Two days had never passed so fast. Julian stared out over the gathered crowd of volunteers as the sun crested the hills around Suseph, taking a moment to find beauty in the ordinary. The sun turned the hills red and orange and cast a golden glow over the wilted sprouts of wheat in the field. Despite the buzz of conversation from dozens of wagon trains that had arrived in the last day and the weight of Beatriz standing against his arm, Julian stored the sight in his landscape of self as a precious treasure. He had collected many such prizes over the last two days, enjoying all around him to the fullest until the emptiness of his inner landscape was filled with beautiful memories.
When he closed his eyes, instead of trembling with doubt, he immersed himself in his treasures.
How had he ever taken such things for granted?
His two days had been heavily involved in all the organization: procuring uniforms and supplies, giving suggestions, sorting out how much foodstuff was enough without slowing them down, arranging yet more wagons. Yet he’d found time to lie late in bed with Beatriz and savor the combined feeling of safety and comfort, while having no demands upon him. He’d walked gardens and smelled the scents of rose and thyme. He had marveled at the wheaty taste of hops on his tongue from his favorite brew of beer and slowly chewed a perfectly cooked tenderloin. He’d sought out old friends to tell them he loved them. All this he’d done and more, filling every span of the period available to him with wonder. The only wish of his heart denied to him was to speak to his sons one last time. He pulled Beatriz tighter against him.
One could not have everything.
“You need not go,” Captain Gonzalo said to both of them. “You are needed here. Your skills and expertise are invaluable. You’ve taught me so much. We must have your leadership.”
Beatriz reached out to take the captain’s hand. “What kind of leader would stay? No, you’re the one needed here. For your family and your country. We are just the sort to go. Our lives have been lived.”
Julian nodded. Though their days together had been short, Gonzalo had grown close to them both. He’d been orphaned at a young age and Julian suspected he found a substitute parent in Beatriz’s keen concern for him, and hoped his own advice to the younger man on being less strict in his outlook had helped as well. Gonzalo reminded Julian so much of Salvador. If he could remember to loosen his grip on the rules when needed, he would go far. “We go to be with our son, Salvador, knowing Ramiro can stand on his own. As can you. You are a man to be proud of.”
“But—”
“You will do fine,” Beatriz said. “You’ll only be in charge until the elections are finalized. Just don’t let that winner be Ramón.” She smiled to let him know she jested—somewhat. “Tell your children to take good care of Pietro for me. Pietro will help them adjust to losing their home. There is nothing like a pet for giving comfort. I feel better knowing you’ll be here with the concejales to give advice to whoever comes after me, but this is where we belong.” All around them people in too-large uniforms greeted each other with the hugs of long-lost-though-never-met kin. Actual kin said tearful good-byes, but pride shone from all the volunteers. Pride and a sense of purpose.
Julian prayed that purpose would be fulfilled. They couldn’t force the Northerner army to come out to meet them, though they would do their best to make it so. He and Beatriz had already decided that if the Northern army refused to leave the safety of Aveston, their army of elderly and misfits would go find them. One way or another, the threat of the Northern army would be removed.
“You have our letters for Ramiro?” Julian asked. They might not get to see their son again, and pencil and paper gave them a poor substitute, but it would have to suffice.
Gonzalo touched his jacket over his heart. “I do. And I will keep in mind the letter he sent to me. Be easy for your son. A trial there must be, but I will be fair and compassionate.”
Julian forced a smile. Gonzalo had not offered to let him read that message that had come with the other letter giving the details on Leviathan, but Julian had no doubts it contained an explanation of Ramiro’s reason for desertion. Julian created a vision of the future to treasure in his inner landscape of Ramiro and Gonzalo returning the military to its full complement and former glory. It warmed his heart.
“Light a candle for our success,” Julian said, “and our memory. We go with joy to accomplish one last victory—for Colina Hermosa. I shall see my city rise again in my mind’s eye, even if I’ll never see the actual rebuilding.”
“For both of you.” Gonzalo held out recently minted medallions of Santa Ildaria. Many others in the crowd carried them already. Julian tucked his away with a smile of thanks, turned, and moving among the crowd, left Beatriz to say her good-byes to the captain alone.
People had come from every hamlet, village, and ciudad-estado, easy to pick out by the color of uniform they’d brought to wear. There the orange and white of Suseph. The gray and green of Colina Hermosa mingled with reds, browns, blues and blacks, among dozens of other colors and shades. Trains of wagons filled all the available space in front of Suseph, containing thousands. Like in the time of Santa Ildaria, the people had come. Enough to match in numbers the army they had lost. One had even come from Crueses, proving Juan could not stop the truth from surfacing. All had come to save their kin and offer their lives for others.
Julian halted to clasp hands with Concejal Diego. The elderly landowner and counselor sat in a carriage with the dozing bishop of Colina Hermosa and several other timeworn clerics as they waited to get started. By his side sat an even older woman, her back humped and teeth long gone. Julian recognized the mother of Concejal Lugo, his former political rival killed by Ordoño just after the burning of Colina Hermosa. Lugo had been her only child and he’d never had a family. She was alone in the world. Julian had known her and Diego for as long as he could remember.
For an instant, Julian’s resolve wavered. The faces in the carriage took him back to a time in his youth when he’d just entered politics. They had already served the community for many years.
They and others had given him the advice of their experience and made him the man he was today.
“We must chat of old times during our journey, Julian,” Diego said. An icon of Santiago holding book and staff sat upon the old man’s knees, kept in sight as if to lift spirits and stiffen spines.
“That we will, old friend.” And just like that, his world firmed at the prospect of another treasure to add to his inner landscape. Julian continued on with a nod to another concejal on horseback beside the carriage. Sarracino the weaver had always carried a torch for Beatriz and had never married or had a family of his own. Now he had decided to end his life with her. Well, Julian would not begrudge him the chance to speak to Beatriz. All who trod this path were heroes and they all had their own reasons for being here.
Even as Julian stepped away, the light dimmed. The sun becoming less. The smell of rot carried through the air and a force of evil pressed down. People cried out. Julian kept his feet under him by sheer determination. The force of Dal pressed upon the crowd but lightly; the real power must have been miles distant. Julian threw a look toward Crueses—could it be there?—and said a quick prayer for the ones under the full attack of the Northern terror. Somewhere in a village or a town people died, while here no one moved or spoke, as if in compassion with their suffering. Julian tried to keep track of the time by counting, but the terror went on too long. He soon lost track as his mind wandered into fear that Dal could be at Aveston with Ramiro.
Yet the new attack changed nothing—they would carry on as planned and do their best to put an end to this.
When the light returned, people looked a little paler—their voices a little more hushed. Their embraces held a little tighter and longer to make up for it. No one spoke of what had just happened.
There’s your proof, Juan.
Julian shook himself and resumed his course. He accepted hugs and handshakes from familiar faces and strangers all the way to the front of the crowd. The wagon train of Aveston had begun to move, chosen to lead the way in honor of their sacrifice to save their own citizens. Two units of scouts would flank their progress and ride in advance to deal with any Northern spies they found. The scouts would turn around and leave them when they reached Aveston, taking the wagons and horses back to Suseph, and letting the sad army take the last steps on their own. Beatriz would have no one unwilling with them, not even beasts. Only minds that had chosen this of their own will would go forward to die.
But for now, there could still be joy.
A wagon from a grain mill waited with a place for him and Beatriz. Inside sat servants from the citadel where Julian had lived so long. Lupaa set a basket on the floor to make room for him on the hastily added bench seat. “Alcalde. I go to save my grandsons.” The smile on her lips did not quite touch her eyes.
Julian squeezed her hand as he had hundreds of others. Some had been warm and confident—others cold as stones—like Lupaa’s. She, unlike all the others, had been in one of Dal’s massacres. She, more than others, knew the horror that awaited. “Bless you. You are welcome.”
A slender girl in black sat beside the bulky Lupaa.
“Fronilde!” Julian said in shock at seeing his son’s intended bride. The wedding had been planned and a date set, and then Salvador had died at the hands of an angry witch. “You don’t belong here.”
She held a black handkerchief to her face, though no tears flowed. Lupaa held tight to the girl’s other hand. “Since Salvador’s death my heart won’t heal. I may breathe, but I’m not alive since he is gone.”
“You are young. Your heart will heal and you will love again. Salvador would not want this. Go back.”
“You are wrong,” she said and there was steel in her voice. “Time will never heal this hurt. Maybe if there had been a child, but there is not. I cannot care. Not for my parents. Not for anyone. Life is but a shadow to me. Tell me you would want to live without Beatriz.”
Now and forever.
He could not speak such a lie. He might live without Beatriz, but would he truly be alive? And hadn’t Salvador’s death left him in similar pain? Only duty to his people and Beatriz had kept him going. Wasn’t going to his death a type of relief from his own heartbreak at Salvador’s death?
“Welcome, daughter.” Julian held his arms wide to take her in. She settled against his aching heart, and suddenly, Beatriz was there to join them in the embrace. Lupaa added her warmth and the other old friends and servants grasped on also.
Tears flowed but they were tears of healing and acceptance. They had all made their choice.
Then the wagon lurched and they were under way. Bound to a one-way trip to save lives. The cost paid freely. The saints be with them.