Saga of 5 Ages: The 12 Rings of the Emperor - Tales 1 & 2
The Waste-Tracker: Chapter 3

T he strange woman didn’t speak much.

What made her even stranger was that, when she did speak, she seemed to have a working knowledge of Taruk’s language, though heavily accented. Of itself, this fact was not all that remarkable except that most outsiders had little interest in the “primitive” dialects of Urok. And it was a rare event indeed when Urokans took the time to sit down and teach their tongue to foreigners.

Her subtle strangeness did not end there, however. Taruk-sem could discern the paleness of her skin beneath its slight tan. Her features were fine, although slightly rugged. Her clothes were a mix of brocade and refined suede, not at all like the natural leathers and animal skins that Taruk wore. Her demeanor was calm and cool, but just below the surface there simmered an agitation and a sense that she was alert and ready to pounce at any moment. The woman’s gait was strong and sure, though smooth and stealthy. And her eyes were that of a hawk, steely and observant.

Taruk could not place her origins, and so she remained an enigma. Those of Urok did not pry into other’s business, nor did they tolerate others prying into theirs. As such, Taruk had no intentions of asking from whence she came. But she did seem to have a purpose and Taruk decided to travel with her until her search was completed or she left the borders of Urok. He still was not sure that her presence here posed no threat to his nation. Her intentions seemed honorable but he needed to know more and so he would wait and watch.

They traveled east for some time, days in fact, avoiding the towering mesas and contact with anyone else they found on the road. Taruk would have guessed that she came from one of the cities to the north, but she seemed perfectly capable and comfortable navigating the desert terrain and sleeping under an open sky. Taruk caught food for them both and she uttered no complaint about either the form of sustenance or the preparation of it, such as it was. Her focus was unwavering, always heading east and she seemed to need little guidance from Taruk-sem. This in itself gave him pause, for he was a waste-tracker and none knew these rugged lands better than he. Had the woman been ethulin he could have put it down to their uncanny symbiosis with nature. But she was human like him, and so must have had some form of specialized training in the wilderness, as he had undergone.

Taruk’s curiosity remained unsated, but his respect for the woman grew. She showed no fear, day or night, and though his constitution far surpassed her own, she pressed forward for hours on end, requiring only short rests, with nary a pessimistic word for the weather or the distance traversed. From what Taruk understood, this was not the case with most travelers, though his personal knowledge of outsiders was limited. Indeed, this was the most time he had ever spent with another while on his patrols of the Urokan outlands. He could understand how the companionship would be desirable, but he could also foresee the distractions it may introduce.

“Are those the Tribelands?”

The question came out of nowhere, and indeed Taruk had been slightly distracted within his own thoughts. The woman pointed east at a large, dark swath of thick trees in the distance. Taruk scanned the horizon in all directions, getting his bearings. Sure enough, they stood on the very border between Urok and the Tribelands. And while the Urokan desert stretched on into the Tribelands, that hot, sweltering jungle was where its indigenous peoples lived.

“Yes,” replied Taruk at length, “That is the land of my forefathers, the ancestral home of all Urokans.”

The woman nodded, seeming to ponder her destination, if indeed that was where she was headed. Taruk himself had never been to Echok Domar, the Country of Heritage, as the Tribelands were known among his kind. All he knew of were the stories passed down by his elders; that itenerant peoples emerged from the dark jungles centuries ago, deciding to settle in the vast deserts and rocky terrains of Urok instead. The reasons for this were long forgotten; there was never any manner of rift between their forefathers. They simply struck out on their own, delving into the unknown wilderness that was Urok. Perhaps it was the drier climate, or perhaps out on the flats it was easier to see one’s enemies approaching.

The woman headed towards the jungle without a word. Taruk expected no gratitude; rescuing her and the others was reward in itself. But for her to remain silent for such long periods seemed strange to Taruk-sem. He was used to a lack a communication but most outsiders seemed to speak on endlessly with little direction, thought or depth to their words. Yet Taruk felt there were things he needed to know at this point in the journey. Events beyond the borders of his homeland were not his concern, but if her quest and the encroachment of the Dothiks had anything to do with the sanctity of Urok it was his duty to replace out. Also, if she was planning on leaving Urok and entering the Tribelands she had better have a good reason, as well as some knowledge of the terrain on which she tread, for she would not survive long without either.

“What is it you hope to replace in that place?” asked Taruk.

“What makes you think what I am searching for lies within?” she retorted.

“Few outsiders know the true location of the Tribleands. Fewer still would venture there.”

She stopped walking. “In a greater sense, I seek something that was lost. Something very valuable...”

Taruk sighed as her comments trailed off, assuming she was speaking of gold or some other treasure. “I cannot go with you,” said Taruk. “Once you cross the border my responsibility towards you ends.”

The woman nodded. “I understand.”

Taruk-sem turned to head back into Urok and resume his patrol, but she called to him before he had taken more than three strides.

“Can you tell me what to expect in there?” she asked.

“I cannot,” he replied, over his shoulder.

“They will likely kill me without provocation, yes?”

“Quite possibly,” answered Taruk. “The old tribes are very traditional and very possessive of their sacred lands. They protect their property fiercely against those who would defile it. Only those of Urok may pass through unhindered and then only with the permission of the old tribes.”

The woman mulled this for a moment. “Then I am afraid I must ask for your assistance.”

Taruk stopped in his tracks and faced her. “I cannot leave Urok unless there is an imminent danger to her peoples or a spiritual quest has been undertaken.”

She stared at Taruk for a moment, but without a pleading look upon her face as he had expected. Her gaze was more of...assessment.

“Are you familiar with the former empire of Diathilos?” the woman asked him.

“I am,” he responded, knowing well the sprawling neighbor to the north, a land that spanned the entire continent.

“Have you heard of the Twelve Rings of the Emperor?” she queried further.

“I have not,” Taruk answered.

“Then you should mark well my words, waste-tracker. For these twelve rings hold great power and that power is greater still when they are brought together. These rings were lost not long ago, but one has already been found.”

The woman paused but Taruk had no reaction to her speech thus far.

“I served the former Emperor Iandro,” she continued, “and I serve him still. I seek these rings, for if they were to fall into the wrong hands it would foretell a disaster beyond comprehension.”

Taruk-sem had heard these stories before; epic tales of soulless magical artifacts created by mad wizards that sought to control or destroy the world. He was not impressed but decided to listen a moment longer out of respect for her plight.

“Worse still,” she pressed, “were these rings NOT to be found, anarchy and chaos would spread rapidly across these lands and engulf even Urok. You have already seen the first signs of this in the actions of the Dothiks.”

Taruk considered her words. The Dothiks, never having been an amiable people, had been uncharacteristically bold and aggressive of late; unmitigated proof of this lay in the atrocities and massacres committed by them upon the Ethulin a scant 20 years hence. An entire race nearly wiped out in less than a decade, all for their fear of the prophecy that warned of the Dothik’s “death by magic”. The rest of the world condemned this behavior but Urok took direct action, since the Dothiks had violated its borders in order to acheive their heinous goal. Reprisal was swift and decisive, mostly because the Dothiks seemed to have no quarrel with their desert neighbors. Yet still, the Dothiks persisted and found ways around the situation and around Urok in order to further penetrate the Ethulin homeland of Ithil Marin, whereupon they began their campaign to completely raze the enchanted forest. Their actions were reprehensible and incomprehensible, so perhaps this woman knew something about the Dothiks or at least what was causing them to behave this way.

“Your words carry some weight,” Taruk informed her, “but I am hesitant to abandon my duties without further signs of how this will affect my countrymen.”

The woman was silent as she scanned the horizon, as if searching for some immediate and tangible evidence to qualify her claims. Taruk knew she would replace nothing here but sand, dirt and rocks. The sun would not be eclipsed and no sudden rain would bring a flash flood. Taruk-sem knew this land as he knew himself, knew its dangers and its unparalleled beauty. He knew of its barren vastness and its numerous oddities. There would be nothing she could say regarding Urok that would surprise him.

“Tul,” she remarked suddenly, referring to Urok’s idyllic eastern neighbor. “Tul will be next. Tul will suffer the same fate as Ithil Marin, for their people have been interbreeding with the Ethulin for generations. The Dothiks will not let that pass, seeing anyone of Ethulin blood as a threat. Tul is also renowned for its research into magics of all kinds. The Dothiks will want to see it destroyed as quickly as possible. Tul is also the ally of Urok within the Triad and your people will be called upon to defend them when this second genocidal war begins.”

“Then we will crush the Dothiks with our combined might,” proclaimed Taruk confidently.

“Indeed,” she responded, “but meanwhile your tribes will suffer under the blight of war, as will the people of Tul. Many will die. Families will be divided, loved ones will be lost. Is it not our duty to avert such a catastrophe if it is within our power to do so?”

Her plea was a strong one. Taruk felt the conviction in her heart, saw the determination in her face. One could not ignore the portents of disaster when they came to light, and surely her understanding of the Dothik mentality seemed to be in line with Taruk’s recent experience as a prisoner within their kingdom.

“Very well,” acquiesced Taruk, “we shall tread this path together. But where I walk, you will follow. What I teach, you will learn...or you will die.”

The woman gave a curt nod, seeming to comprehend the seriousness of the situation. She stood and waited for Taruk to take the lead.

But he did not head towards the jungle. Instead, he began to scrutinize the ground, looking for something specific, apparently. After several minutes of this, with no interruption from the woman, Taruk-sem kneeled down and collected a small reptile that he caught unawares as it bathed in the bright Urokan sun. Taruk held the lizard aloft and began praying...

“As you are part of Urok, I am part of Urok. As I venture forth from her embrace, you shall venture forth from her embrace. As I carry you with me, so shall I carry a part of Urok with me.”

The humidity of the jungle was oppressive, not at all what Taruk was used to; the dryness of Urok, its wide open skies, its brightly lit vistas all stood in stark contrast to what he experienced now. If his female traveling companion had any complaint about the conditions she gave no sign of it. To her credit, she followed Taruk’s path precisely, step for step, and even managed to remain stealthy about it, no small feat in surroundings of this kind, with branches, vines and leaves thickly growing everywhere. Strange animals eyed them from all around, but Taruk’s slow, cautious movements did not startle the creatures. His keen senses were overwhelmed, however, for in the openness of Urok there were few sounds and Taruk knew each distinct noise by heart. Here the cacophony was maddening, for Taruk-sem knew little of the flora and fauna of the Tribelands. His task at present was simply to keep them alive and keep them moving forward. The woman had assured him that she would recognize her goal when she saw it, which seemed uncomfortably vague for Taruk-sem. The Tribelands were vast and without a specific destination they could be traveling in circles for weeks. As it was, the thick canopy of trees and overgrowth made it difficult to navigate by the sun. Taruk had to rely on his own innate sense of direction to keep them moving in a straight line.

“Stop!” cried the female in a loud whisper. Taruk froze and looked over his shoulder at her, his muscles tensed and ready for battle. The woman was gesturing to a spot on the ground just in front of him. Taruk looked down towards his feet and saw the vine stretched tautly across the path. Another step and he would surely have tripped. He nodded to her in gratitude but saw that she was continuing to point, tracing a line up the nearest tree and overhead. Only then did he realize that he had nearly stepped into a trap; the vine was connected to a branch that held several wooden spikes, concealed almost perfectly amidst the leaves. The spikes, had they been triggered, would most assuredly have impaled Taruk and he would likely be dead had she not spotted this lethal contrivance. How did such a thing escape his notice? And how did the woman see this snare among the endless greenery? What was her training? And what other skills did she possess?

Thankful for her assistance, Taruk again nodded to her and looked for another path to follow. Fortunately, there seemed to be many options, which both reassured and disturbed him all at once. A myriad of trails meant that their travel would be easier and quicker, but it also meant that the natives were frequently active in the area. And while Taruk-sem felt that they would respect his presence here, if only temporarily, he could not speak to their reaction upon encountering an outsider such as the female.

They continued in a northerly direction for some time, the heat obviously beginning to take its toll on the woman. She had stripped down to the bare minimum of clothing, another sight Taruk was used to, though she showed no shame in it. She even went so far as to bury her fine garments, not wanting to carry them nor leave them behind to be found. Taruk knew then that this one was saavy, and while she could pose no physical challenge to one such as him, she would be an intellectually formidable foe, one with true cunning and spirit. Waste-trackers obviously had no time to dedicate to a mate and others of Urok preferred to stay loyal to their own culture, as far as pairings went. But then, few outsiders could tolerate living conditions in the Urokan deserts, and even fewer Urokans would ever choose to live outside her borders. Still, Taruk’s assessment of this woman was that she would make a fine mate, should she ever see the end of her quest and decide to settle into family life, an unlikely choice at this point.

As the day passed, the heat and humidity refused to subside. The journeyed ever onward, heading deep into the interior of the Tribelands, constantly watchful for more traps and snares that were designed for larger prey and not simply game. When night came, the jungle noises dwindled and Taruk was able to begin mentally cataloging the things he had heard and continued to hear. Small insects nibbled at them as they settled into natural tree hammocks created by the criss-crossing of numerous vines. While they needed the rest, Taruk remained awake, straining his senses to make out sounds that could forewarn them of danger. Though he couldn’t see the woman, he felt that she too was also awake.

Several hours passed. Taruk guessed it to be around midnight when he heard the woman gasping.

“Are you all right?” he called to her quietly in the darkness.

“Just...so...thirsty...” she responded weakly.

Taruk slid out of his hammock and crept over to her, homing in on the sound of her wheezing. His waterskin was almost depleted, having shared it with her for the entire trek thus far. No new source of fresh water had been found, and that would soon become a problem. He groped for her in the gloom, his calloused hand finally replaceing her body among the foliage. To his surprise, her skin felt dry and dessicated, not slick with sweat as his was. He immediately sensed that this was not natural.

“Here, drink,” he bade her. As she gulped the last of the liquid, Taruk carefully touched her arm and thigh; they too were dry and beginning to crack. Then he heard a slight croaking noise, a sound he had heard before, though only once. His hand passed over her head and abdomen but he found nothing. He then knelt down to examine underneath the hammock and his hand found something rubbery and viscous. Instinctively, he grabbed it and his fingers dug into its body. The creature bit his hand, though the pain was minimal. Taruk pulled at the reptilian thing, trying dislodge it from the woman’s back, but it held on, adhering to her flesh in some way. He decided to bite it back, its warm fluids oozing out over his lips. The beast released its grip on the female and whipped around to attach itself to Taruk’s face. It was larger than his head and so was able to wrap itself around, covering Taruk’s nose and mouth. Breathing became difficult, but Taruk continued to bite and squeeze the thing. All the while he could feel his own fluids being leeched out of his body and siphoning in to the creature. His stamina, great as it was, began to wane. The effects were similar to poison, though much more subtle and painless.

Taruk’s free hand reached for his knife, as he meant to cut the animal off of his face before he suffocated or was completely drained of fluids. But the thing was quick and moved with each swipe, frustrating his efforts. Taruk dropped his knife and simply grabbed the creature with both hands, pulling with all of his remaining strength. Yet the beast would not let go, and Taruk started to feel lightheaded. His thoughts became jumbled, his training seemingly forgotten. He dropped to his knees as his constitution failed him, sensing unconsciousness was near. Then, felt a splash of some sour smelling liquid and the reptile was gone. Taruk fell to the ground, somehow exhausted by the conflict with this small foe. He too now gasped for air as he heard the woman still did. His need for water was insatiable but he knew that none remained. Even so, he could hardly move, so completely had his strength fled him. Niether could he speak so as to inquire as to the woman’s condition. Taruk simply lay there, helpless in the dark and disoriented in this strange land.

It may have been minutes or it may have been hours, Taruk was so unsure of the passage of time. He saw a faint light approaching but heard almost no sound. In his dazed state he could barely make out the forms of what he assumed to be the native tribesmen. He was able to offer no resistance as they lifted and carried his body into and through the trees. He had no sense of whether they had captured the woman as well, nor could he do anything about it if indeed they had. His only concern now was his unquenchable thirst but he saw no way to alleviate that in his present situation. At the moment he was merely a passenger, being conveyed through the darkness to an unknown destination.

Eventually, he was laid upon the ground and some of his senses returned to him. He could see that it was still night and a small bonfire illuminated the clearing he had been brought to. He could make out about a dozen figures there in the gloom, each one with black skin and tribal scars. They wore little in the way of clothing and carried few accoutrements. Their hair was wild and their eyes fierce. There was but one structure at the edge of Taruk’s vision, taller than himself but otherwise obscured in the darkness. His body ached and he groaned involuntarily.

One of the tribesmen approached him and allowed Taruk to sip water from a bowl. Taruk tried to take the vessel from the man, wanting to gulp down its entire contents, but strong hands prevented him from doing so. Still, the small amount of water was refreshing and even though he had not had nearly his fill, he began to feel more cognizant of his surroundings. He stared back at the man offering the water, just as the man stared back at Taruk. Both seemed to wear expressions of wariness, respect and curiosity.

“You are Urok,” said the native, in a language that seemed to be an older, accented version of Taruk’s own.

“Yes,” rasped Taruk, his throat still relatively dry, “I am a son of Urok.”

The man nodded. “We see you sometimes, but you not see us. Why does Urok come here?”

“I travel with a woman,” Taruk replied, “She wished to come here.”

The native cocked his head in surprise. “Why?”

“She seeks something. I know not what.”

“Woman Urok?”

“No,” answered Taruk. “I believe she is from the north.”

The native furrowed his brow. “No one not of Urok come here, unless trouble.”

“She has respect,” explained Taruk.

“Then she respect our land and our ways.”

The native stood and gestured and two other tribesmen brought the woman into the firelight. She was not bound, nor even held, the natives obviously confident in their own territory. Taruk noticed that she showed no fear upon her face, and his opinion of her continued to grow. He could also tell that she was still weak herself from the encounter with the strange reptile. Now that he was thinking more clearly, Taruk seemed to recall something about a creature known as a parch gecko. They were practically unheard of in Urok, as the climate was far too dry, but others had ventured into the Tribelands in the past and told of their own near fatal experience with the animal. Tulian merchants also came through Urok from time to time seeking this odd creature. Taruk-sem began to wonder if the parch gecko had been deliberately placed within their camp to incapacitate them and thus facilitate their capture...

The head native stood before the woman and examined her. “What you seek?”

Taruk was about to help translate for her but she responded as if she had understood every word clearly. “I am looking for a key that will help to save many lives.”

The leader was silent for a moment. “I know not of this thing,” he said evenly, “and outsiders may not defile sacred lands. But you travel with descended ones, so you live.”

Taruk breathed a small sigh of relief. He had indeed feared for her life, even if she had not. Taruk was about to offer to take her from the Tribelands and never return, but the head native spoke first.

“You must leave,” he ordered, “for you not survive this place.”

“I cannot leave,” she replied.

“Then ancestors decide your fate,” he decreed. “If you live, you stay. If ancestors see bad soul, they punish. Behold the bone arch!”

The leader gestured to the structure Taruk had seen earlier, and as the natives spread out and dropped to one knee the firelight illuminated an ominous sight: standing nearly ten feet tall, made of skulls and other human bones, was a perfect arch, wide enough to fit two men abreast within itself. Taruk’s eyes went wide, but the woman seemed unfazed. The natives murmured ancient prayers to the remnants of their ancestors while the head native brought the female to the arch and centered her under its span. He was about to tie her hands with ligaments that hung from the bony pillars when Taruk-sem cried out.

“No!”

None of the natives reacted, as if they had not heard him at all.

“No,” he repeated, “Allow me to be judged instead.”

The woman stood calmly as the leader continued to bind her hands. “You not interloper,” he replied.

“But I am responsible for bringing her here. Her actions are mine to answer for.”

Finally, the woman showed some emotion, seemingly flattered and relieved at the same time. The head native turned to Taruk, staring at him. “Then come,” he said at length. “Stand before the ancestors that they may see you.”

Taruk shuffled weakly over to the arch, looking the woman in the eye and taking her place. She appeared grateful, but both had trepidation in their expression, for even Taruk did not know what was about to happen. Suddenly, she dropped to the ground at Taruk’s feet, sobbing uncontrollably and thrashing about. Taruk was stunned; this was the first loss of composure he had observed in her.

“Get up, woman!” he hissed. He didnt want to make the situation with the natives worse, though they seemed unmoved by her display. After a few moments, she collected herself and stood. She moved off to the side without regarding Taruk again. The waste-tracker nodded to the leader who bound his wrists to the arch, stepping back when he was finished. The woman melted into the shadows as all of the native began chanting in earnest, their voices becoming louder in the dark night, rising up through the trees and carrying back to the days of their earilest forefathers. A howling sound, like that of a mad wind, began to churn up and merge with the voices of the natives, though no breeze stirred the leaves of the surrounding foliage. Taruk felt the heat in the air drain away rapidly as his skin started crawling from goosebumps that were not entirely derived from the chill that had suddenly overcome the campsite. Then, a ghostly light began to emanate from one of the skulls upon the arch. Its eyesockets glowed an eerie blue, which seemed to transfer to the next skull and the next until the entire arch was lit with that same pale illumination.

The chants of the natives reached a deafening crescendo of cacophonous sound, but even that was drowned out by the unnatural screams that uttered forth from the arch itself. The blue glow turned crimson, bathing the camp in a bloody light. Taruk steeled himself and gritted his teeth against the sound, preparing for an unknown torturous event that was sure to come. He saw the woman nowhere. Had she run? If so, he could not blame her. This display was far beyond anything Taruk had ever experienced, even in the presence of his own tribe’s shamans. But she would not get far. The jungle at night was pitch black and lethal in numerous ways, and the natives would certainly not let her escape on foot, especially with daybreak no doubt coming soon.

The ritual continued, as wisps of vapor began to creep from the mouths of the skulls, slowly reaching out for Taruk and intertwining themselves amidst his limbs. Taruk could feel their feathery, albeit chill, touch and moreover he began to hear whispered voices deep within his own head. The language was ancient and too soft and mingled to make out the words, but its presence within his thoughts started to drive him mad. Taruk closed his eyes tight and shook his head, trying in vain to free himself of the voices, the tendrils, the chill and the strange visions he now saw in his minds eye. Taruk wanted to snap the ligaments that bound him loosely to the arch but knew inherently that if he did, his life, and that of the woman, would be forfeit. He resisted the urge to scream, to break free and to run all the way back to Urok. But how long would this assault on his senses last? He knew not, but knew that he had to endure. Would this invasion of his mind drive him mad? Would the spirits of his distant ancestors tear apart his soul?

The wait was interminable. Taruk-sem thought he would die of thirst, of suffocation, of fear. Or maybe he would be proven unworthy and the natives would run him through with one of their spears. If so, the woman would surely be next. The chill that surrounded him became a cold that threatened to freeze his organs. He would die frozen in a sweltering jungle.

But then, everything stopped. The reddish light faded, the sounds disappeared, the warmth began to creep back into Taruk’s limbs. He could no longer feel the wispy tendrils crawling about his body. All was still and silent. He was still bound to the arch but he slowly opened his eyes to see what had occured and if he indeed still lived. It was pitch black. He could see no campfire, no night sky. Taruk blinked and shook his head again to clear his senses, yet nothing but darkness greeted him. His wrists were untied and he rubbed them then rubbed his eyes, trying to focus on the world around him. He could sense others nearby but saw nothing. Was this the afterlife? Had he gone to join his ancestors? It made no sense.

Something waved in front of his face, and it was then that he realized that he was blind. He heard the whispers of the natives around him, conferring and confirming his condition. Then, the leader spoke.

“You live, but with punishment. Ancestors say you go in peace, but not return.”

“Is my punishment to remain until death?” asked Taruk.

“Not ours to say,” returned the leader. “Ancestors punish until time is right...or until death.”

Taruk sighed. His training had heightened his other senses and he was taught never to rely on just one. However, the loss of vision always made life more problematic. “And the woman?” he inquired.

“I am here,” she called softly from behind him. She had not fled. She had stayed to witness the entire unnerving ritual. He felt her arms wrap around his broad shoulders as she began to guide him back into the jungle and towards home. Without further comment, they left the native encampment, slowly trudging forward, stepping carefully on the long trek back to Urok.

“I am sorry,” Taruk said, once they had distanced themselves from the campsite. “I feel I have failed you.”

“You have not,” answered the woman.

“Your search was in vain.”

“It was not.”

Taruk stopped. “You found that which you seek?”

“I did,” she whispered. “It lay hidden within one of the skulls of the arch.”

Taruk suddenly grasped the situation. “When you fell to the ground at my feet, and feigned distress...”

“Yes,” she confirmed, “That is when I saw it and took it.”

“This was not some part of the arch, was it? For if it was some sacred relic of theirs they will surely hunt you down and kill you for its theft!”

“It was not a relic of theirs,” she assured Taruk. “It was a relic of my people, hidden some time ago, awaiting a special time to be found by one of my kind.”

“Then our journey was successful,” stated Taruk-sem.

“Yes,” confirmed the woman. “And your sacrifice was not in vain.”