Hamel retrieved the cart and pulled up next to where the four men had fallen. Three of the men were light and easy to lift into the cart, but the larger man gave Hamel some trouble. His shoulder still ached from his fight with the two assassins, and he cried out in pain as he pushed the man's bulk up and over the side of the cart.

He collected the two guards' horses, as well as his own, and secured all three to the back of the cart. He then hopped onto the seat of the cart and grabbed the reigns. The best place to hide the bodies and deal with the cart was in the abandoned city.

The road into the Benjelton was in great condition. There was the occasional rock or boulder that had rolled onto the road, but the way was relatively clear and wide enough for four carts to travel side-by-side, if needed.

While the city was not as large as Ridge Capital, it was still massive. He had always marveled at the size of the abandoned cities. His people could now barely fill the Capital, but there had been a point in their history when they had once filled not only Ridge Capital but also Benjelton and eight or ten other large cities in addition to many small towns and villages. The ruins of the cities were a testament to their long lost glory.

The People of the Ridge had been coming up with theories as to what had caused their downfall for generations. The best theory he had heard was really no theory at all, just an assumption. Something had happened in their history a little over three hundred years before. It was assumed that prior to that point, the People of the Ridge had filled the cities. The earliest records they had showed a mass migration away from the cities and towns throughout the region and into the Capital. The assumption was simply that something "had happened." It was a disappointing and empty assumption, but it was all they could manage.

The majority of people had long since given up on caring, although Hamel had always felt the matter was crucial to their understanding of who they were and how they could move forward. The original generation who had gone through the event gave conflicting reports—everything from the casual mention of sickness to a very detailed and overly dramatic description of a wave of death washing over the nation. Whatever had happened, it had happened fast.

Once the people had realized they were losing numbers in their population, they sought to have many children. Sadly, few could have any more than two, while many could only have one or no children. With the deaths through the many battles with the Beasts, wars in the North, and with few children born, they had experienced a steady decrease in their population for many, many years.

Everyone knew they were a people on the way to extinction. It was just a matter of time.

Hamel reached the edge of Benjelton. The city was entirely walled in, unlike the Capital. As he passed through the open gate, he examined the crumbling buildings. They were still solid and in relatively great shape considering the lack of care over the years, but they showed signs of needed upkeep. The architecture was quite similar to the buildings in the Capital. The buildings were tall, multi-storied, built out of stone, and each wall contained many windows.

The streets were wide and, similar to the Capital, made of stone blocks. The open space allowed for easy travel, and many of the buildings had large courtyards in the front, surrounded by knee-high walls or rusted iron fences. Now and then he came across a fountain. The occasional one had a bit of slow-moving water trickling out, but most appeared as though it had been decades since water had flowed through them.

The shadows grew longer until he could no longer see the sun over the tops of the buildings. He hoped to settle in for the night well before dark.

Most of the buildings were in a similar condition to one another. They were well built and had stood the test of time. The only buildings he found that had not survived were the libraries. Their blackened walls and open, gaping windows revealed a hollowed-out interior. Whoever had destroyed them had wanted the people not to have access to certain information.

Hamel considered that thought for a moment and wondered what information had been kept from them. It was obvious they had lost a lot of knowledge of their past. However, the burning of the libraries suggested more than just random information lost, but an intention to remove all access to knowledge. Perhaps it was their history, perhaps something else.

He reflected back on the libraries in the Capital. They had not shown any obvious signs of a fire, yet the shelves inside were sparsely filled. It had always been said that the architects of the libraries had designed them larger than needed to allow for many books to be written, but Hamel began to wonder if the library shelves in the Capital were empty not in anticipation, but as a result of an act of removal. It was a concerning thought.

He rounded a corner past the third burnt down library and came to a stop. Before him was the City Center. It was as large as the Center in the Capital with as many buildings around the outside of the open area. The Council Chambers were easy to recognize. They were almost identical in style to the Chambers back home, including the steps leading up to the doors. The surprising part about the courtyard, however, was the life. There were no animals to be seen, aside from birds, but the fountain in the center of the courtyard was not dry, nor was it showing a trickle of water. The water it produced flowed out of the fountain like a stream. In contrast to the rest of the city, the entire area around the fountain was green. There were even three apple trees.

He expected to remain in the city for at least two days. The oasis would be a welcome source of water for him and the horses.

He turned the cart to the left to travel around the side of the courtyard away from the Council Chambers. He needed to dispose of the bodies and felt the Treasury was likely his best option. He pulled the cart in front and climbed the few steps to the doorway. The door, made of solid wood, stood wide open and was in good condition.

He stepped inside and took in the empty building. The place had been ransacked. It was not surprising. Even if the gold and silver had been left when the city had been abandoned, someone over the centuries would have looted the place eventually. The building itself, however, was solid. No walls were down. Hamel decided it would be the perfect place to dispose of the bodies.

He used one of the traders' horses to move each of the bodies of the men from the cart to the building. He then closed the solid door and led the horses to the water. He left them there while he looked for a stable in decent condition. Upon finding one tucked behind an old theatre, he retrieved the horses one at a time and placed each one in a stall, providing food for them from the cart. He appreciated the skill of the ancient architects. They had built their structures, even their stables, to last.

The cart itself he left in the open as he made his way across the courtyard toward the Council Chambers. The fountain had created a small pond in the center of the area with a river flowing off between the theater and the city's military headquarters. He crossed the small flowing river and approached the Council Chambers.

As he climbed the steps to the Chambers, his stomach turned. He longed for simpler times. He had loved his years as an Honored Patir and missed serving his people in that capacity. He had so many fond memories, but that was behind him. For now, he had more important matters to attend to.

He pushed open the great doors. Inside was a large foyer where people could stand as they awaited an audience with the Council or where Council members, when not in session, could meet with the people. The foyer appeared as though it had once been richly decorated, but the years had not been gentle on the room.

Hamel left the large outer doors open for a moment while he opened the Inner Council Chambers. The Chambers inside were much like the foyer—a poor image of its former glory. At one point, the leadership of the city would have met there, offering counsel and guidance and direction for the people. Three hundred years later, it looked more like a dungeon.

He returned to the courtyard and collected dry sticks and logs from some of the few trees that grew in that small area. The light was failing, and he would need to move quickly.

Once back inside the Inner Council Chambers, he built a fire and then turned to close the outside door. There were few animals in the wilderness, but he suspected so close to a water supply there was a greater chance of meeting a predator.

Hamel sat down and soaked in the light and warmth of the fire. He leaned back against one of the raised platforms set up high for the Council members. He had struggled so much over the last few days, but he felt in this place, he could relax. His meeting with Mellel had helped to take the pressure off his heart, and the sense of safety and security that seemed to fill the Council Chambers was encouraging.

His mind went back to Lillel and his children. For the first time in many years, he thought of them in terms of good memories, rather than pain and a sense of loss. He longed for them to be with him and deep inside, he felt the grief of their loss but smiled instead at the joy he found in their memory. He pulled out some water and took a drink while he continued to reminisce.

His mind drifted to Markel. The look on the boy's face when Hamel had commanded him to go to Captain Cuttel was a painful memory, but it was the right decision. Not only was it the best place for him to be, but Hamel also needed to know Markel was with the Captain. Cuttel would keep him close.

The thought of Cuttel brought him back to Mariel. If the look on Markel's face was a painful memory, it was nothing compared to what he felt for his daughter. He had put her through a lot in recent months.

It was necessary. He could not have given her his blessing. He had held back the Patir's Kiss and would do it again.

His mind then drifted to Karotel, but he stopped his thoughts and brought his mind back to the present. He would not go down that road in his mind—not until his heart was more settled.

On the wall opposite the Council seats was a large tapestry. It was a familiar pattern. It was similar to one of the tapestries that were often displayed in the Council Chambers in the Capital. It was largely red and black and showed a picture of a great battle, the details of which had been lost to history.

But it wasn't the tapestry that had caught his eye. Unlike his own Council Chambers, the Chambers in Benjelton contained an image on the wall behind where the tapestry hung.

He rose to his feet and walked to the tapestry. It was in shreds, but Hamel suspected it was not from vandals. The material appeared weak from the years it had hung on the wall. A light pull from his hands and most of it came down. The room filled with dust, and he quickly retreated to the other side, covering his mouth and coughing repeatedly.

Once he could breathe comfortably again, he examined the image on the wall. In the flickering light of the fire, he could see it was a mosaic. It was beautifully crafted, and it appeared as though not one of the tiles were missing. Hamel stared in awe at the craftsmanship of the work. He had seen the occasional mosaic in the Capital, but nothing that even came close to the beauty that lay before him.

He sat back down and grabbed his waterskin. The mosaic was truly marvelous, but he could not understand the meaning of the image. It was simple enough in one sense. It was a picture of people—of a family. But what made it confusing was the artist appeared to be trying to represent something, the meaning of which must have been lost to time.

In the center, down near the bottom were three children playing. They were young with the oldest only just on his two feet, while the other two looked to be infants. There were stories told of two children born at one time from the same Matir. They said the children would then be the same age and often they would look identical to one another. He wondered if the legends had come from an image such as what he saw before him.

Crouching down next to the children were the Matir and the Patir. They appeared happy and proud of their children. Next to them, on either side, were another four or five other adults, all of whom looked on as though they were proud of the children before them. He did not understand what that part of the image could refer to. He wondered if perhaps it represented cousins or brothers and sisters of the Matir and Patir.

The part that was strangest to him, however, was the two people above the Matir and Patir. Not only did the design of the mosaic make it look as though they were a Matir and Patir of the ones below, but the artist had drawn them as though they were ill. They were each bent over, just slightly, as though they were too tired to stand up straight. Both had white hair. The Matir had long hair, down nearly to her waist, while the Patir's hair was mostly gone.

There were, of course, many men and women among the People of the Ridge who found their hair had grown white. Hamel himself had a fair amount of white growing on his head, but rarely did anyone experience completely white hair. He thought about his own hair and for the first time realized something that should have been obvious. With each year, he had gained a little more white hair. If that continued, eventually he would have only white hair.

Hamel took in the image of the Matir and Patir with white hair once again. He wondered if perhaps the two people in the image were like him. Perhaps they had both escaped the Dusk and lived well past their thirty-fourth year. If that were so, then he was not the first to have done this. Perhaps he would not be the last. Perhaps the mosaic was a tribute to two people such as himself upon whom the Dusk had not fallen.

He continued to examine the image. It was truly a work of art, regardless of its meaning. One thing was for sure, it was a testament to seeing one's children's children. Many would see their adopted children's children, but to see the infants of the children born to you was a miracle beyond what anyone had thought possible.

Hamel smiled. He imagined Lemmel, had he still been alive, meeting the children of his children. The faces of all his living children moved through his mind, and he pictured each one holding an infant, born to their own children. He wondered briefly if there would be some way that others could live past the Dusk as well.

He shook his head at the absurdity of it all. It was clearly nothing more than a dream by a creative artist. It was perhaps even a picture of how much people relied on the teachings and influence of their Matirs and Patirs. Maybe it was a way to point out their influence living on past the Dusk. It could not be an image of people surviving that long. While he had somehow survived, the idea of not only one parent, but both surviving was ludicrous.

Hamel pulled out his bedroll and spread it on the floor. The stone was uncomfortable, and the room smelled musty, but he was ready for a good night's sleep. He would need his rest for the days ahead.

Available in ebook, paperback, and Hardcover!

To support the author, grab a copy from Amazon:

https://amzn.to/3y0HHiy