I feel a crackle of pain as I realize that that’s exactly what Cillian is now. Nothing more than a heap of rotting meat.
When I turn the corner, that’s what I’m going to see.
Just a few more steps.
Just one more.
Then I break through the brush and prepare myself to look upon the body of my best friend, who died trying to save me.
It’s not there.
I do a double-take. I must be dreaming, hallucinating. Maybe my injuries have wrecked my brain.
I stomp around the edge of the clearing, looking for signs. When I reach the spot where he fell after Budimir shot him, I see the blood on the ground. But no body to be found.
Wincing in agony, I sink to one knee and look closer.
The blood is mostly mud now. Caked into the dirt and darkened by the days and nights since everything happened here.
This close, I can see that there’s a faint trail leading off into the brush. Like something heavy was dragged from this spot and away.
The shovel falls from my hand.
Did Cillian escape?
Or did Budimir drag him off and leave me to die alone?
I close my eyes and sigh.
“Cillian,” I whisper to nobody at all.
I wish I believed in heaven or hell. I wish I could close my eyes and picture him free of pain. Reunited with his love.
But I don’t. There is nothing after death. Just darkness.
So, wherever my best friend is, he’s either Budimir’s newest pincushion, or he’s worm food. I’m not sure which fate is worse.
“Thank you, brother,” I whisper. “I’m sorry. You put your faith in me and I let you down. I should have been a better don. A better friend.”
It’s killing me inside that I don’t even have anything to remember him by.
I can’t live with that. I need something. Call me stupid or sentimental, I don’t care. I just can’t let him disappear into the ether.
I look around me and see a huge mound of rocks off to one side. I rise to my feet and limp over there.
And then I start to work.
I find a nice spot underneath the largest tree I can find. I shuffle back and forth from the rock pile to the spot I’ve chosen. One by one, I pile the stones up.
It’s slow-going, and hard. But I welcome the pain that claws at my body. It feels like penance. Like I owe this much to Cillian.
I work until the sun it burning hot in the sky. Sweat drips down my face, pools in my bandages, and soaks through my clothes. But I don’t allow myself a chance to rest. Not until it’s done.
With every stone added to the construction, I keep seeing another mistake. Another way I let down my father, my best friend, the men in my command.
What makes it worse is that I’ve done all this before. I had been so blinded by grief over Marisha that I missed all the ways in which Budimir was undermining my father and plotting his death.
One mistake leading to the next.