Page 6 of Angel in Absentia
Some thought her brave, others mad, to publicly advocate for the city of Virday.
They hadn’t known that to her, Virday was just the beginning. She was prepared to risk so much, only because she was convinced that the alternative was to lose everything.
They only saw her bravery and strength and resilience, not her fear. To them, for them, she would become whatever strengthened them. They thought she represented such powerful qualities of courage and strength, when she knew all she represented was their power. She was a reflection of her people, a mirror shining back the best of them. That was her duty.
Through today’s victory, she’d proven to herself that she’d earned even the slightest fraction of that responsibility. She eagerly waited for the pervasive restlessness that had plagued her since her return to subside at last. That was her own personal victory.
“You pushed the city to be stronger by pushing yourself, and today you claim a victory for us all,” Catagard said, signaling the end of the acknowledgment.
The meeting adjourned, Clea receiving the blessings of the council. She lingered with Yvan and Dae for a moment as everyone left.
“Do you have accommodations, Yvan?” Clea asked.
“They’re settling my people in the East End,” Yvan said, shifting in her armor with what seemed to be the slightest discomfort. “I will visit with them there and help.”
“You’re welcome to stay here,” Clea offered, concerned that Yvan would be inundated with questions and work despite not having had adequate rest. Yvan clicked her tongue as she eyed the high arches of the castle and the stone walls lined with portraits, and then she kicked her toe against the floor. That seemed to be its own answer.
“She prefers the dirt streets,” Dae said, and they both looked at him. There was no tone to the comment despite him often being critical. Clea guessed it was because he was too tired to be biting.
In rare form, Yvan simply shrugged, too tired to engage in the regular bickering that seemed to define her and Dae.
“We have our own return ceremony,” Dae said. “My aunt will perform the inspection and review my performance over the campaign and then I will shower and prepare for tonight’s celebration,” he continued as if issuing orders to himself. His eyes flickered sharply to Clea. “You need to sleep and return from the forest. Healers are more subject to contamination than any other Veilin discipline, and you’ve been unusual since Achor’s death. You don’t stop talking in your sleep.”
She could already hear it in his voice. He was about to review Achor’s death with his aunt in the full audience of his noble house and pick apart everything he could have done better to ensure Clea had never fallen into a line of danger.
You are blaming yourself. I knew it!Clea thought, but she was too tired to fight with him too.
Yvan and Clea exchanged glances, and she knew they were both inwardly preparing for what would likely be Dae’s multi-day ritual of punishment and penance.
“Everyone talks in their sleep in the forest,” she said, the forest’s dreams a known occurrence. Dae, for once, also seemed too tired to provoke an argument, but she knew what he meant. They’d argued about the risks of her healing frequently during the journey; how healers were more apt to contamination by the forest than other disciplines.
The three bid a quiet farewell and went their separate ways for the time being. Clea was released to her home, returning to the upper floors of the castle.
She scaled several hallways, all beautifully decorated in light with draperies and furniture of sky blue and white with golden accents. Large windows followed her to the top floors of the castle of Loda, where she passed by a series of empty rooms until she found her own. Hers was the smallest since she was the youngest in her family, but she’d insisted on keeping it and not taking the others where her siblings had once lived.
She glanced down the end of the hallway, knowing her father’s room was around the corner. Due to the degree and depth of his illness, she’d need to complete her personal ceremonial return to Loda before visiting him.
In the ritual of returning to the city, one was to wash off the forest with Lodain water, eat food prepared in Lodain kitchens, and return to clothes that reflected her status. Bathing in warm water felt heavenly, but the adrenaline of victory washed off with the dirt and soil. Clea toweled off and lay down in her bed, staring up at the light wooden beams of a ceiling she’d watched many times before.
She closed her eyes, inhaled, and waited for the victory to settle over her in the form of rest. She recalled every triumph, feeling how surreal everything had been.
She had just accomplished something tremendous.
Now it was time to feel victory. Now it was time to feel peace.
Memories of battle and the redness of the carnage only seemed more vivid inside her mind. She’d killed Cacivus. Venennin ornot, he’d still been human to her. He wasn’t the first, but the act never settled naturally on her like it did on Dae, who wouldn’t lose a blink of sleep tonight over killing anyone. Maybe he was right. Maybe healers were too sensitive to the world. Maybe that was just another reason healing was more a liability than a strength. She tested herself against the skeptical thought but didn’t digest it. Whatever it was, healing was hers. She couldn’t change that.
A few restless minutes passed. She sat up and positioned herself against the windowsill, fingers resting delicately against the thin glass that represented an impenetrable barrier to the world outside and her people who celebrated in it.
Her other hand moved to grasp her grandmother’s golden necklace, now draped around her neck. It had replaced the medallion, blessed by generations of Veilin to ward off Insednians and other Venennin. Hanging from the necklace, her hand grasped a small golden hairpin. It was the one she’d brought back from King Kartheen’s castle, a secret reminder that she had not made that journey alone, despite how her widespread legend was told.
She closed her eyes and listened to a heartbeat, slow and steady, like a shadow of her own. It was evidence of Ryson’s heart, a grounding force, proof that he was still out there somewhere and, like the hairpin, was a secret to the rest of her world.
“I’m trying to imagine a world where we no longer live in the shadow of dark symbols,” she said with determination as if she were speaking to him. She opened her eyes slowly. From here, she could see the very point where one of her elder sisters had once delivered herself to the forest to be eaten upon finding the cursed illness in her body. She remembered all of her sibling’sdeaths. The empty hallway at her back, with its empty rooms, was a constant reminder that there was something permanent about grief, despite the passage of time. “I have the evidence in front of me,” Clea said. “I have become a powerful Veilin. The Heart of Loda.”
The silence stretched out. She saw ceremonial fires burning along the walls and was reminded of Ryson’s campfires. She hadn’t learned until much later that Venennin typically avoided all light. Ryson, it seemed, had been unique in his use of them, and she remembered those quiet moments with him in the woods, those transparent conversations. It seemed those campfires had been a kind of respite for him as well.
“We’re dismantling the ancient legacy of the Warlord of Shambelin,” Clea whispered like a mantra. “Historical victories.”
