Elves: Beyond the Mists of Katura (51 page)

‘Oh, Auum, I am so sorry,’ said Stein. ‘I grieve for you.’

‘Grieve for them all,’ said Auum. ‘I can’t stand here any longer.’

Auum walked away, his TaiGethen with him. He heard the mage speak and Stein reply.

‘Graf, Marack, we have to scour the field from the enemy camp to the borders of the village. We have to bring all our dead together. Some of them we will never find. You know what to do.
I’m going to sit with Ulysan.’

Grafyrre and Marack melted away, taking the TaiGethen with them. Auum walked alone.

Ulysan was not alone, and Auum felt a rush of relief. But it was not one of the TaiGethen with him, nor was it one of the Il-Aryn, who were utterly spent and sitting in a
single group for comfort. It was Tilman who stood as he approached, looking anxious as if caught stealing.

‘I thought he . . . needed . . . company. I’m sor—’

Auum embraced him hard while the tears fell down his face and the sobs racked his body. After a nervous pause, Tilman gripped back.

‘Thank you,’ whispered Auum. ‘Thank you.’

He broke the embrace and, holding Tilman’s shoulders, looked deep into his eyes.

‘There is soul in you,’ he said and kissed Tilman’s forehead. ‘And now . . .’

‘I know. You need solitude. I’ll make myself useful elsewhere.’

Auum sat by Ulysan.

He watched Tilman walk off, looking for someone to help. ‘Humans are fools. With some exceptions. But you already knew that.’

Around him survivors were moving among their fallen comrades, checking for signs of life. Occasionally a shout would go up, but mostly a touch was followed by a shake of the head. He looked at
Ulysan’s face. It was relaxed and untroubled but pale.

‘I would kill every Xeteskian for just one of your jokes.’

A tear dropped onto Ulysan’s cheek. Auum made to wipe it away then left it, watching it track down the side of his face, life travelling across death. There was so much he wanted to say,
but admissions of guilt were as pointless as they were wrong. Ulysan would have chided him for expressing them.

‘Among all the souls that have crossed my path, yours was the warmest, the one possessed of the most joy, passion and care. But it didn’t ever stop you taking the right path as a
TaiGethen warrior. How did you walk that narrow path so effortlessly? I have so many questions. Stupid, isn’t it? I have known and loved you for three thousand years and yet I never found the
time to truly mine your wisdom.

‘But don’t worry; it won’t be wasted because I can recall every conversation, every combat and look we shared and every act Yniss bade us perform to protect his blessed
rainforest. And your wisdom binds them all, doesn’t it? All I have to do is remember and your knowledge will be there.’

Auum smiled and rested a hand over Ulysan’s heart, desperate to feel it beating. ‘You know there was a time I thought you would challenge me to be the Arch. You were walking with
Silent Priests, you were loved by them and by every TaiGethen, every Al-Arynaar. I wondered why you didn’t speak up – I even thought to prompt you because I thought you would be the
perfect Arch – but it’s obvious now. Now it’s too late to tell you I understand.

‘You already were a leader, weren’t you? Spiritually, emotionally and paternally, they all followed you and your purity of mind and action. I cannot thank you enough for knowing your
better role. You made my life as the Arch one of brotherhood and not isolation. No elf can put a value on that.’

Auum’s hand moved to Ulysan’s head and stroked his hair. He strained to hear his voice, his breath, anything to bring him from this awful reality to the one he desired more than
anything. Auum was hollow, and every breath he took felt like betrayal.

‘You know what I saw that day in the Arish mountains? What has stayed with me every day since? No, of course you don’t. I was always too busy to tell you. Probably thought your ego
would get too heavy and break your neck or something.’ Auum chuckled briefly. ‘There you go. I can’t escape your jokes even though you can’t tell them.

‘You were cold, and it was so dark that our sight was challenged. You were exhausted, your eyes were closed and your breathing was so terribly shallow. You must have been so close to the
end, but your hand, your freezing hand, was still locked around that root.

‘And that’s what I saw. The elf with more belief, more strength and more determination than any I have ever met, before or since. And you just a whelp too. I cannot begin to voice
the scale of the tragedy that is your passing.

‘I just thought you should know,’ whispered Auum. ‘Now let’s sit together and let the world soak into our souls like we have so many times before.’

Evening was coming, and there was a chill on the breeze that grew as the light faded. Auum had barely lifted his head in the last few hours though he had remained dimly aware
of the activity going on all around him. He knew he should have played his part but he really did not feel he could be anywhere other than by Ulysan’s side. Apparently everyone else had felt
so too.

But now Marack, Grafyrre, Stein and Sentaya were heading his way, looking every bit the deputation. Stein, though still limping, was looking considerably better, having clearly benefited from
some healing magic, but the other three wore their grief like yokes across their shoulders. Auum felt a sympathetic pain in his heart. He squeezed Ulysan’s shoulder and stood up.

‘Thank you for—’

Stein had begun to translate Auum’s words, but Sentaya held up a hand and talked over him, Stein obliging.

‘When a warrior has lost a brother he loved for three thousand years, scant hours are not enough, but they are all we have.’

Auum put a hand to his heart. ‘I am humbled,’ he said.

Sentaya inclined his head.

‘Auum,’ said Grafyrre. Auum knew what he was going to say but didn’t want anyone to say it. ‘You know we can’t take them with us.’

Auum couldn’t speak for a moment. He looked back at Ulysan, gestured at his body and frowned. This felt like the ultimate betrayal.

‘The rainforest is home. We can’t lay him for reclamation
here
. None of them.’

‘No, we can’t,’ said Grafyrre. ‘But Sentaya has another way and I think you should hear it.’

Auum nodded though he failed to see how there could be such a thing.

‘I have spoken with your warriors and I respect your way of honouring your fallen though I don’t understand it,’ said Sentaya. ‘And I don’t expect you to understand
mine. But the soul travels to its resting place however it is honoured. We build pyres for our dead because the soul escapes the body through fire. The ashes that remain are scattered on land or
water to spread the memories of the dead for the benefit of all who travel through them for eternity.

‘Our peoples fought and died as brothers. It would be an honour to lay your dead with my son and my fallen warriors, as brothers in the afterlife.’

Auum had expected to be revolted by Sentaya’s words or at the very least dismissive of his beliefs, but he wasn’t. Indeed, here in this barren ugly land, Sentaya’s imagery had
a stark beauty and a reverence that was wholly fitting. Ulysan would have agreed, and that was all that really mattered.

Auum stepped up to Sentaya, and the lord allowed himself to be embraced and kissed on the forehead.

‘Tell Sentaya that it would be an honour fitting of the TaiGethen dead to move to the afterlife beside his son and his warriors. We will pray together and we will grieve together. Tell him
that the thanks of all elves are with him and his people today.’

Three large flat rocks close to the lakeside were traditionally used as bases for pyres, but more than twenty other temporary structures had been built around the water’s
edge either side of the rocks, where the prevailing breeze would blow the smoke away from the village.

The fallen enemy had been readied for return to their tribes, and the concerns of the surviving elves and Wesmen around the joint ceremony had been eased and agreement reached. In the deepening
twilight Sentaya’s fallen son was laid in the middle of the central stone atop a pyre of sticks and the ruined timbers of buildings. Ulysan and Takaar flanked him, and with other senior
Wesmen dead next to them went Merrat and Rith.

And so it was on every pyre: TaiGethen, Il-Aryn and Wesman lay side by side. Auum had initially wanted the races separated, but Sentaya had spoken of his desire for elven ashes to bless his
lands and for Wesman ashes to fall on Calaius. The fierce Wesman lord spoke with such emotion that Auum could do nothing but agree that it was the right way, the only way.

Auum had carried Ulysan himself and laid him on the pyre. The smell of lantern oil was strong, and the liquid shined on the timbers and firewood.

‘It is not as you may have dreamed, but your soul will be freed. Yniss will see you safely to Shorth’s embrace and the calls of the ancients will bring you home. Goodbye, Ulysan,
hero of the TaiGethen, hero of the elven race, my oldest and most loved friend. Where you go now, I cannot follow. It is not yet my time.’

Fresh tears fell on Ulysan’s face. Auum stroked his cheeks, smoothed his hair one last time and kissed his forehead and eyes. He took Ulysan’s cold hand in his, still unable to
comprehend why the big TaiGethen had no grip.

‘I can’t believe I’ll never hear your voice again,’ he whispered.

He laid Ulysan’s hand back down by his side and stepped back to stand shoulder to shoulder with Lord Sentaya and Grafyrre. To his left and right the surviving TaiGethen lined up with
Wesmen. Torches flared in the darkening sky.

‘Auum,’ said Sentaya.

Auum looked. Sentaya was holding two torches, one of which he proffered to the elf. Auum nodded and took it, then surprised himself with the warmth of his smile when Sentaya spoke one word in
elvish.

‘Together.’

Sentaya and Auum stepped forward, followed by every other torch bearer. Sentaya checked Auum was ready and the two of them laid their flames against the wood of the pyre, moving around it to set
an even fire. Sentaya leaned over and dropped the torch onto his son’s body and Auum did the same for Ulysan.

Auum had to force himself to watch as the fire intensified quickly, accelerated by the light oil. He saw it touch Ulysan’s clothes, his jaqrui pouch still full of his crescents and the
swords crossed over his chest. His skin began to blacken and smoulder and Auum had to convince himself afresh that this was the right way. He sent a silent prayer to Yniss for forgiveness and
understanding before letting his voice carry for all his people to hear.

‘Where you walked, the ground was blessed. Where your voice was heard, the air rejoiced. Your name will ever warm the throats of Tual’s denizens and echo in the halls of the
ancients.’

The Wesmen were singing. To Auum the words didn’t matter, but the emotions of sorrow and hope lifted him as the flames consumed Ulysan, Takaar and so many TaiGethen and Il-Aryn the elves
could not afford to have lost. And when they were done, the elves added their song: a dirge for the departed, beautiful and brimming with grief.

Auum lost track of the passage of time. He stared into the mesmerising flames, letting them obscure his eyes from their task. He was aware that the Wesmen were beginning to drift away. Many of
them threw mementos into the fires – brooches, knives and buckles – as a final show of respect.

Sentaya placed a powerful hand on his shoulder. Stein was there as ever, waiting to translate.

‘It is done, Auum. The fires will fade and die, some ash will blow on the wind across the water, and at dawn we will gather what remains and share it between us. Now it is time for sleep
and for the grief to begin to settle.’

Auum nodded. ‘May your dreams be full of glad memories, but for the elves it is not done. Not until the sun crests the horizon tomorrow.’

‘What will you do?’

‘We will pray.’

Auum watched Sentaya walk away, envelop his wife in his arms, lift and carry her back to the ruins of his village, his shoulders shaking, her head tucked into his neck. At an unspoken word the
TaiGethen gathered, and how few they were. The Il-Aryn would not partake in the warrior tradition.

‘You can stay,’ Auum said to Stein and Tilman. ‘I’m sure Yniss will forgive me.’

Stein shook his head. ‘Not this time, Auum. This time is for you and your TaiGethen. I’ll see you in the morning.’

‘You’re a good man,’ said Auum.

‘And you are the finest of souls, Auum. I feel so deeply for your loss.’

Auum smiled. ‘Your loss too. Never going to get an Ulysan kiss again, are you?’

‘I shall never wash this cheek,’ said Stein, placing his hand on it. ‘Send a prayer for me.’

‘I’ll do that.’

The TaiGethen sat in a circle and prayed until dawn.

The Xeteskian camp was busy preparing for departure on a cold cloudy morning. Horses were being walked, fed, watered and saddled. Tents were coming down, wagons were being
loaded and ugly human voices rang out in shouts, tainting the air.

But there were words to be spoken, and not even the Xeteskian mage Bynaar thought to ride away with them unsaid. However, his reluctance was plain as he arrived, along with four guards, to speak
with Auum, Sentaya and Stein. He refused to sit, and so the quartet stood to talk in the centre of the village. Stein translated for them all.

‘I want assurances of safe passage for my people in your lands,’ said Bynaar without preamble.

Sentaya wiped a hand across his mouth and shrugged.

‘Is that really your opening gambit?’ asked Stein. ‘You have committed crimes against man and elf and you think you can simply walk away?’

‘I acknowledge no crimes. We are at war, and yes, I think I can simply walk away.’

Auum closed his eyes briefly. He was exhausted after a day and a night of prayer and tears following a day of fighting. His patience was gossamer-thin.

‘You are a lying treacherous pig and you and your college will face justice,’ said Stein, his face red and his eyes wide and wild.

Bynaar started to reply, but Auum rounded on him, staring at him with such undisguised malice that he stopped. Auum turned back to Stein.