Aidan was ashamed, yet try as he did, he could not help himself from crying. He had retreated to the far ends of the camp, to a cave on the outskirts of the field, hoping to be alone, not wishing for the other men to see his tears. Only White sat at his feet, whining beside him. He wished he could stop his tears but he could not, overwhelmed with grief over his father’s injury.
He will live, but not for long.
Lorna’s words echoed in his head, and Aidan wished he could erase those words. He would give anything for his father to be able to live forever.
Head in his hands, Aidan sobbed quietly. He replayed in his head the moment when Ra, disguised as his sister, had stabbed his father. Aidan had been galloping down the hill, had thrown a dagger, and had prevented Ra from stabbing him a second time. Yet, still, it had been but a moment too late. Why couldn’t he have arrived a few minutes earlier?
Aidan blamed himself. If only he’d ridden faster, perhaps his father would not lay dying right now. Aidan felt that he was just reaching the age where he and his father could understand one another, as father to son, and as man to man. And yet just as he was beginning to know him, his father had been snatched away from him.
It was unfair. Aidan was too young; his father was too young; it was not supposed to be this way. His father was supposed to rise, to free Escalon, to become its new King, and Aidan was supposed to be there, by his side. Aidan had already seen it all happening in his head, had seen them moving back to the capital, had seen his father’s coronation, his new legion. Who would be the King now? Who would be the new commander now? Who would lead the Escalon forces now? What would life in Escalon look like without his father?
Aidan felt completely lost without his father, adrift, especially in the wake of the loss of his brothers. Kyra was the only family he had left now.
“Your father still lives, boy,” came a voice.
Aidan looked over, and was ashamed to see Motley and Cassandra enter the cave, a few feet away. They had clearly sought him out wishing to console him, yet seeing them only deepened his shame and guilt.
Aidan blinked back with bloodstained eyes.
“Did you not hear Lorna’s words?” Aidan snapped, harsher than he wished to be. “He lives but for a short while.”
Motley stepped closer.
“Yet he lives now,” Motley insisted, one of the few moments Aidan had ever seen him serious. “And now is all we have. We live in dangerous times. You might die on this day, and I might as well. Your father is lucky to at least have another chance.”
“And that is because of you,” Cassandra chimed in, stepping close and holding his wrist. “You threw the dagger. You saved him. You and that dog of yours.”
At his feet, White whined, licking Cassandra’s hand.
“You should be very proud,” she concluded.
Aidan shook his head glumly.
“I was too late,” he replied.
Aidan did not want them to see him like this. He was a warrior now, after all, and this was not how warriors should behave. He wished he could be stronger.
His father was his rock, the one person he looked up to, whom he admired most in the world. Even more, his father was the strongest man he knew, stronger than all these great warriors. If he could die, then any of them could. Including Aidan. And that struck Aidan to the core. It changed the way he looked at the world. It even changed the way he viewed life: fleeting, cruel, tragic, without warning—and supremely unfair.
Justice, Aidan felt, had not been served. Why should an evil creature like Ra be able to even touch a fine man like his father?
“It’s not fair,” Aidan said, overwhelmed with grief.
Motley sighed, coming over and sitting with his great bulk on the rock beside him.
“True, young Aidan,” Motley replied. “You finally get to see a glimpse of what life is about. Life is unfair. No one—none of us—is born with an assurance of a fair life. You will find that many more things in your life will happen which are unfair. The question isn’t whether these things will happen to you, because they will. The question, rather, is: how will you will react to the injustices in your life? Will you cave in and let them consume you? Will you become bitter, cynical, self-pitying? Or will you remain strong? Will you fight back at the injustices, the unfairness of life?”
Motley sighed.
“Life’s unfairness must be fought back against, daily, just like any foe. And most of that fighting must happen internally. You must never fold. And you must search for fairness even in the face of great unfairness. That is what makes a warrior.”
Aidan slowly stopped crying as he considered Motley’s words. He felt, deep down, that they were true, even while he resisted them.
“Yet there is supposed to be justice in the world,” Aidan insisted. “You commit a crime, you get punished. You are good to others, they are good to you. Is that not how the world is supposed to work?”
Motley slowly shook his head.
“Life may show us glimpses of justice. But the vast majority of it, you will find, will be unruled, unregulated, and unjust. You must create your own sense of justice and act from it. Not because the world is just—but because you are just. After all, you are a microcosm of the world. You cannot prevent what the world shall give to you. But you can control yourself.”
Aidan pondered his words in the long silence, sensing their truth.
“My father was fair and just,” Aidan replied, calmer now, hollowed out. “And yet where did that get him? He ended up being treated unjustly.”
“Your father is fair and just,” Motley corrected, “and he was treated unjustly. That is true. But don’t you see? It does not take away from the life he has led. He led a life of justice. And no single act of injustice will ever strip that from him.”
Motley laid a hand on Aidan’s shoulder, and Aidan turned to him.
“Dwell on the injustice of life, and you will only create more of it,” he concluded. “Ignore it, and act justly yourself, and you will create a life of justice.”
Aidan considered Motley’s words, his tears gone now, as he began to see the truth in them. Cassandra reached over and held his hand, and he looked back at her. Her eyes were brimming with tears as she stared back.
“I love your father as the father I never had,” she said softly, sadly. “He may die before his time, yet he lives right now. Cherish your time with him. I never had a father. You still have more time, in your brief window, than I ever had. Do not give in to self-pity. There are many people, like myself, who have it worse than you.”
Aidan took a deep breath and felt foolish, realizing she was right.
“Be strong,” she added, “for him. He needs you now. His fate has been written. Now you must decide what to do. Will you collapse? Or will you be at his side?”
Slowly Aidan felt a calm arise within him. He felt a new sense of purpose, of determination. And he began to feel a new desire.
For vengeance.
Aidan stood, wiped away his final tear, and felt cold, strong inside. He knew that something had shifted within him. He knew now that he was no longer a boy, but a man. A man who would soon be without a father. A man who would need to stand on his own two feet, and to avenge him.
It was time to leave boyish ways behind.
“It is time to go,” Aidan said, taking that first step, “and avenge my father.”