The Trials of Alar

9

Looking down from atop the precipice, Adam saw nothing but the fast-flowing river running through the gorge below. The din of battle had all but ceased as the ambush party retreated from the scene, much reduced in number. But none of this mattered to Adam as he swept the banks of the river with his gaze. It would not have mattered to him if a knife had pierced his heart and sent him tumbling over the edge into oblivion as well. It certainly couldn’t be any more painful than what he felt right now.

Fagan looked about, saw that the skirmish was over, and replaced his bow on his back.

“Get Rennon and Tendar back into their saddles,” he ordered shaking his head. “We’ll have to give them a proper burial once we reach the valley floor.”

“What of their dead, sire?” asked Trellon.

“Leave them. If their own lot have any decency at all, they’ll come back and retrieve them.” Fagan assisted one wounded guard back into the saddle, then noticed Adam standing by the cliffside. He walked over and placed a paw gently on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, mate. He was the very best, your Alar.”

“I wish I’d gone over instead of him,” Adam replied curtly, fighting hard against the flood of tears welling up within.

“And I wish it’d been me. But as it stands, we’re still here. And we’ve got a mission to complete.”

Adam did not stir. Fagan sighed.

“We’ve got to move on, Adam. Those assassins might return with help.”

“I’m not so sure I’ve got the strength,” said Adam. “Just leave me here. I’ll gladly go down fighting any of the cowards who dare show their faces again.”

From the glint in his eye, Fagan did not for a second doubt him, and nodded in agreement. “Aye. I feel just the same way. But that won’t bring Alar back to us, will it?” He paused as he spotted Alar’s sword upon the ground. He walked over and picked it up with care akin to reverence. Wiping the blade off with a kerchief, he presented it to Adam. “Nor will it accomplish the task we set out to accomplish. The task he gave his life for.”

Adam sighed, then nodded very slowly, shoulders slumped.

“You’re right. I’ll go.” He paused and accepted the sword, though the mere sight of his husband’s most prized possession almost broke his heart anew. “But first, could we at least pray over the spot? I feel it might help somehow.”

Fagan nodded with understanding. “Of course.” He looked to Trellon, who was holding the reins of his horse. “Hold him for just a moment longer, Trellon.”

“Aye, sire.”

He turned again to the cliffside, then bowed his head alongside Adam as he intoned: “Dear Mighty One on high, we consign our companion to Thy care, and pray that his brave sacrifice may not be in vain. Amen.”

“Amen,” echoed Adam.

Fagan did not know what else to say that would not have them both breaking down in tears, so he patted Adam on the back and returned to his horse. Adam remained rooted in place for a moment longer watching the waters run past. Then, slowly, he turned and made for his horse. Each step felt as though leaden weights had been strapped to his ankles. Lifting himself into the saddle was a monumental task that nearly exhausted his reserves. He could not even bear to look at the empty saddle of the horse that an honor guard was towing along by the reins, for fear that it might undo him entirely.

“Right. Let’s move on,” ordered Fagan sullenly.

The party made its descent down the narrow trail for the remainder of the morning. They stopped for a very brief, very quiet lunch in a spot that had obviously been used by travelers for ages. They then proceeded along a smoother stretch of road that began to slope gradually down toward the lowlands. At the bottom of this stretch, they paused beside the road to hold a funeral for their fallen companions. Between the company they were able to dig a couple of holes in which to bury Rennon and Tendar. They piled up a small earthen mound and placed a stone atop it in acknowledgement of Alar. Afterward, King Fagan said a few words and called for a moment of silence. In that moment several stifled sobs could be heard from their friends, as well as from Adam. At last Fagan replaced the hat on his head and sighed.

“Right. Onward we go, lads. Leave our friends to their sleep.”

Hats were replaced on heads all around, and the party once more mounted up and took off at a steady trot down the road. By late afternoon, they had come to the town of Elbra nestled beside the foothills, as predicted by Fagan. They could have pressed on and gotten nearer the capital before dark, but after their trying ordeal and long hours in the saddle, no one much felt like pushing himself.

“We’ll rest well tonight, then carry on refreshed tomorrow,” spoke Fagan.

“Refreshed in body, anyway,” said Adam softly.

“Got to start somewhere, I reckon. And right now, that inn looks like just the place.”

Thus, the party crowded into the little structure, leaving two outside to guard the horses. The troops did their best to forget their troubles and enjoy the comforts offered by the inn. Fagan himself indulged in several rounds of drink, taking advantage of the occasion to sample the local brews. But neither song nor drink nor even warm food could tempt Adam out of his deep reverie. The thought of a world without his Alar—of having to endure the rest of his years utterly alone—was simply more than he could comprehend. And the knowledge that it was all his fault practically broke him. So much so that he couldn’t even cry. He could but sit there behind a profound wall of solitude despite the company of so many sympathetic squirrels, thinking over and over of how he shouldn’t have insisted on joining this venture. Of how he should have simply let Alar stay on his beloved Red Fields where he was happy. Of how by rights it should have been he, the inexperienced adventurer, who had lost his life: not his warrior mate.

So profound was his grief that he did little more than poke at his plate during supper. It was heavy enough that it brought everyone else’s spirits down, and made for a very silent table. This Fagan could not allow, and so at last he rose and tapped the rim of his mug to get everyone’s attention.

“A word, if you please,” spoke the squirrel king. “I know a great sadness weighs upon your hearts at the loss of our dear companions today. I feel it in mine as well. But let’s not wallow in grief over the dear friends and brothers-in-arms we’ve lost. Let us instead remember the bravest, most selfless warriors that ever there were, particularly the one to whom we hadn’t the chance to give his proper rites earlier. Let us rejoice that he has gone to meet the good Lord he so devoutly served in life before us all.” He lifted his mug. “To Alar of Red Fields.”

“To Alar of Red Fields!” repeated the rest heartily. Then all of them—including Adam—took a hearty swig. The king did not sit down, though, and instead set his mug back on the table.

“I’ve, er…composed a few verses about our good friend. I’d like to recite them now before I forget them, if that’s all right with you, dear Adam.”

“Yes, of course.”

And so the king began, looking and sounding more serious than any had ever seen him before:

He was the bravest of us all

His blade shone bright, his shadow tall

He never turned away in fright

Nor failed to do that which was right

When king and country needed aid

He was there with ready blade

For the blood of foe to shed

And his dear belov’d to wed

With brave companions he set out

A motley troop without a doubt

Yet they fought through forests wide

And alas two brave souls died

But though grieved good Alar fought

To take revenge on that fell lot

In mountain tower clear and cold

A foe both new and yet quite old

Two more they lost: one on the way

And one in rocky heights to stay

Through pain so deep and sorrow dark

Alar stayed upon his mark

He battled through the fen and then

He faced the foe within his den

And there two final souls he lost

Victory, but at a cost

The princess freed he did return

And took the prizes he did earn

Great wealth and matrimonial bliss

He gained with but a true love’s kiss

And so he went to Red Fields fair

To take the breeze and country air

So happily he dwelt there long

Just he, his mate, and sweet birdsong

But one day many years from thence

Adventure pierced Alar’s defense

So off he set not knowing then

He ne’er would see home again

For destiny did bring him low

Through cowardly assassin’s blow

And so it is that he now waits

In Heaven’s halls for all his mates

Forever by Skiouros’s side

That noble squirrel shall abide

When our day comes we’ll once more see

Our dear brave friend and merry be

Meanwhile down here he shall live on

In hearts and minds our friend, now gone.

At the conclusion of the poem, there was a moment’s pause, followed by raucous applause. The king took a modest bow, then finally resumed his seat. Adam had not the heart to mention how embellished and idealized the whole thing sounded. So, he turned to Fagan with cheek fur glistening and a wan smile upon his muzzle.

“That was a beautiful tribute,” he said.

“Oh, now, ‘twere nothing. If I’d had the time to refine it, it would have been truly spectacular.”

“Nevertheless, it means a great deal to me. Thank you so much!”

He couldn’t help throwing his arms around Fagan in that moment and trying without success to keep from crying. It might be improper, even wrong, but he didn’t care. Right now, Fagan was the best friend he had in the world, and he had to show his appreciation somehow. But the king understood entirely, and hugged him warmly back.

“There now, mate, don’t take on so. It’ll be all right.” Though even as he spoke, a trickle of a tear made its way down his cheek as well.

Adam released him at last, feeling a tad embarrassed, but greatly relieved. Those were the words he needed above all to hear right now. The two resumed their dinner as best they could, and the general mood lightened somewhat.

Later, as he was undressing for bed, Adam felt another wave of sadness overtake him at the thought that he would be sleeping alone for the first time in ten years. There would be no bedtime banter, no kiss goodnight, no one to hold him through the chilly spring night. More tears began streaming unbidden down his cheeks, though he fought hard to contain them as he knelt down beside his bed to say his evening prayers.

“P-Please look after him for me, Lord. I know is soul is in your keeping, so there’s nothing to worry about, but…Oh, please forgive me!”

This outburst was aimed more at the spirit of Alar, whose loss he still blamed wholly on himself. He broke down into full sobbing then, wishing he could simply lie down and die. Only after a long while did he manage to pull himself up into bed and lie down. He then spent an hour of complete misery crying before slowly slipping into a dark, nightmarish sleep haunted by visions of his life’s love tumbling over that precipice again and again. He awoke at once to begin crying anew, and prayed in vain that the morning might come swiftly and drive his troubles away.