A Dagger of the Mind (The Imperial Metals)
Page 34
“It was foolish. It was…unforgivable. But I’m asking for you to forgive me anyway. Because I do love you more than anything in the Earth and the Heavens. And it would be a tragedy now for us to be apart because of this mistake I’ve made.”
Michael thought about this. Even as they stood halfway across the room, wearing only their skin and their souls. But he knew that he was in love now. He was certain of it. And he knew he had no right to look down on Sarah for her sins. His sins were worse.
And the truth was, he realized, the sins didn’t matter. Everyone had sins. But the love he had for her was real. And true. And amazing.
“I forgive you,” he answered finally, “If you’ll forgive me for abandoning you. I put the Kingdom before my wife. Before the woman I love, and I won’t do it again.”
“You have to. Because it’s part of who you are. It’s part of why I love you. I forgive you, of course, and I know that this is just a moment in time. But I want to share this moment with you.”
They embraced again, and now without the burden of having to get undressed, made love. Afterwards, they embraced against the cold, night air. After a while, Sarah spoke.
“Please be gentle with Landos. I think he really does love me, though that may not excuse our crime.”
“I shall deal with Landos when the time comes.”
But that time never came. Sarah never spoke to anyone of her last conversation with Michael. Is it possible he would have forgiven them both? Or would his wrath be born anew with the rising of the sun? He died that same night, at the hands of Argos, in the last confrontation of the War. And Sarah kept her silence, for she did love Michael, and she wanted that moment between them-- that last, honest, loving moment-- to be pure and hers alone.
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The End
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Epilogue : What the Rain Brings...
A woman awoke on the beach to the sound of distant thunder. A drizzle pecked her face with tiny, wet flecks of water. The soft sand hugging her skin. Muscles stiff, barely able to move.
The waves lapped across the shore, one of them sweeping over her body. Her naked body, she realized. The sky was a white blanket over the morning. Overcast. Was it drizzling or just a very dense fog? She couldn’t tell.
Despite her muscles insisting they weren’t ready, the woman lifted herself to her knees to look around. Hugging her naked torso against the chill sea breeze, she could see the trees lurking just beyond the fog. But they weren’t her trees. Her trees were deciduous or evergreen. These were tropical. The kinds she had seen in paintings but never in real life...
Real life...
That was a weird concept. The woman looked down at her body. Clearly she was in her early twenties. And she knew things. Words and numbers, and kinds of trees. But all of those things must have come from somewhere. From a real life. A life she had lived, and experienced, and aged in...
But she had no memory of it. Who was she? Where was she? How did she get here? And where the fuck were her clothes?
Deep voices echoed through the fog, and a moment later, two fishermen emerged from the trees, a canoe in tow. Hearty, hefty, with full beards. Their steps and conversation stopped dead when they saw the naked woman.
“Well,” said the shorter man with a snicker, “Somebody paid extra for this.”
“That’s not funny,” the taller man responded. They placed the canoe on the ground, and the tall man dug through their supplies to grab a blanket. “Are you alright, m’Lady?”
“Lady? She ain’t the Duchess of Brimford,” the short man jibed. “C’mon, the storm just passed. The fish’ll be biting. And you’re slowing us down for a whore who lost her stockings.”
“You’re not from our village, are you?” the tall man asked.
“I don’t think so,” the woman responded, confused.
“What’s your name?”
“I don’t remember.”
“How did you come to this shore, and where are your belongings?”
“I don’t remember...anything,” the woman concluded.
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The man brought the woman back to their village. She stayed with his family for a week, borrowing his wife’s clothes, and recovering her strength. She helped out around the village whenever she could. She was strong, and resourceful, and since the storm had damaged a lot of their huts, she was helpful in rebuilding them, making them stronger than they had been before.
But still, she could not remember her name. The people jokingly called her the Mermaid, because of the story of how she was found. But that name soon became one of respect. A joke amongst friends. And eventually, Mermaid became Mer, and that became Mera.
One day, Mera was helping an old woman prepare her evening meal. It was the sort of task Mera performed. Traveling from house to house, and helping those in need. The old woman repaid the favor with a tale.
“I will tell you the story of the storm,” the old woman said. “The storm that brought you here.”
“You know a story about that storm?” Mera challenged the old woman.
“Indeed I do. You see, the storm was an angry storm. It had been built, created, by an evil sorceress to destroy a city. To drown all its people. But there was another wizard. A good one, who refused to let the city be washed away.
“This good wizard, she wasn’t strong enough to fight off the storm. So she used herself up. Sent her will into the winds and the water, holding the tide at bay. She had become one with the storm so that she could control it, but ultimately it destroyed her.
“But storms do not share their time and energy with others. And this storm raged on for weeks, moving south and west with the currents of the world. Until it came here. And finally, it spit that wizard out, casting her from its essence.”
“Are you saying...” Mera asked, “That I was part of that storm?”
“Indeed,” the old woman said, “And you sacrificed yourself to keep it from destroying your people. But your body wasn’t destroyed. Just scattered. And the storm didn’t like you. So it exiled you.”
“How do you know any of this?” Mera asked.
“It came to me in a dream,” the old crone answered. “I was dreaming, and I was in a room with a fireplace. Very cozy. And there was somebody telling me a story about this amazing woman who had sacrificed herself to the storm.”
“Can you remember who was telling you the story?” Mera pleaded, “Please, can you try to remember...”
“Oh yes, I got it now,” the old woman said. “She looked just like you. And her name was Julia Vye...”
Thank you once again for joining me on this adventure. The story will continue in, “The Good Years Shall Devour.” Will Vye finish serving soup to the old woman? Will Jareld and Emily agree on how to furnish their vacation home? How many balls can Flopson juggle before he has to make a joke about balls? OK, I haven’t started writing the next book yet, so I can only hope there will be more interesting plotlines.
Until then, if you liked this book, tell your friends. Write a review. Write a blog. Tweet about it. Stand atop a mountain with a bullhorn and announce that this is the best book you’ve ever read (since the first one.) I mean, only if you really feel that way.
If you didn’t like the book… I don’t know, read a different one. There are lots of books out there. Maybe try this one.
What’s that? You didn’t realize this was the second book in a series? Sorry about that. Wasn’t trying to trick anyone. Well, it’s your choice. I think you can enjoy this book either way. But if you’re the kind of person who likes to get all the jokes and wants to start from the beginning, may I recommend you try Book One?
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Her staff would have frowned even more if they heard that.
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And for that matter, into
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Some an adjective, some that adjective’s antonym.
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Just the head. She had left the n
eck and body and everything else on top of a mountain.
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I was disappointed to learn that the plural wasn’t “penisi.”
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sine qua non - “without which, not”, an expression that means, “An essential element.” Something without which, a certain other thing would not be possible
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Landos was always High, one way or another.
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You had to dot a lot of “i’s” and cross a lot of “t’s” when formalizing peace between two people with such a violent history. And since the Turin spoke their own language, you also had to underscore a lot of “gertz’s” and circle a lot of “welto’s” when you did the translation.
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I think that’s how the saying goes.
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Well, more often they dully reflected the overcast sky.
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Or, more often, better.
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Though, of course, since he was such a nice guy, he found other places for them to work.
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Well, the truth is she was sitting on a cushion that was suspended in midair. But, you know, semantics...
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Though that last one was technically her fault.
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Well, except Countess Vye. But she was busy at the moment.
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If you didn’t read the previous book, we’re using Wyrm to mean dragon. Not worm. Unless we’re talking about worms. I’ll let you know.
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It was hard to avoid when living in the same city as Vye.
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Walk softly and carry the second-most feared warrior in the Kingdom. I think that’s how the saying goes.
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By landmass. Second largest by population. Third alphabetically. Seventh by number of residents named Jeff.
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That’s the most concise summary of the first book I’ve ever written. And if that doesn’t convince you to read it, I don’t know what will.
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This was actually the uncle of the first man Julia Vye knew as Harold Rutherford, and the third cousin of the second man Vye knew as Harold Rutherford. The name, like incompetence, ran in the family.
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It was genderless, but Demons were often referred to as “he.” Probably because they were good at math and could drive a car. Just kidding.
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scry (v) - to use divination to discover hidden knowledge. Other characters have called it Far Sight, but Eric’s vocabulary is superior.
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Or rather, what she imagined it would feel like to lie on a cloud. I suspect when people use this expression, they’re really thinking of lying on a heap of cotton. I’ve never done it, but I’m guessing lying on a cloud would be a damp experience, and there wouldn’t be much support.
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Carrying an Aceley White Bear claw was considered a sign of good luck. Because if you had the claw and you were still alive, you must have been extremely lucky.
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#rejectedtitlesforbookone
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Newton would have been pissed at this dream.
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Though what he meant to say was, “Probably not, but we’re out of time and I can’t think of a better solution, so let’s try this ridiculous plan.”
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And the member she dissed wasn’t any of his arms or legs...
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Though Michael hadn’t seen him on the ship. Had he even sailed with them? Or had he arrived on his own? Michael was never able to completely keep track of the mad jester.
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OK, I’m using the word, “balls” a lot. Kind of hard to avoid when talking about a juggler. My advice: Get over it. If you can’t, see Chapter 14 of “Within the Hollow Crown.”
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OK, that one wasn’t my fault. The character made the joke, not me. You can’t blame me for everything that comes out of their mouths.
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Or possibly Xanathos. They’re twins. It’s hard to tell them apart.
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Or possibly Xerxes. They really did look quite similar. The inside joke that one of them trained right-handed and the other left-handed was lost on most people, who assumed they were both just ambidextrous.
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Give or take. They hadn’t made scales that durable yet.
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Well, on the Statue’s feet, but let’s not split hairs. Or layers of sediment, as the case may be.
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“Only Zuul.” Sorry, I couldn’t resist.
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Landora made her entrance a few minutes later from a different door, even though they weren’t fooling anyone.
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Since the destruction of Grimsor, most people had avoided saying his name, referring to him only as “The Monster.” Or sometimes, “The Nightmare.”
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