Burden of Sisyphus

about my worries. For the first time in my life, I saw chinks in my brother’s tough armor. The fears I had of losing him were reflected in his own concerns.

“We’d never been distant from each other, but even when he had the responsibility of an upcoming assignment to the Alliance Infantry weighing heavily on his mind, he took the time to sit down with me. That’s the way he was. Eza found comfort in his friends and family and did anything in his power to care for them.

“Though I didn’t receive a lot of support when I decided to attend the Academy instead of going through Initiation, Eza remained at my side, sending letters and videos to tell me how proud he was of me.”

She cleared her throat and paused to regain her composure. When she looked up, clear determination shone in her violet eyes. “In the Academy, there is a phrase proudly displayed throughout the school-Shirath Esquideuz Pithyas.”

Yen nodded, remembering the phrase from his time at the Academy.

“Directly translated, it means, No One Is Greater. The phrase meant little to me when I first arrived. They were words spoken by an Avalon who died generations before my time. It wasn’t until much later that I began to truly understand the deeper meaning of those four simple words and the double-edged sword contained within them. On one hand, they remind us of the necessity of humility in our lives. Arrogance dooms us to failure. Simply stated, it means that no one individual is greater than any other. One of my instructors at the Academy gave me that meaning.

“The other meaning, which I find more applicable when I think of Eza, was explained to me by the dean of the school. No One Is Greater didn’t simply mean that you must be humble. It also meant, as Eza knew all his life, that one person alone will never have the strength that can be found only in a group of friends fighting for a common goal. Eza found his calling and purpose as part of a team, and, until his dying day, he loved what he did and those with whom he served.”

She smiled softly at distant memories.

Yen knew his own expression mirrored hers, and he lost himself in memories of his friend. During her speech, Keryn captured Eza’s spirit and memory in a way that would have made her brother proud.

“I won’t remember Eza the warrior,” she said in conclusion. “I won’t remember Eza the soldier. But I’ll always remember Eza the brother and the friend. I encourage all of you to find what it was about him that truly touched your heart and savor that memory for the rest of your lives. I know I will. Thank you for attending.”

Yen watched her take her seat again, amazed at the similarities she shared with her brother. Eza’s confidence showed in Keryn’s warm smile and the polite thanks she offered to those who shook her hand. Yen’s hand went to his chest, touching the metal ID tags under his clothing.

“Thank you for your kind words, Keryn,” the Schoolmaster said, taking his place at the center of the circle again. “Please join me in our Hymn of Remembrance.”

The entire amphitheater broke into soft song, as nearly naked men and women filled the Warrior’s Circle and began dancing. The hymn rose and fell in crescendos that reminded Yen of crashing waves against a distant shore. The Wyndgaart dancers moved as if underwater, their bodies caught in undersea currents, as they writhed against each other. Each in his own way said good-bye to Eza.

As the ceremony ended, and the audience began departing, Yen pushed his way through the crowd, eager to catch up to Keryn. Moving past the thickest part of the crowd, he saw her walking toward a rear path that led along the top of the Shrine’s tall cliff face. He hurried to follow her into the darkness beyond the amphitheater, where brilliant sunlight faded to a colorful silver on the distant horizon.

“Ms. Riddell?”

Keryn turned, her silver hair flashing in the faint, flickering candlelight. “Yes?” She arched an eyebrow.

Yen felt foolish, realizing she probably went that way to be alone. In his eagerness to meet her, he blundered into her private mourning. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you want to be alone right now.” He turned back toward the Shrine. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“You’re Yen Xiao, aren’t you?”

Surprised, he stopped and turned.

“I thought it was you, Mr. Xiao.”

Yen walked over and shook her extended hand firmly, surprised by the strength of her grip and the calluses on her palm. “Please, call me Yen.”

“Yen. My brother spoke about you quite a bit in his letters. He described you almost perfectly. You can walk with me, if you’d like. I think I’d prefer to have someone with me than walk alone, anyway.”

Yen joined her, as she walked along the sandy path. For a long while, they were silent, each remembering Eza in his own way, as they admired the dying sunlight reflecting off the coral.

“You were with him when he died?” she asked, breaking the solemn mood.

Yen nodded, unsure how to respond. “Eza was a great friend of mine, probably the best I ever had. He loved you very much and talked about you all the time. He would’ve been proud of what you said during the ceremony. You really captured all that was Eza.”

Her eyes sparkled with moisture even in the darkness. She managed a soft, “Thank you,” in reply but couldn't bring herself to make eye contact.

Yen reached out a hesitant hand and placed it on her arm, stopping her. Slipping his hand under the stiff collar of his uniform jacket, he pulled free the ID tags over his head and let them dangle on their chain.

“These were his tags,” Yen explained. “Every time before we went on a mission, we traded tags. I wore his, and he wore mine. Both of us thought of it as a stupid superstition, but he started it soon after I joined the team, and we became friends.

“He told me we traded tags to ensure we always remembered our promise to look out for each other. I felt like a thief, carrying his tags around. All I ever wanted was to finish our mission and give back the tags. It seemed crazy, since neither of us openly admitted to being superstitious, but I always felt an incredible sense of relief when I came back and could return his tags. It’s almost like he knew that I wanted to bring them home safe each time, just like he did for me.”

Unable to make eye contact with Keryn, he stared out over the ocean. “I think, deep down, Eza also knew that if something happened to either of us, we’d always have the tags as a remembrance of our friendship.”

Taking Keryn’s hand, he placed the tags in her open palm and gently closed her fingers over them. “I don’t know if he meant me to always carry those tags as a reminder of our friendship, but I think he would’ve been OK with my giving them to you.”

Keryn squeezed her hand over the tags until her knuckles turned white. Though her jaw was firmly set, and her eyes glistened with moisture, no tears fell. “Thank you, Yen,” she whispered.

Turning, they walked up the path, moving farther from the Shrine. Yen stole glances at the shorter woman, as they walked, amazed at her strength. During the month-long journey back from Proteus II, he went to the cockpit many times to shed tears not just for Eza but for the rest of the team. He even saw stoic Adam cry for his lost teammates. On the day of her brother’s memorial service, Keryn remained strong in the face of overwhelming emotion.

Unable to stop himself, he commented, “You really are taking this well.”

Keryn continued walking, but her expression became indignant. “Are you referring to the fact that I’m not an emotional wreck?” She shook her head. “Believe me, I shed my share of tears. For weeks after I got the news, I cried almost every night. After a while, the sorrow subsided, buried deep inside, replaced by another emotion- revenge. They won’t tell me how he died, but I know he died fighting the Terrans. I’m going to make sure the Empire suffers for taking away my brother.”

“You may yet have your chance. You know the High Council is debating whether to declare war on the Empire? They’re sending a battle group to investigate whether the Empire has illegally crossed the Demilitarized Zone. If they find out that the Terrans have violated the Taisa Accord, we could be at war much sooner than anticipated.”

“I know. It’s all anyone could talk about during the past school year. As a pilot in training, knowing we might be going to war, it made most other conversations insignificant. Many cadets dropped out before the end of the year because of that. They hadn’t signed up for service during a war and never expected to fight. It wasn’t in their blood, I guess.”

“But it’s in yours,” he said matter-of-factly. “Finish your last year, graduate, and you could be in a squadron by the time any real action kicks off.”