Chapter 12: Running out of Ground
Alina ran and ran and ran, and when her little legs got too tired, she walked and walked and walked, her little feet hurting and getting dirtier by the day.
She was hungry too, but sometimes she'd find some berries and then she'd eat. When she was too thirsty, she stopped by a stream or a puddle.
Three days went by before the kind men found her.
She was sleepy, cold and hungry when a wagon stopped and two men came out of it.
They approached her slowly.
"Have you seen my mommy? or pappa?" she asked them, even though she wasn't supposed to talk to strangers.
"We haven't." one of them said. He was tall, with bright yellow hair and gentle eyes. "Are you lost?"
Alina nodded.
"I think so." she admitted to the gentle stranger and his silent friend. "Mommy told me to run, but she never said where to and now I can't find them."
"Your parents?" the other man asked, his dark eyebrows rising.
Alina nodded.
"I guess its her fault that I'm lost, so she won't be mad at me when she finds me, will she?"
The blonde man nodded slowly, a strange look passing over his face.
"I don't think she will." he gestured over to their wagon. "Come with us. We're going to Adena but we can drop you off at Keramzin on the way."
Alina tilted her head. She wanted to go with them. Her little feet hurt, she was cold, and hungry and thirsty and lost and scared and missed her parents, but she didn't know these men.
"My papa says I can't go away with strangers."
"My name is Dimitri;" the blonde man said, pointing at his chest, and then pointing at his friend. "And this is Kiril." he then smiled, showing a row of white teeth.
"My name's Alina."
"See? We're no strangers anymore." he continued to approach her until he could kneel in front of her. "Let us take you to Keramzin. There's food, shelter, and other kids to play with."
She frowned her lips, as if thinking hard on a life changing decision, one she didn't know, at the moment, she was making.
Maybe her parents would find her there. She asked Dimitri if they would, and he grimaced before shrugging and adding a quiet "Maybe."
Maybe wasn't too good, but something inside Alina took over and stepped towards the soldier, who offered to take her up in his arms. She wrapped hers around his neck, and let him and his silent friend lead her into the wagon, where the other soldiers gave her clothes and foods and made for nice pillows.
When Alina woke up, half of her body perched on her mountain of pillows, she had a bad feeling, like the one she had gotten a few days after her journey with the soldiers of the First Army began.
She stared up, very still and quiet, and waited for Genya to come.
It had been about two weeks since Constantine's birthday party and Nina's departure, and ever since that night, a few Grisha had no-so-subtly let her know of their own birth dates. A great deal still distrusted her, but at least they only looked the other way and didn't report her.
They were curious; she knew it.
She heard the door opening and sat up, trying to smile as Genya entered the room.
Her efforts died when she noticed the somber look on her face.
"The General is back." she said, her voice devoid of emotions.
Alina would've smiled from ear to ear if it wasn't for the demeanour of her friend.
"Yes?" she prodded gently.
"You need to get dressed and I'll escort you to the church."
The church? She hardly ventured there, as most of her fellow Grisha. Religion didn't tend to be too kind to their people, so they had few reasons to pray, even if their Saints had probably been Grisha as well.
"You're not a good witch until you die." she thought as she got up and was led to the bathroom to wash up.
When Alina and Genya entered the church, the Summoner stopped dead in her tracks and almost fell over her ass as she glanced upon the closed caskets lined up at the front. They were all of the same black wood, with a golden 'G' engraved in the end.
Genya led her up front and sat her down. When she made to get up and go stand in the back, Alina grabbed her hand with an iron-like grip, refusing to be left alone.
They stared into each other's eyes, and the redhead must've seen something in her, for she looked around anxiously, sighed, and quickly sat next to her.
Alina intertwined their fingers and looked at the caskets as more Grisha slowly walked in and found a seat or a place to stand. Only the children seemed absent.
In came The General, looking grim as he advanced to the front, Ivan shortly behind him.
The doors closed and he stood before the altar.
The Darkling
He stood before them. His Grisha. His people.
He stood before them. The fallen ones, all due to a stupid decision of the Tsar and bad luck.
He wasn't sure how to start, not anymore. He couldn't remember how many times he had given eulogies for his fallen soldiers.
None of them had ever been the same, that was something he made certain of, no matter how many centuries he had been doing this for.
His gaze fell upon Petya's name, engraved in gold upon the black casket. This was the only way his Grisha got to use his colour. In Death.
He took notice of Alina sitting at the front, staring from one casket to the other with her mouth hanging open. A part of him wanted to go over and take her in his arms, assure her that she would wear his colour in life and not death, assure her that no more Grisha lives would be spared, but he couldn't bring himself to lie that day.
He never allowed The Apparat inside the church when it came down to Grisha funerals. He didn't deserve to be among the mourners, and neither did the royal family.
He stood behind the altar, hands upon the cold stone, looking at Alina. She looked at him at some point, her eyes lost.
He knew that look, and hoped he wouldn't have to see it often.
This was important. This was why he needed to be rid of the Tsar and the rest of the Lanstovs, why he needed to weaponize The Fold and why Alina's light was so important. If he could achieve it all, the Grisha cemetery would cease its growth due to stupidness and ignorance.
Not The Darkling, but Aleksander, took a deep breath, before turning again in the General everyone in the Little Palace depended on and began to talk.
Alina
She listened closely as Kirigan talked about the failed test and fatal crossing across the Obol River. Seven Grisha dead, only five returned home to rest. Two Fabrikators and three Summoners, the other two left behind in that endless piece of darkness to be feasted upon by the Volcra.
She listened closely as he spoke of every lost Grisha; one by one, as if he truly had known them all personally.
He cared for every single one, Alina realized as he spoke first of the two who weren't there and went on to speak praises and lamentations of an Alkemi named Petya.
Gone. Seven of them. Just like that. Just because a motor broke down during the darkest of nights and it was too close to The Fold for the Volcra to take the chance to quickly go out for a meal.
She noticed nobody representing the Grand Palace was there except Genya perhaps, but Alina considered her one of their own, so it didn't truly count.
Something about it enraged her, although calmly, if that even made sense.
She hadn't known any of those Grisha personally, but she forced her brain to remember their names.
They had to take carriages to go to the cemetery outside Palace grounds. Genya had to stay behind, what with white not truly being a Grisha colour. Both friends were too stricken by this tragedy to even try to do something to fix it.
So she rode away from her inside a blue carriage in silence, sitting in front of a silent Zoya, whose beautiful face was covered by the rain of her dark eyes.
Alina leaned forward and offered her a blue handkerchief embroidered in gold.
Zoya looked at her hand, then at her, and slowly reached out to take the piece of cloth. She turned away from Alina, stubborn as always, and dried her cheeks.
After a while, the procession came to a stop and they all exited into a place Alina had never seen in Os Alta: the Second Army's cemetery.
The caskets were lowered and carried by the hands of friends and family instead of using Squallers, their hands digging up and their shoulders supporting the last bedding of a fallen beloved.
Alina followed the procession slowly, near the back, not wanting to disturb those who knew the lost ones.
Despite the clouds that day, the sun shone upon the cemetery, and something told her the place would fill with wildflowers and grass once spring arrived and summer followed.
The sound of foot over snow wasn't enough to drain out the one of the crying Grishas.
Alina saw all the stones, some so old the name was barely readable.
The walk was long, so long it alarmed her almost. Everywhere she looked, tombs were erected. Some even had a real-life statue above, probably some earned honour in either life or death.
When they finally arrived, there were seven holes dug unto the ground. The extra two probably in an honorary gesture.
Slowly, the caskets were lowered into the ground and dirt piled on, blinding them to the surface forevermore.
Alina stood in the back as all seven holes were filled and Squallers then placed gravestones on top of each one, Fabrikators getting to work on the inscriptions.
General Kirigan stood on the other side, looking down at the stones with an unreadable expression. Quickly, he looked around and his eyes went back to the stones.
Alina looked too, wanting to see what he saw. In comparison to the rest of the cemetery, the remaining space wasn't that vast. It'd probably last a few more decades before it was full and Fabrikators had to expand it.
Tears stung in her eyes, and the Sun Summoner stared straight into the Shadow Summoner's eyes.
They were both filled with unexpressed grief and quiet rage.
It wasn't fair.
It wasn't fair.
It could've been avoided, with patience and competence and care.
Care. Something few had when regarding Grisha lives.
When everything ended, the rest of the Army turned to leave the cemetery the same way which they came.
The General didn't move. He didn't turn away.
Neither did Alina.