The Legend of Lost Aulta

8. A Garden

FELIKS

In the shade of a spindling and deadened tree, two men's bodies were laid out as a man as strong as an oxen used the blunt end of an axe to dig two deep holes into the earth. The holes lay side by side, deep into the deadened and crumbling earth, in constant shade of the thin branches which hung overhead.

Tsarevich Feliks had not known the two guards for long, and was ashamed to admit he did not know their names. However, Kosma had been sitting upright for ten minutes when he began to be able to speak.

"Alyosha and Tokarev," he said, quietly, his eyes half-closed in the light of a setting sun, "Alya, Revy.... Gods, what have I done?"

As he continued to cry, Yulia sat quietly by his side, a hand on his arm. He was a young man, one of the youngest of the guard, with a shock of spiked brown hair, his face marred with dirt, his eyes thick with guilt. He had just watched his friends die.

Ronyk had just finished scraping the rest of the dirt out of the last hole when he turned and made his way to Feliks, "your highness, your flask. May I?"

His face was ghost-white, his eyes glassy. Feliks nodded, "you can call me Feliks. We have passed that boundary."

Ronyk nodded before taking the water. He then sat a few yards away from the bodies and splashed the water onto his hands before scrubbing them together, seemingly to get the dirt out.

"I cannot continue," sobbed Kosma, "not with them gone. Alya was my mentor. He is all I am, I cannot... I cannot continue alone."

Feliks looked at him for a moment, his heart heavy. He took his crutches and hobbled towards both Kosma and Yulia, his legs weak.

"We have not buried them yet," he said, "perhaps you need the closure of seeing them put to rest."

The Tsarevich had never been a man of war. He had never fought in one, died for one, seen anyone die for one, before. He did not understand the fight, the sudden loss. Now it seemed more obvious than ever.

People fought. People died. And nothing came of it.

Yulia got to her feet, and she rested a hand on Feliks' shoulder, "you're right, Solnishka. They will rest."

She twined an arm around Kosma's side and hoisted him to his feet. His wound had already scarred, scabbed and began to heal in the space of fifteen minutes. He walked over to the men's' bodies, his face stricken.

No-one said anything as Ronyk got to his feet. Carefully, he lifted Tokarev, the man who had worn Stepan's sword on his back.

"Do svidaniya," he murmured, and the others murmured it too, their heads bowed. Feliks watched as he was lowered into the earth, his body eventually hitting the dry dirt below him, where he would remain forever.

"I would like to bury Alya," whispered Kosma. Yulia gently let go of him, and he walked over to the body of the man with curled, dark beard. For a moment, he hunched over, his face contorted in pain.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I'm sorry."

And with that, he heaved the body upwards, walking towards his grave. He lowered the body into the hole before stepping backwards. The others bowed their heads.

"Skoro uvidimsya," he whispered, a hand clutched to his chest. And then he turned back to the tree.

Dirt was poured over the men's heads, then their bodies. Then, they were gone, returned back to the earth where they had came from, safe in the hands of the Gods.

The day wore into the light of evening, the sky a deep blue, laced with rose-coloured hues. Kosma sat by the graves, murmuring: "I cannot continue. I cannot continue."