Champion, Chapter 94: Echoes of the Dead

Well, here we are, the last numbered chapter of Champion. This has been a long, rough road for me in all kinds of ways, but I made it. There are three epilogues to Champion which will follow next week, one more (non-lewd) commissioned chapter I still need to write, and that's it for the moment. I am absolutely not abandoning this story, but I need to recharge on it. It's been the dominant focus of my mental energies for closing in on three years straight, which is quite an accomplishment as someone who has to deal with ADHD and depression bouncing off each other.

I have a... less controversial... story in the works. I plan to get at least the first book of that well underway before returning to Paths. At that point, I'll do a revision of the existing content with an eye towards releasing on Amazon. After all that's done, I'll get to work on Book 3. That means it's going to be a while. I know this is a rough point to go on hiatus, but it's that or burn out completely. Again, I promise to return and finish this story.

In the meantime, the new story I mentioned will be posted to RR and SH. I'll post a link here when it goes live, though be aware it's a very different story. No lewds, no LitRPG. More later.

Finally, there's a song at the end of this chapter. If you want to hear it in the original Gaelic, you can listen here.

AidanThe RealmsSecondday, 3rd week of the 12th month, Age of the Chosen 1NoonCeallach Macht, Mistvale Highlands

It's not fair, Aidan thought as he observed the winter sky, for today to be so beautiful. The sun shone down on the completed Dreaming Tabernacle from a clear sky. A light breeze stirred the few wisps of mist clinging to the ground and kept the direct sunlight from overpowering the day's cool, crisp temperature.

In every movie he'd ever seen, in every book he'd ever read, it rained during funerals. He knew it was metaphorical, knew he shouldn't be so upset at reality failing to conform to art. It was irrational, but Aidan didn't care. It felt like the world turning its back on him and on all his people.

"So be it," Aidan said under his breath. It was time for him to be more proactive. The cost would be high. Aidan knew his list of names would grow far longer before he could start clawing some back. Yet, if the world was set against him, he'd never survive by waiting and reacting. So he'd take the path in front of him and let the flames rage in his wake.

Cai touched his wrist. "Everyone is here," she said in a low voice. Aidan glanced around.

The Dreaming Tabernacle consisted of three primary elements. First was a massive walled courtyard three hundred and thirty-three feet long on each side. A wide cobblestone road led from the low gate straight to the back of the complex. Soft, green grass covered everything else. A half-dozen small marble shrines dotted the Tabernacle's front half, each devoted to a different local deity.

A larger, more ornate temple stood at the end of the road, abutting the Tabernacle's back wall. Unlike the shrines, it was closed against the elements. Within were accommodations for sixty or so priests and priestesses to tend the shrines and a unitarian altar for use in inclement weather or by worshippers of deities not represented outside. Depending on which races were present, the worship hall could hold up to a few hundred people.

The Tabernacle's final section was not part of the original plans. On either side of the temple lay a further set of marble walls separating the places of worship from the realms of the dead. A dark granite mausoleum dominated the western graveyard, while the eastern one lay ready to accept burials. Both contained passages to a network of catacombs still being completed by a team of automatons.

It was a somber turn for a structure designed to celebrate life and dreams. Still, it felt right to Aidan. Were the dreams of the dead any less important than those they left behind? He didn't think so. And perhaps the Tabernacle's ability to allow worshippers and deities to meet would work for them as well. If so, it was a small measure towards fulfilling the debt Aidan felt toward those he couldn't save.

Nearly a thousand mourners and observers gathered within the seventy-thousand-square-foot shrine mall. All the Sapphire Star alliance tribes were represented, although Mist Stalkers were few and far between. Rumors of Brighid's killer being a catfolk cooled the city's attitude toward them. Only Chief Searlas, his bodyguards and advisors, and a few brave souls near the entry gate dared show their faces.

Aidan raised his hand, sending a jet of fire skyward. The roll of drums and slow, piping flute notes filled the air at the prearranged signal. All present turned to watch as a black-clad procession entered the Tabernacle. First were the five Snow-Water Rider Captains, each dressed in ceremonial armor. Behind them marched thirty marines, six from each Captain, carrying fifteen coffins in five rows of three. They walked their slow march ramrod-straight, their faces stony masks worthy of a gargoyle.

Next in the procession was Alkelda's casket borne by four Wing-Lieutenants in ash-gray robes. Twenty more harpies wheeled above them in an intricate, spiraling weave. Every few seconds, one swooped down and brushed her hand across the smooth, dark wood housing Alkelda's body.

A narrow column of wolven in dark, ribbon-hemmed robes followed the harpies. When the caravan arrived several days ago, the Ebon Bone-Kin took possession of Enys's body. They declined to inter her in Ceallach Macht for religious reasons but agreed to be part of the funeral procession. Several of their Ancestors marched with them, flickering in and out of sight.

Ritva's body was not contained in a coffin or casket, unlike the others in the funeral. Instead, Aija, tears flowing free down her cheeks, carried her wrapped in a simple white linen shift. Four more kanitti trailed after her, three bearing a piece of Ritva's armor, the fourth her lance.

Aidan held back a snarl of hatred as a dozen Mist Stalkers bore an empty coffin draped with blue and gold silk. Conor's body remained in the ruins of Karsarrym's lair, but politics demanded he receive a hero's funeral. Aidan's eyes drifted to where Searlas stood and met the Chieftan's. Cold fury roiled there, plain for all to see, and Aidan could only hope he managed to conceal the mirror response from those who watched.

At last, the final segment of the somber parade passed into the Tabernacle. Two passion elementals bore a heavy stone sarcophagus containing Brighid's magically-preserved body. Behind her walked Ailis and Sunnild, grief plain on both their faces, then, bringing up the rear, Aoife's enchanted coffin carried by another pair of elementals.

Although the path wasn't long, it seemed to Aidan as if it took hours for the procession to reach him. The marines came to parade rest in a broad semicircle facing Aidan while the Captains moved to stand beside him. Eldrid brushed her fingers across his hand and gave him a small, sad smile as she moved past him.

Next, the four heroes' bearers filled the space on either side of the slain marines. As with the Snow-Water Riders, a representative of each tribe save the Mist Stalkers joined Aidan and the others as the coffins settled to the ground. Finally, the elementals positioned Brighid and Aoife to either side of the pathway as Ailis and Sunnild took their places beside Aidan.

Tears stung Aidan's eyes, but he refused to let them come. Instead, he traced a series of glyphs in the air, inverting the effect of his Sound Barrier spell and turning it into an amplifier. "Thank you," he said through the tightness in his throat, "for your attendance this sad day." He swept his gaze across the crowd. "Few of you know all those whose lives we are here to honor and mourn."

Doirin. Mairead. Solamh. Lachlann. Catriona. An endless-seeming litany sang in Aidan's mind parallel to his speech.

"Yet your presence here shows the truth. We are not seven tribes, separate and solitary. I see among you a thousand good folk, filled with empathy for your neighbors. You grieve because they do." At Aidan's words, a wave passed through those gathered in the Tabernacle. It was a subtle thing, a spine straightened here, a head held higher there.

Inry. Altar. Paric. Thomlyn. Diarmid. Each name represented another of Aidan's failures.

"Each life cut short by another's hand is a tragedy. Here before us lie twenty sorrows, each a bright tale ended too soon. I will not keep you overlong today, but please allow me to make them known to you."

Paws-Soft-As-Snow. Fangs-Gleaming-Bright. Loves-To-Dance. Awaits-The-Rising-Sun. Patient-Beyond-Reason. The memory of Anwn's agony as she led him to her pack's gravesite flashed through Aidan's mind.

"Brecc O Meachairr," Aidan said, and one pair of Snow-Water Rider marines saluted the coffin between them. "He loved to gamble, I am told, and his mates loved when he did. It seems Brecc was not a very good bluffer." A faint ripple of amusement spread through the crowd. It wasn't quite laughter, but it eased some of the tension hanging in the air. "He died shielding a wounded comrade."

"Eeada nic Ruaidhri..." Aidan went through his memorized list, giving a personal anecdote for each of the marines and casting their deaths in the most heroic light he could. As he did, more names flowed through the back of his mind. Arailt. Baltair. Moibeal. Isbeil. Morag.

Once he finished with the marines, Aidan drew in a deep breath and let it out in as controlled a fashion as he could muster. "Alkelda. She devoted her life to her people, loyal beyond question and skilled without peer. She landed the first telling blow against Karsarrym, piercing the wyrm's eye with an arrow in the first few seconds. She fell to bad luck, struck from the air by flying debris."

The harpies present, including Sunnild, bowed their heads and pressed a fist to their hearts. Aidan saw some of the watchers follow suit. Iain. Tearlach.

"Enys le Caradec. She was a kind soul, nurturing life wherever she could. She leaves behind no children other than her twelve cats and five dogs. A stray attack felled her early in the fight, but she refused to yield. Even while suffering from a mortal wound, she continued to lay spell after spell on Karsarrym. Without her, we could not have won."

The robed wolven linked hands. Within the circle formed by their bodies, four Ancestors shimmered into existence. Each faced a cardinal direction and lifted their hands. Again, the crowd duplicated their motions. Sine. Onora.

"Ritva. Alas, I know little of her except that she traveled for months with her people," Aidan gestured at the Aija, the armor-bearers, and the clustered ranks of kanitti refugees, "to join our battle. Her people tell me she was a fierce guardian of those who needed protecting, and I can believe it. She died saving Eldrid and me from Karsarrym's breath in the battle's last moments."

An ululating wail tore free from Aija's throat even before Aidan finished. It was the most noise he'd ever heard her make. She rocked back and forth, arms wrapped around her chest, for several seconds until her mourning faded to strangled sobs. Ciar. Agata. Ina.

It took all of Aidan's Willpower to force through his next words. "Conor mac Con Uladh. He was a hero of his people who saved hundreds of lives by fighting wherever the danger was thickest. Alas, part of the ceiling collapsed on him as the dragon's death throes shook the cavern." The lies tasted foul on Aidan's tongue.

The Mist Stalker honor guards turned and saluted Conor's empty casket. Their movements were crisp and clean, if perhaps a bit perfunctory. Aidan wondered how well-known the blood mage was among the catfolk military.

Aidan's eyes swung to the final two fallen as if drawn by gravity. Brighid. Aoife. He sucked in a trembling breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them, his loves remained dead before him. Ailis and Sunnild reached for his hands, twining their fingers with his. He squeezed them, then let them go, stepping forward with the sound of hooves on stone.

His new body still felt odd to him, and reactions among the Starchasers were mixed. Some seemed pleased, many less so. It didn't matter. Aidan would do what he had to from here on out. He would get his body fixed when he had time. For now, he needed to hide his weakness. Aidan walked down the cobblestone path until he stood between Brighid's and Aoife's burial containers.

"Those names I gave before are heroes of the fight against Karsarrym. Each of them gave their lives so that we all might continue to live in peace and prosperity. Alas, they are not the only ones who we come to mourn today."

A gasp sounded from those nearest Aidan and rippled through the onlookers. Their shock wasn't at his words, for by now, the entire city knew of Brighid's and Aoife's deaths. The silver flames emerging from Aidan's skin and fur caused the commotion, a manifestation of his Aura reacting to his surging emotions.

"A few short weeks ago, I proposed marriage to three women and promised a proposal to a fourth. I love each of them with all my heart." Aidan could no longer hold back his tears, nor could he keep the roughness from his voice. "Most of you know Brighid Fireheart. She was one of the first Starchasers I met and the second to accept me. Some of you call me the Brighaid's prophet or Their Champion, and there is some truth to that. I tell you now, however, that none among us exemplified Their teachings more than Brighid."

Aidan let his hand trail across the engraved top of Brighid's sarcophagus. "She treated everyone with integrity and compassion, even people she didn't like. When she knew me as 'human,' she stepped in to defend me from perceived injustice. I know many of you have similar stories. I will confirm now for you that, a little more than a week ago, an assassin took her life."

An angry murmur spread through the crowd. Everyone knew Brighid died, but only rumors—and there were dozens of variations—said how it happened. The silver flames around Aidan grew brighter as he turned to Aoife. "Aoife entered my life recently, though it feels like I've known her forever. I met her in Chieftain Searlas's mansion in Termondoon, a slave of circumstance." Yeah right. "At her request, he was gracious enough to give her to me, asking only that I swear an Oath to protect her."

Aidan could feel Searlas's eyes burning a hole in the back of his head, but he ignored the man for now. His reckoning would come later. "Our relationship wasn't the easiest, and at times we each hurt the other. Yet she won my love and trust, and so I presented her with a ring at the same time I proposed to my fiancees.

"Now," Aidan said, his voice gaining a hard edge, "many of you have heard it was Aoife who killed Brighid. I say to you: this is not true. Her hand dealt the blow," a louder noise rose from the crowd, but Aidan talked over them. "But she was only the blade. Just as my sword has no choice in how I use it, neither did she choose to betray my trust. Another controlled her actions from afar."

Aidan turned to face Searlas. "Again, rumors say it was I who killed Aoife. It breaks my heart to tell you this is true. Yes, I forswore my Oath." Searlas's lips parted in a snarl. "However, the rumors do not tell the whole story. There are two facts only I, my head bodyguard, and my Chancellor know. First: Aoife managed to break free of the mind control for a few seconds. Long enough to beg me to kill her. Not as punishment, but to free her. Second, in doing so, I fulfilled a separate Oath I swore only to her. Aoife is now free."

Still meeting Searlas's glare with his own, Aidan reached the final part of his speech. "I do not believe Brighid and Aoife's deaths were an attack on me alone. This was a dagger aimed at all of us. At the camaraderie growing between our tribes. Someone out there is scared of us. Scared of you. Not because you are unbeatable warriors, but because you represent a new way of life."

At last, Aidan turned away from Searlas and looked over his enraptured audience. "I follow the Brighaid. In my day-to-day life, that means I do my best to love everyone as best I can. It means encouraging art and spreading good cheer. It also," he said, his voice growing stronger, darker, harder, "means burning away corruption so that new growth can thrive."

The silver flames limning Aidan's body shifted as his voice rose. They gathered at his shoulders, lengthening, extending into the air behind him. "I swear by Brigantia the following Oath: They who strike against Ceallach Macht in fear and hatred shall meet my wrath. Those who threaten you with greed or pride in their hearts will fall. Anyone who seeks to darken our skies and scatter us to the winds, them I will burn to ash." Fiery wings flexed behind Aidan as his voice reached a crescendo. "Those who make of me an enemy will be swept clear by the Cleansing Flame until none in the future dare remember their names."

Aidan's Aura rippled and heaved until it burst free from his body and streaked skyward. The crowd below gasped and pointed as the fiery phoenix spiraled high, then stretched out its brilliant wings. A piercing cry like a hunting hawk sounded across the city, then Aidan's Aura transformed into a flaming pillar and rushed back down into him.

You have completed a Quest!Prestige: Champion of the Cleansing FlameAccept your role and swear yourself to Brigantia—SUCCESSRewards: Access to the Brigantia's Champion Prestige Class, 20 Paragon points.

Aidan let the new power soak into him for a few moments. It also served to let the crowd settle down. Eventually, he raised his hands for quiet. "I will have more information on what this means for everyone once my investigation into the murder concludes. For now, we still have heroes to honor." He turned and walked back to the temporary wooden stage. Sunnild and Ailis each hugged him tight. Then, Sunnild stepped forward and began to sing. Only she and Aidan could understand the words, but no one could misunderstand their meaning.

He is my hero, my dashing darlingHe is my Caesar, dashing darling.I've had no rest from forebodingsSince he went far away my darling.

He is my hero, my dashing darlingHe is my Caesar, dashing darling.I've had no rest from forebodingsSince he went far away my darling.

Every day I am constantly sadWeeping bitterly and shedding tearsBecause our lively lad has left usAnd no news from him is heard alas.

The cuckoo sings not pleasantly at noonAnd the sound of hounds is not heard in nut-filled woods,Nor summer morning in misty glenSince he went away from me, my lively boy.

He is my hero, my dashing darlingHe is my Caesar, dashing darling.I've had no rest from forebodingsSince he went far away my darling.

Noble, proud young horsemanWarrior unsaddened, of most pleasant countenanceA swift-moving hand, quick in a fight,Slaying the enemy and smiting the strong.

Let a strain be played on musical harpsAnd let many quarts be filledWith high spirit without fault or mistFor life and health to toast my lion.

He is my hero, my dashing darlingHe is my Caesar, dashing darling.I've had no rest from forebodingsSince he went far away my darling.

Dashing darling for a while under sorrowAnd all Ireland under black cloaksRest or pleasure I did not getSince he went far away my dashing darling.

For a while I was a gentle maidenAnd now a spent worn-out widowMy spouse ploughing the waves stronglyOver the hills and far away.

He is my hero, my dashing darlingHe is my Caesar, dashing darling.I've had no rest from forebodingsSince he went far away my darling.

Since he went far away my darling.