She had constructed the pyre herself, a quick platform of branches and sticks that supported her brother. It was by no means as tall or impressive as the one Erda had rested on, but for the size of the audience—just herself—it would do the job. She had picked up his body and gently laid it down. Seeing his face still brought a shudder to her, for every time, she saw Cyrus in fifteen years. She considered constructing a mask to put over his face, for he had lived much of his life in such a form, but decided against it. She was laying to rest Typhos, her brother, not Typhos, the villain.
She quickly constructed a torch and used her magic to create a fire over it. She paused just in front of the pyre, collecting her thoughts. The night had settled in completely, with no random strands of light. She could still hear the cries of celebration from afar. This would be the end of Typhos’ existence entirely once she put the flame on his pyre. It became difficult for her to acknowledge the finality of it all. A small part of her wanted to believe in the restoration of life after death. She wanted to hold on to the hope that she could revive him and, with his initial death, transform him into the greatest savior of all.
But society would not allow it. She would have to live knowing only she—and, to a small extent, Cyrus—understood the true complexities of Typhos, and how he had saved Monda at the last breath. No one else would believe it. Even if they could go back in time to that moment, they wouldn’t believe it. Raising Typhos back into this world would bring him back to a world where everyone hated him and no one would give him a chance.
She took a deep breath and slowly advanced on the pyre. She paused just a couple of feet in front and gently tossed the torch near the top. The whole construction—as well as Typhos’ body—began to burn seconds later.
She struggled to breathe. Again, Celeste thought of ending the fire and saving him, but what was there to save? Nothing.
The fire soon spread across Typhos’ body. She twitched with emotion as she saw the fires consuming him, taking what it had started with the burns on his face. But she promised herself she would not cry, not here. She had cried enough during the war, and she wanted to remain strong for her brother’s final moment.
The body of Typhos had soon burned to nothing, leaving only his black clothing. Celeste gulped and gave a short nod. She promised that he would use his name and what he had done not to scorn or judge, but to help change things for the better. She gave a short bow and departed, letting the fire finish itself out as the ashes of Typhos soared into the sky, scattering across Monda.
Celeste arrived with an appreciative smile on her face as the party had reached peak celebration. Everyone danced—everyone. She even saw her Dad swaying to music being played. Cyrus and Crystil danced in each other’s arms, and some soldiers even danced with Kastori. She saw Garrus and Hanna dancing in front of each other, and laughed.
The laughter gave away her arrival to Cyrus and Crystil, who broke off their dancing and ran over to Celeste. Cyrus embraced her first, his hug full of energy, vigor, and love. Cyrus pulled back, and Celeste squeezed his arms, full of pride. She looked past him and saw Crystil, and squeezed her just as tightly. Both women laughed with joy, finally able to relax without wondering what was on the other side of the night.
Crystil and Cyrus invited her in to dance, and she walked with them about two steps.
She stopped herself, however, and took a minute to look up at the night sky, alone in her thoughts. So much had happened in the last few years that she knew there was no way all of it could be preserved in her memory. She had to write it down and pass the story on, the better so that future wars would not happen. She had to make sure a word like “magicologist” never became part of their lexicon, only “Kastori.” She could not change the perception of Typhos, but at least wanted to provide enough dimensions in the story to make people understand his path. She did not want to sugarcoat the amount of death and celestial destruction which had taken place, but she also wanted to shine a light on how so many people—the three of them, her father, the Kastori—fought even under arduous circumstances, holding on to an incredibly slim hope that the fighting would someday end.
One part she knew she could never tell, that would always remain personal to herself, was the hope that she could save her brother from himself. Such a story for a historical account was far too personal—and frankly, she knew, unbelievable. She always believed he could be saved. Though she mourned the loss, she appreciated that she’d gotten a short moment with him on her side, even if the moment had not even lasted a couple of minutes. She felt gratitude that he said he had found peace—it was all she ever really fought for, knowing if she got that, peace for Monda would follow.
While gazing at the stars, she tried to imagine where Anatolus had once stood. She hated that it was gone, part of the destruction of war. But she silently thanked fate that she’d gotten to see it, for it allowed her to see the people she had once called magicologists in a proper light and be able to live with them—and that Cyrus and especially Crystil had gotten that chance.
She gave a weary but profoundly grateful smile. She swore she would tell the story, chronicling the Kastori and humans as best as she could.
She heard footsteps approaching and turned to see Cyrus returning. He put his arm around her with a broad smile and nodded back to the party, inviting her back in. Crystil waited by the entrance, her arm leaning against the wall. Celeste laughed and walked in.
The three headed for a small table where they each took a clear, unadorned glass of white wine. The three who had started out punching each other, abandoning each other, and distrusting each other now looked each other in the eye with complete faith and love for the other person. They had to stop themselves from laughing several times before Celeste finally calmed them and raised their glasses in honor of the journey and the two of them, saying there was no one she would have rather fought with and that she loved them both.
The three clinked glasses, gulped their wine down, pleasantly exhaled, and laughed some more.
Celeste, Cyrus, and Crystil joined the revelers in celebration, joyful in their triumph and finally living in peace.
Epilogue
Cyrus stood at the peak of the Reygar Mountains, overlooking a newly rebuilt Capitol City. With the power of the Kastori and the grit of the humans, they had rebuilt all of the city—and added new monuments and memorials—in just a year’s time. He could even see the land just west of Capitol City where dozens of tents had sprouted up—a chance for the Kastori to rebuild their society with humanity, distinct yet respectful, with different approaches but inhabiting the same world.
He smiled wistfully as he awaited the arrival of the other three hikers. Any signs of destruction from the war had mostly vanished. They built a memorial just a couple miles north of the palace to ensure no one forgot, but they had built it in a respectful and organized manner. All of the trees had regrown, the destroyed and burned patches of land had returned, and the palace had been restored entirely.
The first hiker arrived. Celeste placed an arm around Cyrus’ shoulders. The two smiled knowingly at the planet.
Then he heard the arrival of the other two.
Cyrus turned, hopped down a step, and hugged his wife, Crystil, and his three-month-old daughter, Aida.
Author’s Note
By the technical definition, this entire series has been a self-published venture. I alone uploaded the documents to Amazon, and I alone get royalties for the sales of this book.
But the truth is, the term “self-published” doesn’t do justice to the work that many people have done in helping my debut fantasy series become the story that it has. Because without these people, my books would be terrible, boring, inconsistent, erratic, and many other adjectives ill-fitting of a good book. So, without further ado…
Thank you to my beta readers. Derek, for giving me the necessary courage to push forward with your high praise on “Revelations”; Jennifer, for being the type to spot a single missing comma,
even when everyone but you would have missed it; Toph, for providing the kind of feedback on dialogue and character development that only someone who has lived and worked in Hollywood can give; Lisa, for devouring these books like I do pizza slices and providing me the first wave of feedback; and Nancy, for riding me hard about character development and consistency in a way no one else does.
Thank you to my cover designer, Mirela, who makes the kind of covers that make my fantasy author colleagues jealous. Someday I will make you one of the most well-known cover designers, period.
Thank you to my editors, Moriah and Rachel, for making sure I avoided grammar mistakes, kept my character names accurate, and didn’t repeat myself too often.
I also owe a huge thanks to my sources of inspiration for this series, the Final Fantasy series and the Star Wars saga. Of course, these are the inspirations that I consciously know of. Having paid a sliver of attention to neuroscience and other psychology classes in college, I know that there are numerous other sources that influenced me that I don’t even recognize. I am sure that there are elements of Lord of the Rings, Zelda, Star Trek, World of Warcraft and other epic, excellent sci-fi/fantasy series that elude my mind now in my story. There are even some relatively unknown authors who, having read and loved their work, I’m sure have influenced me—Phil Tucker, Daniel Arenson, Ben Hale, and V.R. Cardoso come to mind now. To all of those who create, inspire awe, and contribute to the culture of fantasy—thank you.
But most especially, as trite as it might sound, thank you to you, the reader. If you are reading this, you’ve finished this book and thus the series. It’s a big deal to take a risk with your time on a brand new fantasy author and his first series, so I truly appreciate that you devoted the dozen or so hours it takes to read these books. I hope that you stay tuned for more epic, longer, more fantastical stories, and I hope that I can make them as enjoyable to you as this one.
Thank you.
Thank You
Thank you for reading this story! It took me many months of hard edits, brutal reflection and numerous drafts to get this story finished, and I truly appreciate that you read through all the way to the end.
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Bibliography
The Kastori Chronicles
Kastori Revelations (March 2016)
Kastori Devastations (May 2016)
Kastori Tribulations (July 2016)
Kastori Restorations (September 2016)
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2016 by Stephen Allan
Cover art copyright © 2016 by Mirela Barbu
Edited via EditorConnect.com
All rights reserved. Published by Sypha Entertainment, Inc.
Visit us online! stephenaallan.com
Kastori Restorations (The Kastori Chronicles Book 4) Page 25