An Elegy of Heroes

by K. S. Villoso

  “What do you mean and? You bastard. There was something in that cave.”

  He watched Thiar’s face as he said that. Not a flicker of surprise on his wrinkled face, though his jaw did move a little as he ground his teeth together and a vein popped on one side of his head. “Something,” the old man finally said. “Describe it to me.”

  The question took Kefier aback. “Why?”

  “I want to know if you’ve truly done what I asked or you’re making things up.”

  “You son of a bitch,” he hissed.

  “What did you see, Kefier?”

  The gravity in the old man’s voice shook him. He blinked. The memory…felt like a raw wound. His mind flashed back to their journey to the mountains, but beyond that, he could feel his insides crumble at the faintest attempt. He saw Thiar appraising him and felt a flush of shame.

  Thiar looked at the sword in his hand for the first time. “What did you see?” he repeated.

  “An eye,” Kefier managed around a tongue that felt like it was made of lead. That taste again. Was he licking the road as he travelled south?

  “An eye? That sounds odd. On the ground?”

  “It had legs…” And now, hearing him say it, he suddenly wasn’t sure anymore. What had he seen?

  “Sit, Kefier,” Thiar said. “You’re tired. Have some water.” He picked up a cup from his desk and motioned for Kefier to take the chair.

  Unsure, he slumped down and took the water. He took a sip. It tasted like mud. The anger ebbed.

  “What you saw was real,” Thiar began. “Your mind hasn’t been playing tricks on you. I told you it was the beginning. Few people can see the thing and live to—well, to come back as you are. Sane, and of sound mind.”

  “I don’t think I’m either of those things,” he murmured.

  Thiar smiled. “You’re frightened. That’s understandable.”

  “That creature,” he repeated. “What’s it doing there? Why do you want to test me against it?”

  Thiar’s eyes darted away for a moment before resting back on him. He smiled, then, his cheeks deepening. “Would you like something to eat?”

  “You’re keeping things from me, old man. You—”

  “I’m playing it safe for the sake of our client.” Thiar coughed into his hand before slumping on the edge of his bed. “It’s not like there’s much I can tell you myself, either. I know that being able to see the creature, and then live to tell the tale, is of primary importance. I know that being able to withstand its effects…”

  “This doesn’t tell me anything!”

  “It shouldn’t,” Thiar said, his voice rising a little. The smile fell from his face. “You and I both—we’re mercenaries, Kefier. We get paid to do things and not ask questions. Those dead children—”

  Kefier’s eyes widened. “What dead children?”

  “In the cave,” Thiar began. He hesitated, like a man who had unwittingly walked into a trap. But he seemed to recover just as fast. “You didn’t see?”

  “It smelled like death. I didn’t…”

  “You didn’t travel all the way to the end?”

  “No.”

  “But you saw the thing, nearer the surface? Did it climb out to see you? Interesting. I’ve been told it likes to taunt the men, but…”

  The anger returned, hotter than before. “What are you going on about, old man?” Kefier snapped. “You’re using us. That’s not right. All these secrets—”

  “I told you,” Thiar replied. “We’re mercenaries. What do we care about why our client wants the things he wants?”

  “This client. Is it Ylir yn Garr?”

  “That fop? Agartes, no. It’s someone a lot more important,” Thiar said.

  “Rok told me—”

  “He told you wrong. Kefier, son—you have to pick the right people to believe.”

  “And I’m supposed to believe you?”

  “Why not? Your desire is to get paid, to be recognized as a true Boarshind mercenary, was it not? And you passed the test. You’re here now. You—” He reached out to touch Kefier’s shoulder.

  Oji’s sword slid into his belly as easily as a hot knife through butter.

  Tears appeared in the corner of Thiar’s eyes as he stared back at him in disbelief.

  “You son of a bitch,” Kefier managed. “You set us up. All of us. Oji’s dead because of you!” He pulled the sword, kicking Thiar’s body away. He stared at the crumpled form, at the blood leaking on the ground underneath.

  I killed him, Oji. I’ve avenged you. Oji… But the words in his head were as hazy as everything else had been. The taste of dirt remained in his mouth as the old man died before him. He wondered if he would be doomed to it for all of time.

  Chapter Four

  The rain came as Kefier fled the courtyard, and with its caress the stench of blood dissipated, replaced by soft earth and loam, as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t just left behind the same death he had been trying to flee from all his life.

  And what did you think following mercenaries around was going to do?

  He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his head, and focused on it to drown out the whirlwind of the last few moments. Thiar’s death scream, the chaos as the other mercenaries discovered what he had done. His fight to escape. Rokarsh appearing at the end of the hall as he cut the others down like a wild animal, foaming at the mouth, incomprehensible. He couldn’t remember. He hoped the rain would wash it all away.

  He found himself standing at the back door to Comfrey’s inn. He took a moment to stop and catch his breath.

  “Kefier,” a voice called out.

  Arlisa. Lisa. He was having recalling even her name. He turned around, and he didn’t know why, but there must’ve been something on his face that took her aback.

  “I didn’t realize you were back! How did the job go? I must’ve missed Oji’s party, and…Kefier? Are you all right? What happened?”

  He didn’t answer. He was hoping not having to answer would erase whatever he had left behind. She took him by the hand. Wordlessly, he followed her inside and down into her own room, a cramped, dark place behind the stairs. He had never seen it before. She pushed him onto a stool so she could take off his muddy shirt.

  Kefier hesitated before reaching for her. Not because he thought he owned her like he knew the other men would insist—he hadn’t paid for tonight, and he could still remember the sting of Oji’s words about how he was nothing to her—but because he needed the warmth of someone who wasn’t dead or trying to kill him. He was fully expecting her to slap him and throw him out. He deserved no less.

  But somehow, he found himself being allowed to crawl into her bed. She placed his hands on her waist as she undid the laces of her dress and bent down to kiss his neck. The taste and scent of her flooded his senses, and for a few, blessed minutes, he almost forgot everything. Almost. When it was over, he fell asleep, where he dreamt of blood and running through the darkness and calling for Oji until his voice was hoarse.

  He sat up with a start.

  “Oji’s dead, I suppose,” Lisa said, handing him clean clothes.

  He swallowed before nodding. “How long was I asleep?”

  “An hour.”

  “Too long.” He wiped his face. “They’re after me. I shouldn’t—I would have led them straight to you. Why aren’t they here yet?”

  “They came by,” Lisa said. “They checked the upper rooms and left. Didn’t explain anything except that they were going to kill you. Mim Comfrey chased them away. Didn’t want them bothering the clientele.”

  Hands shaking, he pushed himself out of the bed to get dressed.

  “They won’t be back for a while,” she continued. “You should get more rest.” But she didn’t try to stop him.

  “I’ve fucked this up beyond reason.” His voice felt gravelly. Maybe he had been screaming and she was just too polite to say.

  She gave the smile of someone who had heard this story already.


  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t…the things I promised you once…”

  “That one was on the house.” She cocked her head to the side. “I don’t need you to save me, Kefier. You’re the one in trouble. What did you do, anyway?”

  “I killed Thiar,” he murmured.

  She hardly blinked. “I see.”

  “You’re not going to ask why?”

  “I’m sure you had your reasons for striking down the kindest, most harmless man in the Boarshind.”

  “You’re not helping me here.”

  “I didn’t know it was my job to help you at all.”

  He swallowed.

  She left the room abruptly, not even really looking at him. She returned moments later with a bag, which she shoved into his hands. He peered into it and realized it was food, enough for a day or two on the road. “You run,” she said.

  “Where should I go?”

  “I don’t know. You’re not my responsibility, Kefier.”

  “Oji’s family…they have to know about this. His sister, Sume—”

  She frowned. “You’ve told me about her. She wrote you those letters. Doesn’t mean you suddenly owe her anything. Why worry about them at a time like this? Run until you can’t anymore. They mean it. They will kill you, and you can’t fight them. Not all of them. You’ll have to kill them one by one and…you’re not that kind of man, Kefier. This isn’t the life for you. You’re not ruthless, or cold. You’re not like them at all.”

  He crumpled the leather into his fists. “Then what kind of man am I?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “If that’s a question you even need an answer to in order to survive, then I guess you’ll have to figure it out yourself.”

  Without another word, Lisa opened the door, all but saying goodbye to him. He stared at her hard face, trying to recall how he had been able to convince himself she loved him, that she would at least consider whatever paltry offer he could give her. He had been a fool. Those last few hours, the food in his hands—it was all done out of pity. She pitied him the way Oji did.

  He strode out of the inn and back into the grey streets. The sky was still dark, cloud-filled, though the rain had stopped. He hadn’t gone very far when he saw torches and heard voices calling after him. Holding the bag over his shoulder, he took off.

  They cornered him in one of the alleys. He could tell from the way they stood there, expecting him to stop and surrender, that they wanted him alive. What they mustn’t have expected was for him to quickly draw his sword and slam straight into the nearest man, the blade at his throat before he could utter a moan.

  You’re not ruthless, or cold…

  He dropped the man, still alive, and turned. Ran.

  Someone hit him. He crashed to the ground and rolled over. A man lifted a club and brought it down on him. It fell on his hip. He thought the bone had shattered and screamed. But he managed to get up, his leg threatening to fall apart, and managed to deflect the next attack long enough to begin running again. It felt as if the only thing holding him up was the wind.

  He reached a dead end, cold sweat pouring from his skin. His whole body strained against the urge to collapse. He turned.

  A man came at him, unarmed. Kefier roared. There was a pounding in his head that was starting to sound like the distant swelling of the sea, like waves crashing against rock.

  The man was on the ground, confused. The dying often did that.

  “Murderer,” the man said, pulling the sword out and taking a step forward. Then he fell like an autumn leaf, collapsing to the ground in a fragile heap of red and brown. Kefier stared at the body, wide-eyed. When he realized no one else was coming, he reached out to pick up the sword. He saw shadows in the distance and began to run again.

  You’re not that kind of man. Then was he simply a product of this life? He felt nothing after that kill, which seemed to make it all the worse—that he could take and not even know what for. To survive, maybe; but he had been surviving all these years and he didn’t see what use that was for. The woman he thought he loved had just thrown him away, discarded like that morning’s chamberpot. And now…

  He found his way on the road leading out of town. There, a young man stood beside a horse. A merchant, it looked like—face smooth and shaven, skin tanned from the sun. He drew up as Kefir approached. “A word, my friend,” he called, reining his horse around. He was Jinsein, a touch of accent on his Kagtar. “How are things in Cairntown?”

  Kefier glanced down. His hands were coated in caked blood, as was the sword. The merchant didn’t seem to notice. He set his hat sideways, waiting for an answer.

  “Cairntown is a city of whores and thieves,” Kefier said. The man blinked. He grit his teeth and pointed at the silhouette of the city. “What makes you think you’ll survive there?”

  “I heard that since the trades opened between Jin-Sayeng and the Kag…”

  “Get off your horse.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He drew the sword as if it was the heaviest thing in the world. “I told you, didn’t I? A city of thieves. Get off that horse.”

  The merchant reached for his own sword. Kefir roared and grabbed his arm, pulling him to the ground. The horse nickered and shied—he grabbed the reins in time, then turned back to the man.

  “Mercy,” the man gasped.

  “Remember what I told you,” Kefier murmured. He watched the man’s face flicker before he swung into the saddle. His senses reeled, and for a moment he wasn’t sure if he was going through with this after all. But the man started screaming, and Kefier tugged at the reins and kicked the horse into a run. His head felt heavy, as if mud had been slapped all over his face.

  This, he thought, is what Oji gave his life for.

  A sob forced its way out of his throat, followed by the first tears he had ever shed for his friend. Hot, angry tears. They poured down his face as he remembered the first time he had met Oji, back when he was a boy and he thought his life was over. Soft eyes, an outstretched hand that sought only to help, not curled into a fist to hurt, a voice that soothed troubles away. He had nothing to gain and everything to lose, and yet he gave Kefier a kindness that Kefier never repaid, could never repay now.

  As the grief redoubled its efforts to tear him apart, he turned on the southern road, towards Jin-Sayeng.

  Seven years in Oji’s company had given Kefier the privilege of being fluent enough in Jinan to get by. He knew it was strange the moment he passed the border and people stared at him when he tried to converse with them. But he soon realized it was the mere novelty of a foreigner speaking that startled them. He was allowed in these lands. Was allowed now, in any case. He sold the horse as soon as he arrived in the city of Fuyyu and didn’t think he was cheated. He found an inn by the docks and managed to secure a bedroom. He had enough coin to live on for a few weeks, if he was smart.

  That first morning, the sky was as dismal as when he had left Cairntown. He headed to the kitchens and sat at the edge of the long table. A wiry cook eyed him warily before dumping a bowl of rice porridge in front of him. The porridge was soupy, more water than rice. The man beside him lifted his head and waved irritably at the cook’s back.

  “Give him something good. He paid for the night, didn’t he? That looks like it’s from the bottom of the pot.”

  “If it’s from the bottom of the pot, it’ll be all black now, wouldn’t it?” the cook sneered.

  “Just because he’s a foreigner…”

  “I didn’t even notice.”

  “Now that’s a damn lie, and you know it,” the man said. “Give the man his money’s worth.”

  The cook swore under his breath, but a moment later he returned with a ladleful of pork and an egg, which he dumped unceremoniously into Kefier’s bowl. He glanced at the guest, who grinned.

  “Where are you from?” the man asked.

  “The Kag,” Kefier mumbled between bites. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

  “But where—”
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  “Does it matter?”

  “I’m just curious,” the man said. “You speak Jinan really well.”

  “My friend taught me.” Kefier was surprised at how easily he could say that.

  “Are you visiting him?”

  He scratched his cheek. “Not him. Someone else.”

  “And where does someone else live?”

  “Over the sea,” Kefier found himself saying.

  “Ah,” the man said. “Akki. I should’ve known. The way you talk! I’m from Akki, too. Couldn’t you tell? Such a beautiful island. Blue sky, golden at dawn. I’ve been gone three years, working out in the city here and sending money to my old mother back home. But bless Akki—I miss it there. There’s nothing like coming home. The blood boils for adventure, but the old heart longs for home. And the mountains! We have a farm out of the town, and it’s just beautiful—fresh air, with the right hint of cherry blossom and sea…”

  The man paused long enough to drain his soup bowl. Kefier glanced around, trying to find a way out of the conversation. He didn’t like where it was going. The man looked nothing like Oji, but his words…

  “Who’re you visiting?” The inevitable question. “Maybe I know him.”

  He pushed his bowl away and got up. “I have to go. Thank you.” He strode out of the room, the sword at his belt growing heavier.

  Kefier went down to the docks to watch the fishermen bring in that morning’s catch, the cold wind whipping his hair and face. He could see a faint dark outline in the distance. Akki, perhaps? Why didn’t he want to go again? Yesterday’s arguments felt like a speck of sand on the beach. Nothing, after all. Nothing. He should’ve agreed from the beginning.

  “How much to board a ship to Akki?” he asked the fishermen.

  They named a price that was worth all the coin in his pocket if he didn’t stay another day. He could be in Akki in a day, maybe two.

  He saw the man who had talked to him earlier in the kitchens, a young girl of ten or twelve beside him. She looked enough like him to be his daughter. She gazed up at Kefier, wide-eyed.