"Sorrows on the Northern Trade Route"

by Seihjin

Elves don’t often stumble over things, not even when climbing. I am no exception so when I felt something trip me up, it was natural that I stopped to investigate. Glancing down, I saw a dark red and brown object that seemed to have a couple of slim items protruding out. Carefully leaning over to get a closer look I realized it was a human hand. I have seen countless corpses in my elven lifetime, so I muttered a quick prayer and walked on. After a few steps, however, I realized I could not shake the thought of the corpse for some reason, so I turned back.

The hand was held captive by a few medium sized boulders, so believe me when I say that it was no easy task to remove them. What I was prepared for was the mutilated corpse that lay disfigured underneath the pile of rubble. What I wasn't ready for was the open eyelids revealing intense green eyes that seemed to beckon to the heavens for an explanation. I was not sure what froze me more, the fact that the eyes were so similar to my own eyes, or the fact that as I unknowingly moved closer to the figure, the eyes seem to fix upon me.

I thought myself mad at first, as the corpse had obviously been dead a while with flesh already deteriorating and maggots feasting on the rotting body. I barely noticed the stench as I was transfixed by this young human's stare. Blinking furiously and regaining my composure, I quickly scanned the body from head to foot. That is when I noticed the soldier's supply bag. I opened it. It was difficult at first, but I finally managed to wrestle a bunch of blood-stained letters from underneath damaged rations and first aid kits. Sorting through them, I came to one that was still fairly legible. It read:

"I know you do not support me being here, Mother. You say I’m too young at only 16 winters. You say this matter with Lord Sorrow is something that Zoluren and Theren must deal with. You say I should stay here and help raise Kevrim and ... I shouldn't put Kyiela through this, you say. I am sorry Mother, but I must prove myself as a good man to her and to my family. What good is a man who has no stories to tell his children and grandchildren? We have lived sheltered lives in the bungalows of Aesry ..."

I held my breath for a moment, caught on the last phrase referring to my homeland, and then I continued:

"I will bring glory home with me, Mother, to you and to Kyiela. Do not worry about my safety. The Zoluren forces are many, and they are strong. I am only a reserve soldier primarily used in ... and aiding the dead. I am not one of the great warriors there, but I am proud of what I do. I have helped so many, Mother. I return home soon. I wanted to surprise you, but I could not help myself. Please don’t stay angry at me, Mother, and do not worry so ...

"Love, Brinigan"

I stared at the words for a while, unable to look at the remains of this young man whose eyes appeared filled with life, but whose lungs let no air escape. He had left the islands in search of adventure and manhood, as did my father. I could not imagine the pain and torment his mother felt when the war was declared over, but her beloved son never returned home. I wonder how long my grandfather had been tormented. Lord Dontain Verackai of Aesry, from what I read in his diaries, was very strong in character, and I could not bring myself to picture him crying. How similar, I thought to myself. I received those very diaries from a dying cousin back on the islands who gave her last breath to ensure I knew of my past.

Remembering that event well, I vowed to duplicate my cousin's actions. Looking once more into the intense young eyes, I closed them gently. I then secured the letters and called fire to his body to give him as close to a proper burial as I could. So young, I thought. A reminder that nothing is promised us but death. Turning north, I headed to 'Haven to await the Lybadel in hopes of finding his family.