Chapter 25 Threk
THREK
Iam warm, buried in a deep, healing sleep. It is a good sleep, a rest my body has been screaming for. But something is wrong.
The place beside me is cold.
The small, soft, warm weight that had been curled against my chest, the body I had held even in sleep, is gone.
My eyes snap open.
The glowing, green cavern is quiet, lit only by the faint, pulsing moss and the red embers of the fire I built.
She is not by the fire. She is not by the pool.
"Betty?"
My voice is a croak, thick with sleep and a new, rising panic.
I sit up, my entire body screaming in protest, the Worg-bite in my thigh a white-hot, tearing fire. The furs fall away, and I see my hand.
It is not empty.
It is clenched. I open my stiff, clawed fingers.
A small, wooden thing rests in my palm. A five-pointed star. Her Christmas-thing. Her hope-thing.
She left it.
Liar.
The thought is a hot, sharp blade of betrayal. She promised. She waited until I was weak, until my body betrayed me with sleep.
It is a trade. Her gift.
A goodbye.
NO.
I explode from the nest of furs. The pain blooming in my leg is a blinding, white agony. My wound rips open again, hot blood streaming down my thigh.
I do not care.
A roar tears from my throat. It is not the Orc rage. It is not the Orc's battle-cry. It is a new sound. It is the sound of my soul ripping apart.
I crash through the cavern, limping, falling to my hands and claws, scrambling back to my feet. I follow her fading scent toward the humming, toward the murals, toward the magic that wants to eat her.
I burst into the main chamber.
I see her.
She is standing in the center of the cavern, directly under the lying pictures on the wall.
And the magic is taking her.
A cold, white light, nothing like the warm, green moss, swirls around her feet. It climbs her legs like glowing, hungry snakes, hissing as it rises. The hum of the Wildspont is louder now, an eager, hungry song.
Her face is lifted to the swirling light. Her eyes are closed.
She is smiling.
That terrible, broken, happy smile. The same smile she gave me just before she lied.
"Take me!" she shouts, her voice clear and strong, echoing in the cavern. "A life, willingly given! Restore what was lost! Take me!"
"NO!" I roar, stumbling toward her. My leg collapses under me, and I fall hard to the mossy stone. "Betty! STOP!"
She opens her eyes. They find me. They are not afraid. They are full of peace. And love. A terrible, final love.
"It's okay, Threk," she sobs, the tears streaming down her face even as she smiles. "It is my gift to you. My Christmas gift."
"NO GIFT!" I scream, dragging myself forward with my claws. The pain in my leg is blinding, but the pain in my chest is worse. "I do not WANT this! I do not WANT the cure! I WANT YOU!"
I claw at the ground, pulling my useless body closer. The light is stronger, swirling around her waist now, making her clothes shimmer.
"Betty! I love you!"
The words tear from my throat, raw and new and terrifying. I didn’t know I had them. "I love YOU! Not the Orc! YOU! STAY! MINE! STAY!"
She shakes her head, her body trembling as the light grows brighter. "I can't. It's the only way. Live, Threk. Be free."
The light flares, bright as the sun, reaching for her chest.
A fury born of love and terror explodes in my body. It burns hotter than the red haze. It burns away the pain.
I lunge.
I ignore my leg. I hurl my body across the cavern floor, roaring her name.
My hand is out. My claws are open. Not to hurt. To save. To grab her. To pull her out of the hungry light.
I am inches away. My fingertips graze the fabric of her sleeve.
BOOM.
A blast of pure, black magic slams into the stone right between us. It is not the clean, humming light of the Wildspont. This is foul. It stinks of burning flesh and hate.
The force of the explosion throws me sideways. I fly through the air, crashing hard into the cavern wall. My head hits the rock with a sickening crack.
The world spins black and green.
The hum of the Wildspont falters, turning sour and afraid. The white light swirling around Betty flickers... and dies.
"Touching."
The voice is not hers. It is not mine. It is cold and amused. A hiss that cuts through the cavern. "How... flawed."
I shake my head, groaning, trying to clear my vision.
He is standing there.
Lord Larda.
He is framed in the shimmering, beautiful portal we came through. His silver-etched, black armor gleams in the green light of the moss. His beautiful, cruel face is twisted in a sneer of perfect, arrogant triumph.
He is not alone.
Elven soldiers stand behind him. And one of them holds Joric by the hair, a long, curved blade pressed against his throat. Joric is bleeding from his nose, his eyes wide and white with terror.
Larda looks at me, puddled and bleeding on the floor. He looks at Betty, who is frozen in shock, standing between us. He looks at the mural of the Orc on the wall.
"My experiment finally ends," Larda hisses, taking a slow, confident step into the cavern. "I will dissect you both."