Go For Stories

The next morning, V’esen stood at the front of the crowd as they lit the funeral pyre. His parents and every other man, woman, and child that had been butchered in the raid were laid to rest upon the giant stack of wood. The surviving villagers had worked all night and most of the morning scrounging around for loose scraps of wood for the pyre. While half of the able-bodied folk headed out to the forest with axes in hand, the rest went about the solemn business of gathering the dead. V’esen went about his duty in a vacant and dolorous manner. The pyre stretched along the Southern side of Forest’s Edge. Each body now had a brown cloth draped over their face to symbolise the land to which they were born. Smoke billowed out from the oil, signalling the start of the mourning silence.

V’esen no longer felt at home in the village. His parents, his roots, were gone. After Staren passed away, he searched for Caral. He needed someone to share in his grief. He first went to Gygyn’s inn, but she was not there. He ran to every building in the village, his search growing more and more frantic as time passed. His heart quickened at the sight of each new body, thinking he had found her slain. Still, house after blood-stained house, turned up no clues as to her location. Hours later, the darkness and his fatigue bore down on him, and he had begun to think that even finding her body would bring him some sort of peace.

She was nowhere to be found.

So, here he stood, alone amongst his people. Not a single tear fell from his eyes as he watched his foundation burn to the ground.

Haver had saved many of the people, including the majority of the council. He had rounded up the weak and the defenceless and taken them to the Empty Flagon. Even still, Haver couldn’t save everybody. Helav’ill, in his rush to leave town, headed straight into the front line of the advancing troops. His body was found in the middle of a field, cut to pieces and left for the horned-cats. The council had lost three of its most valuable members last night. The Order, like V’esen’s village, was in ruins.

The flames grew higher and the smoke blocked out the sun, casting an eerie darkness over the scene. V’esen closed his eyes and his mind drifted away with the wind. Without his family, and the Order in tatters, there was no longer clear purpose to his life; nothing to live for and nothing to die for. His mind turned blank.

He couldn’t say how long he stood like this, but when he opened his eyes the fire had died down and the ashes had begun to blow away. The bodies were now reclaimed by the wind, ready to start life anew in faraway lands.

V’esen watched as his fellow villagers left the renewing ritual. Every single one of them had lost someone they cared for. Yet, V’esen felt alone in his grief. He felt something land on his shoulder and it took him a while to realise it to be a hand. He looked behind his shoulder to see Haver standing there. His face was grim, tear-streaked and covered in soot.

“I’m sorry, V’esen. I would have been there for them, but Rense commanded me to look after the village. I’m sorry.”

V’esen nodded and turned from Haver. It was too painful to think that he had a friend anymore. It was easier to turn away than to lose anyone else.

He felt Haver beside him for a long while before he gave up and left as well. V’esen stared at the smoking pile that was once his life before heading to his childhood home. He would stay tonight. Tomorrow, he would be gone.

*          *          *

A muffled sound broke through the silence of the night, waking V’esen. He stared straight up at the ceiling and listened as his eyes grew accustomed to the dark room. There it was again; a slight thud. He couldn’t pinpoint its origin. He quietened his breath and waited for more, but waited so long that he drifted off.

Some time later, a gentle scrape stirred him once more. His eyes fluttered open as he was grabbed by both arms and pinned to the bed. He grunted and struggled in his sleep weakened state, but couldn’t release himself. Squinting, he tried to make out the identity of his captors. There had to be at least two men at his sides, but it was too dark to see. A hand clamped over his mouth, silencing his shouts. He looked up at a blurry face just in time to see an armoured fist come down. Spots flashed behind his eyes before his world turned black.