Chapter 33
“Are you sure you want to do this, Ruethwyn? There really isn’t anything in Mellesyn, and…” Alaran paused, looking back at her. He looked worried, but continued. “I’m just afraid it might hurt you, after everything else.”
“It can’t possibly hurt as much as wandering through the village did in the aftermath,” Ruethwyn said, looking away from him. “I know that the army buried the bodies, so I don’t have to worry about running into those, at least.”
“In consecrated ground, I hope?” Sella asked nervously.
“That’s standard, especially under circumstances like these,” Alaran assured her. “No one wants the dead to rise a few years later.”
That prompted nervous laughter, but Ruethwyn didn’t join the others, instead looking at the trees around her. Even if she hadn’t left town as much as most others in Mellesyn, she recognized the forest around her, if only barely. The path to Mellesyn was being reclaimed by the forest bit by bit, but for now it was clear.
Getting past the Dominion’s patrols had been easier than expected, since they’d apparently started making their patrols larger, which also made the gaps small groups could take advantage of bigger. Alaran had wondered about that, but Ruethwyn wasn’t going to look too suspiciously at the gift, not since they were trying to get past without being noticed. It was getting darker, though, and they were just outside Mellesyn.
The others were mostly nervous on Ruethwyn’s behalf, she knew. They were trying to keep upbeat, but they obviously didn’t know what to do. Since Ruethwyn didn’t know how she felt either, she certainly couldn’t blame them.
“We may as well go. There’s no point to standing here all evening,” Ruethwyn said, glancing upward. “We’ve got maybe a couple of hours before dark, so we may as well make the most of it.”
“If you’re sure,” Alaran said, adjusting his pack. The man didn’t stand out nearly as much as she’d expected him to in his dark armor, but she suspected magic might be involved.
“I am,” Ruethwyn said, shrugging. She could almost feel the presence of Korima watching her, but Ruethwyn started into the village, doing her best to force down the sense of trepidation she felt.
Everyone followed her, letting her take the lead as they fell silent. Ruethwyn appreciated it, since she caught sight of the first buildings only a few minutes later. None of the houses in Mellesyn had windows of glass save for the library, so the gaping window of the home didn’t surprise her, one of its shutters dangling from a hinge forlornly. She continued into the town, looking on it with new eyes, and as she walked her sorrow grew.
“It’s smaller than I remembered,” Ruethwyn said, her voice soft as she looked around, her gaze dancing from one building to the next. “I… I thought the houses were bigger, and that there were more of them.”
“Memories can play tricks on people, especially when they’re fond ones,” Alaran replied gently.
“You might be right,” Ruethwyn agreed, glancing up at one of the small homes nestled in the trees. That had been where Cora had lived with her parents, if she remembered right. A tiny part of her hated that the houses were so… intact, by and large. It only made sense, though. The villagers had always built their homes to last for as much of their lives as possible.
They circled a large tree, and for a moment, Ruethwyn forgot to breathe as she saw the town square. Korima gasped behind her, her voice tiny as she spoke. “That… what happened? That tree was huge.”
Before them was the central glade of Mellesyn, and Ruethwyn’s gaze was fixed on the gigantic tree that Korima was talking about. The oak would have looked strange no matter what, as it had been over thirty feet across, but the charred trunk only rose five feet above the ground, now, and the majority of what had once been Mellesyn’s library had long since collapsed in on itself, burnt ashes of its branches scattered all around it. More to the point, Ruethwyn focused on the cone of blackened dirt with parts of it fused into crude glass that led to the library, along with the half-destroyed bench where she’d been sitting when the attack had come.
“Rue?” Sella asked as Ruethwyn slowly walked forward and reached out to touch the bench, smiling bitterly as she saw the charred remnants of the cover of the book she’d been pretending to read at the time. Somehow, she wasn’t surprised that hadn’t vanished.
“Are you alright, Ruethwyn?” Eretha asked, her mental voice almost surprising Ruethwyn. She’d all but forgotten she was channeling the spirit fox.
“This is where I was sitting, before they came,” Ruethwyn said, her voice soft, everything almost feeling surreal. “I was pretending to read a book while I watched Anara dance in the morning sun.”
“I… Rue, that’s…” Tadrick began, but it was obvious he didn’t know what to say, and Ruethwyn continued, turning and walking over to a slightly lighter spot on the ground.
“Here is where my teacher threw me aside and saved my life. Sinera died here,” Ruethwyn said, pausing for a long moment, then looked to the side, where she felt like she almost could see the bloodstains she’d left in the dirt, even if they were long gone. She swallowed, heat rising in her eyes, and blinked it back as she knelt down and touched the spot. “This… this is where I almost died. Where I was laying when Essryl healed me and promised me that she’d keep the others safe for two years.”
No one spoke, but Ruethwyn heard the crunch of the crude glass as Korima walked up behind her. The kitsune’s arms slipped around Ruethwyn, and she found herself almost startled by how warm her friend felt. Ruethwyn hadn’t thought she was cold, and yet the warmth was… comforting.
“I’m sorry, Rue,” Korima said, her voice soft.
“For what?” Ruethwyn asked, blinking back the tears that had been threatening to well up. “I lived. I was given a chance that others weren’t.”
“That… that isn’t the point, Rue. You’ve said that you were here, but this… this is different,” Sella said, her voice shaking slightly. “It’s…”
As Sella’s voice trailed off, Ruethwyn gently shook off Korima, and glanced over to give her friend a sad smile. The kitsune’s eyes were bright with unshed tears, and the worry on her face was unusual. Ruethwyn reached up and gently brushed Korima’s cheek, her voice soft as she said. “Calmly, Korima. You’re the one who’s always so cheerful, don’t cry on me. If anyone is going to, it should be me.”
“That’s not fair,” Korima said, her voice quiet. “You’re the one who was hurt here. Can’t I be sad on your behalf?”
“Of course you can. I just prefer to see you smiling,” Ruethwyn replied, turning away and slowly approaching the destroyed library. Reaching out, she laid a hand on the trunk and sighed. It took a few moments, then she reached up and carefully broke off a small chunk of charred wood to stare at. Finally, she spoke again. “You were asking about this tree, Korima. This was Mellesyn’s library, where I spent nearly half my life. Hundreds of books, all gone… we didn’t have the magic or wealth to be able to ward them against fire. If I hadn’t proven able to learn magic, I would have become the librarian here, and probably would’ve died with it.”
“Ruethwyn… are you sure you should be doing this?” Alaran finally spoke. He sounded concerned, which wasn’t surprising, and he took a step closer. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself, and if you break down here… what about the others we’re trying to save?”
“I need this,” Ruethwyn told him, turning to look at him as her eyes burned. “Alaran… the closest I’ve come to having a proper chance to grieve was over Midwinter Night, and that was… was barely enough for the time. This is where I lost everything. This was my entire world, and it was destroyed in minutes, like a mud castle is destroyed by the rain. I… gods, I just need time.”
Ruethwyn blinked again, refusing to cry now. If she did, it would be too much for her. Instead, she drew a deep breath again and continued. “Last time I was here, I was in shock. I think I need to just… have some time alone. To visit, and to mourn.”
For a moment, the others were still, then Alaran let out a soft sigh as he nodded and replied. “If you’re sure. I’ll set up camp just to the east of town. Would the rest of you help me?”
“Sure,” Tadrick said, sounding uncertain.
Korima paused, then asked quietly, “Are you sure, Rue?”
“I’m sure. Go on, Korima. Please?” Ruethwyn said, smiling at the kitsune.
“Alright. If you insist,” Korima said, her ears half-drooping.
“Alaran? Do you know where the army buried everyone?” Ruethwyn asked, looking over at the knight, and he cleared his throat and nodded.
“Yes… in the graveyard, I believe. You’d been taken to the capital, so they did a single grave and memorial,” he replied, looking distinctly uncomfortable.
“That’s to be expected,” Ruethwyn murmured, then turned away and slowly approached the field where she remembered Anara dancing, the memory unhappily hazy at this point.
She heard the footsteps of the others, but her attention was focused on the field. Instead of the carefully trimmed grass that the village had maintained, the area had gone wild, with numerous weeds and overgrown grass. Most of it was dead, but the spring had brought new shoots to life, and she reached down to brush one of them, shaking her head slowly. Despite all her efforts, a single, hot tear welled up and trickled down her cheek.
“Ruethwyn? Would you like me to depart?” Eretha’s voice was sympathetic, and Ruethwyn smiled.
“Please. Thank you, Eretha,” Ruethwyn whispered in reply, feeling grateful.
The spirit fox left without a word, and Ruethwyn’s skin slowly changed back to her new, paler tone with her absence. Ruethwyn took a deep breath, then looked up and paused.
Sella was still in the clearing, standing well back and watching Ruethwyn, her hands crossed as she stood still. Her presence was a bit of a surprise, since Ruethwyn had expected her to leave.
“I’m not leaving you alone. I won’t interfere, and I won’t stop you, Rue… but I’m not leaving you alone. Not like this,” Sella spoke softly, her tone firm as she looked back at Ruethwyn.
For a moment, Ruethwyn considered arguing, then she decided it wasn’t worth it. Arguing would take time, and at the moment, she didn’t feel that it was worth it. Instead, she sighed and nodded, murmuring. “As you like, Sella.”
Standing up, Ruethwyn looked around the deserted clearing and swallowed again. The deserted homes, so many of which had had their doors broken down, the shutters open or shut… if it weren’t for the doors, the town would look like it was almost waiting for everyone to return. Instead, it was the ghost of a town, one which felt so empty it was almost impossible to describe.
After a few moments, Ruethwyn began to slowly walk to the northwest, toward her home. A part of her was terrified of going there, but… it was her home. She swallowed hard as she walked, but at least the tears had subsided for the moment. It was only after a dozen steps that Ruethwyn realized that she was still carrying the shard of the library, and she looked down at it, and at the black marks it’d made on her skin, then laughed softly, shaking her head. It felt ridiculous to be worried about, considering what had happened here. After a moment, she pulled out a handkerchief and carefully wrapped up the shard and slipped it into her belt pouch. It was an odd keepsake, but it was something, which was more than she’d expected to get.
Murmuring a soft spell, Ruethwyn conjured water to clean her hands, remembering how her father had always chided her when she’d come home with dirty hands. Mother had gotten the same treatment, though far more teasing, she remembered, and heat welled up in her eyes again. Then Ruethwyn saw her house, and she paused in surprise.
Her home was modest, but larger than many of the houses they’d seen. It had to be, for her father’s workroom. She’d almost forgotten how the roof was made of slate that had been carefully arranged, the edges sealed with a combination of saps her mother had collected, which helped keep the water out. The house had rounded corners, and it was only a little more than thirty feet from one end to the other on the long side, and twenty on the short. The surprising thing was that she’d thought it was larger, yet it wasn’t.
The door hadn’t been broken down, unlike many of the others in town, and at some point, it had been latched, and none of the shutters were open. Ruethwyn slowly approached the house, reaching out to touch the wall gently, feeling the rough texture of the wood. Her heart ached, but she ignored it as the reached the door. With a murmur and thread of mana, she created an orb of light, then unlatched the door and pushed it open.
“I’m home,” Ruethwyn said simply, her words echoing in the musty darkness of the room.
The room her orb illuminated had been the dining room and kitchen of the house. A small table was at one end, near two sets of larger shutters, and above it was a drying rack for herbs, most of which had fallen onto the table and floor after a year of neglect, giving the room an odd scent that made Ruethwyn sneeze. Nearby was a counter and the open cabinets of the kitchen, along with the fireplace where her mother had cooked. From the looks of the pantry, it looked like someone had raided it long before. Three doors were set into the walls, and Ruethwyn stepped into the room hesitantly, swallowing hard.
Sella stopped at the door, allowing Ruethwyn a modicum of privacy as she looked down and flinched. The wooden floorboards weren’t as smooth or clean as they’d been kept when she’d lived here, but the darkness across them… the spot where she’d found her father’s body was too clear, and for an instant she almost felt like she could see his body there. Ruethwyn trembled, but the moment passed and she was able to breathe again, gulping down air as she took another few steps inside.
Ruethwyn’s room was the one farthest to her left, near the table, so she slowly made her way around the room, the boards creaking beneath her feet as she did so. The pottery they’d used for meals was sitting on the shelves still, dusty with the passing of time, yet so familiar that Ruethwyn couldn’t resist the urge to reach out and brush a finger against a mug, leaving a streak of glossy brown glaze to glitter in the light. Ruethwyn brushed the dust off her finger, feeling almost numb now.
Her door creaked open, and Ruethwyn looked at the room with bemusement. It was strange to look at her room after so long, and to realize how much her life had changed. Her bed was little more than a cot, no better than any of the inns she’d stayed at, and worse than many. A shelf nailed to the wall held a few of the things she’d had growing up, from a carved statue of a deer, one leg broken off after she’d dropped it, to a pretty quartz crystal her mother had found in a stream. The sight almost broke through the haze over Ruethwyn’s thoughts, but she turned away, swallowing. The room only took two steps to cross, and the wardrobe was small and simple, and had been dented and scraped multiple times over the years, despite how careful Ruethwyn had tried to be. With trembling hands, Ruethwyn opened the doors, and her breath caught as she looked inside.
As the daughter of the town weaver and tailor, Ruethwyn had always owned more clothing than most of the others. Where most had two or three outfits at most, she’d had five, at least until she’d been burned. When they’d whisked her away in the aftermath of the attack, all her things had been left behind, and Ruethwyn had expected them to be gone. Instead, two dresses still hung within, along with two sets of trousers, a pair of tunics, and a cloak. A pile of stockings sat to the side with underthings as well, and though everything was covered with dust and was stiff or had mildew on it, it was still there and intact.
“How…?” Ruethwyn breathed, her voice loud in the tiny room. Swallowing, she shook her head, then began to cast two spells in order, spells her father had taught her.
The first spell cleaned all the cloth in the wardrobe, stripping away dust and mildew as it restored the fabric to normal, or as close to normal as was possible. The second one re-wove snapped threads, restoring each garment to as close to new as was possible. Ruethwyn reached out and touched them, feeling the soft cloth beneath her
hands… and she began to cry, despite every attempt not to.
Without a word, Ruethwyn took off her backpack and opened it, and began carefully packing the clothing into it, along with the statue and piece of quartz. It almost filled her pack to bulging, but she wasn’t going to leave these behind. She wasn’t going to leave behind her parents’ savings, either, since they’d kept some of their own inheritance in with it.
Ruethwyn left her room again, avoiding her parents’ room for now. The gods knew that she’d have to visit, but she didn’t have the strength for it just yet. Instead, her fingers trembled as she opened the door to her father’s workroom, trying to brace herself.
Her attempt was in vain, and as she looked over the room, the haze of disbelief over Ruethwyn trembled and cracked. Sitting in the center of the room was the massive loom which had been much of her father’s livelihood. To those who didn’t know what it was, a loom often looked like the creation of a demented spider, but she’d seen her father work the loom for years, often watching him as she read books. The loom was in worse shape than her clothing, as was the half-woven bolt of cloth within it, the colors faded beneath the damage of being somewhat exposed for a year. None of the threads had snapped, though, which was a testament to her father’s skill. It was that half-created bolt of cloth that was too much, though, and the sight of the shuttle resting to the side where he must have set it when her father had heard the commotion outside, never to return.
Grief overwhelmed Ruethwyn at last, and she took a few steps forward to touch the loom, then collapsed, knees hitting the floor hard as she began to weep in truth. Tears ran down her face as she sobbed, the impact of them hitting the dusty floor audible.
Ruethwyn wept for her lost younger self. She wept for her father, all the things he’d taught her, and his kindness. She wept for how few memories her mother had left behind, and with how she’d seemed to be perpetually outdoors. She wept for Sinera, who had been almost like a second mother at times.
The Obsidian Palace (Through the Fire Book 3) Page 30
