We stand by a small pile of rocks that have been piled up in honour of our fallen friend. It has been days since her passing and although we do not have a body to lay to rest, we wanted to create a monument for Gillam in her honour. I stand solemnly, my head bowed out of respect as I draw upon the conversations that we shared within this very camp. Her loss is something that I wonder if I will ever recover from, my thirst for revenge becoming harder to ignore with each passing day.
Yaelor stands by my side. She has been distant since our encounter at the lagoon, but I have not chased her about this or sought another meeting with her, not wishing to offend her or presume that she is mine to take whenever I so choose.
She stands with her hands behind her back, her hair piled high on her head, quiet on her thoughts. She does not show any emotion, unlike the rest of the camp residents that come to pay their respects, their moods sullen and their faces blotched with tears. We stand together to remember Gillam, a torch protruding from the head of her grave. Its flames dance with the wind.
Vireo walks past, his hood raised, his face hidden as he moves to the stones before turning to face us. Once there, he bows his head and lowers his hood, standing quietly as he collects his own thoughts.
He clears his throat before starting to speak. “We are here today to gather in mourning for our dear friend, my sister, Gillam.” He pauses, his voice cracking as he speaks. He adjusts himself before starting again. “We are here to pay our respects for Gillam and to celebrate the life that she lived, the life that she gave, so that others could live theirs. An act more noble than most will achieve in their lifetime. Gillam was a person of force, a person so direct with her words that they could carve through stone.”
Vireo tilts his head to look at the small stone tower that we have created in her honour and casts it a smile. “She was also fierce, commanding, and loyal. Her counsel has helped us shape this very community. True, we have done things in our past that we would not be proud of, but we have also seen battle together in the name of our fallen king. She has saved me not just on the battlefield but from the demons that plagued my mind long before we laid the foundations for our camp here. For that, I will be eternally grateful.”
Vireo fights against his emotions, sniffing back and wiping his face clear of the tears that line his cheeks. “Funnily enough, and believe it or not, we were betrothed to one another by our parents when we were young. Something which we both stringently opposed. It was only when her parents passed that we were able to contest this. As she put it, she would rather bathe in horse shit than marry me.”
He laughs to himself and is joined in laughter by Killian and a few others within the crowd. “She threatened to kill me when I first dragged us here, newly exiled. I was sure to keep one eye open at night, for Gillam was one that when she made a promise, she rarely broke it. This one, however I was glad she did, as it enabled me to become stronger and watch with pride as I saw the forest we now call home soften her.”
Vireo’s voice grows thick and grizzled as he continues his speech, something I give him credit for as I myself would struggle to form the words. “She would stick a knife in from the shadows if she could hear me talking like this.” Vireo looks up at the sky and takes a long, deep breath. “Gillam, you are at peace. Know that I long for the day that we can be reunited. I will not rest until Lek pays for his actions. This is my vow to you, my sister.”
With this, Vireo removes a single white rose from his cloak and kneels by the stone tower, placing it at its base.
“I love you.” He closes his eyes and bows his head once more, and we observe a moment’s silence until he finally stands. When he steps back, the rest of the camp takes it in turns to place their own roses by her grave: yellow, blue, red, white, orange. It is as though a rainbow has been laid in her honour.
I stare down at the red rose clasped in my hand, and it reminds me of the red cloak she always wore. I rub my thumb up and down the stem, barely noticing that a thorn pierces my skin, causing a pinprick of blood. I step forward, a large knot in my throat, a heavy weight in my stomach as my eyes sting. I kneel and place the rose on top of the others.
“I am sorry, Gillam. In my life, I will help avenge you.” I make the blood vow before stepping away from the grave. I am awash with emotions, anger, hurt, grief, sorrow, agony. It is too much for me to process. My chest heaves, and I feel as though I could vomit at any moment.
A hand grabs hold of me, preventing me from escaping as others leave the graveside. It is Vireo, his face shallow and gaunt as if he has barely slept. I brace myself for conflict, but after a brief moment, this does not happen.
“I needed to speak to you to apologise for how I acted when we returned form Askela,” he starts, the look of shame drowning him like a river that has burst its banks. “The way I blamed you, the way I lashed out . . . it is something that does not sit well with me. You have done no wrong in this situation and I was wrong to take out my anger on you.”
“You don’t need to apologise,” I say “I would give anything to be in that situation differently, to act in a way that would have meant she returned with us.”
“Do not torture yourself with those thoughts, it will only lead you down a darkened path. You have a big part to play in all of this, of that I am sure. It is not the ending that defines us –”
“It is the path we walk to get there,” I repeat, a familiar theme resonating with me that Gillam once shared. The memory of our conversation at this very point draws a smile from me.
“Now will you accept my apology so we can drink wine in celebration of Gillam’s life?”
The thought of getting drunk and celebrating feels wrong but also right at the same time. I could quite easily sink a barrel of wine just to aid me in sleep. Maybe that will help me stop seeing her eyes every time I close my own.
Killian marches over with two wooden cups in his hands that are stained red on the inside.
This wine was brewed using Gillam’s favourite grapes. I feel it fitting that we toast her life with it. Vireo passes one of the cups to me, then raises his in the air and smiles.
“To Gillam.”
“To Gillam,” I say, and we clink our cups together before downing the contents in one go. It is as strong a wine as I have ever tasted, punchy too, a perfect combination to remember my dear friend by.
As we make our way back towards camp, I think about the conversation we had by the fire just a few nights prior, and I can only hope that she has found peace at last.
“Where’s Vireo?” a voice calls.
One of the villagers approaches, a spear in his hands. “There is a man at the outer edge of the forest – if you can call him that,” he adds. “He has asked after you, Laith.”
My heart skips at the mention of my name.
“Who is it?” Vireo asks.
I am sure of the answer before it leaves the man’s lips.
“He says his name is Orjan.”