Rise (War Witch Book 1)

by Cain S. Latrani

  Another champion of Heaven had fallen.

  Sadness was the common coin of the realm.

  It took three days before a proper memorial could be arranged. The devastation of Lansing needed to be attended to first. Many citizens of the great city had been lost, even more gravely injured. Most of the temples in the city had been damaged in the bombardment, leaving little room for a remembrance to be held even had there been time.

  Ramora spent those days helping where she could, expending what magic energy her Avatar could muster as it regenerated its leg, tending the injured. When she had nothing left to give there, she lost herself in working at clearing debris. It helped keep her mind from the dark thoughts that swirled endlessly.

  Attachments were weapons you handed the Demon Seed so they could rip out your heart.

  Meeting Chara, she'd thought to leave that behind, wanting to believe that letting others in could make her a stronger person. Losing her, she'd almost shut down, retreating back to the shy girl of her youth. Leto had coaxed her back from that, and while she knew what they had shared wasn't love, it had been something special, a trust that she'd hoped would sustain her.

  Now that was gone as well. Everyone she reached out to either died, or left her. It was too much hurt, too much sorrow, for her to bear. She couldn't take it again. Her very soul felt ragged, tattered, and broken beyond repair.

  Attachments were weapons you handed the Demon Seed so they could rip out your heart.

  She threw herself into whatever she could to escape the agony of being a death sentence to anyone foolish enough to care for her. She lost herself in the simplest of things, to escape the crushing despair.

  Draco had taken everything from her again. Even her chance at justice. Without her fellow Blessed, she knew, she would never be able to defeat him, so she resigned herself to die trying. At least then, she would be with her family in Paradise, free of the agony of life.

  Chara watched her, unable to bridge the distance the warrior put between herself and everyone. More than anything, she wanted to reach out to her, hold her, comfort her, and be what she needed. More than anything, Chara wanted to turn back time, and choose a different road than the one she walked now, one where she could be there for the ever-silent Blessed as more than a friend.

  She and Esteban helped clear wreckage, along with Ramora, but though they stood side by side, they were so far apart the young woman felt she would never be able to find her friend again. Looking to the towering Werecat, Chara wondered why things had gone the way they did.

  Her quiet introspection gave Rakiss no end of trouble as he fought to keep her from unraveling the emotions he'd forced on her. Esteban never questioned his love of Chara, but more and more, he found, she did her love of him. Standing behind her, he watched Lansing grieve, and asked himself if he was really doing the right thing.

  Was this for the greater good, as he often told himself? Watching Chara work, he had to believe it was. Not just this, or what he'd done already, but the awful things to come. They had to be worth it.

  He desperately prayed they were.

  When the time finally came for the memorial to be held, the city paused in their efforts, looking to the castle, where those who'd been lost would be remembered in the courtyard, the only place in the city large enough to hold the gathering properly. Lansing stopped, to remember the fallen.

  Six Blessed. One hundred fifty-three City Guards. Five hundred ninety-eight citizens.

  For Untar, as he looked at the small dais that awaited him on that cloudy afternoon, finding the right words seemed an insurmountable task. What could he possibly say that would ease the pain of his people? How could he ever explain that he had grown lax, allowing so many Demon Seed to thrive under his very nose? What would ever make it right again?

  Walking to the small podium that would mystically carry his voice across the whole of the city, to every ear, the circlet he wore as a crown felt as heavy as a boulder. He had failed his people, his city, and his friends. Words would not come easy.

  On that overcast day, as thunder rumbled in the distance, he looked down to see Ramora sitting front and center, Izra to her left, Chara to her right, and faltered. Esteban and Leena served as bookends to the three women who'd done more, sacrificed more, than there was any right to expect, or ask. Just behind them was Rills and the squad that had stood by him during the events of that awful morning, their bravery beyond compare.

  Between he and them sat six coffins, the final bed of the Blessed who'd died. Lining the courtyard on either side, one hundred fifty-three more, the soldiers who'd lost their lives.

  The King of Lansing felt unworthy to speak before them.

  "Today we bid farewell to heroes," he said at last, the cool ocean tinged wind tugging at him as the storm that was coming called out to them. "It's not an easy thing to do, saying goodbye, knowing there won't be another greeting to come in this life. It isn't an easy thing to reconcile, the loss of those whose lives should've been longer, for they had much more to yet give this world. It's not an easy thing to understand, the cruelty that has taken them from us. It isn't an easy thing to manage, the life that continues in their absence."

  Pausing, he forced himself to look to Ramora and Izra, but found no judgment in their eyes. In a way, he felt, it would've been better if he had. Perhaps, it would at least justify what he saw in his own eyes when he looked in the mirror.

  "Life does go on, however. It does, because it must. We have that obligation now, thrust upon us in the most unwelcome of ways, leaving us no choice but to shoulder it. Our bodies may hurt, our hearts may bleed, and our souls may weep, as living on is the heaviest burden of all, but shoulder it we must. We didn't ask for that responsibility, no more than we desire it, but it's ours none the less, and shoulder it we must."

  Untar gripped the podium, his hands trembling. "How do we do it? How do we carry on, continuing to live, with this gaping hole in our lives? This ragged place in our hearts? I know each of you asks yourself that, as I do, for regardless of our station in life, be it King, or Blessed, soldier, or citizen, we all feel, we all love, we all grieve, and we all do it the same. It's what makes us alike despite our differences, what joins us, gives us common purpose, and allows us to walk together, of one mind, one heart, and one soul, even in these dark times."

  Thunder rolled from the south, giving him a moment to pause. He hoped the rain would come soon, that he might hide the tears that Lansing's King could not show now. Not while the people needed him to be strong, resolute, and unwavering.

  "It's there that we find the strength to live on. Not in what we've lost, but in what we've found. Not in the absence of those who aren't with us, but in the presence of those who stand by us. It's there we find the means to heal these grievous wounds, in the helping hands of our neighbors, friends, and loved ones. It's there our will to move forward is at its strongest, as we stand as one, that which sets us apart weighing less than that which makes us the same. It is there we find hope."

  Izra wrapped her fingers into Ramora's hand, the simple gesture giving the warrior comfort. She squeezed the Elf's hand, and felt it be returned, dispelling a tiny trace of the agony by virtue of the warmth in of her touch.

  "Today we say goodbye to those we've lost," Untar continued. "We know they are in Paradise, at peace, their burdens lifted. We know they wish us only happiness, love, and joy. We know we will see them again, there, one day. We know they do not desire us to rush to it, for we all still have much to give to this world; this world needs all we can give it, for it is a tragic world, filled to the brim with sorrow. We know that by standing together, we can make it a world filled with acceptance, understanding, and peace, each in our own way."

  Chara laid her head against Esteban, and felt his strong arm around her. She took comfort in it, for she needed it, craved it, and couldn't find it where she wanted it most. Torn between sorrow for that, and guilt for taking it, she felt her heart twist painfully, and tried to understand
why.

  "This is what they've given their lives for," Untar said, his voice wavering slightly. "This is what they believed was worth dying for. That this world can be a better place than it is. That we can see a brighter tomorrow. Let us not grieve that, for there's no greater cause, no better purpose, and no more noble a thing to lay down one’s life for. That those we leave behind may see a world that is kinder, gentler, and warmer than the one we depart. I believe those we remember today held that goal with their passing breath, for they were all, to the last, nobler souls than I have ever known. We are all better for having known them, and in their sacrifice, become worthy of them having made it."

  He could not keep his voice from cracking at the last, and with his pain on display for all of Lansing, continued anyway. "As we commit their mortal remains to the earth, returning their souls to the Heavens, let us never forget that. We are made worthy of their sacrifice in them having made it."

  As he stepped away from the podium, Shana appeared in a swirl of light, accompanied by five other Ascended. From the haunted looks in their eyes, it wasn't hard to guess who they were. The servants of the Gods, the conduit by which the Divine was passed to mortal hands, to stand against the darkness, had lost a piece of their own soul with the fall of the Blessed they served. With thunder rumbling above them, they joined the city in mourning.

  Ramora had known each of the Blessed by reputation the day she had met them, and knew the Ascended by name, for she'd lived among them. Seeing them wrapped in their pain made her forget her own for a time as she stood to reach out to them, hugging each in turn as they made ready for the long march to Casterperi Hill, a place for the honored dead, where the Blessed and soldiers would find their final rest.

  Caleri, with her blackish green hair and reptile eyes, had stood beside Rick for many years under the auspices of Terakus. Yorndo, the powerfully built, bald Ascended of Verea, with his skin showing the faintest lines of scales, had walked with Sabra by the Snake Goddess's desire. Qaru, with her long, thick horse tail, had guided Bit at the order of Amaron. Larak, bat wings folded tight to his back, grieved the stoic Tanna, not just for himself, but Neglis. Gera, wide raven wings drooping, trailed fingers over Flick's coffin, saying goodbye for Rialda, and herself.

  Chara stood back, watching as Ramora, Izra, and Untar took a moment to offer the demigods their condolences. She wanted to join them, to stand by Shana, express her sorrow, but felt she had no right. They, like the warrior she cared for more than she could say, were beyond her now. She had no place at their side.

  Rakiss remained by her, invisible, but knowing the other Ascended could see him. He didn't approach, no more than they acknowledged him. He wanted to be among them, for he knew their pain all too well. He thought of Emiline, and with a brief look to Chara, decided to leave them and the mortals to their grief.

  He would not sully this day with his works, even if it cost him everything.

  The Ascended stood with the three remaining Blessed, and Rills’ squad, loading the caskets of the fallen agents of Heaven and soldiers alike onto the carts that would carry them to the cemetery. By the time they'd finished, the rain had begun, a steady drizzle that none balked from as they made their way out of the courtyard, led by Untar.

  The King walked, a man now and not a ruler, with the Ascended at his back. Ramora and Izra followed, Rills and his soldiers at their heels, Chara, Esteban and Leena the final members of the procession as the small wagons with their woeful loads came after, making the journey in a single line.

  Chara paid no heed to the rain, her mind grasping to understand why the world was this way. The stories of how Ker Zet had fallen and brought such great evil to the world did little to ease her grief. Good men and women, friends, people she'd come to know, respect, and care for were gone, and she didn't understand why.

  Why was the world so cruel? So cold? The questions plagued her as she followed in the footsteps of heroes, with martyrs at her back.

  She could find no answers, only a last question she pondered for much of the long walk. Was she strong enough to stand by them, and die like them?

  The procession wound through Lansing, a route known to all as the Last Road, a wide spiral that allowed the honored dead to pass through much of the city, in turn allowing the city to pay their respects. The way was lined from start to end with citizens of mighty Lansing, their heads bowed as they thanked the fallen for their sacrifice, swearing in their hearts it would not be in vain.

  Halfway along the Last Road, a boy, no more than five, watched as the procession passed, staring at the coffins for a while before asking his mother, "Why did they die?"

  "So we might live," she answered, pulling him close to her.

  "The Gods will send more Blessed to protect us, won't they?" he pressed.

  "We can only hope," she told him.

  He nodded, his young face set and resolute as he said, "Then one day, I'll become a Blessed, so I can take their place, and protect everyone."

  His mother, saddened and proud at the same time, knelt and gathered him close. "I know you will, Gannon. I know you will."

  Many are those who choose the path of hero, as many as have it fall to them. For each, in the deeds of their lives, and even in the manner of their death, they can serve as an inspiration. Young eyes that look upon them, their legacy, and become driven to aspire to be as selfless. The gentle ripple of a noble action, a sacrifice made for others, spreads in ways that cannot be predicted, often changing the course of a single life, that may go on to save many. A line, unseen, unspoken, that makes a better world, by the subtlest of degrees.

  Rain continued to fall as the procession finally arrived at Casterperi Hill, on the eastern edge of the city. A rolling stretch of lush green, it was dotted with ancient oak trees and monuments carved to reflect the good men and women who'd found their final rest there. As the thunder rolled slowly over the gathered, they returned to the earth their friends, their family, and their loved ones.

  They said goodbye, until they could meet once more, in Paradise.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  THE RAIN STILL FELL when Chara woke the next morning, as it had the day before, and through the night. She lay in bed, watching water streak the window, listening to the occasional roll of thunder, and wondered if Rajan himself mourned so many Blessed being taken from the world at once. What tales she knew of the Storm Dragon didn't make her think him the sentimental type, but he was still a God, so it seemed reasonable.

  Am I strong enough, she wondered, to die for others?

  The question plagued her. For the first time, she felt she truly understood what it was the Blessed stood against, what Ramora stood against. For the first time, she wondered if she had what it took to walk that road by her side.

  It wasn't like she thought it would be, fighting the Demon Seed. Growing up in Rheumer, the war seemed so far away, a thing that happened elsewhere, and had no real consequence on her life. Even after facing the Orcs that morning in her home town, and Deacon later, she hadn't really grasped it.

  Now, she felt she couldn't escape it. The reality of it. The horror of it. The soul-crushing despair it brought. This wasn't gallant battles, or noble heroics. This was war. It was ugly, cruel, vicious, and it hurt. Good people died. All for no reason.

  It made her want to weep at the savage nonsense of it all. The senseless malice behind it robbed her of her ability to think clearly, her mind whirling as she tried and failed to make the world feel right again. She wondered if she'd made a mistake, leaving home.

  Pushing herself up, she sat on the edge of the bed, watching the rain with a somber expression. She couldn't make the world feel right again, she realized, because the world had never been right to begin with. This was the real world, where good people died, lives were torn apart, grief walked hand in hand with impotent anger, and simple girls from nowhere towns saw how pointless their lives really were.

  She felt empty. It was the only word that fit. She felt empty. She wan
ted more than anything to go back to her daydream life, when she'd believed that the heroes always won out, that good people prospered, and the world was a loving place. She had been a pampered, spoiled child, thinking herself put upon. She'd wanted to believe her life was hard, because it allowed her to excuse her own actions. She had been stupid, selfish, and naive.

  She saw the world for what it was now, and herself as well. Sitting there, as the Werejaguar she was in love with for no reason she could name stirred, she felt hollowed out to her very core, and asked herself again if she was strong enough to die for others. She couldn't answer that, and that frightened her even more. Yes, or even no, would've been fine, but to not know terrified her.

  It made her wonder just who she really was, deep down.

  "Beloved?" Esteban asked as he woke, rolling over to see her sitting, fists tightened, bunching the sheets.

  Chara said nothing, staring at the window, unable even to cry anymore. She hurt, her soul screaming out against a world so wrong, but no more tears would come. Sorrow warred with rage, neither winning as she tried to understand not just the cruelty of life, but her place in it. Still, she found, she just ended up feeling numb.

  "Chara, are you alright?" Esteban asked, sitting up to reach out for her.

  "Yeah," she finally replied, standing and moving away from him. "I'm just... I don't know."

  He frowned softly, moving to sit, staring at the floor. He felt he knew what she was going through, for he'd struggled with it as well. It had been in his thoughts for days now. Uncertain how to bring it up, or even if he should, he had left it alone, where it'd festered, like a boil on his thoughts.

  "We should stay here when she goes," he said at last.

  Chara jerked around to him, disbelief filling her face. "What?"

  Esteban didn't move, his back to her as he realized he'd finally said it aloud. "We should stay here when she goes."

  Anger flared bright and hot in her as she shook her head. "I can't believe you would even say something like that."