Journey of the Half-Elf - Book 1

Chapter XIII - The Possessing

Side by side, the father and daughter galloped across the beaten path. For those twenty minutes, as the morning summer sun scorched their backs, they said not a word to each other, not until they had reached the black ruins of Guinvaera Manor. Upon their arrival, they dismounted and hitched their horses to two small trees, a short walk from the Manor entrance.

"Father," She abruptly called to him. "We will need... shovels. There is one up ahead, so I will look for another."

"What?" He gave her a puzzled look. "Why would we need..." The moment he entered and looked forward, Gastan was taken aback by the sheer number of corpses that laid before him. Though some were quickly buried in the unburnt soil, the rest of them were left strewn across the ground, or crushed under their collapsed homes. The shocked man's eyes darted to his daughter's, hoping for an explanation — even some semblance of one.

"Later," is all she said before they moved on, their hands cupped around their noses.

"Mother and Gaiagan are in the Garden, overlooking the sea." Guinevere informed him. "I... felt that was the best place for them. They deserve that much."
Upon finding the shovel that she had dropped in pursuing Nerian, the 16-year old passed it to her father. In exchange, he undid his precious black bandana and wrapped it around her mouth.

"Here, this should help." He told her, gently retying it.

"Thank you, Father. What about you though? Will the smell not make you sick?" Guinevere questioned his fatherly act of kindness.

"I'll be fine, kid. Let's just get a move on, alright? I wanna be out of here as soon as. Let's deal with Ela and Gaiagan, then bury the rest."

As he set foot on the courtyard grounds, Gastan couldn't help but track the spread of the fire, eventually tracing it back to the very center of the courtyard. In that very spot, laid the remnants of the two stakes, now black from top to bottom, as thin as paper.

"Ela and Gaiagan were burnt here, weren't they?" The man asked his daughter, hoping deep down that she would lie through her teeth.

"Yes, Father." The young woman sniffled and nodded. "They were."

For a few seconds, Gastan sighed, gazing down at the two stakes. After his attempt to let a tear loose had failed, he reared his head and carried on walking forward with Guinevere.
To reach the Garden, they walked through the blackened remains of the Manor. Scattered across what was left of the patterned floor, were shattered chunks of charred stone, along with countless wooden beams which now resembled twigs. And beneath the weight of it all, were the trapped, faceless unfortunates, their lungs eviscerated by broken ribs as the red flames devoured their souls, unable to escape.

For those who desperately sought the Manor's superior protection, charging through the doors upon Guinevere's summoning of the ravaging red fire, their prayers of surviving that night, their pleas to be saved, were not unheard.

They were dismissed.

"I've seen a lot of death in my time, but this... this is just awful." Gastan openly expressed his disgust with what he had seen, which almost made him vomit.

"I know, Father. I am sickened as well." The Half-Elf confessed.

After wading through broken and bloodied stone, they finally entered the Garden. By some miracle, the graves of Aeledwyn and Gaiagan were still intact, as if something was safeguarding them.

"This is odd, Father. I thought that they would be disturbed." Guinevere commented.

"They're still in one piece, that's all I care about," Gastan responded. "By the way, what's with the flowers?"