Zachary Jernigan - No Return

Thus resolved to speak of his order, of camaraderie and shared purpose, it came as a surprise when he found himself recounting the events of the morning after the Thirteenth’s battle with the Soldiers of the Appropriate Desire. His walk to Querus, Golna’s only Tomen neighborhood. The smell of black pepper, cumin, and fennel. The hostile stares of dusky, redheaded men. His own stertorous breath and tightly clenched fists.

“Julit had been cremated at dawn,” he said, enunciating with great care, betraying no emotion. “Her father held her skull in his hands while we talked. He pointed to the skulls above the hearth. Julit’s brother , he told me. Julit’s uncle and grandmother and great grandmother . He spoke softly, and his wife never made a sound. I wouldn’t have known they were crying if the room wasn’t so bright. They had placed lit candles on every surface, like they were trying to chase a ghost away.

“They asked me to assist in the funerary rites. According to Abse, spreading ashes is an unclean but necessary ritual in Toma, appropriate for a stranger—or even an enemy—to perform. I fit the definition of both, I suppose. Nonetheless, the request surprised me. I hadn’t really expected them to ask. In Knos Ulom, a person’s remains are sacred.

“They told me her favorite spot in the city was just under the Physickers’ Bridge, on the Quarriton side. I used to go there as a child, too. It felt removed from the city somehow, like someone had set it aside for children. Even the homeless avoided it. The way down was tricky, dangerous for drunk feet.”

Berun and Churls stared at the fire. Neither seemed inclined to speak. Vedas let the silence stretch while he remembered. He had rolled drunks once, a lifetime ago, under the illusion of punishing Adrashi for their false piety. His gang of eleven children, not one above the age of ten, had enjoyed the implicit patronage of the city’s Black Suits, who provided information: This is how you identify an Adrashi , and the like. The orders had armed the children and informed their rude faith, made them dangerous.

Gave them the confidence to push homeless men from bridges.

Vedas now recognized the evil of this arrangement. He counted among his blessings the fact that Abse had rescued him. Among Golna’s orders, only the Thirteenth abstained from supporting the youth gangs. His brothers and sisters conformed to a code of ethics running deeper than mere doctrine. They watched over their recruits, educated and fed them, offered something better than a life on the streets. Even those who still lived at home were allowed to stay in the dormitories—a safe haven for many who would otherwise suffer abuse at the hands of their parents and siblings.

“Faith,” Vedas said, angling his eyes to the sky, pressing fingertips to the horns of his hood. The Needle and the moon had risen above the Steps, illuminating the plain with cold light. “Her parents couldn’t understand my faith, even though we were both Anadrashi. They had no idea their daughter had become involved with our order. It seemed to disgust them. We’re devout , the father told me. His wife held her sickle-moon pendant before her, as though she thought it would protect her from me.”

Churls cleared her throat. “You took off your suit?”

“No,” he said. No, of course not . He considered telling her that he had not taken his suit off in over two decades, that he would not do so for something as minor as his visit to Julit Umeda’s home.

But it had not been minor, had it? On the route to Nbena, he had replayed the meeting over and over again. Even with the distraction Churls provided, the event continued to haunt his sleep. On one mortifying occasion, he dreamt of Julit Umeda surviving the hellhound attack. Instead of informing her parents of her death, he went to congratulate them on her accomplishment, to welcome her into the order. He had woken from the dream, suffused with warmth, only to have the cold realization seize him again.

“Vedas,” Churls said. She leaned forward, one hand raised from her knee as if she wanted to touch him but could not make herself do it. In the glow of the fire, the tattoos seemed to dance on her arm. A bear lunged, spreading its forelegs. A falcon dived, wings pressed tight against its sides. “Did you spread the girl’s ashes under the bridge?”

“Yes,” Berun said. “Tell us. Did you do it?”

Vedas’s mouth was very dry. He moved his tongue around, but no moisture came. “I did,” he finally croaked. “I took her ashes to the Physickers’ Bridge. I slipped down the hill and located a spot to sit under the bridge—a place I used to go. The tide was low, so I hopped rocks out into the center of the river and smashed the urn. Her parents offered no directions, but that is the ritual among Knosi. We let water or wind carry the ashes away.”

“And still you felt nothing?” Churls asked. “No release?”

Vedas breathed deeply into his stomach. He held the air for a moment, and then let it rush out. “No. I don’t know what I expected to feel. I’ve commanded men and women not much older than Julit Umeda. Many times. A few have died. I never felt responsible. I did all that I could to insure their safety. I tried so hard to...”

His head dropped forward. His fingers curled into fists in his lap.

“No, that’s a lie. If I tried as hard as I could to insure their safety, they would still be alive. I shouldn’t try to convince myself otherwise. Millar Abo, Kelt Abbenajer, Amy Luethr, Somses Xu, Sara and Zeb Jol, Vakim Woril, Samual Honesth, Pylar Romane, Edard Hsui, Julit Umeda—I sent each of them to their deaths. I carry their memories. I can’t let them go, even though wisdom says I should.”

“Whose wisdom?” Churls asked.

Vedas’s features twisted into a scowl. He had expected the question, but the anger it provoked took him by surprise. “Don’t,” he said. His lips puckered, on the verge of shaping words.

“Don’t what?” she said. She held up her hand, silencing any response. “I’ve tried so hard not to offend you, Vedas, but that’s coming to an end, right here: We match honesty with honesty. I see you trying to defend your faith when you and I both know it requires no defending. Adrash exists, and you believe he should be opposed. You believe mankind should dictate its own course. Fine. As far as convictions go, it’s not a bad one. But that’s not what we’re talking about. We’re talking about what a man does in the name of his faith.”

He started to speak. Again, she stopped him with a gesture.

“Listen, the problem is that you can’t separate what you’ve been told with what you know in your gut to be true. If you believed in your role as wholeheartedly as you want to believe in it, there would be no problem. You wouldn’t have to forgive yourself for leading those kids to death because you would have been in the right all along.” She chuckled without humor. “I hear you asking a question, but I don’t think you’re listening to yourself yet.”

Berun nodded his great head.

Vedas’s fists loosened, and he clasped his shaking hands together. Despite his attempts to hold onto it, the temper that had built while Churls spoke dissolved, settling within his veins, leaving him cold. His head swam as though he had been blindsided by a vicious blow. She had spoken truly: Something did indeed call from within. A question or a revelation. It whispered at the edge of comprehension, awful in its potency.

Instinctually, he fled from it, retreating to a comfortable position.

“I should have protected them,” he said.

Churls sighed. From Berun came the odd rustling sound of spheres moving deep within his body. Neither moved, and Vedas admonished himself for a fool. Of course they had nothing to say. How could they put themselves in his position? Had they ever led a team of scared children, or tried to comfort a grieving parent? Certainly, Berun had never done so. And Churls—Churls was traveling to Danoor for personal gain, probably in order to satisfy a debt. Hardly a situation for a responsible person to find herself in.