54. Fifty-four
Chapter 54
I suppose it was a fitting way to die. The Ward had been built to keep the Sorrowing Lord from taking Tarelay’s love. Now he could die by the same method, for taking mine.
The only problem was, I was going to die too. The shield wasn’t anchored in anything. If I died, would it crumble with me? Or would it go on devouring and kill Kalcedon too?
The Sorrowing Lord, the nightmare whose tales I’d been raised on, convulsed as he went cold, eyes rolling back into his head. Then he was dead.
With him went his enchantments. A cool pressure settled back into my throat.
The great silver tree in the middle of the room creaked, branches splitting. A brick fell from the distant ceiling, crashing two feet away from me and cracking the marble floor. The birdcage disintegrated. The blue rock-thrush spread its wings as it tumbled down, feathers shedding away.
Gracelessly, a tall, thin faerie slammed to the earth. His skin was pale green, his eyes solid black.
“Recursive limit,” he rasped to me. “ Yorroh and Leferin.”
“Yorroh ?” My teeth chattered, but sound escaped my lips. I felt like I was being drained again and again, going cold and then hot. Lights flashed in my eyes.
“Like this. Quickly!” He sketched a sigil in the air. It was one of the ones I couldn’t translate from the Ward. Shivering, ice pricking through my fingers and weighing my eyes, I forced my hands—still buried in the sigils of the shield—to do what he told me.
The pull of the shield stopped as the new sigil wove into it, but the air was still cold.
“Come,” the stranger said. He straightened to his feet, sketching phrases into the air. “The mountain is about to collapse.”
I slipped my stinging fingers from the shield and watched it crumble into the air.
Kalcedon lay on top of Oraik, having collapsed there. He pushed himself up slowly and drew an uneven breath.
Oraik didn’t move.
“Oraik,” I said. My heart hammered fast.
“Did I do this?” Kalcedon whispered, staring at his own hands. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to… it wasn’t me. I don’t even know who…”
“We must go. Now ,” the faerie said. He closed the distance in two long steps and pulled me up by the back of my arm. Then he grabbed Kalcedon’s shoulders and pulled him up, too.
The faerie moved oddly. Not like a man at all.
“Oraik. Heal him. Have to,” I gasped. I didn’t have enough power. I crouched back down and tried to lift the prince, but he was too big. I couldn’t even get one shoulder off the ground. My whole body felt like it was being pricked by needles.
“Outside,” the faerie male snapped. “There is no time . Come.”
Kalcedon dug his hands under Oraik’s other shoulder. Together, struggling through our chill and exhaustion, the two of us managed to lift his torso up from the ground. Oraik’s head hung limp and unsupported.
Another stone fell from the ceiling. It rammed into the abandoned throne. The oak tree creaked ominously.
“By the stars,” cursed the faerie. He stooped down to grab Oraik’s ankles. Together, we lifted the prince off the ground. “Now move . I’ve brought the door closer.”
Another stone fell, shaking the ground beside me. I gripped Oraik tighter. Every moment it felt like his heavy weight was slipping out of my numb hands. I couldn’t hold on, but I had to. So I did.
We sidestepped towards the opening of the hall. Another stone fell, then another. Dust enveloped us as clattering pebbles rained from above. We reached the corridor.
The door to outside was just in front of us now. The strange faerie shifted Oraik’s feet into one arm and gestured. The door swung wide. We passed through. Even outside the air was slightly chilled, though not barren of power.
“Do not stop,” the faerie said, as I started to lower Oraik. I grit my teeth and took another step, then another, then another.
I heard a terrible groan behind me of rock sliding against rock. Then a crash so loud my ears ached. We kept walking.
“We are far enough,” the faerie said at last. We set Oraik down. The shoulder I’d been holding hit the ground first, harder than I meant for it to. Kalcedon fell to his knees, hands on Oraik’s chest.
“Heal him,” I begged. I fell to my knees and picked up one of Oraik’s listless hands. I could see his chest move shallowly, but his eyes hadn’t opened.
“I…” Kalcedon’s hands shook. He lifted them and curled his fingers. “I don’t know how.”
“Yes, you do . Kalcedon, you know how to heal. Please, help him.”
“I… I don’t even know who…” he said again. Kalcedon shifted his weight back, then rose to his feet and stumbled back a step. A strangled cry choked from him. His words didn’t make sense to me.
“Here,” said the stranger. He deftly wove sigils through Oraik. Spider lines of light trembled on the air, then solidified and sunk into the prince’s skin. Oraik’s lips parted as he drew a deep breath through his mouth.
“Oraik. Can you hear me?” I squeezed his hand.
“Let him sleep,” the faerie said. “His was not a simple wound.” He twisted his neck and hunched forward, then dropped his shoulders. “All lords. I have been a bird too long,” he muttered under his breath.
Kalcedon squatted back down to his heels, face buried in his hands. There was a strange sound coming from him, half-choked, his breath strangled.
I still felt like we were trapped in there, fighting for our lives. But it was over. He was free. I fell to the ground beside him and reached to wrap my arms around Kalcedon.
He stiffened and pushed me away. Had I offended him somehow?
With a sigh the stranger crouched slowly beside Kalcedon, hands clasped behind his back. He peered sidelong at the half-faerie, but did not attempt to touch him.
“An enchantment was ripped from your mind,” the faerie said. “That is damaging, but your will is your own again, now.”
“It’ll be alright. Calm down,” I told Kalcedon shakily, trying to be soothing. I knew I ought to be worried there was a faerie just by us. I was too weak to cast another working if he decided to attack, though he seemed to be in a helpful mood, at least for the moment.
“Don’t tell me to calm down. I don’t even know you,” Kalcedon answered me.
He didn’t remember me?
How could Kalcedon not remember me?
“But it's me ,” I begged, my voice thin and tremulous.
“Do not fear, Sorrowborn. She is right; all will be as it will be,” the faerie said. “Ah, and here come the peerage.”
“Sorrowborn?” Kalcedon croaked. “That's not my name. Is it?” He pulled his hands away from his face and blinked at the faerie. He still had not looked my way.
“It is one of your names.”
I wiped away the water in my eyes and faced the direction the stranger gazed. Arrayed in front of us were members of the faerie court, slowly approaching. They bowed or curtseyed, one by one, and kept their distance.
I curled my fingers into the first sigil of a shield, though I did not begin to actually cast it. Chaotic, sick feelings clamored through my mind, making a mess of my thoughts. I could handle Kalcedon hating and rejecting me better than him forgetting me altogether. None of this could be happening. Perhaps it was all an elaborate illusion.
“What are they doing?” I heard Kalcedon ask the faerie.
“It has been many years since a witch was Sorrowing Lord,” the faerie murmured. “Some thousand, perhaps. They will fear your punishment, but they are bound to pay their respects.”
“You don’t mean…”
“I do,” the faerie told him. “You are Lord of this place, now. Until you die.”
Kalcedon turned slowly towards the crowd. Then back to the faerie beside us.
“Make them leave.”
“They are bound by an Obeisance. You have only to say the word.”
“Go,” Kalcedon said. He stood slowly and cast his voice over the crowd. “Go the fuck away.”
Soon, the only fae who remained was the one who had helped us, the one still crouched beside Kalcedon.
“I won’t do it,” Kalcedon said. “They can do as they like, I’m not a part of it.”
“You can do as you wish,” the faerie responded. “But you cannot change who or what you are, or the blood that runs in your veins. Whether you command his host or not, they are as bound to you as they are to the land. If you choose not to command them, then no one will, and they will run ragged over this place. Would you let them?”
“That’s a blasted load of dung,” Kalcedon muttered. He already sounded more like himself, I thought distantly. But was I no longer a part of him? “I don’t know what in horns you’re talking about, but…”
“Here come the mortals,” said the faerie, ignoring Kalcedon’s cursing.
I felt like I was watching it through a scry-bowl. Like my body was somewhere else.
A band of cantering horses approached with Karema riding at the helm. Minutes later, they drew to a halt and dismounted. Karema handed off her reins and approached us.
“We saw the mountain fall,” she called as she approached. “I can’t believe you actually did it. But…” her words cut off as her eyes found Oraik. “Is he…?” she asked softly.
“He will live,” the faerie told her.
“Good. What are you doing here, Tarelay?”
I stared dumbly at the green faerie beside me. Tarelay Sorrowsworn unfolded himself, straightening with his arms still clasped behind his back.
“ Tarelay? ” I whispered under my breath. I could scarcely wrap my mind around seeing a legend with my own eyes.
“I was a bird, and then I was not.” Tarelay said to Karema. He turned to Kalcedon. “Come meet your kin.”
“What?” Kalcedon frowned and blinking at the human woman in front of him. “I don’t know you, either.”
Karema gave him a once over, lips tight. I wasn’t sure what she thought of having a gray half-faerie for a brother, but at last she nodded to him. I felt oddly jealous of her. They could have a clean start. She had only gained. I had only lost.
I could not help it. Everything was too much.
I burst into tears.