Epilogue



The large circular room was filled with people, many of which Tristan didn’t know. He hadn’t expected this crowd. He’d figured a few of his and Alex’s close friends would come, and no one else. Clearly, Hea’Las had known something he didn’t when she’d insisted they do this in the House, instead of Tristan and Alex’s home as he’d planned on.

A Samalian whose fur was splotched with white, orange and black came to him, shook his hand vigorously and told him how thankful he was for the assistance Tristan had provided. He spoke the Roug’arn Dialect, with an accent from the Togarian mountains. Tristan replied in the same dialect, minus the accent. He’d been happy to help him get rid of those gangs that had been threatening his neighborhood.

The man left to rejoin his family.

People were looking at the Aspects as they waited for things to get underway. Of the twelve, four caught most of the Samalian’s attention, the four life-sized one a local sculptor had done. The Lovers, the Nurturer, the Defender and the Aggressor. The others would come, but she’d insisted the Defender and Aggressor be his first creations.

Alex had laughed on seeing the Aggressor while Tristan had been tempted to snap the artist’s neck. Instead, he’d pointed out that the coloring was supposed to be local. The sculptor, a middle-aged woman with pale copper fur with white swirls and looked him up and down, and replied that deep brown with white speckling was indeed a local coloring, since she was looking at the inspiration.

Laughing Alex had pulled him away.

It was one of the Universe’s joke at his expense, Tristan had grumbled.

“They’re honoring you,” Alex had replied.

“Us.” Tristan had pointed to the life size Defender, crouched in his usual position, a sword in hand, the other either having dropped his other sword, or about to pick it up. He was still Samalian, there had been long discussions about if an Aspect could be of another species. Hea’Las had said that all came from the Source, so yes. The elders had adamantly said no.

In the end, the artist had given the Defender the palest shade of tan she could come up with, and had dressed him in modern looking pants and jacket in gray and crimson. A Samalian version of his Alex. He hadn’t admitted it to anyone, but he liked what she had done. Even with the muzzle and fur, there was something definitely Alex in his determined expression.

A woman caught his attention, she held her son in her arm, and she told him of the progress in rebuilding their town. She spoke the language of the ice plains. Tristan replied tentatively, he was still learning this dialect, having become aware of it only when Alex had intercepted the request for help against the raiders.

They hadn’t gotten there in time to save the town, but they’d gone after the raiders, mercs hired by one of the newer corporations to decide Samalia had something to offer, and retrieved the local spiritual items they’d stolen.

Tristan had known not all Samalian followed the Source in exactly the same way, but this had been the first time where instead of Aspects, he’d met a community who worshiped creatures of legends.

Like all her people, she was white, like the snow of the plains, her accent color was a tan, the stripes barely deeper than the white. Her son’s accent was gray spots. She let him know that their shrine would be done before the year’s end and she wanted him and Alex to come, to thank them for their help. Tristan promised they would be there.

When she left, Tristan looked the crowd over. They gave the half sphere in the center of the room plenty of room, respect for the Source, of which they were outside, and inside, since the House was also a half sphere and a representation of the Source.

Hea’Las had been annoyed at Tristan when he’d shown up with construction equipment to assist in rebuilding the House. She’d wanted it to be built of local stone, as it had been, but Tristan had pointed out that using modern materials would ensure the House would survive if raiders came again. 

He’d shown her how easy it was to use, setting up the scaffolding, and spraying the material, then adding the stones in it to preserve the look she wanted the House to have. It would save years on the construction time.

What he hadn’t told her was that the material was brand new. The corporations had brought it to Samalia to use in their new buildings to keep the terrorists from destroying them. It was nearly indestructible, and if they’d been able to use it, they would have easily expanded their cities. They’d been rather pissed that their first shipment had gone missing. And Alex had used his contacts among the pirates to make sure as little of it reached Samalia after that.

Now, whenever the corporations became aware of the growing town, the residents would have a safe place to hide while Tristan, Alex and the others fought them off.

He found Alex, speaking with Rig’Irik who looked exhausted, holding his youngest daughter while his two sons, the twins ran around his legs. Those two took full advantage of the reverence Rig’Irik had for their status as twins to run all over him. Tristan located Rig’Irik’s mates, Janalar and Gorforn and nodded toward him. 

Someone should go rescue him since Alex wouldn’t. He enjoyed watching his friend driven nearly insane with fatherhood. Once their mother and father had picked up the twins they’d pulled Rig’Irik with them.

“You are cruel,” Tristan said, nuzzling the back of Alex’s neck.

“He was the one who always went on about how great being a parent would be, how we needed to get some little ones of our own. I’m just enjoying watching him reaping what he sowed.”

“Considering the amount of sowing they did, he should be lucky he only had three of them.”

“They’ve agreed that they had enough for now, so they take precautions.”

Tristan snorted. “Considering how impulsive Gorforn is, I expect they’ll have a fourth one before too long.”

A hush fell over the crowd and they turned to watch Hea’Las enter the House. She wore a skirt of beads that clinked as she walked. And a necklace of small bones. Both were ceremonial.

Tristan studied her. She wasn’t considered attractive, she wasn’t muscular, or actively aggressive, but her position as priestess ensured she had plenty of lovers. She motioned, and the crowd formed a semi-circle with the Source at its center.

“That’s our cue,” Alex said, and they took their place in front of the Source, opposite the crowd. 

Hea’Las stood before them, watching them. “The Source,” she began, “is where we come from, and where we are going. It is the start and the end, but the path we take on its surface can lead us many places in between. Some of those places we go willingly, some we are taken to without realizing it,” she fixed her gaze on Tristan, “And some we fight so hard it can be a wonder the Source even tries. But no matter where we are, the Source is with us.”

She gave the chuckles time to die out and Tristan held his tongue. He’d known that jab was coming, and the Aggressor in him demanded he jab back. Instead he smiled and fixed his gaze on Alex.

“The Source doesn’t judge, it doesn’t tell us who should and shouldn’t be together.”

“Good thing too,” Tristan said, without meaning to, and felt his ears burn.

“Yes,” Hea’Las said, “I expect watching you take that up with the Source would be… entertaining.”

The crowd offered different, less balanced words.

“Aggressors and Defenders are not known for making good partners,” She said once quiet returned. “One’s combative nature tends to be fed by the other’s willingness to endure, to put himself between the Aggressor and his desire. There are ample stories of such explosive attempts. Amar and Opher, Tur’got, Fadel and Lawhor, to name a few. But today we are witnessing a pairing that will go down in history not because of how explosives they are, but because they were able to reach the rare balance point where both the Aggressor and the Defender can be at peace being who they are.”

She looked among the crowd. “Who was chosen to hold their representation of the Source?”

Rig’Irik stepped around the Source and opened both hands. Each held a half sphere stud.

Tristan took one. He turned it in his fingers. “You fought me so hard. I don’t think I ever met anyone as stubborn as you. As determined to get what he wants, no matter the price, the cost to himself. If you hadn’t been this warrior, you would never have forced me to be better. To become worthy of this moment. Alex Bartholomew Crimson,” He pressed the stud against Alex’s left earlobe. “Apart, we are less than the halves we were.”

Alex smiled at him and reached for the other stud. “I never knew how desperate I was to live, until you gave me a few weeks of it. Your lies revealed a truth I didn’t know I’d hidden. I wasn’t made to sit in front of a computer, doing a corporation’s work for them. I was made to hunt you down. You gave me the motivation I needed to burn away the mask of civility that had been forced on me. For you, I became a criminal. With you, I became a killer. Because of you, I found myself. Tristan,” he reached for Tristan’s left ear and applied the stud. “Together we are so much more than the whole we form.”

In the following silence Hea’Las took each of their hands and placed them in the other. “You are one.”

He leaned in and kissed Alex. It was something he had done often, over these last few years, and yet this was a first. Their first kiss as one under the Source. He was crying, and he didn’t care. Alex was crying too and smiling. Both of them had been looking for this moment for longer than either could remember. One had known it from the start, the other had been too self-centered to even consider it.

The Source hadn’t cared. Every story he’d read ultimately told the same thing. The Source got its way. Tristan couldn’t be happier about it than he was now.

Someone slapped his shoulder, ending the moment, and the sound of the congratulations and cheering entered his world. The crowd pulled him away from Alex, but he didn’t mind. They would never be apart.

He thanked his friends, clapped shoulders with the strangers who had accompanied them. They spoke as food was laid out on tables around the room, between each alcove. Each time he caught a glimpse of Alex, each time their eyes met, he smiled.

The surrounding crowd had thinned, moving to get food, or talk with others, maybe find someone to spend time in private with. There was a feeling in the air that seemed to say ‘today was an auspicious day to find your mate.’ Or at least a fun partner for a time.

“Tristan,” Hea’Las was next to him. She motioned for Alex to join them. “How are you two feeling?”

Alex’s smile was brighter than the sun as he leaned into Tristan. “I’m going to need a bit longer before I reach a level that can be described in words.”

“I am happy,” Tristan stated wrapping his arms around his human. Which earned him a roll of the eyes from Alex.

“He can’t find words either.”

She smiled at them. “I also have no words to express how happy I am for you. I knew this day would come.” Tristan snorted. “I hoped this day would come,” she corrected. “You give me hope that one day, maybe humans will see us as equal. That we will no longer be things to be used. But that day isn’t today. I know you said you no longer wanted to take on work. Jobs, as you call them. But I am hoping that you would be willing to do something, as a favor to me.”

Tristan straightened. It had been years since they’d taken a proper job. He’d kept the work to Samalia, as a way of getting to know his world, the people on it. It had kept him busy, but it hadn’t really tested him. Alex also tensed against him. They exchanged a nod. It was time for them to get back to the Life.

“What’s the job?” he asked.

“The corporations have gotten together, and they are bringing something big to Samalia.”