An Elegy of Heroes

by K. S. Villoso

  The map was a dirty yellow in colour, with brown lines etched permanently into the fabric. Kefier had never seen one before and stared at it in fascination. “You can tell where we are from that?” he asked, at length.

  The man smiled underneath his thick moustache. “We’re here,” he said, pointing at a dark mass in the middle. He traced his finger up. “That’s Gaspar. And over here, is the country of Jin-Sayeng. Now you know why they call Kago the armpit?” He sniggered at his own humour.

  “Where’s Gorent?”

  The man pointed to the corner. Kefier blinked. “That’s so far away.” He gazed at the shapes. They were vaguely familiar; he had seen books with the islands drawn on the pages before. A moment of homesickness came over him.

  “Very far,” the old man agreed. He chewed on his pipe. “Will you take some coffee with me?”

  Kefier shook his head. “I need to head up to Sangut mines after this. Probably something to do with that tunnel you mentioned.”

  “Indeed.” The man accompanied him as far as the first boulder. “Do take care. They haven’t cleared that place since it was last used. The land might be unstable.”

  Oji was still massaging his feet when he returned to the fork. His friend’s face broke into a wide smile. “There you are! What took you so long? Did you see a ghost?”

  “There was an Yn Garr man up there.” Kefier paused, tightening the strap around his belly. He looked away from Oji. “He—ah, told me to head on to Sangut mines to check on something for the report. Can you wait here for me?”

  “I’m tired of waiting,” Oji said. He jumped up and started lacing his boots. “I’ll go with you. An Yn Garr man, huh? Was it that Ylir fellow, that Gasparian who dresses like he was Hafed? I’ll tell you what, Kefier, I’ll make it up to you the moment we cross the border. Fuyyu’s got this establishment with crazy beautiful women. You’ll forget Lisa the moment you lay eyes on them.”

  Kefier didn’t know what to say to him without getting angry, so he decided to keep quiet. They trudged up a path that was well-graded compared to the trail earlier that day. Sections of the gravel appeared freshly laid. Sometime before the sun started to set, the trees became scarce—thin and tall, the few of them rose like spires in the distance. Wooden columns marked the entrance of the mine, not far from the talus pile at the foot of the mountain.

  They stopped at the foot of the tunnel. A deep, musty scent was filling the air, and Kefier had the sudden impression that he had stuck his head inside a used coffin. He felt Oji shuffling behind him. “What are we supposed to be doing here?” his friend asked. His voice sounded strange.

  “Just checking up on something,” Kefier replied hollowly. He patted the letter in his shirt pocket and trudged into the darkness. He heard Oji call his name, but he ignored it. There was something shining in the distance—probably the drop-off box. He didn’t stop to wonder why a box would shine in the dark. He kept on walking, ignoring the sensation of his skin beginning to crawl.

  Something moved in the distance. A shadow, at first—and then, when he blinked, a hunched figure with a single eye that he could see. It stared at him.

  You... The hissing voice rang inside his ear and deep into his brain. His knees felt like water. What are you doing here? I thought you were dead. Go away. Go away!

  The figure lunged at him. Kefier drew his sword and screamed.

  What do you mean it wasn’t your fault?

  Kefier saw the achingly blue sky over the cliff edge and smelled the sting of salt in the air.

  What do you mean you didn’t mean for it to happen?

  He heard the tide crashing against rock. In the distance, the seagulls began to scream.

  You jealous brat. You wanted it done. Get out of my head—NO! You left him for dead. You killed him. You couldn’t bear for him to have all he had and so...

  No, you get out. You won’t bother me again. LEAVE!

  Heat pounded into his head and lungs. His head began to clear and he found himself crawling along the side of the tunnel, heading back to the light. Something gripped his ankle and he kicked at it.

  “Kefier…” Oji gasped, white-faced.

  He looked down, horrified, and grabbed his friend by the shoulders. He hauled him out and stumbled under the dark sky, the moon casting faint shadows on their skin. Kefier could not remember being in the tunnel for so long. He lowered Oji to the ground and felt something wet on his shirt. The familiar smell of blood crept up his nostrils.

  “Fuck, Oji. What was that?” he asked, forcing himself to laugh. He dropped on all fours and crawled next to his friend. “I swear, the guys won’t believe it when we tell them...”

  Kefier stopped, noticing the bruises on Oji’s face and his shallow breathing. He touched his friend’s arm. Only then did he realize that his side was drenched in blood. The gaping wound in Oji’s belly grinned up at him.

  He was still so young, barely past boyhood, and his hands began to shake. He didn’t know what to look at or what he was expected to do. He had never seen wounds that deep before and didn’t know if he was supposed to try to close it, or talk to his friend, or run down the mountain and call for help. It was Oji who spoke first. “Don’t be scared, Kefier,” he said, his voice as calm as a bubbling stream. He smiled. He was almost always smiling, Kefier realized in a moment of panic. “We’re going home, aren’t we? Should’ve done it sooner, but it’s not too late yet.”

  “Save your strength, Oji. I’m going to get the Yn Garr man to help us get you down.”

  “Should’ve turned back the moment I got here,” Oji murmured, oblivious. “Didn’t need this at all. Thought I did.” He was gazing up at the sky, his eyes searching the stars. He seemed to focus on one and smiled. “Funny, that.” Kefier waited a few moments before starting to ask what he meant and realized that Oji wasn’t moving anymore.

  Kefier slumped back and stared. There were no tears in his eyes. There was, however, blood on his hands, his shirt, and the unsheathed sword on the ground beside him.

  Chapter Three

  Oji used to find it amusing how easy it was to rouse Kefier’s anger. “All it takes is someone farting in the wrong direction,” he’d tell the others, “and he’ll sit and sulk for days. And you wouldn’t even know it.”

  The rest of them found it hard to believe because Kefier tended towards easy-going most days. He grinned a lot. Allowed the rest of them to make fun of him with very little protest. But Oji, unlike everyone else, knew where it was coming from. He alone had seen Kefier when he was a boy, beaten half to death by his Dageian master; he was the one who had dripped water into the listless child’s mouth while he lay on the ground with his head bleeding and bruised. “Why do you do it?” had been Oji’s first words to him. “Why do you keep trying to run away? You know he’ll only catch and beat you more.”

  Kefier remembered getting up at his words, swaying slightly on thin legs. He had yet to come into the solid, lanky form of his adult self, and back then, it looked like he could be broken across a knee. But he wasn’t broken—he gazed up at Oji with a look of defiance, daring the stranger to touch him, to hurt him more. Oji used to tell him that he was convinced if he’d pushed his luck, Kefier would’ve attacked him. “You were like the remnants of a blazing fire,” Oji—who was convinced he could’ve been a poet—liked to say. “Embers that could burn. That’s why I saved you, you know. You reminded me of myself.”

  “Right,” Kefier always responded. “You just keep telling yourself that.”

  Oji would grin back. Once in a while, he looked like he was tempted to clasp Kefier on the shoulder before thinking the better of it. He alone knew how Kefier coped from the years he spent in Dageis—that his easy-going nature and grins deflected further torment, hid a soul that still hadn’t fully recovered from whatever hellish pit he had spent in the past. He alone knew that one step too far would cause Kefier to lash out.

  He alone knew…

  So why, of all people…

  The event
s in Hartmur disoriented him. He couldn’t remember much of it except the confusion and the feel of a hand on him while that disembodied voice flared up in his head. Beyond that…

  You should’ve left me to rot in those gutters. Oji had a family waiting for him. A wife. A sister, Sume. He would read Kefier their letters. Sume sometimes even asked about him like she cared, like Kefier’s well-being was actually a cause of concern for a young woman who had her own troubles to deal with. He was needed—Kefier wasn’t. No one would miss Kefier. Even Arlisa, Ab help him. Lisa… A whore, Oji had said. Ab help him—it was impossible to get the man’s voice out of his head. He always had to get involved, didn’t he? He should’ve learned to stay out of it!

  Somehow, he made it back to Cairntown.

  He couldn’t remember much of the journey, either. One foot after the other, stumbling along the path like a dead man. Less dead than the other, though. Sometimes Oji’s voice mixed with the other and it was impossible to tell which was which. And you always ruined it, didn’t you? You always made a mess of things. Sometimes it even sounded like his brother.

  Rok found him lingering on the edge of town, half-mumbling to himself. His eyes widened at the sight of the big man, as if he was stepping out from a dream. It was his first foray back into the life he shared with Oji without his friend and suddenly, it felt all too real. His stomach turned. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to run away and throw himself off a cliff.

  “What’s the matter?” Rok asked. He glanced around. “Where the fucking hell is Oji? Kefier—” He took a step towards him.

  Kefier backed away.

  “Easy,” Rok said. “It’s me.”

  “I know it’s you,” Kefier said. His voice sounded strange. He wondered if it was Rok he was really talking to, or if he was trying to convince himself. He didn’t know anymore. He wiped his mouth.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Rok replied, brows knotted.

  “Oji…”

  Ab, even saying the name hurt. But the look on his face must’ve been enough, because a shadow darkened Rok’s face. “Agartes,” the man grumbled. “Oh, my heart. I’m sorry, Kefier. What happened?”

  He stared at the ground. “An accident,” he mumbled.

  “And the body?”

  “I left it. I couldn’t—”

  “I understand. Oh, fuck. Gaven isn’t going to like this. Kefier—” He spread his hands out. “Come back to town with me, Kefier. Comfrey will take care of you. It doesn’t look like you’ve eaten in days. Will you let me help you back?”

  Ab. Even Rok remembered. Why didn’t Oji? They always made fun of the Jinsein for being a fool whose head was always in the clouds, but did he have to go and be foolish at the worst possible time? The thoughts felt like a blow to his head. They held his nerves at bay, though, and he found himself nodding. Rok reached out to grab his arm and hoist him over his shoulders.

  “Not Comfrey’s,” Kefier managed to say when they neared the gates. “I don’t…I don’t know if I can handle telling them yet.”

  “I’ve uhh…got a girl in town. I’m sure she won’t mind having you over.”

  “A girl?” Kefier grumbled. “Since when?”

  “Few weeks.”

  “You never told us.”

  “Of course I wouldn’t. They’d all say I’d gone soft. But got you talking again, hey?”

  “Got to talk about something.”

  “I suppose so.” They reached a narrow alley, one that smelled like urine and dead cats—which wasn’t that much different than the other alleys in the wretched town. In the wake of Oji’s death, Kefier saw it with new eyes for the first time. When he had been a boy, Cairntown had felt like salvation. The garbage meant no mages to clean them up—no mages meant this wasn’t a place where he would be dragged back in chains to a slave pit, to await a new master. Algat had used the word escapee like it was the worst thing in the world to flee for your freedom. Like you were doomed to a wretched life because you were foolish enough to have been caught by the Dageians in the first place.

  It occurred to him now that that feeling of salvation didn’t rest solely on the town’s shoulders, but on Oji. It was Oji who saved him. Without Oji, he’d be dead. But the words had lost their effect over the years, and now, in light of everything that had happened, he detested the very thought. It wasn’t that he wasn’t grateful for what Oji had done for him. But the last thing he needed was to lose a brother again, to be reminded of how everything that was thrusted into his hands turned to dust.

  Rok’s woman worked at the tannery and would be gone all day. Kefier allowed himself to sink in the corner of the one-room house while Rok threw him a wet towel to clean himself with. After Kefier wiped as much of the dirt (and dried blood, but he tried not to think of that) away, Rok handed him a loaf of bread. He grumbled his thanks and tore into it. It was stale and tasted like dirt.

  “It’s Thiar’s fault,” he managed to say, once the bread was all gone.

  Rokarsh looked at him curiously. “What’s he got to do with this?”

  Kefier stared at the floor.

  “You’ve got to speak up, pup. If there’s something foul happening up the chain of command…”

  Kefier turned to him slowly. “What do you mean?”

  Rok glanced away, falling silent.

  “Rok.” He reached out to grab his arm. Kefier was not the skinny boy he had been, but even after his growth spurt, he felt like a dwarf beside the man. Rok gave a soft grimace.

  “It’s just rumours. Thiar’s been picking some of the men for a super-sensitive job and about half, maybe more, aren’t cut out for it.” Rok scratched his stubbled jaw. “Here’s the thing. The men who don’t make the cut—they don’t come back. Who just leaves because they didn’t get a job?”

  “And the ones who do?”

  “They’re under contract with Yn Garr Industries now. Hired until at least the end of the year. Last I heard from them, too.” He gave Kefier a scrutinizing look. “You were working for Thiar, weren’t you?”

  “He gave me a botched job,” he said in a low voice.

  “Explain, Kefier.”

  He got up. “I have to go back. I have to talk to Thiar.”

  “You’re not even well. Kefier—”

  Rok didn’t try to stop him as he stumbled back into the alley, the door clattering behind him. He sucked in his breath and felt for his sword. He noticed that he had two, that one was still sticky with blood. He drew the other one and held it up against the sun.

  His eyes stared back at him against the glint of the sword, blue as the sea.

  The mention of Yn Garr Industries was what made Kefier see red. Thiar had assured him it was a simple enough job to put him in the Boarshind’s good graces. A start, he’d promised. Why not just tell him the company was involved in the first place?

  The survey foreman working for Yn Garr Industries should’ve been the first tell-tale sign. But his presence by itself meant nothing. Yn Garr Industries had projects throughout the lower part of the continent, and they had the resources to be the first to set up base in uncharted territories. Some of the men had explained to him once that they did a little bit of everything. They started out building roads and mines for the purpose of exporting Caelian stone, but lately they had expanded to other endeavours. The owner, Gorrhen yn Garr, owned part of the Boarshind company and regularly made use of their mercenaries for various jobs. If only Thiar had told him this was a job from Yn Garr Industries, then perhaps it would’ve been easy enough for him to admit that the fault was his.

  If only…if only…

  The words made a steady rhythm in his head until they were all he could hear. He could feel the rest of his thoughts falling away, his entire body growing numb with anger. Anger was all he had. He was afraid that if he let go of it, other feelings would surface. Grief. Pain. Regret.

  Anger, he could do. Better to keep it that way.

  He made his way through the streets like a man with a purpose, c
lutching Oji’s sword like his life depended on it. And perhaps it did; perhaps if he let go, he would lose sight of what he was about to do, which would leave him with nothing. Dogs who used to scamper down at the sight of him, confident that he would bring them scraps, now fled at the manner with which he walked. A few lingered several paces away, barking at him like he was a stranger. It would’ve hurt if he had allowed himself to feel.

  “Kefier!” someone called out to him from one of the taverns. He ignored the call.

  The road back to the Boarshind felt longer than it used to. How many times had he travelled it without Oji? No, he checked himself. Don’t think about that now. He dug his nails into the sword’s hilt. The inside of his mouth still tasted like dirt. At the compound, he saw one of the guards staring at him oddly, and he spat to the side.

  “Thiar in there?” he asked.

  “Taking his evening tea like always,” the guard said. “Back from your job at last, I take it. Mountain air must’ve been good. Better than this stench, anyway. Where’s Oji?”

  Kefier turned away, his head swimming. The man, to his credit, didn’t say anything else. Kefier was friendly with many of the mercenaries, but beyond Oji’s friends, most of the relationships ran surface-deep. Let him think Kefier was a snob—they’d already thought the worst of him when he first arrived. Let them hate him, even. There was nothing left of him worth saving.

  Thiar was sitting down to his meal in his chambers when Kefier arrived. He blinked as Kefier thundered through his door without knocking. “My boy…” he began.

  “I’m not your boy,” Kefier hissed.

  Thiar pushed himself away from his desk. “Would you like to join me? It looks like you’ve had a rough journey. How was Hartmur?”

  “You know full well how Hartmur was.”

  Thiar blinked, his eyes watery. “I’m not sure I know what you’re saying. Did you deliver the letter all right?”

  “I did,” Kefier said.

  Thiar stared at him without replying at first. Eventually, he got up. “And?”