Full Circle

The pleasant smell of sandalwood and the gentle notes of a wind chime lingered in the air of the Po Chi Lam. Though kneeling was hard on his joints, Jack had found an almost comfortable position to sit and enjoy the moment. He’d seen Hanu and others sit still for longer times than he could fathom, and call it meditation. Such mental discipline was not one of his skills, but he still found peace in the little shrine. He smiled, imagining Hanu’s voice in his head.

“Hey, man, meditation can be like, anything you want it to be. There’s a bunch of ways to get there, so yeah, man, do what works. If it’s good, it’s good, brother.”

Jack let out a short laugh, and felt something break loose within his heart. Laughter turned into silence, and for a moment, Jack allowed himself to cry, the grief of the past months finding a few moments of release at the end of the long road of war. He’d seen the bodies of the dead on the road to Hexhaven and back, the blood of so many staining Poet’s tunic. Tried to shield the students from the worst of it. So many dead, their names lost to the flames of war. And the ones whose names he did know haunted him. Brisom, the young farmer who had bravely fought to hold off the troops who had taken his farm, buying his wife and children precious moments to escape in the final moments before Meadowmere had been taken. Jean Pierre, who had in the first moments of the battle for Haven, turned his blade against DeJardin, and dying for his efforts. And Lady Gillette, whose death he didn’t mourn so much as he feared the repurcussions. Had they made a martyr of her when they slew her? He looked down at the blaster he’d taken from her on the field. A harsh reminder of who she’d been, and worse, what she represented to those who followed her.

Head bowed and eyes closed, Jack took a slow breath. The tears stopped, though the sadness didn’t lift. Not all of the lives the war ahd claimed were over. Lady Isabeau’s life and the life of her unborn child were forever altered by the course of events, though Jack was still fuzzy on the details. All he knew was that she had come seeking to end the fight, and the folk of Meadowmere had stood with her to make that happen.

There was a lot to be done, and the winter would be hard for many after the destruction the DeJardin had brought with them. The prospect of deserters turning to banditry plagued his thoughts, and the lean months that loomed ahead clouded his mood. I’m still alive, he thought. That’s something, I guess.

His hand left the barrel of the blaster and went to the leaf pendant that dangled beneath his tunic. His clan had grown, and not all of that growth had been his doing. His frown disappeared under the influence of the memory of Dahlya fairly bouncing up to him, urging him to make Aria a leafbearer after the battle. And the depth of emotion he’d seen and heard from the young elven bard when he’d asked her to choose her own leaf. Life moved forward, as it always did, and there was joy with sorrow. He imagined Hanu would say something about balance being cool and like really far out when you thought about it.

He stood, joints creaking and popping, feeling every day of his age. The pouch at his side was heavy with coin earned from potions and repairs, but that was, like all things, temporary. There were supplies, a wagon, and horses to purchase for the trip home. And mead. Lots of mead. It wouldn’t do to overdo it, but maybe enough to take the edge off. Enough to sleep deeply enough to keep from dreaming, and the horrors his own mind created for him. He stepped out of the shrine, and saw the harrowed expressions of the folk around him. Not enough wine in the world to keep that many nightmares at bay, he thought. Still, it was worth it to try.