Chapter 19: The Aftermath

Rethnaki and the others stood silently near Jarthen, hovering close to the dying centaur as the old elf leaned over him. Each bore witness to the intensely private moment between the two great men, and watched, hearts breaking, as Glothnafar mustered the last of his strength to reach out and comfort Jellihondor.

It was clear from the centaur’s irregular, ragged breathing that he was in great pain and had mere minutes to live, and that there was nothing that could be done for him. And yet, Rethnaki couldn’t help but think that Glothnafar seemed to be at peace, as if he had been prepared for his death somehow. But, even if this was the case, it was clear that the centaur’s death was far too quick and sudden for Jellihondor, which left Rethnaki wishing deeply he could do something to console him.

Jellihondor opened his mouth to say something, but Glothnafar’s hand slipped from the old elf and his broad, expressive face went slack and emotionless. His eyes were dull now, unseeing and unfocused, and it was obvious that the great centaur was on the verge of death. Nevertheless, Jellihondor still shook the centaur’s shoulders and called his name desperately until the centaur’s shallow, ragged breathing subsided. After that last painful breath, the eerie morning silence was shattered by Jellihondor’s heart-wrenching, bone-chilling wail of mourning.

*****

Jellihondor’s wailing sobs rang out through the still morning air. The old elf knelt over Glothnafar’s lifeless body and shook and quivered as he wept. None of the rebels were sure what to do, and stood silently throwing uncertain glances at Rethnaki as they waited for him to make a move. Rethnaki watched his commander – distraught, overwhelmed with grief and shock – and felt Jellihondor’s desperate anguish with as much depth and heartache as he felt the loss of Glothnafar himself.

After some time, Rethnaki sighed heavily and wiped the tears from his cheeks. He was not sure that he was ready to make all the decisions that had to be made, but he knew that no one else could, and hoped that he could think clearly enough to handle it all. He leaned his head to one side to whisper discreetly in Elcrona’s ear. “Ellie, lass, would ye be so kind as ta see if ye can track down tha’ last archer? I t’ink he went south.”

Elcrona started, startled out of her own sad thoughts, and glanced at Rethnaki. She nodded, shouldered her bow and quiver and walked south past the field and into the boulders and trees in the direction the last wave of Black Diamonds had come from. Rethnaki rubbed the heel of his hand on his forehead as he watched her walk away and tried to think of a way to break into Jellihondor’s self-contained state of mourning. He took a deep breath to steel himself and slowly walked to the old elf’s side and knelt down next to him.

Gingerly, Rethnaki put a hand on Jellihondor’s back. But, his touch seemed to make no difference to Jellihondor, and the old elf wailed on uninterrupted. Rethnaki swallowed, blinked hard to fight back the tears that were welling back up, and leaned his head close to Jellihondor. “Jelli, I’m…I’m so very sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with sadness.

Still, Jellihondor wept, as if his grief formed an invisible, impenetrable wall between him and the rest of the world. Rethnaki knew how close the two had been – Jellihondor and Glothnafar had been inseparable for decades, and had even slept in the same tent most nights – but having never experienced such a powerful loss, he could only guess at the horrible, unending, isolating pain Jellihondor was grappling with. In the same wretched moment, Rethnaki also knew that they could not tarry long here, since the soldiers they had not killed were likely running back to Susselfen. He knew that somehow he had to break through to Jellihondor and get the rebels back on the run towards the gate, but the young elf felt torn and guilty for intruding on Jellihondor’s inaccessible grief.

Rethnaki wrapped his arms around Jellihondor’s shoulders, which shook like a dried leaf and felt frailer than he remembered, and gently pulled him to his chest. Rethnaki was afraid that such an attempt at comfort was too forward, and would cause Jellihondor to turn inward even more, but the old elf collapsed into him willingly. Rethnaki held him tightly, and said nothing, knowing that if he tried to speak that he, too, would be weeping. He hoped that the physical contact and the tightness of his embrace would be enough to draw Jellihondor back to his small band of rebels.

In Rethnaki’s arms, Jellihondor shuddered and shook as his sobbing tapered off. His wails grew softer and softer until the meadow was enveloped in the same still silence that shrouded it when Glothnafar still walked among the living. He lay there, with his face resting on Rethnaki’s shoulder and his tortured green eyes shut tight breathing deeply for some time. Finally, he spoke in a throaty whisper with his eyes still closed. “He’s gone, Naki. How can he be gone? ‘Tis not ta way it should ha’e been.”

Rethnaki closed his eyes and grimaced when he heard the longing and anger and sadness in his voice. “‘Tis this damn war, Jelli. It has a way o’ takin’ wha’s most dear from us,” he responded bitterly.

Jellihondor nodded and slowly drew himself up to a sitting position. Rethnaki pulled his long, curly hair over one shoulder and braided it. He took care with it, and wound the long ringlets around one another slowly, finding that the act took his mind of their dire circumstances a little. “Jelli, I hate ta ha’e ta say this ta ye, truly I do, but we need ta get a move-on,” he said gently, still fiddling with the ends of his hair.

Jellihondor sighed and nodded ruefully. “I know, Naki. I’m sorry fer me…outburst,” he said in a quiet, somber way that caused Rethnaki to look at him in concern.

“No, tha’s not wha’ I mean!” he said, reaching out to Jellihondor. “I mean ta say, I wish ta situation were such tha’ ye could ha’e ta time ta grieve as ye want. But we don’, an’ it breaks me heart, but I ha’e ta ask ye ta come wit’ us before yer ready.” Rethnaki, grasped his commander’s hand and stared into Jellihondor’s tormented eyes. “Ye’ve not’in’ ta apologize fer! An’ I ne’er meant ta suggest ye did, sir.”

Jellihondor nodded, and looking unconvinced, withdrew his hand from Rethnaki’s. With what seemed to be great effort, he pulled himself up and stood next to Glothnafar’s body with some approximation of his usual regal dignity. Jellihondor stood tall for an elf, with a deathly still, unmoving posture. The wind began to pick up, sending his waist-length pin-straight snow-white hair flying across his face and left shoulder, but the old elf remained still as a statue. Slowly, he pulled his head up and tore his eyes away from the centaur’s corpse and looked Rethnaki, as if waiting for the younger elf to tell him what to do.

Rethnaki could feel everyone’s eyes on him and blanched under the attention. He cleared his throat and regarded his small company. They were in bad shape, deeply shaken and demoralized by the loss of the great centaur. All of them, including Jellihondor, stood staring at him, desperately waiting for orders that would restore some measure of normalcy to them.

Rethnaki knew what should be done, but he was having a very hard time bringing himself to say it out loud, as he knew his commander would not take it well. He shot Jellihondor a sympathetic, remorseful look and turned to address the rebels. “Lads, ‘tis a dark place we’re in. We’ve lost our best an’ brightest, one who aided e’ery one o’ us at one time o’ another.” All of the rebels, even young Jarthen who Rethnaki knew had had a troubled relationship with the great centaur, nodded sadly and emphatically at this.

“But, by me own count, six o’ ta Imperial bastards got away from us an’ are runnin’ back ta Susselfen as we speak. We don’ know how close they are, or if reinforcements ha’e been sent already. We need ta get back t’rough ta gate as quickly as possible.” Again, the rebels nodded in somber agreement.

Now came the hard part. Rethnaki could not bring himself to look at Jellihondor’s stricken face before he spoke. “We will burn Glothnafar’s corpse – ” a gasp erupted from most of the remaining rebels, and Rethnaki could see Jellihondor wheel around in anger from the corner of his eye. Rethnaki steeled himself and continued, “Aye, I know as well as ta rest o’ ye how it sounds, but we will burn his corpse. ‘Tis ta only way o’ gettin’ ta ta gate an’ makin’ some measure of accommodation fer him. I know how it sounds, but our only other option is runnin’ now an’ leavin’ him here as he is, which shows him no respect at all!” Rethnaki watched anxiously as his comrades’ faces furrowed and considered his proposition.

“No. We will bury him,” Jellihondor said firmly, once again staring at Glothnafar’s body.

Rethnaki felt the old elf’s cool tone sting him, and knew that he had offended him greatly. “Jelli, we don’ ha’e ta time ta do it proper – ” he started to say under his breath.

Jellihondor looked at him sharply, his anguished green eyes boring into Rethnaki, causing the younger elf to recede and tremble. “We will bury him, Rethnaki,” he said in that same firm, flat, cold voice.

Rethnaki took a step forward, aware that all the rebels were watching their two leaders argue over Glothnafar’s corpse – a morbid interaction in any case, that was compounded by the chilling prospect of Imperial Soldiers descending upon them at any moment. “Jelli, you pushed me ta be their leader an’ made it my business ta make these kinds o’ decisions. An’ yer in no state ta be t’inkin’ clearly. Please – ” he pleaded quietly.

Jellihondor raised a hand, cutting him off. In a strong, clear voice, he said, “Rethnaki, ‘tis true, yer their leader, an’ they ha’e ta obey ye. But, I am still yer leader, an’ I am pullin’ rank on ye.” Rethnaki turned a deep shade of red, partly out of embarrassment, partly because he knew how hard this was for Jellihondor, and (he could not deny it to himself) in some small part out of anger at having his authority ripped away so casually in front of his subordinates.

Jellihondor regarded him with a careful expression, and his eyes flitted over Rethnaki’s face. Rethnaki nodded, took a deep breath, and stepped back, submitting as gracefully as he could to Jellihondor’s orders. “We will bury Glothnafar. We will allow him to ha’e as much respect an’ dignity in his death as he can ha’e in such a godforsaken place as this. But Naki’s right, we don’ ha’e much time. Sellior, please tend ta ta wounded. Helkint, grab some shovels fer Naki an’ meself – we’ll be diggin’ ta grave.”

Under the watchful gaze of their elder commander, the rebels did as he asked. Sellior bandaged Moshel, Helkint retrieved the shovels, and Rethnaki, shivering, stripped down to his bare chest in the cold midmorning air.