Blackgrave

Naja stood near the middle of the formation where it opened up to allow people to pass through to the stone tablet. Like the others, her hood was up, and she was standing with her feet together and her arms at her side. A few whispering murmurs could be heard around her, but she paid it no mind.

This is it, Benard. Your Festival, huh? There is so much left for me to say. So many things we never talked about, so much left for me to show you. I handled my first hunt on my own. It didn’t go how I wanted, but everyone survived. Had you been there, maybe things would have been easier.

I never told you how I felt about you and now I won’t ever get to. You were amazing, Benard, the best among us, and someone I thought I’d always be looking up to. Hopefully your spirit makes it to the Well—you were too kind to spend eternity with Torment.

Cold wind hit her back, and just as she felt herself begin to shiver, a loud voice rang out from behind the formation.

“At the ready!”

Without a second thought, she—along with every other Witch Hunter in formation—stepped slightly forward with her right foot and grabbed the hilt of her sword. Everyone stood still.

“Draw swords!” called the voice, and all drew their blades, holding them high to the sky.

Through the middle of the formation marched two sets of Witch Hunters, each carrying the body of either Davis or Rupert before breaking away and circling around to the back of the formation and joining the others.

Once the bodies were placed, Lord Gremmelt marched down the middle, holding a dagger, tattered pack, and an old weathered gray tunic and matching breeches. He held them as if they were a child and placed them down beside the fallen Witch Hunters.

“Swords in sheath!” Commanded Gremmelt, and all obeyed.

“We are gathered here today to honor our fallen brothers,” said Lord Gremmelt as he slowly turned to face the formation. The Lords stood a pace behind in line with the tablet, each mirroring the stance of the Witch Hunters, save that their hoods were down. Gremmelt scanned the formation, nearly locking eyes with Naja before sweeping past her.

“Rupert, Divas, Taucki, and Benard. All of these men paid the ultimate price while on the hunt. Let us all reflect back on our own hunts, our own close calls, and know that any of us could be laying here instead. Our time is fleeting and though we are steeled against the evils of these lands, sometimes, even if we are prepared for anything, nothing can prevent our fall.”

Gremmelt moved behind the tablet and motioned towards one of the bodies.

“Rupert was a kind and even tempered young man of only nineteen. He first came to The Order three years ago following rumors of The Wisp Mother. He began his training beneath both Lord Engel”—he motioned towards the pale black haired woman—”and her brother. I ask her now, do you have any last words for Rupert?”

Lord Engle slid her sword from its sheath, slowly cutting into her hand and rubbing the blood on the edge. As she extended it high into the sky it erupted in a vibrant blaze.

“He lived in fear that he would end up like his parents. That one day his clothes and belongings would be found along the road with no trace to where he had gone. He wished to join in the hunt for The Wisp Mother to avenge his family. Now that he is gone, it is up to us.”

Gremmelt turned back towards the formation. “Those that will fight for Rupert, make your presence known!”

Just then, three from the crowd lifted their flaming swords high in solidarity. Lord Gremmelt paused, slowly pacing in front of the formation. He gestured towards another of the bodies.

“Divas was a devout man who spent his free time lost in prayer or flipping through The Parable of Humanity. He first came to The Order as an orphan with little else but a Sunlit Flame medallion. His training was overseen by Lord Bastion”—Gremmelt motioned towards the silver armored man holding a shield in his off hand—”I ask him now, do you have any last words for Divas?”

Lord Bastion did exactly as Lord Engel had and held his flaming brand high. He gazed out at the formation, slowly looking at each Witch Hunter. “Divas, like so many in these lands, was lost and simply looking for a purpose. One he found in the blade.” Lord Bastion looked to Gremmelt and gave a slight nod.

“Those that fight for Divas, make your presence known!”

A few in the formation raised their blades to join the others.

“Taucki—like many from Venya’s flock—was quiet and kept to himself. He first came to us already a man, already a warrior. As he was not trained within these walls, I ask his kin”—Gremmelt paused, scanning the formation—”does any other child of Venya have anything to say?”

Silence pervaded over the formation.

Naja could see Akecheta beside her. His dark eyes held back tears, and his hand trembled on the hilt of his sword.

No surprise he is taking it hard. Taucki was like an older brother to him. Should I say something to him? No. Now is not the time. Hold your tongue, the hardest part is yet to pass.

A flaming sword thrust into the air a rank ahead of her. It was Kangee.

“Taucki was a brave Blackfeather warrior. He and I shared little in terms of history, ideals, or outlook, but our kinship to Venya forever binds us together. His crow Mirva lives on, and in a way, so does he.”

“Those that fight for Taucki, make your presence known.”

Akecheta and two others within the formation raised their flaming blades high, and five crows cawed one after another.

“Lastly, we have Witch Hunter Benard,” began Gremmelt, his eyes sunken and his brow rigid. “Benard was the first among us to be called an Initiate. Back then, there was no King’s seal, no gold paid out for a job well done. Instead, we would roam from town to town, seeking out the evils of these ancient woods.”

A crack of lightning lit up the cloudy sky, thunder roared in the distance.

“When Benard first came to The Order, we didn’t know what to do with him. He showed up within the first year of our operations, and despite the unwelcome hand he received at first, he persevered, and I reluctantly trained him.” Gremmelt looked out at the formation, stopping on Naja and locking eyes with her.

“He, like so many others, came here with a purpose. His sister had been taken in by a coven, and he intended to put an end to them.” Gremmelt shifted his gaze towards the back of the formation. “It is easy to seek vengeance at all costs, but remind yourself—if you cling to your Torment, it will cling to you.”

Another crack of lightning lit up the sky and rain softly began to fall.

“Lord Ros was a dear friend to Benard. I ask him now, do you have any last words?”

Lord Ros drew his sword and slid it across his hand, sending blood falling down past the guard. The sword erupted in flames, and Ros looked at the tablet woefully.

“Saying Benard was an amazing Witch Hunter would not truly do him justice. He was the best Witch Hunter.” Lord Ros tensed up and pushed his brow forward and clenched his fists.

“I remember when I first met him, I had just gotten my brand that marked me as an Initiate. It hurt so bad that all I could think to do was get away to cry and be alone. So I ran from Lord Isle and the keep, and hid in the woods to collect my thoughts.

“I had started to believe that I was not meant to be a Witch Hunter. I could hardly cut through the Shylar tree. In fact, holding a blade never felt right—I was much more comfortable with a book in my hands. Soon after, Witch Hunter Benard appeared. I was afraid at first, of what he would do when I told him I was no longer going to train. He never argued, he never told me to stay. He simply said, ‘Reading is training. Most struggle with the book more than the blade.’ and left.

“Needless to say, I returned to Lord Isle and completed my training. To me, Benard has always been the ideal to strive for. Discipline and diligence were not just words to him, but they were a way of life. He was dedicated to the cause and unwavering in his hunts. And still, despite his abilities, his training, his cause… he’s dead.”

Lord Ros' gaze fell momentarily before he lifted it back up to look out at the formation. “Remind yourselves that this life is fleeting, and no matter how good of a Witch Hunter you are, death waits around every corner.”

Lord Gremmelt stepped forward, scanning the formation. “Those that fight for Benard, make your presence kn—”

A curved bronze sword burst into flames and was thrust high in the sky. “Benard’s sacrifice will not be for nothing! I vow to bring back the head of the Witch that brought him down and destroy the Daughters of Chaos in his honor! Death to the Witch that struck down our brother! Death to all of them!” shouted Ithena.

The remaining Witch Hunters all thrusted their swords high, each chanting “Death to the Witch!” in unison. All but Naja.

Crippled with the memories of Benard, her fingers trembled around the hilt of her blade, and her heart churned sorrow in her chest. Unable to stop her unsteady hands, she squeezed the hilt, ran the edge down her palm, and thrust her own flaming blade into the sky.

This is it, Benard. I know you never thought of me as anything but an Initiate, but I had hoped with time, you would see me as your equal. Someone you could rely on, and in turn I could rely on you. I had so many hopes for the future, so many things I wanted to share with you. Well, Benard, I guess this is goodbye. I will never forget you.

Lord Gremmelt grabbed a flask from his belt and began to pour out its contents all over the bodies and tinder laid out on the tablet. He stared at the weathered tunic for a second, then slid the longsword from his back and ran the edge on his palm, sending it up in a blaze. Thrusting his sword into the pile, it went up in a bright, vibrant flame as lightning filled up the sky.

“Glad to see I made it back in time!” shouted a voice from beyond the formation. A figure slowly walked through the middle of the Witch Hunters towards the tablet. White hair spilled across his dark face from beneath his wide-brimmed tall buckled hat. A long dark leather coat hung to his shins, an oil lantern faintly burned on his belt, a longsword was slung on his back, and a short sword was strapped on each of his hips.

“The Commander has returned. Long live Commander Derricks!” shouted Lord Gremmelt, and everyone echoed it.

The Commander took his place beside Lord Gremmelt, nodding to him as he did.

“Brothers and sisters, plunge your blades into the fire and see our kin reduced to ash. I need all of the Lords to follow me, there is much to discuss.” He stopped and whispered something to Gremmelt before taking off towards the keep with all of the Lords close behind. The Witch Hunters moved in together, each adding their blades to the fire.

As everyone moved around her, Naja remained still. Her blade still thrust in the sky, she slowly lowered it and looked over at the tablet that was now engulfed in flames.

I had to burn your remains once already, Benard… I don’t think I have the strength to do it a second time.

As the bodies burned, Gremmelt appeared before her.

“Naja,” he said softly, placing his hand on her shoulder. “It is tradition. You are cleansing yourself of more than just Benard.” ”

Water welled up in her eyes and she let out a heavy sigh. “I’ll try,” she replied before slowly walking towards the pyre to join her blade with the others.