Kaiden eyed me. “And that is?”
“The cemetery,” Reynald told him.
Kaiden fell silent.
Finally, we reached the right row and made our turn onto a narrow path paved with stone blocks. Lines of trees greeted us on both sides, each identified by a stone marker with a number on it. The wooden signs on their branches swayed gently in the breeze.
We passed more red willows, some goldenberries that reminded me of dwarf oaks, and a handful of twisted marse trees, their split trunks braiding over each other.
Let’s see, 202–18, 202–20, 202–22. There.
I stopped before a twisted marse, its leaves a beautiful green streaked with purple veins. Over a dozen wooden signs hung suspended from its branches. This plot had been recently tended to—the weeds had been removed, and new flowers had been planted in a ring around the tree’s roots, their blossoms small and white like little stars. The clerics of the Dridag had done a good job. Well worth the fee.
Two wooden signs, brand new and sealed with resin, hung off the branches. One had a glass flower with pale blue petals and the other had a small lock attached to it with a tiny chain.
Kaiden stared at the signs.
“Your father was born outside of Kair Toren,” I told him. “But your mother’s family is from the city. I didn’t think he would mind joining them. I’m sure that if we could ask him, he would want to be with your mother.”
Kaiden stared at the tree.
“She found your parents’ ashes,” Reynald told him. “They were stored in the Temple of Dridag because nobody paid the burial fee. Maggie paid the fee and had them buried here.”
“This is your family tree, Kaiden,” I said gently. “All rites have been performed. Your parents’ ashes are nourishing the roots. Your grandparents are buried here as well, and their parents. Five generations. You can come and visit them whenever you want.”
He blinked and turned away from me, hiding his face.
Reynald opened the bag he had brought and took out a small wooden canteen filled with water. He held it out to Kaiden. “Make your offering.”
Kaiden took the bottle. His voice was hoarse. “What do I do?”
“Pour the water on the roots and talk to your parents,” Reynald said. “Tell them how you’ve been. Ask for guidance if you need it. Request their blessing. Maggie and I will be over there. Take all the time you need and then find us when you’re ready.”
The boy stepped toward the tree. Reynald and I strolled farther down the path.
Finding his parents hadn’t proved difficult, only time consuming. The Scribe Chamber kept meticulous records. Now Kaiden knew where they were, and nobody could take them away from him again.
The people of Rellas had several ways to bury their dead. They were a mix of many waves of settlers and invaders, and each had brought their own traditions and rites. People from the north, like Reynald, sometimes built cairns or erected stone pillars over the graves. Coastal southerners did water burials, sinking their corpses off the islands in the ocean. But the majority of Rellas burned their dead and buried their ashes under the roots of their ancestral trees. A family tree took on a whole new meaning.
The unbroken line of trees on our left ended abruptly, and we came to a massive statue. A huge beast, carved out of wood and sealed with resin, gripped a slab of stone with four enormous, clawed paws. Its body bulged with muscle, promising sudden explosive power. It was sheathed in razor-edged scales as large as my hand. They blended into a mane of blades on its thick neck and turned feather-like on its colossal wings, which were tipped with bone spikes. Its tail split into three long, flexible whips, studded with spur-like protrusions, and they curved around the beast as if aiming to strike.
I stopped. Reynald halted next to me.
The creature’s head, lowered slightly toward us, was a meld of lion and dragon, with terrible square jaws and a mouth bristling with fangs. Its eyes seemed to stare straight at me, alive with malevolent intelligence and rage.
Someone had thrown paint on the statue’s paws. There were cuts and gouges on its legs. People had tried to destroy it, but all that their efforts resulted in was mere scratches. The great beast stood undaunted.
“A dursan,” Reynald said next to me.
One of Ralinbor’s creatures? “This can’t possibly be to scale, can it?”
“I’ve seen bigger.”
Bigger? It was larger than the huge steppe mammoth I once saw at the Smithsonian. This thing was movie-dragon size, and it looked like it existed to kill and rip its prey apart.
“How could it fly?”
“Magic,” Reynald said. “Its power isn’t limited to humans. Beasts use it as well. The dursans infest mountain ridges all across the continent. Do you know the story of Ralinbor’s Rebellion?”
