Jeff Salyards - Veil of the Deserters

“Ha! True enough. A failure of leadership on my part. Do you have something on your mind?”

I wasn’t certain this was the time or place to raise the question, and hesitated.

“Don’t be coy, archivist. I cannot abide it, and we have less time than you might think. Speak directly or not at all.”

“Well, the death of your father,” I began slowly, fully expecting him to cut me off. When he didn’t, I continued, “That seems a seminal moment. A defining moment, if you don’t mind my saying,”

“I believe I do. What of it?” he said, short, but not hostile. Yet.

I glanced at Vendurro, who was watching me carefully, curiosity on his freckled face, though whether to see how wildly I was about to misstep or how much the captain would reveal, I couldn’t say. “What happened after?”

“The vows, do you mean? The broken pledge I made before the eyes of gods and men to avenge my father? Or the other, to protect our people from the Syldoon scourge many years later, equally fractured?”

I nodded slowly.

“Those,” the captain said, “I will not tell you about just now.” I nodded again, a bit disappointed but not surprised, and at least glad to have escaped a verbal beating. But then he went on. “But I will tell you of what immediately happened after my father died.” He added quietly, almost to himself. “I am not entirely sure why. Who wishes to relive a moment of both grief and shame? I have never spoken of it, and only two others know what occurred. One, my wretch of a sister. So it might be good you get the account from me. Or perhaps I am merely melancholy. Or maybe we will all die on the morrow, so what difference does it make. Who can say?”

Vendurro said, “Aww, Cap, if it’s something you’d rather not…” But it was half-hearted at best, as it was obvious he wanted to hear it as badly as I did.

Braylar waved him off. “Days passed after my father was murdered. I don’t know how many. I’m sure I ate and shat and slept, but again, I have no recollection to support this. The first thing I remember is my mother touching my shoulder as I lay on my pallet, staring at the wall. I turned and looked at her. Expressionless, she told me Grubarr was there to see me.”

“Grubarr?” Vendurro asked, and I silently cursed myself for asking the captain to speak with a member of his company around, even one I liked. My questions were usually enough to dissolve the captain’s resolve to reveal.

“Ahh, of course-you would not know. My tribe had three priests, Earth, Sun, and Moon. Lawkeepers, among other things. Grubarr was the Earth Priest, and the kindest of the three. So when my mother roused me, I stared at her, not seeing her face, not understanding what she said. Her words were wind, a meaningless sound that provoked no response or reaction in me whatsoever. I’ve seen old men in my village, whose age outraced their minds, who no longer responded to human speech, who didn’t respond to much at all. The only thing they registered was light and dark. At night they slept. During the day, they stared. I often wondered what they were thinking about, trapped so deep inside themselves. Now I know. Nothing. They think of nothing.”

Once he started speaking about it, he didn’t slow or stop himself. “I seem to remember her shaking me, helping me stand. One of us dressed me, most likely her. And then I was outside, standing in front of Grubarr, standing alongside my sister. He looked at us, looked at my mother. I remember that. The look on his face. True sadness. But on a face that has seen much of it. And then he told me the first thing I remember with clarity. He told us that we were to prepare our father for burial. These words I understood as words, they drew me out of myself, but they still made no sense to me. Soff didn’t respond either. Grubarr looked at our mother and back to us and tried again. I remember his words that day clearly, which is surprising, given the fog I was in. He said, ‘I would it were different, truly, but you must assist today. With the burial preparations. So. Follow me, please. I will spare you the worst. But you must attend me. And we can’t wait any longer.’ And then he asked if we understood.

“Soff nodded slowly, although she looked as if she were nodding off to sleep rather than affirming anything, eyes half-closed, chin almost on her chest. I didn’t nod. Or respond. Grubarr put his hand on my shoulder then, squeezed once. ‘Braylar,’ he said, ‘I’m sorry. There are no choices here. You have suffered, I know. I will do my best to be quick. That, I swear. But we must go. Yes?’

“He was wrong, of course. Up until that point I hadn’t suffered at all. But I was beginning to, that morning, and I realized, some part of me anyway, I realized I was about to suffer immeasurably, and indefinitely, and I wanted nothing so badly as to climb back to that spot where words were wind and nothing meant anything. But it was too late. I was among the living again, and the truth of his words struck home-none of us had a choice.

“I looked at my mother. She said nothing. She just looked tired, very tired. And so, not knowing what else to do, I turned to Grubarr and nodded. And followed, walking across the patchy yellow grass, through the village. Several villagers saw us, but averted their eyes quickly, returned to their tasks.”

As much as I begrudged Vendurro’s interruption, I could not stop from asking, “Why did you have to help in the preparations? Was it customary for children to-”

“It was a punishment. For grave robbing. Soff and I had been caught during the winter.”

Vendurro said, “I told you Cap had some kind of experience with such things. Just figured it was, well, more successful.”

Braylar ignored him… “So my sister and I had been assigned to Grubarr to assist with burying our dead. All. I knew I wasn’t prepared for what we were about to see and do. That winter we had tended to a handful of dead, and being a small village, we knew all of them. But they were not relatives. They were not my father.”

“Plague me,” Vendurro said. “They couldn’t make a plaguing exception? For your da?”

Even in the dark I caught Braylar’s twitch-smile. “My people are not big on exceptions.” Then he continued. “Grubarr led us to his longhouse. It was larger than most, with several rooms, each separated from the others by a doorway and a thick flap of felt. The deadroom was the last. It was here that the preparations took place.

“Before we entered, Grubarr stopped us, touching our arms. He looked back and forth between us and said, ‘Words I give you, they cannot stem the pain. This I know. But I will tell you one thing, and that’s all. When I was nearly your age, Soffjian, my mother, she died. Droos. One day, strong, healthy, young; the next, stricken, ill for many moons. And then gone. The priests, they examined, they inspected, but they didn’t know. There was no knowing to be known.

“The Earth Priest went on, ‘I won’t lie. This wrenched my heart. I had no brother, no sister, and my father, he was-well, this isn’t about my father. No. It’s enough to tell you, I suffered. Truly. Deeply. Alone. I wanted to die. And this idea, this dying notion, it didn’t frighten, it didn’t pain. It was almost a comfort. I played with the idea, carried it with me, every day. Until one day, I lost it. I didn’t lose the grief, but I lost the dying wish. I don’t know who found it. Perhaps you.’ He looked closely at us, measuring, and then said, ‘Perhaps not. But if you did find it, it’s a thing that prefers to be lost. You’ll live. You’ll endure. And one day, you’ll recover. I did. All do in time. You will as well. No one told me this when my mother died. But had they, I wouldn’t have believed them. It’s no different with you, I’m thinking. But one day, many years from now, I’m also thinking you’ll give this same speech to another, and it will be their turn to be disbelieving.’