“One hundred forty-nine years,” he answers.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur. There’s really nothing else I can say. I can’t say that I know how he feels. It wouldn’t be true. I know how it feels to lose parents, to become orphaned. But I can’t put myself into the place of this man who lost the partner he has loved for a century and a half. All those years of living the same experiences, knowing the same victories and defeats, sharing lives. It must be destroying him. I feel a shudder pass through his body as he leans on me. It is destroying him.
“Kate, Gaspard,” I hear Vincent call, and we stand to join the assembled bardia before the bonfire. Eight of the twelve New York bardia remain, two having been taken away in the ambulances and two lost to the flames. Charles stands with Uta and four of their kindred. Three have been transported back to La Maison and will be fine once they reanimate. One is gone forever. And of three dozen other bardia who fought with us, six were fed to the bonfire.
Near the flames the air is putrid and thick with the noxious smell of burning flesh. People hold their hands over their noses and mouths as Vincent stands with his back to the fire, facing us.
“We don’t have long before sunrise, and I want all traces of battle gone and our kindred out of the park by the first rays of dawn. But first, we must honor those who sacrificed themselves today.”
He meets my eyes. He is struggling not to cry. Trying his best to stay strong until he finishes his duty. “Among Paris’s kindred,” he continues, “we lost our beloved Geneviève Emmanuelle Lorieux. She died in 1943, executed by firing squad for having smuggled food and medicine to the detainees at the Drancy detention camp. Geneviève was a loving and dedicated wife to Philippe Lorieux, who died barely four months ago. We will miss you, Geneviève.”
Vincent gestures toward Gaspard, who steps forward to face us. “We say good-bye to our longtime leader, Jean-Baptiste Alexandre Balthazar Grimod de la Reynière,” Gaspard says in a wavering voice. “He died sacrificing his life for another on the battlefield in Borodino, September 7, 1812. Jean-Baptiste was dedicated to the preservation of his kindred, willing to do anything to ensure their survival.” Gaspard’s face twists with emotion when he says this, but he forces his shoulders back and raises his chin.
He pulls something from his belt, and I recognize Jean-Baptiste’s beloved sword-cane topped with its carved wooden falcon’s head. Facing the fire, Gaspard says, “My dear Jean-Baptiste. My love. I will mourn your loss until we are reunited in the next life.” And he throws the cane onto the fire. With that motion, his arms drop to his side, and his head to his chest, and he begins once again to weep.
Arthur is by his side in a flash. Putting an arm around the older revenant’s shoulders, Arthur leads him in the direction of the waiting vehicles and out of the arena.
One by one, the leaders of the other groups stand and honor the kindred they lost. Finally Vincent speaks up. “We thank you all for coming to our aid today, and pledge you our assistance in return.” The assembly breaks up, and I am approached by a middle-aged man who looks to be Gaspard’s age, and has the same noble bearing that Jean-Baptiste did. He steps up to kiss my cheeks. “I am Pierre-Marie Lambert from Bordeaux. It has been an honor to fight alongside the Champion.”
I ask him the question I’ve been wondering since he and his kindred appeared. “How did you know to come here—just in time?”
He smiles sadly. “I would say that we were actually a little bit late. If we had arrived on time, there may have been fewer of our kind lost.”
“Even so, how did you find us?”
“I am the Seer for my clan,” Pierre-Marie explains. “I saw your light two days ago. When it persisted, I decided to come with my kindred. We met up with the others on the way.” He steps aside to let the next person approach.
It’s as I thought. Jean-Baptiste and Uta weren’t the only Seers to receive the Champion’s signal.
“Esteban Aragón, Seer of my clan in Barcelona,” says a dark-haired boy, and after him a Seer from Belgium introduces herself. They had all seen my light and followed it to help.
“If you are here, it means the beginning of an era,” says Uta. “Your work has just begun. Who knows—in these modern days, maybe your influence won’t be limited to your region, as were history’s previous Champions. I, for one, look forward to what the future brings with the bardia’s new Champion.” She bobs her head in a playful bow, while her fellow Seers make noises of agreement.
Vincent asks Uta to lead everyone to La Maison to clean up and find fresh clothes. Finally only Vincent and I and a handful of Paris bardia are left in the deserted arena.