Eranor nodded and lowered his head, and his white beard cascaded like a waterfall. "I miss them too. As the stars blessed us with magic, so do they harbor the souls of our departed. Your wife and daughter look down upon you. And they are proud of you."

Another story, Jeid thought. Another comforting fairy tale.

He wanted to believe, wanted to hope too, but Jeid could not. Hope led to despair.

He climbed down the pillar of stone. He entered his small cave in the canyon. He opened his wooden chest, pulled out Requiem's old coat, and held the soft cotton against his cheek until darkness fell.

LAIRA

 
LAIRA

In the cold autumn morning, fog cloaking the camp and crows peering from naked trees, Laira stood tied to a stake, awaiting her death in fire.

The Goldtusk tribe gathered around the pyre, watching her, five hundred souls. They wore mammoth, wolf, and deer fur, and their strings of bone and clay beads hung around their necks and arms. Mist floated between them and their breath frosted. The tribe's totem pole rose behind upon a hillock, the gilded mammoth tusk upon its crest all but hidden in the fog. The rocs stood tethered to the pole, scratching the earth and cawing, anxious for a meal; the birds had seen enough burnings to know they would soon feast upon charred flesh.

Branches, straw, and twigs rose in a pile beneath Laira's feet. She watched a grub crawl down a birch branch, only for a robin to land, suck it up, and fly off. Strangely, the sight almost comforted to her.

I will burn. I will scream. I will rise to my mother. But the world will go on. Birds will fly, grubs will die, the leaves will fall and bud again. Maybe I'm as small and meaningless as that grub.

Zerra came walking through the crowd, heading toward her, holding a torch. A cruel smile twisted his features, lipless on the burnt half of his face. His fur cloak billowed in the wind, revealing his bronze sword—the most precious weapon in their tribe. When he reached her, he held his torch close, and the heat and smoke stung Laira and invaded her nostrils. She grimaced.

"Aye, you were a sweet one in my bed." Drool dripped down his chin and he grabbed his groin. "It's almost a shame to burn you. You were as hot and smooth as your mother was. I claimed her too, did you know? Your father abandoned her for me to take." He smirked. "Mother and daughter—both mine to bed and burn."

Laira found rage filling her, overflowing her moment of stoicism.