James Barclay - Beyond the Mists of Katura

‘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.

‘And you need to calm down too. And translate for me. Try not to get upset by what he says.’

‘Yes, I’ll translate, and no, I won’t get any angrier than I already am.’

‘Bynaar,’ said Auum. He swung back to look at the mage, who was flushed and flustered. ‘You dishonour our dead. Wesman, elf and Julatsan have fought here for the lives of everyone, and your posturing sullies the passing of their souls.’

‘The dishonour is all his. Consorting with our enemies, standing arm in arm like brothers in battle,’ said Bynaar, pointing to Stein, whose translation was spoken very carefully in a monotone.

‘And so they were,’ snapped Auum, stepping very close. ‘Stein risked his life to come here and make our case, and the Lord Sentaya trusted him and us enough to do what had to be done. We drew Ystormun out and we held him so that you could capture him. And now it is done, and we will never forget what your people did to us at Triverne Lake. For that you have my abiding hate.’

‘We did what had to be done,’ said Bynaar.

Auum grabbed his chin. The Xeteskian guards tried to force him away, but Bynaar waved them back. Auum stared into Bynaar’s eyes and studied him while his anger settled.

‘You really don’t understand, do you? I should hate you. But instead I pity you.’

He let Bynaar go, and the master mage backed off a pace, unable to stop himself rubbing his chin, where Auum’s fingermarks were coming up red on his skin.

‘I do not care for your pity,’ said Bynaar.

He made to turn away, but Auum’s next words stopped him even before Stein translated them, their tone cold, quiet and steeped in the authority of great age.

‘You will listen to me.’ Auum waited for Bynaar’s eyes to meet his. ‘We have never sought conflict with others, yet it has been visited upon us, first by the Garonin and then, for the last thousand years, by humans. You risk our lives by your carelessness and your ignorance.’

Bynaar’s eyes narrowed, and he opened his mouth to speak. Auum shook his head, a minute gesture.

‘Your desire for dominance over your enemies has consequences for us all, and you are either oblivious to them or you choose to ignore them. For three thousand years I have walked the rainforest with my people. Three thousand years of love and care and knowledge, and most of it before your college was even dreamed of, before Ystormun and his bastards. Before human magic.

‘But your unquenchable desire for power means so many have died. Elves with wisdom none of us could afford to lose. Takaar has died. Ulysan has died.’

Auum’s voice threatened to break and he saw Bynaar’s eyes twitch.

‘You sought a spell you could never find to grant yourselves power you could never own, and now you are left with nothing but hate.’

‘Who are you to lecture me?’ said Bynaar, his voice teetering on bluster. ‘I am of the Circle Seven.’

‘That office has not conferred any wisdom on you, has it?’ Auum regarded him for a moment. ‘I am Auum. I am Arch of the TaiGethen. I have seen more sorrow than I should have even in my long life, and these last days have been the worst of all. Dread powers clashing and tossing life aside. So many men leave their families without fathers. So many brothers and sons dead here and across the mountains, testament to a battle that should never have been fought because no one had the wit to wonder whether the victor could enjoy his spoils.