Chapter 24
Farewell to Flesh
Eagle, Gladius
"The more I study history, so often I see the ambitions of great men fail to come to fruition. It reminds me that for all men, great and small alike, our days on this earth are too short to fulfill everything we mean to accomplish in our lives. It is one of the reasons we entrust our legacy to the next generation."
-Excerpt from the assorted writings of Mark the Guardian
Nathan felt someone nudge his shoulder and he awoke. Apparently he had dozed off while reading in his father's study, but when he looked around, no one else was in the room. He did not need to wonder what it was. He knew this touch and now that he was awake, it was gently tugging at him.
He followed the pull of the invisible hand to the garden, where he found his mother standing alone in her wispy white gown as if she were a ghost. He could not remember the last time he saw her out of bed. Her gown could not hide how painfully thin she appeared. Surely it was not by her natural strength but rather by her strange powers that she could stand as she did.
She looked to him and her voice echoed in his mind.
I could not decide. I thought I might leave you to sleep, but you would not have liked it if I left you without a word.
"It's time then, Mother?" Nathan asked.
She nodded.
Your father needs me and I must go to him. I cannot say for certain what will happen after that. I will watch over you if I can, but you are the lord of House Aran now. You must write your own destiny.
I leave you one gift. You and Alessandra, I am releasing you from the burden of the Elemental Knights. Their time has passed. A new world is dawning and the ghosts of the Eight Stars need not haunt their descendants any longer.
Nathan did not speak against her. He knew his father had long been considering it, to seal away the ancestral gear to further speed the end of the world of magic that was dying. Perhaps it truly was for the best.
His mother looked off into the distance.
There is not much time left. I must be going now. I have not been there for you as a mother should, but I pray that you grow in wisdom and in strength. Become a lord worthy of your father's name. God be with you, Nathan, my son.
She closed her eyes and her body began to glow. Nathan shielded his eyes, but the light was gone in an instant, leaving behind the empty gown weighed down by something with a glint of gold. Nathan stooped down to pick up a golden chain with a milky white crystal.
He clasped the crystal and held it to his forehead. Surely he could have been forgiven for weeping, but his eyes remained dry. He was the lord of House Aran now and for the sake of his household, he had to be strong.
* * *
The battlefield was littered with the dead and dying. The living seemed little better off. Some plodded about aimlessly like revenants, while others were huddled up in terror of the things they had seen and the things they had done. There were those who had thrown themselves over fallen comrades and those who simply sat staring vacantly into the distance. And then there were those whose hearts were not touched by the horrors of battle, those who saw the battlefield not as a sight of tragedy but one of opportunity.
If you did not feel the prick of conscience, the battlefield was a veritable gold mine. The average peasant conscript or ragged mercenary may not have had more than a few coppers on his person, but there were plenty of bodies and some of those bodies once enjoyed far greater material blessings.
A small group of three robbers approached one such prize, a foreign lord whose scarlet surcoat and glittering sword had caught their eye before. Death comes to all men, but the robbers were especially glad it came for this one. They had been careful not to take anything too heavy lest it impede their movement, but for a find like this, they would take everything of value they could carry.
As they got closer, they saw the broken hilt in his hand. It was disappointing to see such a fine-looking sword in such a state, but the jewelled hilt alone ought to fetch a good price and there were other goods to be had like the armor and shield, the horse's barding, and so on.
One of them armed with a short spear moved forward to ensure the lord was dead. More than a few robbers of the dead would meet their end after carelessly getting too close to a body that was not quite done with this mortal coil. However, before he could deliver a thrust to the lord's neck, his spear refused to move, shaking in his hands as some unseen force held it back.
All three men grabbed at their throats at once. Their faces swelled and turned a purplish red. Blood began trickling down from their eyes, ears and noses and their eyeballs were nearly forced from the sockets before bursting in red fountains. The eyeless corpses weeping their tears of blood then toppled over.
Something like a gust of wind swept the bodies away, not just of the robbers, but all the other bodies as round about as well. The fallen lord's horse was then lifted off of him and cast aside with less care than the poor beast deserved. And with the area around him cleared, the lord opened his eyes as an ethereal shape descended upon him.
* * *
Mark thought he had made his peace and embraced the end, but then he felt the weight of his horse... or rather its absence. The new sensation was enough to make him open his eyes. His vision was still failing him, but there was some sort of shimmering above him. Perhaps it was just an illusion of his addled mind, but he thought he saw the shape of a woman. Could it be?
A familiar voice echoed in his head, saying, No, my love. I am no ministering angel sent to usher you heavenward... or perhaps I am, after a fashion.
Mark's wits were failing him. It was Catherine's voice, but what was she doing here? How did she get here?
One shape of the future has come to pass. I wanted to be with you here at the end, so I have taken on a new form. I cannot say what will become of us, but here we must go our separate ways. Perhaps we will meet again in another time, another place, another form, another shape.
Do not worry about Nathan. He is your son, our son. He will find the strength he needs to live in this twilight age.
Mark's lips moved wordlessly. He let go of the hilt he was still clutching and reached out as if to touch his wife, but there was nothing there.
Ah, to be held in your arms one last time. It cannot be.
Still he reached for her.
It is time. Close your eyes, my love. You have finished the race. May a crown of laurels await you.
It was not laurels he desired, but whatever awaited him beyond, he could do naught but accept it. The future was now in the hands of his son. May he rise to the challenges he would face and prove himself a better man than his father. What more could Mark hope for in this world?