Drem walked along with Cullen, Riv and Jost. Rab flapped above them.
“Well, that was something,” Cullen said.
“Aye, and good riddance to them,” Riv muttered.
They left the weapons-field and turned right, passing along a wide street, children playing, dogs running and yapping. The children fell silent as they passed them, whispering and pointing at Riv, Drem and Cullen. Riv noticed, frowned.
“You’re famous,” Cullen said, nudging Riv with his elbow.
“They’re pointing at you, too,” Riv said, “and Drem. Why?”
“You three have a reputation here,” Jost said. “The God-Killers, they call you. And Balur and Meical. It’s not fair, really,” he continued. “While the rest of us were getting trampled by draigs and bitten by slavering Revenants, you lot managed to sneak off and steal all the glory.” He jumped out of Riv’s range, laughing, before she could say anything, or punch him.
Riv scowled at Jost instead.
“Nothing wrong in that,” Cullen said. “We are the God-Killers. Well, I did most of the hard work, but you two helped, in the end.”
Drem shook his head, smiling.
He was reminded, every day, how good it was to be amongst friends.
A trio of wains rumbled past them, loaded with slabs of stone for the new building. A team of workers followed the wains, amongst them a handful of men and women, squat and broad, thick-muscled, with wings of leathery skin. Half-breed Kadoshim. Drem saw Riv watching them as they walked by. He was still getting used to seeing them in ordinary, daily life.
After the battle a few score of the Kadoshim’s half-breed offspring had surrendered. The surviving Ben-Elim had been about to execute them all, but Meical had stepped in. Said that they were as much the victims of the Kadoshim as anyone else. Bred and raised, brainwashed, for a single purpose. The survivors of the battle had met and discussed what to do, eventually offering amnesty to the half-breeds. They were to swear oaths of loyalty to the Order, or they would remain in captivity until the door to the Otherworld was opened, and then they would be exiled there.
All had sworn oaths to Byrne.
Since then they had been kept under a watchful eye, but now, six moons after the battle, Byrne was allowing them to rejoin the world.
A risk, knowing their bloodlines, but they are people, too, and have their own choices to make. Riv is not like her father, so there is hope for these half-breeds, too.
They reached the gateway to the bears’ paddock and turned into it, passed through the flagstoned courtyard. Drem saw darker patches on the stone, a reminder of the blood spilt by bears when the Revenants attacked.
Blood always leaves a stain.
The paddock gate creaked as Drem opened it. Riv beat her wings and had already flown over the fence. Cullen climbed over it, at the spot that Keld had been repairing, the day Friend had let Drem upon his back. Cullen always climbed the fence at that same spot, now. Maybe he thought of Keld every time he did it. Of the huntsman’s half-smile, his mouth full of nails.
Cullen reached into his cloak and pulled out a leather water bottle and a pouch that he emptied on the ground, a pile of small leather cups falling on the grass.
“Always be prepared,” he said, handing out the cups to them all. Then he unstoppered the bottle and poured for them all.
Drem sniffed it. It wasn’t water. A sweet, oaky aroma, potent, making his eyes water.
“Careful,” Cullen said, “don’t sniff too hard, it might singe the hairs from your nostrils.”
“Usque,” Jost said. “And it’s not even high-sun. This day is getting better all the time.”
Cullen just smiled and took a sip from his cup.
They all sat in a circle, talking, listening, laughing. Rab flapped down amongst them, shuffling close to Cullen. Drem took a sip from his cup and coughed. Cullen and Jost laughed the hardest. Only Riv was silent. Drem regarded her over his cup. He was worried about her, knew that her grief was a constant shadow on her heart. The loss of her mother and then Bleda, so close together. It would never go, he knew that, memories of his da circling his head, and Sig and Keld. Their ghosts were always with him, brought back when he least expected them, by a smell, or a turn of phrase, a sound. He didn’t want them to go—the grief was a sign of his love and respect for them. But he knew it was a sharp knife-edge. There had been a point when his grief could have led him down a different path, suffocated him. It was his oath that had seen him through those darkest times, the feeling that he must keep his promise to his da. And then, after that, it was friendship and love that had seen him through.
Riv has that about her. I hope that it will be enough for her, as it was for me.
A tremor in the ground and Friend and Hammer joined them, as Drem had known they would.
Friend nudged Drem, sniffing him, and Drem scratched the bear’s muzzle, felt the ridges and troughs of scar tissue. Drem had a hemp bag slung over his shoulder. He opened it and pulled out a big clay jar, stolen from the hospice, and two bowls, unstoppered the jar and poured honey into both bowls.
Friend and Hammer lapped the honey noisily.
A whisper of movement and Fen loped towards them, across the courtyard, leaping the paddock fence and joining them. The wolven-hound padded around them all, then turned in a circle at Drem’s feet and curled down beside him.
Fen was always absent for part of each morning when they were at Dun Seren. He stayed at Drem’s side most of each day, walked Drem to his chamber and slept at the foot of Drem’s bed. But each morning he was gone. The first time, Drem had been worried and searched for the wolven-hound. He’d found him in the field of cairns, lying beside Keld’s cairn.
Drem reached out and scratched the wolven-hound’s neck.
He looked around at them all, and sighed, a soft warmth spreading through him.
We have come through so much. Seen so much death and tragedy. He closed his eyes, picturing his father, hearing his voice, felt that acute sense of loss. Then opened his eyes, seeing his friends gathered close. People he had stood beside, who had shed their blood for him, made that choice to live or die together. To stand or fall together. His brothers and sisters in arms. He smiled, loving them.
“So, what are we going to do with ourselves, now those shifty, troublemaking Ben-Elim and Kadoshim have been thrown out of the Banished Lands?” Cullen said.
“We will guard the gate,” Jost said.
“Aye,” Drem agreed. “Balur and his kin will build their new keep around the gate, and together we will all guard it.”
Cullen nodded thoughtfully, sipping from his cup. “I’m worried,” he said. “I fear I’m in danger of becoming bored.”
“Kadoshim are not the only darkness in this world,” Drem said. “Keld told me that, and he’s not wrong. There is a darkness in the hearts of men, the potential within us all. Fritha proved that. And there are her creations to hunt. They are spreading through the Desolation, breeding. We shall fight the darkness.” He looked at them. “What else can we do?”
They all nodded, sobered by that thought.
“Might give me something to do.” Cullen smiled.
“Love, loyalty and friendship shall be my guiding light,” Drem breathed, words from the oath they had all sworn. You are my friends, the people I love. His eyes came to rest upon Riv. “What do you think?” he said to her.
“About what?” Riv said.
“The way forward?” Drem elaborated.
Riv regarded him, her eyes dark and deep. A silence stretched, Drem thinking she would not answer. Then she drew in a long, ragged breath.
“A wise woman said this to me once,” she said. “There is much in life that is beyond our control, events that sweep us up and along, actions that wrap us tight in their consequences.” She paused, a faraway look in her eyes. “Stop raging about the things you cannot change. Just be true to yourself and do what you can do. Love those worth loving, and to the Otherworld with the rest of it. That is all any of us can do.” Her voice cracked with those last words. A deep breath. “I confess, I can struggle with that. I want to right all the wrongs. And it is hard to let go of… the past. I don’t want to let go. But I do want to protect the victory we have won. To make their sacrifice worthwhile.” She looked at them all, mouth hovering between snarl and smile. “To me, that is a task worth doing,” then she shrugged, and Drem felt a glimmer of hope for her.
“A toast,” Cullen said, filling their cups and holding his high. He looked at Riv. “To Aphra and Bleda.” Then he looked to Drem. “To Olin. To Sig, and Keld. To love and friendship, and bonds that cannot be broken. To you all, the greatest of friends.” He looked around at them all. “To truth and courage.”
“Friends. Truth and courage,” Rab squawked.
“To truth and courage,” Drem said, the others echoing Cullen, and then they drank.