The Druids' Legacy

by Trenna McMullin

  “No!” Taren cried, struggling against his bonds with one final burst of energy. Ky’ara fell to her knees and then toppled forward. Taren stopped fighting and bowed his head in grief. Il’esandra lowered her hands and watched the girl warily, a look of confusion flitting over her face. Through his grief and despair somehow it registered that the darkness, which had emanated so strongly from her before, was gone.

  * * * * *

  Ky’ara felt trapped in a whirlwind of light and shadow, the forces surging around and inside her. She heard Taren as though from a great distance, his voice echoing and faint. She imagined how it must look to him, her body impaled by a shaft of darkness, the crystal growing dimmer and more ethereal in her hands. She could hardly think. The chaos threatened to pull her apart and it took all her willpower to keep herself together, to continue what she’d started.

  Darkness washed through her, dredging up all the negative feelings she’d buried her whole life. She felt like she was drowning in memories. Every moment of hatred and fear and despair she had ever felt swallowed her up and seemed to fill her to bursting with indescribable pain.

  Her parents had been murdered, taken from her by those who disapproved of her mother for no reason other than her heritage. She had only been a child! If not for sheer blind luck the fire they’d set would have killed Ky’ara herself—an innocent eleven year old. Anger burned within her, the injustice she’d felt her entire life suddenly seeming overwhelming. Whoever had done that needed to pay!

  A tendril of healing Light touched her thoughts, and she cringed away from it, the reminder of her parents’ love somehow intensifying the pain of their loss. The Darkness intruded again, enveloping her in its intensity, bringing with it a kind of relief from the pain, smothering it in anger, hatred, and the blackest kind of sorrow.

  She was a youth struggling to find her place. Rejected by the commoners for her royal blood, sneered at by the nobles for her mother’s humble origins. Unworthy of her uncle’s time, unaccepted by her peers, unloved...she sobbed brokenly, feeling anew the humiliation. Somewhere in the back of her mind memories blossomed and then faded as the Darkness smothered them: a warm hand stroking her hair as she cried into her pillow, words of encouragement and a swift hug from A’kiina after a fencing lesson, Taren holding her hand.

  There were people who had loved her.

  The Darkness seized her thought and forced her to confront another memory: A’kiina’s ragged breathing as she lay dying on the floor of the council chamber, the bloody mangled bodies of the other council members scattered around her. Owen, the little boy she’d failed to save so long ago, his face lifeless and pale. The faces of soldiers in Ainon Caseia as they dove from the battlements, comrades she’d known for only a short amount of time, but who had fought valiantly and then died, their lives snuffed out in violent bursts of agony. Taren, his body broken and bleeding, his eyes haunted by the knowledge that nothing could save him now.

  This suffering could end, it seemed to whisper, she could end it. All she had to do was give in to the Darkness and let it take care of everything. With its power she could make those responsible for her suffering pay for what they’d done. She could end the suffering of others and bring peace to the land, for who could stand against her if she wielded it?

  Light pierced through these thoughts, burning her from the inside out, pushing the Darkness back with a single, crystal-clear memory: Taren standing close to her the first time they met, his voice low and urgent as he gently wiped a tear from her face. “You can put a stop to all this...we will find out how to defeat this evil once and for all, and you will be able to end the unnecessary strife that is tearing this world apart...there is no doubt in me that only you can save this world.”

  The memory brought with it the pain that had engulfed her every time the Light intruded. She hadn’t even known it then, but it was the moment she had first begun to love Taren. The reminder of that love only served to intensify the despair she felt at all he’d suffered while she had neglected to come after him. Her instinct was to shove the memory away, to block the pain and give in to the relief the Darkness promised.

  Something made her hesitate.

  Deep in her mind she recognized that letting go of the pain would mean also letting go of the love that brought it. Letting go of Taren. She would willingly sacrifice her life for Taren, or even sacrifice his life for the sake of the world if that was what was required, but she could not sacrifice her love for him. Even if it meant living the rest of her existence in agony, she would cling to the knowledge that she loved him more deeply than she had ever dreamed possible.

  The pain intensified, the Light seeming to burn her very soul while the Darkness struggled to regain its hold on her.

  She fought down her urge to resist, and instead embraced it.

  Tears streaming down her cheeks, Ky'ara fell to her knees and let the two conflicting powers rage inside of her. The memories that pulled from her every negative feeling she could produce became the pillars of her own determination not to let this world fall: Her parent's death was a tragedy, but only because they had loved her so very much. It had also given her the opportunity to have Mier as a second mother, to meet A'kiina and benefit from her strength. The rejection Ky'ara had faced all her life had taught her empathy, and forced her to do her very best at everything she could in order to earn respect. Her uncle’s death had brought her to Taren. She came to a realization that those experiences that opened her to the Darkness were all connected in some intrinsic way to the qualities and abilities that bound her to the Light.

  The war inside her changed.

  Somehow, seeing the truth enabled her to put the pieces together. The powers within her still surged, but with each memory she accepted and transmuted, they began to surge in sync. They oscillated together, back and forth, then began to melt into each other, fusing until they became nothing more than raw, untainted power.

  * * * * *

  Joran rushed into the room with Lauryn just behind him, his thoughts and feelings in turmoil. Ky’ara had been unreachable from the moment she engaged the Destroyer in battle—whether from her own distraction or because of some spell, he didn’t know.

  The scene that met his eyes was worse than he could have imagined. Taren hung bound against the opposite wall, blood streaming down his wrists and torso, his eyes fixed hopelessly on a crumpled figure in the middle of the floor. Il’esandra stood in front of him, her hands hanging limply by her sides. Joran’s eyes flicked to her face, expecting to see a look of triumph shining in her eyes. She just looked...confused. Joran felt a surge of fear, looking at Ky’ara’s unmoving body in the middle of the floor.

  ‘Ky’ara?’ he tried again. His inner voice just seemed to echo hollowly down their link. There was no reply. His first instinct was to rush to her body and shake it till she answered him, but with the Destroyer standing over her and no way of knowing what exactly possessed Ky’ara’s body now, he changed the angle of his run and hurried along the edge of the room toward Taren, watching Il’esandra carefully in case she decided to attack.

  Her eyes barely glanced his way as he reached her captive and broke the chains holding him with a muttered “friang”. Taren collapsed against Joran’s waiting shoulder, and the boy heaved him carefully sideways, propping him against the wall as gently as he could. Lauryn immediately began cleaning his wounds as best she could with a torn piece of her dress and some medicine from the pouch at her waist. While she worked, Joran murmured the words for healing and strength, directing the last remnants of his magic throughout Taren’s body to hopefully deal with any unseen injuries. When he was finished, he glanced back toward Ky’ara, then looked at Lauryn as she placed a hand on his arm. “Go. I’ve got him.”

  “What if—?” he let his unspoken fears fill the silence, and Lauryn squeezed his arm comfortingly. “Do what you can to help her.”

  Joran nodded curtly, then rushed towards the body at the center of the room, ready to fight his way pa
st Il’esandra if necessary. No force was needed. The bemused princess stumbled sideways as he passed her, collapsing to her knees and muttering to herself unintelligibly. Joran knelt beside Ky’ara’s body, almost afraid to touch it. Her hair covered her face, her body curled in on itself with her hands cupped together, like she’d fallen trying to shield something. A strange ringing filled his ears, and he realized suddenly that waves of pressure were emanating from the fallen girl.

  He reached out to brush her hair away from her face, and froze in shock when he saw that her eyes were open, staring sightlessly, not because they were dead, but because they were filled with some indescribable force that seemed to draw him into its depths while simultaneously forcing him to look away from the blinding light it produced. He blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the confusion this induced, and pulled the limp girl back to a kneeling position. Her hands fell open and a necklace chain slipped to the cold marble floor with a faint tinkling sound. Joran glanced down in surprise—the crystal was gone. He frantically searched around the girl for a moment before realizing it was useless. The jewel wasn’t there.

  * * * * *

  Ky'ara looked up, she couldn't see anything around her. She felt full to bursting with the newly combined powers. What now? Was Il’esandra still alive? What had happened to her when the Darkness left? A flash of pain derailed her thoughts. The force within her did not want to be trapped. It burned her from the inside out. Just as she had absorbed it, now it consumed her. If she let it go, would it go harmlessly? Or would it destroy everything around her? Taren, Joran, all the others in the palace...she had to keep this contained, or they would all be killed...even if doing so killed her.

  A sort of peace settled over her, the same feeling she’d experienced when she had first realized that her life might be the cost of winning. She thought she had already given in to the powers inside her, accepted everything there was to accept. But apparently one barrier still remained. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, holding the power within herself despite the pain, accepting that doing so would cost her her life, choosing to die rather than let this power destroy those she loved.

  * * * * *

  Joran felt something change subtly, and he looked down. Ky’ara’s eyes were closed.

  Lauryn must have seen his panic, because she was by his side in a flash.

  “Quick!” she said, grabbing his hand, “help her!”

  Joran grabbed Ky’ara’s limp hand, the same one they’d used to form their Link. He felt their bond as it faded, and sent all of his willpower into it, latching onto the energy that receded from Ky’ara’s body to somewhere else. Somewhere in the back of his mind it registered that trying to bring someone back from the dead would kill you. She’s not dead yet! He told himself, even as another part of his mind accepted the possible consequence and deemed it worth the risk.

  He opened his eyes and realized their surroundings had changed. On one side, a huge expanse of mist swirled, punctuated by pricks of light far in the distance. On the other, a curtain of darkness rippled menacingly. Ky’ara knelt directly between them, the power that seemed to have faded in the real world roiling under her skin in full force. Joran looked over and realized Lauryn had somehow followed him here, her hand clasping his.

  ‘What do I do now?’ Joran asked, since she seemed to know what was going on.

  ‘I don’t know...but the necromancer’s book said that the best way to channel a large amount of power was through willing sacrifice...and the more people willing, the more likely the chance of survival.’ Lauryn explained, looking around curiously.

  ‘Are you and I enough?’ Joran asked.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Lauryn said, holding his gaze, ‘but we have to try, don’t we?’

  ‘I do, you don’t.’

  She glared at him, and gripped his hand tighter. ‘I’m not letting you leave me too! Now try to take some of that power...it’s ripping her apart!’

  Joran turned to look at Ky’ara and saw that Lauryn was right, cracks were appearing on Ky’ara’s skin, where light threatened to burst through. He closed his eyes and focused on their connection, sending his will through their link the same way he did his thoughts, and felt a barrier fall.

  * * * * *

  Taren came to and saw Ky’ara slumped on the ground surrounded by Joran and Lauryn.

  They were glowing.

  He blinked, not sure whether to interfere or not. Il’esandra sat staring at the wall, seeming devoid of thought. Taren stood, wobbling a little on legs that hadn’t been used in some time, and carefully walked across the room. He didn’t even hesitate when he reached Ky’ara, he grabbed her free hand and bowed his head, willing her to come back, even if it meant exchanging his life for hers.

  * * * * *

  Lauryn felt the power burn through Joran and into her. It was pure energy, white hot and painful, but also somehow invigorating. Someone else joined them, a vague figure on the other side of Ky’ara who she assumed must be Taren. The four of them pulsed with energy. It filled every bit of her, consuming her till she could hardly think. She vaguely felt a presence hovering over her, something familiar, and instinctively reached out to it. 'Help us!'

  * * * * *

  Amischel fired arrow after arrow till her fingers stung and her arm ached from the effort of drawing back her bow. Pinpricks of light seemed to hover around the arrows her companions shot, lifting them a bit higher, guiding them to their marks. She didn’t stop to consider what this might mean, but somewhere in the back of her mind, she felt a kinship with the light. The sylphs were helping them.

  Far above the archers, a dragon shrieked in panic. Amischel reached out almost subconsciously with her mind. Irakyll dove toward her and settled on her extended arm, beating her wings once or twice to catch her balance. The dragon shrieked again, and this time Amischel saw an image in her mind, of Ky’ara and some others enshrouded in mist. They seemed to be struggling to contain a power that vastly outmatched them. Irakyll nipped Amischel on the ear, chirping impatiently.

  “Ow! Okay, ok, I’m working on it!” Amischel ducked her head to the side to put her ear out of range, then backed out of the line and closed her eyes to concentrate. She felt the power searching for release, she felt the dragons above her, her fellow archers next to her, and the sylphs that hovered overhead. She felt the connections between them, or rather, the connections that could be between them. The power flared. Instinctively, she reached out to touch it.

  * * * * *

  Ky’ara felt the pressure within her ease. She still couldn’t see what was around her, but she felt Joran nearby, and thought she could feel Taren as well. Then all at once, the power rushed out of her, taken by some unseen thing. She opened her eyes and looked around, shaking with exhaustion and more than a little confused. Nothing had been destroyed; she wasn’t dead—well, unless Death consisted of kneeling on a hard stone floor. She knew it didn’t, she’d been there before.

  “It worked!” Lauryn said, relief evident in her voice. Ky’ara looked at her quizzically, only then becoming aware that Joran held one of her hands, while Taren held the other. Both seemed to be waking from a daze. Taren squeezed her hand lightly and gave her an exhausted smile. Ky’ara felt tears prick her eyes and spill over. She shook her hand free of Joran’s and threw her arms around Taren’s neck, weeping helplessly as he cradled her to him.

  * * * * *

  By the time they made their way back to the main floor of the palace the rebels had secured control of the city. Iregh was gone, Sukylar unconscious on the floor. Amischel and Hallahna found Lauryn and Joran keeping watch over the others, too wounded and exhausted to go any further on their own. Hallahna issued some hurried orders and a dozen or so of her warriors furnished stretchers from the curtains and their staffs. As Ky’ara, Taren, Sukylar, and Nori were carried off to see the healers, Joran and Lauryn asked Amischel for more details about the invasion. She filled them in on the discovery that the dragons could portal, and how they’d
managed to break through the wall.

  “Really after that it was a simple matter for the Shaari to intimidate the garrison into surrendering. The King and his family have been locked in their quarters. We aren’t quite sure what to do with them...the Elder’s Council has tried making decisions, but Hallahna won’t recognize their authority, and she controls a large chunk of the army.”

  “What’s Calistra doing?” Joran asked, “She must’ve had a plan for this.”

  Amischel looked at him soberly, and suddenly he felt his breath constrict.

  Chapter 25: Closure

  Joran stared at Calistra’s pale face, feeling a kind of numb panic as he took in the shadows under her eyes and the crimson stain that marred her robes. He reached out a hand and took hers, her skin icy against his palm. He should have been there for her.

  “Are you still staring at me?” Calistra murmured, barely moving her lips.

  Joran jumped, looking away sheepishly. “Of course I am. You almost died!”

  Calistra cracked an eye open and then closed it, settling back against the pillow. “Well stop it, it’s unsettling.”

  Joran snorted, and then started shaking with a kind of half-laugh, half-sob that ended with him coughing uncontrollably.

  “Easy there Jor,” Geri said, pounding him on the back and motioning to a nearby healer for a glass of water, “Calistra needs to rest and recover. If you die on her that’s going to be too much added stress.”

  Joran took the water gratefully and sipped it until the cough died down. He couldn’t help feeling a little panicked every time he thought about how close a call it had been. The healers said she might not be able to handle strenuous exercise ever again—the arrow had torn through one lung and nicked her heart. There was only so much magic could do to heal without competent direction, and the best of their healers had been occupied down on the battlefield. By the time Julaine had been located and come to help, some of the damage had become irreversible.