Morgan Rice - Night of the Bold

Kyra knelt there, torch in her shaking hand, and could not bring herself to lower it. She could not bear to touch the funeral pyre, to set her father aflame and send him to the gods. Something inside her just would not allow it.

She was not the only one: beside her stood her brother, Aidan, staring straight ahead, frozen, numb, eyes wide in a vacant stare that was more terrifying than her father’s death. It was as if his life had been robbed of him. White sat at his feet, looking equally despondent.

“Don’t do it,” he said to her slowly, darkly, looking at the torch as if it were a snake.

Her heart broke at his words.

With all eyes on her, Kyra stood there, frozen, numb. She did not think she would be able to do it.

To her relief, Motley stepped forward, breaking the silence, joined by several more actors. A small group of them stood there before her, and she looked up at them, puzzled. She wondered what they were going to do.

They all turned, faced the pyre, held hands, and looked up at the sky. Then one of them leaned back, and to her surprise, began to sing a song.

It was a slow, haunting tune, filling the solemn air. The others joined in, and the chorus gained volume. It was a nostalgic song, a song of her childhood, and the flood of feelings it evoked was too much for Kyra. Images flashed through her mind. She recalled all the times her father had sat with her, close to the fire, reading her stories, reciting legends, tales of the past, teaching her, urging her to be a warrior.

And yet, as they continued to sing, Kyra also slowly felt a sense of resolution. It was a feeling of rebirth. She could not help but feel as if it was her father’s soul who wanted her to hear the song, as a reminder of all the times they had spent together, sitting and reading, all those nights that inspired her, that had made her know who she wanted to be.

How much more will this war take from us? she asked her father silently. How much more will be stripped away? Will anything be left when it is done? Will it all even be worth it?

She closed her eyes and felt herself speaking to her father, and she never wanted to open them, to return to this world. Sometimes reality, she realized, was more painful than fantasy.

Kyra did not know how much time had passed before she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. She looked up to find her brother, Aidan, looking down, his eyes red with tears, Cassandra standing beside him, White at their feet. She saw his pain, and it brought her back. She realized others were suffering, too, not just her, and somehow it made her feel less alone. She felt for her little brother; he had lost so much, so quickly, and he was far too young to have to endure this all. He was now the only family she had left.

She felt a strong hand on her other shoulder and she looked up to see Anvin standing on her other side, eyes red. Behind him stood dozens of her father’s soldiers, and she saw they were all grieving, too. She realized that they also seemed lost. After all, their commander had been taken away from them. She began to think of others and what they must be going through, and not only of herself.

The song ended, and Kyra took a deep breath, calming her tears, slowly letting it out. She felt the eyes of all the great warriors were now upon her, men who had looked to her father for leadership, men who needed direction now. Somewhere in the distance, as her world came back into focus, there came the distant sounds of war, the sounds of the Pandesian army, somewhere on the other side of the Gulch. She could hear Theon pawing the earth, not far away, stomping the ground impatiently. She was stuck in time, and she knew that time could not be frozen forever. She had to be strong. It was what her father would have wanted of her. It was what, she sensed, he was trying to tell her.

Kyra, seeing the faces of all these proud men about her, slowly began to feel a new resolve arise within her. She felt the spirit of her father, the strength of her father, a great warlord, coursing through her. She felt that her strength was giving her father peace. She felt him smiling down at her, trying to speak to her.

Kyra , he said in her mind, I will always be with you. Let me go. Release me. Release me, and my spirit will be bigger than it ever was. It will be a part of you, forever.

Wiping away her final tears, Kyra slowly stood, a cold, steely resolve within her. As she did, she reached out and slowly lowered the torch.

A moment later, to her own shock, the pyre was ablaze.

It rippled in the wind, flames rising higher and higher. All the men around her backed away from the intense heat. But not she. She was used to flame. She rode, after all, on the back of a dragon.

Instead, Kyra inched closer. She wanted to feel the heat. She wanted to feel a bit of pain. She wanted to implant this day on her mind forever. A part of her, indeed, still wished to die with him.

Soon enough, the pyre burned down, all that remained a pile of ashes, of falling embers, where her father’s body had once been. She looked down at it, numb. It did not seem possible. Was life that fleeting?

Kyra felt a calloused hand on her wrist, and she looked over to see Anvin. She followed his gaze and saw the torch in her hand, smoking, burnt out for she did not know how long. She had forgotten she was still holding it.

Finally, she opened her hand and released it. It fell to the ground and collapsed in a pile of sparks.

Anvin looked at her, compassion in his eyes.

“Your father loved you more than anything,” he said. “More than us. More than battle. You were his soul.”

Kyra felt a great wave of grief wash over her. Why could she not have arrived sooner to rescue him?

“His memory lives in you now,” he continued. “As does his spirit. Without you, he is truly gone forever. But with you, he can live again.”

She pondered his words.

“Do you understand?” he asked. “You are his rightful heir. You are our leader now.”

Kyra turned and looked out at all her father’s men, and she saw them all staring back somberly, nodding in agreement. Needing her leadership. Needing her father to rise again.

“Your father’s goal, our goal, remains unfinished,” he continued. “On the other side of those cliffs, a vast Pandesian army rallies. Soon enough, they’ll find a way through the Gulch. We must take the fight to them, drive them back once and for all. Will you lead us? Will you become commander of Escalon?”

Kyra heard his words and she could not help but think back to the prophecies, to that fateful night, in the blizzard, when she had first encountered a wounded Theos. She thought of the sorcerer’s prophecy, that she would one day rise to be a great warrior, a great leader, even greater than her father. How foolish it had seemed in that moment. Yet ever since then she had also felt an inevitability to the words, and had wondered if, or when, it would come to pass.

Now that the day had arrived, it all felt surreal. As if she were caught up in something bigger than herself. Something always destined to happen.

Slowly, she nodded back.

“My father’s soul cries for vengeance,” she said, the first words she had uttered since her father’s death. Her mouth was still dry; she had not thought she would ever be able to speak again, and her own words surprised her.

She turned and looked out at all the men, feeling how much they needed her now, wanting to give them the inspiration they so deserved.

“And I intend to give it to him,” she said, her voice booming, taking on a new strength. It was the strength of a commander.

There arose a cheer amongst the men, and as Kyra raised her staff, they all rallied around her, raising their swords, looking at her with the same love and devotion they had once reserved for her father.