
Carsten: Nalla has gifted me this final correspondence, so that you and the world may know what became of the Butcher of Ceylon.
What a fool I was to think it would let me go in a blaze of glory.
Stupid and prideful it was of me to believe I could die a warrior's death. When I arrived it was already waiting for me, that shapeless thing who hath cursed me undying to this tree of woes. It stood alone on that high hill, and I felt it took some enjoyment in finding me there. But I should not expect it came as a surprise, for the Unmentionable was always there, always waiting.
Whether I noticed or not.
My rebellion caught its eye.
My vengeance filled it with glee, so it has stuck to me like a parasite all these years.
I do not believe now it has anything to do with the Black Flag Empire, our enemy, those lowly pirates, but it doesn't matter now.
Neither wasted any time before charging into battle.
It didn't last long. Its first strike slashed open my stomach, before it sliced off my right arm. I fell to my knees and it dragged me to the tree, to see all the bodies we had hung together.
And then it left.
I have not seen it since.
When it did I wept, for what did any of those bodies mean? I told myself 11 years I hung them in the name of Mountain and country, but what now are they for? As I lay bleeding at their feet?
I cried terrible ugly tears, my sobs could have shook the world.
My tears could have flooded the island as they poured into the ground.
Still, the things curse ran true, “No death. No death…”
I have laid a decade against the tree, facing the dead mountain, with its carved trails and now dark holes.
I look up every now and then and find more pale feet hanging from the tree. It is now more than I ever thought possible.
Men, women, children, the elderly, poor men and rich men, it does not discriminate, each has found the tree.
Before the 5th year I wept every night for them.
Most for the very first, those little ones in the school yard.
Writing now I can no longer describe it, for I may burst into emotion any moment.
In that 5th year the ground opened beneath me and I was swallowed, for the final time, back to the darkness.
When I awoke what stood before me was a withered skeleton, with the thinnest of flesh still barely clinging to it.
It worked its jaw up and down, as if trying to say something, but nothing came of it.
We sat in silence for a while, until, at last, I spoke to that great goddess.
“Great Mother, you are great and wise in all your ways. You brought me back and gifted me strength. You provided victory and guidance, for a time. But what must we do now?” She was silent.
“What was it for?” My voice broke.
“Your children hang in the trees! Your island is covered in ash! Your mountain lays dormant and dead!” Tears began to stream again as I shouted.
She shuttered and stirred.
“Grant me one final wish, oh goddess, release me from your service and let me rest with the children in the tree. Hang me there and let me swing among my brothers and sisters. Drain my blood into the Earth. Feed my flesh to the hounds. Whatever must be done!”
Nalla let out a long, labored wheeze before black streams ran down her skull from empty sockets. She shook her head slowly side to side. I wanted to be angry, I wanted to shout, but I was too exhausted. So I said softly: “Then I can take it no more. I hear them, mother, the first children I butchered in your name. Not a day has gone by these 11 years where I did not close my eyes to see their terrified faces. To hear their screams. And now what was it for? We are lost. If you will not release me, then I renounce you. I renounce my service to the great mother.” She worked her jaw and squirmed slightly. I just sat and watched.
I had cried enough, it was time to go.
As I ascended back up through the Earth the dead goddess squirmed harder and thrashed back and forth, wheezing and gurgling all the way. And then I woke up.
Back at the tree.
Still alive. Through the years all hope drained from me. I can’t–I won’t move from this spot, so all I have is to listen and watch. So much that I hear her sometimes, writhing and wheezing in the depths. She fights still, but the war is over.
We lost and all our friends are dead.
We two remain, waiting. 
The last of our people, besides you and what little exiles remain.
What else shall we do but wait eternity?
“Until the last star falls.”
We wait for our reliever.
We wait for you.
Come find us, Carsten.

Sincerely, Alric Mon Sefery.



Tales Ceylon Epilogue