Page 41 of Red Demon (Oria #1)
Farewell
I ’d done my best to wake first in the cavern apartment, suspecting that if I didn’t, Faruhar might stab me in my sleep before finding her book. That morning, she rose first.
“Jesse?” she whispered, her voice uncertain.
I sat up in the bed I’d yet to offer to share. In two days, the last of my wounds from the dog attacks had scarred over. Faruhar looked up at me from her bedroll on the floor, rubbing her neck.
“Faruhar,” I said, “What do you remember?”
She blinked in concentration. “Jesse. You hate me but won’t kill me. You have honor. I took everyone from you but I don’t know their names. Can you tell me their names?” The same panic rose in her voice.
“You wrote them down,” I said with as much gentleness as I could, unable to say, “it’s okay.” I shifted, drawing my legs to the floor with no pain. “We haven’t corrected the book yet, but I gave you too many names. I’ll set that right before you go.”
She took that in with a grave nod. She read every name and confirmed every detail I knew before starting the day, watching her pack her things. There were so many names I could never clear for her. I needed that reminder too.
We said our farewells outside, the crisp autumn air invigorating my lungs, making me want to run and train at dawn like I used to.
This still wasn’t the body I remembered.
No matter what was in the salve that Faruhar worked into gashes as deep as my fingertips, I had to recognize the change in how fast I could heal, and wonder.
I could barely make out the scar, and I expected it to fade by tomorrow.
Faruhar didn’t seem to give my fast healing much thought at all. She’d spent most of the prior two days outside, coming back at lengthening intervals, bringing medicine or food.
It was essential I kept busy, grinding herbs and preparing meals for us both. Not only had I been ravenous while healing, but it kept my thoughts from swimming in circles. When she was home, I’d catch her watching me, and I’d find my eyes drifting to her unless I forced them away.
For all I knew, I’d restocked these herbs for rebels, the ones who dropped SBO or broke the khels on Nunbiren. Maybe an Attiq-ka rebel used their magic to make Faruhar forget her part in this. Maybe they made her do all of this.
Outside, Faruhar first clipped on her swords and slung her pack, assessing me one last time.
Those didn’t look like a killer’s eyes to me anymore, despite the facts.
That gaze looked soft, like concern. It was harder to make the pieces fit each day.
But since she’d given me no information at all about her allies, I’d need to let this convoluted battle rage somewhere she couldn’t see it.
“Thank you,” I muttered, the words gruff. “You are a better person than I thought you were.” I wasn’t sure what else I could say that was true.
Her smile fluttered and took wing. And fuck me—but that smile was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. One dead town I’d seen with my own eyes , I reminded myself. I was no longer sure it was two towns, but Crofton was enough.
“Please be careful,” she said. “Bria wanted me to tell you that you’ll be safe in the South Bend, or east to Uyr Elderven, but there are swarms further east past Baren Golkhi. She says you should regain your strength before you leave here. There are ruren-sa all over these woods.”
“I’ll rest a while longer,” I lied. Asher’s military company camped far to the east, and I’d be leaving today. A pang twisted in my gut as she gave me a clap on my shoulder, and I gave her an Asri salute.
“Farewell, Jesse.” Her face tightened.
“Goodbye Far,” I said.
She cocked her head at that. “Far?”
I shrugged, trying not to smile. “Try to remember me if we meet again.”
Her eyes went distant before her gaze fluttered down to roost on me. “I always remember the people I trust.”
She took quick steps away through the brush before I could respond, then broke into a run when the trail cleared. I watched her go as far as I could, with her last words taking root in my mind.
Within minutes, I’d packed up all I needed, tying up a few extra supplies into my century-fabric go-bag. Wearing my old clothes that Far had mended for me, I strapped Istaran at my side, planning to be in Nunbiren as soon as possible to bury my taam and friends.
Scarlet and orange fallen leaves and brittle twigs crunched underfoot.
Sunlight filtered through the leaves still hanging on, dappling mosaics on the path.
I drank in the crisp air, feeling strong, restless.
There wasn’t a hint of pain left anywhere in my body, and my legs wanted so much to run. So I did.
Five minutes, ten, fifteen, and my lungs met each breath with relish like never before.
My body anticipated every curve, every log in my path, reacting to jump and dodge each hurdle.
The stamina shocked me the longer I kept going, even as I savored the freedom of this new strength.
I pushed on, trying to wear myself down and find the edge where I’d be panting at my limit.
Thirst found me first, then ravenous hunger by the time I reached the old dam around noon. But I only felt tired when I sat down, looking out on the sparkling water I swam with Mira, so much colder than the day I was dumb enough to kiss her.
I walked the rest of the way to Nunbiren, but only because I did not want to miss any clues; I wondered if there were ghosts around I couldn’t see.
But it was just my familiar forest with its towering trees and tangled undergrowth.
The thought of Galen and my friends decaying on the cold ground spurred me onward.
I had to brace myself for what I’d see, what I’d feel.
The Asri believe that to join their ancestors in Oria, their bodies have to return to the earth before their souls fade.
They bury the dead as fast as they can—same day or next.
Some souls fade more quickly than others, and sometimes they fracture into ghosts regardless.
Beyond that, I don’t know how it works exactly, but I believed Galen was home.
Maybe it was Istaran, maybe a drop of blood was enough for Oria to cradle his memories.
But I would bury as many of the rest as I could, just in case it wasn’t too late.
The clouds were clearing over a misty afternoon when I stumbled out of the woods near the town walls.
I met a lingering smoke in the air, acrid, the unsettling birdless silence like when the wild dogs attacked.
My heart kept time as I forced my feet closer.
At first, I saw nothing to explain the smoky taste of the air.
The skyline was intact, but it all made sense when I saw the mound just inside the gate.
It looked much like the Chaeten town I stumbled on years ago. The bodies lay burned: only a few pale bone fragments lingered in the gray ash. I was too late. Overcome, I fell to my knees in the dusty street.
I stayed that way for a while, saying what funerary words I could remember, repeating each name and asking Oria to accept them. It wouldn’t work, but I needed to do it anyway.
Then I walked home, passing looted houses on every street, open doors and broken furniture. I was surprised to find the forge door locked and undisturbed. Fishing out my key, I walked in, embraced by familiar walls, unfamiliar silence.
I could not bear to stay there long, to light a fire and sit in this empty shell of a home.
I changed my clothes, shaved my face, and resupplied.
To keep it together, I pretended Ash and Galen were just on an errand, and they would be home for dinner soon.
When I’d had enough of that pretense, I gathered the things I wouldn’t want looters to find, planning to hide the bag in the woods.
I would make sure Asher had a chance to wear his century robe again.
By the time I’d reached the edge of town, I was crying like an idiot, grateful no one was there to see me.
Then I saw the four graves, freshly dug with loose heaps of fragrant sod. And as I drew closer to read the script on the hasty wooden grave markers, I realized I knew that messy scrawl of handwriting from a familiar leather journal.
“The girl in the pink nightgown.” “The man by the carpenter shop.” “Atalia Takashi.” “Galen Eirini.” I traced each knife-stricken word, each copied from Faruhar’s journal, realizing that I hadn’t fallen apart, not really, until just then.