Jenner nodded in agreement. 'Michael is right. I think to see even one human restored… it isn't something that I expected to see in my lifetime.' Jenner, usually an individual of great restraint, became overwhelmed as he spoke. He placed a hand delicately over his mouth in an attempt to shelter the trembling of his lips from their eyes. 'Were it my own daughter who was enduring what this child is living through. Garren, I once rode as Michael does, as an Adorian knight, and I remember many were the days that I lived and breathed the calling of a shepherd of man. But it wasn't until I met Elspeth that I truly understood the depth of the sadness that the human race endures. The fathers who must watch their daughters and wives enter into a defiled marriage bed. The sons who toil for those very men who have stolen their brides and the wives who must watch them sire sons who will grow up to hate them.
'It may be the simplest of all things that destroys the darkness, so we mustn't overlook even the smallest of advances. For all of our efforts over the centuries, not one single human has ever had his soul restored.'
Though Garren remained quiet, Michael could see the first signs of a new being emerging from the shadow of who Garren used to be.
Jenner stopped them. 'I have promised the rest of the day, until this evening, to my sweet wife, so I will leave the two of you to finish discussing what needs to be done in order to bring them back here. We will see one another again tonight.' Jenner bowed to Michael, then disappeared down a flight of stairs.
'We have much to discuss,' Michael said. 'While I know a good deal about Eidolon, I know very little of your former friend.'
'The Laionai and the Moriors concern me, not Aiden.' Garren flexed his hand at his side as he spoke. 'Considering that Micah wasn't the only one to lay down his sword, I think it's a safe assumption that the Laionai will make his execution public, as an example. There is a gathering in honor of the Goddess, held every year on the 6th of Jessup. Let's hope that they've planned it for that event, and not any sooner.' As Garren spoke, Michael remembered the Ereubinian who had approached them in the cell.
'One of your men came upon us as we were leaving the cell. He was loyal to you, and I assume by their reaction to you in the outer courts that he was not alone in his allegiance.'
Garren stopped walking and looked out of one of the large picture windows that lined the hallway. His eyes were unfocused. 'Malachai. I don't understand why any Ereubinian, knowing what they were risking, would do anything like what he did. Deceiving the Moriors is a serious offense.'
'What are you not saying?' Michael asked.
'My men watched my reaction to Aiden's defiance — you wouldn't care to hear the details of it. I have a difficult time believing that any of them would concern themselves with anything but their own survival. They obeyed me out of fear, Michael. I've done nothing to warrant their loyalty.'
'Yet they laid down their swords at the sight of your resistance. There is loyalty there, regardless of the reason. If we fail, what are the chances of your own men going against you?'
Garren shook his head. 'We cannot fail. If we do, we won't live to see this realm again.'
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
The night was dark and cold. The wind blew as faint as an infant's breath across the surface of the lake, gently rocking the ice fragments that still remained from the harshest part of winter. Not all of the fallen could be brought back to Adoria, but pyres had been fashioned as symbols for all who had been lost. The landscape was dotted in the distance with great fires that had been lit in their honor.
Michael came before them, wearing a solid black robe. He carried a thin, leather-bound book. Duncan stood next to Ariana, who wore a simple white gown. The sleeves were loose at the elbow, billowing around her wrists.
Michael raised one hand into the air and held aloft his father's sword. He read several passages aloud in Adorian, then read the names of each of the fallen Adorians. Ariana closed her eyes, swallowing back sobs for what she'd done.
Duncan put his arm around her and pulled her to him. 'What is done is done. Your heart was in the right place,' he whispered.
She looked up at him, thinking that it sounded like something her father would have said. She mouthed the words 'thank you,' and bent her head back down.
As Michael finished reading the names, the elders came to him and lit their torches from the single candle that sat sheltered from the wind at his feet. They carried them out to the water's edge to set each of the flats alight. Ariana kept her eyes fixed downwards, listening to the muffled cries of loved ones. As she rose, she caught a glimpse of Garren through the sea of faces. He was next to Jenner, who had chosen not to stand with the other elders.
Michael walked to the largest pyre, and with the help of several others, pushed it into the frigid waters. As soon as it was afloat, he dropped his candle onto the kindling, setting it aflame. Soon after, the other pyres were set into the water and lit as well.
Michael had come to her earlier in the afternoon, telling her about what had happened after their meeting. It reassured Ariana for Michael to confide in her, asking her about Father, and revealing that he felt a little betrayed that he hadn't told Michael about Garren's parentage. She wasn't sure how much she had been able to comfort him, but she had tried.
Michael stepped back from the shore and motioned for Ariana to come forward. Duncan reached over and squeezed her shoulder as she moved through the crowd. Her heart fluttered as everyone parted, but it was something she needed to do. Michael had explained to her what would happen during the Torradh; when he mentioned a song that was sung in remembrance of the dead, she had offered to sing it.
Michael spoke a short prayer as she came to stand beside him, instructing all to kneel at the end. She was relieved when Michael had told her earlier that they would stay facing downwards until she was finished. Every time her father returned, he always asked her to sing to him, even when she was little. While she loved music, it had always been difficult for her to sing in front of others. She wondered how many times her father had heard the Torradh sung in his lifetime and if he'd ever imagined that his own daughter would one day stand before their people for that very purpose. She took the book from Michael's hands and took a deep breath, hoping she would remember the tune. Upon the waking hour, I shall think of you My heart grown still in sorrow Till the setting of the future sun When there shall be no morrow Then we will meet again. Upon the waking hour, I shall speak of you Your memory etched in stone Till the setting of the future sun When all shall then be known Then we will meet again Upon the waking hour, I shall weep for you My soul in longing waits Till the setting of the future sun When Adoria dances with Fate Then we will meet again Upon the waking hour, I shall sing for you My voice grown weak in sound Till the setting of the future sun When victory resounds Then we will meet again Upon the waking hour, I shall wait for you My home no longer here Till the setting of the future sun When I shed a final tear Then we will meet again
She'd learned Adorian as a child, but the words, now sung from her lips, felt unfamiliar. When she finished, she knelt down as he'd instructed her. She could feel the chill from his body as he stood above her, shivering in the coolness of the night air.
'Go then, and speak unto our brethren who have left us. May the ancients bless and keep you.'
Everyone then rose to their feet in reverent silence and came to the water's edge, lighting small candles from the torches the elders held. Ariana watched as all down the shore, tiny flames flickered to life like a thousand fallen stars. It was something to behold for certain, but more than anything, it broke her spirit to know that she'd caused their deaths.
Michael leaned down to whisper in her ear. 'Had you not already stolen Garren's heart, I think hearing you sing might very well have done it.'
She felt his absence as he left her to join the elders in their own private ceremony. Michael had told her their father used to lead them in the Teirlith Eisla, the old prayer, when he was alive. Michael now led the prayer.
Still kneeling, she closed her eyes and whispered a prayer that her father had taught her. She could still hear
