Book 7: Chapter 12: Golden farewell
Martel and Eleanor spent a few more days in Engby. He visited Father Julius and the few neighbours he remembered, though other than the priest, few were eager for his company. Whether because he was a rebel, the Firebrand, or just a mage of any kind, the people of Engby had little time for Martel. The reverse was becoming true as well. Once, the small town had been the entirety of his world; now, he knew how much lay beyond. As happy as he had been to return home and see his family, Martel was ready to continue on his journey.
His mother and sisters wept as they bid him farewell; John revealed no emotions upon his face, but he gave his older brother a hug. Martel saw no sign of Keith; the sound of the hammer beating its rhythm resounded across the town square, its sonic presence highlighting the owner’s physical absence.
After his mother had hugged Eleanor tightly as well, perhaps with more tears than seemed warranted for someone she had only met days ago, the pair of wizards mounted their horses and sent them into motion. A few of the townspeople emerged to wave at them, Father Julius among them; as for Ogion, he bowed his head as they passed by with a silent farewell that suited his nature.
“What a visit,” Eleanor remarked, as they passed beyond the last buildings. “You have quite the family.”
“It could have been worse.” Martel shrugged. “William wasn’t home.”
They had not come far from the town before Martel thought he heard noise behind them. Extending his magic told him of heat in the shape of a man, walking toward them. Halting his horse and looking over his shoulder, Martel saw his eldest brother approach. Given the look on his face, he did not come to reconcile. In his hand, he carried a bag that Martel recognised, and he sighed inwardly.
“We don’t need your money.” Keith held out the purse of gold that Martel had given their mother. He wore the same expression that had accompanied his face ever since his wizard brother returned to Engby.
“Maybe you don’t right now, but chances are you will eventually. Just keep it,” Martel told him, although he knew his brother would not be so easily swayed.
“You can’t buy forgiveness with gifts and coin,” Keith sneered, approaching until he stood by Martel’s horse. “It won’t undo what you brought on us, or the fact that you weren’t here when we needed you.” “I know that!” Martel exclaimed with an exasperated tone. “It’s not about forgiveness or penance. I have more than I’ll need, so I might as well share it with you.”
“Don’t lord your wealth over us.” Keith thrust the bag forward, hitting Martel on the thigh.
“When John was sick, who gathered the coin for his cure? Would you rather he had died? I don’t want you to keep that bag for my sake, but for yours!” Martel could hear himself raising his voice, unable to keep himself from shouting in anger.
“I would have found a way,” Keith claimed. “And if someone in the family needs anything, I’ll find a way to provide for them as well. Because I’m here, not off on adventure or starting wars.”
Martel stared at him, his patience at an end. “Keep the gold or throw it away; the choice is yours. But I suggest you don’t let your children die for your pride, Keith. Goodbye, brother.” Martel looked away and spurred his horse forward; next to him, Eleanor did the same. Behind them, Keith remained, clutching the bag with a bitter expression.
Once they were alone on the road again, Eleanor glanced at her companion. “What do you think he did? Keep it or throw it away?”
“For all his pride and stubbornness, my brother is still a sensible man. He understands it’s too valuable to throw away. He just didn’t want me to think this somehow absolved me of my mistakes.”
“Are you certain? He seemed very insistent.” Eleanor glanced behind them, though the winding road did not afford them any glimpse of Engby’s smith.
“If he really disapproved of my gift, he would have thrown the bag straight onto the ground,” Martel reasoned. “Instead, he kept clutching it. He has two small children, and he’s lost people who could have been saved. He’ll keep it.”
“I suppose you know him best. But I disagree with him. You do not need to be absolved of anything,” Eleanor remarked in a light tone of voice that he could tell was affected.
“I do. Their house was burned down because of me. If not for Master Ogion, they’d all be dead, probably.”
“But you did the right thing. Starting the rebellion, replacing our corrupt rulers – you have nothing to be ashamed of.”
Martel wondered if she argued for his sake or her own, given that she had done the same; perhaps for both of them. “Doing the right thing usually has a cost, and sometimes, it is borne by others. That doesn’t make it the wrong decision, but those afflicted still have a right to feel aggrieved.” Assuming they survived; Martel thought about the emperor’s sister, sinking into the ice-cold waves, sacrificing herself to save her children just as Martel had sacrificed her to save his rebellion.
“Never mind. Once you start sounding like a book, I know there is no arguing with you.”
Martel smiled with a closed mouth, and they continue onward in silence on the provincial trail. The Imperial road did not stretch into Nordmark; its furthest point ended at Anvallum, the only major city this far north in Aster and still south of Martel’s home province.
They could turn back, retracing their steps until they reached the great net of roads that connected the urban centres of the Empire, making it easy to find their way to Aquila; but they had agreed to seek new paths rather than tread those already familiar, allowing for new experiences. Thus, on a trail otherwise only used by travelling peddlers or patrols of legionaries, the pair moved west through the vast, untamed province of Nordmark.