Memorium (non-definitive edition)

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The light sprinkle of rain ceased to fall as the weary traveler made his way into town. The clouds began to part as he walked the cobblestoned streets that led inwards. The man walked with a slight limp, as if from a wound inflicted long ago. He was dressed plainly but obtained an air of royalty. His face was kind, but looked rather sad and faintly haunted. 

As he neared the city center people began to notice him as they went about their early morning business. They would spot the poppy upon his garment, stitched in with golden thread, its only adornment, and bow or solute respectfully. The man would acknowledge them but continue on his way, determined to reach the city’s center before the sun rose fully into the sky. 

He began to draw nearer the city’s heart, and as he did the man spotted a young girl, still rubbing her eyes after a good night's rest. She smiled at the man, and he beamed back, the haunted sad look gone for that instant. The girl blushed slightly and rushed giggling to her mother inside a nearby house. The haunted sad look returned to the man's face, but slowly, held at bay by the thought that the little girl might live a happy peaceful life.

He pressed onwards, on into the city’s midst. He knew what its heart would be and that its blood would be its occupants. The sun began to shine, and the man revealed in the new life of spring that breathed and grew all around him. There must always be a spring he thought as he spotted his destination. A stone wall spanning several acres loomed up in his path. 

The man skirted the wall, following it to a polished steel gate. The gate shone in the morning light, and was slick with rain from the drizzle. The water droplets slowly gathered together rolling over the intricately carved leaves and vines of steel.

He paused briefly to admire the gate. Every new city’s memorium had a unique gate, and this one was skillfully crafted indeed.

The gate was nearly fifteen feet tall, but it's handles were only at the man’s shoulders. Just above them was a series of carved words formed out of a jumble of smaller vines. Cruita kai anatasuitie, knock and it shall be opened. The man smiled as he obeyed the written command, knocking.

He waited until a small click emitted from behind the gate. It swung quietly open to reveal a young man barely in man hood who wore heavy steel armor ornamented with gold sections carved to depict events of the not so distant past. The man smiled at the boy knowing how uncomfortable he must be from experience. He knew the armor was a reminder for the bearer to stand to the example set by the men depicted in the stories that weighed it down on the next generation. He passed the young man who saluted at the sight of the poppy.

He now stood on the edge of a lush garden full of brightly colored blossoms and leaves. Though he had not yet looked up he knew if he did he would just be able to see the hilt and cross-guard of a sword peeking out from above the treetops. He now looked up and saw just that. The sword was decorated with gold and had an amber gemstone pommel which shone brilliantly as the sunlight struck it. The man nodded in satisfaction at the choice of blade.

This memorium was a good one as he had been told. It contained at least five hundred flourishing trees, and the thought of what that meant brought about more sorrow.

The man continued towards the memorium's center. He walked a lazily winding path of stepping stones and passed under the countless bows of the miniature forest that the memorium contained. He stopped and listened to the many sounds that graced the greenery. He heard the hopeful songs of the chirping birds that flew high overhead, he heard the faint joyous laughter of children at play, the amused tittering laugh of the mothers who watched their children play amid the trees. This was a true memorium, a place to remember the dark past and to abide in the bright present and future, and to help those born into it know nothing else. 

The man sat down upon a block of stone that served as a bench. He sat there for a long moment reveling in the sounds of the future that he had helped create. It was marvelous. He had lost his sons and most of his brothers, but that sacrifice now allowed the children of now to not experience what his had, and that fact brought a great peace upon his face, a peace near to the peace of a saved death. 

Coming back to conscious thought the man rose and continued on his way deeper into the garden. He passed clumps of children at play, groups of young people listening to their teachers, and the occasional man like himself, sometimes talking to one of the armored young men as they strolled through the grounds.

The man looked up once more and saw the sword looming closer, high above the treetops. The tapering stone pillar the sword rested in also came into view slowly as the man neared.

Suddenly the trees ceased and he entered a clearing. At the clearing’s center towered the stone pillar and the sword it held. Etched into the pillar were hundreds of names and numbers. The numbers showed which tree each man was barred under or by. Sometimes the text read Soldier, a word showing that an unknown soldier was buried there. 

The man skimmed the words for a while looking for those he recognized. He found the names of Tarin, Sar, Balor, and Tawad, but knew that he had looked over many of the names of his fallen comrades. After skimming the pillar he stood looking up at the sword which was buried at its pinnacle. On the first third of the pillar a string of words wound about it. He knew what the words said and saved his emotion for when he read them.

The sun crept higher into the now cloud free sky. Shadows bent and bowed about him, measurements of time in a timeless moment. A young woman detached from a shadowy path to stand solemnly beside him. As the light faded from the sky she took his hand and led him to a stone building where he ate alongside many others. The feast was provided as a chance to remember and to rebuild, to tell tales, and to forget what you wish you’d never remember. 

That night he slept in a comfortable room of a memorium guest house. In the morning he awoke to find a small basket already packed for the next leg of his wanderings. In the basket he found water, food, and a small bread knife. The knife he removed setting it on the bedside table as he left, he wanted no reminders with him on this next leg.

He thanked his volunteering hosts, and walked the short distance back to the memorim’s center.

He walked slowly around the pillar, then read the larger words that wound round it in time with his hobbling stride. Those we tread upon in light fought in darkness. They rose for us, they stood for us, they fell for us. Remember them in laughter, in love, and in action. Remember them, for when we join them we shall have comrades, and will sing together once more, both together in light! The light that you now must sustain! The light that chases the darkness that you must remember! Remember! The man finished reading and walked away overflowing with a thousand emotions.