PW Chapter 287: Mourning’s Moments (Patreon)

Having let herself fall completely into her grief, Astrid didn’t have any idea of what was going on around her for at least five minutes. Her father continued to hold her, even as his shoulders shook from his own weeping. They just sat together for a time, until Astrid had regained some measure of control over herself. She was far from fine, but she did get to the point of being able to control herself and actually have a conversation. Her father had stopped crying, though tears still streamed down his face. As she looked at him, he smiled just a little. Somehow, the movement felt broken, but he stroked her face softly.

“I’m glad you’re safe, my light,” her father said as he maintained strong eye contact with her. “When you are ready, I would like to know what it is that happened, from your own mouth. For now, are you hungry?”

The question was so mundane that Astrid couldn’t help but laugh a little as she leaned into her father more. Only now did she realize that, as she had clutched at his shirt, her fingers had effortlessly ripped through the cotton and left massive holes exposing his chest. She flushed as she realized how easily she could have accidentally hurt him, instead of just ripping his clothes, but before she could say anything, Savraba shook his head and pulled her attention away from the thought. Then, he repeated, “Are you hungry?”

“I could eat,” Astrid nodded. “It almost feels wrong to be hungry, though.”

“That seems a foolish thing to think,” her father smiled. “Your mother enjoyed eating. She wouldn’t want us to stop doing what we enjoyed simply because she can no longer enjoy it with us.”

Astrid’s breath caught in her throat again, but she was able to hold back any sobs. Instead, she sat up to stop leaning on her father so much, then realized where she was sitting. Her father had taken her straight into the largest room in the house, where the couch was. It was the same one that she had grown up with, large enough for her tall mother to sit comfortably on, but perhaps a bit too small for herself. In the kitchen, which was only separated by a single counter, Ahna stood and carefully attended to bread. The oven behind her glowed from a talisman inside, and while Astrid looked on, Ahna reached into the oven and pulled out a fresh loaf.

“We have some cured ham in the cellar,” Ahna said, her voice soft as she snapped her fingers. Jan didn’t say anything as he went to get the meat. The trapdoor was just where it always had been, and he climbed down the ladder with smooth movements.

“We will eat first,” Savraba said, his tone brooking no disagreement. “After, we will hear whatever story you want to tell.”

At that, the decision was made, and nobody disagreed. Each person moved to sit at the table, Muti included. Astrid ended up having to pull a chair out of her spatial pouch to give her very large friend somewhere to sit, but that was more than easy enough. Then, they all ate the simple meal that was laid out for them.

“We don’t have much variety right now,” Ahna apologized as she bounced a tired but also hungry Michael on her knee, “but it would seem that food production will pick up again before long…?”

It wasn’t a particularly subtle leading question, but it was enough to move the conversation and make Astrid smile at the same time. The reminder of what it would mean, though, wiped away any of her amusement. Her face fell, and Astrid began to explain. Not knowing how much they knew, she decided to just tell the whole story, as abridged as she could make it. Unlike when talking about delving through the Dungeon, she didn’t feel like there was any glory to be had in remembering the people she had killed and watched die.

Nobody asked any clarifying questions, simply listening as she spoke for a few minutes. Astrid found herself wishing that Benedict had come with her, since that would spare her from having to tell the story. However, there was one part of the story she would have insisted she tell herself.

“The whole reason why the Marchioness started thinking that she was able to rebel was because of the Arcanite tiers that appeared from the Dungeon. However, everybody promised that anybody at that level would just keep each other in check. That wasn’t true, and the fight went completely sideways. The fight against Gregor was getting bloodier and bloodier, and a lot of people were dying on both sides. Then, the Marchioness sent all of her soldiers in, sacrificing their lives if necessary to kill everybody who remained.

“Mother—” Her voice caught in her throat, and she swallowed the emotion down before continuing. “Mother came to help me when I tried to kill the Marchioness. I got hit really hard and was all out of charges of Regeneration when she came. She told me to run, to use my talisman from you and escape. To come here, take all of you, and run away to another country. Then, she threw herself at the Marchioness. She fought hard, but it wasn’t really enough. She was hit by an attack that basically killed her instantly. But what she did opened the path for me to kill the Marchioness. That basically ended the war.”

Silence settled over the room, and Astrid wondered if she would have to say anything more. Then, Ahna said something that reminded Astrid of why she had fought in the first place.

“Good job. The monster doesn’t deserve to live. I’m glad you killed her.”

Ahna, the woman who had hoped to be a Baker instead of a Healer so she could stay out of the fight, was talking about how she was glad Astrid had killed somebody in the field of battle. Not a monster, a person. Of the three adults at the table who hadn’t been present at the battle, Ahna was the only one who had a fierce smile on her face. Jan was as somber as ever, but the way that he looked at Astrid told her how much he understood. Her father didn’t smile but put a reassuring hand on her knee from where he sat beside her.

Astrid had promised to join this fight to protect the innocent. To protect people who wouldn’t know how her heart had frozen and shattered when she looked at the bodies of children and parents lying behind. And, going off of how her oldest friend could congratulate her for what she did, Astrid had done just what she set out to do.

Was being a hero always supposed to feel this lonely?

“Did you bring her body?” Savraba asked, sparing Astrid the need to respond to Ahna.

“Yes. It’s… not a pretty sight.”

“I know. If it’s quite all right with Ahna and Jan, could we have access to the shed outside? I want to prepare the body.”

“Of course,” Jan said, standing up from the table and grabbing a key from where it hung on a hook in the kitchen. He walked over to Astrid and placed it directly in her hand, clasping that same hand in both of his as he met her eyes.

“Thank you,” he said. His voice quavered as he said it, and Astrid remembered that, for a much longer time than her, he had fought as one of the soldiers in this war. Unlike her, he lacked the strength to impact anything more than a small, easily forgotten battlefield, and he’d never forgotten that.

“When you’re done,” Ahna said as Astrid and her father rose from their seats, “I’m sure our little one will have woken up. You can meet her then.”

“I’d like that.”

Astrid didn’t say anything more as, for the first time since she had gotten here, she and her father were left alone. Outside, the city was quiet. Night had fallen, and, as far as the people who lived here knew, the war would continue on for quite a while yet. There was no strict curfew, but people were reluctant to be out after nightfall with the war on. It was silly, but Astrid understood the thought. There was nobody in sight as Astrid followed her father around the corner of the home to the small detached shed. After unlocking the door, they entered to find that the place was largely unused. A faint patina of dust covered most surfaces, and the table in the center of the room had a few things laid out on it.

Savraba cleared the table and then looked meaningfully at his daughter. Astrid reached into her spatial pouch, cupped a hand under where she could feel the back of her mother’s neck, and pulled out the body. She laid the corpse there, and Astrid was reminded of just how bloody the battle had been less than a day before. In fact, it was night now, and it was only late morning when the battle had taken place.

Astrid had cleaned up her mother’s body before storing it in the pouch, but only with a wet rag. Now that she wasn’t comparing her against the battlefield, Astrid could see where she had neglected to scrub flecks of blood off or had missed smudges of dirt. As best as she could, Astrid had closed Brighid’s eyes and settled her expression, but it was still obvious that she hadn’t died peacefully. Astrid started to pull a sheet out to cover her mother’s body, but Savraba waved her off. Instead of covering her, he carefully stripped her armor from the corpse. Bit by bit, he went until she was naked. Then, Astrid could see, on the dark skin that mirrored Astrid’s own, the wounds her mother had suffered.

The most obvious one was where the Marchioness had punched a golden blade through her breast. More than that, though, there were dozens of wounds covering her body, from burns to cuts and punctures. Seared flesh and organs were a disturbing sight, but her father tended to the wounds without disgust. He carefully wiped each mark away until largely unmarred flesh was all that remained. He stepped from the shed for just long enough to get a bucket filled with water. Then, he tended to every inch of his wife’s corpse with care.

It was an almost sacred experience for Astrid to watch. She’d always known her parents loved each other, that they supported each other.

Now, though, Astrid could see a different kind of care that her father held for her mother. He was tender with her. His hands moved carefully as he wiped each smear of blood and dust away from her body. Her face was treated just as gently as her feet, and through the entire process of cleaning the corpse, Savraba spoke quietly to her.

He spoke of how she had vouched for him at the border between the Hordes’ Plains and Humanity’s Bulwark. He joked about how they tried to court each other. He laughed over bets that they had made, and how he’d won the bet to give her their first kiss. Then he spoke of struggles with having a child in the first place, of nights where she had comforted him coming out of nightmares. Of promises of safety and security they had given each other, and of arguments, hurt feelings, and compromises that each had made.

“Our most morbid bet,” he said as he rinsed the rag out in the now filthy water of the bucket, before starting to dress her in a comfortable tunic and leggings, “was always about which of us would outlive the other. I always said that I’d be the first to go, since I’ve spent so long without gaining levels. You bet on yourself, because you couldn’t keep yourself out of trouble.

“I never wanted to find out what the results of that bet would be,” he said, his voice finally truly breaking. “I hoped I’d win, because I didn’t know how I would react the day you died. I hope to find light again, because right now, everything seems dark.

“Goodbye, my love. My light. My best friend.”

His eyes filled with tears, and he fell over the now-clothed body. His shoulders shook with sobs as his hair shone in the limited light of a series of talismans he’d set up across the room. Astrid joined him, hugging him and the cold body of her mother.

“The last thing you said to me was to live. To run, to do whatever was necessary to survive. Thanks for caring for me, Mother. Thank you for protecting me. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.”

Like that, the two allowed themselves to descend once more into grief. Again, they leaned on each other, and Astrid felt a complicated mixture of grief and comfort as she leaned against her father and wept.

***

“I’m surprised you have the materials for this,” Astrid said, taking a bite of the danish. “Isn’t every luxury material under rationing right now?”

“Yes, but I have it on good authority that said rationing is going to come to an end relatively quickly,” Ahna replied, nudging Astrid with her elbow. Contrary to what the Baker had said, their daughter hadn’t woken up yet, having made it for a surprisingly long stretch of time sleeping.

“So you had some sugar and cream stockpiled?” Astrid grinned. “I can’t say that I’m surprised.”

“The cream, no, but sugar, yes. Richard Rancher and his family have a particularly productive herd of cows. We’ve been positively swimming in milk,” Ahna said. “It’s nothing noteworthy, though. It was enough to make sure that this—”

The soft cries of a baby interrupted her words, and Ahna stood and bustled out of the room. Michael had already been put to bed, and the baby was sleeping in Ahna and Jan’s room. Astrid heard Ahna start soothing the baby and bring her out.

Wrapped up in so many blankets, Astrid could barely see the infant, but Ahna took special care to hold up the baby, presenting her to Astrid and Muti. Muti’s face cracked into a wide smile as she looked at the baby, her eyes narrowing with her broad grin. Astrid could see the red face, her little wrinkles making her look distinctly… not normal. All newborns had the same look, of being squished and uncomfortable, but Ahna’s face glowed with adoration as she looked down at the squalling face.

As she rocked and hushed the baby, Ahna looked at Jan. He nodded once and waited for her to speak. Astrid’s eyes narrowed as Ahna smiled.

“You know that my parents were not good to me. I haven’t spoken to them in months, even though they live only half a kilometer away. Naming the baby was difficult, with little family history to refer to, but until now, her name was Allegra. With both of your permission, though, I’d like to name her after the woman who truly took the position of a mother for me.”

Astrid’s breath caught as, despite her best efforts, tears welled up in her eyes.

“Say hello to Brighid Ahnadotter.”