Rune mage

Chaoter 42: darkness

He was the first one formally buried under my command.

After two days of no attacks, we gathered in front of the fort, sixty four of us, and laid MY page.

Laid

MY page

to rest.

I could not stomach watching the magic eat at him.

And felt a hypocrite when I realized that these men had likely felt the same for others who had died.

I had taken from them their final farewells.

I named him one last time, spoke my words aloud for all to hear my farewell to my page whose name was Ryan, and who came from not far and lied about his age in hopes of protecting his family. Who reminded his commander to eat and drink and sleep, and never once asked for more than safety and acceptance.

I did not hide my tears, but cried openly. We all cried together that day. He became our page, not just mine.

And then the ground welcomed our page and the dirt and the stones that we laid over him, runes of remembrance etched carefully out so that any who stood upon the stone would be lifted up by strength and energy.

Rudger stood at my side then, silent and watching.

He stayed at my side, silent and steady.

Day after day, night after night.

When he slept, he assigned another to stand at my side, usually the archer who had tried to stop the traitors.

I didn't want to know his name. I knew it, but I feared if I became close to anyone else again I would fall apart. So I called him Archer.

I called Rudger sergeant.

When I spoke at all... I hardly said a word, my grief and feelings of loss and failure and betrayal ran deep; sounds lodged in my throat.

I had been through darkness before.

This was something more. Day after day, blurring into something that was likely a month but might have been more, I saw and felt and thought of nothing. It was all blank darkness.

It was a good thing there were no attacks that followed. We were demoralized the lot of us. And I was lost to darkness.

I only ate when someone all but forced me to. I drank so little my healers frowned at me. I couldn't sleep, instead wandering the halls and finding reminders of men lost. Of my page, who would never become an adult.

The mood of the fort was oppressively somber.

It took me weeks and a death not due to fighting to shake me out of my open utter despair.

It was stopped when one of the healers jumped from the tallest battlement to his death.

I buried him next to my page, with stones marked with runes of strength and healing.

And then I tucked away my darkness. I realized that my men would follow my lead and if I appeared hopeless they would begin to die as surely as if I had let the enemy in the gate.

So I smiled at each man. I spoke with them, ate with them, and on a rare occasion or two, rolled dice with them.

I couldn't bring myself to use their names. So everyone soon had nick names, worn with pride because their commander saw a strength in them.

And for some the name came with additional runes.

Archer was given a rune of far sight and true aim.

Rudger wore alert and aware with pride, his role as the highest ranking sergeant clearly made important. Others became scout, or fletch, sword, hammer, and of course, cook. Many were given runes that would assist in their work.

All healers left were given access to a small source of power, not enough that it would overwhelm them, but enough that they could heal almost any survivable injury.

My men, they emerged out of darkness. We had nights where music echoed not from runes meant to mimic but from men alive and holding onto hope.

Their darkness had reversed.

I hid my darkness within, not letting others see just how much the darkness permeated everything.

Likely they still guessed.

Perhaps that was why they invited me more often to eat with them.

Why they rarely left me without someone nearby, unless they couldn't find me in my wanderings.

There was a silence that seemed to fill the walls.

Outside the land remained quiet. It seemed as though the enemy had lost too many to try again, at least not so soon.

And as the weather continued to cool, we wondered if there would be other attacks before the first snowfall.

The fort's halls felt less comfortable, more cold. Winter hadn't begun and already we were cold.

I didn't have my page to ask if it was a true start to winter or if there would be another wave of heat. My heart hurt with loss, until I distracted it with other things.

I worked on creating runes, but nothing seemed to come fresh to mind. It was as though my creative mind was as lost as I was.

So I prowled around at night, my unseen rune keeping me safe and alone. I added more runes to the grounds, to the walls, and to the deepest darkest parts of the fort.

I especially liked the darkest parts of the fort. There was no need to pretend down there.

My sergeant expressed concern from time to time, that I went missing and later emerged from the depths of the dungeons' darkest corners.

I assured him I was not seeking death. It was truth. I was in search of answers - why had the fort and land seemed to connect to me through runes- and for a chance to grieve.

Answers I never found, but my grief dulled to a less sharp pain.

And the darkness simply became part of me.