Aftermath

The journey back to Zuhaxea was a strange affair. People grouped up by their state of emotion. Some were walking wide-eyed, looking at the ground, others cried, or walked in sombre silence with a heavy air of guilt. There were also those who cheered or chanted to celebrate the victory. Many were confused about which group they should be in.

They buried Ibai at an old harrespil outside Zuhaxea. He was just a regular person, no procession was carried out and no music played. He was one of the rare bodies that was even recovered from the site of the battle. There were talks that after the imperial army was long gone an expedition would take place to take care of the deceased, but until then the carrion birds would feast.

Corbin and Ilargi began helping in an infirmary, where they assisted the healers.

Despite their best efforts and the help of Esti’s magic, there were too many wounded and even days after the fight was over, people still died. There was uncertainty in the air. Some people simply left Zuhaxea without saying a word. Tensions rose and fights broke out. One day, a few weeks after the battle, Amane disappeared. She didn’t tell anybody about her intentions or left any note. In a panic Fermin left to search for her, but found nothing. Eventually he just came back.

“What do you think happened to her?” Corbin asked Ilargi.

“She didn’t tell me,” Ilargi said. She was annoyed by that, but also sad. “I thought she trusted me.”

“What if she was captured or worse?”

“I don’t think so. There are rumours going around.”

“What kind?” Corbin asked. Ilargi glanced around and lowered her voice.

“Apparently glimpses of her had been seen in many cities across Errautsuen Herria. But everyone always only saw her in a crowd from afar. I’m sure some rumours are false, but I would say that she is at least alive and free. The rumours about her collaboration with the Empire are also gaining traction again, but it’s obviously not true.”

“Yes … I see,” Corbin said.

“What is it?” Ilargi asked. Corbin looked down and took a breath to focus himself.

“We never really talked about what happened to Ibai.”

“He died,” Ilargi said, looking at him as if he was crazy.

“Yes, but I thought that perhaps you would like to talk about it.”

“Not really.”

“I see. But feel free if you change your mind. I want to be someone who you can talk to and support you,” Corbin said. Ilargi stared at him, then looked away. She brought her hands to her face, but it was impossible to see what she was doing. She turned around and made a little sniffle.

“Well, the old man was like a father to me. He was silent and tough, but he was far kinder than anyone I had ever seen. He was like steel from the outside, but had the softest heart. I can’t …” Ilargi said and turned away again. “Well he, that one time he …” Ilargi turned away again. This time Corbin stepped closer and held Ilargi in a tight embrace. She was still facing away from him and every now and then she shook as another suppressed sob escaped her. They just stood like that for a while until Ilargi put her hands over his, moved them away and took hold of them. She locked eyes with Corbin and he felt her stare deep into his soul. “Thank you,” she said and wiped the tears from her face, with a tiny smile. “Come to the stalls in the evening. We will have sword practice today.”

“What? Are you sure thats …” Corbin said, but stopped at her intense stare. They hadn’t done any practice since before the battle at Aizertz pass.

“Just be there,” Ilargi said sternly. Then her face softened. “Please.” At that expression Corbin felt his heart squeeze painfully and he could do nothing but nod.

That evening she fought with more grace than Corbin had ever seen before. Every movement was a part of a dance and he let himself be led by her, answering each blow with one of his own. After it was over, they both almost collapsed to the ground. They laid on the grass beneath the trees and the rising Moon, their heads together and legs away from each other.

“I don’t like it,” Ilargi said.

“What?” Corbin asked.

“It’s strange. Despite everything I have always loved this land. But now it just seems so hollow. I don’t know what to do,” she said and sighed. Corbin wished he had something he could say to make her feel better, but he didn’t have anything. He only spoke after a long silence.

“Neither do I. I thought I would find somebody to help me, but I think I might have to remain here for the rest of my life.”

“Do you have anyone back there?”

“Just my father. I can’t imagine what he’s going through right now.”

“I’m sorry,” she said and Corbin chuckled. “What?” She said confounded.

“I just remembered we had a similar conversation not so long ago,” Corbin said. He looked at Ilargi, who was slightly red in the face, but it was probably just exhaustion from the practice.

After Amane disappeared, Oihan slowly began usurping all authority and assumed command over the uprising. He even used Amane’s name to call for new attacks against the enemies of Errautsuen Herria, implying that she was taken by them, but as his power grew, Amane’s name quickly faded away from public consciousness. Luken seemed content to let Oihan lead. He only made some comments about peace at the start, but then moved away from leading the people. The people of Zuhaxea were split between those that welcomed new attacks with zealous enthusiasm and those who were left cold. Fights broke out regularly.

“There had always been an occasional drunken brawl,” Ilargi said. “But there has never been this much resentment between the people. You know, I am starting to think about leaving. Many others already have and there is less and less here to keep me around. There weren’t many people I loved before, but now even most of those have gone.”

“Where would you go?”

“I don’t know, maybe just any city. The thought of leaving Errautsuen Herria occurred to me, but there is nowhere I can go. I can barely even speak a couple of words of Izotal or Zikinarian. Ibai was right. I should’ve studied. Besides, lately I don’t really feel completely safe in here.”

It was the middle of autumn. Ilargi and Corbin kept up their ritual for all those weeks and even in the uneasy atmosphere of Zuhaxea the strange became mundane. The autumn brought chilly winds and showers, but also the apples. People climbed into trees and used their entire bodies to shake branches and trunk, making the ripe fruit fall to the ground, where it was collected into baskets. All manner of baked goods were made, but the most important was happening at the centre of Zuhaxea, where apples were gathered on a wooden platform.

Two women and two men stood in the midst of the fruit holding long sticks, which ended in large flat blocks of wood. The first woman began striking the block to the apples and the wooden floor in a steady rhythm. A couple of beats later one of the men joined. One by one all four were beating the apples, creating a strange, syncopated rhythm. Apples were being crushed and pieces of them flew around. One of the men began chanting and soon all the others joined in unison.

“What is happening?” Corbin whispered into Ilargi’s ear as they watched the ceremony.

“It’s a tradition. These apples will be used for making cider. It is supposed to be a sign of peace and prosperity,” Ilargi whispered back. She sighed at the last words. “I hope the peace at least lasts for this day.”

Some people looked at the apple crushers, but only a rare few chanted along. Bags of apples were being carried around, slung over shoulders. Corbin and Ilargi just watched over the proceedings

“Hey, you two,” Fermin’s voice came behind them. They both jumped a little as they were brought out of their collective reverie. “I need to speak with you,” he continued in a serious tone. “Meet me tonight at the harrespil,” he only waited for their nods then left them behind.