by J. K. Barber
"Thank you," he managed to choke out, his face wet, unable to hold back his tears any longer.
Sasha looked dumbly at the hunter and then realized the meaning behind his words. Katya sacrificed herself so that I could live, so that Jared, Gabriel, and I could be a family, she thought.
“Someone, anyone, do something,” Sasha pleaded softly, her eyes briefly searching around. Only Sirus and Jared remained; the rest of Salamasca’s camp had been abandoned. The Ice Queen’s death had freed the Easterners she had enslaved, and they fled as soon as they were able. They could return to their families and try to rebuild their tribes. Sasha turned her attention back to Katya, when the sorceress took a horrible-sounding, rattling breath.
Katya closed her eyes. Her face scrunched quizzically. Using her final breath, she calmly whispered, “Talas… where are… we going?” With her free hand, the sorceress reached up, away from those present. She held it there for a moment, her hand closing around something unseen.
Katya’s hand went limp and dropped to her side. It did not rise again, and her chest stilled. Jared picked up the sorceress’ fallen hand, held it to his chest and kissed it. He and Sasha sat there for a moment, each holding on to Katya as if their touch alone would keep her on Aronshae. Neither knew what else to do. At last and with tender care, Jared lowered Katya’s hand to rest on her chest.
Sasha lifted her head to the cloudless sky of the Aishe and screamed as loud as she could. When she ran out of breath, she bent over her sister and sobbed into her chest.
The woodsman stepped aside from the sisters, wiping his tears away with the back of his hand. Sirus nudged Jared’s elbow with his snout. The man had forgotten the dragon was there, so caught up was he in Katya’s passing. He took comfort in his old mentor’s presence. The twins had a special bond that, even though Jared was Sasha’s mate, he often felt he was an intruder on their close relationship. Having Sirus there was heartening.
“You should console her,” Sirus whispered, keeping his head low. His large eyes were focused on Sasha, as her shoulders shook with sobs.
“I will, but for now, she needs a little time to herself to grieve on her own,” Jared replied, turning his full attention to his friend.
The morning sun glinted off the dragon’s untainted, brilliant purple scales. Jared was reminded of a large piece of amethyst he had seen brought from the mines in Snowhaven, in the time they had spent there waiting for Gabriel’s birth.
“I see the healing effort was successful,” the woodsman said, putting a hand on Sirus’ neck.
“Yes, Tomas and the Nhyme healed me. It is a blessing from the Great Mother, indeed.” Sirus maneuvered his head around Jared in a hug, resting his lower jaw on the man’s back. “I have missed you, my pupil, my friend, my son.” There was no hesitation in Sirus’ voice with his final words; it was firm like he had felt that way all along.
Jared put his hands around Sirus’ neck, realizing how much he cared for the bitter old coot and how much he was like a father to the woodsman. He took a moment to reflect on the past two years; they both had been through so much. Jared hadn’t even seen Sirus since he dropped them off in Snowhaven after the destruction of The Ice Queen’s Glacial Palace.
“I have missed you too. I am glad you are now well and can live your life anew,” the woodsman said. When they parted their brief embrace, Jared’s eyes caught on Talas’ mace, its head reflecting the sunlight, in the rubble. He crossed the interviewing space with Sirus following. They dug through the debris of the command tent and uncovered Talas’ and Olivia’s bodies, close together even in death. The old man’s hand was over his wife’s, a dying gesture of his love.
“Our friends need tending to,” Jared said, his voice tight with emotion.
“Of course,” Sirus murmured.
The dragon and the man respectfully laid out the couple’s corpses, laying them side by side, their hands on their chests holding their weapons. Jared poured water from his waterskin on a piece of torn tent canvas and wiped the blood from their faces. He delicately wrapped Talas’ gaping neck wound in a bandage, pulled from the dead man’s belt pouch. The hunter thought he might lose his composure again, the bandages a reminder of his kind friend and his many talents. In an effort to distract himself from Talas’ death, Jared took off his leather jerkin, cut away his bloodied shirt and tended to his own shoulder. Pouring water over the wound, the hunter methodically packed the puncture with herbs to protect against infection and help a bit with the pain. He avoided chewing any Sleepwell leaves. Though they would have helped dull the throbbing in his shoulder further, he decided against it. He did not want his senses muddled in case there were any other of Salamasca’s minions lurking in the shrinking shadows.
Jared finished wrapping the last of the bandages around his shoulder and across his chest. He raised his arm tentatively to test his handiwork, wincing with agony; it was better, but it would be sometime before he could use the arm fully again. The hunter looked up to see Sirus studying him. Despite the fact that Jared knew it was Sirus looking at him, being regarded intently by such a large predator sitting so closely at hand, was a bit unsettling. Jared could tell that his old mentor wanted to help, but his new body prevented him from lending any aid. His large talons were not suited for such subtle work.
The dragon nodded, appearing satisfied with Jared’s treatment of the wound, and said he was going to go collect wood from the shattered tents to build a pyre for the couple as well as burn his fallen brethren with his dragon’s breath. Tomas deserves better that to be eaten by vultures or stripped of his scales and teeth by the local tribes, Jared thought. He nodded in agreement and watched his former mentor depart. Sirus would see to Tomas’ body being burned, in addition to the Death Drakes. Salamasca’s corruption must be completely destroyed, cleansed from Aronshae forever.
When Jared had finished his task, he went to Sasha’s side. The sun would be at its peak in a few hours, and they needed to find shelter from the desert’s burning heat. The redhead sat slumped over her sister, holding her close. Jared put his hand on Sasha's shoulder and gently eased her away from her sister's lifeless body. Sasha sluggishly acquiesced, slowly lowering Katya's corpse back to the soiled rug below, then turned away. Jared took his mate in his arms, as she wept against his chest.
“We will take her home, Sasha,” he whispered into her hair, “home to Snowhaven. She will have a proper cremation in the town of her birth. I promise you, all of Aronshae will know of her sacrifice.”
Night further shrouded the ancient creature as Luzige's robed form shambled through the devastation left behind by the dragons’ aerial battle. Shattered tent poles lay strewn about along with the burnt and torn fabric that once provided shelter from the desert's ruthless climate. There was a swipe of smeared blood here and there, but he was surprised that there were only a few bodies slumped in the debris, half-covered with sand. From where he had watched the fight from afar, the giant purple dragon could have seared the entire conscripted army, yet it had not. It was further evidence that Salamasca had no idea of the nature of the beast she had angered by murdering its young. The dragon had spared her army by merely scaring them off, as if it knew they served her unwillingly.
Luzige made his way through the large camp that was nestled around the little oasis, its burnt palms now blackened and broken trunks. Along the way he passed all three charred bodies of Salamasca's Death Drakes. Their limbs lay twisted unnaturally, their scales burnt almost beyond recognition, and only the skeleton of their wings left behind. The largest dragon lay wrapped around one of the smaller ones in a deadly embrace. All four had obviously been set on fire after their deaths, yet no traces of burnt wood surrounded them. Only patches of burnt flesh and white bone remained; the fire had been hot enough to ruin even the scales. Such a waste, he thought. I could have put those scales to good use.
The remains of a pyre drew his attention from afar, its coals still smoldering like ghostly lights in the darkness. The people who h
ad been cremated there meant nothing to him, but the sentimental resting place might hold some clue as to what he was looking for. Approaching the spot, he realized he was standing where Salamasca's tent had been located, the white fabric at his feet a sharp contrast with the other brown tents. The tent poles were crushed, and its colorless fabric was a shredded ruin. The sorcerer shifted through the mess until he found Salamasca's body. The waning moon above revealed a pale leg, sticking out of a pile of debris.
Pushing away some crushed wooden furniture, more of the headless corpse was revealed. A ragged bite wound marred the leg. So severe was the injury that snapped bone was visible and protruding from the large holes in her skin. Not bothering to touch the lifeless flesh before him, Luzige dug further through the rubble. As he passed over a large piece of tent fabric, he heard the clicking noise of many insects’ chitinous legs. Tearing away the cloth with eagerness, he saw that Salamasca's staff lay beneath, its hundreds of bound dried twigs still intact. Tendrils of black smoke wafted from the length of the magical weapon.
A smile on his segmented lips, Luzige took the staff in his hands, feeling its power vibrating as if alive in his grasp. His forked tongue darted out and hovered just above the surface, tasting the tendrils. With a barking laugh, he held the staff in both hands and then snapped it in half over his knee with a strength belying his wiry form. He put the shattered ends into his mouth, which opened unnaturally wide, and drank its energy as if he were sucking the marrow from bone.
Luzige's body quivered in ecstasy, hunched possessively over his meal. Finished, he tossed the staff's broken remains back into the wreckage. Composing himself, he pulled his cowl lower over his empty eye sockets and tucked his spindly fingers back together into the sleeves of his robe. He turned to go, but Luzige's attention caught on Salamasca's impaled head not far away. Moving until he was directly before the gruesome sight, he studied her face. The once snowy white hair was disheveled, dirty, and sticking everywhere, glued to the skin with dried blood. One black eye stared dully back at him while the other was missing entirely, a gaping hole where it had once been. Luzige pondered for a moment and then shrugged.
The old sorcerer made his way out of camp, back into the night, leaving Salamasca’s head gaping from its perch.
Epilogue
Fractured light danced across Mother Maya's face, as the sun shown down through the diamond-patterned glass-domed ceiling of the altar pavilion within Aeirsga's Temple of the Great Mother. The older woman sat on the single wide step, leading up to the altar's dais, with a great brown leather tome in her lap. Her eyes twinkled as she read to the dozen or so children sitting in the grass at her feet, her deeply wrinkled crow's feet creased merrily upwards as she recounted the heroic narrative. The youngest child, a boy of two winters, held the hem of her green velvet robe in his chubby hand and sucked his thumb with the other. He wore plain clothes, as did many of the children. However, some of the older ones present wore the white robes of temple novices. Mother Maya's voice was rich and full of wonder as she read from the tome. The children's eyes were wide, truly captivated by the tale.
"Jared and Mistress Sasha flew on dragon back high in the sky, returning to Tammat to be reunited with their infant son, the setting sun staining the clouds a soft pink all around them. Within Sirus’ back claws was Mistress Katya’s body, bound tightly in tent cloth and leather straps. That night, rain would come to the Aishe Desert for the first time in months. The sky would weep. You see," Mother Maya added, momentarily looking up from the book, "even the desert was in mourning. Mistress Katya's sacrifice would soon be known by all. Word of Salamasca's demise spread quickly throughout the tribes, especially as those conscripted into the Ice Queen's service sought refuge with neighboring sultas. Aronshae was finally free of the dark sorceress' torturous reign.
"Salamasca's skull remains in her ruined camp just south of Jal to this day, planted on the long wooden handle of a broken halberd. No one dares approach it; the sultas have declared the place a cursed burial ground, the black cluster of crystals evidence of the physical taint on the land. The bones of the Great Dragon and its corrupted children serve as its guardians, warding off those curious enough to try and harness the wicked power of the infected crystals. Locals in the surrounding areas claim they see the funeral pyres in the distance of Brother Talas and his wife, Olivia, still burning in the night, their spirits keeping watch over Salamasca, ensuring she does not rise from the dead. When at last the remaining Illyanders had returned home, King Morgan himself gave the eulogy at Mistress Katya’s cremation back in Snowhaven, in honor of her sacrifice. That day was both sorrowful and yet filled with celebration, the celebration of Mistress Katya’s life and Aronshae’s reclaimed freedom from Salamasca’s fearful shadow." The High Priestess sighed deeply, pausing one last time. "And so ends The Fall of the Empress of Ice."
Mother Maya closed the book and placed her hands on the cover, her fingers lightly touching the smooth surface of the newly bound tome. A young novice girl voiced a question.
The girl's tone was desperate as if begging to know more when she asked, "But Mother Maya, what happened to Jared, Mistress Sasha, Gabriel, and Iluak?"
"They returned to Illyander, child," Mother Maya replied. "I have heard rumor that Jared and Mistress Sasha settled into a small hovel in the Midian Forest, just outside of Taire. Mistress Sasha's father is still a King's Guard and resides here in the capital. I have overheard the guards speaking of the couple entering Aeirsga and visiting him from time to time, bringing Gabriel to see his grandfather."
"Would Mistress Sasha ever be called by the Great Mother again?" the same girl inquired. "She is still half of Akor'shi-kai, no?"
A little of the cheer faded from her eyes, and Mother Maya sighed heavily. She ran a withered hand down her long white braid, seeking comfort in the habitual motion.
"The Ironwrights have already paid a dire price for us all. Let us hope that the Great Mother does not have further need of her and that she will live out the rest her days with her family in peace," Mother Maya intoned, her eyes glancing to a woman with fiery red hair, standing next to a man who leaned on a nearby column. The woman wore ivy-etched bracers set with star sapphires. Mother Maya noted that the redhead did not wear the matching breastplate, the armor unable to fit over the rounded belly that she now bore that stretched her sleeveless tunic to its utmost limit. The baby she carried looked ready to be born any day now. The look was meant to be fleeting, and Mother Maya’s eyes had lingered too long already. The old woman returned her gaze to the children and stood, cradling the tome under one arm while taking the hand of the small boy in her other.
"Story time for this week is over," Mother Maya said. "Novices back to your duties and children back to your parents." With a few disgruntled "awws," the children reluctantly dispersed, filtering out of the pavilion and returning to daily chores or to their waiting kin.
The elderly matron led the boy back to his parents, who waited just outside the pavilion and had also been listening to the tale. The dark-haired man adjusted the bow on his back as he knelt. The boy ran the last few steps into his father's arms with a happy squeal. Mother Maya and the woman exchanged respectful nods before the family turned to go.
The High Priestess lingered by the column, watching with a warm smile as an older man with a giant barrel chest, dressed in a commoner's clothing stepped out from behind a tree. Mother Maya couldn't hear the words he said, but the boy squealed again and launched himself at the man, who fell over as if the boy's strength alone had knocked him down. They laughed together as they toppled to the green grass of the temple grounds. The family’s pet, a large mastiff, bounded around the pair happily, and licked their faces. The woodsman put his arm around the woman's waist, and she rested her head on his shoulder. After the older man had wrestled a bit with the boy, he hoisted the child to his shoulder and approached the couple. He kissed the redhead on the cheek and clasped forearms warmly with the younger man.
Mother Ma
ya took one last lingering look, her lips curled in a small grin, and turned back to the main building, her own duties to attend to.
A white owl silently watched from the branch of a large tree as the white-haired High Priestess walked with the stiffness of old age back to the main temple building. Scanning the tiny forest and meadow around him one last time for possible threats and confident that there were none, he closed his eyes halfway and further embedded his claws into the branch on which he was perched. The warmth of the sun was threatening to put him to sleep, and the shade was just enough to make the usually nocturnal animal comfortable.
Iluak still wasn't sure why he had stayed, knowing only that this was his family now. Gabriel had even started to fondly call him "Uncle Ilk." His chest ached as it always did, missing Katya. In time, he prayed his broken heart would heal.
He must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew there was a white dove perched next to him. It cooed softly at him in an effort to not alarm him.
"Chyla?" Iluak asked, the name sounding awkward using his avian tongue.
A raven landed on his other side, flapping its wings noisily and without grace.
Iluak chuckled, his owl voice causing the noise to sound more like a stuttering screech.
"Hello, Niko," the therianthrope said. "It is good to see both of you. I look forward to the upcoming wedding. Congratulations!" he said to the happy couple.
Niko transformed into his Nhyme body; they were high enough where the tiny winged man would not be seen. He wore a green leaf vest and pants, with an acorn top as a hat. His little gossamer wings beat quickly until he was hovering just in front of Iluak's yellow hooked beak. Niko folded his arms over the therianthrope’s owl nose, looking directly into his large round eyes.
