It turned out that all his worries were for nothing, though there was one oddity he didn't quite understand, without bodies to bury. “You burn the deceased…and then gather the Etteria from their body?”
“Aye. It’s a rite of tradition. As a person ages, regardless of species, the lattice of Etteria grows within them. Not adversarial to life, but it changes and grows more complex. If anything, it strengthens a person, over time.” Varrick tapped his chest for emphasis, as Shawn threw on a more formal-looking tunic, courtesy of Garrett, who matched his size. Varrick was just a titan among the Aveeran, Shawn realized. Taller, broader, and his gestalt was utterly metal, and untapped. “We gather the Etteria and make artifacts of it. Most of the time, the powers granted by the Etteria vanish…but in rare instances…some trace of the gestalt remains. Usually, it goes to the next of kin. Or, sometimes, it’s donated to others.”
“Could people gain powers from it? I don’t want to sound morbid, but–”
Varrick gave him a reassuring nod. “Not something other people haven’t thought of, no. There’s something about the death of a person that renders the Etteria mostly inert–in most instances. No one who has studied it fully understands yet. But, no, gestalts can only reinforce or grant new powers when it's unearthed fresh.”
Claire helped him with the buttons on the wings in the meantime, though he had insisted that he could do it by himself. “You know, if I’m stuck like this, I’ll have to do this on my own.”
“You’re pretty chill about this, you know that?” It wasn’t the first time she’d said it, and he rolled his eyes.
“I have two hands, two legs, and I don’t have the urge to peck for bits of food on the ground, Claire. Oh, and two wings. We need to add flight practice to my routine, along with our militia training.” He rotated his wings gently and Claire got a face full of feathers, and she punched him in the wing in response. “Hey, clear my airspace, land dweller,” he added with a crease of his beak.
“You’re not even remotely bothered by the change? Assuming we get back home–and that’s a big if–your mom is gonna be pissed when she finds out she has a chicken for a son!” Claire scolded and gave his feather crest a tousling.
“Oh, I'm a little bothered by it. I have this weird magnetic sense of direction. My sense of balance is super sensitive, and I worry I'm gonna trip on my own two feet." He took a moment to put foot wraps around his clawed feet, mimicking what Varrick had done to dress up for the occasion. Boots and other footwear could be made for an Aveeran, and he'd seen a few wearing them. But, they required some effort to make to conform to the talons.
He glanced up from his seated position, with Claire being unreadable. "Yeah, us having to tell my mom she now has an avian for a son? That's going to be a hard sell. But, that’s a problem for another day. The first thing I want to do, is figure out that supercharged Etteria with your genius chemistry skills, let’s see what we can learn about it.” He straightened the collar, and the tunic felt snug. Claire had also gotten a set of simple clothes from one of the other human families in the town, but it was serviceable. She tied back her hair and pressed her lips firmly as she examined him. “What, are my feathers out of sorts?”
“No. I just…I mean, it’s not a terrible look for you,” she added hesitantly, before grabbing a comb and smoothing his feather crest, much to his annoyance. “You still make that same scowl when I’m giving you shit for stuff.” It was a decent attempt to make it a little less somber.
“Glad some things haven’t changed. Let’s get going, we don’t want to be late.”
Several minutes later, they had gathered with a small chunk of the town and were floating a few simple rafts on the river, filled with small mementos of the fallen: Shawn was surprised that several people from this town had volunteered on the orbital retreat. Telga was dressed in a white and black trim tunic, her feathers no longer sooty–but her eyes still wore the same dread he’d seen from her when she looked upon the visage of her brother, possessing his men like they were nothing more than biological puppets.
It was the only outward sign he noticed that she was not doing okay. She blamed herself for their deaths. He knew because it was the same look he’d seen in the mirror, for far too long.
Varrick nudged him gently while they stood in the crowd, and spoke barely above a whisper. “Usually we do a pyre for…the process. But, given the circumstances, the sawmill guys offered this. It was done in the past, for a few settlements as a historical trend. Their tradition was to send the fallen–or their keepsakes–to the lake downstream, with a single lantern to guide them to the stars beyond.”
“Yeah. That nebula is an ocean of stars. I’ve never seen anything like it,” Shawn murmured. He didn’t question the implication that the culture held a belief in a life beyond death. Especially, after witnessing living gods and magic that took his science texts, and told him everything he knew was wrong.
Shawn glanced at the audience, all gathered and a few sobbing, a few looking stoically, keepsakes and pictures clutched to their chest. A few children–a human, and a cat-like girl, stood by the front, sobbing. They were holding hands as Telga read off the names of the fallen. They looked young, no more than four, maybe five years old. He felt a tightening of his throat when he thought about it.
Five years old, and having to go through this. Knowing friends and family were killed by a mad god, and that more would almost certainly follow. They won’t be the last, Halsey. But I sure as hell will make sure Revarik’s little conquest is short-lived.
Best to pay attention. There will be time for that, once we get other pieces in motion.
Telga also called upon the family members to speak–apparently, several had approached her before this and had prepared a few words. The little girl with brown hair and green eyes, joined her father, a tall man with lean muscle and calloused hands. He helped her to the front, where she spoke, her small voice trembling.
“My big brother was up there, in the stars with our Radiant. He always told me he would bring me up there, someday. He said, ‘The view of our world is like watching a garden. Beautiful, tended with love.'” She let out a soft sniffle, rubbing her eyes to wipe away her tears. “I hope to grow wings someday and find him up there.”
She stepped away to her spot on the side, held with love by her presumptive father, who was doing his best to hide his tears. A man built for a hard life, having to say farewell to his son, too soon.
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A few more spoke, after a rather quiet moment of reflection. One, an Aveeran with bright green feathers, spoke fondly of his wife, and how her gestalt had been used to tend to the various systems that kept that orbital platform functional. Another spoke of their daughter’s fascination with science. Likely, she worked in one of the laboratories Shawn had noted on their brief visit there.
But eventually, everyone had spoken, and Telga nodded to a black and white Aveeran before preparing her last statement. “I wish I had more to offer than a memorial. We’ve spoken to the capital, and the other Radiants, who have told us their courage under fire will not have been in vain.”
Golden eyes shimmered with teary mist, and Telga expertly wiped them away after turning her head briefly. Claire stood next to him, holding his hand gently. He hadn’t even noticed it until he looked down. He then glanced at her determined expression, her gaze fixed on the raft filled with a few black and white photographs. It was strange, seeing the infancy of photography, here in Remaria, but he also saw the more familiar few floral arrangements.
Roses. Just like the ones we laid on Maggie's casket. He felt that pang of heartache. Ten years, Maggie. We thought you gone. And my mind shut out the impossibility. He rubbed at his wrist gently, standing stoically at attention while Telga finished.
“We bid farewell to our loved ones, and we, the Radiants, hold with our hearts that the fallen will be guided to the shores of Aetir, the great shoal sitting on the window to the beyond.” Her gaze lifted upward, likely referring to the nebula that shone at night. At least, that’s what Shawn inferred.
She closed her notebook and nodded to the man who cast off the small float, carried by the river's gentle current. Eventually, the raft rounded a riverbend, past a forested embankment, and disappeared from view. People looked on for a few minutes–two Aveerans, looking like a brother and sister, gave a haunting call that Shawn was sure no human could replicate. It was mournful…and serene, in a way, as their voices complimented one another.
“They’re lucky,” Regia murmured beside him, dressed neatly in a brown and black tunic behind him, having been quiet the whole time. He saw the bloodshot eyes and puffy feathers on her cheeks–she’d been crying a bit, before, but not here. “Their fight’s ended. Ours is just getting started, Shawn.”
“That it is.” Revarik wasn’t the only danger on this wild and untamed planet he had to be worried about. Even the local wildlife presented a problem, with their scale of lethality. He peered around to see the crowd slowly dispersing, after having broken into smaller groups, or some returning home in the late afternoon sun, starting to dip below the apex of the titan trees.
Regia regarded him with curiosity. “You have rights of remembrance where you were, yes?”
“For most people? There were a few.” He glanced her way, and he continued. “Depending on where you lived or what your belief was, sometimes they’d bury the departed in the earth. Or they might do a cremation. Some would entomb their fallen, preserve their bodies, and leave them in underground chambers. Some of that might sound silly, but…people had a lot of different ways of coping with the loss of those whose time had come.”
“It’s not silly. You go on another tectonic slab of rock, they burn their dead. Another rock? Unlike us, they carve out the heart and eat it, like they can ingest the Etteria and make themselves stronger. I’m no stranger to seeing weird and wild things, Shawn. Yours sounds pretty tame, by comparison,” she assured him.
“They’d eat the heart?” he echoed, and put a hand over his chest, feeling anxiety. “Alive or dead?”
“Yes,” she answered with a smirk. He felt that clarifying this one would do more harm than good if he inquired further. “Anyway, Varrick is letting me borrow you guys for militia training. I suppose in your case, we can skip the bare-bones basics, you guys need real survival training, and I think you'd be useful, given your skills. Are you guys up for it this afternoon?”
“Gladly,” he rumbled. “I could use something to take my mind off a day like this, you know? What do you have in mind?”
“Target shooting and gestalt usage. You know, the fun stuff.”
“Let me change out of this gear, I'm game for that. I also need to borrow one of the alchemical rifles, to get a feel for some things. But uh, I think I need to do something first." It was odd, knowing the strongest person in this town, was feeling her weakest, at this moment.
He stepped to the waterfront, where Telga lingered and sat on the dock, hands clasped together. She had a mournful look about her; not unexpected, either. He tried to scale the loss of Maggie, to what she had just experienced.
She said her farewells to twenty people. Twenty names. Hopes and dreams, turned to dust in the atmosphere. He rubbed his hand gently, knowing she needed time–or assurances.
“Hey, how are you holding up?” He finally worked up the courage to speak.
“Better than I have any right to be,” she murmured gently, the water lapping gently on the shore of the dock. She had a small silver pendant looped on a necklace that she was peering at--it looked like a locket, with a photograph inside. He didn't get a chance to inquire before she tucked it away under the collar of her tunic, and said nothing about it. She rose to address him properly. “Shawn. This will repeat itself all over Remaria, because Revarik won’t stop until he has what he wants. Do you think you have something you can contribute?”
"Telga, be straight with me." He leaned in. "What exactly is he after? You've pointed him out as terrible being, but I don't know his exact plans."
"He believes the Radiants must reunite the planet. Except, with his role as the Radiant of Conquest...there's only one way to go about it. By force." She almost sounded monotone when she said that. "He thinks the planet is sick. He thinks it's dying. That we must find the cure, to make the world whole again. But if he does that...this world will crush under that cataclysmic collision."
"Regia wasn't kidding, huh?" he asked somberly. She shook her head slowly.
"I knew him best. He was brilliant. A lot of Radiants looked up to him for his ideas. Then he got it in his head that he would do anything necessary to secure his strength, and the safety of this world--well, his world. His plans all lead to our destruction. Which is why we have to stop him."
"And he thinks you're the biggest threat?"
Her eyes locked on him, a shroud of anger just below the surface. "You think I don't know how this looks? My own brother has done this, Shawn. He took the core world and Seluniri, the second-deepest orbital layer, and killed everyone in his way. I can't even utter aloud what I witnessed him do personally--" She inhaled sharply, and clenched her beak tightly, before recomposing herself a few seconds later. "Everything I do now--everything I have left--is to preserve Valtiria, and beyond, from his fell influence."
Halsey, she might be as damaged as me, if she's not lying. She was masking her pain whenever people were looking. Or, trying to. Should he lean into it, a little?
He tried to use a rational approach. “Well, I don't know about stopping a god just yet, but I can help with arms and armor, for starters. Plus whatever else I can invent along the way, to make it happen.” He took a measured breath and peered at her reaction. “I think I can use my gestalt to build stuff. When we’re not getting trained by the militia, we’re testing and building. Get myself and Claire the resources we need, and we’ll make things happen. I think I can make your rifles more effective for one, and I have some plans for the ammunition. But we’re talking a couple of weeks for solid results. Maybe more.”
“What do you need?”
“I need to get that mine nearby open and operational, or sufficient imports of various metals and chemicals. I need a metal press. There's an ammo bench in Varrick's shop but I need tools to modify it for what I have planned. I need to build some new machinery for precision cutting and metalwork. All that requires the mine is supplying us. I’m going in there to clear it out myself if needs be,” he stated, sounding determined. “Let’s work on that goal first. Without it, none of the other plans work. That, or a steady supply line of materials. Are you on board with that idea?”
She glanced down at the now-empty river bend, before turning to him. “Then, let’s make that happen. Garrett, Regia? Give them some introductory lessons on how we do things in Remaria.”
Regia lit up like a beacon, and grinned at him. “Oh, I like this plan. Garrett, where do we start?”
“Same place I start with all the recruits. See how far they get on their own skill, first, and take a tally of everything they do wrong,” he added calmly. Those raptor green eyes were already locked on him, and he knew this was a test he couldn’t afford to fail. “Let’s meet there in one hour.”
Even as Shawn moves on to the next task...he realizes this ordeal has already resulted in lives lost.
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