Jahrra ground her teeth together, fighting back the spark of terror blooming to life within her heart. You can do this, Jahrra. Just remember all that you have lived through before. You are a fighter, a survivor. You will not falter in your will to go on, no matter what evil or hardships you might find standing in your way. And, she would make certain to hold true to that belief.
A slight rustling sound behind her drew Jahrra’s attention away from the great expanse beyond her patio. She turned to find Dervit quietly studying her from a few feet away.
“I just wanted to wish you a good night.”
He smiled, and Jahrra casually crossed her arms in front of her. The corner of her mouth turned up, and she said, “Good night, Dervit. I am glad you are coming with us.”
“Never doubt that I won’t follow you to the ends of the earth,” he vowed, removing his cap and giving a rather theatrical bow.
The limbit’s antics worked, and Jahrra caught herself laughing. Dervit turned, giving her one last wave before disappearing deeper into the room. As Jahrra watched him go, she caught sight of Ellyesce leaning against the edge of the wall. She gave him a half grin.
“Are you off as well?” she wondered aloud.
“I’m afraid so. It is my responsibility to wake you all in the morning, so I had best seek my rest while it’s still early.”
Jahrra nodded, watching the elf through half-lidded eyes. It was strange how easily she trusted him now, but then again, it shouldn’t have been that surprising. He had done so much to help her and Jaax during their journey from Lidien, as well as the escape from Cahrdyarein. There was no doubt he still harbored many secrets. She knew that instinctively by the way his eyes would drift off into another time when he thought she wasn’t watching, or by the way his face would display such sadness at odd moments. But, Jahrra knew better than to pry, and she had learned how to be patient with her curiosity through her time spent with Jaax. He might tell her his secrets one day, or at least the ones she needed to know. Until then, she had to judge the elf on his actions, and all those actions so far had been honest and brave ones.
“Then, good night,” she finally said.
Ellyesce nodded once, then followed Dervit’s example and left her to her musings.
Silence descended upon the room, and Jahrra turned back to the scenery, soaking up Felldreim’s beauty while she still had the opportunity.
“What are you thinking about, Jahrra?”
The sound of Jaax’s voice was so unexpected, it made her jump. She whirled around, her hand pressed to her heart.
“You’re still here? I thought you left with the others!”
He gave her one of his smirks, the one he loved to show off when he knew he’d gotten the better of her.
“No, not yet. And, I would have come and wished you a good evening as well.”
“The future,” Jahrra said rather blandly, trying to battle her slight irritation at his teasing.
Jaax gave her an odd look, and she snickered.
“You wanted to know what I was thinking about. I was thinking about the future and what lies ahead of us.”
“Hmmm,” the dragon hummed deep in his throat. “That can be dangerous. Thinking, that is, not the future. Although, in our case ...”
He let his words trail off, and Jahrra nodded, turning back toward the rose-stained mountains. He didn’t have to finish what he was saying. She knew exactly what he meant. Jahrra tucked her hands under her armpits and stamped her feet. The cold was starting to get to her, but she wanted to stay out here just a little longer.
Jaax came to sit beside her, silent and watchful as he, too, gazed out over the wide expanse of sky and endless mountain peaks. Jahrra studied him out of the corner of her eye, relieved to see he was back to his normal, overbearing self, those traces of hopelessness gone from his posture. She thought back to the way he’d held himself right after speaking with the Creecemind king. She had never seen her guardian in such a despondent state, and it wasn’t something she ever wanted to witness again. Jaax was unflappable, focused and an uncompromising source of strength. Her source of strength. If she couldn’t look to him for the courage she needed to take this next big step in her life, she wasn’t sure what she’d do. Oh, she knew she would find a way to persevere; she always did. But having Jaax to back her up and remind her of that fact was something she had come to rely upon, she realized.
“Are you ready to go to war, Jaax?” Jahrra asked, her voice so quiet she wondered if he heard her. “Do you think we’re ready? Do you think I’m ready?”
She turned to look at him, but he had his eyes cast out toward the east, just as she had done earlier.
Taking in a lungful of icy air, she continued on, “Life can be such a burden for some of us, can’t it? I wonder if I’ll ever be able to look forward and not see impending hardship and suffering, sadness and loss.”
Jahrra knew her life was so much more than the hardships she’d survived so far, but in that moment, she could only see more of the same.
“Sometimes, life is just something we must endure,” Jaax said after a while, his voice low and calm, reminding her so much of Hroombra, “until it gets better. And, it will get better, Jahrra, you must believe that. I must believe that. Because if we don’t, if we give in to those who wish to put us down and tear us apart, those who would let their hatred and prejudice overpower our compassion, then what on Ethoes are we fighting for?”
Without another word, Jaax stood, then turned and strode away, his steps silent and smooth against the ice and stone floor. Jahrra listened as the tall door to her room swung open then clicked shut. She moved closer to the balustrade of the terrace and pressed her palms against the frosty edge of the railing. Despite the fear threatening to ensnare her courage and tear her willpower down, Jaax’s words stirred something in her heart. She was ready to finish this journey. It made sense what her guardian had said, about surviving what life had to offer her. But, she was tired of enduring it all. She was weary of making friends only to leave them behind. She was sick of the endless worry and need for secrets. And finally, she was tired of living every day wondering who she might lose next. It was time to chase down whatever fate awaited her at the end of the road, and to triumph over that which threatened all she loved, if she could.
“I’m ready,” she breathed, her words floating away like snowdrifts swept from the mountaintops. “Whatever Cierryon has in store for me, I will face it head on. And this time, I will not let fear stand in my way.”
-Epilogue-
The Mystic’s Vision
King Dhuruhn watched with narrowed eyes as the red shrouded figure made its way down his massive throne room. Whoever he was, he kept the hood of his cloak up, concealing his head entirely. Dhuruhn clutched at his frozen throne, his claws digging into the ice. It had seemed there was no end to this torrent of visitors, first with that upstart dragon Raejaaxorix and his prodigy child, then with those sniveling elves complaining of foul weather in the north. The Tanaan dragon and his associates had left over a week ago, but the elves of Stromness had yet to crawl back to their domain and deal with their own problems. They had settled in the far northern arm of Felldreim, for Ethoes’ sake. Had they truly expected to grow crops more suited for a southern clime in a place where the ground stayed frozen most of the year? And just what did they expect Dhuruhn to do about it?
The king of the Creecemind pinched the bridge of his nose between two scaly fingers, willing the ache behind his eyes to leave him be. He’d been second guessing his decision with regards to the dragon Raejaaxorix. Long ago, he’d asked the Oracles who remained after Cierryon’s first rising how he would meet his end. They had told him it would be in a great battle, far from his own realm. The images they’d shown him had been of a bleak, frozen tundra, the ground stained red with what he perceived to be blood. The vision had come to him so many years ago, and since then, he’d found his queen and started a family. He had refused Jaax not because he couldn’t accept hi
s impending death, but because he did not know how it would affect his mate and their two children. The Oracle was no longer here to ask. And now, this small stranger cloaked in red, a harsh reminder of that long ago premonition, approached so close on the heels of the Tanaan dragon and his plight. It felt very much like a bad omen to him.
The members of the king’s court sat back languidly, the Creecemind dragons taking up the most space but not so much so that the other dragons, elves and various beings residing in Nimbronia couldn’t find a place to stand. The conversation had been light, the combined voices of all those present creating a comfortable buzz that reverberated off the high ceilings. The lively chatter tapered away, however, as the diplomats and courtiers took notice of the newcomer making the long walk from the grand doorway to the front of the throne room. It seemed to take the red-garbed stranger ages to cross the hall, but finally, he stood at the base of the dais, a tiny spark of flame amid all the high class in their ice-toned formal court wear.
Dhuruhn drew in a breath, then drawled in his cavernous voice, “Come now, small creature, give me your name and your concerns and be gone. I grow weary of beggars pleading for aid.”
Beihryhn, sitting beside her husband atop the frozen throne, cast him a disparaging look before returning her pale eyes to the visitor in red.
“I do not come with a plea, your majesty,” a woman’s voice crooned from beneath the hood, “but with a warning.”
Dhuruhn furrowed his brow in puzzlement, but before he could make a reply, the woman lifted her gloved hands and drew back her hood. The dragon king hissed in a breath of shock.
“You have been unwise to deny aid to the dragon Raejaaxorix and his companion, Jahrraneh Drisihn of Oescienne.”
Dhuruhn managed to regain some of his composure, but it was clear to his subjects that their king’s solid, impenetrable bearing had been rocked on its foundation.
“Archedenaeh,” he spoke, somewhere between a growl and a whisper. “I was led to believe you were dead.”
Denaeh grinned up at the towering dragon, an expression holding no small amount of bitterness. “No, your grace, not dead,” she said. “We Mystics cannot die, remember?”
“Oh, everything can die,” he argued, with a predatory grin. “One just has to discover the secret to making it happen.”
“Very well, I will concede you that truth, but I can assure you, I do not plan on giving away such secrets anytime soon.”
“Then tell me,” the king snapped impatiently, “why do you come to my court when you have been absent from this world for so many years? What awakens your cold, ambitious heart now?”
Denaeh cocked her head to the side, whether trying to pick up on the whispered conversations blooming throughout the great hall, or to get a better look at the Creecemind king seated before her, Dhuruhn couldn’t tell for sure.
Finally, the woman drew in a breath, the air hissing past her teeth the way the wind sometimes cut through the icy mountain crevasses. “I have seen the end to all of this.”
The Mystic did not dramatically wave her hand to include the throne room and all its inhabitants the way one might imagine she would. Rather, she stood motionless, her back straight and her chin held high, her brilliant red hair curling down her back and blending with the blood red cloak she wore. A chill, far colder than the natural temperature of the Great Hrunahn Mountains, coursed through the Creecemind king’s veins. So, had it all come full circle then? Could she tell him what he’d been wondering about mere moments before? Might she be able to give him a better idea of what would befall him and his kingdom should he decide to follow Raejaaxorix to Ghorium after all? The idea of hearing her vision was a temptation his heart greatly desired. But, he would not foolishly display his greed to this woman who had become a legend in her own right. No, he would use diplomacy to draw the answers from her, if possible.
“So you say,” Dhuruhn finally said, his face carefully impassive.
“I have come to swear this before you, and to verify what I have seen through the roots of the Sacred Pine.”
Immediately, the murmuring of the courtiers intensified, the voices no longer the discreet whispers of curious gossipmongers, but the shocked entreaties of troubled onlookers.
The queen rose abruptly, her eyes blazing with blue fire. “The gift you claim to possess belongs only to the Oracles!”
Denaeh turned her topaz gaze onto the Creecemind queen. She had traveled a very long way to deliver this message, and she had overcome many challenges to stand before the sovereigns of Felldreim. But, she had made sure her power was returned to its full capacity before begging entry at the gates of Nimbronia.
Very slowly, the Mystic lifted both arms away from her sides as she let her magic swell inside of her. The heat suffused her blood, and the strands of her hair rose of their own accord. When everything around her appeared to be stained in hues of gold, she knew her eyes were blazing like burning embers. The voices of the onlookers grew more agitated as they pressed against their comrades to give her space. When the Mystic’s feet lifted from the floor, several of them let out gasps of shock.
King Dhuruhn growled low in his throat, and the queen bared her teeth, their dragon tails twitching in agitation and threatening to bring down the icy columns closest to their dais.
“Do you doubt me now, sovereign of ice and sky?” Denaeh asked, her voice nearly as deep and resonant as the king’s own.
“You should not exist!” Dhuruhn snarled, his voice dripping with aggression and slight horror. “You are nothing more than a myth! A legend that lives on only in the stories passed down by bards and poets!”
Denaeh smiled, showing her teeth in a grin that suggested violence. “I am far more than a simple tale to be told, your majesty,” she intoned quietly.
Just as abruptly as her power had gathered around her, it dissipated with a snap of energy. The shockwave radiated throughout the room, causing several of the enchanted stalactites to break away from the ceiling far above and come crashing down. Those standing beneath them screamed and dove, barely avoiding the dangerous projectiles as they exploded upon the frozen floor in small bursts of ice and glittering blue light.
“Now, will you take me to the Tree or not?” Denaeh demanded, her voice reverberating throughout the cavernous chamber once more.
Dhuruhn cast his wife a troubled look, then gazed down at the Mystic with ice fire in his eyes.
“Yes,” he conceded, menace, anger and even fear tainting his voice. “I will.”
* * *
The massive roots of the ancient tree twined and grasped at the rock it clung to, plunging into the ground and creating an intricate lacework pattern upon the walls and ceiling of the cave. The cavern itself was far too small for the king of the Creecemind to enter, but it was plenty big enough for Denaeh. She stepped inside, glad to be out of the freezing winds sweeping past the top of the world’s highest peak, and more than grateful to be off the treacherous path she had climbed to reach this point, at the very apex of the mountain. Although the cave now protected her from the wind, it was very cold inside, and Denaeh could see her breath hanging in the air.
For a few moments, she stood still and simply caught her breath. It had been a hard journey from the outskirts of Cahrdyarein to Nimbronia. She and Milihn, who awaited her return beyond the wall of the City in the Clouds, had managed to dodge the Crimson King’s soldiers and their scouts, crossing Nimbronia’s southern bridge under the cover of night. She and her feathered companion had timed their arrival to just miss running into Jahrra, Jaax or their mysterious comrade. Since her last attempt at ferreting the strong magic wielder out, Denaeh had not tried again. The experience had rattled her and plagued her with nightmares ever since. No, she would wait a little longer. If anyone knew patience, she did.
Shaking her head to rid it of such dismal thoughts, the Mystic returned her attention to the present and what had transpired in Dhuruhn’s throne room. She knew the risk she had taken by offering to share h
er visions with the king of the Creecemind. She had gotten what she wanted, a chance to use the scrying pool in the temple of the Sacred Pine, but it might mean offering Felldreim’s sovereign much more than what she was willing to part with. There was no way to be certain her memories and her deepest secrets would stay confined where she had locked them away, deep within her mind. Denaeh sighed. That was just a risk she’d have to take. Gaining access to the temple under the Pine and the Truth she could learn there was far more important.
Speaking a single word, the Mystic brought small tongues of flame to the dusty lanterns hanging at intervals along the cavern walls. It was clear this makeshift temple hadn’t been used in a very long time. Denaeh couldn’t imagine the Creecemind visiting, for the cave could not accommodate them.
Perhaps, when they felt a need to connect with the goddess, they merely flew to the mountain’s crest and rested beside the Tree for a time. A few crude stone benches sat against the curved walls every few feet, some had even been cracked by the thick roots of the Tree. Toward the end of the cave temple, only a dozen or so feet away, stood a great stone basin supported by a massive coil of Pine roots.
Denaeh approached the strange altar and placed her hand against the solid ice occupying the shallow basin. The surface cracked, and the water swiftly became liquid again, impossibly cold and emitting a pale blue luminescence. A pair of unearthly, haunted eyes gazed back at her through the magic-infused water. Denaeh snatched her hand back and pressed it flat against her stomach. Her other arm she held rigid beside her, her fingers curled into a fist.
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