as the two held hands as they walked. Reece was touched by her love and devotion for him, by her willingness to cross the entire countryside just to save him. He felt an overwhelming rush of love for her, and he could not wait until they had a moment alone so he could express it to her. He had already decided he wanted to be with her forever. He felt a loyalty to her unlike he had ever felt to anyone else, and as soon as they had a moment, he vowed to propose to her. He would give her his mother’s Ring, the one his mother had given to him to give to the love of his life, when he found her.
“I can’t believe you crossed the Ring just for me,” Reece said to her.
She smiled.
“It wasn’t that far,” she said.
“Not far?” he asked. “You put your life in danger to cross a war-ravaged country. I owe you. Beyond what I could say.”
“You owe me nothing. I am just glad you’re alive.”
“We all owe you,” Elden chimed in. “You saved all of us. We would all be stuck down there in the bowels of the Canyon, forever.”
“Speaking of debts, I have one to discuss with you,” Krog said to Reece, coming up beside him with a limp. Since Illepra had splinted his leg at the top of the Canyon, Krog had at least been able to walk on his own, if stiffly.
“You saved me down there, and more than once,” Krog continued. “It was pretty stupid of you, if you ask me. But you did it anyway. Don’t think I owe you, though.”
Reece shook his head, caught off guard by Krog’s gruffness and his awkward attempt to thank him.
“I don’t know if you are trying to insult me, or trying to thank me,” Reece said.
“I have my own way,” Krog said. “I am going to watch your back from now on. Not because I like you, but because that’s what I feel called to do.”
Reece shook his head, baffled as always by Krog.
“Don’t worry,” Reece said. “I don’t like you either.”
They all continued their march, all of them relaxed, happy to be alive, to be above ground, to be back on this side of the Ring – all except Conven, who walked quietly, apart from the others, withdrawn into himself as he had been ever since the death of his twin in the Empire. Nothing, not even an escape from death, seemed to shake him from it.
Reece thought back and recalled how, down there, Conven had thrown himself recklessly into danger, time and again, nearly killing himself to save the others. Reece could not help but wonder if it came more from a desire to kill himself than to help the others. He worried about him. Reece did not like to see him so alienated, so lost in depression.
Reece walked up beside him.
“You fought brilliantly back there,” Reece said to him.
Conven just shrugged and looked down to the ground.
Reece wracked his brain for something to say, as they marched on in silence.
“Are you happy to be home?” Reece asked. “To be free?”
Conven turned and stared at him blankly.
“I’m not home. And I’m not free. My brother is dead. And I have no right to live without him.”
Reece felt a chill run through him at his words. Clearly, Conven was still overwhelmed with grief; he wore it like a badge of honor. Conven was more like the walking dead, his eyes blank. Reece recalled them once filled with joy. Reece could see that his mourning was deep, and he had the sinking feeling that it might not ever lift from him. Reece wondered what would become of Conven. For the first time, he did not think anything good.
They marched and marched, and hours passed, and they reached yet another battlefield, shoulder to shoulder with corpses. Illepra and Selese and the others fanned out, going corpse to corpse, turning them over, looking for any sign of Godfrey.
“I see a lot more MacGils on this field,” Illepra said hopefully, “and no dragon’s breath. Maybe Godfrey is here.”
Reece looked up and saw the thousands of corpses and wondered, even if he was here, if they could ever find him.
Reece spread out and went corpse to corpse, as did the others, turning each over. He saw all the faces of his people, face to face, some he recognized and some he didn’t, people he had known and fought with, people who had fought for his father. Reece marveled at the devastation that had descended on his homeland, like a plague, and he earnestly hoped that it was all finally passed. He’d seen his fill of battles and wars and corpses to last a lifetime. He was ready to settle down into a life of peace, to heal, to rebuild again.
“HERE!” shouted Indra, her voice filled with excitement. She stood over a body and stared down.
Illepra turned and came running over, and all of them gathered around. She knelt beside the body, and tears flooded her face. Reece knelt down beside her and gasped to see his brother.
Godfrey.
His big belly sticking out, unshaven, his eyes closed, too pale, his hands blue with cold, he looked dead.
Illepra leaned over and shook him, again and again; he did not respond.
“Godfrey! Please! Wake up! It’s me! Illepra! GODFREY!”
She shook him again and again, but he did not rouse. Finally, frantically, she turned to the others, scanning their belts.
“Your wine sack!” she demanded to O’Connor.
O’Connor fumbled at his waist and hastily removed it and handed it to Illepra.
She took it and held it over Godfrey’s face and squirted it on his lips. She lifted his head, opened his mouth, and squirted some on his tongue.
There came a sudden response, as Godfrey licked his lips, and swallowed.
He coughed, then sat up, grabbed the sack, eyes still closed, and squirted it, drinking more and more, until he sat all the way up. He slowly opened his eyes and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked around, confused and disoriented, and belched.
Illepra cried out with joy, leaning over and giving him a big hug.
“You survived!” she exclaimed.
Reece sighed with relief as his brother looked around, confused, but very much alive.
Elden and Serna each grabbed Godfrey under the shoulder and hoisted him to his feet. Godfrey stood there, wobbly at first, and he took another long drink from the sack and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Godfrey looked around, bleary-eyed.
“Where am I?” he asked. He reached up and rubbed his head, which had a large welt, and his eyes squinted in pain.
Illepra studied the wound expertly, running her hand along it, and the dried blood in his hair.
“You’ve received a wound,” she said. “But you can be proud: you’re alive. You’re safe.”
Godfrey wobbled, and the others caught him.
“It
