I spotted an outer symbol on one of the stones. “What is that?” I asked.
“It’s the sign for the Earth Spirit,” Zedal explained. “When we are born, we come from her, and she takes us back into her arms when we die. Her sign marks the great changing points in our lives: birth, marriage, death.”
The stones were laid at the heads of the graves, then we gathered in front of them. Zedal used her staff as a crutch to stand alongside the rest of us, though the strain of staying upright was clearly taking its toll.
Ganyir faced us across the graves. “We come together in loss.” His voice boomed out like that of an old-time preacher. “To mourn the fallen and to remember what they meant to us. To recognize that, though they are passing from this cycle of their lives, they will go on. As we are lost into the embrace of the Earth Spirit, so we are reborn from her. Our lives are both a gift briefly shared and a burden briefly carried, but our spirits are eternal, just as the earth is.”
Everyone remained silent as Ganyir fixed his eyes on each of them. His spirit had definitely lifted since we’d last spoken, and there was something of a resoluteness in him, the vestiges of an immovable mountain showing through.
“We endure,” he continued. “The Spirit endures. Gonki endures. Though we face times of trial, we emerge stronger from them. And though we suffer losses, we find joy in remembering who our friends once were.”
Tahlis stepped forward and began to sing. To my surprise, his voice rang out pure and beautiful across that newly hallowed ground. Others joined in, their voices spiraling around each other in harmony. Only my fellow travelers and I, outsiders to this land and its customs, stood silent as we listened to the words of the Gonki.
It was clearly a song they all knew well, and judging by its archaic phrasing, an ancient one. It wasn’t a straightforward song of praise, though it was all about the Earth Spirit. Instead, it told a story of the Spirit’s past. In the story, the Spirit worked with others to forge the world and make it safe for the people they put into it. The spirits were kindred, brothers and sisters born of something ancient and powerful. Together, they shaped the world and made it good, driving out corrupting influences that threatened peace and tranquility.
But then came a change in the song, a shift from the high and trembling notes of that happy time to something deeper in which the singers’ voices played discordant parts. Some of the Earth Spirit’s kin betrayed her, jealous of her power and wisdom. They sealed her in a great weapon, a two-handed sword larger and mightier than all others, and named it Forgotten Memory before they sealed the sword away.
The song came back around again, gaining a new harmony and deep resonance, and I expected it to become the story of the Spirit’s escape, but instead, something else emerged, and I finally understood why this was a funeral song. The Spirit remained buried in the sword, just as the dead remained buried in the earth. But like them, her presence remained with the living, guiding and inspiring them. Though she was not among her people in body, the Spirit remained in their hearts. And so, too, the dead lived on.
I thought about the few days I had spent with Choshi and Fig. Though the time had been short, it had been memorable, and I would miss them. The memories of our time lived in me, just as the song said. I wiped a tear from my eye and saw that others were doing the same.
The song ended, and Tahlis took a step back.
“This isn’t over,” Ganyir said, his tone stern. “All these deaths stain the hands of the Cult of Unswerving Shadows, and none of us will forget that. For too long, we have let them dominate the province. I gave up the responsibility I was born to and let that rot fester in our midst. But we can do better. We should do better. We will do better.”
Everyone nodded before Ganyir continued.
“The Swordslinger has provided the catalyst for a change we did not bring for ourselves. His example has moved us to action against the cult. Now, we must follow his lead.”
I shifted uncomfortably where I stood. It was true that I had helped inspire them to fight back, but I was also the one who had caused the Unswerving Shadows to go on the offensive. Without my arrival, they might never have sent out an army to hunt down me and any others who were planning to oppose them. Without me, the blood of the sand-sunken village might not be stained red.
But then, that wouldn’t have stopped blood being spilled in the streets of Hyng’ohr, would it? The brother whose token Choshi had carried had died long before I arrived. If it took bloodshed now to save innocent lives in the future and to set a people free from tyranny, then so be it.
Ganyir knelt at the head of the last grave he had filled in. Instead of a stone, it had a steel gauntlet to mark who lay there. Inscribed in the back of the gauntlet, surrounded by the Earth Spirit’s symbol, was the pictogram for Targin’s name.
“I failed you when I allowed this cult to poison our province,” Ganyir said to his lost brother. “To poison your mind and turn you against me. I cannot undo that failure, but I can mend what remains.”
“There is only one way forward,” Tahlis said. “We must destroy Saruqin and his Cult of Unswerving Shadows. We must retake the city from them, one piece at a time if we have to. Today, we mourn our fellows’ passing, but one day, we will celebrate the
