"I miss you, I miss you so bad... I don't forget you, oh, it's so sad... I hope you can hear me, I remember it clearly –the day you slipped away was the day I found it won't be the same... I've had my wake up, won't you wake up? I keep asking why... I can't take it, it wasn't fake it, it happened, you passed by... Now you're gone... there you go... somewhere I can't bring you back, now you're gone... there you go... somewhere you're not coming back!"
–Avril Lavigne, "Slipped Away"
Katani wiped a hand furiously across her face, hiding the fact that it came away wet. The Katan did not cry.
But then again, the bar could not die, either. Yet here she stood, at his tomb, the last of the Katan in full battle regalia with tears streaming unstoppably down her face.
She licked her lips and tasted salt and old blood. The others were gone, bless the gods –she had nearly bitten her lip clean through in an attempt to keep from weeping in their presence. She must remain the heartless, iron-hard killer, to them at least.
Paedur, of course, had known otherwise. He always did.
She ran a hand over the pillar that reared up at the head of the tomb. Into it was carved a simple epitaph.
Paedur the Bard
"Call Him Kingmaker"
It wasn't right, she reflected, how the dead had no say; not even the bard. He was always solitary, always reclusive and enigmatic –his tomb had no place being laid out here in the palace courtyard for all to see.
But her voice was silent without Paedur to make it heard.
She had not moved from where she stood all day –her limbs were stiff and numb and she did not care. The act of walking away carried too much finality.
Five times he had journeyed to the Realm of the Dead, twice to give her life, and five times he had come back. She had labeled him as incorruptible, indestructible.
And yet, he was the one lying in the sealed stone box, colder even than he had been n life.
She imagined the hook, its flash dimmed and dulled forever in the darkness.
Katani had never entertained the idea of a romantic attachment to the bard –why would she? Even if she had, there was no doubt her feelings would be unrequited. And yet, Paedur was her reason for living. He was her savior and her charge, and a fount of wisdom that help her live in a world that was no longer her own. The pale, angular features and vague expressions of his face had nonetheless become a symbol of security.
Keshian came up behind her, resting a hand on her shoulder. "He's gone, warrior maid."
"I know." She nodded, nearly choking on the words.
"Come inside." The older man said gently. She shook her head.
"I can't."
Depressed and defeated, Keshian returned to the palace.
Unsheathing her broadsword, she muttered the Katan death psalm. The blade hummed and sang as she raised it high into the air, then plunged it into the earth at the base of the tomb.
"We are all only mortal, after all." She whispered. "Rest, Paedur Hookhand. Someday, it will be my turn to return to you. Peace always, my companion."
She turned and walked away, her helmet under her arm.
When she had gone, there was a slight scraping of metal on metal as the barely visible crescent of silver wrapped around the sword. It lingered for a moment only, and then was gone.
Finis
Long Live the Bard