And the feeling.
Despite the fact that El`dell was slowly dying, it felt as if it was a place out of time. It felt as if you could strip away the sands of yesterday and tomorrow, and have, in its own perfect bubble of time, only the now. Because only the now mattered. It was a timeless land. A magical land. And he had never—despite the way he had been raised among dragons—he had never believed in magic.
Until now.
“I remember a time,” he murmured drowsily, “when I was small.” He thought back. “I was probably only eight or nine at the time.” His eyes were closed as he was trying to picture the memory that had flashed through his mind. “I was playing in the forest near my home at The Hall, when I stepped into a clearing.” He smiled slightly. “I had stepped into that clearing countless times before, but this time something was different. I stopped quickly and looked around for the cause. Immediately, I spotted someone sitting on a shelf of rock near the forest floor. He was completely and utterly still. And the surroundings, the birds and other animals, even the wind, seemed to mimic his stillness. Everything was quiet.”
“I turned to go, very certain that I was intruding, but he called to me. He called me by name. I walked hesitantly forward, trying vainly to be brave as only a boy of eight or nine can.” He laughed lightly then continued. “When I got there, I saw that he was an elf.” He opened his eyes to find Auri’s. She was looking at him intently, following his every word. “I knew—because I had been raised among dragons—that he was a real elf, not a dragon in another form. I stood before him, and he stared at me, scrutinizing me for long minutes. Finally, he looked away from my face, toward The Hall.”
“What did he say?” Auri murmured.
“Nothing. I watched as he quietly melded into the trees, as silent as he had come. I’ve always wondered about him. Odd that I should remember him. Now. Here.”
Auri looked away, out over the water spilling down the mountain, out to the forests surrounding El`dell. “I think he was probably a Watcher.”
“A Watcher?”
She turned. The rims of her eyes were red, from fatigue, from tears, he didn’t know. Seeing her in pain made him feel completely helpless and small inside.
“Liran is a Watcher. Five of them were graced by the queen and sent from these shores. They have remained in Terradin ever since, looking for a way to save us all. Searching.”
“That’s how he found you,” Nachal suddenly realized. “Liran.”
She nodded then slowly turned to face him.
“I love him, Nachal.”
His heart burned. His stomach clenched.
“I’m not asking you to stop,” he said hoarsely.
“And you want to remain in my life . . . knowing that this is how I feel?”
He swallowed. “Yes,” he said softly.
She nodded and turned toward the water again. She was silent a long time. When she finally spoke, her voice was little more than a whisper. “Then, as a friend, will you please take me to Eldaria to see my father?”
Fear. Exultation. Hope. They all rushed through him, potent and heady. He closed his eyes against the feeling, trying to contain it. Trying not to let her see. “Yes, Auri, as a friend, I will take you to see the king.”
Chapter Nineteen- Sickness
He had watched her for days. She moved gracefully through the rooms of the pavilions, ministering to the sick, bringing water to dry, cracked lips, placing her soft hands against their cheeks, giving them hope. But with each moment that passed, each elf that was moved to the courtyard above waiting for burial, she bled inside.
He studied her more closely. Deep circles rimmed her eyes from lack of sleep. Her cheekbones were sharper against the frame of her face. She had dropped weight. Her eyes were bright when bending over one of the dying, but in the quiet moments when she thought no one was watching . . . they were scared and full of the suffering that she refused to let anyone see.
It was ironic, his graced eyesight. Every day of his life he had used his eyes without thinking, without pausing to consider, but now. . . He shook his head, keeping his eyes trained on Auri’s back.
Liran was gone. Auri had taken a little time to search for him, but without any success. He had simply disappeared. Finally, she had given up, and ever since she had been here, in the pavilions, giving hope to the dying.
They cried for her in their sleep, mumbling incoherently until the touch of her hand met their skin. And then instantly they quieted. He wasn’t sure what it was that she was doing, other than offering them comfort. Surely there was no cure involved in her touch because the dying still died. But there was a peace in their death that had been absent before. It left him feeling in awe of her. Something he had been feeling a lot lately.
He silently moved a little closer to her, and stood as still and as quiet as possible, blending into the shadows of the deepening evening. The elf on the pallet was mumbling in his sleep, jerking and twisting within the sheets. Her hand came down onto his arm, and the figure stilled.
Nachal held his breath, quietly moving a few paces closer to hear her whisper indistinctly to the silver-haired elf. Her hand reached up and stroked his damp forehead. His fine, limp hair brushed against the back of her hand as her palm passed over it. She made more soothing noises, and the figure dropped deeply into sleep. His breathing became more even. His limbs stilled. His eyelids un-clenched. He was peaceful once again.
Nachal crouched next to her as she watched the sleeping face and whispered, “You should get some sleep too.”
She turned to him automatically, her eyes far away at first. It was a few seconds before they focused on him. “I can’t,” she said wearily. “There are so many of them.” He studied her for a few moments before reaching down to help her stand. She leaned against the pavilion’s post with a sigh and closed her eyes.
He snagged a cup of Iridis juice from the nearest table and handed it to her. “If you won’t take the time to eat then at least drink something,” he ordered.
She sighed gratefully, and put her lips to the cup, sipping the white nectar slowly.
“Your stomach must think that your jaw is broken,” he joked in a tired drawl.
She smiled a little, letting her head rest against the post again and her eyes close. “Well, maybe this will send it a message.”
His lips quirked. “Yes. That you’re allowed liquids.”
She sighed. “I’ll eat in the morning.”
“Just so that you know,” he said offhandedly, “you’ve been in here for three mornings.”
Her head jerked up; her eyes opened in shock. “No!” she exclaimed quietly. “That’s impossible.”
“I’m afraid so.”
She reached out a shaky hand and set the cup on the table. “I’ve been in here for three days?” The question made her sound very lost, as though she had lost more than time.
He put the other cup he was holding into her shaking hand, and, wrapping her fingers around it, watched until she brought it to her lips and sipped. “I’ve been keeping count,” he said quietly.
She heard. Of course. She frowned as she sipped at the nectar and studied his eyes. He felt like closing them, afraid that she would see too much and grow uncomfortable around him again. It had taken him this long, of constant exposure to his pathetic charms, for her to even grow remotely comfortable and at ease around him. He sighed, giving in to the fear and closing his eyes. He really was pathetic.
“You’ve been here the whole time?” she asked in surprise. He opened his eyes, feeling caught. Would a friend do that? Maybe. But a friend would definitely not watch her every single move. Every touch. Every brave smile. Every sigh or tired rubbing of her eyes. No, and a friend wouldn’t be helplessly in love with her either.
“I’ve been helping out a little here and there.”
She frowned again, taking another sip. Her hands seemed steadier now. “Have you slept at all?”
“Have you?”
She blinked. �
��Obviously not.”
“Well then, I guess I haven’t either,” he said gruffly, looking away from her probing gaze.
She called his name softly; his head turned without his permission. He grunted low in frustration at that. Didn’t he have any control anymore?
“Go get some sleep.”
He knew that she would just keep going whether he was asleep or not. “I’m fine,” he said, moving away to help move someone onto a cot. He did it because it needed to be done, but deep down he knew that there was another reason. He was retreating from the puzzled speculation burning in her tired eyes. Retreating from revealing too much. Again. He sighed as he adjusted the blanket over the pale, shivering elf.
Less than a quarter of an hour later, she cornered him. Literally. She pointed to a cot whose occupant had just died, and was now empty. “Lay down,” she commanded harshly, “and sleep. If you don’t, I’ll break that pitcher of water on the table over your head, and you’ll sleep anyway.” She smiled a slight, surprisingly menacing smile. “Your choice. Headache or no headache.”
He eyed the pitcher. It might hurt, but he doubted that it would knock him unconscious. “What about you?” he asked, turning back to her.
“I’ll sleep too.”
There was something, maybe in the tone of her voice, that had him frowning at her. She shifted once, slightly, and then held herself impossibly still. His frown turned to a suspicious glare. “You’re lying.”
She sighed, beyond weary. “Of course I’m not.”
He was trying to stay focused on what she was saying, but it was proving difficult. The thread of the conversation kept getting lost within the weariness of his mind, and the absolute exhaustion of his body. He ran what seemed like a permanently cramped hand through his dirty, black hair, making it stick out at odd angles, and then he tried to rub some focus back into his gritty eyes. It came back to him as he stood there, staring at her stupidly, wondering what they were talking about. He sighed. “Yes, I’m sure that you will eventually sleep. I’m more concerned with when.”
“Later.”
“I’ll sleep later too then.”
She glared, and he struggled to keep a smile from showing on his lips. He looked straight into her eyes and waited. The silence lengthened. Minutes passed. Finally, she sighed and sat down with a weary slump onto the cot. “Just for a few hours,” she murmured, lying down and turning away from him onto her other side.
He finally let the smile show as he lay down on the floor next to her. A few minutes later, a cool linen sheet brushed the tops of his shoulders and flattened against his legs and feet. He thought he murmured a hoarse thank you before he lost consciousness, but he wasn’t sure.
When he awoke, she was gone.
He jerked up to a sitting position, and searched the room quickly. A moment later, he slumped back in relief to the floor, and listened, completely unashamedly, to the conversation going on outside.
“Why did you not tell the Watchers that it was this bad?”
The queen sighed. “I needed all of them to remain on Terradin.”
“Their people are dying, Alera. Some probably have loved ones among those inside. Would you have them come home to nothing?
She was angry. Nachal could tell by the sound of her voice that she was struggling to keep it level. He was pretty sure that the queen could hear it too because her voice grew abruptly terse.
“If they didn’t remain, it wouldn’t matter because nothing is all that would be left everywhere.”
Auri was quiet, and then she murmured, “You’re right,” with a sigh. “I know you are. I just hate feeling so helpless. What can I do among so many? I have no gift of healing. All I have are empty words and even emptier actions.”
“Words of love are never empty,” Alera said quietly. “And your actions give them hope, Aurelias. Surely you are not so blinded by living among the humans that you cannot recognize hope when you see it?”
Outside, Nachal could hear the wind pick up, faintly sighing through the trees. He could hear water moving swiftly—a nearby river—and the distant sound of birds twittering to each other, but both Auri and the queen were completely silent.
He rose from the floor and cautiously stepped outside. They both turned to look at him. “Sorry I overslept,” he said huskily, trying to tame his hair with his fingers.
They both continued to stare at him, Auri with an almost warm look in her deep blue eyes, and the queen. . . He shifted, suddenly uncomfortable.
“Take her to Cerralys now,” Alera commanded quietly. “She is needed there.”
Auri turned in surprise. “You need me here. One person won’t be enough among so many.”
“What I need is for you to end this,” Alera snapped then she closed her eyes and sighed wearily. “Please, just trust me, Aurelias.”
Auri stared at her aunt’s haggard, closed face for a few moments before turning to Nachal. “Are you ready to leave?”
He nodded quietly then held his breath when she moved forward and kissed his cheek.
“Thank you for everything,” she whispered.
He watched her walk away, standing there like an idiot, holding his fingertips to his cheek. Pathetic.
“You have no idea what she is,” the queen whispered. He switched his focus to the queen warily. His hand dropped back down to his side. The queen’s eyes were on a point far beyond him. On something distant that he was sure—even if given a hundred years—he would never be able to see.
“You cannot see what you don’t understand,” she said softly, as though she were reflexively answering his idle thoughts. And then her eyes swung to his, suddenly illuminating the pre-dawn sky like glacier, blue flames. They felt as if they were freezing him in place to the path beneath his feet. Locked, purely by the force of her will and the wildness burning from her eye sockets. She looked like a feral cat that was about to strike.
Her mouth was closed, but the voice inside of his mind grew louder, morphing and filling the cavity of his skull with deafening, pervasive sound. He wanted to cringe, to turn away, to run. He wanted to fall unconscious and never hear it again. But he was powerless. His heart beat like a rabbit’s, caged within his frozen chest and skin.
And you cannot understand because you cannot see.
His mind spun, whirling and twisting as the last echoes of her voice died away inside, and then all that was left was calm. Was it instinct? Something deeper than instinct? Whatever it was he knew that she was right.
That knowledge hurt.
All he wanted was to love Auri. To protect her. To give her every last part of himself. But maybe it wouldn’t be enough. Maybe he wouldn’t be enough.
The coldness dissipated from the queen’s eyes and they returned to normal. “If I were to ask you,” she asked softly, “what is the greatest force that moves within us, what would be your response?”
His mind instantly went to Cerralys. “Love.”
Her eyes intensified. Staring into them, he forgot place and time. It felt to him like the world hovered just beyond Alera’s eyes. Like he might be able to see, if given enough time . . . everything. Every single thing that ever had or ever would exist.
Everything.
“And the second greatest?”
Nachal shivered. His mind instantly went to the Terradin that existed in his dreams, and the Terradin that he could almost see reflected in her eyes like an afterimage that was slightly hazy and indistinct.
He thought of his relationship with Auri.
He thought of the death that had touched so many and the hollow emptiness that death always left in its wake.
The one side of his thoughts encompassed the living reality of things, the other just a dream. The distance across the two seemed only to be measured in despair.
“Despair,” he said in a near whisper.
“Love brings hope and strength,” the queen said intently. “It lifts the weary and encourages the weak. But despair is the opposite. It putrefie
s like a disease, rotting away the flesh of the body. Rotting away the substance of the whole until it is nothing but shadow.” She paused for a long moment, searching his face and eyes. “It is not wrong to love her, Nachal. It will give you the power you need to save her. But there will come a time when you will have to make a choice.” She reached out and grasped his forearm tightly. Her nails bit into his skin, tearing through the flesh as though it didn’t exist. “Choose wisely,” she breathed. “Let it come from love, not despair.”
Her words sank into him, flooding him, swallowing all of the air inside of his chest and extinguishing it. The longer he stared into her eyes the worse the dizziness became, until, finally, he forced his eyes away from hers and dragged precious air back into his lungs.
“I’ll remember,” he rasped.
Before she withdrew her hand, he had the sudden sensation that he was falling from a high cliff. He squeezed his eyes closed as the bottom dropped out of his stomach and then leveled again. As quickly as it had come, the sensation went away. Level ground was beneath him again. He opened his eyes tentatively, and stared at his feet. They placidly stood there beneath his legs, just like always.
What was that?
“Thank you,” Alera said softly, “for what you will do.” Then she was gone.
He stood like a statue for what seemed like an endless amount of time, staring blankly at the path that the queen had disappeared down, completely unable to move. He wanted to forget it all. To pretend that she had never spoken.
But she had.
How did you scrub out someone else’s words from your mind? He had always been able to do that with the guys, the soldiers, even Cerralys at times. But this was different. The words had come with such power. They were inescapable.
As he continued to stare absently at the path, one of the queen’s personal guardians—one of the Vi`dal—strode quickly forward and slapped a letter into his palm.
Dragon Dreams (The Chronicles of Shadow and Light) Book 1 Page 17
