Chapter Twenty Three

  He will not be Ashamed to Stand Before His Fathers.

  For a while, the castle was still. Broken corpses of the Sons of Barthus lay all about the wide hall, pale and gaunt, more dolls of men than men proper, yet once they breathed and bled all the same. Nephis sat in a clean corner, now dressed and bundled in furs, her knees to her chest and her hands gripping her raw shoulders. For a while, she sat, resting but not sleeping.

  In the meanwhile, there was little time to lose, for they did not know when Grewa would return. Battered, stabbed, and haunted, they were in no shape for another fight. Moss and Kugo scoured the castle for those clay jars full of dirt and glass. And slowly they gathered up the villagers in the grand hall. Even still, they had no way to transport them. Kugo could carry one, perhaps two if allowed breaks, and Moss could carry three should he crawl on hand and knee. But that would still leave some behind. The thought of leaving the villagers to such a wicked fate was not an option to any of them, not even Kugo, not now.

  Eventually, they decided to remove the great doors of the hall and link them by their pins. By rope and gumption, they bound the doors together and made a loop from which they could be pulled along. As they began to set the jars upon the door and tie them down as best they could, Kugo remembered that one jar still remained. He stood before the blackened door where Nephis had been held. He did not want to go in. The memory of it still repulsed him. And though the heat and damp air of the castle had faded quickly, this room still radiated with heat, like the embers of a fire or the last warmth of a dying animal.

  Lying by the withered husk of a man, the jar sat undisturbed. Despite his shriveled body, Kugo could tell he had been round and soft. Kugo did not know how much time they had left, but even still, he picked up the stiff body and threw it over his shoulder. The whole room made his skin tingle. Bottles of blood lining the wall, damp rags stuffed into jars, and thin and exacting tools. Despite the filth, it was all very precise, a well-honed blade or the bag of a storied physician. As he was dragging the jar, he noticed again that iron pot and dull red jewel. This is where the heat was the greatest, though there was no fire or burning. He reached in and plucked the jewel from the vessel, prying it from the iron with a snap.

  “Moss!” he called as he stepped out of the room, “Prepare a bonfire, we have things to destroy.”

  Quickly, they piled high all the wood they could gather, setting it in the grand hall of the castle. With three strikes of iron and flint, Kugo set the bonfire alight. Into the swamp he threw the Sons of Barthus, where they gazed up like stepping stones, so they might not be used again. He returned to the fire and winced; the heat pressed through his clothes like a hot iron. But he pressed on. On it, they threw all rags and blood and tools, so they might not be used again. They hissed and shattered in the blaze until they were little more than ash. They all watched it for a while, no one saying a word. Lastly, Kugo hoisted the body of the withered man and prepared to toss him on top.

  “Wait!” Nephis cried, “What are you doing?”

  “I recall you told me once that a Flores is burned and returned to the air, so that their body might not be used,” Kugo reminisced of that night they were hunted, when he had first agreed to follow the haughty sorceress, “And I do not believe this man deserves to have his body used anymore. The villagers will understand.”

  Nephis nodded solemnly. With that, Kugo gently tossed him onto the fire. It crackled and boiled, the skin giving way to smoke, the bones giving way to ash. Kugo thought it a rather uncivilized thing. It was something old and ancient, from a time before this land knew God. But even still, he could not help but watch as the poor man’s soul rose to heaven to the sound of Nephis’ soft prayer, a prayer reserved for the noble dragon.

  Pardon his transgressions, God of sky and wind and fire, grant this son of Might mercy, that he might once again return to his rightful home. Often, he served the poor; often, he defended the weak; often, he bore the crown that is heavy. Welcome him, O’ God of mercy and wrath, into Your kingdom, where he will not be ashamed before his fathers.

  They did not stay to watch the fire go out.

  Each step through the swamp was a labor. Even now, it wished to eat them, to pull them below the soil and let the reeds and trees feast upon them. But the three of them had had quite enough of dying and almost dying in these past few hours, so they pressed on, however wearily. Both Nephis and Kugo leaned on Moss, who in turn girdled himself with a line of rope bound to the door-sled, full of jars and bags and anything the rest of them could not carry.

  As they walked, Kugo rolled that dull red jewel between his fingers. It had cooled enough that it did not warm any of them, but it was still hot to the touch, like a bed stone far beneath the mattress, like iron long from the forge. “Nephis,” he called and revealed the stone. “I found this in the room. What should we do with it?”

  Nephis took the stone and looked down upon it, gazing far away at the little rock. “He showed me one of these, made from the first of the villagers. All the life in a person pressed down into a shard to be used up in a bit of magic,” she said with a shudder, “What a terrible thing.”

  “Should I have destroyed it, then?” Kugo asked, “I can do it now.”

  “This one is made from my blood,” Nephis said. “There’s no harm in me keeping it. It’s part of me, after all.”

  “What part?” Moss asked, turning to look her and the stone over.

  Nephis giggled. “Well, I should hope the bad parts.”

  “Like your snoring?” Moss asked.

  “Hey!” she protested.

  “Or maybe her sneaking extra portions of dinner?” Kugo suggested with a grin.

  “W-well, I’ve never done that!” she lied.

  “Or being bossy?” Moss pressed.

  “Or her leering at pretty village boys!” Kugo ribbed.

  “That one is perfectly natural,” Nephis answered with a high nose and an embarrassed grin that banished all the woes and worries for a while.

  This did not stop Moss or Kugo’s joking and picking until they were each torn into stitches. Eventually, the sky grew too dark and weary for them to go any further. They set up on a little bank so small that their ankles still lapped at the water, but at least the rest of them would be dry. There was not even room for them to burn a fire, not that Kugo would have allowed risking giving up where they were hidden. Moss was set to first watch, while the other two caught their breath. Their rations were dull and dry with nothing to soften them. Nephis chewed on hers slowly, for the first time in a long while, not whinging even once about them.

  “How are you? Did Moss patch you up alright?” Kugo broke the silence.

  Nephis revealed her arms, flit with little white scars. “They did not cut too deep. I think these scars will fade, eventually. But,” and she held her shoulders and upper arms, “I never imagined a day when I would miss my scales. I often would pick at them, peel them back from creeping any further. I didn’t like to see them really. Despite their gleam and my pride, they were not too sightly or ladylike,” she admitted. “Now, I find myself feeling a bit exposed, to put it politely.”

  “Will they grow back?” Kugo asked.

  “I believe so. And I’ll know when they are coming. Oh, I remember when they first came in, how they itched! I was only a little girl then. I scratched myself like an old dog until I bled all down my back!” she laughed, a golden gleam in her eyes, “I think my mother nearly dropped dead!”

  Kugo laughed along with her.

  Then he touched his own eyes, remembering how they had been darkened with only a few words. He saw that witch pointing at him, a fist full of strange things. And then the world was gone from him. In a moment, he was brought low. Now with the blood they had and would harvest, they could do it without thinning their number.

  “Do you think I could learn magic?” Kugo asked.

  Nephis sat up, seeming almost alarmed. “I suppose so,” she answered, “But I couldn’t teach you the truths of a sorcerer. You would have to learn as a wizard, from the world without you.”

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  Kugo frowned. “I guess so.”

  “Don’t look so down,” Nephis said, “Here, I will show you a canon.”

  “Like a text?” Kugo asked.

  “A first principle, the basis of sorcery. This is a training exercise taught to me before I was shown a single spell. Don’t worry! It is safe, it will not draw more than you give.”

  “Are you sure?” Kugo asked warily.

  “I am certain,” she assured him. “Now, sit up straight like a man and hold out your hands before you.”

  “Like this?” Kugo asked and stuck them out straight.

  “Not so far, as if you were cupping a baby bird or a handful of sand,” she corrected. “Now close your eyes and think in your own words, 'I am,' over and over again until you believe it with all your heart.”

  Kugo felt a bit silly but did as he was told, blinding his eyes once more and milling the words over and over again until he thought he would go mad.

  “I am.”

  Then, without warning: iron and copper. He tasted blood, and then he realized a thin finger was stuck in his mouth. He looked to see Nephis grinning, a knife in one hand and her other dug between his teeth. “’Ey, shtop it!” he shamed her.

  “Look,” she said, and pointed to his hands.

  Cupped in his hands was a small ball of fire. Hot and orange, it flickered in the air. His eyes widened. He had cast a spell! Or close enough! Canon or spell, what was the difference? In his hands was magic! It was brilliant and warm, as good as any fire he had ever lit. He moved up a finger to touch it, but quickly pulled away for fear of burning himself. And for a while, he enjoyed its warmth.

  Soon, Nephis pulled her finger from his mouth, and quickly the fire sputtered out, a tiny red prick upon her fingertip. She wiped it off on her jacket. “Good job!” she praised him, “It took me an awfully long while to understand that, and here you got it on your first try!”

  “Heh, well, maybe I’m a natural!” he smirked, “You best watch-” suddenly, Kugo was awash with exhaustion. He felt as if he had walked a hundred miles in a second or as if he hadn’t eaten for days. He slumped down, feeling as if he would faint.

  Nephis laughed, cackling and snorting. “It’s no wonder,” she said, “I should have warned you. But good job, nonetheless.”

  In the morning, they finished the journey back to the village. Huffing and puffing, they pulled their shoes from the tar-like mud of the swamp as Moss heaved the jars and platform like a slave to a burden. They caught some strange glances as they emerged from the willows, but most let them be. They had planned to leave as soon as they bought up what food and supplies they could, but for a while, they just sat on the docks staring at the still rippling water of the swamp. Grewa would return to his castle before long, be it a day or a week, he would find it in shambles and know precisely what had happened. Kugo looked at Nephis, still rubbing her arms in pain, still pale and weary. She was in no position to fight. Neither was he. Moss worked miracles stitching up their wounds, but Kugo still had been punctured, his blood still stained the stone floors of the hall, and quite a bit of it. Neither of them could walk very long without leaning on Moss. Should Grewa come to them, they would be killed, their corpses picked clean, and their journey ended, or worse.

  “We cannot stay here,” Kugo announced.

  Nephis looked up forlornly at him, but said nothing. He was right; the village and her people were in grave danger with them.

  “What about the people?” Moss asked in a low and somber voice.

  Kugo bit through his leather glove. “If they keep us . . . Grewa would not take kindly to them. So they must reject us,” he concluded, “I will look for the town’s elder, or mayor, or whatever they have and let him know what to say.”

  “That’s not all,” Nephis said.

  “What else is there?” Kugo asked.

  “Misha and Dana!” she clicked, “They cannot stay here.”

  “They cannot come with us,” Kugo replied, “They’d slow us down, and that would be the end of them should the Sons of Barthus catch up.”

  And they all sat stewing on it for a while.

  “Well, we must tell them,” Nephis said.

  And so Kugo went to find the mayor, while Nephis and Moss sent away to Misha and Dana.

  “We must be stern, Moss,” Nephis instructed. “We are asking a difficult thing of them.”

  The house, once surrounded by mourners and comforters, was now sitting quaint and alone. It was a little thing, only a door and thatched roof, but it was well enough to guard from the rainy months that filled the swamp every year. Nephis gently knocked on the door. And before long, Misha called back to them. “I’ll be right there!”

  She opened the door, and her gaze was cast in two directions, both up at Moss and down at Nephis. “Oh!” she exclaimed in delight. “I’m so glad you’ve come, I -”

  “You are doomed,” Moss said grimly. “You can’t stay, and you can’t come with us.”

  “Moss!” Nephis exclaimed in a panic.

  Misha threw herself back in fright. “W-what? Is something wrong?”

  Nephis peeked into the room, and seeing little Dana was preoccupied with a toy, she looked squarely in his mother’s eyes. “The man who took your son is going to come looking for us. And we are in no position to fight him off, here or elsewhere. Should he come here, and this would be the first place he looks, he will likely take Dana,” Nephis paused for a moment, rubbing her arms and shoulders, “He is an angry man. You must take Dana away from here. He has some fascination with your son.”

  Misha went pale, and then a forlorn smile crept across her face. “But he will not remain here?” she asked, “So I might return soon?”

  “I suppose so,” Nephis answered. “I do not know when he will return or how long he will stay. Perhaps a few weeks.”

  “I have family a day’s journey from here. I will take the boy and stay with them for a while,” she replied. “It will be good for Dana, to see a little more of the world.”

  “Tell no one you are going. And, should Grewa find you,” she pushed out, as if the words had been waiting the whole time behind her tongue, “Tell him how awful we were, tell him we were cruel to you and Dana and the whole village. We took your money and your cart, and anything we could! That way, he might be kind to you in some terrible way.”

  Misha nodded, “Very well,” she answered in an amused voice. “I will tell him so. On one condition,” she added.

  “Oh?” Nephis asked.

  “That you and your friends will stay the night. You look terribly out of sorts,” she said with a smile.

  “Isn’t that great, Nephis?” Moss said with glee, “You said you wanted to stay in an inn!”

  “An inn?” Misha asked with a cocked head.

  “That is a very kind request, Miss Misha,” Nephis said, “But it wouldn’t be right to put you in danger. For all I know, Grewa could be at our heels right as I speak.”

  “Then I suppose you will only be able to have dinner,” Misha sighed. “Come along, you need your reward for saving Dana.”

  “Well, I suppose dinner couldn’t hurt,” Nephis sighed. “But just so you know, Moss and Kugo eat like the king’s horses.”

  They spoke for a while, Moss and Nephis regaling Dana with tales of heroism and victory over their enemies, some of which were perfectly true. Misha, meanwhile, sat faithfully over a small fire and an iron pot, carefully adding handfuls of this or that, never measuring or counting, as if she were certain to always grab the proper amount. The room swelled with the scent of sharp onion and brook bugs. Had Nephis been in a right state, she might have grown concerned about what she was about to eat, but so hungry was she that eating at all was all she cared about.

  After a long while of story after story, which had long been fabricated, which Dana never grew tired of, there came a knock at the door. Misha cracked it open to find Kugo standing wearily in front of a rugged-looking cart. “Oh, hello you, Sir Kugo, I presume?”

  “Sir Kugo?” Sir Kugo asked incredulously.

  “Oh! Kugo, you’re here!” Nephis sighed in relief, “Come now, it’s your turn to tell Dana a story or two.”

  Kugo stood in stunned silence. “I guess?”

  Moss was currently stumbling through a story about a talking raven and an elf, and how he had tried to woo the elf. It didn’t go anywhere, and neither Kugo nor Nephis was sure he knew what was supposed to happen, but Dana enjoyed it thoroughly all the same. That evening, they ate until their stomachs were full to bursting, savoring each crawfish and thing that crawled along the bank as if it were the finest roast peacock. Though there were only five of them, the iron pot had been scraped clean, and not a crumb of bread remained in the whole house. It would just mold, after all. Before the sun had even set, they said their goodbyes and headed out for the road.

  As they left, the lonely, rugged cart Kugo had been standing before still sat, and upon it were the clay jars full of dirt and glass. “The man was true to his word. Here is our pay.” Kugo said with a sigh.

  “A fine gift!” Nephis said, “Shall we go and collect the horse?”

  Kugo stammered, scratching the back of his head.

  “Pardon?”

  “There is no horse,” Kugo said. “They could not afford to lose one. I think it would bankrupt the whole village to take one of theirs.”

  Nephis stood dumbfounded. “What is a cart without a horse?” she asked.

  “And how are we supposed to carry all these jars?” Kugo asked. “It seemed like a fair deal at the time.”

  “I can pull it,” Moss thrummed.

  Well. Kugo and Nephis thought. It was not the worst idea.

  And so, with a little creative rigging, they set out, Moss lugging the great cart with all their things off the old docks and through the mud and to the grasslands from which they came. Off to return the villagers and their oracle to their home.