Wyndall found the strength to continue. “Tomorrow we march to war and a clouded future, but today we honor those stolen from us. There is much that I could say about those that rest before us now, but much of it you already know, because they did not hide themselves from any of you. All three cared for us with all of their ability.” Wyndall paused. His eyes looked again at the pyre before him, a pyre he had spent long hours crafting himself.
Wyndall had risked the fires of Bannar’s Keep to find the body of Alderich while Enora’s was brought back to Bannar from Rahn, cleaned and tended to. It hurt Wyndall that Norryn’s body could not be found, though looking at the eyes of his friend Serra Landring, he needed no more proof that the young boy was gone from this world. Wyndall had overseen the funeral from the start to finish. Because of his closeness to the Ashener family, there had been no questions or contestation to this.
The pyre was immense and Alderich and Enora’s bodies were wrapped with care and placed together in its center. The pyre was also surrounded in the fragrant smells and petals of every flower the country had to offer. The contents of the pyre and its tribute were presently obscured by sheets ready to embrace an open flame. What was in store for those at the vigil, only Wyndall and a select few knew the answer.
Wyndall then pressed on with his words. “Each of the fallen were special, luminous human beings. Together they were an inspiration and guiding hand to all of us in ways we know and in ways we will never know. They represented the best in us all, and while they have moved on from this world, all three have left us with the hope and the insight to carry on into whatever future that awaits.” Wyndall geared himself for the inevitable; the one thing that he knew would be the hardest thing to come. Wyndall had to say goodbye.
“To Alderich Ashener, my comrade, my best friend, I bid farewell. You were, whether you realized it or not, the major hand in the creation of this great country. Tireless was your work and guidance, and you expected nothing from anyone that you were not willing to give of yourself. Many times, I have seen you doubt yourself or question the role that had befallen you, but each time you carried on again with renewed strength, refusing to let any of us down. You my friend have laid the groundwork for us to endure, and it is up to us to take that torch and head into the future with as much courage and understanding as you yourself once carried. Rest yourself now and know that you leave this world with no regrets, because you always gave with every ounce of your heart—and we listened.”
He only paused for a moment before continuing. “To Enora Ashener, chosen of my best friend and friend to all, I bid farewell. Your beauty was only matched in the depth of understanding you contained for others. Alderich ventured into the unknown with much strength, but I know he found such strength renewed in you. In your own ways, you were the inspiration and love that saw him through every season. I know he rose each day, ready to face every trial, because he had you always by his side. You were a wonderful woman whose wit, conviction and selflessness bled into the hearts of those you touched. Rest now, with a sad heart we return you to the Earth but take comfort in knowing you go in the arms of your chosen and leave us sad, but proud and humbled to have crossed paths with you.”
The next farewell would be the most difficult. Looking again and regretting it, his eyes met the haggard gaze of Serra Landring. The grief and void that had engulfed her were as raw now as it had been when she knew and felt the passing. It threatened to make Wyndall’s heart burst. He knew she would be hanging on his every word, wanting justice in the farewell while being pierced with every syllable. Wyndall wondered how she had remained so poised and was at least thankful that her parents were there to support her in this moment.
“To Norryn Ashener, heir of the Ashener legacy and inspiration to all, I bid farewell. We saw in you the future, a destiny greater than those that came before you. There is no one present who did not love you, and somehow you found the means to touch us all. Through all my years, I can honestly say I had never met anyone who came close to the potential that you had yet to release.” Wyndall steeled himself to the grief that was rising, not only in him, but to those around him. He noticed that tears waited impatiently within the eyes of Serra as she dropped to her knees. And yet she looked on for her friend, doing everything she could to give his death the justice that it deserved. “Ultimately, through every action you showed a genuine compassion for all those around you. You found all people fascinating, loving each for their own uniqueness and your enthusiasm was contagious. I will remember every encounter that I had with you, and I am not alone. It is you that I cannot tell to rest easy, because in my heart, I know you will not. The flame that has left your body will never sleep and the only hope I can hold is that a part of that flame carries on in the rest of us for all of our days.
Pausing for a moment, Wyndall continued. “Even in this country’s darkest hour, you refused to relinquish the light. It was you who rallied the survivors to the safety of the tunnels below Bannar. It was you who sent forth the light of Ashener’s Calling, warning the land of Bannar’s fate. Ultimately, these were acts that saved thousands of lives. Your valor in such circumstances is worthy of praise, that one so young could stand true in the service of others. While we lost many on that dark night, many more continue to live on, many of whom are here today because of you.”
Wyndall looked over the crowd one more time. “I send you on now, young Norryn, honest and restless and taken from us too soon. I would go to my death with your name on my lips.” Wyndall bowed his head, letting his words sink into those around him as much as they needed to sink into him. There was no avoiding it for Wyndall or anyone else. A prosperous era ushered in by a great family was now at a tragic end.
With each step heavier than the last, Wyndall walked toward the pyre. When he was still some feet away, he stopped. Two lines of Ro’Nihn flanked his sides and the pyre. Each soldier present stood in silent respect. Wyndall knelt to the ground. He allowed his eyes to gaze upon the unlit pyre one last time. With another painful breath, he put his right hand to his lips, kissing the top of his fist. He then placed that hand over the ground in front of him before speaking again so that only he could hear.
“Goodbye, my friends. Your time with us is over, but your legacy will live on. I swear to you upon the Axiter clans, with every ounce of strength that this body holds, I will fight for our country. Upon my life, your deaths shall not be in vain. This is my solemn promise to you.” At that, Wyndall of the Jacoi lost himself in silence.
Wyndall’s hand rested over a slight outline that only he and the Axiter warriors closest to him could see. Wyndall now moved his open palm over that outline in a circular motion as he exerted his will. It did not take long before the small outline before him burst into a lick of flames. Thus illuminated, those that were close enough could see an unlit trail leading to the pyre. But the little circle of flames remained in place, held by nothing more than Wyndall’s will.
The next action proved to be nigh impossible for the Axiter leader. Closing his eyes, he moved his open palm toward the awaiting pyre. The lick of flames quickly came to life, eating their way in a straight line. As the fire reached the pyre, the reaction was tremendous. Those unfamiliar with Axiter customs were not disappointed.
As the flames touched their destination, they somehow took on new life. The entire pyre was engulfed in an instant, offering an overwhelming score of heat and fire. The flames roared skyward, announcing to the heavens that the Ashener family was coming home. Many averted their eyes in the end, but many more watched on at the brilliance of the farewell.
The fires soared high from the pyre, carrying a circling flame more than 50 feet into the air. The rush of air sent flower petals swirling skyward, dancing and smoldering gently on the edge of the flames. For several seconds this continued, air and petals rising, the fury of the flame, and the awe of the spectators before silence and darkness returned. All watched in reverence as flower petals glided down back to the Earth with tranquil ca
resses. As many viewed the petals in their descent, eyes eventually went back to the remains of the pyre before them.
Only it was not a pyre anymore.
The burning or “cleansing” as they would say in Axiter had only solidified Wyndall’s design. The semicircle of onlookers now witnessed what Wyndall had intended to do with the flame. The remains of the pyre had been burned away, beneath it, tempered in the flame, was a monument of the Ashener family. The detail that had been placed upon it was equally surreal and life-like. Those that saw it that day, like all the days that followed, felt a piercing pang of remembrance when gazing upon this final farewell.
The cleansing had consumed Alderich and Enora’s bodies completely, sending their ashes skyward toward the heavens. Surrounding their monument at equal distances were seven pillars representing the strength of the united regions of Vallance. Before the monument, welcoming all to them was the image of Alderich and Enora. The proud couple looked on as they held hands, a picture of perfect, accepting serenity. The scene represented them as the focal point of the glory of Vallance. Just ahead of them was a smaller figure, a statue of a young boy with eyes hungry enough and a heart big enough to take on the world. Every facet was near-perfect, from his innocent yet sure grin to his rambunctious hair. His image and placement represented the future of Vallance, met with open arms.
At the likeness of Norryn Ashener, Serra Landring’s tears finally came.
Serra was soon helped away by Cethric and Nilanna Landring, two parents wounded deeply because ultimately there was little they could do to ease their daughter’s grief. Serra looked blankly at those she passed as she was led elsewhere. In the clearing, she saw two horsed riders hover a great distance away. Had she held the desire to look then, she would have noticed a wounded man and a young gunslinger saying goodbye themselves, for their own reasons too ashamed to come any closer.
The leader of Axiter watched as Esaundra Denore was led away by her new entourage. Wyndall noticed more than grief weighing heavily upon her features. Upon reaching Rahn safely, Esaundra was given stewardship over the leadership relinquished by Alderich Ashener. The weight of that role rested uneasily upon her, adding bewilderment and fear to the list of her woes. There would be no rest for her, nor time to properly grieve the sudden loss of her sister and family.
Wyndall, like many others, lingered for some time. He watched as many people went to the still warm grave to say their farewells. Words were had. Gifts were left. Goodbye meant something different to everyone, but in the end its outcome remained the same. He saw much then, the love for this family, the void from its loss, and the sadness that would carry on for years to come.
Finally, a firm hand clasped his shoulder and was followed by an even firmer voice. “We must go, Wyndall. We’ve done all that we can do here.”
Wyndall turned and nodded softly. “I know, Kascha. And you are right, though it makes my steps no easier in the end.” Wyndall looked into the eyes of the fiery masked redhead that was Kascha of the Dryganus clans. She had been the only one he had allowed to help in the creating of the ritual and pyre. And now, she spoke much truth. There was much to do, more so than any one person should ever be burdened with, but it was a burden that Wyndall would wear. “We must ready ourselves for the next course. Ready or not, there’s a war, and it is waiting for us.”
Kascha thought to this. “So how do we go about stopping these cretins and send them packing back to Thorne?”
Wyndall stopped for a moment to look at her. “Make no mistake, Kascha. We of Axiter cannot stop them. There are far too many for that. The ones that could have stopped them now lie dead behind us. All we can do is buy time for our country and hope it is enough for Vallance to rally.”
A revelation came to Kascha in that moment. “You don’t think we can win this war, do you?” she asked.
With a slow, steady sadness Wyndall smiled at his long-time friend. “It does not matter what my thoughts are, for only results mean anything in war. I couldn’t tell you either way, but I can tell you this; we will return the fight to Thorne. Through every means we have, we will fight with every ounce of our very beings. And when we die, we will go to the three behind us and let them know we lived true to the last, for they deserve no less than that.”
Kascha absorbed his words as they walked. Wordlessly they turned from Bannar and its ashes. For a long time Kascha trailed behind her leader and friend before she chose to be silent no longer. “Then what is our next move?”
Wyndall stopped, taking one more moment to look on Bannar before letting his eyes return to her. “After this, the fragmentation of Vallance is surely complete. Everything Alderich has worked and fought for is now gone. This is, of course, exactly what Thorne was hoping for. I’ve no control over that. My power and my will carry no further than Axiter. It is from there that we will wield our strength.” In that instant, Wyndall’s face hardened. Kascha could see it under the mask. “The war for Vallance has come, and the enemy has brought hell with them. And we must be prepared to give it right back.” Wyndall of the Jacoi clans averted his gaze and said no more. Kascha of the Dryganus followed once again in silence.
Wordlessly the crowd dispersed, preparing for journeys through now perilous lands. Men and women were off to prepare for war as others made peace with exile. Others went in search of still-unaccounted for loved ones. However, no matter the circumstance, each person left with a clarity that was frightening in its deadly simplicity.
Death and war were upon them, and this was only the beginning.
Epilogue
The River’s Offering
The stirring echoes of the fall of Bannar carried down the currents of the River Lorne. Days had passed, yet cruel truth refused to relinquish its hold in the aftermath. It was the lingering reminder of Vallance’s greatest loss, the acumen of a military genius and the depth of true betrayal. These things mixed easily now, much as the blood and debris within the blue waters of Lorne.
Fragments of a life now gone floated on in mournful silence. Only death thrived to tarnish the pure river blue as the clouded skies threatened to weep. And while these lands south of Bannar had endured unscathed, the river was indeed a dire warning of things to come. Many avoided Lorne in the days that followed Bannar’s fall. The wounds were still fresh. The scars would not leave.
And while many were miraculously saved during Bannar’s fall, the bloated river was a haunting reminder of those that had perished. Along the bank, gliding upon the fickle currents were the true casualties of war. Death rode well on the water and knew no bounds as the Lorne absorbed man, woman, and child as ot carried them on to oblivion.
A defiant log floated on the river through the clusters of faded embers and lives forever lost for glory. Miles down from Bannar the dead sporadically lined the water, restless in their watery grave. Sifting through the remains, the log at last touched down on a river bank. Above it the skies reluctantly opened, selfishly giving a watery offering. A cool, soothing mist washed over all.
Sweet rain drops touched on the log with increasing intensity. The rain sought every crevice of that log, and soon the arm wrapped around it. As the cool drops met that arm, the waters around the log slowly took on life. Soon an exhausted, lonely hand burst from the waters to touch upon the riverbank.
And wrapped firmly in that hand was Ashener’s Calling.
The Vallance War Series continues
in book two
Echoes of Ashener
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
David Partelow was born and raised in Kansas City, Missouri. He is an avid poet, novelist, father, lover of life, sarcasm advocate, connoisseur of all things nerdy, and all around pain in the hind end. And a Scorpio too if you must know. He specializes in science fiction, fantasy and sometimes dabbles in works of comedy. When not writing, he does other stuff and runs on caffeine and denial. Included in this is practicing a Russian Martial Art known as Systema, crafting nerd things, cosplaying and getting in and out of trouble. For mor
e information you can find him on the below media outlets:
Facebook page: Dabbles and Dorkery
Twitter @thedorkery
If that is still not enough information, let’s talk restraining order…
Other Works by David Partelow
LORE: Legacy of Revelation, Earth
The Vallance War Series
Ashener’s Calling
Echoes of Ashener
Vallance Rising
Shadow Falls
Crescent Moon
Crescent Moon
Theophilus Thistle Trilogy
The Adventures of Theophilus Thistle
Shaman’s Fury
Vow of the Valorous
Ashener's Calling Page 32