She turned back to him. “You’re going out there?” Her stomach curled at the thought.
“The corpses need to be taken care of or else they may rise again.”
They discovered that the barriers had fallen, that the storm she caused had destroyed everything, even the dozens of centaurs that had been on the outskirts, including the bonfires, and even farther out, their camps. Those that did not die by fighting had died by lightning or drowning.
But the worst deaths of all were suffered by those that had survived the battle, by those that had fled, who had been poisoned by her wax where the stakes had cut their flesh. Huge, wet growths of vines had sprouted out from their bodies, and she was happy that she did not have to witness it when Astegur put them out of their misery and slit their throats.
Seeing their corpses dragged into Prayer, where they were to be burned, was more than enough for her.
That evening, Calavia waited at the top of the steps as Astegur checked the corpses, one-by-one, gathering the items of value they had upon them and dragging them with his good hand to the watery center of what used to be her home. As the pile grew higher, the need to leave the place she had so desperately tried to save increased. And when the first of her thralls, the old townsfolk, were placed atop the mound, she had to look away.
Nothing but her and Astegur remained alive in Prayer, and she realized nothing ever reallyhadbeen alive here. Not the townsfolk, not her mother, and especially not her.
The dead could not be brought back to life. The laws of this world could not be reversed. As the evening deepened, she knelt at the top of the temple steps and said her goodbyes.
And in the early hours of the morning, with a bag of Enios sea salt Astegur had found, she watched as he lit the corpses on fire, and together they watched them burn.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Several days after the fire, they prepared to make their journey into the mountains. Astegur was feverishly ready to leave this dark spot in the world for good and finally have Calavia safe behind a barrier of his own making.
His left arm hung heavy and limp at his side. He covered the wound with his good hand and applied pressure. When a dull ache could be felt, he exhaled, relieved that the pain was fading and the gash had not festered. But every time he tried to lift it, to use it in any way, it stayed at his side, limp and useless.
Calavia checked on it regularly, and breathed prayers over it, but nothing had helped in its function, and Astegur feared he would never be able to fully use it again.
A small price to pay.It was nothing compared to what Calavia had given up. All for a thread of hope for something more.
He released his arm and checked their supplies one last time, making sure they had taken the most valuable items they could find to bring up to the mountains. The rest, including the weapons, the stores of food, the piles of old human goods that had survived, were placed deep in the temple, in a room they blocked off with whatever else they could find. He intended to return with his brothers to retrieve it later.
When he was certain he had everything he wanted, Astegur searched the gloomy room for Calavia.
She stood nervously off to the side, waiting for him, wearing several layers of clothes, and a leather cape he’d found in one of the centaur camps. She had several sacks tied to her back and hanging from her shoulders. Her feet were tied up in cloth, with leather soles he cut to fit to keep her from hurting herself during the trek.
Humans are weak.Even the most frightening of them had soft skin that could not weather the elements. Astegur grunted and moved to her side. “Are you ready?”
Wide, dark eyes, young yet wise, met his. “Yes.”
Humans were weak, but not his.
They left the temple together, and when they stopped at the steps, he had Calavia face him and curl her arms around his neck. Using his good arm to settle under her behind, he hauled her up his body to wrap her legs around his waist, above the weapons and bags attached to his belt. She buried her face into the crook of his neck and breathed softly against his flesh.
He felt the soft flutter of her eyelashes close when he stepped into the water. Without a backwards glance, and for the second time with Calavia in his arms, he turned west toward the mountains. The quiet of Prayer followed them as they left it, but this time there were no green lights floating like ghosts in the air along the path.
There was no sudden feeling of dread.
No creatures waiting for them to emerge from the brume.
Nothing stopped them from leaving, not even themselves.
Calavia tensed in his arms, and he felt her eyes open. He hefted her harder against him, knowing she looked over his shoulder. He also did it so she would not try to escape him and run back.
“I thought I would be sadder, or at least I thought I would be scared,” she said. “But then, I never thought I would ever leave. I thought I would live and die here. Why do I feel like I failed?”
“Because you were forced to surrender more than you were willing to give.”
“I wanted to protect my home,” she whispered.
“And you have,” he said, breathing in her scent deeply.
