A Monument to Heroes

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Today's writer is Amy Sanderson. Amy is a writer on the Chronicles of Tyria team and you can read her stories on our website: Chasing Zurra and Hearts & Minds.

She also hosts her own writing blog: http://www.amysanderson.co.uk/

You can find out more about Amy on twitter: @BlueIstari

This story was published for our Summer of Short Stories (2019) event.

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Thecold of the Shiverpeaks had always agreed with Weir Lightpaw. He liked thecrisp air in his nostrils, scented with pine sap and wet stone. He liked theway the sunlight slanted through the spindly trees that grew this far north,casting shadows like dark bars across the snow. Most of all, he liked thequiet, which was muffled and serene in a way only deep cold could bring —usually, anyway.

"Howcan anyone live up here?" Spark grumbled, as they left the narrow passeast of Hoelbrak, and followed the road down into a tree-scattered valley.

"Thenorn like it," Weir observed.

Sparkspat into the snow. "The cold must have frozen their brains."

Weir'sown enthusiasm wasn't dampened. Spark liked to complain, but he knew the waythey spent their time — as part of the guild named Light's Memory — gave herjoy. To find purpose in creation was a rare gift in these war-torn days.

"Ourclient is a norn," he pointed out. "You might want to keep yourgrousing to yourself."

Spark grunted. Once the work began, she'd hardly see their client, anyway. Weir was the one who negotiated the contracts, the one who turned Spark's unflinching nature and relentless pursuit of perfection into something palatable, even desirable. She was the brains and he was, for want of a better phrase, the mouth.

Theywere well into the trees when Weir realised they weren't alone. His hand wentinstinctively to his mace. He rarely had cause to use it these days but showingthat he could went a long way towards warding off trouble.

Therewas only a single figure waiting for them, a bulky shadow in the middle of theroad. Weir let himself relax and realised Spark was also removing her hand fromone of her pistols. Old habits weren't easy to shake off.

"That'shim," he said, offering a wave to the stranger. After a moment, it wasreturned. "Hafnir Gefirsson."

"Don'texpect me to remember that," Spark said, but at least she kept her voicelow.

Thenorn came forward to greet them. He was bundled up against the cold, in morelayers of fur and leather than Weir had ever seen a norn wear; when he spoke,his voice was muffled. "Hail. Are you the ones from Light's Memory?"

"That'sus." Weir gave up trying to read the expression on the man's face. Betweenhis beard, his scarf, and the hood pulled down low, he could have been eithergrinning or grimacing. "We got your letter."

"Thenyou know what I'm after. Excellent. Come this way."

Hafnirpromptly turned and began walking in the other direction. Weir exchanged abemused glance with Spark. Most of their clients wanted to expound on theirplans and how magnificent they would be, even when they'd sent the schematicsweeks in advance. Hafnir, it seemed, wasn't the talkative type.

Theyfollowed him deeper into the trees, leaving the road behind. Steep, greymountains loomed to the south — the perfect place to carve a monument,according to Spark; the norn were renowned for them. Hafnir, though, had saidhe would provide his own building materials.

Sureenough, there were great heaps of stone at the foot of the cliffs. A crew ofdisinterested norn workmen lounged a short distance away, and Hafnir gesturedtowards them. "The best stonemasons in Hoelbrak, as promised."

Sparkgrunted, though not loudly. She was always scathing of hired work crews, but itwas too expensive to bring their own team from Rata Sum for every job. Herstyle of leadership was strict and efficient, too, not always endearing her toworkers who weren't used to her; it was Weir's job to keep everyone happy.

Hegreeted the masons with a wave, exuberant enough that their leader came closer— and immediately began complaining. "Are you the ones who are finallygoing to talk some sense into this lumberhead?"

Lumberhead? Ittook Weir a moment to realise the stonemason was talking about Hafnir. That wasan... interesting way to address your client, he supposed, but norn weren'tones to stand on ceremony.

Hafnirdidn't seem to care. "The crew are concerned I haven't chosen the best materialfor this job."

Weirlooked more closely at one of the heaps of stone. It was pale ochre and lookedout of place in this land of stark greys and whites.

"Yourcrew are right," Spark said. She scraped a claw down the nearest stone,leaving a gouge behind. "This is Elonian sandstone."

"Spenta fortune shipping it all the way from the desert, he did," the masoncontinued, "and what good will it do us? What's wrong with properShiverpeaks granite?"

"Sandstonewill hardly last one winter out here," Spark said, and Weir could hear therising frustration in her voice. "I thought you wanted a group of figures.Within six months, you won't even know they had faces."

"Isthat so?" Hafnir's voice was mild, and Weir could tell he'd heard thesesame arguments from his masons many times over. "Well, it's too late tosend it back. I expect you'll manage."

"Manage!"spluttered the mason and stomped back to his crew. Spark opened her mouth toprotest, but Weir cut her off.

"This'llbe fine. In fact, we might be able to shave a couple of weeks off theschedule."

"Excellent,excellent." Hafnir slapped his gloved hands together. "Well, you haveyour plans already. I'm sure you'd like to be left to your work."

Hestarted to walk off, Spark glaring daggers at his back, then spun round andcalled, "You might have a visit from the Lionguard at Twinspur Haven.They're, ah, interested in what we're doing down here."

Interested? Weirdidn't like the sound of that.

"Isuppose we'll manage them, too?" Spark said.

IfHafnir heard the sarcasm in her voice, he didn't show it. With a final wave, hewas gone.

#

No matter how many times Weir accompanied Spark on herbuilding projects, he was always impressed. She could turn the mostdisorganised site around in a heartbeat, and only a cursory glance at a set ofplans would tell her what alterations to make. In Hafnir's case, theimprovements were simple.

"Thefigures need to be angled more to the east, or they'll blow over in the firststorm — or after half a day, knowing the Shiverpeaks. And widen the pedestalthree feet on either side, or the whole thing will look top-heavy."

Hafnir'smasons had quickly agreed — Weir had the feeling they were keen to be finishedwith this job — and work began. By the end of the first day, the pedestal stoneshad been laid into a pit, itself packed with gravel; by the end of the second,the feet of the largest figure were manoeuvred into place.

"Thisstuff cuts like butter," the lead mason announced, as he showed Weir oneof the statue's legs. "We'll do all we can to secure it, but the stoneitself will give out long before the pins holding it together fail."

"Justdo what you can," Weir said, to the mason's exasperated sighs. Besidesproviding encouragement, there wasn't much he could offer.

Heemerged from his tent on the third morning to find the masons already at theirwork — and someone watching them. The woman was a sturdy human, red-haired andwith a lined face that said she spent most of her time frowning. Weir quicklydiscovered that was the case.

"Who'sin charge here?" she asked loudly, after her survey of the site wascomplete. The masons, as one, put their heads down. Weir couldn't see Sparkanywhere, but maybe that was for the best.

"WeirLightpaw," he introduced himself. "I'm overseeing the site thismorning."

Thewoman sniffed and didn't trouble to give her own name. "A site thatshouldn't be here. There are Sons of Svanir in the area. Don't you know itisn't safe?"

Weirtapped his mace and gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Exactlywhy I'm here."

Thewoman sniffed again and seemed to decide on a different tack. "You'recreating too much traffic on the road. The Lionguard need to keep thingsmoving. It's a long walk from here to the next haven."

Weirlooked up and down the road, finding it completely empty. "I'm not seeingmany traffic problems yet."

"Andwhat about when more travellers come looking for this"—the Lionguard wavedone hand in the direction of the monument— "thing you're building? Who'sgoing to keep them safe? Because don't think the Lionguard have time to patrolanother stretch of road."

Weirnodded sympathetically. As far as he could see, Hafnir's monument was neitherlarge enough nor permanent enough to bring many visitors, and someone had topatrol the road so close to Hoelbrak whether it did or not. "I'm sure myclient could be persuaded to pay for extra guards. He's very attached to thiscommission."

Thatwas a lie — they hadn't seen Hafnir since their first day, which meant he waseither very trusting or just didn't care — but the Lionguard seemed to have runout of objections.

"Anyextra guards will have to report to Twinspur Haven before duty," shesnapped. "We can't have untrained patrols muddying up the place."

"Ofcourse not," Weir said. He met the woman's glare, and after a moment shestalked away.

Tobe replaced by Spark, who came slinking out of the shadows with a secrecy thatwas quite unlike her.

Frustrationswept through Weir, as he realised Spark had been there all along. "ThatLionguard wanted to meet the site manager. Where were you?"

Sparkshrugged. "Around."

"Wereyou supervising the stonemasons? Revising the plans? Writing a letter on ourprogress to Hafnir?" Weir only asked because he knew Spark had been doingnone of those things. Since the moment they'd arrived on site, she'd beendismissive of the whole operation. Once she'd handed her updated schematics tothe masons the day before, Weir knew most of them hadn't seen her again.

Sparkwaved one claw in the air. "Hafnir doesn't seem to care much about hismonument. Elonian sandstone, out here? What's the point?"

"Thepoint," Weir grated, suddenly angry, "is that it doesn't matter.We're being paid for this job, Spark. I'd expect you to take it moreseriously."

"Whosays I'm not taking it seriously?" Spark said, but she looked surprised athis vehemence.

"Iam. Have you met the masons at all this morning? Have you been to inspectyesterday's work?" Weir shook his head. "It doesn't matter what youthink of Hafnir's choice of materials, or his site, or his design. We're goingto do a good job, like we would for any other client."

Sparkfolded her arms. She was angry at the impermanence of Hafnir's plans, he knew;it grated her desire to create something truly great. He wasn't finished yet, though.

"DoI really need to remind you of everything we've been through together? You gaveme a reason to keep fighting after I left the Vigil, Spark. Even when we lostour warband to the Branded, you didn't give up. I've never known anyone morediligent, capable, and brilliant — no matter the odds. That's why I expect morefrom you than this. I'm not going to let you throw away your reputation out ofpique."

Sparkgrowled something under her breath, which Weir suspected wasn't veryflattering. She didn't argue, though, just turned on her heel and strode offinto the trees. Weir watched her hunched back, the way her arms were stillfolded tightly across her chest. Had he got through to her? He'd just have towait and see.

#

To Weir's surprise, his words seemed to have someeffect on Spark. By the time he woke the next morning, she was already talkingto the masons, discussing what techniques they would use to attach the torsosof the stone figures to the legs. She nodded to him, just once, and went backto her work.

Weirhad just sat down for breakfast beside the ever-burning campfire when he heardstamping feet. There were at least a dozen figures moving down the road — witha familiar, red-haired Lionguard leading them.

Leavingthe campfire behind, Weir hurried up the road towards them. Let Spark carry onwith her work — this was his domain.

Thered-haired Lionguard reached him before the rest of her party and held out anofficial-looking scroll. "By order of the Lionguard, you are to cease workon this site. All tools and materials are hereby in the possession of TwinspurHaven."

Alltools and materials? Did they really have the right to do that? "You'llhave to talk to our client," Weir said. "Hafnir Gefirsson."

TheLionguard frowned and finally succeeded in pushing the scroll into Weir's hand."I don't know anyone by that name. Besides, if he's not here, it doesn'tmatter. The site needs to be cleared today."

Weirflicked open the scroll with one claw. The only bit that interested him was thesignature at the bottom: Lionguard Miriam. If he guessed right, 'Miriam' wasthe very same official he now faced.

Helet the scroll close. "Can I ask you a question, Lionguard Miriam?"

"Ifyou must."

"Whyare you doing this? Because it's got nothing to do with the security of theroad. This is personal."

Miriamlooked taken aback. She glanced behind her, as though to make sure the rest ofher party were out of earshot but didn't reply.

Weirgestured towards the trees. "Can I show you something?"

Shehesitated, then without a word, indicated that he should lead the way.

Theyfollowed the path that emerged beside the half-finished monument. Sunlight litit in shafts of gold, the snow gleaming silver in contrast; with the masonshunkering in their camp, there was a heavy silence. For the first time, Weirunderstood why Hafnir had chosen this spot.

Miriamkept her distance, but Weir strode right up to the monument. The legs of thethree figures now towered over his head; the completed piece would be nearlythree times his height.

"Thisis a monument to heroes," he said, remembering the letter that hadaccompanied Hafnir's proposal, far more eloquent than the man himself. "Toall those who've fought — and fallen — in the service of Tyria."

Heturned and found that Miriam's gaze was fixed somewhere in the distance."Heroes," she said softly, then snorted. "Just overgrownchildren in fancy clothes, thinking they can save the world."

"Maybethey can save the world. We'll never know until they try."

"Itried," Miriam spat, so bitterly that Weir almost took a step back."I went to Orr with all the other misguided fools, so keen to provemyself. The undead, though... The noise and the stink of them... There's noglory in fighting corpses."

Forthe first time, Weir realised Miriam was angry at neither Hafnir nor hismonument, not really. It merely reminded her of her own failings. "Orr,huh? That's further than I ever got."

Miriamlooked up sharply. "Is that supposed to make me feel better? I triedsalving my conscience by joining the Lionguard. I can tell you now, it didn'twork."

Weirflexed his claws, thinking his words over carefully. No, he'd never made it toOrr, as so many heroes hadn't — but that had never bothered him. "Shouldwe think less of our heroes," he said slowly, "if they're only heroicfor one day? So many of us started out on a hero's path, Lionguard. The oneswho've faced dragons are few indeed; most of us got lost along the way. Doesthat make our contribution any less valid? It was our place to be a small partof the greater whole, and I'm not ashamed of that. You shouldn't be,either."

Miriamwas staring at the ground, arms folded. "I lasted three days in Orr. Youcan't tell me that's something to be proud of."

"That'sthree days more than the ones who never made it that far." Weir shrugged.He knew all about heroism, after so many years serving with Spark. Whateverothers thought of her, he knew every word he'd said about her strengths wastrue. And yet, when it came to himself... "We can't all be commanders andleaders. If your only good deed in life was to defend your home, and you neveronce stepped foot on the road beyond, I'd say that's enough."

Miriam'ssigh was long and weary. She looked defeated, but after a moment she raised herhead. "I never knew charr were so eloquent."

Thatstartled a laugh out of Weir. "Only on my good days."

"ThenI hope you have many more of those to come, Weir Lightpaw, whether you're ahero or not." The Lionguard looked around the clearing, as though she sawthe statues properly for the first time. "Good luck with your monument.I'm sure it'll be a fine reminder of the accomplishments of others — and whatwe might do ourselves, one day."

Weirshot her a salute as she headed back into the trees. "I'm sure it will,Lionguard. I'm sure it will."

#

By the end of the eighth day, the monument wascomplete. With Spark at the camp, making sure the masons got their pay, Weiralone watched the sun set over the statues. The dusk turned them moody andthoughtful, three watchful figures who kept their secrets close.

Heturned at the sound of footsteps, expecting Spark — but found Hafnir, instead.The norn was less bundled in clothing this time, and recognition tugged atWeir's senses. Did he know this man? Miriam hadn't recognised Hafnir's name,and Weir had always suspected the norn was trying not to reveal too much ofhimself. Who was he really?

Hafnirstopped at Weir's side. "Magnificent. You've done a wonderful job."

"Don'tthank me," Weir said. "Spark was in charge, and your stonemasons didall the hard work."

"Butthere wouldn't be a monument without you, would there?"

"You were listening?" Weir asked. He would have sworn he and Miriam were alone — he and Spark also, for that matter.

Hafnirdidn't reply to that. His gaze was fixed on the monument. "You'd almostthink this was sculpted by Eir herself," he said softly. "You askedwhy I commissioned a monument that will last only years, not decades. I thinkyou deserve an answer."

Weiralmost told Hafnir to keep his secrets, but he didn't. He was curious for that.

"I've walked the hero's path, as you described it," Hafnir said, his voice low. "I found it a thankless and lonely road — that's why I wanted to do my part in commemorating those who walked it with me. The ones I lost.

"Ilearnt something, though, along the way. However much we laud them, the heroesthemselves don't matter. We are fleeting, nothing more than shadows on thewind. However many statues we build, we will be forgotten — and that's as itshould be. The faces on this monument will weather and fade with time, as ournames will be lost, and I don't think that matters."

"Thenwhat does?" Weir asked.

"Theworld we create. Peace, stability — that will endure far longer than ouridentities."

"Areyou sure about that?" Weir was reluctant to shatter Hafnir's moment ofreflection, but the pragmatist in him wouldn't let the matter go. "Waralways returns."

Hafnir'ssmile was sad, but no less a smile for that. "Then there will be othergenerations after ours, with their own heroes, who face the night without fearas we once did. Let them make peace on their own terms."

Therewas so much unsaid in Hafnir's eyes, Weir thought. "Your name isn'tHafnir, is it?" he asked.

Forthe first time, Hafnir looked at him, with an expression almost of pity."Does it matter? Who I was on that hero's path is long behind me now. Letmy name be forgotten with all the rest."

Itdidn't matter, Weir supposed. This norn would be forgotten, his deeds blowingaway on the same wind that ground the monument into dust. And in his wake,there would be more: the ones who failed along the way, like Miriam, and Weirhimself. Then there would be the ones like Hafnir who reached the end and wereable to look back on their path from old age, with bittersweet pride and a hopefor new, brighter generations to come.

Weirturned, meaning to tell Hafnir that he thought he understood. The norn wasgone. There were only the shadowed trees and the silent snow, not evenfootprints to show Weir had been anything other than alone.