Claw shook his head. “What was it? What is it?”
She stared into his eyes, new tears swimming in hers. “I am the greatest of fools, Claw. I have made a terrible, terrible mistake.”
“What? It couldn’t be that bad, Mistress. So a stray Death Spawn got out of the Shadow Realm. It can’t do that much harm, can it?” He didn’t believe his own words. That was no ordinary Death Spawn. “What was it?”
She swallowed and shook her head. Her mouth worked like a fish, opening and closing without making words.
He wrapped his arms around her in an embrace and she fell into him. He grunted at the unexpected weight of her body, fingers clinging onto his backplate like her life depended on it.
“It’s not supposed to end like this, not like this, not like this,” she said, voice muffled against his chest. She tapped her forehead into his chestplate with a gentle thud. How had it worn Amika’s face? The thought ate at him. Nyset smacked her head against him again, harder this time. She craned her head back to do it again and Claw dropped an arm, put his hand on her forehead to stop her. He could feel the beginnings of a bump forming against his palm. “Get yourself together, Arch Wizard,” he snapped.
A shudder went through her then. “I’m sorry. You’re right,” she breathed and stepped out of his embrace, letting his arm fall away. Her posture slowly resumed its regal bolt upright position, brushed off a shard of bone from her soaked robes and fought to straighten a sleeve. “Thank you again, Claw.” She met his eyes for a long second. His armor was left swathed in blood. He wondered if it could’ve all been Walter’s.
She was like a daughter to him. She looked so very much like his own daughter. Their eyes were strikingly similar. He would not fail her like he failed his own blood. She was long dead, long ago burned on the pyre. She had fallen during the Poison Wolves’ raid on his village.
“For another day.” Nyset turned around to lead the procession that had stopped around her. She pulled her shoulders back and clenched her fists, sweeping the crowd with a grim stare as though she could make up for her feelings of despair by a show of strength. She gave a harsh snort and wiped her arm on her sleeve. She gave Grimbald an assuring nod, and they resumed their long march towards the charred village.
Claw looked back to the sky, the flying Death Spawn a bobbing red jewel over the Far Sea. A flock of gulls gave it a wide girth while it passed. The wind howled over the bridge and threw a strip of blood-heavy gray hair over his brow. He pushed it behind his ear, wet and cold, and fingered the itching of a clotting cut on the back of his neck. The sea rolled with gentle waves, making the reflecting smudges of pinks and reds of the setting sun shimmer.
Senka and Isa had slid up along the rail, nervy hands clutching at weapons and white knuckling the rail. Their jaws worked and forearms flexed with tension.
“Someone going to tell me what that thing was?” Claw asked, pushing himself between them.
Senka and Isa shared a glance. Senka bit her lip and Isa grunted.
Senka twisted her shoulders to face Claw. “The Shadow princess, daughter of the Shadow god,” she said flatly, though worry creased her mouth.
“By the Phoenix,” Claw breathed. Now he understood Nyset’s plight, her terrible mistake. “Now she’s free.”
The following day, the rain was torrential and came in relentless sheets. Nothing would properly burn. Torches wouldn’t stay lit. The day was coated in a dark, crushing gray. The sun shone behind the clouds like a cold star. Everything that could be washed away was, more or less. Piss, blood, and bodily fluids on the Silver Tower’s bridge, ash on the Tower’s walls, Death Spawn refuse in the courtyard. Nyset was glad to have some of the choking stench gone, but would’ve liked to have at least a few torches burning to have a proper funeral. Life didn’t give you what you wanted.
The village north of the cemetery was a dark haze in the rain. A few blackened uprights at the village’s border stood against the rain and a few of the chimney stacks that hadn’t yet fallen had crumbled with the force of it all. The cemetery was mud-churned ash and gravel, well-traveled footpaths drowning in pools of it. Ancient headstones stood in jutting angles, packed in tight, and the words inscribed worn flat by the sea’s scourging winds. The winds of the Far Sea swept in over the cliffs surrounding the cemetery, cutting through water soaked robes and armor, making everyone’s bones chatter.
At least five hundred people gathered around the opened grave, heads hanging, muttering complaints about the cold between prayers. People pressed in close against one another for warmth, maybe for emotional comfort, but for warmth most of all, Nyset reckoned.
Graves were being dug all around in spots of wet earth lacking headstones. There were hundreds to be buried and they would get a warrior’s proper burial. For now, the digging and placing of ruined corpses into holes had mostly taken pause for Walter. A pair of muttering soldiers lowered a robed woman’s frame into a muddy grave. One of her arms was missing and a cavity of flesh had been hollowed out of her abdomen. Nyset couldn’t conceive of how that might have happened, but there it was.
“A sad place in the best of days,” Juzo muttered beside her. His long duster was held tight around him, the neck popped up high about his jaw, clumps of earth still clinging to the bottom, likely from his own grave. His cheeks were sunken, jaw sharp, neck throbbing with working tendons. His iron-gray hair was swept back over his head and streaked with red.
“These are not the best of days,” Nyset said, feeling like she was in someone else’s body, in someone else’s life. He had found time to feed Nyset thought, judging by the fresh red in his hair, though she was sure he didn’t have much of a choice.
“Juzo, never liked that Death Spawn look of his,” Claw said to himself, but not quite enough.
Juzo’s face twitched in a scowl, but seemed to let it go, eye focusing back on the rectangular section of earth where Walter lay.
Nyset wore robes and boots black as the sky, hood heavy with wet and pressed against her cheeks. She stared into the opened grave, Walter’s body covered in a red sheet below, showing only his pale head. Most of the red had been covered by mud now, some speckling his cheeks. She kept hoping that somehow he’d rise but knew it an impossibility. The gods did not refund sacrifices.
“Ever find Grozul the betrayer?” Nyset whispered to Claw.
“No sign of him. Don’t worry, Mistress, we’ll find him if we have to turn over every stinking log in the realm.”
“I’m not worried,” she said and meant it. Grozul would have to live out his life with one eye open and his head on a swivel. That stress would wear anyone down eventually.
People made their way to the grave, drizzling clods of mud over his form and breathing prayers. An old woman knelt over his grave, her wispy hair blowing. “They took my daughters, they took my man, they took my everything,” she said over and over, sprinkling mud over him. A young boy not older than four or five years stared at the old woman and took her muddy hand after she rose. They trudged off into the milling throng.
“Didn’t think I’d ever live to see this day.” Juzo wiped his weeping nose on the back of his hand and winced.
“How are you feeling?” Nyset croaked. It was an effort to take her eyes away from Walter.
“Hard to describe, like learning how to use my body all over again.” He was gaunt and had the look of a partially dried corpse, far worse off than he’d looked in the Shadow Realm. His scarlet eye held none of the defiance it usually had, downcast and watery. “Things are mending though. By the gods, the wound Walter sent me off with hurts.” Juzo turned his head, showing her the blackened spot on his temple where Walter had burned him right through.
A handful of apprentices came up together. One had a bandaged arm, another with an ugly burn on the side of her face, a third missing a leg and hobbling on a crutch.
“Mistress,” one of them muttered, dropping her handful of mud. The others followed suit, then shuffled off making room for other mourners.
She couldn’t remember their names now. Her mind wasn’t working right, clogged up with the weight of grief.
Lena squatted before the grave’s edge, dreadlocks swaying and dripping water. “He was a good man,” she said between prayers. She sprinkled a handful of bright orange chicory powder, an herbalist’s offering for the dead. It supposedly bestowed safety upon those in the Shadow Realm, but Walter was not there. Walter’s soul, as well as his body, were dead and gone.
“Still have the curse?” Nyset shifted her eyes to Juzo, saw him wince.
He nodded. “Was hoping it would have lifted.”
“We’ll figure it out.” She gave his frozen hand a squeeze and he squeezed back before letting go.
Juzo sniffed and shuffled his feet. “There’s something I don’t understand. You saw people in her? In the Shadow god’s mouth? That place of fire in her mouth… there were people in it, screaming, in pain. Like another world, another realm.”
“I did.” She felt an involuntary shudder pulse through her body.
“Know what that place is?”
“No.” She slowly shook her head. “I think there are some things we’ll never understand. Some things are always on the horizon of our islands of knowledge.”
“There are other worlds,” Juzo said, his eye squinting down at Walter’s grave.
“Are you ready for the words, Mistress?” Claw asked from behind. She looked over her shoulder, saw his face dripping with wet. His cloak hood was thrown back despite the rain. It seemed like the lines around his eyes and mouth had deepened over the last week. She never thought he looked old, but now she did.
She swallowed and nodded. She would never be ready. She looked down at Walter’s eye, shut forever. She felt Senka’s eyes on her and met them, standing on the other side of the grave. Senka’s eyes flitted down and her cheeks flushed with hints of red. Isa stood beside her, head tilted up at the rain, his white eyelids closed. He looked to be lost in his own sort of reverie. He’d been staring up at the sky since they’d arrived.
“The Mistress speaks! Quiet down!” Claw shouted, though there wasn’t much to quiet but murmuring prayers.
She was overcome with a mix of horror at knowing the Shadow princess was still free and a crushing emptiness at seeing Walter laying in the mud, motionless. Never again would she hear him laugh, smile at her with his silly smiles. Never again would she feel his touch, hear his voice. She inhaled sharply, had to steel herself and brushed away new tears mixing in with the icy rain.
“Walter Glade hailed from Breden, same town as me. We left after our city had been raided by Death Spawn, the first since Asebor’s awakening according to the… documented cases.” Her voice started breaking and she paused to get a full breath. Where was she going with this? She hadn’t spent the time to prepare, unable to sleep, unable to do anything but stare out her window all night.
“He killed the Shadow god, did what he’d always wanted to do. He made the Shadow Realm a place where men could go to rest. You should have seen him fight!” She let out a desperate laugh. “He could fight like no other. Saved my life, saved the life of most of the people here, I’d say.”
She snorted and a chill washed through her. “Some folk take to war, combat… Walter had.” Her eyes fixed on the heaps of mud covering his body. “It seems to me that most just get through it the best they can. Most of us, we’re all just trying to survive.” Nyset’s blurry eyes scanned over hooded faces, scarred warriors, and sniffing wizards. She looked at the burned-out village, thinking that it was once some folk’s lives. “Being a warrior, it’s not all camaraderie and glory, not like the songs, nothing like the stories. This was the truth of war.” She gestured at the grave and felt a hot tear slip down her cheek.
“He sacrificed for us. Walter Glade made the ultimate sacrifice and gave himself to the gods so that we could live. He was a dual-wielder to be remembered for all the ages to come, a warrior, a hero, my lover, a son, and a friend to many. He prevented another Age of Night, prevented the near end of the Age of Dawn. Because of him, the Age of Dawn will carry on and man will continue to live in peace among the gods.”
A few grunts of agreement and a couple of sorry cheers sprang out from the crowd.
Nyset continued. “He would’ve said he just did what anyone else would’ve done, but I’m not sure that’s the case. He endured pain that would’ve broken the average man many times over. But he endured, even returned from the fetters of the Shadow Realm. Killed a god and her son, Asebor. Let it be known that Walter Glade was the slayer of the Shadow god and her kin.”
“The Shadow slayer,” Grimbald, grunted from somewhere behind her.
It felt like time rushed over her, spinning like a dust-devil. Thousands of memories played in her mind then, and all at once. She was reading a book on her stoop and Walter came by to visit. Lost in thought and bumping into him in Breden square. He was inside her and moaning into her ear. Another time, they shared a pastry in the Lair. He was screaming and breathing fire over the demons of the Shadow Realm, wondering if she would ever kiss him again. Now, she had her answer.
She hadn’t known how long she stood there in silence, staring into his pale face. She was shivering and her breath steamed on the morning air. There was a streak of blood on her palm and a red smear on her fingers, mixed in with mud. She had cut herself spreading her earth and hadn’t remembered doing it. A curtain of water lashed across her side, made her shudder and close her muddy fist.
Despite the weather, no one left to hurry back to the Tower, tents, the arms of comfort. It seemed more folk were coming in ones and twos, guards who were changing watch and given the chance to pay their respects. Nobody bothered her. She wondered if she had become invisible then. She wondered how many of these people had met him, known him, or had a passing conversation with him.
“He was a brave man. One of the finest,” Thalia said beside her. How long had she been there? She wore dark furs made black as coal with the rain, held tight around her shivering body.
Nyset forced a smile, met her hard eyes, and slowly nodded. She felt numb.
Thalia continued and looked down at his grave. “He saved my life in Tower’s courtyard. And the lives of a few of my best warriors. I- the Tree Folk will never forget him.”
“Thank you, Thalia.” Nyset reached over and squeezed her hand. Thalia squeezed back then cupped Nyset’s hand in both of hers, imparting a bit of her warmth.
She looked up as the sun broke through the clouds and a spatter of rain brushed her brow. She thought for a second she saw the light take on the form of the Dragon, twisted into the Phoenix and then it was gone. The beam of light was beautiful, showing the full color of the iron world below. It warmed her face for an instant. The clouds crept over it, once again bathing the land in midnight. Nothing can last forever, even grieving, she told herself.
“A blessing from the gods,” Juzo said.
“You saw it too?”
He nodded. “I did.”
She felt empty, though. Like part of her had gone with him, a part she could never fill. She knew that hole would always be there. She eyed a huge solitary silver-gray tree near the cliff’s edge, leafless and dead with roots like serpents, crawling out the cliff side.
The clouds opened again, showing a golden sun and bathing the world with its radiance and heat. A soft, pleasurable murmuring went over the crowd. Shades of pink and warm amber touched the gray tree.
“Want some help?” Grimbald asked.
“I’ll do it.” Juzo gave a snort and hefted a shovel. He sent the first great clod of earth over Walter and the clouds widened, the sun shining with summer brilliance. Mist curled into the air and warmed the tip of her chilled nose. The clouds were slowly dashed away and the wind quieted while Juzo buried Walter. “A blessing indeed,” Juzo smiled up at the sun.
Nyset blubbered out with a great sob. Her eyes wound shut, burned and streamed tears. Her stomach shuddered and heaved. Her breath gurgled in her sore th
roat. She wrapped her arms around her body, sobbing uncontrollably. Her whole face pained with the violence of her crying. There was a part of her that said this was not how an Arch Wizard should mourn.
Claw shuffled up beside her and he pulled her into his arms, held her tight. Held like her like her father would have, firm, protective. She clung to his cold cloak, sobbing against his chest, wailing with words she couldn’t comprehend.
Everyone else stood around, waited and held vigil while Walter Glade, the giant slayer, the Shadow slayer, was buried. Juzo worked methodically, each shovel full seeming to weigh him down a little less than the last.
Nyset twisted her head against Claw’s chest and watched with bleary eyes as clod after clod was tossed over him, listened to the scraping of the shovel through earth. It took almost two hours to bury what was once thought the last dual-wielder of this age. The Age of Dawn would march on, but the people would never forget the heroes of this age who’d made it possible. Nyset Camfield, Arch Wizard of the Silver Tower would make sure of it.
Chapter 26
A Familiar Face
“Happiness and triumph are only acceptable if they are shared.” -The Diaries of Nyset Camfield
Six months had passed since Walter died and the Shadow Realm had been purged of evil. Some apprentices bold enough to participate in Nyset’s experiments reported that the Shadow Realm contained a garden of the most unimaginable beauty. They said the sunsets were endless, the waters crystal clear, and the world teeming with benevolent life. How she conducted these experiments, however, was anything but benevolent.
All her participants knew, and were well compensated, for the revival experiment. She had heard stories of people seeing the Shadow Realm while walking that razor’s edge between life and death, and decided it was the only viable test she could conceive. But she had to know that Walter’s sacrifice hadn’t gone in vain.
A New Light (The Age of Dawn Book 5) Page 53