19. Karul

The morning is gray as we make our way to the site, the rain pattering softly around us. Jasmine walks ahead, shoulders hunched against the chill. In her hands, she clutches a small bundle - a comb, a doll, fragments of the lives destroyed.

"Here, my sweet, wear this," I insist, wrapping my cloak around her shivering frame.

We reach the charred remnants of her family"s home. The smell of smoke still faintly hangs in the air even days later. She kneels and begins digging into the wet earth with her bare hands. I move to help, but she shakes her head, tears mixing with the raindrops on her cheeks.

This is for her alone.

I stand back in respectful silence as she works, excavating a shallow grave and lining it with stones. Her breaths come in ragged gasps, but she does not stop, driven by grief and the need for closure. Finally, she gently places the bundle in the grave.

She bows her head and whispers words I cannot understand. Prayers perhaps. Goodbyes left unsaid. When she finishes, we fill the grave together, the mud slick and cold on our fingers.

She marks the site with a wooden post.

Then she collapses against me, sobs wracking her slight frame.

The insipid rain soaks her jacket, and I instinctively pull her into a protective embrace. When the worst of the storm has passed, it's hard to tell where the rain ends and her tears begin. She lifts her head, eyes holding sadness but also gratitude.

She sifts through the sodden ashes and charred debris, searching for any small memento she can salvage. I stand nearby, keeping a respectful distance but ready to assist if needed. Her face lights up as she unearths a small wooden box, singed around the edges but still intact.

She traces her fingers over the intricate symbols carved into the lid, a faraway look in her eyes. "My father"s seed box," she explains, opening it carefully to reveal neatly organized packets of seeds inside. "He loved his little farm plot, and every week, he would get so excited to show us the new seeds he had collected that week at the market.

Other fathers would spend their week's pay at the saloon. But not our Father… he was too good…" Jasmine handles the box gently as if it were a precious treasure. I can see it offers her some comfort, a tangible piece of the past she can hold on to.

The box is made from an old cigar box, and age and use seem to have smoothed its edges; an ordinary item transformed into something deeply meaningful. Sometimes, I envy the humans.

Wishing my life had meaning beyond my petty dreams of vengeance.

She selects a single seed and kneels by the grave. With delicate care, she digs a small hole and places the seed inside. As she covers it with dirt, tears shine in her eyes. "A tree will grow strong where our home once stood. Life from death. Hope from despair." Jasmine looks up at me then, managing a tremulous smile. "Thank you for staying. I know our ways must seem strange..."

I shake my head. "Not so strange at all. We honor those we"ve lost too in our own way."

"This is for you, Papa," she whispers. "For Mama and little Amara."

I stand quietly nearby as she speaks, not wanting to intrude on her private grief.

"I miss you all so much. My heart feels like it"s been torn out." Her voice catches on a sob. "But I will keep living… for you. And I"ll plant your seeds wherever I go, so you"ll always be with me." She lowers her head. "I hope you"ve found peace. And I hope one day we"ll meet again when I come to the crossing at the end of the path. Wait for me…"

She falls silent then, overcome with emotion.

When the only sound is the soft patter of rain mixing with her tears, I take her in my arms and slowly lead her towards the carriage. I"m not sure how long we stood there in the rain, each lost in our own thoughts.

Gradually, her tears cease, though grief still hangs heavy around her.

The journey back is a quiet one. I can't stop thinking about last night. I feel the ghost of her lips on mine, the brush of her fingers over my skin. Something between us has shifted almost imperceptibly. Like the walls of mistrust and resentment have cracked. New feelings I cannot yet name flooding in.

I study her profile as she gazes out the window and notice there is very much a subtle beauty to her, a strength emerging from her grief. She has suffered much, yet perseveres. Perhaps this arrangement between us will not be as arduous as I anticipated.

When the rain-soaked inn appears through the gloom, just seeing the ramshackle exterior, it's too much to handle after the taura shit today. I need to sleep in my bed tonight, and I refuse.

"We"re not stopping here. I will not spend another night in such a hovel."

The driver frowns through the little carriage window. "But the road ahead is treacherous in this weather. Surely, even this place is better than risking the darkness?"

I wave away his concerns stubbornly. "I"ll take my chances with the road. Tell the driver to continue."

And so we do.

Eventually, the rocking of the coach lulls her into sleep, resting her head on my shoulder.

I catch the scent of her hair – jasmine and cedar.

Soothing, with a hint of something more. I feel myself starting to doze as well, the pattering rain masking all but our slow breathing.

Eventually, my eyes close, and my muscles relax.

But it feels like only a moment later when a crack of lightning splits the sky. Followed by a roar of thunder. Jasmine stirs against me. Suddenly, I hear it – harsh yelling muffled by the storm.

My eyes fly open. This is real. I peer out the coach window but can make out little through the deluge. Jasmine sits upright, fear creasing her brow. She claws into my arm.

Another flash illuminates misshapen figures ahead, blocking the road. Even in silhouette, I recognize the mountain clan orcs. Jasmine screams as they descend on the coach. Our entourage has stopped, the armored soldiers doing their best to defend against the brutal orc clan now swarming us.

But they are outmatched. One of my soldiers crawls over to my overturned cart. An arrow lodged deep in his shoulder. Blood stains his tunic crimson.

"Sir... you must run," he gasps out. "Make haste... there"s too many..."

Before I can respond, he cries out as another arrow pierces his thigh. Yet still, he pushes onward, reaching for the cart and throwing himself over it to shield me from the onslaught. "Save yourself! Go!" he yells hoarsely. I hesitate, loathe to leave my men to their fate. But I know he speaks the truth - I will share their end if I remain. I grab Jasmine's hand and we run.

We have no choice but to flee down the dark mountainside, scrambling desperately away from the attack.

Jasmine cries out as she slips on the steep, muddy terrain, her ankle twisting sharply beneath her. I catch her before she can fall, scooping her slender frame up into my arms. She clings to me, heart pounding against my chest. "Just hold on, I"ve got you," I tell her. I glance back to see the orcs swarming the road behind us, cutting down my soldiers. We have to keep moving or face the same fate.

I start down the treacherous mountainside, holding Jasmine tight against me. She bites her lip to stifle moans of pain as her injured ankle knocks against my legs. I murmur apologies, unable to prevent jostling her in the harrowing descent.

Thorny brambles tear at us, but I push forward relentlessly. I can still hear the bloodthirsty hollers of the orcs driving us onward. As long as their voices echo behind us, we cannot stop.

After what feels like an eternity, we reach level ground, having descended far from the ambush site. But we are well and truly lost in this vast wilderness. Jasmine"s face is pale, her ankle horribly swollen.

She cannot go much farther. By fortune"s grace, we come across an abandoned shack, half-collapsed with age.

And it will have to do for the night.

I lay her gently down on the weathered floor. She shivers against the chilly night air. I cover her as best I can with my cloak, wishing I had more to keep her warm. As darkness falls, her shivering grows worse, and her cheeks become flushed. I realize with dread that she has developed a fever from our frantic flight through the rain.

She whimpers, delirious in the throes of fever. I gather her into my arms, cradling her against my chest to give what little warmth I can, and pray her strength holds out till morning when I can search for help.

Holding her trembling body, I softly whisper words of comfort throughout the night. But her fever climbs higher. What if we cannot bring it down? The thought of losing her, this brave and beautiful girl who means so much in such a short time… I'm terrified.

I have no control.

"Stay strong for me," I plead softly, brushing the sweat-soaked hair back from her forehead.

"But why?" she rasps, her voice barely a whisper. "I have nothing…"

I swallow against the tightness in my throat. "Because I cannot endure losing you." Confusion crosses her flushed face at my words. I go on, "You"ve suffered such loss already. I would give anything to spare you more."

She lifts a trembling hand to my cheek. "You... care for me that much?"

"I do," I confess, clasping her hand in mine. "So you must get well. Can you do that for me?"

The barest hint of a smile tugs at her lips. "For you... I suppose I can try."

"That"s all I ask." I press a fervent kiss to her fingers. "Now rest. The morning will bring hope, I swear it."

She sighs, letting her eyes fall shut, still cradled against me. I suppose I can watch the faint rise and fall of her chest, willing her to keep breathing through this long night.

"Stay strong, my brave girl," I whisper into the darkness. "Stay strong."