Ashes to Ashes

Writers: Estelle
Date Posted: 18th October 2020
Series: The Assassin's Story

Characters: Lorican
Description: Lorican buries Varlin's body
Location: Barrier Lake Weyr
Date: month 5, day 3 of Turn 10
Notes: Mentioned: Lusilk

Lorican had spent most of the morning in the infirmary, at Lusilk's
bedside, until she'd fallen asleep and the healer on duty suggested that
he go for a walk, get some fresh air and something to eat.

Outside, in the cool autumnal afternoon, he took several deep breaths.
His injured shoulder ached when he moved it, but he thought, ruefully,
that this was far from the worst injury he'd suffered. He didn't feel
hungry, though. Just relieved to be alive, knowing that if it hadn't
been for Lusilk, he'd be the one lying dead in that forest clearing.

Which reminded him of a promise.

Best to do it now, he thought, while it's light. Delaying the task would
only make it worse. In many ways.

He found a shovel at the back of one of the masons' workshops and set
off for the woods. The leaves were turning, red and brown and gold, and
those that had fallen crunched under his feet. He passed their practice
ground, the logs and stumps that he'd learned not to trip over as they'd
sparred. The place where she'd stopped, taken out her knife to cut his
scalp so he'd bleed, and seem to be dead. The track she'd dragged his
body down, jolting over every stone and buried root, trying not to choke
on dust.

At last he came to the place where they'd fought. The ground was
trampled, he expected by the guards who'd come to view the scene, but
the bodies remained. The man who'd tried to escape with Silgan lay face
up, his features contorted, lips drawn back from his teeth in a final
snarl. The other hadn't been moved, though the knife that had killed him
no longer jutted from his chest. The colder weather had prevented rapid
decay, but there was still a faint, oppressive scent in the air.

**Not here,** he thought, and went on, following the rising ground
through the woods, east towards the lake. He emerged at the top of a low
cliff, where a small patch of grass gave onto a steep slope overgrown
with tangled briars, down to the water. Before him was the wide expanse
of the lake, and he could just make out a distant sail, headed for the
Weyrhold.

He could imagine her coming here.

After a moment to recover his breath after the uphill walk, he grasped
the handle of the shovel and thrust it into the soil. It was firm, but
not iron-hard. He scooped out the earth, turned it over, then repeated
the motion. Again, and again.

The work was monotonous, and it seemed to take an age to carve out a
bare handspan's depth. Time passed. Despite the chill in the air,
Lorican felt his shirt growing damp with sweat. He was used to working
with his hands, but the digging worked unfamiliar muscles and he was
soon aching all over, his hands sore and ingrained with dirt. The sun
reached its height and began to dip down towards the horizon, and the
hole was now deep enough that he had to climb in to continue the work,
heaving each shovelful over his shoulder.

Finally, it was deep enough that he could only just see over the edge
from inside. Lorican winced, his aching arms protesting as he clambered
out of the grave. He spared a moment to look down on his work,
stretching and rolling his shoulders, then headed back towards the
clearing where the bodies lay.

Discarded in the undergrowth, he found the travois that Lusilk had used
to drag him to the clearing. He pulled it out into the open and then,
steeling himself, over to the body of the scarred man. Crouching, he
took hold of the corpse under the arms and lifted it up and onto the
wooden frame, silently apologising and then feeling foolish.
Fortunately, he didn't need to touch the flesh. He tried not to look at
the sightless eyes, the dark stains of blood on his tunic.

As he started to pull the travois back the way he'd come, he saw metal
glinting at the foot of a tree. Another knife - he thought he recognised
it as one of Lusilk's. He considered, then tucked it into his belt.

The man was heavier than he'd expected, but he managed to drag the
travois back up the slope to the burial site. Then, after another short
rest, he lowered the body, frame and all, into the grave. Kneeling, he
reached down and placed the knife on the man's chest, following an
impulse he hardly understood.

The task was almost done, and yet, he felt he'd left something out.
Clearing his throat, awkwardly, he spoke.

"You would have killed me, and it would have been no more than a job to
you. Probably you did that to others. Innocent people." He hesitated.
"But Lusilk asked me to give you a decent burial. You meant something to
her, and she doesn't trust many people. These last months, I've learned
that she had her reasons for the life she led. Perhaps you did too." He
closed his eyes, briefly. "Now you're at peace."

Then he dug the shovel into the mound, tipped the loose soil into the
grave. Slowly, the earth covered up the man, hiding the knife, the body,
the scarred face from view. Lorican worked on, until nothing was left
but a shallow mound of freshly turned earth to mark the spot where the
holdless man lay.

He stood, sweat-soaked and grimy, and looked out past the tangle of
briars and needlethorn towards the lake, now glittering with the fading
sunlight. Best go back, so he could bathe at the smithy before night
fell. That way, no-one would need to know where he'd been.

"She needs to get well," he said, softly. "But I think then, she'll come
here to you." Then he turned, shouldered the shovel and started on his
way back to the crafters' village, leaving the woods to the fall of
evening shadows and the soft murmur of the wind in the trees.

Last updated on the November 11th 2020

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