Chapter 32 - Life and Death

Arien could not look away from Sir Samwell’s head. His stomach turned, but the rest of him felt strangely numb. Just the morning before, the knight had been alive, joking with them and telling Arien to keep an eye on Will and Kreft so they would not drink too much in town.
Now his eyes were gone, and his face was barely recognizable.
Was this what life came down to? A few moments of happiness between one loss and the next? What was the point of doing anything if everyone ended as rotting flesh?
The thought brought back the Void and the choice he had made there. Faced with death, Arien had still wanted to live. He wanted more evenings listening to Terry’s stories, more dances with his mother, and more chances to see what this world had waiting for him.
Two bodies, Kreft had said.
Terry. Mari. Wod. Lisa. Alia. Any two of them could have been lying beneath those ruins, and Kreft had said there might be more bodies under the rubble.
His thoughts began to race. Dod lived in another village. Zed was supposed to be in Three Meadows. But had he stayed there? Had everyone else been at the farm when the attack came? Had anyone managed to get away?
His chest tightened, and his fingers dug into his palms. Each question led to another, dragging his thoughts further into possibilities he could do nothing about.
No. He needed to get himself under control.
Arien drew three slow breaths and reached for the same mental barrier he had used against Velyn’s influence. At first, nothing happened. Fear and shock kept crashing through every attempt to contain them, and his hands would not stop trembling. He tried again, focusing on his breathing until he finally managed to push the worst of it far enough away to think. The grief was still there, but he could think around it now.
A sudden wave of energy passed through his body. Was that a Skill? He had no time to investigate. The world had stopped spinning, his heartbeat was slowing, and that was enough for now. He needed to find out what had happened to the rest of his family.
Arien moved closer and wrapped his arms around Will. The boy was trembling hard enough that Arien could feel it through their clothes.
“Let Kreft check the tracks first,” he said quietly. “The rest of your family might still be alive.”
Will gave no sign that he had heard him.
“Your father may have held them off long enough for the others to escape.” Arien swallowed and pulled him a little closer. “You have to stay with me, alright? Be strong. Like Sir Samwell. Like a knight.”
“Yes,” Will whispered after a moment. The word came out flat, without conviction. “I have to be strong.”
Kreft gave Arien a strange look, but only nodded before climbing down from the wagon.
The first thing he did was remove the severed head of his lord from the bloody stake, wrapping it carefully in a blanket. Then he began circling the building, stopping every so often to inspect bodies or study signs on the ground.
“Samwell killed five of them,” Kreft said when he returned. “Whoever attacked this place was strong enough to overwhelm him despite that. I doubt they were ordinary bandits.”
His eyes shifted to Will. “I found no smaller bodies. That’s good. Beyond that, I can’t tell you much. I’m no tracker. We need to reach the village and find someone who knows what happened.”
“Do you hear that, Will? Kreft didn’t find them. They could still be alive.”
“Yes, yes… Father protected them. He’s the strongest. I mean…” Will’s voice caught. “He was.”
He lowered his head and covered his face with both hands. His shoulders began to shake, but no sound came out.
The sun had already disappeared below the horizon when they started toward the village. The road had never made Arien uneasy before, but now every rustle from the darkening groves put him on edge. He spent the entire journey expecting trouble, until at last the village appeared in the distance.
A handful of lights flickered in the windows atop the hill. Before they reached the village, Kreft guided the wagon into a roadside grove of beeches.
“You’ll wait by the wagon. Stay quiet. I’ll check if it’s safe,” he ordered. “Don’t step onto the road. If I don’t return within an hour, abandon the wagon and try to reach Ribenne. Avoid the roads.”
He waited until both of them nodded, then disappeared into the darkness.
They sat huddled together in silence. Will had withdrawn completely, staring at the opposite seat. Arien thought about saying something, but he knew exactly where his friend’s mind was. Nothing he said would reach him now.
The minutes dragged on in darkness. Arien kept wondering what had happened and what they should do next, while the emotions he had pushed aside kept threatening to return. He was afraid that if his concentration slipped, even for a moment, he might lose what little control he had left.
“The village is safe.” Kreft’s voice suddenly broke the silence from only a few steps away. Arien flinched and turned toward him. He had not heard so much as a footstep.
“The raiders were gone before dawn. They took prisoners and a lot of cattle.” Kreft paused, then looked directly at Arien. “Alia made it to the village. She’s hurt, but Varix says she should recover.”
Arien gripped the edge of the seat. “She’s alive? Are you sure?”
“Varix saw her himself. I came back as soon as I heard. Let’s go. The sooner we reach the temple, the better.” Kreft climbed onto the wagon, then his eyes went straight to Will. “How is he?”
Arien glanced at his friend. Will had not moved since Kreft left, his hands still clenched in his lap. “He barely said anything.”
Kreft crouched in front of him and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Will? Can you hear me?”
The boy gave a small nod without looking up. Kreft watched him for another moment, his jaw tightening. “Alright. Stay close to Arien. We’re going to the village now.”
The wagon rolled on through the darkness. Kreft pushed the horse as fast as the road allowed. Arien said nothing, and neither did Will. The minutes dragged on until the first ruined buildings finally appeared ahead.

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They passed through the scorched remains of the village gate. Seeing lights ahead and people moving between the houses eased some of the tension in Arien’s shoulders, but the village itself was barely recognizable. Smoke still hung between the buildings. Some had burned to the ground, while others had collapsed into heaps of timber and stone. Not one had escaped damage except the temple ahead, which stood intact amid the ruins. A crowd filled the space around it, people hurrying in and out through the open doors.
As they approached, the crowd near the entrance parted and a woman’s cry rose above the noise. Two men emerged carrying a child on a broad board, the small body wrapped in bloodied bandages. The woman walked beside them, clutching the child’s hand and sobbing uncontrollably. Most people looked away.
A few steps from the entrance, the men lowered the body beside the temple wall. Only then did Arien notice the others. Dozens of shapes lay beneath blankets, cloaks, and spare clothes. The mother sank beside her child, still holding the small hand while another woman stood nearby, helpless.
Arien looked away before the woman’s grief could break through what little control he had left.
When the wagon stopped near the temple, he climbed down and made his way toward the entrance. The smell reached him before he crossed the threshold: smoke clinging to clothes, sweat, blood, and the bitter scent of crushed herbs. Inside, rows of wounded people covered the floor, most of them women and children. Some screamed in pain, others cried quietly, while the exhausted or unconscious lay motionless beneath blankets. All benches had been pushed aside, and only the statue of Sul remained in place, radiating magic in Arien’s eyes. Women tended the wounded, changing soaked bandages, applying salves to burns, giving water and potions. Children ran errands or slept against the walls.
“Kreft, a word?” a hoarse voice cut through the noise.
Arien saw the priest rise from beside a wounded man. Varix looked terrible. His robe hung loosely from his exhausted frame, and dark circles ringed his eyes as though he might collapse at any moment. Yet his grey eyes remained sharp.
“Arien, look after Will for a moment, alright?” Kreft didn’t wait for an answer and walked away, speaking quietly with the priest.
“Come on, Will. Help me find my sister.” Arien took Will’s hand and led him carefully between the rows of wounded until he spotted Alia beneath a blanket near the far wall. A woman knelt beside her, helping her drink from a clay cup.
To his surprise, it was Nessi.
“Alia! Thank the gods!” Arien rushed to her side.
She looked startled at first, but relief soon appeared in her tired eyes.
“Are you hurt? Does it hurt? Can we help you?” Arien gently took her small hand.
Nessi leaned closer. “Arien, I’m glad you’re okay. Alia said you went to Ribenne, but we weren’t sure. Your sister will be fine,” she assured him, though her voice sounded slightly forced. “It’s a minor wound on her side. Nothing, a few days of rest won’t heal.”
Arien squeezed Alia’s warm hand, then looked up at Nessi. The smell of crushed herbs and blood clung to her clothes, and there were dark stains on her sleeves. Whatever had happened between their families after Sari’s disappearance did not matter now. Nessi, like most people he had seen since arriving, looked as though she had aged several years in a single day.
“Thank you, Aunt Nessi. For taking care of her.” Arien swallowed. “I can stay with her now. You should get some rest.”
Nessi shook her head. “There are too many wounded.”
Arien glanced around the temple. He had seen several familiar faces since entering, but not Zed.
“Do you know where Zed is?”
“The priest sent him to search the ruins for survivors,” Nessi replied. Her eyes lingered on Arien, and for a moment she seemed about to leave it at that.
Then she turned to Alia. “Stay with Will for a moment. I need to speak with your brother.”
Arien gave Will a small nod. The boy moved beside Alia without a word, his eyes lowered and his hands clenched tightly in his lap.
He followed Nessi toward the temple wall. The moment she turned to face him, his stomach tightened.
“Arien, you’re young, but I know you’ve got some sense. Have you been to your farm?”
“Yes,” he answered quietly.
“Then you know. I won’t lie to you.” She sighed heavily and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Mari was like a sister to me for many years. Our last disagreements don’t matter anymore. Your father and Wod died at the farm. Zed…” She paused. “I didn’t want to upset Alia any further. Zed died defending the village, along with my husband, Uther, and many other men.”
Nessi looked away for a moment.
“My younger children are helping with the wounded. I have no intention of resting either. Your sister’s condition is not good. If she were older, with more Vitality… maybe she would survive. I’m telling you this because you deserve the truth, but you must not tell Alia. She’s been through too much.”
“And Lisa? My mother?” he asked.
“Alia says they’re alive. Captured. Come on, let’s go back before she starts worrying.”
His father and two of his brothers were dead, his mother and Lisa had been taken, and Alia might not survive the night. He still did not know who had attacked them or why. His hands curled into fists until his nails bit into his palms, but there was nothing in front of him to fight and nothing he could do to make any of it stop.
“Arien, I know it’s hard, and it may seem unfair, but try to stay strong for Alia. She’s fragile. She needs to focus on surviving. Let’s not add to her burden.”
Arien turned to look at her. She had lost her husband and son, yet she was still tending the wounded and worrying about Alia. He could not understand where she found the strength.
“Yes…” he said quietly. “You’re right. I have to be strong for Alia.”
When Arien returned, Alia smiled at him. He sat beside her and gently stroked her hair, while Will remained on her other side. For a while, none of them spoke. Alia leaned against him, and even Will seemed a little calmer with someone beside him. Nessi watched them for a moment before moving away to help another wounded child.
Kreft found them sometime later. Varix wanted him to ride to Ribenne for help in case the raiders returned, so before leaving, Kreft asked Arien to keep an eye on Will.
Hours passed, and Alia’s condition visibly worsened. Her forehead and arm were burning hot. When Nessi changed her bandages, he had to summon all his willpower to keep his expression steady. A long, shallow cut ran from beneath her ribs toward her hip. He did not know who had done it, but the thought of finding them had already begun to burn in the back of his mind. The wound wasn’t deep, but blood still seeped from the stitches, and the edges were red and swollen. He wasn’t an expert, but he had spent enough time in hospitals to recognize the signs. The wound was infected.
Arien refused to sit idle. He replayed everything he had seen from the Healers at the tournament, every gesture and every trace of mana. He knew what Life mana looked like now, and even here, surrounded by death and disease, he could see faint motes of it shimmering in the air. He did not know the spells, but if he could grasp the Aspect itself, maybe he could still help Alia.
He thought back to the other Aspects he had discovered. Water had made sense once he understood its movement. Fire had come when he understood what it wanted to do, while the storm had revealed Lightning and Wind. Maybe Life would work the same way.
What was Life?
He thought of plants, animals, and the changing seasons, the endless struggle to grow and survive. None of those answers felt complete.
He remembered the happiness in Mari’s eyes when he had first called her Mama, Terry’s pride in an abundant harvest, and Alia’s smile during the evening stories. Then he looked around the temple, at the crying, pain, and death surrounding him.
Was that all life amounted to? If so, what was the point?
Life and Death were inseparable. Every living thing survived because something else died, part of the same endless cycle of growth and decay. Healing only strengthened what life was already trying to do. Bones knitted, flesh closed, and the body fought every moment to remain alive. Death was part of the same cycle. Every living thing eventually reached it, no matter how fiercely it fought to survive.
Time only moved forward.
He felt electricity surge through his body.

 
Life Aspect: a gift for some, a curse for others. You can delay death, perhaps even escape it. As an assigned skill, it increases understanding, control, and effectiveness of life magic.
Death Aspect: everything must die eventually. You can only hasten the process. As an assigned skill, it increases understanding, control, and effectiveness of death magic.
He took a deep breath and assigned the Skill.