by Tom Lloyd
‘He burned your shadow?’ Gennay asked, confused.
Mihn gave her a sad smile. ‘He consumed himself with light — how else does one cast the strongest shadows? And I was there behind it, to catch that shadow in my own and die just as a new God was born.’
Gennay looked down and saw his pitch-black shadow squirm, but Azaer had nothing to add to that.
‘Azaer and I were enemies,’ Mihn continued, ‘or, to be precise, Azaer and the old king were enemies, and they fought a war, as you know. That war weakened the whole Land. My friend Isak realised that victory in that war would not be enough. He saw that he had to force both sides together, so the war would never happen again.’
‘Some of us were less than amused by it than others,’ the shadow added, claws briefly appearing at the end of his black fingers.
At a look from Mihn the claws disappeared again and the shadow retreated behind him, ignoring the play of moonlight as it traced shapes over the stones.
‘Many were unhappy, but it is done and the Land is healed,’ Mihn said. ‘My shadow holds the power of the Gods, and I control my shadow. It is not a choice either of us would have wished for, perhaps, but it is done — and we can hardly complain about our lot in life when we rule the Gods. You have heard about Isak?’
When she nodded, he smiled. ‘Good. Most of what they say about Isak is true, but he was my friend, and a very good friend he was. He gave his life to heal the damage we had all done. He died in a chamber beneath our feet while tens of thousands fell on the slopes of this hill. Your parents and Vesna have come here to remember Isak, along with all the others who died on that terrible day. The memory scars all those who survived — remember that and be gentle with your mother and father.’
Mihn gestured to the flat stone beside him. ‘Stay here a while, think of Isak and all the others. If you want to join the Sisters of Dusk, you must always remember those who died, and protect their sacrifice. Remember them at Silvernight especially; that was his birthday.’
‘Did Isak… Did he write this?’
Mihn shook his head. ‘The words are mine, but I think he would be happy with how we remember him. He always wanted to be more than just a white-eye, more than the warrior he was born to be. He gave his soul to do just that, leaving nothing to pass into the lands of no time. All that is left of him is the light he burned into me, and the memories in those who loved him. You see Hulf, roaming these hills? He could not bear Isak’s loss. The two shared one wild soul, so I made Hulf a part of me too, and the light is within us both now.’
He gestured to the words on the stone. ‘This is how I remember all of those who died here, men and woman, friends and strangers. I must go and speak to the others now. Legana will stay with you.’
Gennay felt the prickle of tears. It wasn’t only her parents who had suffered in the wars, she knew that: Uncle Veil was missing a hand, Old Carel his whole arm, and Aunt Dash was half-crippled too. Gennay could scarcely believe the withered woman had fought here too, but none of her parents’ friends would dare make an idle boast like that; she knew that for certain.
She was too young to remember much about the old king, but she knew he had been badly hurt too. In Narkang men and women bore their battle injuries with quiet pride, even now, all these years later. They had all suffered; they had watched their friends die, seen cities fall and armies slaughtered. She couldn’t begin to imagine any of that, but she had seen the look on their faces when they remembered, and just thinking of that now made the tears run down her cheeks.
As Gennay slowly read the words before her, she tried to conjure an image of Isak as her parents had painted him: a Farlan white-eye, Chosen of Nartis for a time — though he’d been not many winters older than her brother, Manayaz, was now.
He was tall and brooding, her mother had said when Gennay had asked. Reckless and quarrelsome, her father had added, and as scarred as the rest of us put together, Uncle Veil had contributed, to general agreement, but they had done so with smiles on their faces, even old Carel, who didn’t smile at much.
So that was what she pictured: a big, frightening man perhaps, but young and uncertain as well, with the same sort of foolish, lazy grin as King Sebetin, who won friends as easily as breathing. And one who had given his life for his friends.
Legana arrived beside Gennay and gently squeezed her shoulder, then she reached out and ran her pale fingers over the stone, touching each word in turn as though bringing them to life in her mute world. In the far distance the silver dog ran, as swift and free as the wind.
Gennay read the words aloud for all of them, for the tens of thousands who had died on the plain, and for the smiling white-eye in her mind. In the long dusk I dream, Of joy, of love and life. The shape of things, Their colours, lights and shades; These sights eternal, Look ye also while life lasts.
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