James Barclay - Beyond the Mists of Katura

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.