Flamefall by Rosaria Munda

Author:Rosaria Munda [Munda, Rosaria]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2021-03-23T00:00:00+00:00

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The funerals for the fallen Guardians are held on the Island of the Dead, the burial site of the dragonborn before the Revolution. It’s approached by a narrow footpath from the Outer Palace that winds to the far side of Pytho’s Keep and connects, by a single footbridge, to the island in the center of the River Fer.

I realize, setting foot on it today, that I’ve never attended a funeral before.

What I remember of the island has changed: The sepulchers that contained the remains of my ancestors were defaced in the Revolution, and no graves were added for the dragonborn killed during it. I wonder, looking around the island, where they would have lain. My parents, my brother and sisters. There is no easy history of what happened to those killed on Palace Day, but I know enough to know they were not honored in death. Today, at least, a blanket of snow masks the old destruction.

We’ve made the walk on foot, the dragons processing above us, from the Palace to the island with the senior ministry officials and family members in attendance. When my boots crunch the unmarked snow of this ancestral island for the first time, I’m braced to feel the pain of Leo, Leon’s son.

But when I see my friends gathered around the pyre, all other thoughts fade. Pallor, landing at my side, presses a nose against my hand, and his folding wings quiver.

The procession gathers. The biers are mounted. Riders with their dragons form a ring round the pyre; the widowed dragons have landed beside them. Their wings droop, their tails brush the snow, and when they lift their heads, their restless eyes find the horizon. They won’t remain much longer.

Annie moves, with leaden feet, toward the Sutter family, gathered beside Cor. She bends into a bow and offers them Duck’s folded uniform. When Mrs. Sutter reaches out to take it, Annie isn’t able to let go.

Duck’s mother stoops to take Annie’s hand and pull her upright. “Annie, darling. Come here.”

She folds her into an embrace. The rest of what she murmurs, as she presses her forehead against Annie’s, I cannot make out.

Behind the pyres, a new plinth has been erected. On it, in Callish, reads:

The Fallen Guardians.

Three names have been inscribed below. There is space for more.

Before the pyre is lit, Atreus delivers the funeral oration.

“Eight years ago, thirty-two young people from all over Callipolis stood before me and took vows that made history for our island. They vowed to ride for Callipolis, to defend her, to guide her to justice. They vowed themselves to this service until death released them.”

I remember that day.

I remember saying those vows, wondering if I believed them. Feeling the chill of the words, and realizing I did. Realizing that I wanted to be a Guardian of Callipolis. To follow this man and to believe in his vision.

“We are all of us Revolutionaries,” Atreus goes on. “Dreaming of a juster world for our children. Willing to sacrifice in the name of great ideals.

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