Something small weighed on my chest, so light it didn’t cause me any pain. “You’re such a man! Whining about how useless you are, and then proving it by doing nothing. Get up! We need you.” And the potato woman added her hand to all the others.
“If it weren’t for you, I would still have no name. You honor me by allowing me to bear you. I’m sorry, Adal, I couldn’t catch you well enough. I am the one who needs your forgiveness.” Kae’A crouched at my feet. His paw joined the others.
No. He didn’t need my forgiveness. None of them had done anything against me.
“You welcomed me, even after you learned I was Habrini.” Daragen crouched nearby. “You’re a wind worthy to sail under. I would follow where you lead.” He held his hand out.
Galatea reached out next. “I’ve not had a father for a long time. I found one in your old friend here.” Her eyes flitted to Jayan. “But you were here for me first. I’d choose you.”
The pain raced through me again. A father.
I was no father. I wasn’t worthy. If I was, I would have rescued Braden. I would have paid attention to him. If I was a better man, I would have done so much more. So much better. All of these fools. Why were they doing this for me? For a useless old man like me?
“Master, I made an oath to you. This is a choice I do not rue.” Badron? It was here, too? The white goblin placed its hand with the others.
Another mistake. I’d tried to bring the white goblins to stand with our races, but that hadn’t worked, had it? They’d saved me from the Blue Riders, but I’d failed there, too. Badron shouldn’t be here. It should walk away from me.
“I didn’t want to pay attention to all those stories you told. But you were right. They brought us all closer together. The stories even gave me an opportunity to escape the Kaerun. They were confused and turned away from me when you all rode out together, and I was able to crawl away into hiding. But I was willing to sacrifice myself for you once, and I would do it again.” Korah reached his hand out. “I’ve finally found you all again. Don’t leave me now.”
“And Cerulean. She is no longer with us. But she would tell you that your story is not done.” Yolian smiled. “Allow me to heal you, Adal. You are worthy of healing. You are worthy of our friendship.”
The pain ebbed just a breath, or perhaps I’d finally grown numb to parts of it. I could think more clearly again.
My story wasn’t finished.
It should be, but it wasn’t. I yet lived.
Our story wasn’t finished yet. That’s why we hadn’t found a good ending. And that’s why my story wasn’t finished yet. I might have been old, but the end had not yet come.
Was I worthy of reaching the end of the story?
No. I had failed so many times. I wasn’t good enough. I was useless.
But I was forgiven.
My friends forgave me. They wanted me to stand with them. They saw my weakness and embraced me anyway.
And when you are seen in your weakness and accepted, you do not need to hide any longer.
The pain eased from my heart. It retreated from my fingers, my hand, my wrist. Soon it resided only in my shoulder, and soon enough it was only a dull ache.
I looked up at Yolian. He wept. I joined him. We all wept together. We embraced in a huddle.
Our company was restored.
Chapter Eighty-Two
The battle on the plains of Chereken was just beginning. Over the next week of traveling, more and more stories attacked.
Yolian went silent and stopped smiling. He refused to answer any questions. I told the story of how elves agreed to support men and speak when necessary. When we reached the end of that tale, Yolian embraced me. “I knew the story, but I couldn’t fight against it,” he declared.
Every Spireman with us left to embark on a glorious hunt. I told the story of how they quickly found and returned with the largest elk any had ever seen. Miraculously, that’s exactly what happened.
And then one day, Daragen flung his dagger into the dirt and struck Korah from behind with a fist. “She belongs to me, he snarled. “She pledged herself to me before she ever met you!”
Korah turned and returned the blow. “She never knew love until she met me!”
And they battled for Galatea’s hand, Spireman and Habrini lashing out with their fists, calling for help from their houses. The army around them lined up like that ancient tragedy where both men died fighting over a woman.
But Galatea leaped between them before I could even speak. “Daragen! I am your mate, but only your mate. I will watch for you until the end of time.” She took Korah’s hand. “This one, Daragen. He has my heart.” She looked the Spireman in the eyes and grinned. “I will wed him.”
And the story fizzled as Korah whooped and spun her. Daragen swayed on his feet a moment, and then smiled. “My mate’s getting married? It’s about time.”
He joined Jayan and me around the fire that night.
“Galatea chose Korah,” I said.
Daragen nodded.
“You won’t have a mate any longer.”
He laughed. “No? I’ll always watch her back, and she’ll watch mine. Didn’t you hear? She’ll have her husband. And that’s fine.”
Jayan shook his head. “Korah won’t share.”
Daragen laughed again and left it at that.
Korah and Galatea planned to wed when they reached the Spires, and their joy lit up the camp.
Later that night, though, as I made my way to my sleeping roll, I passed by a grove of trees. I heard Galatea’s whispered voice. “I must go to him. I owe him that much as my mate.”
“You chose me,” Korah answered.
“I have. And I don’t regret it. But Daragen is my mate. I’ll come back to you. Don’t worry.”
“I’ll wait for you.”
“You won’t have to wait long.”
I walked away before I could hear more.
Tales haunted the land, ready to take anyone they pleased to use to retell themselves. We came to a Cassuni village that was utterly empty. We never learned what story had taken the people away. We discovered camps with people dead. After a quick search, we found many stolen goods. Apparently, the thieves had turned on each other. And so it went in many tales.
Truly, the burning of the Library had released gods among us. We couldn’t fight them.
Well, most of us couldn’t.
I was able to tell each story to its end. At times I was able to turn them to happy endings, preserving as many of our camp as possible. Other times, thankfully, that was unneeded as the tale ended peacefully on its own.
As we journeyed north, more and more refugees found us. They found safety in our numbers. Several hundred of those who had survived the battle of Chariis also continued with us, even those from southern or western nations. Elves. Parvians. Dwarves.
And as we journeyed north, I healed. I was not fully whole, but being with friends, even in this hopeless situation, being encouraged, being accepted, all of that began to fill the hollowness that had consumed me. If I told the truth, being useful also helped. Seeing that though I failed, I was not broken beyond use, encouraged me so much.
Even with all that, though, I was still melancholy. One act of compassion does not heal a man in an hour, though it sets him on a good path.
And every night, the company that had traveled to Ban Maraseth gathered around a fire to discuss what to do next. Jayan joined our number as well.
“We need to go where there are no stories to prey on us!” Jayan declared. “Farther north than even the Spires! No men live there, and so no tales have been told.”
Abani glared at him. “Not all of us would survive in the cold so well.”
Badron shivered at my side.
I held up my hands. “We know what it will take to bring safety again.” I had explained it some nights ago, recounting the last time I’d seen the Blue Riders. And then repeated it for those who were slower to believe. “Somehow, we need to open the
Floodgates again.”
Lazul shook his head. “My people could dig that deep, but it would take a long, long time. And by that time, what would remain here?”
“And besides,” Galatea said, “Even if we triggered a new Deluge, how would that help? We have many boats in Garrendai that would carry our nation, but how would any Parvians survive? Or elves? Or dwarves? Do you have many boats in the north, Adal?”
I shook my head. “We need to find a way. The Kaerun have set free countless stories. And I’m sure they’re feasting. But they will turn back to us. Fleeing, even beyond the Spires, would aid no one for long. So if not the waters, we need another way to defeat them.”
And as we had every night for a week, we stared into the crackling fire.
“Well,” Jayan said, “Until we come up with a better plan, do we keep journeying north? Away from Chariis?”
We all nodded. Again.
I stood and prowled away. Again. It was all so useless! We knew what we had to do. There was no other way! But the price was so great. Not only that, we didn’t know how to do it!
They all let me walk away. Again.
Yolian and I had spent hours and hours as we moved north discussing how stories worked. Could we trigger the Deluge just by speaking the story? It seemed, in some ways, my powers as Keeper of Tales were growing. I was becoming more adept at turning tales. Yet we were sure it would take speaking the tale in a specific place: at the Floodgates.
Neither of us knew any story that spoke of how to get there, except that they were far, far below the world. Speaking the words in the Sargon’s Colonnade might have worked, but we didn’t have access to it. Even if we put together a strike team and flew them in on griffins, we would likely be quickly attacked. It would be a suicide mission, and one we weren’t sure was worth the price.
And so, every day we marched on. Every day the griffins flew scouting missions ahead and behind us. Every day we came closer to my home. Closer to the North.
One morning the sun rose over waving grain fields. It wasn’t quite time for harvest yet, though the fields were close to ripe. I knew we weren’t far. Outriders found us the day after. We let them know an army was coming for shelter. They rode back to Northane, the capitol of the North, to report.
The next morning, I rose early and slipped out of our camp. I nodded toward the sentries in the pre-dawn chill. No one stopped me.
I walked, alone, the road that would take me home.
Chapter Eighty-Three
This time it was no dream.
I walked the road to Northane alone. Wheat fields whispered around me. The sun rose on my right, sending pink and golden rays across the stalks of grain. A light, cool breeze wafted into my face, refreshing me.
And there, on a hill, stood my city. There were the outbuildings. There was the wall. There the guards walked the walls. There the many homes huddled inside. I spotted the spaces for the markets, the halls, and there above it all, my own hall. The seat of my rule.
Home.
But before the army arrived, before the busyness of determining our next step, before repeating that discussion around the fire again, I had to finish something I should have finished long ago.
And so, I continued my lonely walk.
This time, I didn’t think about what I would do with my grandchildren. There were no grandchildren. This time, no big brother stepped from the fields tempting me with another, happier life. Garethen had been slain for the final time. This time, no visiting elf asked me to identify a small stone. Cerulean had sacrificed herself for me twice.
But there was still a small stone.
I turned off the road and waded through the field. On a nearby hill perched a single tree. Gnarled branches were already bare of leaves. The farmers had plowed around that tree for decades, since long before I could remember.
And below the tree, there he was.
And there she was.
“I was wondering when you’d get here, old man.” Her skirt shifted in the gentle breeze. Her long white hair floated around her face. She smiled when she saw me, but her eyes held moisture.
“Gayala.” I fell into my wife’s embrace. We stood there in the dawn light at the grave of our son. We held each other for a long, long time. When we finally separated, I asked, “How did you know to meet me here?”
She harrumphed. “We’ve been married how many harvests? Don’t you think I know you by now?” She held her hand up to my cheek. “Adal. I’ve been camping out here for three nights now. Ever since we received word of Chariis’s fall. I knew where you would go, where you always go when you suffer. Once you start, you always try to give yourself a little more hurt and a little more pain.” She leaned forward and kissed me on the nose.
“Have I ever told you I don’t deserve you?” I asked.
“And I don’t deserve you.” She stuck her tongue out at me. “Come on. I know what you need to do. So let’s do it before anyone comes looking for you.” And with that, she knelt before the little stone.
The stone that stood over the remains of our son.
I knelt beside her. Oh, my old knees didn’t like the ground. I’d become more and more sore as the days went on, and I hadn’t started in good health this time. But for this. For Braden. For him I would kneel.
I placed my hands on the cool ground. “Naeharum Braden. You’ve walked away from us. You can’t see us, and we can’t see you. But maybe you can hear us. If you can, hear us now.”
And the breeze fell still.
“Son. It’s been so many years. I’m sorry. And this will be the last time I’m able to do this. I don’t know what’s going to happen. But I had to come and say it one more time. I had to say it again. I’m sorry.
“I’m sorry I failed you. I’m sorry I wasn’t enough of a father. Do you remember? One time you wanted to play with me. You didn’t know. You were still so young. But I was about to go and ride out with the men to stop the annual goblin raiding parties. I was up on my horse. And you came to the courtyard with your arms wide open yelling, ‘Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!’”
Gayala put her hand on my shoulder.
“And I dismounted. I picked you up in my arms. You gave me the biggest hug. And what did I tell you? ‘Daddy needs to go protect you.’ And you said… you said, ‘Go be a hero, Daddy!’
“Braden, I need to be a hero again, I think. And it means I might not come back. I think, I finally think you’ve actually forgiven me. And I think maybe I’ve finally forgiven myself.”
Gayala squeezed my shoulder. Beside me, I heard her say, “About time.”
“To say goodbye... can I tell you a story, Braden?”
And so, in the stillness of the dawn, with my wife beside me, I told my little boy a goodnight story. One last tale for him. For us. For this broken family. A goodnight story. One last time gathered together, just us three. One last time to share. One last story, just for us.
For Braden.
Chapter Eighty-Four
Gayala held my hand as we faced away from Northane. It was perhaps an hour past dawn now, and we had dried our tears. In the distance, we saw the first signs of the army marching toward my home. I wondered if anyone had panicked when they didn’t find me there.
“So, the stories are wild. That would explain why I keep burning my loaves,” Gayala said.
“You always burn your loaves.”
“Sure, but now I have an excuse.” She smiled, but her smile faded when I didn’t return it. “Is it really that bad?”
“It is.”
“What’ll happen?”
“Our only chance is to somehow cause another Deluge. It will wipe the land clean of all stories. It will be like we’ve never told one before.”
“That doesn’t sound like the kind of world you’d want to live in.”
“Well, even old men can change. Sometimes.”
She raised an eyebrow. I couldn’t even see her expression as we both faced the distant army, but I could hear it in her silence.
“So, how do the heroes save the day?”
“I don’t know. Last time only those on the highest mountains survived. But how will we do that now?” I shook my head. “And I can’t even get down to the Floodgates to release the Deluge. There are no stories that tell us how.”
She huffed a small laugh. “No stories that tell you how? Too bad you can’t just tell a story and whisk your way down.”
I joined in her chuckle. “No, even stories are usually tied to one place. There’s only one thing I know of that can truly go anywhere.”
I stopped.
I did know someone that could go anywhere, didn’t I? Because no story said she had to be in any one place. She was free.
The Unstoried Creature. The mother of goblins. She could take me there.
Gayala cried out in surprise as I kissed her.
***
“Well, it’ll be faster than digging our way there,” Lazul said.
No stories. Nothing to bind her. There were no stories now, or at least not like there used to be. No stories to bind her, certainly. So, it should be safe to tell the others about her now, right? I hoped so. We all stood in my hall: the company, Jayan, and now Gayala as well. Kae’A had also pressed into the hall. His wings twitched as he knelt on the paneled floor. Griffins were made for open skies, not for the inside of halls.
I raised an eyebrow at Yolian. He stroked his chin and nodded. “I think you may be right. It could work. But our timing would have to be perfect. And you know,” He looked around at everyone in the room, “no one’s coming back.”
I nodded. “I’m willing to pay the price.”
Gayala glared at me. “Anything to get away from me, eh?”
Karen Cordolis cheered. “I like your wife!”
I held up a hand. “If my life is what it takes to rescue the world, I’m willing to pay. I’m an old man. Not much is being sacrificed if I die. No, don’t give me that look. I know now. I’m not useless. But I’m the one best equipped to go to the Floodgates. I’ve faced the Unstoried Creature before. And I’m the Keeper of Tales. This is how my story ends, doesn’t it?”
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