Rubble and Memories

     It had Lord Darigan’s wax seal, a golden miniature of the Citadel with the letters “LD” written in cursive below. Sally, his Darigan letter Weewoo, dropped the letter into my hand after a chin scratch. She rested on my head for a few minutes—preening as she did—before darting back towards the floating fortress. Usually, Galgorroth handled our Lord’s letters if they were important, or some scribe with a motor mouth. And spires above were there a lot of talkative scribes. But this… came from the Lord. Personally. What would be important enough for him to handle himself?

     Fearing the worst, I opened it up with haste:

     Dear General Serian,

     I sighed. Yes, I retained my general title from those days, but it was not one that I displayed with joy or pride, not now. Yet, many still referred to me as such—some with an undertone of fear or loathing. Both of these I deserved. I had done so many evil things in my younger days—under Kass—my accursed mind would never let me break free of the guilt. And no matter how Lisha sugarcoated my progress, there would be those who would never forgive me, not that I could blame them for it. At least Lord Darigan had the courtesy to use my chosen name, Serian, rather than the one that my parents gave me, Setarian. As I grew older, I found myself more and more removed from my old name, my old life. It was for the best, I told myself.

     I rubbed my aching temples. It was time to move forward.

     The “Children of Kass” orphanage was demolished today after it had long fallen into disrepair. I feel it is your right to know as one of the Neopians who had lived there.

     “Children of Kass.” It was not a name I had heard in many years. Never knowing my mother or father beyond wispy half-memories of the former, I had grown up in the presence of many other children. And the Matron. Pity the child who would call her “mother” or “mom.” They learned from their mistake quickly. Thinking back to her hazy image sends chills down my spine, even now, more than 15 years later. I suppose some memories never go away.

     Any serviceable parts will be used to create something new. I look forward to your feedback on how we can go about this, and hope that you will be among those most interested in building a better future for those who need a second chance.

     Yours sincerely,

     Lord Darigan

     The letter fell to my side.

     I thought that I would be happy. Ready to jump for joy like some spritely youth who had won their hero’s favour. That wretched place was so full of bad memories that it felt like a dark stain upon my conscious. But for some reason, there was little joy. Just an ache in my chest that I could not place. A memory. Drawing scribbles. Neopian stick figures holding a sword with Kass’ flag standing behind them. One of the older children stuck it on a wall with a tack and told me that it was good. They were named… Charlotte? No. That wasn’t it. Chance?

     I suppose it matters little now.

     Another memory surfaced. My combat drills caught the eye of the Kass soldier training us. He ruffled my hair and told me I had potential. That Lord Kass would be pleased to see me. Back then, that elation was like nothing I had felt before.

     I remembered my joy with distaste.

     It was my highest temptation to rip up the letter. To tear it to shreds with my claws and burn the fragments in the closest hearth. I folded the letter in half. It fit snuggly in my overcoat.

     The fall air felt refreshing as the smell of petrichor filled the cobblestone streets. There would be no need to tell Lisha where I was going. She already did more than enough when she paid her respects to my parents. Besides, as it was with anything from my past, she would worry. There was little reason to do that to her. I debated telling my fri—rival, I reminded myself. My rival, Rohane. He was, after all, well-liked even in the Citadel for his deeds. But I did not wish for him to feel sorry for me.

     No. I would visit the Citadel alone.

     I ventured out beyond the border of the city before taking off. Darigan knows I’ve had enough of the panicked shouts of Neopians who saw me in the sky and thought that I was up to no good. Even after all this time, it was hard to show them that I was more than what I looked like. More than the colour of my fur or the sharpness of my tail and claws. More than just some “conniving Darigan.”

     At least most of the younger Neopians seemed amenable to peace. They had seen the horrors of war and wanted better for the next generation. And for that next generation, there were already differences in the way they viewed the Darigans that travelled, traded, or even lived in Meridell. It was a changing world, and for that, I was grateful.

     The trip to the Citadel was an uneventful one. A thin layer of clouds left my fur feeling damp, but that would pass with a breeze. And if there was one thing the Citadel could claim, it was a good and steady wind.

      It was eerily calm. Just my luck. Even the quaking aspen’s leaves were silent. I shivered.There came a number of stares as I walked through the streets. A few pointed, and others whispered in harsh voices that made me clench up. Did I really stand out so much? I was a Darigan, too, wasn’t I? I looked down at my outfit. Below my overcoat, I wore green, woollen sweater and brown trousers spun from Meridellian Babaa wool. A Citadel-made scarf complimented my well-worn Darigani boots. At my waist, a decorated short sword lay at peace.

     I dug my hands into my pockets and plowed forward.

     The orphanage was on the outskirts of the city, or what was left of it. For years it wasted away. Vines covered the outside until it looked more like a thorned fortress than any place to raise children. Then again, perhaps that is how it ought to have looked. The charming façade it had in my childhood was little more than a lie. At one time, was a two-story building with a single, front-facing stained-glass window depicting the citadel. Where that window is now, no one knows…

     Now, the home was but a pile of dark, stone rubble.

     A single piece caught my eye. A keystone. From the arch that made up the bell tower. I picked it up and tumbled it from one hand to the other, watching it roll from side to side. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the tarnished bell lying on its side, its supporting metal links now twisted and broken.

     Ring… ring… ring…

     I shuddered, hearing the brass bell chime in my mind. That bell woke us up, rung for training drills, for lunch duty, for our various chores, even bedtime. That bell was the sound of my childhood.

     ”Come on, Setarian! Hurry up!”

     A shadowy figure with long wings zipped ahead.“Or the Matron will be angry!”

     “I’m coming as quickly as I can!” I replied, nearly tripping for the fourth time. “You try holding everyone else’s practice equipment!”

     “You can handle it!” Not a single piece was held in their hands. “You’ve got potential, remember?”

     The air left my lungs sharply. I felt a twang of anger flare up from deep inside me. After Kass singled me out, he recruited me for special trainings. And with that came privileges. Nicer equipment. Cleaner linens. Better food.

     The other children hated me for it.

     And the more they did, the more I clung to Kass for validation. He told me that I was special, that I was deserving and better than everyone else there.

     I believed him.

     I squeezed the rock so hard that my hand hurts. When I opened up my hand again, the edges were crumbling. I eased my grip. My gaze travelled to a long row of headstones. Many of them were for the children that I grew up with, lost to the second war, listed by their first names. Some had platitudes like “brave and bold” or “loyal to the end,” as if that meant something. We were little more than tools to him, to Lord Kass. It was a miracle that he considered us worthy of remembering at all. The largest one in the plot, separated from the others by a square of metal fencing, said “Matron Tharne.” A flowering vine grew low like a living wreath, its purple flowers snaking between the headstones. I laid the stone at the Matron’s grave. Part of me wondered why I had the urge to bring flowers the next time I visited. Or why my stomach churned like a storm.

     “I hoped you might come.”

     That voice, I recognised it instantly.

     For a second, I struggled to let out a sound. Although a faux pas of etiquette—the Matron would have surely used the meter stick for my error—I did not turn around. “Lord Darigan.”

     When I felt something bony touch my shoulder, I shuddered. My wings instinctively scrunched towards my body like a blanket.

     “You suffered a great deal in my absence, Serian. For that, I am truly remorseful.”

     It took everything in me not to pluck his hand away. Beyond a few exceptions, most Neopians knew to stay outside of my personal space bubble. Instead, I turned back to face him, my expression unreadable, and stuffed down my thoughts.

     “I did not think of it as suffering at the time, my Lord. I was merely living. Surviving.”

     There was so much pain in Lord Darigan’s face. I suppose that comes with knowing too much.

     “Do you feel differently now?”

     My eyes travelled to an unkempt headstone for a Korbat boy, merely 17 when he perished. Eddie was his name. He once played catch with a Darigan dodgeball until he got a black eye. All but a few of the children teased him for it.

     “I read your letter.” It was not in my best interest to open up, not now. Not in such a place. “What were your plans for the grounds?”

     It looked as if he wanted to say something else, but instead, he replied to my question. “That is still in the works, but I would like to show you what we’ve discussed so far.”

     I gestured towards him. He unfurled parchment that had been tucked away in his dress coat. A two-story stone building with many wide windows spread across the page. Inside, there were rooms planned down to the inch, with notes scribbled about their potential use, locations of sleeping quarters, spiral staircases, and placement of the hearth. Based on the level of detail, he had hired one of the best Master Masons in the nation.

     Outside of the building were plans for a large community garden. Some of the beds had designations for farm crops, spikeberry and potatoes, along with a few symbols that looked more magical or scholarly. His gaunt pointer finger then glided over the parchment to a secondary structure, one that read “international kitchen” and tapped it a few times as if in thought.

     “We were considering a community centre,” he said simply, “a place for Darigans who need aid, who wish to learn new skills, or simply need friendship, can gather.”

     I must not have looked convinced. Lisha often said I wore my scepticism on my face—or more specifically, my eyes. It was a trait I inherited, one that I always loathed. At one point, Lisha made an eye colour chart to explain my various moods… which I promptly hid. It never did me any good for Neopians to read my mind without my knowledge. She promised it wouldn’t leave her sight, and I trusted her, but who was to say someone wouldn’t accidentally stumble upon it and use it against me.

     “Based on your silence, General, you’re wondering how we would come upon such food resources or techniques, aren’t you?”

     Chains and daggers. He read me well.

     “Yes, my Lord.” I paused, trying to think for once instead of blurting out the first thing that came to mind. “It all sounds too good to be true.”

     “Before the Summit, I might have agreed with you.” He rolled the parchment back even further. In the top right corner was a logo I had only seen at the conference—the interwoven flags of Darigan Citadel, Meridell, and Brightvale tied by a flowering vine. “But the progress I’ve seen since then has shown these tired bones that there is something worth believing in.” He pointed to the international flag symbols. “Some of our agricultural practices are being updated with the help of Brightvalian and Meridellian scholars—your adopted sister being one of them.”

     My eyes widened. “Lisha’s involved?”

     He nodded. “Indeed, she is. Although she has no idea that you lived here—I thought it best to respect your privacy.”

     So unlike Kass, I thought, noting the many times that he used secrets to better his own interests. “Thank you, my Lord.”

     He waved his hand dismissively. “No thanks necessary, Serian.”

     I reached out for the document and he handed it to me without hesitation. I scanned it over, taking in the little notes scribbled in the margins.

     Looking up from a description of combined agricultural techniques, presumably written in Darigan’s own hand, I brought up my gaze. “May I speak freely, Lord Darigan?”

     “You may.”

     I took a deep breath. Lord Kass would allow such talk only as far as it was to prove your undying loyalty. If you told him anything to the contrary, it could mean your swift imprisonment… or worse. “Why directly involve yourself in these proceedings? Would this not be a better job for one of your lower-tiered staff or the Council?”

     He scoffed, then chuckled to himself. “You never were one to mince words.”

     “Apologies, my Lord.” I blurted it out and went to bow, but he stopped me.

     “It’s not a bad thing, Serian.” He smirked, and I saw a rare spark in his eyes. “I need more honest Neopians around me.”

     He was so unlike Lord Kass. I knew this, but old habits die hard. “I-if you insist.”

     “I do.” All humour disappeared from his face. “But to answer your question, it is because my mistakes led to the creation of this place. This is my burden. I will not let the others shoulder it for me.”

     Even when Kass was a General in Lord Darigan’s army, he had plans to “better the lives of the youth.” Such campaigns were already well in motion before Lord Darigan’s disappearance; Kass oversaw the construction and staffing, visited the crumbling structures that were called orphanages during the pre-war days… or the homeless children who lay on the bare Citadel soil at night. It would not surprise me one feather if this was his game plan all along. What better way to maintain your rule than through the indoctrination of supple minds?

     Like mine.

     I squeezed my eyes shut. Those days are long behind me. I am a different Eyrie now.

     “You can’t place all of this burden on yourself, my Lord.”

     He had since bent down and scooped up a handful of dirt. It slipped through his hand like sand, falling down in a sooty rain. I remember plowing that dirt to grow crops for our meals. Rolling races in it with the other children. Our fur was absolutely filthy by the time we were done—the Matron would make us scrub ourselves until every speck was gone.

     “My people deserve peace, happiness, and good health once again.” As he straightened his back, I could hear his joints pop. “With the time I have left, I must make up for my mistakes.”

     The last few grains drifted to the ground. I watched them all in silence. Once the last grain had fallen, I said, “But look at how far we’ve come.”

     “And how far there is left to go.” He let out a sigh that made him sound even older than he appeared. “What do you think of my dream, General?” I looked back at the abandoned rubble of a collapsed dynasty and imagined a bustling place of peace in its stead.

     “I think we need more help.”

     “I agree.” His voice was airy. It was one thing to have a dream, and another to have those who supported it. “And who do you have in mind?”

     I couldn’t help but turn up the edges of my beak. “A certain international hero and his allies. Few Neopians can rally support like them.”

     Lord Darigan nodded as he jotted down a few things in a little notebook that he had been hiding in a small pocket.

     “Sir Rohane and his former crew—a good idea. I’ll send a Weewoo shortly. Any other ideas?”

     I wiped years of dust off of Eddie’s grave with one finger, leaving a bright streak in its wake. I tightened my other hand into a fist.

     “We need to remember what Kass did. We need to support those of us who were harmed by his actions before we can move forward. Until then, this place will only be associated with suffering.”

     There was a moment of silence between the two of us. In the distance, Darigani went about their days unaware, living their lives for the moments in front of them.

     “Would you like to reach out to those remaining? To your—” he hesitated.

     “Family?” The word came out so softly from my beak. Did my voice crack just then?

     “Yes.” He turned to me and looked me dead in the eyes. “Would you feel comfortable with that duty? Of all the letters I sent, you are the only one who has come.”

     Feeling the creeping thoughts of doubt, I tightened my resolve. “Yes, my Lord. I can do it.”

     The old Korbat, with his regal robe and his lofty title, placed his gnarled hand on my arm and squeezed. Despite his generally muscular appearance—impressive for a Korbat of his age—it seemed like time had matched on, even for him.

     “Thank you, General. Thank you for believing in this dream.”

     I bowed. “Of course, my Lord.”

     “I’ll see to it that your family is honoured.” There was a sort of kindness to his sad smile that struck me. A warmth to his words that made them sound sincere, and genuine. Such was a rare trait in a leader here. “They won’t be forgotten, Serian, I promise you.”

     He promised me? The highest power in the Citadel promised me something? I turned away, concerned that my face might reveal too many of my emotions… and my eyes fell yet again on that lone keystone. Its rough edges and worn ridges. At one time, it held together my reality. Now, it lay on the ground, a relic to a bygone era.

     Something snapped in me then. All the good times came flooding back.

     When Chelsea—that was her name—complimented my drawing. When William comforted me after I had fallen. When Toby gave me half of his bread rations because I was still hungry and he was the oldest. When Julia and I would cross practice swords in our games of “defeat the knight.” The many times Eddie and I snuck around the city, evading the guards, to see the stars from the tallest towers. I had shut myself away and pretended they didn’t care for so long that I believed it. I believed it with all of my heart.

     And now, most of them were gone.

     I choked back a sob.

     It was a terrible place. But it was also home.

     Now, it was rubble and memories.

     “I should apologize, Serian.” I hadn’t noticed that I was on my knees. “Bringing you here was—”

     “What”—I coughed, feeling the tears fill dribble down my bill and into my mouth —"I needed.”

      I could hear his grip tighten on the parchment.

     “I fear this project will unearth many traumatic memories for you. If this is too hard—”

     “No.” Realizing my rudeness, I flinched. Spires above was I glad there was no punishment waiting for my insolence. “This…” I rose to one knee. “…Is how I heal. How we heal.”

     I next rose to my feet and wiped my arm across my face. “And that’s by facing this thing head-on.”

     Lord Darigan offered me his hand to shake. I took it eagerly.

     “Then, let us build this dream…”

     “Together.”

     The End.