Analin smoothed the front of Arvenus’ leathers, tugging the hem sharply. “You look handsome,” she murmured, tears in her eyes.

Arvenus watched her with sadness. He had no tears left to shed. Where once there was horror and despair, now there was only an unending emptiness, a numbness that pervaded even the remotest parts of him.

He reached for her hand and held it for a moment, lifting it to his lips. “All will be well, wife,” he said, his words monotonous.

“How could there still be no word from him?” she asked, anger thinly veiled in her words. “Not a single word. Does he hold no love for your parents? After all that they have done for him?”

“There’s no proof that he is at the inn and received my letter,” Arvenus reminded her, brushing the hair back from his eyes. “If he did and refused to answer, his actions would be callous. But I would prefer not to think of him as heartless. We can’t even be certain he was ever there. We took an educated guess, but that does not provide certainty.”

“Perhaps…” she murmured.

“No matter,” Arvenus brushed the talk of his brother aside. “We cannot delay any longer. They deserve to be put to rest, and so they shall be.”

He took Analin’s hand once more, gripping it tight in his palm. While they walked through the village graveyard, Arvenus watched those that had gathered to honor his parents. Their drawn, sallow faces were the mirrored image of his own, their red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks a constant reminder of what he had lost. He watched their mourning, heard their wailing cries and muffled moans. Sadus was among them as well, but not Sadus’ nephew Arin, who had succumbed to his wounds the day after the raid, and had been buried earlier that week.

Analin guided Arvenus towards the crowd, pulling him onward despite the exhaustion that gripped his bones. He ached for sleep. Ached for the vast emptiness that came with it. There were no dreams, no loss or sadness. There was only a wandering, aimless blackness that cradled him and soothed him through the hurt and fog of recent memories.

At last, they came to rest near the throng of villagers. The crowd stood huddled at the foot of two shallow graves, each one piled high with dirt on one side, with a casket of simple oak standing on the other. Arvenus stared at the caskets, grateful for the emptiness within him. It was all that kept him still. He wore the numbness of it like a cloak, gathering the folds of safety about him as if it would shield him from the prying eyes of those gathered.

But he noticed their stares. The lingering gazes that rested on his face, the glassiness of their eyes whispering of unshed tears. He did his best to avoid them, to keep his eyes on the ground. When Daron came to stand before the graves, Arvenus breathed a sigh of relief as all of their eyes turned to rest on the landlord instead.

“Today is a day of great sorrow. One of many we have seen since the last raid,” Daron proclaimed, his hands folded solemnly before him. “It is a sorrow borne on the backs of grave tragedy. Each of us has suffered. Each man and woman gathered has felt the injustice of a life taken too soon. Words cannot express the depth of pain and overwhelming sadness with which we give Vrayim and Yadevil to the earth.”

Daron looked at the faces of the people before him. “But it is with great joy that we celebrate the life they lived,” he continued, trying his best to smile. “We celebrate the children they leave behind. To Arvenus, their oldest, I cannot begin to convey my sympathies. Know that I suffer this loss with you and grieve your parents as I would my own kin. I have grown to think of you as my own son, a son I deeply cherish. To see you in such pain breaks me in ways I had not known possible. To you, I say this: you are not alone. Your natural born family may be gone, but you will walk through this world with us at your side, your second family who loves you as one of their own.”

Arvenus glanced up from the graves of his parents, locking eyes with Daron. He saw the truth of the landlord’s words there, the purity and depth of his emotion plain on his face. Arvenus tried to hide the sudden, overwhelming grief that swallowed him, tried to push aside the feelings that threatened to drown him, but he couldn’t. Staring into Daron’s eyes, he felt all the pain and love and sadness and loneliness of the last few days consume him, and he could no longer pretend. The world took on a glassy guise as the sting of tears blinded him. Lifting a shaking hand to his eyes, Arvenus bit back the sobs that hung heavy in his throat.

“To Yarnus,” Daron continued, the shimmer of tears falling down his cheeks. “Their second born… Wherever he may be, we wish him all the love his parents had for him and pray for his safe return to our humble village. When and if he does return, we shall welcome him with open arms.”

Daron took a deep breath. “We give Vrayim and Yadevil back to the earth. We give them back to the Gods that granted them life. We give them back to their forefathers that bore them. Let us send them to the Gathering with worship, with courage, and with love. Let us give them our thoughts and gratitude, one last time.”

As the last of his words echoed through the crowd, Daron stepped forward, his toes pressed to the very edge of the nearest grave. Reaching in the folds of his robes, he withdrew a small sheepskin flask. Slowly, with trembling fingers, he unstoppered the lid. After taking a quick swill, he drizzled a few droplets into each of the graves, then passed the flask to his wife. Lanika followed his lead, taking a swill of her own and sprinkling a few more drops onto the dirt. On down the line of visitors the flask passed, until Arvenus found himself holding it. He stared down at the flask, unable to move. He wrestled with the emotions warring within him. This was the final ritual that would lay his parents to rest. Then they would be gone. Truly gone. He knew he would have to face life without them someday, yet he never imagined that day would creep upon him so quickly.

Analin placed a hand on his elbow, gently pushing against it. Arvenus let the desperate need to place blame run through him, an irrational anger he directed at his wife. In that moment, he resented her as he had never done so before. He resented that she was trying to push him to move on, resented the way she urged him to carry on, to forget about his parents as if they were nothing. But the anger was swept away on the tides of unbearable sadness almost as quickly as it had come.

With a sigh, Arvenus lifted the flask to his lips. It tasted of bitter black tea and cloves, cinnamon, and raspberries. When he was a child his father had told him the story behind the concoction; that each element represented a part of the physical body. It was a way to bring them closer to him, even in death. A way to be with them one last time before their spirits were given back to the Gods. As he sprinkled the last few droplets into his parents’ graves, he marveled at the absurdity of it, and at the absurdity of the comfort it gave him.

“We commit Vrayim and Yadevil to the earth,” Daron murmured softly, nodding toward those that flanked the caskets. Arvenus watched as friends and family he had known all his life lifted the caskets, tears in his eyes as they slowly lowered his mother and father into the earth.

Analin’s arm snaked about his back, and the warmth of her touch imbued him with a quiet relief. He watched, torment etched into his face, as his parents were laid to rest, their caskets nestled perfectly within the shallow graves. Arvenus reached inside the folds of his leathers, grabbing two solid stone emblems with his family’s crests. Once, they had gathered dust on the mantle above the hearth of the kitchen. They were meant to signify the union of houses. His mother’s stone bore the polished carving of delicate strands of wheat, while his father’s bore the outline of a waterfall.

Crouching low, Arvenus cast his father’s emblem into Yadevil’s grave, and his mother’s emblem into Vrayim’s. “May you be together always,” he whispered to them. “As you were in life.”

He grabbed up a fistful of dirt and sprinkled it over their caskets, and the villagers followed him one by one. Some threw in trinkets they believed would ease his parents’ journey to the Gathering. Some drank foul smelling liquor, pouring mouthfuls at a time onto the mounds of dirt below. Each grieved in their own way, giving a piece of themselves to his parents in their passing.

When at last the ceremony was done, Arvenus helped to scoop the loose dirt on top of the caskets, packing the empty spaces until little more than a small mound remained.  His mother and father were gone.

After the funeral, Arvenus, his footsteps leaden, trudged back to the mansion with Analin and her parents at his side. He had suffered death before. The death of his hopes and dreams. The death of his childhood. The death of his innocence. But this death was the foulest. It haunted him, dogged his steps, filled his mind with whispers that ripped him apart over and over again. And he was powerless to stop it, helpless against the raging river of emotion.

When they reached the mansion, Arvenus opened the door and stepped inside the warmth of the firelight that flickered in the hearth. It was a small comfort to him, but a welcome one. Analin filtered in behind him, followed by Daron and Lanika.

“Sit,” Lanika murmured in his ear as she stepped past. “Sit and be comfortable. I’ll make you some tea.”

“Something stronger,” Daron requested with a small smile. “The lad deserves a proper drink after today.”

“Thank you, Daron,” Arvenus nodded as Lanika and Analin made their way to the kitchen.

Daron settled into the paunchy, squat chair that fit him like a throne. Arvenus took a place in the chair next to his.

“You know my boy,” Daron said, thrusting his hands out toward the fireplace. He rotated his palms before the blaze in a vain attempt to warm them. “I meant what I said up there at the funeral. I think of you as my son.”

Arvenus forced a smile. “I know Daron. It means more to me than you could ever imagine.”

Daron cleared his throat. “And… I had hoped… since I have no sons of my own… well, I rather hope that when Lanika and I pass you will take over my estate and my duties as landlord.”

Even though Arvenus had overheard Daron and Lanika talking about leaving him the estate, he could barely believe it but there was surety in Daron’s face, an absolute certainty that Arvenus had rarely seen in his life. There was no question that Daron truly cared for him the way a parent would.

“I don’t know what to say,” Arvenus mumbled at last. “It would be an honor, of course… but what of my parents’ farmstead?”

Daron waved the words away. “Yarnus will take the farm, I’m sure. In time he’ll realize that this place is his home and it’s where he belongs. He’ll sort himself out and come back, and when he does, that farm will be his responsibility.”

“It’s too much work for one man,” Arvenus argued, though his heart was not in it. Given how scarred his mind still was by memories, the last thing he wanted was to be back at the farmstead.

“We will find him help, if need be,” Daron continued as Lanika and Analin made their way into the room. Analin passed her husband a steaming cup and he took it, grateful for something to distract him, something to ease his mind.

As Analin nestled into the chair next to him, Arvenus gulped down the liquid in his cup. It tasted of lavender and honey. He let it burn his throat as he drained the cup, thankful for the way it made him feel calmer than before.

From the hall, he heard two raps on the door.

“Allow me,” Lanika said, getting to her feet. She was gone for only a moment before she returned, her face paler than before.

“It’s from the city steward,” she breathed, handing a letter to Daron.

Without hesitation the landlord grabbed the envelope from his wife, tearing open the ochre-coloured parchment. He unfolded the letter with eager hands, his eyes scouring the words several times before he dared speak.

“What news is there from the city of Mano?” Arvenus asked, staring fervently at the letter. Daron folded the parchment and placed it on his lap.

“Our wish, and that of many other landlords, has been granted,” he said at last. “Psikar, God of the Spirit, has heard our call and in his benevolence has come with a proposition: he will grant immortality to several hundred Mano men and women from across the lands, and give them the power to protect our people and heal our farmlands. These men and women will be known as the Grey Order of Watchers.”

But there was the ghost of something menacing buried in his voice, a shadow that loomed over his good tidings.

“There’s more,” Arvenus said, sure of his words.

Daron nodded. “In return for such a gift, Psikar asks only that those who join the Grey Order never procreate. Those that are given such immortal life will be damned, their bloodlines forever cut from the moment of their acceptance.”

“So those that choose this power, those that choose to help our village… they will no longer bear children?” Analin asked, her brow creased with worry.

“Aye,” Daron nodded, lips downturned in a frown. “So it seems.”

Silence filled the room. Arvenus stared into the flames before him, his gaze lost in its hunger. Tongues of orange darted out to lick the logs beneath them, stripping them of bark and pulp.

Immortality. Power. Unending glory. He saw it all so clearly before him. He glanced at Analin, at her belly. He could rest easy, knowing that his name would live on in the baby within her. But they would never have another child. Not if he made this choice. Her eyes watched him, as if scrutinizing his every thought. What good would it do, to have more children, if the home they had was burned to cinder? What good would it do to bear more fruit, if he could not protect those he loved? If he was granted Psikar’s gifts he could take his vengeance, could destroy Kenderik One-Arm and his band of raiders, and at long last rid them of the sickness that plagued their crops. He could restore pride to the estate village, restore safety and hope. The thought burned through him, hotter and brighter than the fire dancing in its hearth before him.

“I would go,” Arvenus said at last.

Daron closed his eyes, a pained expression on his face. “This is not a decision to be made lightly, my son,” he spoke softly, turning his gaze to Arvenus.

“I do not make it lightly,” he argued. “You might think I am rash, but I have considered the options before me with a heavy heart. I know what it is I would give up, having that power within me. But I am no man if I cannot protect my family and my home. I do this, not for myself, but for you. For all of you. To keep you safe from bandits and any other force that would seek to harm you. To keep the estate village safe from those that would see it destroyed. I will not watch the world I love burn to the ground out of fear for never having more children. I will not watch any more of my family die when I can change the course of fate.”

“And what of me?” Analin asked, her words coloured with anger. “Do I have no say in what my husband chooses? Do you think your decisions no longer affect me?”

Arvenus was silent for a moment. “I know they affect you, wife,” he conceded at last. “But what type of man, or husband, would I be, if I didn’t do everything in my power to protect you? To protect our child? After all I have lost, I cannot stand idly by, knowing the threat still remains out there. I value your opinion, of course I do,” he whispered, taking her hand in his. “And I hope you can see your way to agreement.”

Analin sighed.

Arvenus turned her palm upward and kissed the mound of flesh beneath her thumb. “You are perhaps the strongest woman I know,” he murmured to her. “Now that we will have a child, that means you do not live solely for me anymore, love. But I have no doubt you will find a way to continue on. That we will find a way to continue on.”