Chapter 47 Zhal
Zhal
Death was so lonely. Zhal had been falling into darkness for what felt like an eternity. “You have fought hard not to come to me, Zhal Kakzox.” A silky voice echoed in her ear.
She felt warmth, strangely enough, as her feet finally hit the floor.
How she had lined herself up to stand perfectly straight was Magic to her.
She didn’t speak; instead, just turned her head from left to right, examining the pitch-black room.
A near-emotionless expression was written across her face.
“You are curious,” the female voice said, coming into view. It was Death with their beautiful, nearly white skin, yellow eyes blazing like the sun, and long raven hair.
Zhal didn’t speak, just took a deep breath. I’m dead.
Death nodded its head. “This is in between. The place before.”
Looking up, Zhal tried to find a way out, her mind immediately thinking of Azahara. Was she okay? Did she protect her, and had they made it through the portal? Would she be able to strangle the Fae for tricking them and bringing her Ounr into such danger?”
“There is no escaping this place, I am afraid.” Death then appeared directly before Zhal. The warrior didn’t shake or move back. “I am very sorry.”
Zhal and Death were the same height, staring directly into one another’s eyes. Its skeletal fingers came up and moved to press against her lips. Suddenly, a flash of light shot out of Zhal, sending Death staggering backward.
For the first time, Zhal’s expression changed to shock, along with Death’s.
“No.” Before her stood Azahara, but not in the flesh; instead, she was adorned with a black satin wrap, only covering the pieces of her body that would have exposed her most private areas in a ghostly, almost translucent form. “She is mine.”
“My love.” Death spoke directly to Azahara. “I did not know. If she is yours, I will not challenge.” A smile wrapped its expression. “I feel soon you will give me plenty of souls to take home.”
Azahara then turned to face Zhal. “I need you.” The eyes that stared back at her were not the sky blue that had once captivated her. They held a fiery red hue encased by shades of blue, stealing her breath.
Zhal was upright in bed, her eyes widening as she stared at cobblestone walls and white sheets hanging to her right and left. A young girl, wearing the signature medical gear of the Order, stood before her, her eyes nearly falling from their sockets.
She turned her head down to look at herself. She wore a basic baggy shirt with black cotton pants. “Azahara?” Her voice was rough, and she looked around. “Water.” She looked at the girl, who was still staring at her in surprise.
“Girl, water, now!”
She didn’t wait for another request. The girl rushed off, the books and pencil slipping from her grasp and clattering to the floor.
Throwing off the blanket, she looked at her legs and wiggled her toes. They were moving. That was all she cared about. She swung them off the small mattress, her bare feet touching the icy stone below.
Footsteps, several of them, sounded as they came to her area. The girl she’d demanded to bring water held out a cup towards her. Several other medical personnel looked on in surprise as Zhal devoured the water and stood to her full height.
Her legs were weak, but she would manage.
“Where is she?”
“W-Who?” the girl asked, taking a step back.
“Azahara.” She watched the girl shake her head and mouthed, “Who” again. “Devastatingly beautiful, red hair, blue eyes. I shouldn’t have to say more.”
A man laughed. “That crazy cunt is likely dying on the battlefield as you speak.”
Tearing down the curtain in the direction the voice was coming from, she stared down at a man with his leg up in a sling. “What did you call her?” When he got a good look at Zhal, he regretted saying anything.
“N-Nothing. She’s off, fighting with the other soldiers.”
Her eyes dilated as the vision in them blurred slightly. “Where? Now.”
“No-No, you… you aren’t in any condition to—” Zhal shot the girl a look to shut up, and that she did, cowering backward into the other medics.
“Southern gate. Sunfall Landing.”
It was all she needed to rush around her bed and run towards the nearest door. Using her instincts to guide her, she pushed and shoved her way through anyone who stood in her way. She would get to her, back to her Azahara.
As she rushed from the stone building, she felt a strange tingle against the back of her neck. Something was tugging her in a different direction, not one that would lead her to the southernmost gate.
To her surprise, she followed the pull. It dragged her through an alley, behind buildings, and between families huddled close. The whimpering and cries for the gods to protect them echoed in her ears.
The pull was beginning to feel familiar, a tendril of Magic and Fae.
As she crossed over a cobblestone bridge, in front of her was a familiar face. With their pointed ears and silver hair, she knew exactly who it was. “Illyan.”
As if summoned, they turned to her with a straightened back. Her face hardened as she clenched her hands into fists. With no resignation, she charged at them, her body guiding her to the one thing that had caused her trepidation and Azahara so much pain.
Illyan had their hands up and was shaking their head. The fist that would have connected with their cheek stopped a mere inch from it. Tears were running down their cheeks. Zhal felt no remorse for them hurting.
“Thank the Mother.” They put their hands down. “You are alive.”
Her hand trembled.
“Why aren’t you with her?” She tried to steady her voice, but she was flooded with anger. “Why the hell are you not with her, Fae?!”
Illyan didn’t move, allowing her to decide whether to hit them. “I had to try and convince them to come.”
“Who?” She ground her teeth.
Their eyes looked over her shoulder, and she directed her attention to them. All of them. It was a Fae army behind a wide-open wether.
“We were heading to her when something called me to this place.” Illyan spoke, their hand outstretching for hers. “Let us go to her together.”
She looked down at their hand. There was something that told her to trust them, even if everything in the past had been to the contrary. Yet, here they were in the same place, at the same time. How?
It must have been Azahara. Her guardian.
The woman that she loved more than anything in this and every realm that did and would ever exist. She was her world, and she was its protector.
They all worshipped the gods above or the Mother below, but not Zhal.
That pillar was meant for Azahara and her only.
Illyan also loved Azahara. It was the only thing they had in common, which was strong enough for her to believe in them.
“Take me to her,” she said, putting her hand into theirs.
“Let’s get you into something more your speed.”
She came to an open field as she was ripped and torn through the wether. The smell of death hit her nose immediately. She felt at home in this environment.
A tug pulled her to turn around.
“Zhal…” Her voice drew weakness to her knees while simultaneously making her stronger than she had ever been before. Every bone in her body ached to be next to her, and she didn’t have the strength to fight it.
Azahara had always been the strongest of them, and it showed how she forwent any danger around them and charged toward her.
A subtle yet intense glow around her body shimmered in the midday sun.
Her arms were open then, catching the redhead as she clashed with her.
She was cursing the full body armor that Illyan had provided her.
While it was usually what she would wear to a battle like this, she wanted to feel Azahara’s warm embrace.
Armor or not, she wrapped around Azahara, lifting her enough to lace her arms around her neck. She smelled as she always had, even with the grime of monsters on her. Like freshly picked fruits after an autumn rain. The place where both peace and the storm collided. It brought her home.
She could feel Azahara trembling under her embrace. “My—” She choked on her words as she tried to speak, tears stealing them away. “My Zhal… are you real?”
It made her smile. “I’m here.” Her fingers ran through her hair, feeling the curls encapsulate around them.
Laughter burst through her tears, creating a bittersweet melody of emotions. The heartfelt expression towards Zhal made her own eyes burn.
“I thought I lost you forever.” Azahara buried her head between her neck and shoulder, tightening around her.
Zhal looked beyond Azahara briefly, seeing a tall, ebony man stalking towards them. Her eyes narrowed at him, a warning.
“I’m here, my Ounr. Thanks to you.” Understanding that a battle was raging, she leaned forward, putting Azahara’s feet onto solid ground. She could feel her fight to keep hold of her neck, but she finally gave in and stepped away a bit.
“We need to get you to Kaed now.” The male spoke, sounding demanding.
Azahara’s body stiffened. She knew then that there was no more time to wait.
Behind her came Illyan, who was adorned with their own set of armor. Tiny butterfly wings fluttered on their back, barely spanning tip-to-tip three feet. “Hey, Ladybug—oh, and Karver, hello to you too.”
Zhal quickly gripped Illyan by the collar of their armor. “Wether us to the ranger’s post, stop flirting at a time like this,” she hissed through her teeth.
“You’re the one to talk!” Illyan cowered under the weight of her tone.
The Fae had dove into battle then; the sounds of monster-on-monster destruction were afoot, and they needed to find their place. Where that place was, she was still determining.
“Send me,” Azahara said to Illyan. “Only me.”
Zhal immediately stepped between Illyan and her. “Absolutely not.”
“I’m inclined to agree with your friend,” said Karver, who slid his sword back into its sheath. “You know I can’t allow you to go.”
“Can’t allow? Are you here on some orders, pretty boy?” Zhal snarled.
He didn’t back down. His gaze was just as intense as Azahara’s was at times. “Orders brought me here, but my heart keeps me here.”
Insufferable men. Her eyes wandered to Azahara, who was staring at her.
“I need to go alone. Please, I don’t know what is inside me, this power…
” She watched as Azahara stepped away from the three of them, her hands bursting with a light that flickered like fire.
“I don’t want to hurt any of you if I can’t control it, and I will need to not worry about that when fighting Thall. ”
Zhal felt her breathing becoming erratic. “I just got you back.” Her hand touched Azahara’s cheek, feeling the heat of a volcano bristle her skin. “I will die by your side.”
Azahara put her hand onto hers and shook her head.
“I will come back to you, all of you. Please let me do this. I love all of you—” She watched as the redhead gave Karver a gentle smile.
“Trust me… Illyan.” She turned to the Fae then.
“I’ll keep the winnox open, and when we are ready, I will call to you for extraction.
I promise, swear to it, that I will prioritize my safety above all else. But please, I need to go to him, NOW!”
Illyan, on the verge of tears, felt the power behind her voice and immediately located where the rangers were stationed, swiping open a wether.
Watching as Illyan hugged her, and Karver placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it, Zhal stepped to her. She leaned in and kissed her forehead, her hand coming to the back of her neck.
“You better fucking come back,” she said with absolute fear writhing through her. “I love you, Azahara.”
Azahara leaned up on her tiptoes and brushed a kiss across her lips. “I love you too, Zhal. My protector.”
With that, she watched as she ran to the portal and disappeared.
Knowing she was not the only one out of the three who felt this had been a mistake, a horrible chill ran down her back.
Don’t leave us.