by N. M. Howell
And in an instant I forgive her for it all.
I turn her over so that I can gather her into my arms. But as soon as I pull her to me I see what she was curled around. A child. Her child. The baby is small and pink, sleeping easily because it does not know the horrors amidst which it was born. I let Delara rest and pick up the child. It has the dark hair of the House of Eaynfall. And its mother’s eyes. I can tell by holding it that it has magic, the pure magic Laoren sought. I begin to wonder. Then I touch the beautiful girl’s head and I see.
The Orwirl opens up to me and I see it all. Her birth, her separation from Delara, the bitter faces of the witches who watched over her, and even Laoren. And then I see her, Delara, walking into the room, stumbling and weak and taking the girl into her arms. Her mother sinks to the floor, holding the child like it is the most precious thing ever created. Delara lays down and she looks so weak, so sick. But she smiles and when I see it I am reminded of so many happy days we once had. I know from this vision that she loved this child more than anything and that she tore through those thousands of men outside to be here, to hold her daughter. Delara whispers many things to the child: how much she loves her, how much she wishes they had more time, how she hopes that in time the child will find a way to forgive her. She tells the child not to worry, that someone will find her and take care of her, that someone will love her as her mother would have loved her. She says that her heart knows this someone will be here. She says the child is to be named after that person.
“Nevena.”
Then I watch my friend kiss her child and die.
The Orwirl goes and I am left with death and life. And all through the night I weep.
It is a bitter night all across the world. Laoren’s forces have already claimed Targaross and the Sightless Sea. Millions of souls across the lands now swear allegiance to Laoren, whether they wish to or not. She cannot yet draw power from their souls, but soon she will be able to.
In Glassenross the war is nearly decided. All over the Hundred Kingdoms there is chaos and death. Those men, women, and creatures standing for good have either been slaughtered for sport by the Famished or seduce by Laoren. Yunger’s army is retreating as fast as it can, every division, every battalion, every lone survivor. Whole races have been extinguished and joy has been eradicated from the land. Across Glassenross the word is spreading: the war is lost.
I am lost in a sea of feelings, too much and too strong for me. There is darkness and silence, but only for a little while. Soon they wake me from my faint and I find it is true, he is here. My Eduard. We have been apart for more than three years and I am not sure I ever expected to see him again. But he is here and he is in my arms. I cannot let him go. I hardly believe he is real. I won’t ever be away from him again.
“How long has it been, my love?” he asks. “Longer than my heart could bear. Where have you been? What has come to you in all this long time?”
“Do not worry,” I say. “When at last this long war is over there will be more than enough time to share our stories. I swear to you now you shall be all that consumes my time and body, but right now a long road lies ahead of us. We are losing this war.”
“But you have dragons and I bring the Blackhearts. Together with me and your winter magic I cannot imagine what a turn we could make in the tide.”
“But there is still Laoren. And worse yet there is the Almighty. Even if those two were the only threats we faced I should say we had hard work to do. And we do not have enough men left.”
“You have only to instruct me, Nevena. There is nothing you could ask me that I would not do.”
“If the army is retreating, they will flee for the Land of Dao. It was always Yunger’s plan so that in the event of catastrophe all the remaining forces might band together. And a heavy task awaits us in that place, at Moerdra Castle.”
“What task?”
“We must take Delara home.”
In the Winterlands, Laoren and her forces have finally defeated the Famished forces in that land. It has been long and gruesome battle, but victory came swifter after she removed the spell from the land. In a final desperate attempt to overcome their enemy, the Famished unleashed the Amber. Even now it rages across the Winterlands and though the Famished themselves have been slain, the Amber continues to burn Laoren’s forces, for many of them cannot escape the flames. Even some Helkar have perished in the golden fire. Laoren herself has already left. She cares not for the lives of her soldiers; to her they are merely a means to an end and if they die along the way it simply means less people to be crowded with later.
She flies swifter than the wind over the earth, looking down at the carnage and waste of war as she goes, pleased beyond all thought. She has felt not herself of late, for every battle in the Winterlands drained her of magic before the dissolution of the spell, but she feels so much better now. So powerful and impending. So much more like herself. As she soars across the sky, casting spells of death and torture when it pleases her, she realizes that she has not been so iniquitously happy since the War of Four Heavens. That was the last time she came close to defeating the Almighty and annihilating him. The thought of his death goes through her in a hot, trembling elation of spirit and mind. Her heart, cold and shut as it is, rejoices at the thought of his bloody, eviscerated body falling from the sky. And she thinks of Throdan and Traega, friends she knew and loved for millennia and who were brutally taken from her all those long years ago. For the first time since Traega lay dying, Laoren feels something genuine inside.
She is ecstatic, smiling, as she nears the fort, but when she sees her soldiers and monsters slain all across the land, she panics. Like a falling star she rushes for the fort and crashes through the wall. But there are the witch nurses, hanging in the washroom. She runs through the wall into the child’s room, but it is gone. And then she thinks. She remembers she was unable to sense the baby or Delara because of the drain of the Winterlands. She remembers Delara’s face when last they met: the girl’s pain. Her confusion. She remembers a strange other warmth at the bottom of the ship that night she confessed her plans to Eduard in the cell. How could she have been so arrogant and blind?
She screams. A black fire explodes from her body and everything standing or growing within twenty miles is turned to ash.
Ciraa steals down the stairs again. She creeps along the hallway and passes the sleeping Famished at the entrance to the mess hall. Legion beat her fiercely for her last journey here, but she will not be caught this time. It takes great patience and agility, but she works her way across the room in which nearly three hundred Famished lay snoring. She finally reaches the other side and bends down to touch Thea. The girl turns over, startled. Ciraa lifts Thea’s hand and brings it to her cheek.
“Show me the way.”
We arrive home at Moerdra Castle. It has been a long, arduous journey and the whole party is tired. Many more have gathered to us and followed us home. Upon arriving in the land of Dao we found what remains of Yunger’s army. There are hundreds of thousands here. About as many have been taken prisoner. We know nothing of our forces in Targaross, but every ship of ours that sailed on the Sightless Sea was sunk. It is a sad, beaten group of men we pass through. Moerdra Castle is still in ruins, but there are rooms on the west side that are still intact. Delara’s room has remained unharmed and we place her in her bed until we can bury her properly. I wish her family were here, but I do not know where Jacob and Katrina are and we have yet to save Thea from Legion.
Our forces across the world are dead, captured or in retreat. The Almighty still eludes us. Even without the power of the Stones, Laoren is nearly invincible and now her rage will be unspeakable. The Famished have unleashed chaos and the Amber throughout most of the Hundred Kingdoms and the uncharted realms. I have the tablet, but cannot yet aid my people. Thea and Ciraa are in the hands of Legion, who has destroyed Golrend and cut off our supplies. Gardenwall has fallen, as have all of the other kingdoms. Bodies litter the earth. Fires ra
vage the land. Whole civilizations and races have been eradicated. Yunger is not here to lead us. We have failed. It seems the world is lost.
Those are thoughts for another time. Tonight I sit beside Delara’s still body and think of our days together in this place. I think of our secret code and the many times we met in private, skirting the rules of propriety. Our lives were so easy then. So pure. As I sit beside Delara, I hold her child, loving it relentlessly.
In the Winterlands, a hole opens in the earth. Corinnalwyn steps out and into the air. She looks around and sees the devastation of the land, the bodies lying in every direction and the Amber rushing hungrily. She calls to her husband. He comes up and touches her shoulder. His presence comforts her and gives her strength. She closes her eyes and summons the winter magic. Snow and ice spread out from her, overcoming the fire and soothing the land. When a path is clear, she calls up her people. They come up rejoicing, shutting their eyes against the sun as they feel it for the first time. They were born underground and now the whole world has opened to them. One of them seems less impressed than the others. In fact he seems bored, even angry. He stands apart while everyone else experiences the world for the first time in their lives. He looks like them, except for one difference. There is a scar on his chest, it runs from his throat to the bottom of his abdomen, bluer than the Sightless Sea.
Chapter 24
I still remember.
I woke up in the Servants’ Quarters. I dressed in my servant gown and combed my hair. The sun was barely risen, just gathering the courage to peak over the birch trees in the distance. I took a moment at my mirror to dream of what the day would bring.
I made my way to the servants’ dining hall and found Ciraa there waiting. We sat down to our breakfast and before I even began to eat I was laughing too hard to stay upright. She was so funny, so wild and happy. As we ate, Sister came over and sat with us, smiling that wise smile of hers and simultaneously admonishing and encouraging Ciraa’s crudeness. It was how we started every morning. Together.
When we’d done, I walked into the halls, which were alive with servants hurrying to prepare for the waking of the lord and his family. There was to be a grand reception that evening for the lord’s aunt from Gardenwall. I nearly walked into Chelle as she came out of a door, her cheeks flushed and her hair looking as if the wind had got at it. We’d only just said our greetings when Bronden came from the same room, still tucking his shirt back into his pants. It was the Chasm they had emerged from. For just a moment the air ran thick with embarrassment, then we all laughed because there was nothing else to expect. We headed to our chores and the day began.
I went to the Lord’s Chamber and woke Lord Jacob and Lady Katrina. They rose and thanked me, asking that I be prepared to wait on the lord’s aunt personally, as I was the most demure and reliable servant in the castle. I thanked them. Next, I woke Lady Thea, who had only passed six winters at the time, but even then she was stunning, even more so for being innocent. I gave her a piece of Boar’s Sweet, her favorite treat. She thanked me with a smile and I left.
I walked into Delara’s room and as usual she was already awake. Every now and again we were able to have time in the mornings, before my chores and her schedule. That was one of those mornings. We lay in her bed, talking of the lives we wanted and the things we imagined awaited us. I talked of silly things, like finding new creatures or meeting some handsome sorcerer who would show me a whole new world. A family who had been missing me terribly. Delara spoke of adventure, of traveling the earth and seeking out new wisdom and new places. She talked of learning to use her magic. Of children she might have. And for a time we just lay there, two friends filled with dreams and still happier than imaginable right where we were.
The day passed. I waited on Lord Jacob’s aunt and the night was a great success. I visited with Delara once more before she went to sleep, and Ciraa kept me busy with laughter and gossip while we cleaned the Open Chamber. Afterwards, I climbed the west wall to the see the night sky. Yunger was waiting for me and for his toll. I planted the kiss on his forehead and then found my place along the parapet. I watched the stars for a time, content.
It was a perfect day in Moerdra Castle.
I drop my hand back to my side, for I have finished pulling the earth over Delara’s coffin. No one is here at the final parting of my truest friend. Only Eduard, me, and her daughter. Nevena. I have wept myself dry and hurt enough for a life age of the earth. There is something else I seek now. I turn to Eduard.
“Speak to the Blackhearts. Tell them to make ready. I will have a word with Roasha and Kalsha. We leave at dawn. It is time we sought her out.”
“Laoren. She will be angry and more dangerous than ever.”
“I pray for it. I go now not to war or even to justice. I go to the obliteration of that witch and all the evil she brought. Do not try to temper me with pleas for justice or entreaties for restraint. I will have that witch’s heart and before I close her eyes forever she will kneel in the dust at my feet and call me Queen.”
Ciraa crawls under the table, frantic, her head bleeding just above her eye. She is sweating, trembling, her dress ripped in several places. She has been chased across the topmost floor of the Citadel. Now she hides in the dark, trying to remain quiet. She hears footsteps, hears the scabbard dragging along the floor because he loosened his pants. A glow approaches from the hallway, brighter and brighter until the lamp holder enters the room. She watches the Amber leather of his boots to see which way he will go. He stops just before the table. Slowly, she inches back toward the wall, hoping he will not find her there. Her feet touch the wall and she stops breathing. The legs before her do not move. For a long time they stay just like that. Suddenly the feet turn towards her and hands reach down to flip the table over. Legion stands over her.
“Pretty little wife-to-be, where have you been?”
He reaches down to grab her by her hair. He ties a length of cloth across her mouth, silencing her. He drags her away, down the hall and up the stone steps. She cannot scream or escape. She has never been so afraid. Legion drags her out onto the roof of the Citadel, which is still littered with the bodies of the council members he slaughtered earlier. He kicks their lifeless bodies aside as he drags Ciraa out. He throws her down and she hits her head. She sees everything through a haze of pain and fear. She can just make out the shape of Legion above her, undressing. His shirt. His sword. His boots. He starts on his pants and stops. He gets down on top of her. He rips her dress open below her stomach. He stares between her legs for a moment then looks in her eyes, mad with lust and power, relishing her helplessness.
“There are worse things than death, girl. I have been patient with you. I have even tried beating you into submission, but your spirit is too wild. You won’t be caged. I see that now. So instead I’ll free you. Free you from your dress. Free you from your undergarments. Free you from the virtue of your chastity. Free you from the easy, painless, happy life you’ve lead. Then I’ll free you from existence entirely. For I bring you chaos. I bring you freedom.
He begins to rub across her thighs and she can do nothing but cry. She raises her eyes to the night sky and tries to block out what is happening. She tries to focus on the beauty of the starry sky above her.
There is a great cacophony in the night, many cannons firing all at once and then the unmistakable sound of destruction and panic. Legion leaps up from Ciraa and stumbles to the parapet. He cannot believe his eyes. Yunger’s army is storming the streets with a ferociousness and bloodlust he has never seen before. All across the fallen city of Golrend, Famished are being slain without pity or compassion. And again the mighty cannons roar and the barracks in the east quarter of the city—in which hundreds of Famished sleep—collapse in a great rumble of fire and dust. In their desperation and blind fear, the Famished begin to light the Amber, but without the discipline they have been taught. They are setting themselves and their fellows aflame out of sheer dumb terror. As their forces dwindle
faster and faster, the Famished begin to turn on each other, driven mad and seditious by their impending doom. From somewhere in the city a volley of arrows is unleashed. The frantic Famished stand no chance. Legion cannot breathe for fear and disbelief. And as he looks out over the city, watching his men die, the roof door opens.
Yunger stands there, clothed in the beautiful ornamented armor given to him when he first assumed command, a general come home at last.
“Draw your blade,” Yunger says. “And come and meet your demise.”
Legion stands stupid for a moment, but finally moves. He dives for his sword, tripping over his boots like a fool, and struggles to pull it from the scabbard. Yunger notices Legion’s clothes lying about; he sees Ciraa lying amongst corpses, crying and trembling, her dress torn below her stomach. A powerful rage shakes in his bones and Legion barely has time to stand before Yunger is upon him. The Famished are no pretenders at the blade and as their leader Legion has more skill than any other, but he is no match for this opponent. Yunger moves like a swift wind and strikes like fresh and terrible thunder. His blade flashes back and forth, cutting Legion again and again, all over his body. With frightening skill, Yunger disarms Legion and begins to strike him furiously. Legion becomes lost in an agonizing daze of pain and terror. Yunger slashes his sword between Legion’s legs and makes a woman of him; he slashes again and what was once inside Legion now dangles from him. With his dying breaths, Legions stares down in disbelief at his hanging bowels. His world begins to darken. Yunger takes him by the throat.
“You should never have touched her,” he says.
And with a great push he sends Legion over the parapet. The body falls the three hundred feet to the bottom and is consumed in the Amber.
