From Iron and Ruin

A long way back

Unedited. 

Chapter Twelve: A long way back

The water of Asthan lake was calm.

As dawn rose, Asthan and its inhabitants were silent. Far across, past the distant shore, dawn rose above the proud point of evergreen trees. The morning was chilly and unrelenting, but I was still covered in blood and guts, stinking to the high heavens. Healers had seen to welts and bruises but there was no time to take a bath following Aran's arrest.

Greydon, Gwen, Mahon and I stood where the pebbles and sand meshed together. We were silent as the day approached, as if the weight of night's events had crushed our vocal chords. Eira had joined us too, solemn and silent.

Together we watched in silence as Fyr said goodbye.

Eoin had returned to the lake to say his final goodbyes. We watched on but Fyr's words were too low for us to hear. I could try if I wished, but it was not my place. Water had sluiced away from his form and Eoin Lockley was tiny, even before Fyr. His eyes were wide and calm and though his hair tumbled and fell like his father's did, his kind face was so remarkably like Fyr.

The water rippled around Fyr as she knelt in front of him. She had not bothered to change either after the fight and her red hair was matted and erratic.

Eoin lay a hand on his mother's cheek, smiling softly.

My stomach knotted. Though he was not my son, I couldn't help the tears welling tight in my throat. I looked away sharply, my fingers brushing over the crown of Arno's head shakily. The hounds stood dutifully at my sides, never shifting. Never making a sound. Even they knew not to break this moment.

Goodbyes did not last forever.

"Aran is still alive," Gwen murmured, her voice thick. "How can her boy move on when that wretch still lives?"

"Spirits do not need death to allow them to rest," Eira whispered. "Knowing that justice has been served can be enough. For Eoin, knowing that everyone knows what Aran has done and that he will be punished for it, is enough."

"He deserved death." Greydon hissed. "For what he did to that boy."

Mahon glanced sharply at his friend but said nothing. The battle had given the Paladin Commander more physical blows, marking his handsome face with mauve bruises and a split rib. Magin healers had worked on his damaged ribs but he walked with stiff grace, his head unbent. Still, the scowl on his brow was more in place with Mahon than Greydon.

"A bad patient..." as Mahon called him fondly.

Still, I had watched the Paladin Commander. The man I had chosen to become Commander. He had walked amongst his soldiers as if he was one of them, talking with them as Magins sowed their wounds together, holding the hands of those who did not survive. Murmuring prayers alongside his soldiers to their Divine. He had fought alongside them.

They looked at him differently.

Fyr rose as the water rippled. Eoin shimmered like a mirage in the morning light, his eyes alight as if lit from within his skull. Though he seemed solid, water churned around him, coursing up his legs in steadily weakening pulses.

In the distant, where the water was calm, faces began to rise from the water.

Three beautiful faces uncovered. Dark bluish skin and dark hair that dried once it left the water, tumbling down their naked shoulders. They wore no clothes and bared themselves without pause. Their eyes were sloe-black and they moved with the roll of the water, converging on the last images of Eoin Lockley.