Rise (War Witch Book 1) (71 page)

Saddened to see another Blessed lost, Rills had reached out, meaning to close her eyes, only to have the Deep Elf jerk her head up. Badly wounded, she still lived, so Rills let her lean on him, and carried her out to find aid.

Chara sat, a temple healer checking her shoulder and head injury, watching as people rushed about. She'd never felt so tired in her life. Every inch of her ached, her very soul seeming to beg for sleep.

Through the crowd and smoke, she saw Ramora come through the castle gates. The warrior paused to look over the chaos before walking on, heading down the street and disappearing around a turn as Chara pushed herself to her feet, waving off the healer.

Catching the eye of Leena, Untar, Esteban, and Shana, they all knew where she was going. They gathered in silence, trying to decide what to do, and if following was the right course, or if the Blessed should be given a moment alone.

Rills’ squad exited the broken gates a few moments later, spotting Chara and the others turning to follow Ramora. Izra refused the healers, asking to go with them, getting a nod from Rills. Ragged, the squad moved in behind the others, walking down the street until they turned, passing Renfro's broken form without a thought.

Ramora knelt, Leto's head pulled into her lap, her fingers stroking his face. For some time, no one moved, simply watching, bearing witness as she relived her greatest pain. She didn't scream, or even cry, instead she simply sat there, staring down at him in sadness.

She'd turned twenty-three today.

Finally, Chara forced herself to walk, her aching legs wobbly as she crossed the distance, what felt like miles, to kneel beside her. The warrior looked up, seeing her friend’s blood-stained and smudged face as behind the injuries, those wide, expressive hazel eyes mourned with her.

Reaching out, Chara rested Ramora's head on her shoulder, and helped her grieve, so she wouldn't have to do it alone this time. No words were said. None were needed. Not between them.

Shana joined them a moment later, kneeling on Ramora's other side, her grief welling up again. Her Blessed had fallen. The hole in her soul was too vast for words. She fell into the arm the warrior held out to her, crying enough for them both.

Shrugging off Rills, Izra limped over, collapsing alongside Chara. She too found a shoulder as the young woman pulled her in, unable to imagine her pain. Watching them, knowing he couldn't be a part of the circle they shared, Rills sank down, sitting in the street as he mourned the passing of his hero. The squad he'd been given that morning, men and women he'd only known a few hours, joined him, paying their respects for the Blessed who’d died protecting them.

Untar remained, leaning on Esteban, both men wanting to go to the women, and seeing they could not. For Untar, it was a matter of respect. They were warriors all, heroes who’d risked everything and lost much to save his city. He wouldn't intrude on that moment. He couldn't. He had no right.

For Esteban, it was the realization that they were beyond his reach. Chara, his beloved, Ramora, his friend, and Izra, his ally, were miles outside his grasp. It was bittersweet, but he accepted it, knowing in that moment they always would be. He lived in their shadow.

Leena watched it all, standing back from the rest. As a Silken Sister, she'd learned since childhood how to be detached, emotionless, and above the fray. It was needed, for when a Sister fell, one couldn't lose themselves to anger. The war rolled on, and she, like all of the Sisters, was a soldier in it.

She would grieve, alone, in silence, when the time was right.

The four women stayed there for some time, grieving the loss of a friend, a lover, a kind, noble soul, and a Blessed of Grannax. The world was darker, and as if the Emperor of Heaven himself shared their sorrow, it began to rain as the sun shone down on them.

Another champion of Heaven had fallen.

Sadness was the common coin of the realm.

It took three days before a proper memorial could be arranged. The devastation of Lansing needed to be attended to first. Many citizens of the great city had been lost, even more gravely injured. Most of the temples in the city had been damaged in the bombardment, leaving little room for a remembrance to be held even had there been time.

Ramora spent those days helping where she could, expending what magic energy her Avatar could muster as it regenerated its leg, tending the injured. When she had nothing left to give there, she lost herself in working at clearing debris. It helped keep her mind from the dark thoughts that swirled endlessly.

Attachments were weapons you handed the Demon Seed so they could rip out your heart.

Meeting Chara, she'd thought to leave that behind, wanting to believe that letting others in could make her a stronger person. Losing her, she'd almost shut down, retreating back to the shy girl of her youth. Leto had coaxed her back from that, and while she knew what they had shared wasn't love, it had been something special, a trust that she'd hoped would sustain her.

Now that was gone as well. Everyone she reached out to either died, or left her. It was too much hurt, too much sorrow, for her to bear. She couldn't take it again. Her very soul felt ragged, tattered, and broken beyond repair.

Attachments were weapons you handed the Demon Seed so they could rip out your heart.

She threw herself into whatever she could to escape the agony of being a death sentence to anyone foolish enough to care for her. She lost herself in the simplest of things, to escape the crushing despair.

Draco had taken everything from her again. Even her chance at justice. Without her fellow Blessed, she knew, she would never be able to defeat him, so she resigned herself to die trying. At least then, she would be with her family in Paradise, free of the agony of life.

Chara watched her, unable to bridge the distance the warrior put between herself and everyone. More than anything, she wanted to reach out to her, hold her, comfort her, and be what she needed. More than anything, Chara wanted to turn back time, and choose a different road than the one she walked now, one where she could be there for the ever-silent Blessed as more than a friend.

She and Esteban helped clear wreckage, along with Ramora, but though they stood side by side, they were so far apart the young woman felt she would never be able to find her friend again. Looking to the towering Werecat, Chara wondered why things had gone the way they did.

Her quiet introspection gave Rakiss no end of trouble as he fought to keep her from unraveling the emotions he'd forced on her. Esteban never questioned his love of Chara, but more and more, he found, she did her love of him. Standing behind her, he watched Lansing grieve, and asked himself if he was really doing the right thing.

Was this for the greater good, as he often told himself? Watching Chara work, he had to believe it was. Not just this, or what he'd done already, but the awful things to come. They had to be worth it.

He desperately prayed they were.

When the time finally came for the memorial to be held, the city paused in their efforts, looking to the castle, where those who'd been lost would be remembered in the courtyard, the only place in the city large enough to hold the gathering properly. Lansing stopped, to remember the fallen.

Six Blessed. One hundred fifty-three City Guards. Five hundred ninety-eight citizens.

For Untar, as he looked at the small dais that awaited him on that cloudy afternoon, finding the right words seemed an insurmountable task. What could he possibly say that would ease the pain of his people? How could he ever explain that he had grown lax, allowing so many Demon Seed to thrive under his very nose? What would ever make it right again?

Walking to the small podium that would mystically carry his voice across the whole of the city, to every ear, the circlet he wore as a crown felt as heavy as a boulder. He had failed his people, his city, and his friends. Words would not come easy.

On that overcast day, as thunder rumbled in the distance, he looked down to see Ramora sitting front and center, Izra to her left, Chara to her right, and faltered. Esteban and Leena served as bookends to the three women who'd done more, sacrificed more, than there was any right to expect, or ask. Just behind them was Rills and the squad that had stood by him during the events of that awful morning, their bravery beyond compare.

Between he and them sat six coffins, the final bed of the Blessed who'd died. Lining the courtyard on either side, one hundred fifty-three more, the soldiers who'd lost their lives.

The King of Lansing felt unworthy to speak before them.

"Today we bid farewell to heroes," he said at last, the cool ocean tinged wind tugging at him as the storm that was coming called out to them. "It's not an easy thing to do, saying goodbye, knowing there won't be another greeting to come in this life. It isn't an easy thing to reconcile, the loss of those whose lives should've been longer, for they had much more to yet give this world. It's not an easy thing to understand, the cruelty that has taken them from us. It isn't an easy thing to manage, the life that continues in their absence."

Pausing, he forced himself to look to Ramora and Izra, but found no judgment in their eyes. In a way, he felt, it would've been better if he had. Perhaps, it would at least justify what he saw in his own eyes when he looked in the mirror.

"Life does go on, however. It does, because it must. We have that obligation now, thrust upon us in the most unwelcome of ways, leaving us no choice but to shoulder it. Our bodies may hurt, our hearts may bleed, and our souls may weep, as living on is the heaviest burden of all, but shoulder it we must. We didn't ask for that responsibility, no more than we desire it, but it's ours none the less, and shoulder it we must."

Untar gripped the podium, his hands trembling. "How do we do it? How do we carry on, continuing to live, with this gaping hole in our lives? This ragged place in our hearts? I know each of you asks yourself that, as I do, for regardless of our station in life, be it King, or Blessed, soldier, or citizen, we all feel, we all love, we all grieve, and we all do it the same. It's what makes us alike despite our differences, what joins us, gives us common purpose, and allows us to walk together, of one mind, one heart, and one soul, even in these dark times."

Thunder rolled from the south, giving him a moment to pause. He hoped the rain would come soon, that he might hide the tears that Lansing's King could not show now. Not while the people needed him to be strong, resolute, and unwavering.

"It's there that we find the strength to live on. Not in what we've lost, but in what we've found. Not in the absence of those who aren't with us, but in the presence of those who stand by us. It's there we find the means to heal these grievous wounds, in the helping hands of our neighbors, friends, and loved ones. It's there our will to move forward is at its strongest, as we stand as one, that which sets us apart weighing less than that which makes us the same. It is there we find hope."

Izra wrapped her fingers into Ramora's hand, the simple gesture giving the warrior comfort. She squeezed the Elf's hand, and felt it be returned, dispelling a tiny trace of the agony by virtue of the warmth in of her touch.

"Today we say goodbye to those we've lost," Untar continued. "We know they are in Paradise, at peace, their burdens lifted. We know they wish us only happiness, love, and joy. We know we will see them again, there, one day. We know they do not desire us to rush to it, for we all still have much to give to this world; this world needs all we can give it, for it is a tragic world, filled to the brim with sorrow. We know that by standing together, we can make it a world filled with acceptance, understanding, and peace, each in our own way."

Chara laid her head against Esteban, and felt his strong arm around her. She took comfort in it, for she needed it, craved it, and couldn't find it where she wanted it most. Torn between sorrow for that, and guilt for taking it, she felt her heart twist painfully, and tried to understand why.

"This is what they've given their lives for," Untar said, his voice wavering slightly. "This is what they believed was worth dying for. That this world can be a better place than it is. That we can see a brighter tomorrow. Let us not grieve that, for there's no greater cause, no better purpose, and no more noble a thing to lay down one’s life for. That those we leave behind may see a world that is kinder, gentler, and warmer than the one we depart. I believe those we remember today held that goal with their passing breath, for they were all, to the last, nobler souls than I have ever known. We are all better for having known them, and in their sacrifice, become worthy of them having made it."

He could not keep his voice from cracking at the last, and with his pain on display for all of Lansing, continued anyway. "As we commit their mortal remains to the earth, returning their souls to the Heavens, let us never forget that. We are made worthy of their sacrifice in them having made it."

As he stepped away from the podium, Shana appeared in a swirl of light, accompanied by five other Ascended. From the haunted looks in their eyes, it wasn't hard to guess who they were. The servants of the Gods, the conduit by which the Divine was passed to mortal hands, to stand against the darkness, had lost a piece of their own soul with the fall of the Blessed they served. With thunder rumbling above them, they joined the city in mourning.