The Legend of Oescienne--The Reckoning (Book Five)

by Jenna Elizabeth Johnson

  So, she whispered into that dark corner of her mind, the worst has finally come to pass.

  Denaeh turned to look at Cierryon one last time, her heart wrenching into a knot of agony. Perhaps not the worst, after all, for nothing could be as terrible as killing one’s own son. But, the loss of Jaax was just as painful. And, as Jahrra threw herself to her feet, limping as fast as she could across the terrace now littered with too many bodies to count, she wondered how the young woman would ever recover.

  Denaeh would have been content to stand there for an eternity and wait for her own grief to subside, but as Jahrra headed straight for the edge of the terrace, and when Ellyesce leapt to stop her, the Mystic snapped out of her cloud of sorrow and pain.

  “Jahrra!” Denaeh cried, rushing to Ellyesce’s side.

  Ellyesce turned and caught her by the shoulders. He shook his head as tears fell unchecked down his cheeks. Jaax had been a dear friend of his, too. Instead, she joined him in once again lifting Jahrra up into a soothing embrace, the three of them comforting one another for all who had been lost to them.

  As Jahrra, Ellyesce, and Denaeh mourned the death of their friend, the world shifted around them. The wind still whipped the clouds above, but that ever-present taint of gloom and unending darkness had faded away at last. The Morli dragons, wild beasts bred and fed the magic of the Crimson King, shrieked in mid-air, floundering in the sky as the will that had controlled them for so long finally released its hold. Now, merely feral beasts ruled by their own minds, the Morli scattered, roaring out their discontent.

  Dragons of a different kind, the Korli, Creecemind, and Tanaan, landed upon the castle terrace and the mountain peaks nearby, some choosing to join their brethren and the army of the allies of the Coalition on the vast tundra below. Many of the Tanaan dragons, but not all, crash-landed upon stone and field alike and began to writhe in pain. Several of the elves, Korli dragons and even the Nephaari, ran to their aid, only to jump away in surprise as their reptilian forms melted away to reveal much smaller, much more vulnerable figures instead.

  “Blessed Ethoes,” Ellyesce breathed over Denaeh’s hair. “Denaeh, look!”

  The Mystic surfaced from her grieving long enough to blink around them. A dozen or so of the Tanaan dragons who had landed upon the castle’s roof had also fallen to the ground, roaring in protest as their bodies convulsed.

  “Ellyesce!” Denaeh cried, trying to pull away.

  “No, stay here,” he insisted, his voice filled with disbelieving awe. His embrace around her and Jahrra only tightened.

  Denaeh watched in horror, then rapt wonder as the former dragons melted into what they had once been before Ciarrohn’s curse transformed them.

  “Dear gods,” she breathed.

  This time, as she pulled away, Ellyesce let her go.

  “The curse …” Denaeh couldn’t find the words. Five long centuries they had waited, hoped, dreamed for this day. But how could such a moment bring joy when only sorrow threatened to swallow them whole?

  She turned wide, topaz eyes towards Ellyesce. Tears streaked through the dirt, sweat, and blood staining her face, and the same could be said of the elf.

  “Broken,” was all he said, his voice catching in his throat.

  She nodded, unable to smile. Unable to settle on one emotion to express. There were just too many crowding her heart at the moment.

  Then, out of nowhere, a laugh bubbled up and burst free. “The curse has truly been broken!”

  “But at what cost?” Ellyesce asked softly.

  Denaeh’s moment of delight evaporated when she followed his gaze. The elf wasn’t looking at her, but the defeated form of Jahrra nearby. Concern lanced through the Mystic’s heart as she fell to the young woman’s side. She reached out, taking Jahrra’s face in her hands, turning her head so that she could speak with her.

  “Jahrra? Jahrra, look at me.”

  The savior of Ethoes had grown pale, her skin icy to the touch. Her eyes were unfocused, her lips moving over and over again, repeating the same word, so faint Denaeh had to lean in to catch it.

  “Gone.”

  “Jahrra?” the Mystic tried again, pulling her young friend closer.

  “Gone. Gone. Gone.”

  Jahrra’s face crumpled as that soul-deep sorrow took control once more. As the Coalition’s army began rejoicing throughout the castle and city of Vruuthun, the Mystic Archedenaeh rocked Jahrra like a child, crooning in her ear as her grief poured forth.

  -Chapter Thirty-

  Returning Home

  In the end, Ellyesce summoned a healer, and Jahrra was given a draught that drew her into a deep sleep.

  “She’s in too much shock right now,” Denaeh told Sapheramin, “and if we don’t give her body time to heal, we may lose her, too.”

  The female Korli dragon had landed upon the mountaintop not too long after the last wisps of Ciarrohn had scattered in the wind, only to learn of the devastating news regarding Jaax. Dragons could not cry, but the heavy weight of sorrow drew upon her like an anchor. Tollorias, arriving by his mate’s side not too long after, bruised and battered and singed in some places from the brutal fight, harbored the same melancholy taint. The dragon Raejaaxorix had been their friend for many centuries.

  “An honorable death,” the male Korli grumbled.

  All present nodded in acknowledgement, though now most of their concern was for Jahrra. She had sustained a deep cut in her side, just below the ribs, a head wound, and several other injuries the healer hadn’t yet identified.

  “She should recover with enough rest, but it will take time,” the elvin woman commented as she cleaned and tended the worst of the hurts. “But, it isn’t the physical injuries I worry about.”

  Asteria, like many others of her profession, had followed the allied forces from Dhonoara. Now, she used both her hands and her magic to assess Jahrra.

  “A terrible sorrow has taken hold of her heart.” Asteria turned solemn hazel eyes upon Denaeh and Ellyesce. “She will need her friends near if she is to recover.”

  They all nodded grimly. Ellyesce, Denaeh, Sapheramin, Tollorias. Even Dathian had hurried over to Jahrra after the fight had ended, his own injuries needing attention. And finally, Dervit. The small limbit who had stayed to the shadows, leaping out to help Ethoen soldiers by pricking those they battled with his dagger to give them a slight advantage. Dervit, who may never know, or realize, what a difference his small acts of bravery had made.

  “I would recommend returning her home as soon as possible. She will need the comfort of the familiar to help her along.”

  “Will she be able to travel with her injuries?” Ellyesce asked.

  The healer pursed her lips, then nodded. “If we can get her to the infirmary in Dhonoara, and if I can get my other healers working on her, she should be ready to travel in a few weeks’ time.”

  Denaeh sighed and glanced at Ellyesce. She, too, was staggering from the pain of her loss. But, the shock of the battle, and its abrupt end still held those demons at bay, at least for the time being.

  “It will take a good long while to return to Oescienne,” she whispered. “I imagine the road will be much safer now that the Tyrant has been vanquished, but I wouldn’t count on it.”

  “There’s nothing to be done about that,” Ellyesce stated.

  “Perhaps, this conversation can wait until we get this young woman to the healer’s guild?” Asteria cut in sharply. “This wound in her side will only turn putrid if I am forced to tend it here.”

  At that statement, Ellyesce sent for more help and Jahrra, the young woman who had set the world free, was carefully strapped onto one of the dragons with the strength to fly back to Dhonoara. Dervit, her ever loyal companion, was sent with her. Although his glassy expression told Ellyesce he, too, needed time to recover from the aftermath of war, he also knew the limbit would watch over her, as he always had.

  It would take a week for the rest of the wounded and survivors to trudge back to the v
alley of the elves, and as weary and heart sore as they were, there was joy and excitement as well. They had won. Against all odds, the Crimson King was no more. Ciarrohn would not poison the entire world with his evil presence, and the peoples of Ethoes, and especially Ghorium, were free to live their lives without constant fear.

  A celebration was planned, one to honor those lost and to give thanks for all that was gained. But first, the human woman who had saved them all was given time to recover, even if all the time in the world would never be enough.

  * * *

  Jahrra had been falling through a terrible dream, icy wind whipping her hair loose from its braid, the crash and boom of waves pounding the jagged shore of a rocky coast, her scream of terror lost somewhere far above her where the cliff’s edge paid witness to her impending death. The moment dragged on for an eternity, ending only when the force of the landing slammed her back into the realm of reality, the memory of black waves crashing in all around her as her life snuffed out.

  “Jaax!” Jahrra cried out, thrashing against some force pinning her down. “Jaax!”

  Dazed, still caught up in the nightmare, Jahrra clawed at whatever held her back, tears spilling from her eyes as she cried out in panic.

  “Jahrra!” a familiar voice rang out, breaking through the haze of disorientation.

  “Jaax!” she called out again. She didn’t know where she was. The last thing she remembered was a swirling black cloud, so similar to the evil presence that used to haunt her dreams as a child, Jaax looking at her as if to say goodbye and then the moment the black hand ending in wicked talons struck.

  “No…” she sobbed, giving up her fight against her invisible captor.

  The march upon Ghorium’s castle, Jaax’s capture, their daring and foolhardy attempt at rescue, her imprisonment and subsequent torture, her battle to the death against Keiron, the fight on the top of the mountain, Kehllor’s death, then Jaax …

  Jahrra drew in a long, keening breath and let it out on a sob. No. She was still asleep. Kehllor was not dead. He was back in Felldreim holding Jaax’s place over the Coalition, and her Tanaan guardian was nearby. Only, when Jahrra shifted, the piercing pain in her side and the throbbing in her head proved she had fought a fierce battle. Fought and survived.

  “Jahrra?”

  That voice again, only this time closer, gentler.

  “It’s me, Dervit. Ellyesce and Denaeh put me in charge of watching over you. I’m supposed to let them know when you wake up, but I can stay a bit longer if you want.”

  Dervit. Her friend. The limbit they’d found on the road. He had joined their cause without question and had shown bravery against overwhelming odds time and time again. He had been the reason she survived the attack in Cahrdyarein, how they had known Keiron had betrayed them. And something told her it was because of Dervit that Ellyesce and Denaeh had broken free from their prison just before the battle ensued.

  With great effort, Jahrra turned to look at him through tear-blurred eyes. She blinked a few times, his ruddy, pointed ears swimming into view, his large brown eyes full of emotion. He smiled a little, wincing when the action pulled at a large cut on his lip. Bruises and scratches marred one side of his face, and his left arm was in a sling, but he was alive.

  Drawing in a deep breath, Jahrra mustered up what little courage she had left and asked the question she most feared in the world.

  “J-Jaax?”

  The smile and joy on Dervit’s face melted away. Compassion as well as guilt and sorrow replaced the light in his eyes as tears formed at their corners.

  “Jahrra,” he managed, his voice catching.

  His face blurred again, and a lump formed in her own throat. It was real, then, what she had dreamt, what she had remembered. They were dead. He was dead. Jaax, who had been such an overwhelming, immovable presence in her life, was gone. She would never again fume at his mocking grins or push the limits of her patience by engaging in an argument with him. Panic so strong and swift clutched her heart, and Jahrra’s breath came too quickly.

  “Can’t be,” she rasped. “No, no, no. Not Jaax. Just hurt. He’ll be fine. Wings ruined, but alive.”

  She began to thrash again, against tightly tucked sheets and blankets, she now realized.

  “Must go to him,” she breathed, her head swimming in and out of a black fog, her heart racing uncontrollably. “Dervit, tell me where he is. He’s hurt!”

  Jahrra jerked at the blankets, pulling them free, but gasped and fell to the floor as pain ripped through her injury. Something warm seeped through the white tunic she wore, but she ignored it.

  “Jaax needs me!” she insisted, climbing to her knees. She pressed her arms out in front of her to hold up her weight, but gasped in shock when doing so sent a spark of pain through one shoulder.

  “Jaax!” she screamed. Where was he? Why wasn’t he coming? “Jaax!”

  Jahrra was dimly aware of Dervit leaping from his chair and scurrying across the room.

  “Healer Asteria! I need help in here! Jahrra is awake!”

  The shuffle of feet, the cacophony of chattering voices. Too many people in the room. People she didn’t know. And none of them was Jaax. Someone placed a hand on her shoulder.

  “Jahrra, you need to get back in your bed. You’ve torn your stitches.”

  “No! Jaax!”

  “Please, Jahrra. You shouldn’t be putting any weight on that shoulder. You sprained it, and it needs to heal.”

  More hands trying to grab her and lift her up.

  “Get off me! JAAX! He needs my help! Don’t you understand?” she sobbed, gritting her teeth. She was so very angry. Why weren’t they letting her help?

  “Jahrra, Jaax isn’t here.”

  She knew that voice. Denaeh. Her friend. Why would Denaeh be helping her enemies?

  “Let me be! I need to help Jaax!” she continued to shout.

  “Jahrra!” Denaeh said more firmly, then in a shaky voice, “Jaax isn’t here. He died in the battle against the Crimson King. You’re in shock. We need you to get back in bed so you can rest.”

  Fear and pain pierced Jahrra’s heart. No. She was lying! Jahrra thrashed again, her good arm breaking free to elbow someone hard in the stomach. The person huffed out a shocked breath and crumpled to the side.

  “Quick!” a sharp voice snapped, “Bring me the sedative!”

  Jahrra was snarling now, fighting with tooth and nail, kicking at shins and trying to stomp toes. It didn’t help that she was barefoot, and her attackers wore sturdy shoes. Someone else moved in close, reached out a hand and pinched her nose shut. Jahrra growled in outrage, but as soon as her mouth opened something pungent was poured down her throat. Another hand pressed firmly against her mouth, and she was forced to swallow or choke on the foul liquid.

  As soon as she did, however, the hand whipped away. Jahrra screamed her rage.

  “LET. ME. GO!” she roared, bucking even harder.

  But, her fight didn’t last long. The sedative worked quickly, suffusing her body with a weighty, drowsy comfort.

  “No,” she breathed, her limbs going limp. “Jaax. Please. Jaax.”

  Jahrra’s head lolled to the side, the arms once restraining her now holding her deadweight upright. Her final thought before succumbing to the dark embrace of sleep was an image of Jaax, staring at her with knowing eyes as the arm of Ciarrohn pushed him over the side of the cliff.

  * * *

  Jahrra drifted in and out of consciousness for the next several days, Dervit tasked with dosing her with the sedative anytime she stirred awake.

  “Are you sure this is safe?” he queried on the third day after her initial return to consciousness.

  Asteria had only nodded morosely, her pale gray eyes sharp with authority. “Her injuries must heal, or we risk infection every time she wakes and pulls the stitches free. And her grief is too near to her right now. I’ve seen people sustain what I would deem minor wounds in battle, only to succumb to those injuries later because they
could not accept the death of a friend lost to them in the fight. Jahrra is going through the same thing right now. She has lost someone dear to her, and in her weakened state, it could mean her death if we don’t keep her sedated.”

  Tears spilled from Dervit’s eyes, but he sniffled and nodded.

  “I miss Jaax, too, but Jahrra was a lot closer to him. And, she was the first person ever to see me as a friend. She can’t die.”

  Asteria nodded knowingly, then placed a hand to Dervit’s shoulder before leaving the room.

  The limbit performed his task admirably, remaining by Jahrra’s side even as the rest of the Coalition’s army poured into Dhonoara Valley. Many lives had been lost in the war against Ciarrohn, but many had survived as well. The most grievously wounded were brought to the Healers’ Academy, but those with more minor wounds were treated elsewhere. Being surrounded by so many suffering individuals unnerved Dervit, but he refused to leave Jahrra’s side, even as he met up with familiar faces eager to include him in the myriad celebrations taking part throughout the city.

  Dervit shook his head each time with a grateful smile. “I must watch over the lady Jahrra,” he’d tell them. “I’ll be there for the memorial celebration, though.”

  Their eyes would widen when he mentioned Jahrra’s name, each of them, elf, Nesnan, Resai, dragon, even the strange but intriguing Nephaari who had remained as a show of goodwill, giving him a small bow of reverence.

  “You are tasked with the most noble of responsibilities, young limbit. Do extend my gratitude and well wishes to the savior of Ethoes.”

  Dervit didn’t have the heart to tell them he hadn’t actually spoken to Jahrra in several days. Not since that second day after arriving in Dhonoara when she woke for the first time, crying out for Jaax. The mere memory of it twisted his heart.

  “I’ll be sure to do so,” was all he told them, returning their bows.