“Is he dead?” Max asked, clutching Scathach’s hand.
Dipping her head, YaYa nuzzled Cooper’s face. “He is at peace.”
~ 19 ~
Tur an Ghrian
Three weeks had passed when Max and Scathach met for a walk one morning beyond Northgate. His broken shin had healed in a matter of days, but Max had not returned to this place since the night of Rowan’s victory. He could hardly believe the transformation that was under way. The toppled walls and towers had been cleared away; the blood-churned fields had been tilled and smoothed. Scaffolding surrounded new tower sites and the cool April air was rich with the smell of wet soil, new turf, and budding branches. Max smiled at the sound of saws and hammers, the whinny of horses, and the chirping of innumerable birds as spring chased away the last remnants of winter.
But these were not the most notable changes to the landscape. That distinction belonged to the thousands of small white obelisks spaced in perfect rows. Now and again, he simply stopped to gaze at them, overwhelmed by their simple beauty and the sacrifice that each represented.
“People are calling it Hound’s Trench,” said Scathach, gesturing at the chasm just beyond them, the very chasm Max had made.
He stared at the great gorge, at its blackened edges and raw, jagged contours. Nothing would ever grow there; that part of the earth was dead forever.
Max shook his head. “I wish they wouldn’t do that,” he muttered. “It’s an ugly name, an ugly thing. I wish the gravestones weren’t so close to it. They shouldn’t be near anything like that.”
“I don’t see it that way,” replied Scathach, taking his arm. “These people drew a line in the sand, sharpened their swords, and kept a terrible foe at bay. Not one enemy set foot in Old College. Centuries from now, people will visit these graves, see that chasm, and know that heroes are buried here.”
Each sounded a different note in his soul. Max was almost surprised to find how deeply Ms. Kraken’s death had moved him. Apparently, she had cast such a powerful spell beyond Southgate that it destroyed her along with many of the Enemy and their battering ram. Max recalled the huge explosion he had glimpsed in that vicinity while YaYa was galloping over the sea. He wondered if that had been Ms. Kraken’s doing. She had always seemed such a cranky old shrew, the kind of teacher students dreaded to encounter in a hallway much less an exam room. But the woman had also been an institution, an academic rite of passage that had challenged and galvanized Rowan students for over sixty years. The school would not be the same without her.
But it was not Ms. Kraken’s memorial that brought a tear to Max’s eye. It was another set at the far end of a row near the sea and the beginnings of a flowerbed. The earth around the marker was trampled and its obelisk was far dirtier than most. Max smiled to see the varied prints in the grass and the unmistakable mark of a muddy paw above the man’s name.
GREGORY WYATT NOLAN HEAD OF GROUNDS
Max did not know the details of Nolan’s death. He didn’t want to. It was enough to know that the man had volunteered to serve along the outer walls and that he had died while doing so. Nolan had spent much of his life looking after Rowan’s weakest, most vulnerable creatures. Most often these had been charges, but sometimes they were students, too. The man had a talent for putting others at ease and making them feel welcome. There simply weren’t enough people like that in the world.
Whenever Max stopped at a grave, Scathach stood aside and let him be. It was a greater gift than she could have known. Max had borne the hopes and expectations of so many people for so long that he had become self- conscious and almost terrified of disappointing anyone. With Scathach, he did not have to mask his feelings or explain them. He could simply experience them and know that she was there.
They were not the only people visiting the gravestones. Hundreds of others were paying their respects. Some were larger groups and families, but often it was a solitary figure walking slowly along a row, consulting their little map and peering at the names.
Walking back toward the remains of Northgate, Max and Scathach passed near one small figure kneeling by a grave and talking quietly to himself. Max’s heart sank as the boy glanced up and their eyes met.
“Hello, Jack.”
The boy stood abruptly, brushing grass from his knees and removing his woolen cap.
“I didn’t steal it,” he mumbled. “I was giving it back to her.”
Max was at a loss until he glimpsed the pearly disk in the boy’s hand. It was the very piece of maridian heartglass Max had given to Tam. Looking past Jack, Max saw the girl’s name etched on the gravestone.
TAM TRENCH RATS BATTALION 2ND COMPANY, 3RD PLATOON
“Did she have a last name?” Max wondered. “She must have,” said Jack, blinking at the inscription. “But I don’t know what it was. She never told me.”
“Tam was your good friend, wasn’t she?”
The boy could not reply. He merely closed his eyes and sobbed.
“I know you want to give that back to her,” Scathach said gently. “But I think you should keep that glass and remember Tam whenever you look at it. What do you think?”
“It was her favorite thing in the world,” Jack sniffled.
“Then I’m sure she’d want you to have it.”
The boy considered Scathach’s words while turning the pearly glass over in his hands. “I won’t keep it forever,” he concluded. “When I’m old, I’ll give it to someone young and tell them all about her.”
“I think that’s a good idea,” said Max. “Do you want to walk back with us or stay out here?”
Jack stayed behind, sitting back down on the damp earth and touching Tam’s name with the heartglass. When they had walked out of earshot, Max shook his head.
“Did you see that medal on his chest?” he asked.
“I did,” said Scathach, gazing out at the sea.
“A bad bargain,” Max remarked. “Swapping a friend for a medal.”
“Such things happen in war.”
“I told them I’d see them after,” he muttered, recalling his words to Tam and Jack as they’d huddled in Trench Nineteen. “What a stupid thing to promise.”
Scathach took his hand. “War breaks many things,” she sighed. “It can break bodies and hearts. It can break promises, too. But it can’t break spirits, Max—not if those who are fighting believe in their cause. Jack may grieve for a long time, but I don’t think war has broken his spirit. And I know it never broke Tam’s. That girl was very strong and she knew what she was about.”
Trench Nineteen had been filled in with earth and smoothed flat. All that remained was a discolored seam along the ground, and even that was disappearing as workers laid out stakes and twine to mark the gardens that would come. Ms. Richter had declared that all the land between the citadel and the outer walls would be transformed into groves and orchards to honor the fallen. Even with the aid of dryads and druids, it would take many years for such an undertaking to reach fruition, but once it was completed, it would be the greatest garden on earth.
Trench Nineteen was gone, but a monument had been erected for its battalion. There were memorials for every Rowan battalion at the places where they had fought. One could see them here and there across the grounds or at
