-Chapter Fourteen-
A Recurring Dream and a Long Lost Memory
Jahrra jerked awake with a gasp, her heart racing and her head aching.
“Jahrra?”
Someone said her name. A familiar voice, but one that was newer to her memory.
“Jahrra! It’s me, Dervit.”
Jahrra blinked, her eyes fluttering open only to squint at the bright light infiltrating the room. She groaned and covered her face with her forearm.
“Wh-What happened?” she rasped.
“You were attacked,” the voice, Dervit, answered. “At the Round. The Crimson King’s soldiers.”
Jahrra’s head instantly swam with images. Black-clad mercenaries carrying serrated swords, a snow covered landscape, the struggle of a fight, the certainty of death ... Jahrra groaned again. She remembered now.
“You have a sprained knee and a bad gash on one leg, lots of bruises and cuts, but nothing that won’t heal eventually. We got there just in time,” Dervit finished rather pathetically.
“Keiron,” Jahrra breathed, a sob catching in her throat as she remembered one final detail of the attack.
“No, Keiron wasn’t the one who att–”
“No!” Jahrra cried, cutting him off. “He was there. They captured him before I arrived.”
At least, she thought they did. After falling and hurting her knee, she only remembered being grabbed by the hair, the mercenary ready to cut her throat. Jahrra shivered, the memory of her fear and pain all too real.
“We didn’t see Keiron,” Dervit said tentatively.
Jahrra turned her head, carefully because every joint and muscle she possessed seemed to ache.
“They must have taken him,” she croaked, the fear climbing up her throat once more. “He tried to warn me. He came running from behind the standing stones, his hands tied behind his back. He tried to tell me to run, but it was too late.”
Hot tears streamed down her cheeks. Her scalp burned where the soldier had grabbed her hair, and the lower part of her left leg throbbed.
Dervit reached out and placed one of his furry hands on hers. Jahrra glanced at him again. He appeared exhausted, and there was a large abrasion on his face. He had saved her. The friend she had so brazenly told to leave her alone.
“Dervit,” she murmured, her throat clogging with emotion once again.
He shook his head and patted her arm. “No, don’t you dare feel guilty. It won’t help you heal. Ellyesce gave you a sleeping draught when we first arrived, and it should still be in your system. We’ll talk more when you are feeling better. You need to sleep.”
He turned to walk away, but Jahrra grasped his arm with as much strength as she could muster, which wasn’t a terrible amount. Already, waves of drowsiness were crashing against her resolve, and she was slipping back into sleep.
“Tell Jaax ...” she mumbled.
“I know. I’ll tell him about Keiron.”
Jahrra could only whimper in response as she gave in to her weariness. The last thing she remembered before falling asleep was what she had really meant to say: “Tell Jaax I’m sorry.”
* * *
The darkness overwhelmed Jahrra, but she could not find her way out of it. Breathe Jahrra, just breathe, she told herself. She stopped her struggle against the suffocating emptiness, and slowly filled her lungs with cool, damp air that smelled of earth and apples. Apples? That was odd.
When she was certain the panic squeezing her heart had fled, Jahrra opened her eyes and found herself sprawled upon a bed of fallen leaves in the middle of a foggy orchard. Confused, she blinked her eyes and held her hand up to her temple, pressing against the pain that lingered there. Where was she? And what had she been doing before she fell asleep on the ground? Bits and pieces of some long-gone memory swirled around in her mind like leaves caught in a whirlwind. She had been traveling with someone, Jaax and two other people. There was a great city in the mountains, surrounded by a towering black stone wall. A party, an altercation … Jahrra squeezed her eyes shut, and the memories playing out in her mind spun faster.
A slow, cool chill brushed over her, like a sluggish ghost just rising from the grave. Goose pimples rose on her skin, and she took a moment to check her surroundings once more. Trees stood in neat, straight rows and on the far end of the orchard, there loomed a dark forest. A bad feeling emanated from that direction, so Jahrra quickly whipped her head around, regretting the pain it caused, and searched for a more pleasant visage elsewhere. A shape loomed in the distance, obscured by the thick tendrils of fog. A shed? A barn? A house? She narrowed her eyes at the building, thinking it was oddly familiar somehow. Before she could place it, a twig snapped behind her, the sound far louder than it should have been in this quiet world.
Immediately, her heart began racing again. Someone watched her from the end of the row of trees, someone tall and unmoving, the hood of his long cloak pulled completely over his head. The figure stretched out a gloved hand, and the cloak rippled from the movement. The green cloak. Familiarity rushed over Jahrra, and she almost fell back into her disregarded pile of leaves. No. She wasn’t awake after all. It had been so very, very long since she’d had this dream that she’d almost forgotten.
“Let me guess,” she murmured, her voice rough, “you have something to show me?”
The cloaked man said nothing. He merely kept his hand outstretched, waiting for her to join him. Sighing, Jahrra started out toward the edge of the forest. Every muscle in her body whined in protest, but she ignored the discomfort. As she walked, she glanced around the mist-shrouded apple orchard and the dark, wild forest beyond. Jahrra paused, mere feet from her strange guardian, suddenly realizing where she was. A deep sadness gnawed at her heart, stealing her breath. The cloaked stranger stepped close, as silent as their subdued surroundings, and reached out to caress her cheek with a gloved hand.
Jahrra snapped to attention immediately, her eyes darting upward. She wanted so badly to see this person’s face. Was he a friend? A foe? Was he even a man or perhaps an elf? Never before had he shown such compassion, but Jahrra couldn’t even catch a glint of his eyes beneath the darkness of that hood.
“I am home,” she murmured.
He nodded slowly, his thumb gently brushing the ridge of Jahrra’s cheek. Cool air followed, and she realized he’d wiped away a tear. Feeling foolish, she stepped back, scrubbing at the tears with her hands.
“I’m sorry,” she grumbled, though she didn’t know why she said it.
A hand, light but radiating strength, descended upon her shoulder. She glanced up. The green-cloaked figure took a step to the side and gestured toward the depths of the dark forest. Far away in the distance, a pinprick of light unfurled like a star being born.
The sun rising in the east? Jahrra wondered.
The soft glow grew and grew until it was nearly blinding. The stranger took a step toward it, then turned and faced Jahrra again. Reluctantly, she drew in a deep breath and followed. They traveled through the forest for ages, the bright light always remaining the same distance away and the forest scenery never changing. Just when Jahrra was ready to complain, their pace slowed.
The man in the cloak ascended a small berm and waited for Jahrra to join him. She complied, her worn muscles begging for a rest. Once at the top, the trees parted and the hill sloped gently on the other side to spill into a wide valley. In the distance, wooden buildings clustered together to form a small town. Jahrra recognized their thatched roofs and the muddy streets snaking between them: Edyadth, the town in Oescienne just on the other side of the Wreing Florenn.
Jahrra couldn’t believe it. The last time she had visited Edyadth she’d been with Gieaun and Scede. And Hroombra. He had taken them to a place of standing stones on a hillside, the Dragons’ Court, to bear witness to a meteor shower.
Before she could get too lost in her memories, the hooded stranger pointed at something in the distance. Jahrra narrowed her eyes. West of town, and much closer to the tree
line, a crowd of people stood about. Some were dressed in fine silks and velvet, others wore work clothes, mud-stained and nearly worn through. On a raised platform in the center of the throng stood a handful of skinny, grimy people in nothing more than rags.
Jahrra sucked in a harsh breath. The slave auction. She remembered now how Hroombra had explained to her and her friends what had been transpiring those handful of years ago.
“Why have you brought me here?” Jahrra asked her companion, her voice tight with regret and a small amount irritation.
She turned to glance at him, knowing he wouldn’t answer but hoping his body language would give something away.
He tilted his head, but she still could not see beyond the deep shadow of his cowl.
“Why show me this memory?”
Jahrra threw one arm out in front of her, gesturing toward the crowd below.
The green cloaked man lifted his arm, one finger pointing to a spot behind her.
Jahrra turned and followed his gesture. About fifty feet away, someone led a white horse from the woods. This person also wore a hood, but as he cleared the edge of the trees, he reached up and drew the hood from his head. Jahrra caught sight of sharply pointed ears and dark hair. An elf. The elf she had seen at the auction. Like the memory itself, she had almost forgotten about him. The elf slowed to a stop and gazed at the crowd, just as she had been doing. Something, a feeling she couldn’t explain, insisted she continue to watch him. In the next breath, that instinct paid off when he turned, giving her a full view of his face. He was still a good distance away, but either her eyesight was aided in this dream world, or the sudden, painful familiarity brought everything into sharp focus.
A handsome face, the lower half covered in a neatly trimmed goatee, gazed in her direction. Jahrra gasped, her own face draining of color. She would have known him immediately, but it was his eyes, the color of pale, clear emerald, eyes she had always thought looked too familiar, that gave him away.
And now you know why they always seemed so familiar, she told herself. Because you had seen them before.
Suddenly, the scene grew brighter, as if the sun cresting the horizon was expanding far beyond its limits. The hooded figure beside her faded and grew smaller, and she had the strange sensation she was being pulled upward.
No! Jahrra screamed in her mind. Once again, she had too many questions she wanted answered. But her cloaked friend merely stood there, arms linked over his broad chest, and watched as she floated away.
Jahrra woke suddenly, but not as violently as before. This time she simply opened her eyes, her head cradled in the soft pillow. She lie on her back, her injured leg keeping her in place, her head angled to the side. From her vantage point, she could see the door and the fireplace just beside it. She considered sitting up, but decided to give her mind the time to work out the revealing dream.
So, her mysterious hooded friend had been trying to tell her something, after all. Ellyesce was a villain in disguise. Their companion for all these past months. The elf who had arrived at Jaax’s house in Lidien on the eve of their departure, the same person who had taught her how to play Astral cards and who placed himself in front of a volley of arrows to protect her. For so long, Jahrra had been reluctant to put her faith in him. Now, she knew why. Everything he’d done to earn her trust was a ruse. He was a fraud, for how could anyone looking to purchase slaves be an ambassador of Ethoes?
A slight shuffling sound drew Jahrra’s attention from her contemplation. She turned her head in the direction of the noise, expecting to find Dervit. What she saw instead made her heart sink. In the chair beside the window sat Ellyesce, his arms folded loosely over his stomach and his head tilted back as if he slept. Jahrra narrowed her eyes, wishing her leg wasn’t useless at the moment. If not, perhaps she could have sneaked past him.
The elf shifted again and sighed, his eyes fluttering open as he awoke from his uncomfortable sleep. He stretched and pressed a hand to his forehead, using his free arm to push himself properly back into his chair. Jahrra watched him silently, not wanting to draw any attention to herself. Ellyesce yawned and looked toward her, his pale, glazed eyes lighting up a bit when he noticed she was awake.
“Welcome back to the world of the living,” he said with a slight smile, his tone weary but carefree.
A cold prickle coursed down Jahrra’s spine, and she remained absolutely still. She wanted to keep the dream to herself; to pretend nothing was amiss until she could talk to Jaax. But hearing the cheer in Ellyesce’s voice set off a spark of anger in her. He had tricked her, and her dragon guardian, into thinking he was on the side of good, all the while he had been hiding his dark past from them. Was he the one, then, who’d led the band of mercenaries into the city? Could he be the traitor to Cahrdyarein that Jaax suspected? In Jahrra’s eyes, he was the perfect candidate. A long lost friend of her guardian’s, showing up unannounced and traveling with them every step of the way. Slipping away to use his magic, or so he claimed, to discover the location of their pursuers. Miscalculating the day they had been forced to split up and make a run for it. Oh, how could she and Jaax have been so foolish?
Without responding to Ellyesce’s words of greeting, Jahrra slowly sat up, wincing at the ache in her knee and the various other places she sported cuts and bruises. She gave him a look of pure disdain, then hissed quietly, “Who are you?”
The smile on the elf’s face faded slightly, and confusion filled those green eyes of his. He blinked and took a breath.
“You were attacked two days ago, Jahrra. You only just woke up earlier this morning and right now,” he said, his voice calm, his tone one of comfort. “You were set upon by a band of the Tyrant’s soldiers, or so we believe, and your leg,” he gestured to the bed, “was injured. A bad cut and sprained knee. You were fighting a fever last night. Luckily, the elves of Cahrdyarein are excellent in the field of healing magic. It will take some time for your leg to heal fully, but you should mend quite well.”
She gritted her teeth and repeated her question. “Who are you?!”
Ellyesce shook his head, his expression pained. “You know who I am, Jahrra. I traveled with you and Jaax from Lidien. I taught you how to play Astral cards. In fact,” he turned to pull something out of a pocket hidden within his cloak, “I brought them over just in case you were awake and wanted to play a game or two.”
He presented the stack of worn cards to her but it felt like a slap in the face. The Astral cards. The very instruments he’d used to gain her trust. She had grown to like him, despite her misgivings, and had thought he liked her as well. He’d become another precious friend along this strange journey her life had become, and his constant company had been like a balm to her spirit. Now she just wanted to hit him for deceiving her and Jaax.
“No!” she snapped.
Ellyesce let the hand holding the cards drop slowly into his lap. He frowned and furrowed his brow, then took a breath and said, “You hit your head in the fight. Perhaps this is just a side effect of the concussion.”
He didn’t understand that she knew about his past. Very well. Jahrra pressed her hands into the mattress to keep herself upright. “I remember you,” she said in a quiet, harsh voice.
Once again, Ellyesce looked slightly perplexed. Then he grinned broadly, his pale green eyes lighting up. “You see. Just a result of the trauma from the other day.”
Jahrra didn’t smile. “No, I know who you really are, and you are no friend of mine. You may have tried to fool me, but I know about your past.”
Ellyesce’s smile vanished in a flash, and the brightness in his eyes evaporated. The elf that stared back at her looked almost lifeless, menacing even.
“Whatever do you mean?” he said in a deadly quiet voice.
“How can you call yourself our friend after what you’ve done? You know what Jaax and I are fighting for! You know he would never approve of your actions!” Jahrra shouted.
Ellyesce sat up straight, a modicum of life returning to
his gaunt features.
“Perhaps you should tell me what it is you are accusing me of, Jahrra, before you jump to conclusions,” he demanded, his voice as brittle as ice.
“Slave trader!” she spat, no longer able to hold back. “I saw you in Edyadth when I was a young girl. It was a long time ago, but I remember your face, and your eyes! You looked right at me, then back at those poor people standing up on the seller’s block to be bartered away like cattle! Do not deny that you were there.”
Jahrra took a breath, then repeated, “I saw you!”
Ellyesce let out a long breath, then ran his hands through his hair. He looked almost relieved. “So, this is why you attack me?” he murmured, his eyes still pointed downward. Slowly, he glanced back at Jahrra, the remorse or defiance she expected to see in his features absent. “But why question me now? Why didn’t you accuse me on our first meeting?”
The elf slumped forward in his chair.
Jahrra bit her lip, then took another deep breath. “I had forgotten the memory until,” she paused, “until I dreamt it, just now.”
Ellyesce had placed his elbows on his knees, his fingers loosely laced in front of him. “Very well, then I shall answer for my sins and hope that the explanation I give will rekindle our friendship.” He cleared his throat, then said in a resigned voice, “Jahrra, you are correct. I was there, and I was purchasing slaves, but not for the reason you think.”
The Ascending Page 24
