The Things We Bury

by Kaleb Schad

  Silence dragged out for long seconds. Outside she heard several horses and armored men ride past, shouting some orders about towing a catapult in place.

  “We could do great things together, Anaz.” The words poured out of her, all the fantasies and dreams she’d fostered this last week, bared and naked for him. “We could be free. Live off the land as you’ve done. Simple. Away from politics and undead. We could help people when they need it. Maybe I don’t need to be an Airim’s Lance, Anaz. Together we could help people in ways we couldn’t when either of us are alone. The two of us. Together.”

  She breathed heavy, but from nervousness or excitement, she couldn’t tell.

  Then, “I cannot.”

  A cold ache knitted her throat. “We could take Sunell,” she said. “Lelana. We owe it to them. After everything they’ve done, risked, we can’t leave them to my father’s mercy.”

  “I pray the hsing-li and Airim’s mercy is greater than your father’s.”

  Every word he spoke felt as if he were digging the ground out from under her, a blackness opening, waiting to swallow her.

  “We could run and they could present themselves to Earl Ventner and beg for asylum. The king will protect them when he learns they were helping people escape—trying to follow his orders.”

  “That is a good plan. You should help them do that. Do the same for yourself.”

  The hole grew wider.

  “It won’t help me, Anaz,” she said. “I’m the baron’s daughter. I can’t beg asylum. Wouldn’t get it even if I could. The law is clear.”

  “Perhaps you could help them run. Then keep running.” He pulled his hand away from hers and eased himself back so he was laying again. She wanted to snatch back his hand, terrified by the sudden emptiness in hers.

  “Without you?”

  “Without me.”

  “Why, Anaz? I thought…”

  “Isabell…”

  She couldn’t keep from trembling as she whispered, “Was I wrong? The kiss? Did it mean nothing?”

  She studied his face, watched a single tear sneak out from under his closed eyes, slip silently to the floor.

  “It meant too much,” he said.

  From below, someone came into the Stop and Isabell could hear the innkeeper talking. The satin smell of baking bread and ale hops.

  “I used to love a woman and I think she maybe loved me back,” Anaz said. “She was always content, never happy, never sad, just…there. Even as a slave. Even when they’d torture her. But me, there wasn’t a wind that didn’t whip me in a new direction. Our people, we reach into the way things are at their center, inside the hsing-li and ask them to choose a new way of being. This is what you call my magic. She helped me to remember that the only way to hear the hsing-li’s whisper is to silence my own noise. Even amidst their kicks and tortures, she held to her silence. She would say that there is nothing outside of yourself that can bring you joy or loss.”

  As he spoke, Isabell knew the blackness was going to swallow her, that he was going to push her into it. Feared that maybe he didn’t even care.

  “But I didn’t listen to her,” he said. “I only replaced one passion with another—with love of her. And when they took her…” He had to stop, unable to speak.

  Isabell’s own eyes were wet. She raised a hand to touch Anaz, but stopped, set it back on her lap, unsure of herself. Of him. “I’d rather die!” She was surprised at her own fury. “I’d rather die than marry Olisal. I’ll never be a pawn of my father’s.”

  Anaz looked at her, tension around his eyes. “Life is worth more. You will find joy. Or at least peace. Acceptance. More than you would with me.”

  “I don’t want peace. I want…” She stopped herself from saying it.

  “The hsing-li has given me the Rot as a warning. I have been here before. I cannot again,” he whispered. “It hurts too much.”

  “This hsing-li won’t allow you to love?”

  “It…I don’t know.”

  “Because that’s what it is, Anaz. I know how it sounds, but it is. It is love.”

  He clenched his jaw and made a fist, then let go.

  “I know,” he whispered.

  “Then help me! How can you give in so easily? How can you let my father do this to us?”

  He shook his head.

  Isabell stood up. She was shaking and crying, making no efforts to hold back the tears as she said, “You’re wrong. Your hisng-li doesn’t keep you from being attached to people. If your hsing-li is made up of the world, then it has to know that loss and love are the two clasped hands that carry every life. You cannot live without both.”

  She was silent for a long time. “No, your hsing-li doesn’t keep you from loving me,” she said. “Your cowardice does.”

  She turned to leave, paused at the door for a fraction of a second, hoping—ridiculously hoping—that maybe he’d call for her to stop.

  He didn’t.

  55

  There weren’t words. Words were only so much air with something like this. Alysha looked at Daveon’s face and he looked at hers and the kids were inside and even they, even they felt gravity tilt when he entered the house and all he had to do was look his wife in the eye, smile and nod.

  It was as if she were ten years younger. The sloughing pull of burning horses and burning barns and plagued family and neighbors lifted and her face regained something that had been stolen so slowly over so many years that he hadn’t really noticed it had been missing this entire time. She gasped something between a sob and laugh and leapt at Daveon. He barely braced against her, wrapping his arms around her and catching her, his hands feeling her body for the first time since he’d returned. Soft yet firm, meaty and powerful.

  He set her down and Alysha waved over the kids and scooped up Elnis who giggled and Daveon bent to pick up Nikolai. So heavy! When had this happened? He lifted Miria in the other. She tried to turn away, but he caught her and lifted her and they mashed themselves together into a laughing, crying press of family.

  Of family.

  The words tripped something.

  “What did he say?” Alysha said.

  They set the children down and he turned to the steaming water over the fire. He scooped some into a cup and then turned and leaned against the door.

  She watched him, how he didn’t answer her, didn’t come all the way into the house, leaned against the door. “What’s wrong?”

  “The Lances offered to let us keep Syla,” he said. “For getting out of here.”

  Caution. An unsure smile. “They did?”

  He nodded. Nikolai sat with the kids, a pile of sticks built into a log fort between them. He watched Daveon.

  “They didn’t want all of the horses?”

  “Well,” he said, “It was more of a trade.”

  There was no smile now.

  “What did we give?”

  It took a moment before he could say it.

  “Me.”

  “You.”

  “They need help getting the animals to Nove. The wall is moving to cut off the port and if the Lances can’t get men there fast, well, it won’t matter if Fisher Pass stops the wall here or anywhere. The whole thing’ll be over.”

  “And they asked you to go.”

  “I said I wouldn’t go all the way. Only to Dove’s Landing.”

  He watched disbelief reclaim her face and its brief lightness. “This is a foul jest.” She dropped into a chair and her eyes stared through Daveon’s legs, through the walls of their home, into an abyss.

  “We made it, Alysha.” He came into the room and dropped to a knee in front of his wife. “We did it. Malic can’t touch us anymore. The Wretched haven’t reached us. We have a mount—not just a mount, but Syla, the sturdiest, most stubborn old rope we’ve ever owned who knows these trails better than any of us—and you and the kids can ride out of here.”

  “But not until you’re back,” she said.

  “A couple hours. They said we’ll leave
soon. I’ll be back before the moon finishes her arc.”

  “And if the wall gets here before then?”

  “It won’t.”

  “We don’t have days anymore, Daveon! We have hours!”

  “Just get the cart ready and—”

  “This is about you trying to be a hero again, isn’t it?”

  “What?”

  “Just like before—”

  “I’m doing this for you! For the kids! We can’t run on—”

  “You won’t be happy until you’re dead! And you don’t care if we go with you!”

  Daveon clapped his mouth shut as if he’d been slapped.

  “For the love of Airim. You fought at Lindisfarne! How much more ‘glory’ do the Therentells need? Do you have to die like your brother? You were there with Rayen! Everyone knows it—”

  Only after he screamed, “I wasn’t!” did he even realize he’d said it.

  Silence avalanched into the room.

  “I wasn’t,” he whispered. His heart hammered, the terrifying truth boiling his blood. “I ran, Alysha.”

  “What?”

  And, like Fennel’s swollen guts had that morning, Daveon’s secrets spewed from him. “We’d been bringing horses up from Captain Plin’s outpost. I’d just reached their camp and I was excited to see Rayen for the first time in a couple years. He was leading a squadron of the Seventh. He’d gotten permission to escort me as I took the herd up to the wall as it would be my first time seeing it. I’d been so excited to ride with my big brother. He’d already earned a name for himself by then, following in our father’s footsteps. I’d thought for sure we’d win the war, just the two of us together.” Daveon sat down. He felt as if everything that had held him up the last ten years, every lie that had anchored him, had unmoored and he feared he’d be swept away. Never recover.

  Alysha held her hands in front of her, paused in uncertainty. The children watched him.

  “It was sunset when we got there. We were on the far side of Lindisfarne when I saw the wall the first time, a small farm with a couple neighboring houses nearby. The wall, I couldn’t believe how big it was. It was making this weird pulsing motion, forwards and backwards, a constant dry hiss of stones and bones grinding against each other. Rayen laughed and said I looked just like everyone does when they see it the first time. And then he stopped laughing. He saw something that I couldn’t. He ordered his scout from his squadron to ride ahead. I’d never seen him afraid before, Alysha, never in my entire life, but he was afraid. It terrified me. I looked around and I saw a pa and ma and two little girls standing outside one of the houses, watching us, watching the wall. They were loading a wagon, the ma harnessing a horse to it.”

  Daveon stopped and rubbed at his closed eyes.

  “This is a different version,” Alysha said. “You said you—”

  “I know what I said,” he cut off. “This is the truth, Alysha. I can’t…” He swallowed and cleared his throat, but he couldn’t look at her as he spoke, only stared at the floor. “There was this crashing sound, like a thunder. The wall split open and started its gap attack. Right there. Next to us. Dozens of Fletchers and Wallwraiths poured out of the opening. Red Tails, the dogs going straight for our horses. And there, in the middle of it was the Tellich. He was huge, twice the size of me. A strange blue glowing gas surrounded his head, but I could still see his green eyes through the cloud and he was looking right at me. At me and Rayen. The Fletchers killed one, then two of Rayen’s squadron. There were a couple other squadrons already up there, but it wasn’t going to be enough. There was no way three or four squads could hold the wall back. The rest of the army was on its way, but they would never get there in time. I knew all of this, Alysha. And I knew Rayen knew it.”

  Daveon began sobbing. He struggled to say, “He said he was going in. I wanted to follow, but I couldn’t. He didn’t even ask me, Alysha. Didn’t judge. He just nodded and said, ‘Take care of Pa for me.’” Daveon couldn’t speak. For several long seconds he sucked against the tears and the crying, felt his guts knotting around themselves.

  Alysha knelt in front of him, grabbed his hands. “It’s not your—”

  “Rayen ran into the wall,” Daveon said over her. “I ran away from it. I ran into that farm house where the family had been, but by then the Wretched had reached them and everyone was running and screaming. I found a cellar under the home and went down into it and the pa was down there with his two girls, but the ma was missing. He held a sword. I hid with them and then a Fletcher appeared at the top of the stairs. It came down and even then, even then, I was too scared to fight. The father attacked it by himself, but he couldn’t beat it.” Daveon pulled a slow, shuddering breath. Regained a little control. “When I saw those two girls, though…something came over me…I couldn’t let the creature kill them. I got lucky and somehow killed the Fletcher.”

  He sat and breathed for a long time.

  “What happened to the girls?” Nikolai whispered from the floor.

  Daveon looked up. All three children sat huddled together, watching him, eyes white and wide. They were so afraid. How could he be so cruel and tell a story of little kids being attacked by the Wretched in front of them like this? Of course they were worried about what happened to the children. He shook his head. “I don’t know, son. They ran out of the cellar looking for their ma. By the time I got up they were gone.”

  “Why didn’t you ever…?” Alysha said.

  He wiped at his nose. “I ran, Alysha. I ran away. I let my brother die.”

  “It’s not your fault,” she said. “There was nothing you could have—”

  “Never drew my sword after that. Never fought a single battle in the war. They pulled me back to the supply camps after they regrouped at Lindisfarne, had me helping with the hospitals and managing the stock animals. And then my father got sick and petitioned the king and called me home.”

  “But you fought again at Vlein, when that farmer’s family was pinned in and you and those others got them out,” Alysha said.

  Daveon shook his head. “A story I’d heard from a wounded Airim’s Lance in the physik’s tent.”

  “Parnell’s Ridge?”

  “The same knight.”

  Alysha stared at Daveon, her mouth slightly open, a small back and forth shaking.

  “I let him die, Alysha. I let Rayen die. I should have been there for him. I can’t bring him back, but I can do this for us. This is something I was meant to do. Help the Airim’s Lances and help us at the same time. Only a couple more hours. I feel it. My entire life I’ve known I was meant to do something like this, something great. I’ve always been good at fighting, better than Rayen even.”

  He rose to his feet, but held tight to Alysha’s hands. Her eyes tracked him. They were dry, the eyelids heavy. Daveon wasn’t sure if he’d rather she’d been crying.

  “Have the cart ready. I’ll be back tonight and we go. For our boys, Alysha. Let me do this to show my sons what it means to live for something, to live for duty. I do this for our family.”

  Alysha turned and looked at Elnis. He had broken one of the sticks into half, then half again, working it into smaller and smaller pieces, debris sprinkled around his feet.

  When she looked back at Daveon, he knew there was something broken in her that might never be fixed. She said, “this is no family.”

  They rode out in the late afternoon, climbing the ridge that he’d buried his father and mother on after the Rot had taken them, the horses cantering up the rocks, scrub brush and chickadees and grasshoppers around their legs. Sir Calner led them and the girl, Ella, rode at the rear on her ursanine.

  They’d given him a cloak and he adjusted the collar for the fifth time, the rope buckle choking him. He patted Syla’s neck.

  Daveon stopped near the top of the ridge and turned in his saddle. Ella stopped with him. He looked back at his house, looking for any sign of them watching him, like last time. Nobody moved. Smoke still hazed out of the smolderi
ng barn and Fennel’s burning pyre. The setting sun poured red and orange across the pastures and splashed up against his house and he got the distinct impression of flames as if his house were on fire.

  56

  Isabell couldn’t stop staring at it, at it and the dagger pinning it to the vanity. She sat on the edge of her bed and thought she might retch. From crying or from despair, did it matter?

  Hanging there, void of body and white as a ghost, was a wedding gown. White silk and crystal studded lace. High collared and frail. The most beautiful shackles senits could buy.

  His note: Duty is a thing above all. Even one’s life. —Your lord Baron Marcen Blackhand

  She wanted to rip it down, run back through town and throw the dress at Anaz. Force him to confront what he’d left her to face. What he’d left her… He’d left her…

  Tears swooped up on her in a swell and she gripped her stomach and leaned over her knees and wailed.

  How had things fallen apart so terribly? So quickly? She could see his face, not the face on the floor of the Sunflower Stop, but the face at Market Days, watching her, hungry, laughing when he corrected her pronunciation of Abek-cia. The face holding her as the elf thief was thrown over them. The stubborn face on the trail smiling up at her as they walked to his cabin. The simple wisdoms he’d toss out. The feel of his body against her as they slept in his cabin. The feel of his hands as he lifted her after the fight with the Wretched. The feel of his kiss…

  All of it. Gone.

  Replaced with a wedding dress.

  Everything she’d cared about had been taken from her. What had they left? What had any of them left her?

  Somewhere down the stairs she heard screaming. A girl’s voice. And men in armor. Isabell threw open her door and flew down the stairs, two at a time, her bare feet fwapping against the stone.

  Outside her page’s room stood four men in chainmail, swords drawn. Sir Nattic emerged through the door dragging Sunell by her hair.