Page 39 of Awariye

Wren hugged me back, right there on the altar table. "They're safe."

* * *

We reset the chapel from everything that had happened, then left the lanterns to burn themselves out. Wren and I drank down the medicine that Sigrid made us in the kitchen. I suggested we loop the castle once before settling in bed for a quick nap before the festivities began later in the day.

We bundled up, but as the fresh cold air hit us, I sensed a change come over me. Unable to explain it, I said nothing and simply observed as we rounded the corner and circled the back part that opened to the forest.

Wren's voice stopped me in my tracks. "Awariye, wait. Look."

I followed where he pointed and stared out at the thicket of trees, pines and beeches and spruce. "What is it?"

My friend's eyes were unsure, his face sallow, exhausted. "Does it not look different to you? There's a green cloud dissipating above the tree line, as if I can see the forest breathing."

I took his hand and squeezed it, grounding him. "There was a yellow mist over us when I woke to find us on the table. Do you remember climbing up there?"

Wren shook his head, eyes wide. "I assumed we passed out during the singing, but there's no reason we'd climb up on an altar. That seems disrespectful."

Indeed. We'd only get up there if someone insisted.

"I feel different; I'm not sure how," I said, rubbing my solar plexus, which likely had been the portal through which said energy had flowed into my core.

Wren scanned me, then eventually nodded. "Something happened last night. After a good rest, we need to write down everything so we can study it."

"Ja genau," I agreed, taking the chilly air into my lungs and resuming our walk.

CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO

IGOR

We made it back to the capital by mid-afternoon, and Ulbrecht took us straight to the tent where a small crew greeted us. The doctor was ready, so we lined up. He prioritized who to look at first while other preparations happened around us.

Usually after returning we spent the first couple of nights in a tent together to stabilize ourselves before we returned to our homes. Old medical documents referred to it as PTSD, a mental condition where trigger points such as nightmares or loud noises could put a fighter back into the battle mentally. If the hallucination got bad enough, he could think the battle was real and end up attacking people, even his loved ones.

A feminine call came from the door, and Mindi the dog trainer peeked in with a smile, opening the flap to let several of the castle guard dogs come through. They ran up to us, accustomed to this ritual by now wherein they got to be regular dogs who were off duty, and we got the deep and effective therapy of loving on an affectionate animal. Few outsiders were allowed in during these days, usually just Sigrid to help the doctor tend to us and Mindi to corral the dogs.

Mindi's husband Ralf was one of our group. Ralf had injured his hand during one of the campaigns last year, and in the end it had to be amputated. Stubborn Ralf was training his non-dominant hand with his sword, but until he was ready to join us again, he and Mindi had helped develop this program to reintegrate the warriors back into daily life after witnessing and participating in fighting and carnage.

Ralf had gotten together a group of older men who had fought in the decades prior to Ulbrecht seizing this area. Some of them were willing to come to the tent and be a sympathetic ear if any of us wanted to talk to someone who knew what we had seen. Even if words didn't come, it was encouraging to have them there as proof that you can experience horrible things and still come out the other side with your sanity. It also helped to lessen the shame if some of us did have nightmares, to know we weren't alone and the whole group was in this together.

Mindi and Ralf also put on demonstrations for the spouses and partners of the warriors, in a separate location. They trained our loved ones on what to do if one of us had a bad hallucination or nightmare, how to defend themselves from us if necessary, to never keep an instance of domestic violence a secret and immediately contact the castle. Ulbrecht and Sören did night runs with us when the campaigns were bad, just rounded us all up and jogged around the castle till dawn, then we all slept together again in the tent to get a good hard sleep away from the pressures of family life. After losing Kristoff, I'd been especially grateful for the night runs. Trying to fall asleep had been so difficult back then, because to relax my mind enough to fall asleep meant loosening my grip on my thoughts. Drenched in grief, my thoughts had wanted to follow Kristoff into the Otherworld.

Cleaned up and hydrated, my arm in a sling and the rest of everyone’s injuries bandaged, the celebrations could finally begin.

We walked together to the castle, where we'd have a toast and dedication first, then go to the main street in town where we shared a feast and dancing with the townsfolk. Ulbrecht had imposed a ban on wine and beer for these welcome-home celebrations, citing that PTSD did not play well with alcohol. Though the regular seasonal festivals had all kinds ofSturm, wine, and beer flowing, these post-battle celebrations had hot spiced juice and tea.

We filed into the Great Hall behind Ulbrecht, who seemed to only have eyes for his Wren standing off to the side. As soon as this toast was finished, I had no doubt the skinny mage was going to do a flying leap into Ulbrecht's arms.

Everyone quieted once each of us got a cup. Someone stood in the center of the hall, feet planted and chest open, ready to project.

My Awariye.

My lungs filled with air at seeing him, as if I had not breathed fully until now. The relief that flooded me at seeing him safe and sound threatened to send me into tears. He looked tired and a little worn, but he was so healthy and vibrant compared to when I had first met him. I wanted to be closer, to see every detail on his face and hold him in my arms.

A slow, deep breath, then King Ulbrecht's bard began to sing.

His rich voice soothed me, even as I wondered at the imagery he wove into descriptions of roots, branches, and leaves. With his song, he painted in my imagination the roots diving down into the living earth, then the trunk standing tall and the branches reaching into the sky, the leaves fanning wide to catch the kiss of the sun.

Awariye evoked the mighty Yggdrasil, the Tree of Worlds from Germanic and Nordic legend, and I knew why he had chosen this ode. The Tree of Life represented the interconnection of all life on Earth, the interdependence between humans and nature. He was bringing us warriors back into the fold, into the warm embrace of love and community after what we had done and seen.