Page 3 of Where the Shadows Land (Garden of Hope #1)

MAIRUK

E vening sunlight bathed the empty village walls in a gold so warm it melted the chill that clung to Mairuk’s cap.

They settled the cut log for the new wall into place, scooped wet clay into their large three-fingered palm, and covered the seam with it.

Once secure, they stepped back and called forth the Orsea from their center.

It eased into their hand with the gentle warmth of a spring breeze and the weight of stream water dancing across their flesh.

The magic hovered in their palm, waiting for a command.

“Protect the Garden. Do not allow it to burn. No harm will come to us or any of those within these walls. It is as the sun rises; true and eternal.”

The runes carved into the logs gleamed with the verdant glow of the Orsea , then faded into silence.

The magic did not hum in their ears. No wave of power fluttered their gills.

The Spirit of Mieotsy did not sing back to them, though they worked the magic as taught.

A gentle wave of energy buzzed against their clean hand when they placed it on the wall, but it was quiet. Weak. Not enough.

The Seven who made Perissa would have done a better job. Their skill with the runes shook the air with their power. We cannot conjure more than a spark.

Mairuk would never forget the ashen residents of the garden that grew them.

Each day, they faced another memory of what they lost. Some days, the memories were sweet like nectar.

Other days, the memories had teeth and claws that sliced the wounds buried deep in Mairuk’s center open again.

Today, the memories were biting, and it was only a matter of time before Mairuk bled with grief.

They lost all they ever loved in a few hours.

Half a day destroyed all life in the garden and blackened the remaining roots with an acrid rot.

The greedy humans arrived in the Garden of Bostrai and ignited every building on fire.

They burned the seedlings, sprouts, and rooted elderly who could not run.

Not that it mattered. They killed all those who tried.

Mairuk should not have survived, yet they did, and each breath became their curse.

Half a day irrevocably changed their life.

Ruined it. It only took half a day to shatter them beyond repair.

Half a day nearly a decade ago haunted Mairuk each time they closed their eyes, yet they could not leave the scene of humanity’s crime.

In the span of half a day, Mairuk became a ghost that haunted the vacant garden they rebuilt and refused to abandon.

Starved for territory, the humans always fought wars with the Ardeloks to steal more of it, always pushed their settlements closer and closer to the Bounoss Strait.

All of Mieotsy belonged to the Ardeloks once, but then the humans came.

Generation after generation further pushed their boundaries.

The last war ended shortly after the attack on Mairuk’s Garden, but Mairuk’s scars ran too deep to forget the violence.

The Ten who Made Cardilan of the Goldstalk Collective approached Mairuk.

They were taller than Mairuk, leaner too, with a body as golden as the sun.

Their triangular face faded into tall orange and amber gills that reached up to their irregular-shaped cap.

Their three glowing white eyes blinked slowly in greeting.

“We have finished our side of the wall. How do you fare here?” Cardilan sent the question directly into Mairuk’s mind with a gentle, concerned cadence.

“Our skill with the runes has waned without Perissa’s continued guidance.

All of our Twelve feel their absence as we mourn all the others we have lost. The memories ache like a festering wound,” Mairuk replied mentally.

“The grief will not leave. It burrowed deep inside us like ants, always crawling through our system and itching us. It refuses to pass.”

“It refuses to pass because you live with restless ghosts, Mairuk. Your garden burned, and the dead did not return to the Spirit of Mieotsy through their decay. They wander this cursed land and ache your heart.” Cardilan placed their hands on Mairuk’s wide arms and sunk from their full height to meet Mairuk’s eyes.

“Come with us. Leave this garden to the dead. There is nothing for you here, and if you choose to participate or not, life continues. It is time for you to move on.”

Mairuk hissed and jumped back, every growth on their body trembling with the harsh slap of Cardilan’s words. “We will not leave them!”

“You must. You are rotting where you stand and it aches us to watch you suffer so.”

“Then do not watch! It is none of your concern. If it was, you would not vanish the moment the sun falls.”

Cardilan jolted back as if struck. “It does not seem to be yours, either. What have you done to ease your own aches? You have rebuilt this garden, but you have not tended to yourself. The memories wound you, yet you stay. Why? Why do you choose this suffering when there is life out there?”

“If we leave, Mieotsy will consume this garden. None will remember the burned Garden of Bostrai or those who lived here. It will fade into nothing and all of those we loved will become forgotten ghosts. This is the home of our heart and our roots. We cannot leave.”

‘All our memories live in this land,’ the First of Mairuk whispered to the rest of the Twelve who Made them.

‘As does our beloved,’ replied the Fourth of Mairuk.

‘If we stay, we will not suffer the fog distance puts on memories,’ said the Seventh.

The third stretched toward the others. ‘When we finish rebuilding the Garden of Bostrai, others will come. We will not be alone for much longer. Our companions will stay once we make it safe.’

The Twelve who Made Mairuk all thrummed in agreement. They would not leave. Once they finished rebuilding, they would find others who wished to settle away from their clusters. They would renew their garden with fresh life.

The thin slit that made Cardilan’s mouth sealed, and they nodded once. “We will return next season. Please consider my words. It is unhealthy to be alone with yourself for so long.”

“We will consider it,” Mairuk said. Not the sort for long goodbyes, Cardilan turned and left without another word.

With Cardilan’s help, Mairuk completed the northern wall in the span of a few sunsets.

The eastern edge of the garden was open to the glittering turquoise waters of the Boun Bay.

The walls were the final touch the garden needed to protect it from the humans.

With the garden rebuilt and the walls finished, Mairuk could finally focus on pouring magic back into the drained land.

Mairuk returned the clay, buckets, and tools to the work shed.

They conjured water in their palms and rinsed the clay from their long fingers.

The endless work provided them a distraction from the gaping losses they suffered.

They worked from dawn until dusk every day, even when grief was a bolder crushing their bones.

They cut stone in the mason’s workshop, worked glass in the glass hut, made all their tools in the smithy, and made their own leather.

All that needed to get done, they did themselves.

They made all they could and traded for what they could not when they traveled for a week every spring.

The Garden of Bostrai never looked better. Restored to its full size, Mairuk embellished the new buildings with reminders and mementos of those who fell to the humans. When other residents came to the garden, Mairuk would share the meanings with their new neighbors and allow the lost to live on.

The sunset elongated the shadows of the various buildings that made up the garden.

Mairuk learned the dangers of the fire the humans loved to wield the hard way, so they built the new buildings from hand-carved stone and glass.

They made the roofs out of damp moss that didn’t burn when exposed to mortal fire.

Round glass windows in iron frames offered glances of the furnished, but dark interiors.

Fresh tallow candles sat in glass lanterns that hung beside thick wooden doors.

Stone chimneys piled up toward the sky, but no smoke ever billowed out of them, not even in the coldest months.

An array of homes, shops, work buildings, and storehouses clustered around the pristine stone paths.

Forty-three buildings total, including the well in the center of the garden, made up New Bostrai.

All of it built and furnished with Mairuk’s two hands.

They should have been proud of all they accomplished, but pain took its place.

Though the only true sound was the distant, gentle waves hitting the shoreline of the bay, each of Mairuk’s steps brought a mournful cry from the land.

A sob for all the lost lives, the innocent blood shed, and the ravenous stain that lingered in the ruined soil.

The humans brought more than fire, more than their weapons.

They brought something old and forgotten, a cursed object with an unknown magic that devoured all it touched.

Whatever it was, it left a permanent wound that drained all the life from the land.

The humans killed Mairuk’s kin in cold blood.

Bostrai was never a garden of much wealth, small, with few exclusive resources.

The village formed here to stand sentinel over the magical Erlumi water of the bay, and to serve as a resting point for those crossing the strait.

Worse still, Bostrai was miles from the front lines of the last war.

Humans should have never found it, but they did, and they took everything Mairuk held dear with them.

‘Is remembering good for us?’ Fifth asked.

‘There is no other option,’ Fourth said.

Fifth sent a wave of discomfort through the system. ‘The memories that emerge in our rest are not gifts.’