An Elegy of Heroes

by K. S. Villoso

  He cursed his thoughtlessness and went back for them. Dai looked like he didn’t want him helping Sume, and Kefier had to wonder about that, too. She had attacked Bannal—had actually thrown herself at him. “You know each other,” he said in Jinan, breaking an hour’s worth of silence.

  Sume looked at him strangely for a moment before nodding.

  They didn’t have the chance to talk any further. Gaven appeared around the bend, his naked sword dragging along the rocks. He smiled when he saw them. “I was hoping you didn’t get far,” he said.

  Kefier stood. “Can’t you let this go, Gaven? There’s more going on here now than your petty grievances. Didn’t you see what just happened?”

  “What? Oh, that. Right.” Gaven gave a slow smile. “You didn’t think Ylir was responsible for that?” Kefier just looked at him, and he laughed. “That buffoon. Yn Garr’s been sick of him for years. He needed someone he could trust, someone more capable, so he made me, he made me, he made me...” He walked several steps forward, then twisted around on one foot. “You didn’t see, but it was glorious. We were chosen, the few of us who did it. We dug a tunnel from the Kag to Gaspar. He almost lost faith in me when it got out—but that wasn’t me, that was Ylir, he was supposed to be watching it and instead he was off with her.” He glanced at Sume.

  Kefier’s hand slowly went to his sword. “Go back to your men, Gaven.”

  “Why? They don’t need me right now. I did my orders. We dug the tunnel, even without Ylir’s help. It ate a dragon and we kept digging so now it’s eating mages. That’s what I came here to talk to you about.” A tic appeared under his eye. Kefier realized, as he came closer, that his pupils were very dark. “You were going to be one of us, weren’t you?”

  “You’ve lost it.”

  “No. Thiar told me, before you killed him. He told me about Yn Garr’s project, about the men he needed to move the beast through the tunnels. Not everyone can withstand its taint, let alone the beast itself, but he told me you passed the first test. You took Oji with you on the second test.” He smiled and rushed him with a speed that caught Kefier unaware. His sword was knocked out of his grasp and lay several feet away.

  Gaven pointed his blade at him and smiled. Kefier swallowed. “That wasn’t a test. That was the blasted job they made us do or else we wouldn’t get the rest of our pay.”

  “No. That was the part Oji was there for. But there was a second part, one only you were supposed to do. But you took Oji with you and now my friend is dead.”

  “He wanted to follow me. I told him to wait.” He glanced at Sume. “It was an accident.”

  “Him following you? Or his death?”

  “Both.”

  “The first, I can believe. But the second? Oh, come on, Kefier. We all know that Oji was leaving and that he wanted to take you with him to Jin-Sayeng, so what were you doing taking a completely new job right before? Did Oji even know?” He looked away, and Gaven laughed again. “That beast plays with your mind if you’re not strong enough, and it’ll kill you if it can, but not the way you said Oji died. So why did he die? What killed him? You said he was bleeding when you left the cave, so what killed him, Kefier?”

  Kefier closed his eyes. He heard them waiting for his answer with bated breaths. He remembered darkness and the stench. Not a day had gone by when he hadn’t remembered the darkness and the stench, or Oji screaming, “We have to go home now, Kefier! Forget the blasted money!”, or what he thought, looking back at him, unaware of what was going on. Oji never let him do anything by himself, for himself—that was a fact. And to hear him then, panicking for no reason, what, are you suddenly afraid of the dark, Oji?, before he could finish this job that was his alone…

  He heard the voice in his head, as clear as that day. What killed him? You did, son of Jaeth.

  No—he thought, faltering. He remembered looking back at the darkness and thinking that all he needed was just another step, when he felt a hand on his shoulder, dragging him back. No, he thought again, shaking his head. I didn’t think it was him. Oji knew. He would have never grabbed me like that. It was dark and I had my sword out. I— He looked at Gaven’s distorted face. I didn’t want to, he thought, desperately.

  The reply came. You just keep telling yourself that.

  A shadow fell across them. Gaven lifted his sword. As Kefier braced himself for his attack, he heard the voice again. This one tried to kill me once. Kill him! A moment later, he saw Dai running towards him with the sword he’d dropped.

  He cried a warning, but it was too late. Gaven’s blade slid into the boy’s belly as easily as a knife going through butter. Gaven snapped back, spat, and kicked his body to the side.

  “That was Oji’s son!” Sume screamed, throwing herself over the boy’s prostrate body.

  Kefier felt something inside him break. He grabbed Gaven’s arm to pull him away. The man turned easily, like a ragdoll, and he saw the black streaks of veins over his face and his bloodshot eyes. Stay away from me, son of Jaeth! the voice hissed inside his ears. Gaven’s face contorted before his body crumpled forward, like a falling leaf.

  Stay away!

  Blood began to pour from Gaven’s mouth. In the distance, Kefier heard the creature’s scream. He scrambled towards Sume and grabbed Dai. The boy was not moving. Black liquid was spreading from his wound and over his shirt. Kefier thought it was blood, but then he smelled a rank, ripe scent, like a carcass on a warm day, and he felt himself grow numb.

  “He’s still alive,” Sume murmured behind him. “Get us out of here.” The sound of her voice steadied his nerves, and he nodded, shifting Dai to his shoulder and reaching for her hand.

  A second scream sounded. Gaven seized his ankle, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. The veins had spread through the rest of his body and his skin had turned ashen. “You killed Oji,” Gaven whispered. His own voice, now. But remnants of the creature’s still echoed in the back of Kefier’s head. He stared at Gaven for a moment, his arm around Oji’s bleeding son, before he lifted his sword and skewered the man’s neck to the ground.

  Interlude

  Hana hates the rooster’s crowing because it wakes her infant son from his early morning nap. She has tried, unsuccessfully, to get her father-in-law to get rid of the cursed creature. Her husband, undeniably smug at times, tells her that the child needs to wake up anyway, that the crying is good for his lungs.

  She does not tell him the true reason. He is a good man, and would listen—would even understand, because hasn’t he mourned with her all these months? But she thinks that this is her burden to bear. She had done this herself, to her family, so she alone must wake to the rooster’s crowing, leave her son with the maid, and take the long trek to the road, to wait for a letter that never comes.

  Something is different, this morning.

  She wakes up, as always. Feeds the baby, changes his diaper, looks out of the window while she rocks him back to sleep. She looks at the sky—at the deep purple that comes before the break of dawn—and feels something heavy inside her chest. “Oh, Dai,” she gasps, covering her mouth so that Tetsung won’t hear.

  But he does. He opens his eyes and steps to her. Hana hands the infant to him, falls to her knees, and weeps. For how else is she to bear the anguish of not knowing if her child still walked the earth, or when she would ever, if ever, hold him in her arms again?

  Chapter Eight

  The fields and the forests of Enji Island, once famed for their shades of mint and emerald (mint and gold in the autumn), was now a slough of black mud and broken bodies. The tainted blood the beast spewed had withered the trees into skeletons, their leafless branches crackling against the dry wind. The towers that once graced the skyline—the only ones of their kind in those parts—now lay in rubble.

  “Bannal loved your handiwork,” Enosh said, coming up from behind Yn Garr’s tall, unbent figure. “But I’m sure you saw how inconsolable he was.” He coughed. “You didn’t tell me you were sending it here.”
/>   Yn Garr glanced at him. “You were…distracted.”

  “You tell me to attack Enji, knowing full well what I think about the idea, and I do it anyway. I risk my life. Yet you decide to hide this from me.” He tightened his jaw. “I’ve confronted some of Gaven’s men. They told me they’ve been digging the tunnel beyond the original site for months, trying to get close to Enji.”

  “You’ve killed them, I presume.”

  “Hardly. I didn’t want to waste too much time—I’d rather hear this from your lips.” Enosh felt his sword and for a moment, seriously considered drawing it. He wouldn’t have known what to do after, though. “Talk to me, master. It can’t just be the girl. There’s been other girls before.”

  “And each time I was not pleased. You should have been focused on gaining strength. Yet for a few nights’ pleasure, you risk your life and all we’ve worked for in Al-ir. You’ve made an enemy out of this Rajiat.”

  “Did I? I was thinking we made a friend there, that time.” He touched the raw scar behind the patch on his eye, ignoring the dull ache, and grinned.

  Yn Garr didn’t look amused. “I would hesitate to call Rajiat a friend in any conversation. You act as if I should be thankful for your failures.”

  “I did not fail you, master. I have never failed you. Your decision to allow the Kag half-breed to work behind my back was—”

  “Watch your tongue!” Yn Garr’s eyes flashed in the manner that used to follow the back of his hand. It hadn’t for many years, now, but Enosh still found himself fighting the urge to cringe. He watched the man step away, as if struggling with something himself, and run a gloved finger across the surface of what used to be a stone wall. Thick, dark ooze dripped from where he’d touched it, followed by the faint scent of burning leather. “It’s sated. Hiding by that grove. I need you to call out to it and take it back to the tunnel. Seal the entrance behind it, like we did in the Kag.”

  “You need me to do this,” Enosh said. “Where’s your Gaven?”

  “Don’t act like an idiot. If I had asked you to do what he did for me these past few months, there won’t be enough left of you to argue right now.” He made a dismissive gesture with his right hand. “When you used your enchantments on the man, you left enough of yourself to convince it that he, too, was a son of Jaeth. It followed him—in the tunnels, above ground. I have to admit, I didn’t think it would work.”

  Enosh held his breath. “It followed him above ground?”

  “Like I said, I didn’t think it would work. I figured, if things go south, you could go ahead and drive it back into the tunnels for me.”

  “How thoughtful of you, master.”

  “However, since he isn’t related to Jaeth, or any of the mages who helped capture the beast when it was still whole, the taint ran into him easily enough. You saw him lately, haven’t you? I won’t be surprised if that was the last time—the beast was starting to use him as a mouthpiece.” Evidently, he found this amusing, because he smiled. “It is—interesting—to see how it played out, without risking you in the process. Don’t think I’m not aware of how difficult it is for you. Even you.”

  Enosh swallowed and looked away. “I’ll thank him later,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “What do you do, while I take it back? You said you weren’t done with Bannal.”

  “I intend to use his help—willing, or otherwise—to translate the rest of the witch’s diaries.”

  Enosh glanced at the rubble. “You think you can still find them under that?”

  “Bannal’s ancestors knew proper spellwork, even if he didn’t. They’ll be protected.”

  “You’re hoping they are.” He laughed. “I’ll humour you. What happens after?”

  Yn Garr narrowed his eyes. “You know what happens after.”

  “You find the rest of its parts, or what remains of them. We continue to feed it. We somehow—if it hasn’t killed us by then—take it to the border at Dageis. By which you still haven’t told me how you intend to tunnel through a quarter of the damn continent.”

  “I’m not. I’ve been trying to think of a way to do that and Gaven’s given me the answer to it.”

  “I hope you’re not expecting me to throw enchantments on every clueless sop we encounter. I think I’d rather spend more time with it.” He felt a twinge, saying that. If he had time to analyze it further, he would have concluded it was fear.

  “If it comes to that. But if we find more sons of Jaeth…”

  “I am the only one left,” he said quickly.

  Yn Garr squinted at him, but he didn’t argue. “There are others. The kusyan had a granddaughter I can return to. Farg, from the Shi-uin islands, must have descendants. Not all will cooperate. Not all will be as strong in the agan that you are and so they will not be able to keep themselves alive for very long. It doesn’t matter. This, we can work with.”

  “And so we get it to the border. What then? You really think it’s powerful enough to break through Dageian spellcraft?”

  The old man spread his hands. “Look around you. This was Dageian spellcraft, too.”

  “Old Dageian spellcraft. You said it yourself. There must have been less than fifty mages here, and most were on the lake when you released it. Which was brilliant, by the way, but there would be thousands of mages on the plateau alone and I don’t think you can tell them to pretty please step aside while your pet has his way with their buildings.”

  “Inconsequential. The most powerful Dageian mage at the time of the creature’s birth could not even kill it.”

  “No, master. They can, however, kill us.” He swallowed. “Perhaps it doesn’t have to be this complicated.”

  “Are you now afraid? After all these years, and all you have done?”

  Enosh smiled. “Fear is not the word, master. I am more—curious—if perhaps you haven’t thought of another way. One that isn’t so…treacherous.” He looked at the grove where Yn Garr had indicated the creature now rested, smelled the rotting, corpse-scent of it, and felt his skin crawl. No, he thought. Not fear, but something even worse. He never really expected it to go this far.

  He realized that Yn Garr had walked away without answering his question. He frowned and followed him. The man remained silent for a while, seemingly surveying the damage. He finally stopped to bend over and pick up a dusty, but intact, book. It was a Kag prayer-book: one of the mages must have been, at the very least, interested in the Kag religions.

  “Enosh,” the man said, distractedly, “did you know that a long time ago, the priests of Yohak spoke of the life-wheel? After death, they say, a soul lingers in the spirit world only long enough to turn a wheel that decides their new body. They immediately pass on, all past life forgotten. What did you believe in, in Gorent?”

  “In Gorent, we have a sun god. And deities. And whatever was left, when the Dageians were done with us.” He pressed his lips together. “All horseshit, of course, if you don’t mind me saying. But my people don’t know better. They don’t have the texts, have no way of knowing the centuries’ worth of studies by mages and scholars, which was the reason they dismissed the life-wheel belief in the first place. Now we know it is not as simple as that. Now we know that when there is death, a river of agan opens a door to the spirit world. There, the soul lingers for a certain time—waiting, perhaps, for a loved one, or loved ones, to join them first before they are reborn again.”

  “How many doors do you think opened on this day? How long did they stay open while you slew those mages on the sands?” Yn Garr thoughtfully rubbed the book with his thumb, leaving behind a streak of soot. “Yet some things remain difficult to unlearn, once learned. We have no way of knowing if this theory is true. Why would a soul linger, if it is the brain—the dead body—that recalls? You are right. Maybe there is a simple answer to all of this. But I cannot risk it. What if we are wrong? Then it would be too late.”

  “I don’t understand what you mean, master.”

  The old man looked at him, and he recog
nized now that shadow of pain crossing his features. It happened ever so often, when he looked at him, though less these days than it used to. “Go,” Yn Garr said, breaking the silence. “Retrieve Jaeth’s eye. The road still stretches before us. Bartleby!” And he whistled for the big, grey dog, who came bounding over the fence and into his arms.

  Enosh walked away, so he wouldn’t have to listen to the sound of an old man crying.

  Dai would not wake up.

  Gaven’s sword had torn the flesh below his ribcage, narrowly missing his internal organs. The healer in the fishing village at Lake Maranga had stitched him up and given him enough sleeping draught to knock out a horse, and then he bade them to stay with the boy all night, declaring he ought to be alright by dawn.

  But he wasn’t. His eyes remained shut, and the flesh around the wound had turned black and rancid. Kefier returned to the forest to find Gaven’s sword, but when he showed it to the healer, the man couldn’t find any trace of poison. The healer turned to Dai, took note of the boy’s heavy breathing, and said, “There are better healers than me in Aret-ni.”

  There were no wagons heading out of the village that day. Sume wrote a letter and gave it to a boy to deliver to Enosh, and then she watched Kefier shoulder Dai on his back without a word. Together, they took the high road, and on the fork between Kalthekar and Aret-ni, finally found a wagon that would take them. The driver took note of her lighter skin and rounder eyes, and told her that Aret-ni remained their only way back to Jin-Sayeng. The border gates were barred and Jin-Sayeng guards had started shooting arrows at anyone who came close. No one knew if it meant real war, or if it was just a squabble between the local lords, but it didn’t matter—it was just another added burden to their lives.