Palom Page 5

  The drums stopped beating, and the air quietened, the procession coming to a halt several paces before the golden doors to the mausoleum.

  Thick clouds swirled above, blocking out the pale sunlight. Palom strained to keep still, his leg twitching as though it had a mind of its own. His mind drifted back to the battle, to the swarms of Arillians and warships thick in the air. To the blood and burning, the flashes of lightning and constant thunder.

  Every night, when sleep finally came, he’d relived those memories. Every night, he tried to save Anahrik, Eryn, Moroda, but they’d slip from his grasp, pulled away by the winged demons.

  Sometimes it would be Kohl, sometimes Jato, sometimes Aciel himself. Mostly they were faceless Arillians that he cast aside with a wave of his sword. The worst nightmare had been when he’d seen his own face looking out at him.

  The sudden crunch of the mausoleum door brought him back.

  Palom took a deep breath. He’d been slipping into dark thoughts and memories more and more often and disliked his lack of mental fortitude.

  Two Ittallan stepped onto the street from within the mausoleum, their long grey robes resting on the tops of their bare feet. ‘The tombs are ready. Bring the dead so that they may rest,’ the one on the right said, his head bowed.

  Palom steeled himself and followed the others into the sacred building.

  The scent of burning wood hit him as soon as he crossed the threshold. Torches burned low along the walls, their embers carrying the stench of stagnant smoke. Wrinkling his nose, Palom followed the orders of the other robed Ittallan inside, and helped carry his litter to its assigned location.

  Dozens of chambers led off from the passageways, each filled with cavernous stone tombs. Runes and inscriptions hand-carved around the edges of each doorway by the shrine guardians. Most gave thanks to the deeds they had carried out in life, others wished them safe onward journeys. All were carved in the old tongue by the Ittallan who lived and worked in the mausoleum.

  If the circumstances were different, Palom might have taken the time to return to pay his respects and admire the skill and care taken by those who made the mausoleum their home and work. But this place was nothing more than a reminder of those who’d lost, people who’d suffered, and the bastards who put them there.

  He wandered past chambers he recognised from his life before Aciel. Most of the people resting in this mausoleum were put there by someone else—casualties of war and battles, those who lost their lives at someone’s blade. Anger raced through his body for a moment as he thought to the person who’d filled over half the mausoleum.

  Mateli.

  A demon from his past.

  ‘Now Aciel rivals you in filling this place…’ he whispered to himself.

  The place was death.

  Memories and fear took hold, spurred on by the angry heat from his sword. It overwhelmed him.

  He tried to straighten his back, but his sword pushed against him as though trying to force him to the floor.

  When he blinked to clear his mind, the shrine guardians in ahead were speaking funeral rites before a large doorway.

  Palom steadied himself from the plethora of emotions, ignoring the stares from the soldiers beside him as they waited before a southern-facing chamber on the third floor of the mausoleum.

  ‘Palom…You okay?’ A voice whispered to his right.

  He turned his head slightly, catching the eye of the concerned-looking Ittallan, and nodded in what he thought was a subtle, reassuring movement.

  ‘You do not speak in this sacred building!’ One of the guardians snapped, hushing the others who continued to say the rites.

  Palom bowed his head and sweat trickled down his nose. He watched as it fell from his skin and spattered on the floor, darkening the stone.

  When he looked up again, the guardians had moved on, and he walked the litter through the door into the large chamber.

  Eryn and Anahrik’s final resting place. Their stone coffins empty and waiting.

  He had no doubt Isa had seen to it they received highly honoured spots.

  The six of them gently rested the litter on the stone floor and removed the fabric cloth. Each body had been individually wrapped in thick, grey linen, the same style as the guardians. Taking a deep breath, he lifted each body—their weight nothing to him—and lowered them gently into their waiting tombs, the heavy stone lids resting at an angle, so they could easily be dragged into place and sealed. Beside him, the other five did the same with the remaining bodies, the gentle sound of sobbing echoing across the cold, stone room.

  When Anahrik was in place, Palom leaned forward and placed the younger Ittallan’s twin daggers over his chest. He had no need for them now and wanted to bury the weapons with their rightful owner. If any of the Imperial Guard or shrine guardians saw, they didn’t object.

  Palom heaved the stone lid into place, sliding in with an almighty judder that shook the room. The chambers outside echoed with sealed coffin lids.

  Palom stood beside Anahrik’s coffin, head bowed, eyes closed. He whispered an almost-silent prayer to Rhea, for whatever good it did. One soldier clapped him on the back as he left, and Palom knew he could not remain where he was for long.

  ‘Brother. Forgive me. Please.’ He choked back a sob.

  Mateli slipped back into his thoughts, and the sword at his back thrummed again. He took a step back from the coffins and lingered in the doorway. He wanted to say something important, hope his apologies carried over to whatever plane death held them. Repent for all the mistakes he’d made.

  But nothing felt right. It all paled into insignificance whenever he tried to give his thoughts voice.

  In the end, he had to leave. The shrine guardians approached, and he stepped out of their way, watching as they sealed the chamber and began to carve the next line of writing.

  *

  Taban Yul had always been beautiful, in any season, at any time. It was something Palom boasted about to every non-native he’d come across or traded with. Val Sharis’ capital was the jewel of Linaria, the place where everyone had to visit at least once. From the riches of the Upper Rails to the plethora of goods at East Cross, to the palace itself—constructed of white marble and gold—Taban Yul was unlike anywhere else in the world.

  But in the bleak winter sun and gentle snowfall, his pocket full of gold as reward for his help in the war and friends either lost or dead, Palom wanted nothing more than to escape it all.

  His feet carried him along well-worn paths, over bridges that crossed brooks and past houses and businesses still open for the day. The crowds thinned as he left South Galeo, but there was no shortage of people on the streets, with several darting forward to shake his hand or bow to him as he passed. They’d said how wonderful it was to see him in the streets of their beautiful capital, how honoured they were to have met him.

  Palom felt sick. He was no hero. He’d fought and killed, yes, but that alone couldn’t make him worthy of their praise?

  When he stopped to gather his thoughts, he looked around, and realised he’d made his way to Little Yomal; a quaint residential district full of townhouses stacked on top of one another and crooked towers rising higher than they should, their balconies offering unparalleled views of the city. Waterfall flowers cascaded down many of the building fronts and brought touches of bright yellow and red to the drab grey. The snow fell more heavily here, and he shivered.

  He’d stopped underneath a particular building, one with four floors, the top balcony full of flowers of all colours. He could smell the blue winter roses from the ground. ‘I shouldn’t…but…I must…’

  A lump formed in his throat, and he walked through the building’s doorway, ascending the stairs two at a time, until he reached the wooden door of the top-most house. He stood there a long while, contemplating whether to knock or leave. Before he’d the strength to talk himself out of it, the door opened, and Lathri appeared. Her eyes were tinged with red, her dark eyelashes clumped together— s
he’d been crying.

  ‘Lathri, I—’

  ‘I’ve been waiting for you,’ she said, opening the door wider and beckoning him in. She wore a dress of silver and cream, her long blonde hair almost fading into the material in stark contrast to her eyes.

  He cleared his throat and stepped into her home, goose bumps rising on his arms at the sudden warmth of the room. ‘You were not watching funeral parade?’

  She shook her head. ‘Too much death and sadness. I don’t want to see it up close, even though I think there’ll be more to come with Sapora in charge.’

  Palom turned to face her, and she opened her arms. He stepped into her embrace, tears falling freely once his skin touched hers. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried.

  ‘Anahrik was your brother. Now you’ve lost two,’ Lathri said. ‘You carried him to the mausoleum, didn’t you? Fool. You should have stayed here with me. It would’ve been easier for you.’

  Palom relaxed into her, allowing his emotions to seep out. She smelled of the flowers on her balcony, of warm sunlight, of clothes stitched and re-stitched over the years. He buried his face in her shoulder and closed his eyes, giving in to the sadness, anger, and guilt he’d carried since Moroda had given up her life and ended the battle.

  ‘I felt him in there,’ he said, finally pulling away. ‘Mateli. He caused so much death. And, now…Aciel.’

  Lathri walked through the door onto her flower-filled balcony and stood in the falling snow. She leaned on the railing and peered down onto the narrow street, unfazed by the chill in the air.

  ‘And now Aciel.’ Lathri repeated. ‘You’ve been part of two people’s wrath, here. Getting away from it all will do you good. Why don’t you go home and comfort your family? Stay away from all these bloodthirsty warriors?’

  Grateful she didn’t mention his meeting with her allies the previous night, Palom said, ‘I cannot return home, you know this.’ He joined her on the balcony, feeling hollow now he’d cried. He steadied his breathing and shook his head again, embarrassed. ‘I dream of fighting. Most nights.’

  ‘Not helped by that sword of yours.’ She raised a hand and touched the petals of the flowers near her, brushing off the snow that tried to settle. Palom didn’t need to see her face to know she wanted to say more. ‘What of your comrades? The ones who fought against Aciel with you. What are they doing?’

  He scratched behind his ear. ‘Morgen is in Imperial Guard. He returns to Niversai to help rebuild. Sapora sits in palace with Isa making up new rules and destroying old law. Amarah and Kohl fly north, like I told you before.’

  ‘North?’

  ‘To Kohl’s people. He thinks…’ Palom trailed off, unwilling to speak of the betrayer and his plans.

  ‘He thinks what?’ Lathri had turned to face him now, regarding him with her intense stare.

  He forced himself to look away. Lying to Lathri was simply impossible. ‘He thinks Arillian magic can…maybe…break Moroda free from crystal.’

  Lathri contemplated his words for a long while, as though hearing them for the first time. ‘I don’t know anything about Arillians other than the destruction they bring. Is it true? Could they release her?’

  Palom shrugged.

  ‘Why didn’t you go with them?’

  ‘I wanted…’ he trailed off and exhaled.

  ‘...Comfort?’

  Palom stared down at the street below, watching a small group of Ittallan saunter along arm in arm. Their gait was easy, and their laughter carried up to the balcony. He felt a pang of jealousy and looked back to Lathri. Warmth washed over him again.

  ‘I can fight. I know how to look after myself,’ he said, stepping over to her and wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

  ‘Are you sure you can? There’s more to looking after yourself than killing those who’d hurt you… Or running away from them.’ She hesitated, opened her mouth to say something else, then changed her mind.

  ‘I can survive,’ he corrected. He didn’t want to hear about her plans against Sapora, or what she wanted to get messed up in.

  Silence gathered between them, an easy, comfortable silence despite the heightened emotion. Lathri had a talent for emotion, for providing sanctuary in the darkest of times, enhanced by her education in Berel. It was a safety unlike anything he’d experienced before or since.

  ‘It isn’t your fault. I know you think it is, but it’s not,’ Lathri said after a long while. ‘You’re not responsible for anyone.’

  Palom turned his attention to the flowers, and brushed the petals of one with the back of his finger.

  ‘War brings death. Suffering. That’s how it’s always been. You can’t stop that cycle.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Then why do you drown in guilt?’ She moved out of his embrace.

  ‘Because I made mistake.’ He grunted.

  ‘Everyone makes mistakes. You can’t blame yourself for everything that goes wrong in the world!’

  ‘If I had killed Kohl—’

  ‘Killing Kohl wouldn’t absolve him—or you— of fault! It wouldn’t make you happy! Wouldn’t bring Anahrik back!’ Lathri’s voice had raised.

  ‘If I had killed him earlier. Before things got worse. Anahrik and Eryn might still be alive!’ Palom said, unwilling to give in.

  ‘You’re responsible for your own happiness. Killing wouldn’t make you happy. You’re not Mateli!’

  ‘I know I am not Mateli,’ he said, dropping his voice. Saying the name out loud made him shudder.

  She pressed her forehead into his chest and wrapped her arms around him. ‘First Mateli and then Aciel. Sapora will be the third, you know. After what he did at the ball.’

  He felt her tense under his arm.

  He’d been away from the carnage at the ball, forging his Valta Forinja, while the Varkain prince had slaughtered those who did not agree with his rule. It had kick-started the chain of events leading to Anahrik and Eryn’s deaths.

  ‘I think so too. Many times on our journey I stopped him attacking others. The snake has a taste for death and power. He should be away from Taban Yul. He should not be in Val Sharis.’

  ‘Friends of mine lost family that night. If they weren’t killed, they were chased from the palace, from the city.’ Lathri’s soft voice grew softer still as she spoke of her own sadness.

  ‘I am sorry,’ Palom said. A pang of guilt rippled through him. He’d come to her and dumped his own woes on her while she recovered from Sapora’s slaughter.

  ‘Yet he claims to rule. You may be visiting the mausoleum again, soon. I hope you are not the one being carried, this time.’ Lathri sniffed and let go of him, turning to head back inside now the snowfall thickened.

  She wiped the snow from her shoulders, and Palom followed her. It was just as things had used to be, before…He didn’t want to leave her, not again.

  After he’d travelled across the Sea of Nami to Corhaven with Anahrik, things had happened so quickly, he’d hardly realised quite how much he’d missed her. Being back in her home brought comfort and security, and he enjoyed the simple fact he wasn’t fighting off waves of Arillians.

  Now there was no Aetos, Kylos, or Voulhrik, he could speak to her plainly. Truthfully.

  He couldn’t stay in the city, there were too many bad memories. Now Sapora could be on the warpath, he knew he had to get away.

  Had to get her away.

  A lump formed in his throat. Before it was too late.

  ‘Lathri. Close your eyes. I have gift for you.’

  She faced him, a half-smile on her lips as she tilted her head in confusion. ‘What…?’

  ‘Please.’

  She cleared her throat and closed her eyes as asked.

  Palom reached into his jerkin pocket and withdrew a small, drawstring bag. Taking a deep breath, he placed it in her hands and clasped his over the top. He held her hands close for a moment, bracing himself for the worst, and then let go.

  ‘Now you can open.’

  Sh
e immediately flicked her eyes open and looked at the bag in her hands. ‘Palom…?’ She looked at him and then back to the bag, before opening it. Her eyes widened. ‘Palom!’

  He bowed his head. ‘Please do not be involved with Sapora or sicknesses or palace politics. You’ll end up getting hurt. Or killed. Sapora is too much of threat for you and your allies to cope with.’

  In fairness to her, she listened without interrupting. He continued, before he lost the thread of what he was trying to say. ‘You make me happy. You have always made me happy. Marry me, Lathri. Come with me, away from this, and I’ll keep you safe from whatever Sapora does. Whatever Aciel and Mateli have done. Against any who’d stand against you. Against any darkness in this world.’

  Tears formed in her eyes, and her brow wrinkled. ‘Now the fighting’s over, you want to pick up where we left off? How? Everything’s changed.’ Her voice cracked.

  ‘I should not have left before. I won’t leave you again.’ He held his breath to keep from shaking.

  ‘You want me to heal you, like before. You want help and safety again,’ she said, suddenly unsteady on her feet. ‘I can’t help you. Not with this. There’s a darkness inside you. A darkness sprung from death, from guilt, from shame. From that sword. That is a wound I can’t touch. Can’t heal.’

  Palom swayed.

  ‘You’ve been chipped away, slowly but surely, ever since you left home. You won’t go back to Feoras Sol to see your parents! You’ve just run from place to place, running from those who’ve killed your loved ones! You won’t even speak of Ta-’

  ‘Don’t!’ Palom roared, his whole body trembling.

  Lathri shook her head. ‘See? It’s been over twenty years and you still can’t say your brother’s name! You blame yourself in so many ways, for so much loss.’

  She panted, trying to catch her breath after her outburst.

  ‘But I am stronger now, and—’ he started.

  ‘No. You’re not. You’re weaker. For all your heroic deeds, all your strength in battle…You’re more a kitten than a tiger. I asked you for help and you refused. You’d rather run away than stand and fight with me. How could I leave my friends and the people of this city? I’m not afraid of Sapora or his Varkain. Why are you being such a coward?’