation flooding him.
The pride he felt at finally uniting all of Kaus under a single banner.
The satisfaction in watching his laws spread across the realm to curb the people’s worst habits.
All of it, every grand accomplishment, paled compared to the guilt he had felt when he lay down for sleep, knowing where Eder also slept.
And yet despite that guilt, despite the collapsing of his kingdom as his siblings stoked rebellion after rebellion, he kept Eder there, hanging in his prison.
That was proof enough that he needed this vow.
Let the knife cut. Let the radiance bind him, if it meant becoming a better brother than he had been before.
The effort was immense, but he swallowed his pride, bowed his head, and forced himself to become small.
“No crowns,” he whispered, and pierced his flesh with the knife.
Pain flared throughout his entire arm, far beyond what should have resulted from such a shallow cut. Radiance sparked like lightning across the blade. Sariel carved, perfecting each and every movement despite the blood that soon smeared his arm to obscure his work.
“No thrones.”
Agony seized the entire left half of his body. He felt chains lash his mind, cruel, self-inflicted manacles flooding him with unnatural agony.
This is just , he told himself as he lifted the dagger to carve the next rune. This is necessary.
“Radiance shall never be given…” He had to stop to collect his breath. His vision swam. Each twist of the knife was an ocean of pain washing over him. “To humanity.”
He sliced the final mark and then collapsed to his hands and knees, blood trickling down his left arm to pool upon the rocky ground.
The fire crackled before him, and on a whim, he thrust his arm into its heart.
Blood hardened, and though his flesh burned, its searing was a far cry from the pain he had experienced.
Sariel withdrew a blackened arm now free of blood. The runes, though, shimmered with silver light. He lifted his arm so all might bear witness.
“My vow is made,” he said, his voice raspy and weak. He offered the dagger. “Now keep your word.”
The others paused until Calluna pushed off from the tree.
“Cowards,” she muttered, and grabbed the knife.
She screamed at the pain halfway through, but nothing stopped the carving. When finished, she held her arm over the flame. The blood cracked and flaked away. When done, she revealed the runes, now black and appearing like inked tattoos.
Faron went next, enduring the cutting with his teeth clenched tightly shut. Aylah followed, then Eist.
“No crowns, no thrones,” they said as they held the dagger to their flesh. “As it should have been from the start.”
When finished, the five of them joined Eder around the fire, quiet and absorbing one another’s presence. It had been nearly a century since they were all in one place. Sariel suspected it would be a century more before they were so again.
“What happens now?” he asked.
“Now the Four Heroes who broke the kingdom shall fade into myth and memory,” Aylah said.
“And we will watch as the humans squabble among themselves for the remaining pieces. Kaus will collapse into little kingdoms, some adapting your laws, others casting them off entirely. Many will turn to Leliel for comfort, and I suspect her temples shall rise in prominence as the people seek stability amid the change.”
“And what life shall await me?”
Eist stood, and they removed their gold-laced robe and tossed it upon the fire. Clothed only in a pale undershirt and breeches, they lifted their left arm so the moonlight fell upon the newly carved tattoos.
“The life you create for yourself,” they said. “Same as ever before.”
They paused to offer quiet Calluna a kiss upon the forehead and then departed past the red oak tree down the path. Faron was next to follow.
“There’s many I care for in the armies who followed me,” he explained. “I would guide them safely home before the chaos starts.”
Calluna slid closer to Sariel until she sat with her hip pressed against his.
She leaned into him, her long hair falling across his bare chest as she pressed her cheek to his rib cage.
Her fingers traced his broken ribs and bruised flesh from Faron’s beating.
Her silver eyes peered up at him, filled with sorrow and hope in equal measure.
“You don’t have to be alone,” she whispered before departing. “Even if I know that is what you will always choose to be.”
And then it was only Aylah, Eder, and himself. His sister sat beside his sleeping brother, her legs crossed and her drawn sword laid out across her lap. She would guard him until he recovered. Sariel wished he could feel insulted, but was not.
“I suppose I will disappear into the west,” he said, finally standing.
“For your sake, grow out your hair and keep your face hidden,” she said. “I will spread tales of your gruesome execution, and how I cast your remains to the sea. For your sake, give no cause for people to doubt.”
“Of course.” He lifted Redemption and then gestured to the sleeping Eder. “What of him? He has not sworn our vow.”
“You would have him suffer it now?” Aylah asked. “Your brother barely clings to life. Give him time. When he is recovered, I will inform him of our shared vow. He will partake. I am sure of it.”
Sariel shrugged. He held no desire to argue the point.
“So be it. I will make no demands of him. Guard him well, Aylah. And when he wakes, tell him…”
He paused. What message was there to convey? What might he say that would absolve him of thirty years spent imprisoning Eder within the cold cells?
“Tell him whatever he must hear, for nothing I offer will ever suffice.”
He settled his sword over his shoulder and turned away. To the mountain path. To a life hidden in exile, waiting for the memory of the Heartless King to fade, that memory become story, and then that story become history.