Chapter 131: Breaking Camp
Chapter 131: Breaking Camp
The Franish troops came back victorious. They didn’t like finding a dragon sleeping comfortably on the hill, but Luc pointed at Pierre, sitting with the dragon, waving at them.
‘He is insane,’ said Germon.
‘So is my sister, it seems,’ said Marcus.
They saw Vivianne and Líran climbing the hill to join Pierre. Líran moved slowly, with obvious difficulty. She had miscalculated her own strength and, because of her, Sáeril still lay unconscious in Fregósbor’s tent.
‘You were very brave,’ Vivianne told her. ‘The power you brought with you was what saved Chelag’Ren.’
‘I understand he and Pierre are old friends,’ said Líran.
‘If I wasn’t so afraid, I would go there and speak with him.’
‘I will come with you,’ said Líran. ‘I may not be Lucille, but I can stay by your side.’
‘Will you tell our story sometime? Like you told all those stories in the Plume?’
‘I don’t know. My own adventure. I thought I’d be thrilled, but I mainly ache all over. If Sáeril lives, then maybe this ill become a good tale someday. I’m sorry, Vivianne, I didn’t wish to worry you more. Come, let’s meet Chelag’Ren.’
Pierre’s happiness when he saw Vivianne and Líran. That beautiful, boyish smile when Vivianne took his hand.
‘You really wish to know Chelag’Ren?’
‘He is your friend,’ said Vivianne.
The dragon was the reason Pierre left the Frontier. Vivianne would have never met Pierre if it weren’t for him. Vivianne’s rational thoughts dispersed like fog under the summed sun. The only thing solid was Pierre’s hand, but his voice became a stream of uncomprehensible noise. Then the dragon himself spoke — what did he say? — and his voice was so soft, so calming, the oposite of what Vivianne expected. In front of her, gigantly red, majestically gold and white, was Chelag’Ren, not War.
Vivianne gathered enough courage to touch one of his wing’s plumes. It felt so good that she spread her hand, then closed her eyes and touched her face to the dragon’s wing. At that precise moment, Pierre decided that he loved her.
They were breaking camp to return to Chambert when Clément arrived and Pierre gathered everyone in his still standing tent. Clément hugged Coalim, both of them cried, of joy, of pain, of missing each other, and because of the burns they both had suffered. The king of Deran heard the news of his mother’s death.
‘Then I guess nothing stops me from doing this,’ he took off his crown and gave it to Pierre. ‘it belonged to my mother. The crown was never mine.’
Germon raised a hand.
‘Can we trust him? Wouldn’t it be safer to kill him?’
‘Clément is no threat to us,’ said Vivianne.
‘Maybe so, but he might have children. Look at what happened to Franária just because three people, who weren’t even royal children, decided to take the crown for themselves.’
‘I won’t have children,’ said Clément, taking Coalim’s hand in his.
Pierre laughed with such happiness that Coalim laughed too, though he felt for Clément. He could see the pain of losing his mother in Clément’s eyes. Coalim felt a little guilty that he was relieved with her death.
‘Germon,’ said Pierre, ‘if we follow your logic, we’d have to kill our friend Rederico.’
Germont was very uncomfrotable, but Pierre continued:
‘Honsetly, I hope Rederico has many children. If Fulbert of Patire had a son like him, imagine what his children will be like. Enough death. Enough punishment. Franária is safe and united. The age of destruction is over.’
‘I wonder what awaits us,’ said Pierre.
‘Everything,’ said Chelag’Ren.
The watched from the hill as the campo grew smaller and smaller. Only one tent remained: that where Sáeril still rested.
Clément offered his hand to Marcus, who could not bring himself to shake it. He nodded his farewell and they both went in opposite directions.
‘I suppose,’ said Pierre ‘that I can’t go back to the life I sued to have. I thought I would but I don’t think I can anymore.’
‘You may return, Pierre. We both may.’
Marcus turned his horse, rode up to Clément, and shook his hand.
‘But we won’t,’ said Pierre.
‘No,’ said the dragon, ‘we won’t.’
Pierre thought of all the things he had dreamed of, of his life back in the Frontier. Vivianne did not belong in the Frontier.
‘I suppose my old future is not what I want anymore.’
Every day One-eyed Luc took water to the black and white horse guarding Fulion’s body.
‘We’re leaving,’ he said. ‘I won’t be here to bring you food and water anymore. You could stay here and die, I wouldn’t judge you. I myself don’t understand what I’m doing still alive. You could come with me if you want. I could bury her, though I don’t know if a horse would care for such a human ritual.’
Luc went away. When he marched with the others to Chambert, Stain remained by Fulion’s corpse.
Rederico said good-bye.
‘It is ironic that I wish to leave when my and the Old Woman’s dream has finally come true. I dream come true is over, I guess.’
He hugged Pierre, who wanted to say many things, but could only come up with:
‘I hope our paths cross again.’
‘Me too. Thank you.’
Neville shook Rederico’s hand, holding it long and strong. He couldn’t say a word.
Rederico then searched for Líran.
‘I know your friend hasn’t recovered yet,’ he said, ‘but I’m happy at least you are fine. You never felt love for me, Líran, and it doesn’t matter. You have inspired me, pushed me forward, painted my future with colour. I will never forget you, even when I get over my love for you.’
‘I don’t feel loce,’ said Líran, ‘but part of you remains with me.’
‘The heart. Goodbye, Líran Storyteller.’
The red train flew East, with Old Woman hanging her tongue to the wind. One day they met with Rimbaud’s Caravan and Rederico asked Rimbaud if he and his train could be of any use.
Lecoeurge invited him for tea.
‘Have you ever thought of being a clown?’ he asked.
‘Seems perfect.’
Líran thought about rejoining the Caravan. She’d be useful there. If only she could ask for Yukari’s advice. What use would Líran be in Chambert?
‘Use?’ asked Pierre. ‘You are our friend, isn’t that enough?’
To her own surprise, Líran realized that it was enough. For the first time in her short human life she felt like she belonged. She stayed in Chambert and King Pierre always asked for her violet advice.
Neville declined the title of Master of the Emerald. He chose to remain a captain in Chambert, veside Pierre, close to Thaila. Debur was under Maëlle’s rule. The Eslarian re-opened his baker at the corner, right outside the Emerald’s gate. Thaila could handle Chambert. She liked to bake at the sound of Neville’s guitar.
Nuille rarely summoned anyone. He waited and, sooner or later, they all came to him. Chelag’Ren landed at the top of the Wave, brought his large head to the frog’s level and listened.
Lucille had just folded a letter and put it in an envelope. She looked tenderly at the back of her Mystery companion. Nuille didn’t need a dragon; he didn’t need anyone to make true Vivianne’s wish. From the moment he said no enemies of Franária could cross those mountains, that would be a natural law. It simply wouldn’t happen. But Chelag’Ren wanted a chance to pay for his crimes, he needed a new home. He would be an excellent guard for the mountain.
‘Is it time for us to go?’ asked Lucille.
Nuille put on his black hat with the scarlet plume and took the first step into their next adventure.
The Wraith stood up in front of Lune’s ruins. Thin leaves of black wool covered his shoulders and the ground. Everything was very strange, unrecognizable: Lune was the exposed skull of a face he had loved. He paced around, trying to understand what was wrong and to whom that skull belonged.
Fregósbor appeared behind him, thrust his fingers into the chaos of his own white beard.
‘What have you done?’
‘Me?’ asked the Wraith. ‘Nothing.’
‘You’re too dangerous when unconscious. Wake up, Master, what are you waiting for?’
‘Would you look at that? I’m sleeping. I thought I was dead.’
‘We all did.’
‘So I live.’
‘You give me headaches.’
‘Am I recovered?’
‘Not entirely. You are no longer at risk, but you still need much rest.’
‘So I should sleep.’
‘In the name of Nasstajia, no! Enough. Wake up because I need to rest.’
‘I seem to have forgotten the way, could you guide me?’
Fregósbor offered his arm to Sáeril and took him back to reality, where the Wraith chose to rest for a while in his Franish home. In Lune.
Marcus sat on his horse, perplexed for a few minutes, before he nudged the beast on. Germon and Bojet followed with wide eyes.
‘Germon,’ said Marcus, ‘I thought Lune had been destroyed.’
‘I thought so too,’ said Germon.
‘Master Vivianne told me so,’ said Bojet.
‘In that case,’ said Marcus, ‘can anyone explain this to me?’
Lune stood whole in front of them. A Lune slightly different from the one they knew, with skulls engraved in the columns, stone dragons coiled on the roofs, pointy towers, lean and delicate like Vivianne’s drawings.
Even the city was there, the houses a little less straight than you would expect anything built in the realm od reality, but functioning, airy, spacious.
‘It must be work of that Wraith,’ said Bojet. ‘Which means he’s alive.’
‘I still think he was dead to begin with,’ said Germon.
‘Whatever. He saved us a lot of work.’