Chapter 27 #2
“Zabriel, can you hear me?”
He sits up and both his arms come around me and crush me to his chest. He holds me in his lap and rocks me back and forth.
“I’m so sorry, sha’lenla ,” he says in a voice roughened by emotion. “I should have stopped him. You were looking at me with so much terror.”
I smooth his hair back from his face and up his cheeks, hating to see him so broken. “You couldn’t help it. I know it wasn’t you. All it did was make me love the real you even more.” I cup his face and make him look at me. His beautiful red eyes meet mine, and I see fire flickering in their depths.
“I could feel it wanting to hurt our child. It was considering all the ways he could do it just to torment me. It was going to make me do it.”
“Sylvi is safe. Fiala and Dusan have her. They will protect her no matter what.”
My mate takes a shuddering breath. “I felt centuries of my brother’s anger, fear, and pain. Emmeric never showed us, but he lived in terror of that thing that possessed him. He welcomed it willingly, he was entranced by the power it gave him, but he suffered for that power. I think in the end, he knew it hadn’t been worth it. He’d sacrificed too much.”
“I was never tempted by what it was offering. I don’t want power over you any more than you want power over me. You’re my Alpha, and I love you.”
“I could never believe you would be tempted even for a moment.” He covers my mouth with his, kissing me so fervently that we both sink to the ground, me falling onto my back with my mate on top of me. His black hair falls all around us, and as his body presses down on mine, I finally feel safe again.
“Scourge,” I whisper between kisses. “Is he all right?”
“He is himself again. He is impatient for us to be up and chasing after that lich again, wherever it has gone.”
“I have it.”
Zabriel pulls back in surprise. “You what?”
I sit up and pull the bottle out of my bag. It’s hotter than ever and practically jumping around in my hand.
“You bound it in this bottle?”
“Yes, I discovered its name. Caraxmorenas. Or rather, Biddy found out and told me before it killed her.” I’m speared with pain again as I relate the details to Zabriel.
“I’m so sorry about your crone. Her strength means you were able to bind it in that bottle, and she won’t be forgotten. But what are we going to do with that thing now?”
I gaze at the bottle. “I don’t know, but we have to be rid of it somehow. It wants to destroy everything that it touches. I’ll never understand it, and I don’t want to understand it. I just want it gone, and I don’t think we have much time. These spells won’t hold it for long.”
“Can you keep it locked inside that prison for a few hours? If so, I know a place.”
“Yes, I think I can keep these runes in place for a while longer.”
“Then come with me, sha’lenla .”
Zabriel picks me up in his arms and carries me atop Scourge. His scent is spiked with determination, and I burrow my face against his chest, breathing in his strength and comfort.
As we fly, I whisper the binding runes and the lich’s name to the bottle, keeping the prison strong. I’m so intent on it that I don’t notice for some time that the sun has come up and we’re flying over a great expanse of water.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“This is the eastern ocean. Maledin is behind us now.”
I peer down at the waves below. I suppose dropping Caraxmorenas into a very deep part of the ocean could finish him. It won’t be able to find another person to possess even if it manages to escape its lead prison. But could it possess a sea creature and find its way back to land somehow? I don’t know, and I don’t think we have much choice but to try Zabriel’s plan.
But when we’re over what looks to be the deepest, darkest part of the ocean, with no sign of land around us, we keep flying.
On the distant horizon ahead of us, a small, smoky speck appears. It seems as though that’s where we’re headed, and as it grows larger I see that it’s a low conical shape like a mountain with smoke belching from the peak.
“What is that?” I ask Zabriel.
“It’s called a volcano,” he tells me over the wind. “I flew here once when I was a boy, and it seemed to me the remotest, most forbidding place in the whole world. Sha’lenla , if we drop the lich’s soul into the molten magma, will it finally be destroyed?”
I glance down at the lead bottle clutched in my hand. It’s vibrating harder than ever and I wonder if Caraxmorenas can hear what we’re planning. Below us inside the volcano roils bright yellow and red magma, which must be melted rock and metal from deep within the ground.
“There’s nothing in that volcano it can possess,” I say, thinking out loud. “The lead bottle will melt away, and the heavy, seething magma will hold the lich’s soul down in the depths of the volcano until it’s burned away to nothing.” I lift my eyes excitedly to Zabriel’s. “I think it might work.”
He nods decisively. “Then Scourge will get as close as he can. Be ready.”
The heat from the volcano is scorching. Scourge flies against the winds and then banks around, so that the worst of the smoke and heat are being blown away from us. When I’m certain that the roiling magma is directly below us, I reach out with the wildly rattling bottle and let it drop from my fingers.
We watch it fall down and down, turning end over end, the runes glowing white hot. It falls into the magma and disappears from view.
Scourge circles the volcano, and neither Zabriel nor I say anything. I think we’re holding our breaths.
The volcano rumbles ominously.
My fingers tighten on Zabriel’s arm. From the way it is shaped, I would guess that the volcano periodically erupts, spewing molten rock and metal from the depths of the earth. I wonder if it’s going to reject the lich and blast it back at us, and I almost wouldn’t blame it.
But the rumbling settles down, and there’s not a trace of green magic anywhere. I picture the lead bottle sinking down and down into the magma, trapping and destroying the lich once and for all. Even if it somehow survived the vicious heat, there’s not a living thing in reach for it to possess if it escaped the volcano. Without a body to tether it to this plane, it will dissipate and be gone forever.
When several minutes have passed and all is peaceful, I wrap my arms around my mate. “We defeated it, Zabriel.”
My mate meets my eyes, and I’ve never been more thankful to see them burning a bright, fierce red. His stormy brow clears as this sinks in. “It’s truly over?”
“It’s over. Maledin is safe.”
Scourge opens his jaws and roars even louder than the volcano. He twists in the air and surges forward, heading for home.
“Does he need to rest?” I ask.
Zabriel is grinning now. “Scourge’s wings are powerful, and he wants nothing but to be home.” His grin fades. “I remember there was fighting before it forced me up the steps to our room. We must fly back and see what is left of our home and our city. The people were fighting bravely, but I fear there must have been many losses. And Esmeral. Where is Esmeral and her hatchlings?”
“I couldn’t feel her anywhere after she left me.” I feel a knot of worry in my stomach. I’d know, wouldn’t I, if something had happened to her? Zenevieve felt it when Minta was killed. The pain was so terrible that she lost her mind.
“Scourge doesn’t know where she is either. The lich blocked out everything but its own will when it possessed him. But we will find her, sha’lenla .”
I burrow into Zabriel’s arms and hold him close. He wraps his cloak around us both and holds me tight, and I’m enveloped in his comforting scent.
It’s many hours before the spires of Lenhale come back into view. They are shrouded in smoke, but the sounds of fighting have dissipated.
Two dragons are patrolling the skies, and when they see us, they fly in defensive formation. Sundra on Merrex and Calliope on Verdun. The last time anyone saw Scourge and his rider, they were possessed by the enemy.
Scourge shoots flames into the skies, showing them that they are red flames and not green. We hear cries of relief and happiness from the women, and they wave their arms in greeting as we head for the dragongrounds.
Scourge lands close to the nesting caves, and as soon as his talons hit the ground, Zabriel holds me close and slides to the ground. I run for the entrance, hunting for my dragon’s presence, hoping to find all the hatchlings safe.
I see her before I feel her. There are dozens of scattered skeletons at the cave’s entrance, their bodies torn apart and bones broken so they could not reform. Among the bones is Esmeral standing guard at the entrance. Her snout, neck, and front legs are scratched and bloody. Many of the cuts are still oozing blood.
Her fierce eyes brighten when she sees me running toward her, and she chirrups.
Hatchlings appear from the darkness of the cave, both her own and a dozen more. She has protected all the hatchlings in the nesting caves while their mothers were fighting.
My breath catches in a sob as I fall to my knees before my dragon. I want to hug her but she’s so injured, and so I cup her face and tell her how proud I am, and how thankful I am that she’s alive.
“Look at you, my brave, beautiful dragon. So many of your scales have been shredded, you were outnumbered and without your mate, but you never let any of the undead pass, did you? All the young dragons are alive.”
She limps out of the cave entrance and toward Scourge. He lowers his massive head and his wings shelter her, and he makes low, soothing noises. Finally safe, she closes her eyes and slumps to the ground.
Zabriel wipes away my tears. “It hurts to feel her pain and see her wounds. I know it does. But she will be all right. These injuries do not threaten her life. I will tell the riders to tend to her while we check on the castle.”
Reluctantly, I leave our dragons resting together after their long ordeals and cross the bridge to the castle with Zabriel.
Esmeral lives, but others have not been so lucky.
We find Fiala in a room high in the castle with a squalling Sylvi cradled in one arm. In the wingrunner’s other hand she holds a broken halberd. Tears are flowing down her cheeks and there’s a dazed, grief-stricken expression in her eyes.
Three fallen figures are at her feet. Dusan, his face ghastly pale and his blood pooling around him. Santha and Posette, their clothes torn and their bodies bearing terrible wounds.
“The women were unarmed,” Fiala whispers. “But when Dusan fell… They threw themselves on the undead to fight them with their bare hands. They sacrificed themselves for Sylvi. They slowed the undead down just long enough. I was backed in here with the baby, when suddenly every single skeleton collapsed into piles of bones.”
Zabriel covers the bodies, Dusan with his wingrunner cloak, and the women with his own cloak. I wrap my arms around Fiala and Sylvi and cry with her.
“Dusan was the bravest man, always lifting my spirits. Santha and Posette were with me when we were prisoners of the Brethren,” I say through my tears. “They were so courageous through all that torment, and they were a comfort to me, the lost villagers, and they cared so much for Sylvi.”
Fiala places the baby in my arms. While I feed her, Fiala gets to her feet with what seems like the effort of a much older woman. She gently pulls the cloak back from Dusan’s face and cradles him in her arms, and sweeps the blood-soaked hair back from his face. Tenderly, she kisses his brow.
Then she lifts her eyes to mine. “It’s dead? The lich?”
I nod. “It’s dead and gone forever.”
Fiala closes her eyes and tears slip down her cheeks. “Then Dusan’s sacrifice was not in vain. Goodbye, dear friend. I won’t know myself without you.”
I feel much the same way as I emerge from the castle and stand atop the battlements with Sylvi in my arms. I don’t know myself in Maledin, and I barely recognize the city. The sky is filled with smoke, and the streets of Lenhale are littered with debris and bodies. Fires are still burning, and so many buildings are aflame. I didn’t see this much devastation even when Emmeric slaughtered the Maledinni of western Maledin.
This is our home, and it’s been all but destroyed.
My eyes sting from smoke and emotion, and I’m hit with a great wave of despair. “So many people are dead. Zabriel, what are we going to do?”
My mate is gazing down into the city. Suddenly, he points a finger. “Look.”
I follow the direction he’s indicating. There’s a chain of people from a well to a row of houses which are aflame, and they are all working as fast as they can to put out the blaze. I look closer, and I see civilians at different places around the city clearing rubble, tending to the injured, and collecting bodies.
“The people are already doing what must be done. We must join them.”
Mother Linnea approaches us, dusty and slightly scorched-looking, but uninjured. “I saw you land on Scourge. It’s…dead?” she asks, her face filled with uncertainty and hope.
“It’s dead. The lich will never trouble Maledin again.”
The almost ecstatic relief of Mother Linnea’s face reminds me that what I am saying is true, even if it doesn’t feel like it yet.
She reaches for Sylvi. “Queen Isavelle, I can take the baby if you and Ma’len wish to go down into the city.”
I have worked with my bare hands while burdened with grief, confusion, panic. Compared to those, my daughter is no burden at all. I shake my head. “I will take Sylvi with us. Will you help me secure her to my back, Mother Linnea?”
We use the sash from around my waist to secure the baby to my back in a way I’ve seen the women of my village do during planting times. She is safe and secure, and my arms are free to work.
Down in the city, Zabriel joins in the rescue efforts. Sundra is coordinating units of the City Guard to put out fires, carry wounded to the Flame Temple, and collect bodies to take them outside the city walls into the fields for later dragon rites. I join the Temple Mothers and maids helping the wounded with their cuts, broken bones, and burns, while Zabriel lifts beams and broken walls out of the way of wagons that are trying to pass through.
It’s hard, heartbreaking work. Many survivors are crying, and there is so much blood and death, but I focus my attention on the way people are helping one another, and the happiness on their faces as word spreads that the lich has been defeated, and undead armies will trouble us no more.
I realize we’re on a familiar side of the city when I see the tall, slender figure of a man in dusty black clothes rounding up a flock of hens that are running loose in the street.
“Master Gaun,” I exclaim, smiling for the first time in what must be hours. I help him catch the last few hens and put them into their makeshift pen.
The warlock seizes my hands, excitement glowing in his face. “Queen Isavelle, I have been hearing the most wonderful and extraordinary rumors. You and Ma’len vanquished the lich?”
“It’s gone forever, thanks to your lead vessel with the binding runes and the word that Mistress Hawthorne spoke with her dying breath.”
“Caraxmorenas?” Master Gaun asks eagerly. “It is a spell?”
I shake my head, smiling so much because I am able to tell this news to people who will truly understand what my crone did for us. “Caraxmorenas was the lich’s name. Mistress Hawthorne discovered it while she was possessed.”
Masters Gaun and Artor look overwhelmed with happiness, and hug both me and each other. “It is thanks to your spellcasting that it was vanquished, Queen Isavelle.”
“It is thanks to all of us,” I tell him.
Master Artor’s expression sobers. “We laid out your crone in her bed, and informed your father of her passing before we left the village.”
Tears fill my eyes, but I smile through them, imagining the ex-witchfinders being so tender and thoughtful to my crone. “Thank you, Master Artor, Master Gaun. I’m so grateful for your kindness to my crone. Where is Master Simpkin? I must thank him as well.”
I look around, but Master Gaun shakes his head sadly. “I’m afraid our dear friend perished in the flames trying to save the archive.”
For a moment, the shock is almost too much for me. Of all people, I expected the warlocks to be safe. “He’s gone, and so is the archive?”
“The archive is not gone, thanks to Master Simpkin. He used a water spell to great effect, and much of the archive still stands, but the spell weakened him so greatly that he could not save himself.”
“I’m so very sorry for your loss,” I tell them sadly. We return to our work.
Any moments of happiness I have on this day must be tempered by sadness and loss, but my heart still bursts with joy when I spot a familiar figure working among the wounded. Her red curls are burnished by lamplight. I wait for her to finish casting a healing spell on a child’s burns, and then reach for her hand.
“Ravenna, what are you doing here? How did you know to come to us?”
My fellow witch smiles when she sees me, and she’s opening her mouth to answer, but then she stares at my clothes. “Isavelle, you’re not hurt, are you?”
I stare down at myself and realize that I’m still covered in blood. Hours and hours have passed, but I still wear the evidence of Biddy’s murder. “It’s not mine. It’s Mistress Hawthorne’s. She was the first to die by the lich’s hand in this battle.”
Ravenna’s eyes fill with tears, and she wraps both her arms around me and holds me close. She whispers fiercely, “I’m so sorry, sister. The loss of another of our kind is devastating to bear.”
I fight against my emotions for a moment, but then I lean into her embrace and allow myself to cry for a short moment, knowing I’m safe with Ravenna. I’ll never drink tea in Mistress Hawthorne’s little cottage again, or work quietly in her garden under her keen-eyed supervision.
“She is a great loss to us. I mourn for all the witches who will never meet her,” Ravenna whispers.
“Will you stay?” I ask her, pulling away and wiping the tears from my face.
She hesitates. “As long as I can.”
I nod, but I can see from her face that as soon as the city has ceased burning and the wounded no longer need healing, she will be gone. As she presses a kiss to my cheek and pulls away, I seize her hand, fearing that I may never see her again.
“But where can I find you?”
Strong emotions flicker in Ravenna’s eyes. Worry. Fear. Hope. Finally she says, “If you have need of me, ask for me in the village of Frome to the east. The villagers will tell you where to find my cottage. If you have need of me for any reason at all.”
Frome, I repeat to myself, as Ravenna’s fingers slip from mine, and she returns to tending to the wounded. I’ve never heard of the place, but no doubt there is someone among the dragonriders and wingrunners who has.
I keep working through the long afternoon, taking breaks to feed Sylvi, change her clouts, and then settle her back in her bindings with the help of one or other of the city mothers. My daughter is comfortable sleeping on my back while I work. The elderly and children—those who are not strong enough to move rubble—put out fires and carry drinking water and food to distribute among the workers.
At dusk, Zabriel approaches me with a sweaty brow and his clothes smeared with dust and ash. His long hair is in snarls, but there’s a fierce determination blazing from his red eyes. Hard work always could put him in a better, more hopeful mood, and I can see how the people of Lenhale are drawing strength from him. Still, we haven’t slept, and we will need to rest soon.
“I have heard from the wingrunner scouts that the battle raged only in the capital. The other regions of Maledin are safe, and relief is already pouring into the city. Food. Medical supplies. People who wish to help their fellow Maledinni.”
“That is the best news I’ve heard all day,” I tell my mate. With my heart lightened, I’m able to smile up at Zabriel. “You look just like you did the day you first declared you wanted me as a mate.”
He draws his forearm across his sweaty brow and smiles. “I was this much of a mess? When was that?”
“Not quite this dirty, perhaps. You were working in the cellar of the Great Hall. Soldiers came in and bowed to you, and it finally dawned on me who you were. Not the commander, but the king.”
Zabriel laughs as he recalls the moment. “Ah, yes, sha’lenla . You ran from me, and how dearly I wished to chase you down and mark your neck with my teeth.”
But he waited until I was ready because that is the kind of man he is.
I look around at the city. We have been working for hours, but we have nowhere near begun to put things back together again. “Will we be all right?” I whisper to him.
Zabriel strokes Sylvi’s sleeping cheek, and then takes my hands. “Maledin has endured so many battles, and has so many scars, but do you know why we will always prevail?”
“Why is that?”
“Because the people of Maledin love this country too dearly to ever let it fall for good. There will always be a dragon army to protect it, and if they lose their way in the mountains, there will be a witch to call them back.”
Zabriel leans down and kisses me among the falling ash. His lips are sweetly familiar, and so is his scent. My mate, holding me and our baby in his arms amid the devastation, reminding me that we have survived to fight again another day.
The battlegrounds have fallen silent. Our side has suffered painful losses, but in the days and weeks to come we learn of many moments of triumph and self-sacrifice. Our heroes are celebrated and our fallen mourned. Zabriel and I were not there to witness the ferocity of the violence and all the battles that were fought.
Others were, but those are their tales to tell.