“For their crimes, many of you—our best men and women—paid the ultimate price. This monument will be here to remind us of their sacrifice,” continued Lyria La. She then procured a piece of writing plastic and started reading their names.
I was flooded with emotions I had no words to describe. Each name she listed was like another stone laid on my conscience. And there were so many of them! I knew about it, I saw it on the news—and with my own eyes in Maurir—but hearing their names, uttered one by one in a loud, somber voice made me realize they were not just numbers in the newspaper or nameless bodies on the battlefield. They were people. Each had two parents and probably extended families—friends, lovers, children.
Thousands of lives ruined by the greed of one man.
But as the list went on, the names started blurring. There were too many… It was impossible to remember them all. Hence the monument, I thought. One piece of rock to commemorate them all.
Lyria La stepped down, and I hoped the dreadful ceremony was over, but no; she merely passed the paper to Rinay Kia, who proceeded with the dead of the Fifth Cohort.
So many lost, and we were only a third of the way through…
Tears prickled at my eyes as I looked at the memorial, trying to decipher the writing. I guessed each wall stood for one Cohort. But despite the size of the obelisk, discerning the names was impossible from my spot.
Rinay Kia arrived at the Seventh Cohort.
Laik Var-Nessop.
Vareya La-Ketan
Saral Tal-Sannos.
His face flashed before my eyes, blue sash tainted with blood. I shut my eyes and turned away from the obelisk.
I felt hot. Sweat drenched my body as I struggled for breath, my chest tight, heart racing as if trying to break free. I tried to withdraw, to turn my mind to happier times, but my head was spinning, assaulted by visions. A flurry of bodies, flames, and blades, bloodied corpses, Karlan Peridion standing over me with a manic grin, the paralyzing spell, Saral Tal and Taneem Kiovar.
A wave of calm washed over me. I felt the weight of someone’s hand on my shoulder, and as I turned around, I saw a Dahlsi woman with the yellow armband of a healer. She nodded, and I realized she had calmed me with a spell. I returned the nod and turned my attention to the ceremony.
It ended soon after, and I wondered how long my episode had lasted. I had to get a grip. My journey was far from over, and if I zoned out like that in Tarviss…
“But let us remember that after every storm comes the harvest,” concluded Kiav Rin, putting the sheet away. “The dead shall not be forgotten, but neither will the living. Many of you who are gathered here today demonstrated an exceptional courage and valor. They also deserve recognition.”
The crowd behind me roared with approval, and my insides clenched painfully. The moment I dreaded most was coming.
Kiav Rin returned to his initial spot, and Myar Mal stepped forward to replace him with his own list. I don’t know why, but something in him made him stand out, even among the Directory. He seemed bigger, brighter, more concrete, and my chest swelled with a mix of pride and jealousy. This was my vessár. I could never be like him.
He commenced reading the names. First, the vessár-ai whom he decorated with dallite-studded rings. Then, he proceeded to the ordinary Mespanian, and those received awards from their leaders.
To my annoyance, he started from the First Cohort. My skin was crawling with anxiety; I was well aware of people’s eyes on me, and I wanted to get this over with. Yet the ceremony dragged on. Each name followed a slow ascent of the announced Mespanian, decorating, the ovations, descent. It seemed to last forever.
When he finally called for Seventh Cohort, my stomach lurched. My time was coming.
I twisted my fingers nervously and went over the speech I was given prior to the ceremony. Since it was implanted by magic, there was no way for me to mess it up; yet I was nervous.
“Aldait Han-Tirsan.”
I shuddered. If the hall was quiet before, now it was dead. I dared to sweep my eyes around, but everyone was looking at me. I dropped my gaze. Tried to swallow, but my mouth was dry.
You can do it, I told myself. On wobbly legs, I ascended the platform.
Arda Nahs held my ring. She was an outworlder—the only outworlder vessár—though I couldn’t say where she was from. She was even taller and bulkier than me, dark skinned and sharp-faced, with copper-colored hair braided into a crown.
I tried to focus on her, pretending it was only me and her with no crowd around. She always made me uneasy, but now she was my best option. Only once did I dare peek at the gathered officials, but meeting their eyes, fixed on me, proved too much.
I stopped before Arda Nahs, then extended my left hand, letting her put the ring on. The dallite in it was as big as a human eye, green in the artificial light.
I exhaled. Now to the hard part.
I turned to the crowd and cleared my throat. I felt like I should near the front of the platform, but I didn’t trust my legs to carry me.
Why couldn’t they find someone else to do it?
The silence dragged. How long was I standing there, too nervous to speak?
I have to push through.
I clenched my fists until my nails dug into my palms.
“Mespanians,” I started, then paused, startled by how loud my voice had been. Magical amplification, damn them all. “As you see, I’m the only person of Tarvissian heritage present here. The only one of my race left in Meon Cluster. But I want to assure you, that rebellion was the act of a few. Most of us never wanted to break from Dahlsian dominion. The insurrection brought us nothing
