On the way back, the cart with the fallen, escorted by numerous goblins, turned into the forest of barrows. This meant they were already close to the stronghold. It was announced that the funeral ceremony would take place after sunset. Emotions still tore at Gra’sha. Some of the wounded were riding in wagons, so a little over a dozen recruits walked alongside her. The overseer had permitted a loose formation, so they didn't move in their usual two columns. By her eye, at least half of them were on a subsequent expedition, not their first, like her. She recognized it by the fact that they didn't have the same wide-eyed, troubled expressions as the rest.
Among them was Mal’gor. They hadn't spoken much along the way, but he shared a few remarks with her.
"After this expedition, I expect they'll finally transfer me," he said, quietly enough for only her to hear. "This was my fourth outing. How much longer can they keep evaluating me?"
"If the ancestor spirits allow it," she replied simply.
"Ha, if only they had any say in it," he allowed himself a jest, chuckling at his own joke. He clapped her on the shoulder and added, much more quietly, "Hope it goes faster for you, kid."
Before walking away, he let out a deep sigh.
A quarter of an hour later, she entered the stronghold through its open gates with all the rest. A large crowd had gathered to welcome the defenders of the clan lands with shouts and the banging of shields. Thanks to the goblin scouts, news traveled faster than they did. The crowd accompanied them all the way to the assembly point, the training ground. Along the way, someone patted her on the back, while another pressed a mug of hearty, herbal-tasting beer into her free hand. She slowed her pace and drank it all, then handed the empty vessel back to a laughing woman who had been cheering her on with cries of "Bottoms up!"
The carts with the spoils were stopped a good distance before the training ground so that everyone could see them. Ner’hur stood before them with a portion of his warriors, holding forth about the glorious victory he had brought the clan. Gra’sha, with the rest of her unit, marched onto the grounds, where the quartermaster instructed his goblins, who efficiently stripped the armor from all the recruits and collected their equipment.
"Great luck! So many holes, but no bandages," a goblin called out in a rather hoarse voice after they removed her gambeson, which was indeed in a sorry state. Fortunately, they simply tossed it into a basket with others meant for repair and moved on to the next person.
Afterward, Dur’var summoned them and announced that they were to report to the main hall of the barracks tomorrow morning, where merits would be announced and rewards paid out. He thanked everyone for their service to the clan and reminded them that after dusk, they could bid farewell to their companions on their final journey. Those who wished to attend were to gather at the main gate, and an official procession would set off for the barrow.
Gra’sha had no intention of attending the rite in her current state. As soon as they were dismissed, instead of joining the celebration, she ran to the barracks, took the only finer outfit she had—a blue-dyed woolen tunic with floral embroidery—grabbed a bowl with her bathing supplies, and rushed to the bathhouse.
There, while scrubbing vigorously, she discovered that not only was she uninjured, but aside from a spot that was now merely itchy and marked by a shallow, slightly darker groove where an arrowhead had been lodged just hours ago, there was no trace of the battle on her body. Excited and a little frightened at the same time, she glanced around the bathing hall, but none of the women or girls there had been in the battle with her, or so it seemed to her at that moment. The spiritual energy, the hastily drunk beer, and her frayed nerves all buzzed in her head.
She returned to her barracks at a calmer pace; there were still at least two hours until sunset. Goblins were moving about the rooms. Only after a moment of watching did she realize they were gathering the personal belongings of those who would not be coming back. Their faces flashed through her mind; she knew almost all of them by name. It wasn't the first time a bed had remained empty for a few days after an expedition, but it was the first time she had seen with her own eyes what that truly meant. Her heart began to beat faster. She left her things and walked out of the building.
A cheerful atmosphere prevailed in the street. To drown out her racing thoughts, she joined the revelers. She easily found another beer, for which she didn't have to pay that evening, but chugging it only made her feel sick, not lighter of heart as she had hoped. At the cookhouse, she got a bowl of decent stew, and the warm meal helped a little.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
She decided to wait for the others by the gate. She smoothed out her tunic and sat down on the stairs leading to the battlements. In time, the first participants of the procession began to arrive, freshened up and somewhat better dressed, just like her. She went down to them and exchanged nods. A few were from the expedition, but most must have realized that the person they had been waiting for was neither on the training ground nor in the healer's tent. As dusk began to fall, Dur’var appeared with a large bag and looked over the gathered crowd.
"Let's wait another moment, and then we can go," he explained, standing in plain view by the gate.
Before they left, one more person arrived, bringing their total to ten. They didn't light torches or lamps. Everyone knew the way, and besides, they could see well enough in the dark. Not as well as goblins, but well enough not to bother with lighting such a simple route.
At the site, the small clearing before the barrow was surrounded by pre-prepared pyres, next to which stood clay urns decorated with various nature-inspired patterns. The goblins were waiting only for them to begin the cremation. The overseer's bag, it turned out, held the collected personal belongings of the fallen, which he spread out in the very center so that everyone could take an item to the appropriate pyre. They would be burned together with the bodies, so they might reach them in the afterlife, in the realm of spirits.
Gra’sha had known one of the young men well. His name was Bor’zur, and he had often hunted with her in the surrounding forests as part of the same hunting party. He wasn't the best shot, but he was excellent at keeping quiet and moving silently, inching ever closer to his prey. It crossed her mind that perhaps, instead of striving for a place among the warriors, he should have focused on training his archery. Then she wouldn't have to be tossing his favorite horn onto a funeral pyre. She felt a surge of resentment—at him, at the clan that valued the warrior's path above all else, and at herself for being a part of it. And most unfairly of all, she resented that she was among the living, most likely only because she had discovered her gift as a child.
She discreetly wiped her eyes, ashamed of the show of weakness and hoping no one had noticed, then placed his horn in the cold hand that rested on his chest. A short goblin girl standing on the other side placed a basket of dried strips of venison and other delicacies at his feet. Someone else added his summons token, and another person, a hatchet.
Similar scenes played out at all the pyres until not a single personal item remained in the center of the clearing. Then Dur’var gave a signal, and everyone stepped back from the pyres. A lone goblin with a solemn expression walked from one to the next with a torch, lighting them in succession. Meanwhile, the overseer uncorked a stoneware bottle of mead, took a hearty swig, and passed it around.
As the flames crackled all around, anyone who wished could quietly speak their words of farewell. Gra’sha couldn’t find the words, so she just stood there silently. After the second round, the bottle was empty, and everyone slowly began to head back to the stronghold.
Despite the worries and doubts swirling within her, perhaps with a little help from the mead, she somehow managed to fall asleep in the quiet of the emptier-than-usual barracks. In the morning, the spot where the arrow had struck her was still slightly itchy, but even the discoloration was gone. She also felt a tingling in her bones and muscles, but other than that, she was in excellent physical shape. She changed into a simple, long linen tunic, throwing a long-sleeved shirt over it and tying it high at the neck to hide her skin.
The mood of the previous evening still clung to her, but it lessened its grip in the midst of the pleasant morning. Only now did she truly understand the price that warriors had to pay for their position, and the price paid by those who desired it. She was no longer certain if her youthful ambitions had been right. On her way to the barracks, she stopped at the cookhouse, washing down a slice of bread with lard with several glasses of water.
Refreshed by the gift of the local spring, she sat at an empty table and let her mind wander back to a particular moment during the battle. The moment when she not only broke free from under the gnoll's body but fought her way back to the front line, feeling with her entire being that she would make full use of this situation and become one of the clan's warriors, sooner or later. Her heart had beaten fiercely then, and her arm had not hesitated.
Suddenly, anger swept over her that the sight of her dead companions had sown so much doubt in her. If I could cast off my doubts in the heat of battle, she thought, then why should I torment myself with them off the battlefield? What good would come of it? She snorted through her nostrils and shot up from the table, slamming her wooden mug down on its surface so hard that the nearby goblins flinched in fright.
Perhaps less folks like Bor’zur should try to join the ranks, she thought while standing up, but I fit just right. She set off for the meeting in the barracks with a spring in her step, the flame of her determination rekindled.
