Chapter 1743 (Patreon)

ToC: https://www.patreon.com/posts/23899958

These were so hard to write and edit. Also, it's been brought to my attention that I might have confused the names. The character I thinking of was Bertarn in the past. But for now, I'll leave it like this.

After their spar finally finished, the two men sat on the cliff with their legs dangling off the edge. Wind twined around their ankles. For several long minutes, the two viewed the sloping beauty of the mountains silently, saturating themselves with the awesome sight in front of them. Even with the blanket of night dragged across the terrain, it was still gorgeous.

Looking at the surrounding mountains, Bertram could still remember the first time he had seen his master training underneath the mountain. He had seemed like the strongest person in the world.

Bertram shifted uncomfortably. Yet now here I sit, more accomplished in both spear and image than my master. And compared to this man...

The small slice on Bertram’s forearm that eventually ended their spar ached far more than it had any right to. He had known that Randidly Ghosthound was grieving for his lost spear attendant from the moment he laid eyes on his former rival, even if he hadn’t known the details. He had suggested the spar purposefully. But the savagery of his opponent still filled him with fear.

And envy. Right now, as he struggled to expand back into the Eastern Domain, he wished he possessed a similar amount of capability.

He snuck a peek sideways. In the rebuilding of Tellus, Bertram had encountered far too many similar individuals, gripping tightly to their scars with no knowledge of how to allow those emotional wounds to heal. And obviously sparring wasn’t going to solve the problem. But for now, it would at least give outlet to the Ghosthound’s emotions.

But recalling the Ghosthound’s desolate left eye made Bertram shiver. Halfway through the spar, the sort of violence he unleashed had changed. Bertram had no choice but to start activating his own image to fight against it. Your improvement puts me to shame. Truly, it was no fluke that you improved so rapidly during the tournament.

Bertram looked up at the gloomy sky. The clouds had blocked the descent of the sun, but it was clear that night was upon them. They had been sparring for an hour and a half. Or rather, the Ghosthound had ruthlessly vented himself upon Bertram’s desperate body for an hour and a half. Now it was time to return.

First, Bertram cleared his throat and cautiously put out some feelers “By the wall… your spear usage… it is truly sublime. You possess a great deal of talent in this regard; more than anyone else that I’ve ever seen. If you founded a Style here on Tellus, there were many that would flock to your Tassle for the chance to learn from you.”

The Ghosthound just grunted, continuing to trace the sloping lines of rock with his eyes. In the darkening night, his eyes were almost luminous.

Bertram licked his lips and tried to be a little bit more direct. He and Ikaas had just returned from Hastam; he had been forced to endure three days of rebukes from his superiors, who were unimpressed with Bertram’s accomplishments. He desperately needed a few practical spear users to help clear out the monsters on Tellus. “You… its possible that you could obtain some very talented subordinates. And I’m sure having some spear attendants-”

“I’m not looking to replace Helen,” The Ghosthound hissed as he turned and favored Bertram with a baleful glare. And as he stared into that eye, Bertram briefly felt like he had been popped out of his stable place and the universe and arrived in a rumbling alternate reality. Every surface he touched was vibrating at an extremely high frequency. And the longer he touched that strange resonance, the more it began to infect him.

The Ghosthound snorted, blasting away all those vibrations; in its wake, Bertram just felt cold. Instantly, all his preoccupation with his own problems fell away. He looked at Randidly Ghosthound in horror. He was aghast that the spar had shaken him enough to be this thoughtless. “Oh… Oh no, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to suggest-”

“I know,” The Ghosthound grunted and stood. An echo of that strained buzzing pulsed outward before it gradually dissipated. “Otherwise… well.”

The dark-haired young man turned away without bothering to explain that abrupt end to a sentence. Instead, he spoke brusquely over his shoulder. “I need to go and arrange a few more matters. The funeral will be the day after tomorrow. I’ll come to bring you all along to the ceremony if you want to come.”

Without waiting for an answer, the Ghosthound produced a key and opened a portal. Then he was gone, leaving Bertram alone with the hot flush of shame creeping along his cheeks. His wound on his forearm continued to ache. He reached down and rubbed his fingers over the scabbing cut. That man… he has changed.

Bertram forced himself to stand. Then he walked back along the path to the homestead. The reason he has grown stronger than me… is the same reason that I could have been distracted from the reason for his grief...

The next two days passed quickly. Bertram continued to feel a vague sense of guilt, that he supposed resembled grief, despite that he had no strong impression of Helen. Islinda maintained her normal progression of chores, but she did so silently; the music of her life had been smothered by the news.

She moved more like a silhouette than as a person through her own home. Her frame had somehow been hollowed out by Helen’s death.

Meanwhile, Ikaas fluttered between the two of them with a distressed expression upon her face. Ikaas had matured a lot from the young woman Bertram had married, but she was still a delicate individual. He could practically see her worries undermining her mental health. Even worse, her concern for the other two prevented her from facing her own grief.

The meals they shared were cold and anxious affairs. Bertram found them incredibly uncomfortable, even as Islinda refused to address the problem and Ikaas didn’t dare bring it up on her own.

But then the promised time and Randidly Ghosthound returned. Compared to the slightly hollowed-eyed version that had been present at the beginning of his first visit or the vicious fighter that had revealed itself during their spar, this version of Randidly was more difficult to read. His emerald eyes were raw with grief, but those emotions finally seemed to have ceased eating away at him.

He was dressed in a black suit and wore a somber expression as he stood next to the strange portal he had created. The Ghosthound nodded to Bertram and Ikaas, then offered his arm to Islinda.

Immediately, the woman scowled at the offered arm. “Do I seem so old that I need your help?”

“Auntie,” Ikaas whispered. But the Ghosthound didn’t even flinch from Islinda’s sharp tone. He kept his arm out, staring down the mother of Helen.

Islinda’s expression worsened at the Ghosthound’s continued stubbornness and Bertram considered speaking up. Perhaps he already would have, had he not stuffed his foot in his mouth in his prior interaction with the man.  Ikaas looked back and forth between the bullish expressions on their two faces, his mild and hers sour.

But to Bertram’s surprise, Islinda gave in first. She shook her head, even as she was slipping her arm through the Ghosthound’s. “You know, the greatest skill a man can learn in his life is how to accept a woman’s no.”

“Maybe another day,” The Ghosthound said. His voice was hoarse and low as he led Islinda forward through the portal. “But today is not a day for walking alone.”

When they stepped through the crackling threshold, the first thing that Bertram noticed was the cold. There was no snow on the ground, but the wind chilled his skin and forced Ikaas to huddle against his side. They stood on a rugged desert, standing bare against the elements. The sun was still a fair distance above the horizon, but its light offered no warmth, only illumination.

The Ghosthound walked calmly forward, leading Islinda down the side of a rocky hill to a small path. The path meandered downward for a bit before turning into a ravine. The entrance was wide enough for a half dozen individuals to walk abreast at the same time, but what really threw Bertram was how many people stood in small clumps on the rocky pathway and spoke in low voices. Everyone was dressed in dark clothing, but they held weapons loosely in their hands.

When they saw the Ghosthound, the people bowed and stepped to the side. The bodies pressed themselves against the stone walls and allowed those two figures to move forward. Bertram and Ikaas followed after them, very conscious of the gazes of these weapon-holding individuals. Chill air wafted up from the depths in front of them.

The further they went on the path the deeper the path descended into the ground; soon the walls of the thin canyon stretched high above them. The shade in the interior of the pathway dyed the stones the color of bruised and most skin tones as sickly. But the one thing that made Bertram nervous was the silhouettes that were peaking over the edge of the canyon walls from the ridge above.

That, and the fact that people fell into place behind them, creating a natural procession as the Ghosthound led the way. The walls peeled back, giving them more room to maneuver until they walked around a twisting bend in the rock formation and found a natural cavern at the bottom of this ravine. A thin strip of sky peeked down between the edges of the stone walls, but they had descended deeply enough that the place felt like a cave.

A very chill cave, suitable for keeping meat from spoiling, Bertram shivered.

The area wasn’t flat but tiered, like a natural colosseum. Whether by natural forces or human design, flat stone slabs circled the central area. Almost a hundred people were here already, crouching on some of the higher tiers. The red and orange stones in this deepest point were dyed purple and blue by the shadows. When the Ghosthound led Islinda by the arm down into the shadowy area, the waiting individuals straightened. They, too, lifted up their weapons.

Bertram’s eyes scanned the area. The more he saw, the more he doubted his own senses. At the far side of the area in the deepest shadow of the canyon walls, a massive sapphire dragon crouched. Next to it was two humanoids, one woman with a spear and one man with a handheld projectile weapon. On the other side of the second humanoid was a horse.

To the left side of the clearing was tight ranks of several military men. Just looking at them made Bertram nervous. They stood smartly at attention with their hands above their backs. Their gaze was on the central portion of the natural clearing, where a spear sat leaning up against a closed wooden casket.

As Bertram looked around, a woman in a black silk dress walked forward and intercepted the Ghosthound. “Do you wish to say something before we begin? Ah, you must be Helen’s mother. I’m Tatiana.”

The woman Tatiana offered her hand to Islinda. Islinda pursed her lips and looked up at Randidly, then back to the woman. She reached forward and took the woman’s hand. “You may call me Lady Isa. And to answer your question, he will definitely be speaking.”

Finally, the somber expression on the Ghosthound’s face shifted to troubled as he glanced at Islinda. But Helen’s mother only smirked at him. “What, do you expect me to do it? Do you want me to embarrass myself up there? My daughter ran away from my house a decade ago to chase you; take some responsibility.”

The Ghosthound’s eyes turned flinty, but he still nodded. Then he rolled his shoulders and walked forward to stand next to the coffin. The crowd quieted as more and more humanoids followed after Bertram and Ikaas down into the area.

Islinda was led by Tatiana up to the lowest slab of stone and Bertram towed Ikaas after her. They stood very close to the Ghosthound, close enough that a spear could bridge the distance between them.

Bertram watched the Ghosthound rub his thumb against the coffin as more and more people filed in and crowded together. There were several different factions that kept to themselves, but they all looked down at the coffin with sad eyes.

Do all these people… Bertram wondered. Really know Helen…?