56. Keelan

Chapter 56

Keelan

I needed to see the city’s wounds for myself.

Fewer than one in three houses survived unscathed.

Even fewer shops were safe.

But it was the bodies that stole my breath.

Everywhere I turned, soldiers, mostly in Melucian blue, lay in impossible poses, legs and arms contorted in unbearable angles, faces frozen with silent screams pouring from open mouths.

I expected to see the horrors of war, to see soldiers bent and broken.

What I had not expected were old men and women who had refused to evacuate when the call had come. Whether afraid to leave their homes or unable to run with failing bodies, the poor and elderly of Saltstone weren’t spared the wrath of Isabel’s army. An hour into my tour, I couldn’t take any more and turned back.

These were my people, the people I’d given my life to protect.

My heart ached.

Over the next week, Albius assigned me command of Guard units clearing roads and securing residential areas for returning citizens. It was impossible work that would only be made easier by the arrival of more strong hands.

Unfortunately, when the first people passed through the eastern gate, I realized strong hands would not follow. The vast majority of the evacuated citizens were women and children. Their men had remained, either serving directly in the army, or supporting the military as blacksmiths or farriers or in other vital roles. Few had survived the bloodshed.

What should have been a series of joyous reunions as mothers, daughters, and sons returned home to their husbands and fathers became somber, desperate searches for any hint that their loved ones still lived.

Moreover, the shock of the city’s devastation stabbed deeply into the heart of her already grieving people. Wails and cries were far more common than laughter.

Losing most of the city’s Mages meant shortages and rationing of even the most basic goods. There were plenty of civilians to bake bread or other foods, but grain stores and stoves had been looted or burned. Water was the only commodity in abundant supply, as the river bubbling down from the Silver Mountains offered its clean, crisp bounty.

On my order, riders were sent in every direction with missives urging cities and towns throughout Melucia to send food, blankets, and clothing. We needed it all. Replies would take a week, with supplies following weeks later—if we were lucky. Luck had been in short supply. Somehow, this desperate throng had to hang on until then.

I couldn’t fathom how we would manage it.

I was juggling a line of messengers when a cart pulled through the compound’s gate. The smell of fresh bread reached me long before the cart, and my eyes widened. Declan sat beside the cart’s driver, his golden tunic aglow, causing every Guard within eyesight to pause whatever they were doing and gape. Everyone had heard stories of the Heir of Magic and his golden tunic, but few had actually seen him. Seeing the glowing man and his Phoenix differed greatly from hearing a fireside tale.

“Little brother, you came all the way from the guild to bring me lunch?” I smirked.

My men stepped back, unsure how to take their usually stoic commander’s sudden humor.

Declan, foppish smile broad as ever, hopped from the cart before it came to a halt. Ayden struggled to grab the reins in time to keep from running an unsuspecting soldier down.

“No, big brother, I brought lunch for everyone! ” Declan declared.

His words somehow carried across the yard. Guardsmen cheered. In moments, a line of hungry men waited for their loaf of the still-steaming bread.

I couldn’t keep the astonishment off my face. “The closest town is four days away. How? Where . . .?”

Declan beamed. “You told me a long time ago that having a Gift is only part of who someone is. How they use it, how cleverly they think, is more important than their magic. Remember?”

I nodded, confusion replacing astonishment.

“Well, I drew magic from a place not unlike the river of power below where the tower stood. One of the Mages who survived can duplicate food once it’s baked, so I drew power from the current and enhanced his efforts.”

“Huh.” I had no idea what he’d just said. “That’s great, but we have several hundred thousand people to feed.”

Declan shrugged. “It took about five minutes to create this cart of bread. We won’t make anyone fat, but no one should starve before supplies begin arriving from the coastal towns and border nations. It’s a good start.”

“It’s better than good. It’s amazing .” I couldn’t stop staring at my brother. My hands found Declan’s shoulders. “I’m so proud of you, Dec.”

Normally, Declan would’ve fired off any number of witty rejoinders, but my voice broke midsentence, stilling his sharp tongue.

“Thanks,” came out as a hoarse whisper.

Ridley shattered our moment, his mouth stuffed and chewing. “None of that in front of the men. Can’t have them all going soft!”

Declan laughed, but his gaze lingered, and his mouth quirked in a smile as I stepped back.

“It’s a start, Kee. We’ll keep them safe—you and me. I promise.”

A false spring day visited Saltstone as temperatures crept upward and untrodden snow turned to slush. I stood in Captain-Commander Albius’s office at parade rest before his desk, my hands clasped firmly behind my back.

“Commander, it’s time. With the weather turning, the bodies won’t stay frozen much longer,” I said, barely recognizing my own voice.

Albius glowered, then lowered his head into his dry, weathered hands. “Fine. Tonight.”

“I’ll see it done, sir.”

With a dismissive wave from my leader, I left and issued orders to Guardsmen and messengers. The rest of the day was spent gathering remaining bodies in preparation for the city’s massive memorial. Cartloads of wood from condemned homes and buildings were transformed into a sea of pyres. Everyone dreaded the event but knew it was a vital step to honoring the dead and allowing all of us to move forward.

That evening, an hour before sundown, thousands gathered in the fields on the western side of Saltstone where Kingdom soldiers had once stood in ranks of locked shields. Row upon row of pyres stood silently in the dying light of day. My men reported more than ten thousand bodies lay atop the pyres, with tens of thousands more having been burned outside the walls.

Atikus stood between his two adopted sons on a wooden platform that rose ten feet above the ground. His deep-blue robes lined with double gold billowed in the wind. Declan’s tunic glowed a faint gold as the Phoenix blazed brightly on his chest. I didn’t have a clean uniform and didn’t care. I spent the week mired in blood and tears, shoulder to shoulder with my men and my people. I wanted them to see my pain and to share theirs. My face was smeared with dirt and grime from the grim day’s work.

Captain-Commander Albius stood to the side of the platform, allowing the new Arch Mage to preside. Atikus was the only member of the new Triad chosen thus far.

Ayden stood to the right of Albius, his green cloak and fiery hair fluttering in the breeze.

Atikus stepped forward and scanned the sea of humanity gathered before him. More than a hundred thousand, with even more filling around the edges, stood in silence.

Atikus tapped a ruby set in the side of an ornate silver box. Magic flared to amplify his voice.

“My dear family,” he intoned, his voice rich and deep. “We have suffered grievous loss this winter. Our city lies ruined and burned. Our fathers and mothers, our brothers and sisters, our husbands and wives—our children . . .” His voice caught.

“Our children lie before us. There is not a single soul in Saltstone who has not borne loss, who is not grieving, whose heart is not broken. Today, we honor those who fought to protect us and those we could not protect. We honor the men of the army and of the Guard. We honor the Mages, the Merchants, the leaders and followers. We honor all who stood and died so we might live.”

An elderly woman’s sob caught his attention. My eyes widened as I recognized a shopkeeper’s wife. Her husband had stayed to protect their shop, their life’s work. She lost both.

“My dear child, we grieve with you. We honor your husband, too,” Atikus’s words echoed my heart’s thoughts.

Atikus swallowed hard and continued. “Behind me lies our hearts, for I know mine will feel the fire when it is lit. It will smolder until only shards remain. How can it not in the face of such loss?” Declan wiped his eyes as Atikus did the same. “But before me . . . before me lies our soul , the soul of Saltstone and our beloved Melucia. We honor those behind tonight, as is right. Tomorrow . . . tomorrow and every day henceforth, we must commit to honor each other, to honor the living, to lift ourselves in service. Together, we will rebuild this city, not to restore buildings of wood or stone, but to resurrect our hearts and to remember, every day, that we are blessed by the Spirits themselves and live in their Light.”

Atikus turned and nodded.

Declan allowed his tunic to flare brightly, a beacon of hope, then turned toward the pyres. He called a trickle of air and directed it to carry flame from every torch into the sea of pyres. The first bier lit, then the rest in rapid succession.

The popping and snapping of flame and wood was as deafening as the people’s silence.

No one moved.

They held breaths, save those failing to restrain tears.

Long after the sun set, thousands stood vigil over the dying embers of Saltstone’s dead.