A man is dead when his stories are.
— A Trailspinner saying
Malay
The three patterns of Ajna spun in my eyes as I peered across the veil of fog.
Ajna was the first chakra I opened when I consciously started absorbing Soma.
I was taught in the Way by Ronik himself, the Sword Star of Virtue.
And for magic, it was mostly Singer and the books.
As the patterns turned to chakra, I could see two people slowly making their way towards us.
When they came closer, everyone visibly relaxed.
It was an old man, walking with a cane.
He had a weathered face and deep-set eyes.
His beard was completely white and it flowed down to his chest.
The old man wore a long, flowing cassock that gave him a scholarly look.
He was accompanied by a young girl of about twenty.
The man leaned on his cane as he walked and was supported by the girl.
As they came forward and started talking to Sir Ravis, I wanted to go out and listen to them.
But then I flicked a glance towards Rolan and decided it's better to stay put.
Rolan stood nearby, his jaw set in that silent, rigid line of resentment he always reserved for my presence.
To Rolan, I was merely a shadow sitting where young lord Fahir should have been.
A boy who brought no name of his own, taking the mantle of Bellerophon like a stolen coat.
I couldn't really blame him.
I was just that and worse.
I cranked up Soma in my Ajna chakra, and listened to what the old man was saying with his worn, gnarled fingers pointing here and there.
"...And so my infirmary is gone, this night of calamities warning really came late.
My days are numbered anyway so I won't go to the trouble of rebuilding and restarting.
Up north, around Sekki, I have a daughter—she'll probably take care of me and I'm still useful to have around.
This girl I took in as half apprentice and half granddaughter would go to Aegis."
The old man patted the girl's back saying that.
"I have some savings and I've taught her all my life's learning.
I hope she can get in for a physician, herbologist, and apothecary studies."
Sir Ravis looked a bit troubled.
He looked back at my carriage and then sighed.
"We were going to Aegis too, so we could take you, but we're in a hurry so you'll have to keep pace.
But that long a journey and like this, I don't think it'll work out for you, sir."
The old man chuckled with the suddenness and openness of a breeze.
"Don't worry, Mr. Knight, we'll just accompany you for a while and then make our own way to Nifey, to take a boat.
I had already arranged it with one of the traders as I was always planning on sending Kina to Aegis.
I just didn't expect that I'll have to move too."
And so the duo joined us on our journey.
For a while, they tried walking with the soldiers, but they got so tired and were constantly falling behind that they had to take Sir Ravis up on his offer of riding with me in the carriage.
This is how I got someone to talk to other than the ghost.
The old man, his name was Fagu, meaning a honey badger in Kushun.
He was one of the most interesting people I knew.
Also, what a strange name?
It must've had quite the story behind it, but I couldn't ask.
I had a strange, irrational fear of knowing someone intimately back then.
So we mostly talked of this and that.
Although I did enjoy talking to the old man, I almost never initiated a conversation.
It was always the old man coming up with some strange facts, like the paper was made available to the populace by accident because of a royal scandal.
Kina was a quiet girl; she mostly kept to herself watching the rolling grasslands and wastelands left by Night of Calamities through her side of the window.
Occasionally her lips twitched when the old man made a wisecrack.
But other than that, she quietly helped Mr. Fagu as he shook with effort even in everyday tasks.
I remember one of these days when it was sweltering inside the carriage and we had opened all the windows wide and were leaning out from the windows.
I held one of Galoy's earliest books out of the window and was trying to read it, a side of my face stuck to the window sill.
Nothing could get into my head, I had a headache and I was feeling dizzy because the heat was unbearable.
"Are you really reading it?" Mr. Fagu asked with a chuckle.
"I'm sure I'm trying to," I mumbled.
"Let me read something else for you, you can just close your eyes and listen to it," he said.
Mr. Fagu was a deeply religious man.
So when he pulled out The Book of Saints, I wasn't surprised at all.
But then he tried to hang the book out of the window like I did, and he almost dropped the book.
His hands began shaking and it looked like he was trying to control them but couldn't, and it pained him to no end.
For a moment he looked surprised and dejected, as if he just found out he's gotten this old.
I caught the book before it could fall.
With a sigh, he looked at me and smiled his easy breeze smile, as if he found peace within himself.
"Old age doesn't just come one day, but one day you'll realise your life is far behind you and now you only carry stories, and cut your hopes loose on some young heart with sure hands of a potter."
I didn't know what to say, so I kept silent, watching a horde of horned tigers pass by in the distance.
"Here, let me read that for you," he said, as if waking up.
To the side, I watched Kina stuff her silence with a sadness that flickered behind her eyes.
I didn't pass him the book, instead held it out of the window so he could read.
We were reading about the Saint of Loss, before he began his journey of the realm to bear all the suffering in this world.
And for 99 days his journey continued, for 99 days there was no beggar hungry, no chermo lashed to death.
Mr. Fagu's voice took a pedantic, droning tone and his eyes only flicked to the book's surface as if he was reciting from memory.
I slowly fell asleep to his voice, and didn't notice when Kina pried the book away from my clutches.
It was a rare occurrence that we had anything other than our dried rations throughout our journey.
But one day, Sir Ravis found an easily defendable clearing and a creek nearby.
So the company decided to cook.
Kina started helping with the chores without saying much, leaving me and Mr. Fagu sitting by the carriage feeling a little left out.
I held out The Book of Saints for him to read, and talk about them as it had become a ritual of ours.
I slowly listened to Mr. Fagu talk about the life of saints and watched Kina move about with the soldiers in the camp and slowly wash the meat on a stone slab, lathering them with spices.
We were reading about the Saintess of the Sun.
"Unlike most saints, we don't know much about the early life of the saintess.
Her first miracle was when she guided the flood refugees, and burned the afflictions of plague they were carrying.
Most stories about her only start here.
There are a few books that have other speculations, but it's all hogwash," he went on at length about the corruption and immorality of modern print.
I asked Mr. Fagu a question that I had on my mind for a while now.
"Why is your Book of Saints much heavier and bigger than the ones I've seen?"
He scrunched up his nose, lost in thought for a long moment.
"It isn't that my book is heavy," he said softly.
"It's that the others have been emptied out.
This copy was printed before the conquest.
Look at these illustrations, every page holds a life in full color.
But the modern printers only care about quick coin.
They churn out bland summaries that reduce a saint to a name and a list of miracles.
They throw away the real story: the thread that held them together, and the quiet strength that kept them standing straight through all their trials."
"What was it like?" I suddenly asked, as I couldn't help myself.
"Before the conquest?"
He looked at me strangely, as if I was a strange creature reared in a backyard and left into the wilds for the first time, which honestly wasn't far from the truth.
I don't remember where I come from, but the earliest memories I can think of are me getting whipped by the acolytes in the Hall of Repentance, or of me giving blood to the altar of the Death God with other temple slaves.
When I escaped the temple and was being hunted, I remember being taken care of by a caravan of Trailspinners for a month, and then I was taken by the Singer to the Scourge's hideout.
Most distinct memories at the camp are of me either training in languages, magic, or the Way.
And sometimes talking to Aritsa.
When I left the camp about two years later, I was brought to the Bellerophons straight away.
Not much to say about the house of Bellerophon, I was an outsider and I felt like one.
So when Mr. Fagu looked at me like that, I shrunk a little.
"Before the conquest," Mr. Fagu began, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, "it does not change much who sits on the throne for the common people.
They live, and they die.
But if you ask of differences, the taxes are certainly a bit high now, and the priests of the Seven have tightened their control over the people.
Though, it's not all bad.
We've also seen real improvement because the Imperial Legions are far more efficient and thorough in dealing with the aftermath of the Night of Calamities.
And education... education is much more accessible to everyone now because of the imperial standards set in Aegis."
We sat in silence after that, each with their own thoughts.
And we watched the people around the campfire become livelier as the food and drinks started being passed around.
Someone even started singing the tavern song "Burn the Wick, and Burn the Fate".
Others joined.
Even Sir Ravis smiled and joined.
"Burn the wick and burn the fate,
Run the horses, run them late.
March to doom with head held high,
March to the gates and march to grate."
It's a crude tavern song that breaks all the rules of poetry and lyricism, but people somehow love it.
If you're born anywhere north of the forests of Seriaras, it's very likely you've heard it somewhere.
"Hails the beauty crowned in red,
Dead the guards and kings are dead.
Calls go rolling far and wide,
Ride the Winians, Picians ride."
The song is about the Queen of the Rising, when she took command after her father and her brothers died fighting the crowned demon.
We sat there listening to a story ages old, sung in the coarse voices of soldiers.
I looked at Mr. Fagu; he had closed his eyes and leaned back, his feet thumping with the rhythm of the song.
And in the pale light of fires, I saw him smile and I saw a man forget he was old.
I saw a queen long dead live in a song, and throughout my journey from a mortal slave to godhood, this night has stayed with me.
When I slowly started drifting to sleep, I still heard some soldiers carry the song.
"Northern hills to eastern waves,
Come the heroes, come the knaves.
Met they doom of burning sky,
None to curse and none to cry.
Calls the beauty, prince of none,
Damned the saving, damned the dread.
Falls the beauty crowned in red,
Falls the beauty, dead and dead."
The beauty of the night was broken by a sudden scream of dread, and we all scrambled to get our bearings.
Bleary-eyed, I looked at flashing flame torches and mage-light crystals that blinded me for a moment.
Most people rushed towards the voice where one of the guards was posted, and a few stayed behind to protect me.
I heard more screams and again I was more curious than afraid.