Chapter 11: May We Meet Again
The forest had turned against him.
Every shadow stretched wrong, every branch reached like fingers, and Briv's lungs burned with the smoke that seemed to follow them even this far from the city. He ran behind Derran's broad back, his feet finding roots and stones he couldn't see, stumbling forward through the dark. The black cloak. The silhouette outside his house, standing there in the smoke and firelight, watching him. It wouldn't leave his head.
"Derran—" he gasped. "Derran, the man outside my house, the black cloak—"
"Not now, Briv." Derran's voice came back rough, breathless. "Not now."
"But he was there, I saw him, and the shadows, they keep coming toward me—"
"Briv." Qaneh's voice cut through like a blade. "Shut your mouth and run."
He shut his mouth. He ran. But the shadows kept moving at the edges of his vision, sliding between trees, pooling in the dark spaces where the moonlight couldn't reach. They were following him. They'd been following him since the ritual failed, since the scars on his back had healed into that lattice of pale, ruined flesh. The shadows knew him. They waited for him.
His foot caught a root and he pitched forward. Qaneh caught him by the collar of his shirt, hauled him upright, and shoved him forward.
"You'll fall when you're dead," Qaneh said, not unkindly. "Not before."
Briv gasped something that might have been a laugh. The forest opened ahead, the trees thinning, and suddenly he could see water glinting in the moonlight. The evacuation docks. Wooden platforms stretched out into the bay, and boats—more boats than he'd imagined Seko possessed—bobbed gently on dark water. Lanterns swung from their prows, casting long golden ripples across the lake.
Most were already gone, distant shapes moving toward the dark horizon. A handful remained, the last ones, their crews waiting.
"There they are." Derran slowed, his hand pressed to his side. "There's the last one. Come on."
Briv's legs had turned to water. He stumbled forward, his eyes scanning the boats, searching for familiar faces. A knot of civilians huddled near the dock's edge, waiting. He didn't know them. He ran past them, nearly knocking over an old woman clutching a bundle to her chest.
"They're not here," he said. The words came out in a wheeze. "They're not here. Where are they?"
"Who?" Qaneh asked.
"Everyone." Briv spun, his eyes wild. "Tyro. Chiara. Kwig. Lex. Menvi. Lurin. They were near the elemental circle, we were all supposed to meet at the elemental circle, they were supposed to be there—" His voice cracked. "Did anyone see them? Did anyone see Tyro?"
The civilians looked back at him with blank, tired faces. An old man shook his head.
Briv's chest tightened. "No. No, they were just behind me. We were at Nyra's, we were all together and—" He forced the words out, his voice high and sharp. "I sent them to the circle. I told them to meet me there. I told them—"
"Briv." Derran grabbed his shoulders, turning him. "Breathe."
"I can't—"
"Breathe." Derran's face was close, his eyes steady. "You said they were at Nyra's? The apothecary? South end?"
"Yes. We were running, and I told them to get to the circle, the old elemental circle in the fields, that's where Dad said we'd—"
Derran's expression flickered. He looked at Qaneh.
"They might not have made it," Derran said quietly. "The Tenestris were pushing north from the flats. If they went through the south fields..."
Qaneh's jaw tightened. "Then they didn't make it."
"No." Briv shook his head. "No, they were fast. Tyro's fast. He's loud but he's fast and he'd get them out of there, he wouldn't leave Chiara behind, he wouldn't—"
"Briv." Qaneh stepped close, his voice low and rough. "You have to get on the boat."
"I'm not leaving without my dad."
"Your father's not here yet."
"Then I'm not leaving."
"Yes, you are." Derran's voice was firm, the firmest Briv had ever heard it. "You're getting on that boat, and you're staying on it until your father arrives. That's what he'd want."
"I don't care what he'd want." Briv's voice cracked again. "I'm not leaving him here."
"You're not." Derran pointed at the boat. "You're getting on, you're waiting, and when he shows up, you'll be safe and he'll be safe and we'll all row away from this cursed place together."
Briv opened his mouth. Closed it. Derran was lying to him, he could see it in the older man's eyes, the same look Niek used to get when he was about to deliver news nobody wanted to hear.
But he nodded, because what else could he do? He climbed onto the final boat, the wooden planks slick with water, and stumbled down the length of it until a sailor pushed him toward a bench near the center. His hands found the gunwale and held on.
A sea of faces stared back at him. Tired. Terrified. Silent.
"Oh," he whispered, and his eyes filled with tears he was too exhausted to shed.
"Look what we've got here." A voice from the back of the boat. "Look who finally showed up."
Briv turned.
Two cages sat at the stern, nestled behind a stack of crates. Inside one, a small spotted dog wagged its tail frantically, its tongue lolling. Inside the other, a grumpy orange cat glared at the world with profound, personal disappointment.
"Peaches." Briv's voice broke. "Spot."
The dog whined and pressed its nose against the bars. Briv scrambled toward the cages, dropping to his knees in front of them, his hands going through the bars to scratch behind Peaches's ears. The dog licked his fingers frantically. Spot yawned, showing sharp teeth, and looked away.
"Hey, girl." Briv's voice was barely a whisper. "Hey, you're okay. You're okay."
"Found them near your place," a sailor said from the bench. "Little one was barking up a storm. Chewed the corner of someone's cloak before we could calm her." He shrugged. "People said they belonged to old Chris's boy. Didn't know if you'd made it."
"I made it." Briv pressed his forehead against the cage bars, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "I made it, girl. I made it."
He sat back on his heels. His eyes scanned the shoreline again, the dark tree line, the empty dock. Derran and Qaneh stood there, their silhouettes sharp against the water, waiting.
"He's coming," Briv said, more to himself than anyone else. "He said he'd be right behind me. He always keeps his promises."
"Always, eh?" Qaneh didn't turn. "He kept the ones that mattered."
The water lapped against the boat. The lanterns swayed. Minutes passed, stretching into what felt like hours.
Then the forest moved.
A figure emerged from the trees. Limping, hunched, but moving. Chris Bolgrey stumbled onto the dock, his clothes torn and bloodied, one arm pressed against his side. Behind him, a handful of civilians shuffled forward, pale and shaking, clinging to each other.
Briv's heart stopped. Then it restarted, slamming against his ribs.
"DAD!" He scrambled to his feet, almost falling over the cages. "Dad! DAD!"
Chris looked up. Even in the dim light, Briv could see the exhaustion in his face, the pallor beneath his sun-darkened skin. But he smiled—that crooked, familiar smile—and raised one hand in a wave.
"Bolovane!" Chris called, his voice rough. "You made it! Good boy!"
"Get on the boat, Da, get on the boat—"
But Chris was already helping the civilians aboard, his hands gentle despite their trembling. An old woman. A young mother clutching a baby. Two children, wide-eyed and silent. Chris guided them aboard like he'd done it a thousand times.
Briv jumped.
His boots hit the dock with a heavy thud, and he ran, splashing through the puddles, his arms grabbing for his father. Chris caught him, grunting with the impact, and for a moment Briv was wrapped in his father's arms, breathing in the smell of smoke and sweat and old leather.
"You idiot," Briv gasped against his shoulder. "You absolute idiot. What took you so long?"
"Stopped for milk." Chris's voice was muffled, but Briv could hear the smile. "You know how it is."
"I don't. I don't know how it is at all."
Chris laughed—a tired, wheezing laugh—and pushed him back. He looked terrible. Bruises bloomed across his face. Blood soaked one sleeve. But his eyes were still bright, still sharp, still Chris.
"You need to get back on the boat," Chris said.
"No. We're both getting on. That's the whole deal. Get on and look—" Briv gestured at the boat, his hand waving wildly. "There's a bench with our names on it, I promise, and Peaches is there, and Spot, and they're okay, and we're all going to row away from here and never look at Seko again and."
"Briv."
"Don't," Briv said. His voice cracked. "Don't say my name like that."
Chris reached out, his rough hand cupping the back of Briv's head, pulling his forehead against his own. He was warm despite the cold air, trembling slightly from exhaustion.
"I'm right behind you," Chris said softly. "I promise. I just need you to get on the boat first."
"You said that already."
"And I meant it then. I mean it now. Go."
Briv shook his head, but he couldn't make himself pull away. Something in Chris's voice, something quiet and final, made his throat close up.
"Da—"
"Go," Chris repeated. "I'll be right there. Soon as these folks are settled, I'm taking my seat beside you in the boat and we're going to argue about what to name it."
"Name it?"
"Every good boat needs a name, Bolovane. I was thinking the Splendid Oaf, but you tell me."
Briv laughed. It came out wet and broken. "That's the worst name I've ever heard."
"See? We're already starting the argument. Now go."
Hands found Briv's shoulders. Derran and Qaneh, pulling him gently back toward the boat.
"Easy now," Qaneh murmured. "Easy."
"He's coming," Briv said as they pulled him along. "He's coming right behind me."
"He is." Derran glanced back at Chris. "We've got him, Briv. Get on the boat."
Briv let himself be lifted back over the gunwale. His feet found the deck. His hands found the rail.
The boat began to move.
"Wait," Briv said. "Wait, he's not on yet—"
"He's coming," Derran called to the sailors. "Hold steady, keep the lanterns low—"
The boat slid away from the dock, smooth and silent. Briv grabbed the rail, leaning over, watching his father. Chris stood on the dock, watching him back. The water widened between them.
And then Briv saw them.
Glowing violet eyes, behind his father. Rising from the trees like wolves, five figures in black armor, their faces lost in shadow, their eyes burning with unnatural light.
"DAD!" Briv's scream tore through his throat. "BEHIND YOU!"
Chris turned. The soldiers were on him.
The dock exploded into chaos. Steel flashed in the lantern light, sparks showering as Chris drew his sword and met the first soldier mid-lunge. His blade caught the soldier's, drove it aside, and he slammed the pommel into the soldier's face. The man dropped.
"CHRIS!" Derran roared. He was already off the boat, splashing through the shallows, charging back toward the dock. "CHRIS, I'M COMING—"
Another soldier came in low. Chris parried, grunted, pivoted. His foot slipped on the wet wood, and he staggered, barely keeping his feet. A blade sliced across his already wounded arm. He bit back a cry.
Briv was frozen. The boat was moving, drifting away, the water growing deeper. He couldn't see the bottom anymore. He couldn't move.
"Briv, stay—" Qaneh was beside him, gripping his arm.
"Let go! Let go of me!"
"CHRIS!" Derran reached the dock, sword drawn. He drove the nearest soldier back, putting himself between the attackers and Chris. Two pairs of blades sang in the night.
The soldiers were fast. Too fast. One caught Derran's blade, twisted, and stamped his boot into Derran's knee. Derran went down with a cry of pain.
Chris grabbed him, hauled him up, shoved him behind. "Stay down!"
"Not on your—"
"Stay down, Derran!"
But he was overwhelmed. Three soldiers pressed him, their blades coming in from impossible angles. Chris fought, God, he fought, but he was exhausted, bleeding, old. One soldier's boot caught him in the chest, and he crashed onto the dock, his sword skittering away across the boards.
Briv watched. Helpless. The boat was too far gone now, the water too deep. He couldn't reach him. He couldn't—
A soldier stepped forward, raising his blade to strike.
Steel clashed against steel.
Not Chris's. He was on his back, unarmed. And the soldier's blade hadn't completed its descent. It hung in the air, caught by an unseen edge, sparks showering from the clash.
Another soldier gurgled and collapsed, a black shaft protruding from his throat.
Then another fell. Then another.
The soldier who'd been about to strike twitched, his eyes going wide and glassy. Something invisible punched through his chest. He looked down, puzzled, and then toppled sideways into the water.
Rising somewhere nearby.
The last two soldiers died without making a sound. They crumpled onto the dock, their violet eyes fading to nothing, and then there was silence.
Briv stood frozen in the boat, his breath caught in his throat. Chris lay on the dock, staring up at the empty air above him, his mouth open. Derran, on his knees, looked around wildly, his sword still raised.
"What—" Derran breathed. "What was that?"
Chris slowly pushed himself upright. He was looking at something. Someone. Briv couldn't see them, but he saw his father, his tired face moving across the battlefield, recognition and confusion and something that looked almost like grief.
"You," Chris said.
A pause.
"I remember you."
Something was said, too low for Briv to hear. His throat was raw, burning, and the night air hung thick and heavy, laced with the smell of blood, the terrible silence broken by nothing.
"I told you the day she died," Chris said. "I didn't remember. I didn't remember her calling my name. I stood there, watching the flames, and I didn't remember—"
The unseen speaker cut him off.
Chris nodded slowly. He reached forward, his hand moving as if to touch someone, and for a moment, Briv saw the shape he was reaching for: a shadow within shadow, a figure of impossible clarity, as if the air itself had been carved into a human form.
"Thank you," Chris said. "For him."
The shadow seemed to bow its head.
Chris, a body pulled into himself by an act the world refused to let him see, turned back.
"Briv," he called. "I'm coming."
He took a step.
The black arrow hit him in the chest.
The sound it made was small, almost nothing, like a clenched fist striking water. Chris took a surprised step backward. He looked down at the shaft protruding from his ribs, his expression almost puzzled.
"Ah," he said. And then his knees gave out.
"NO!" Briv didn't think. He was over the side of the boat, into the shallow water, splashing toward the shore. His boots found the bottom. He ran, dragging himself through the reeds, onto the dock, his body moving faster than thought.
"Dad! Dad, Dad, Dad—" He collapsed beside his father, his hands gripping Chris's shoulders, his eyes searching the wound in the lamplight.
Chris's hand moved, catching Briv's and squeezing. His face was pale, but he still smiled, the expression softened by effort.
"Hey, Bolovane," he wheezed. "Told you I was coming."
"Shut up. Shut up, I'm going to get Niek, Niek will fix you, Niek—"
"Niek's dead, son." Chris's voice was quiet, sad. "He's gone."
Briv's mind went blank. "No. He's not. He's at the healery, he's waiting for us, Dad, he always waits for us—"
"Listen." Chris's grip tightened. There was blood on his lips now, bright red in the lantern light. "Listen to me. You're going to get on that boat, and you're going to get out of here."
"I'm not leaving you—"
"You're going to leave me." Chris's voice was weak but commanding, all the strength he had left behind it. "You're going to leave me, and you're going to live, and you're going to find your mother and tell her I'm sorry I was an idiot who never learned to say the words out loud."
"Dad—"
"Tell her I loved you every day. Every single day, Briv, even when I didn't say it. You tell her that for me."
Briv was sobbing now, tears running down his face, his hands pressed against his father's chest as if he could hold the blood in. "Please. Please don't go, Da."
Chris smiled. His eyes grew soft.
"I'll be with your mother." He coughed, a wet sound that shook his whole body. "That's not so bad, is it?"
"Da—"
"Promise me. Promise me you'll get on that boat."
"Dad, I can't—"
"Promise me, Briv."
He broke for a moment, a shuddering, breathless sound, and then he whispered, "Promise me, Bolovane."
Briv's hand tightened on his father's.
"May we meet again," he heard himself say.
The words came out soft and cracked, and Chris's smile widened. He lifted his bloody hand, pressed it to Briv's chest, just above the heart.
"Bolovane," he breathed.
His hand fell.
"NO!" Something pulled Briv backward across the boards, arms gripping him, dragging him away. He fought them blind, sobbing, reaching for the body.
He saw a splash of red, a final breath that lifted his frame, and then it stopped.
He didn't see it stop.
He'd be grateful for that later, in the years that came.
"Grab him, get him aboard, get him aboard—" Qaneh was shouting, his hands locked around Briv's chest, half-carrying him through the shallows. Menvi's face appeared somewhere, tear-streaked and pale, hauling at Briv's arms, and Lex was there too, his hand gripping Briv's shoulder.
"No, No! Dad! DAD!"
Briv's world dissolved into fragments.
Infinite pieces splintering off, shattering into the water, wild and failing.
Faces swimming past, hands reaching for him, voices rising around him, until the water turned to wood and the wood was moving underneath him, and he was being pressed down onto a bench.
"Let me go! Let me go, he needs me, he's still alive, he's still—"
The boat was moving. The shoreline was receding. He couldn't see the dock anymore, couldn't make out the shape of his father in the darkness, couldn't find the body, still lying there, waiting for help that would never come.
"His hand," he heard himself say, broken. "He's still holding my hand."
"Briv." Chiara's voice. She was beside him, her face red, her black eyes overflowing. "Briv, he's gone."
"No, he's not—"
"He is, Briv. He's gone."
He went limp. His head fell forward. The boat kept moving, cutting through the dark water, and behind them the city of Seko burned orange and gold against the night sky. Sky lit by flames. Sparks scattered like memories.
He could see his father's face in the flames.
He could see him standing in the doorway of their farmhouse, laughing at something Briv had said. He could see him sitting at the table with Niek, arguing over something stupid, his hands gesturing wildly. He could see him teaching Briv how to hold a sword, his voice patient despite his own impatience, his eyes fond despite his own pride.
And then, somewhere far behind them, the shoreline of Seko disappeared into darkness.
And Briv spoke the only words he had left.
"May we meet again."
The boat carried him into the night.