Epilogue: Family
Oska’s memories of the final battle were fragmented. He’d been facing Artair ‒ that, at least, was clear in his mind. He’d struck at Artair again and again, never quite managing to made a decisive blow. He remembered being hit on the side of the head, perhaps by a fist, perhaps by Souleater. He remembered the dark maw of the rifle being turned upon him, coming close enough to block out the rest of the world. He remembered, behind it, Artair’s smile.
And then: light. A flash of it, so brilliant and blinding that it took everything else away. Oska thought he remembered falling, down and down into an endless sea of white. He wasn’t sure he’d ever hit the bottom.
It wasn’t until he’d found Auri, lying motionless inside the Victory’s cabin, that he’d understood. That light hadn’t been just Auri’s magic, but some essential part of her. It was her power that had brought the fighting to an end.
That had been three days ago. Auri showed no sign of being physically harmed; now they were back in Lion’s Arch, she was perfectly capable of wandering around the guild hall. She looked exactly the same as she’d always done. But she said she couldn’t feel the elements and she wasn’t sure they’d ever come back.
Oska wanted to offer reassurance, but he had none to give. He couldn’t feel his sister’s presence any more. He couldn’t sense her when she was out of sight and couldn’t tell what she was thinking. In the blink of an eye, the connection between them had been severed and Auri was as inert to Oska as everyone else in the world.
That, Oska found, was like having a piece of his soul ripped out and thrown into the sea. He no longer felt whole; like his memories, he’d been reduced to fragments. But he wasn’t about to tell anyone else that. Erin had already claimed responsibility for the deaths that had happened in the battle, all seventeen of them ‒ Talons, mostly, and a handful of Priory. As for Auri, she didn’t need anyone else’s wounds to contend with.
But it was easier to be alone when he felt so untethered, meaning Oska spent as much time as he could outside the guild hall. He was sitting on the docks, staring out into the bay, when he heard footsteps. He could, at least, still tell one set of steps from another. That wasn’t Auri and it wasn’t Erin. Someone lighter than one, more purposeful than the other…
Oska turned as Ruby hopped up onto a barrel beside him and drew her legs up under her. She was silent for a moment, shading her eyes with one hand against the glare of the sun. “How’s Auri?” she said finally.
Broken, Oska wanted to reply, but he wasn’t sure that was true. Auri missed her magic, but in other ways, she seemed more at peace than she’d ever been before.
“Better,” he said instead. “No one’s chasing her any more. Artair’s never going to see the light of day again. And she’s happy to be back in the guild hall. She likes it here.”
“Do you?”
“I do.” That, at least, didn’t feel like a lie. “We both belong here.”
Ruby scrunched up her face. “Speaking of belonging,” she said, “Taria wants to introduce me to the rest of the Valparis.”
Oska made a noise of amusement. “Good luck with that.”
“I’m not going on my own.” Ruby glared at him. She couldn’t have looked fiercer if she’d had a dagger in each hand. “If I have to be a member of this ridiculous clan, you’re coming with me.”
“What for?”
“Back-up.”
“No one’s going to ambush you.” Oska paused, then reconsidered his words. “Not with weapons, anyway.”
Ruby snorted. “You,” she repeated, “are coming with me.”
“Fine.” It was about time he and Auri went home, Oska knew. He doubted his parents would notice anything different about Auri, but he missed them all the same. He turned back to Ruby. “But you won’t find any ghosts in Divinity’s Reach. Just ageing relatives with sharp tongues and a taste for expensive brandy.”
He realised Ruby was watching him, an uncharacteristic uncertainty on her face. “I’ve had enough of ghosts,” she said. “It’s about time I got to know some living humans, instead.”
Jean wasn’t sure what he’d done to receive such incredible good fortune. Maybe it was because he’d been so loyal to Light’s Memory and his family and Vasha. Maybe it was recompense for being beaten and bound by Artair when he’d been caught spying. Whatever the reason, he was back in Lion’s Arch, he was relatively unscathed ‒ a broken wrist, injured when the Victory fell out of the sky, felt like getting off lightly ‒ and for the first time, Vasha was with him.
Really with him, at least as friends. She hadn’t been officially inducted into Light’s Memory, but then neither had Jean. Still, with nowhere else to go and no one else who’d take them, they both found themselves milling around the guild hall. There were weapons to be repaired, wounds to patch up, and Darr seemed to have a running list of improvements he was making to the place. Jean woke each morning to the ordinary, comforting sounds of cooking and laughter, quickly overtaken by the clatter of hammers and saws.
Vasha was always up before him. When Jean woke, he’d roll over and see her bed empty, the blankets neatly folded as though she didn’t intend to come back.
She always did, though. Every night, as the sun went down, she’d return to her narrow bed in the corner. Jean thought she looked more thoughtful than lost, but still he tried not to intrude. She’d stayed in the guild hall because she needed time to think, to heal ‒ and possibly, Jean thought, to make amends.
Because every day, once the ordinary chores were done, Jean found Vasha sitting in the same spot.
The guild hall had acquired a number of side rooms since Jean had first visited it. One of those had been put to use as an infirmary, treating members of the Priory and even a few Talons who hadn’t anywhere else to go. Those who’d surrendered when Artair was captured ‒ Haki and Gull amongst them ‒ were being treated as ordinary civilians who’d got caught up in the fight. No one had the will to punish them for following where Artair had led.
But after the first week, most of the injured had left the guild hall in varying states of recovery, until only Souleater’s victims remained.
Vasha sat amongst them every day. Their blank faces and sightless eyes were, Jean thought, the punishment she’d assigned herself. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t known what weapon she was recovering from Rata Sum. She held herself responsible, it seemed, for everything Artair had done with it.
No one else did. Jean had tried to explain that, without much success. Until Vasha was willing to listen, all he could do was sit beside her, silently willing the motionless patients to wake up. They wouldn’t, of course ‒ he knew that already ‒ but for Vasha’s sake, it didn’t hurt to pray.
He’d been keeping his silent vigil for the better part of two weeks before Vasha finally acknowledged his presence.
“What are you still doing here, Jean?” Her voice was loud in the stillness of the infirmary. “Why don’t you just go home?”
Jean raised an eyebrow. “This is my home,” he said carefully. “Light’s Memory are the family I’ve chosen.”
Vasha rolled her eyes. “Half your real family are here anyway.”
“They are ‒ but if they weren’t, I’d still be here. This guild has given me purpose. What I do here matters more than anything else I’ve ever done in my life. Why would I leave?”
Vasha was silent for a long time. She leaned forwards, needlessly straightening the blankets tucked over the nearest patient. “Purpose,” she said finally, her voice bitter. “The only thing that’s left when you’ve spent a lifetime being pampered like a prince.”
The Valparis weren’t as rich as all that, but Jean bit his tongue. He couldn’t really dispute Vasha’s point. “I wanted that for you, too,” he said softly. “I wanted you to be able to stop running.”
Vasha closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “But instead, I ran straight towards Artair.”
“You wanted a way to survive‒”
“No.” The word cracked out of her. “I wanted power. I wanted everything Artair offered me. I wanted the world. At the time… It didn’t seem so much to ask.”
There was a long silence. Nothing he said, Jean knew, could heal the anger Vasha carried. So much of it was directed at herself.
After a time, she opened her eyes and swallowed audibly. “Have you ever seen a persimmon tree?” she asked.
Jean blinked. Persimmon. Artair was the only one who’d ever called her that. “I’ve seen them,” he said cautiously.
“Then you’ve seen their fruits. They don’t ripen until late in the autumn, you know. Sometimes they even cling to the branches through the winter.” She paused and Jean could see tears glistening on her cheeks. “That was why my mother chose the name, you know. She’d lived on the streets all her life. She thought I might end up doing the same ‒ but if I could be like the persimmon, I could survive anything.”
Sorrow seemed to gather in Jean’s throat. He longed to put his hand over Vasha’s but she was just out of reach.
She turned to him, though, the ghost of a smile on her face. “I’d like to try again, you know. Without all the bitterness. Without all the anger. A guild that wants to do good in the world and… And us.”
He wouldn’t cry, Jean told himself. He wouldn’t. Instead, he managed a crooked smile. “I’d like that,” he said, meaning every word. “I’d like that very much.”
