22. Hope in the Darkest Night #4
Aeson sprinted to them with all that his body would allow.
Harken dropped to the ground before him with Chora in his arms. The woman was unconscious, her head cradled to Harken’s chest. The moment Aeson took her from Harken’s arms, the man collapsed, his palms flat against his thighs, and right there he wept.
From relief or from pain, Aeson didn’t know.
He set Chora down on the grass and knelt beside Harken, pulling the man’s head to his shoulder.
“Lael sin’vala, akar.” He squeezed Harken tight, encouraging the other man to do the same, to let out his loss. “Du é varno.”
I’m here, brother. You are safe.
After a moment, Harken pulled away and sat back in the grass against a large rock, bringing his knees his chest. “Myia nithír til diar, Aeson.”
My soul to yours, Aeson.
“Ar myialí du.”
And mine yours.
Slowly, Aeson pulled himself to his feet, looking over to where Atara had dismounted along with the two apprentices she had taken with her. His soul brightening at the sight of their hatchlings, collapsed but breathing on the grass. “Havaríl?”
Harken shook his head. “We lost him in the flames. I do not know.”
Aeson nodded. “Rest, brother. Rest.”
He walked to where Atara stood by Seynarí’s side urging the dragon to drink from a small stream that meandered across the meadow at the forest’s edge. Lyara walked with him, a low pulse leaving her throat as she brushed her snout along Seynarí’s neck, the two dragons finding comfort in one another.
“She will live,” Atara said, staring at her wounded soulkin. “But she will need time before she takes to wing again, even with healing.”
Aeson examined the deep wound that had claimed Seynarí’s left eye. He looked at the two apprentices who lay in the grass, the small dragons curled at their sides. “You saved their lives.”
“Forgive me if that brings me little warmth.”
Aeson folded his arms, taking in the darkness that surrounded Atara, the emptiness in her stare. “This is not the end, Atara.”
“I know.”
Aeson squeezed Atara’s shoulder before moving to the young apprentices. He knew Atara well, she had trained him, taught him the true heart of holding a blade. Hers was a soul that needed time, not words. He knelt beside the two apprentices, who both looked up at him.
“Draleid Virandr,” one them said, a girl who had witnessed no more than twelve summers. Her soulkin was no larger than a pony, with deep black scales and eyes of green.
“What is your name, little one?”
“Anara,” she whispered, suddenly growing shy. She gestured towards the other apprentice, a young elf with dark hair. “And this is Valahn.”
Valahn only looked up at Aeson but didn’t speak a word.
“And what is her name?” Aeson asked, his gaze turning to the hatchling by Anara’s side.
Anara rested a hand on her soulkin’s neck. “Numirí.”
The dragon didn’t lift her head, only stared at Seynarí.
“She’s scared,” Anara said.
“She has every right to be.” As Aeson looked down over the small black dragon, a shadow fell over Numirí, and at last the small creature raised her head, her pupils widening.
Lyara had moved to stand over Aeson, her scales glittering in a shade of purple under the light of the red moon. She lowered her head and touched the tip of her snout to Numirí’s. As she did, the other hatchling gave a soft whimper and stretched out her neck, and Lyara nuzzled her as well.
“What do we do now?” Anara asked, her eyes glinting in the moonlight as she stared at Aeson.
“We get back up.” Aeson shifted on to one knee, looking to both Anara and Valahn. “This has been the darkest night. But after every night comes a dawn. And we must be the ones to rise to it. We are the Draleid. If we do not stand, what hope have others?”
Anara nodded, resting a hand on Numirí.
“It will be all right,” Aeson said as he got to his feet with great effort, Lyara standing over him. “We are here.”
Letting out a soft sigh, Aeson walked closer to where Harken sat with Chora.
He looked out over their bloodied and battered group.
“We rest here. Lyara and I will take first watch. Come the morning, we need to move. We are too exposed here, and there will be others readying to fight. We must join them.”
“It is done, Aeson.” The voice was Chora’s. She looked at him with emptiness in her eyes. “Ilnaen is gone. Alvira is gone. The Order is gone… Daiseer is gone. My legs… I feel them no more. I cannot even walk from this place. It is done.”
Aeson shook his head. “It is not done.”
“It is—”
“It is not done!” Aeson’s heart raged, Lyara’s fire setting it alight.
They were one. The same soul. “Alvira is gone. Ilnaen is gone. Our home is gone. But we are not. I refuse to simply lie down and die. I will not be that man. Now, more than ever, we must be the guardians Epheria looks to.” He looked down at Chora.
“L’ael sanyin, vesani, nur dar aiar il?n du panthar.
Aiar vaera svid nur dar aiar haryn narda.
Imadr? un Daiseer vaerakanra i’lanír. Aiar vaera svid. ”
I am sorry, sister, for what they took from you. They will burn for what they have done. Daiseer’s sacrifice will not be in vain. They will burn.
Dark circles ringed Chora’s eyes as she glared at him. She only grunted, then turned away, rolling onto her side.
From where he sat, Harken held Aeson’s gaze for a moment before giving Aeson a short nod and pressing a hand to his chest.
“Viel val du, Akar,” Atara said, moving to stand by his side. “Ildryr viel asatar. I sanv?r viel baralun.”
We are with you, brother. In fire we are forged. In blood we are tempered.
She grasped Aeson’s forearm and stared into his eyes. “There are none I would rather stand beside.”
“Nor I.” Aeson pulled Atara into an embrace. He pulled away and pressed his hand over his chest. “Draleid n’aldryr, vesani.”
“Rakina nai dauva,” she whispered back, the words taking on a different meaning now.
As Atara returned to Seynarí, Aeson let himself drift into Lyara, feeling the warmth that washed through her, finding solace in the embrace of her mind.
And there, beneath the light of the crimson moon, by the edge of a forest they did not know, with the loss of everything they loved upon their hearts, Aeson and Lyara made a promise to one another: no matter the cost, no matter the pain, no matter if the gods themselves reached into the world, they would never stop fighting.
They would walk through the fires of the void.
They would stand amidst the oceans of death. And they would not waver.
“Du vyin alura anis, Alvira. Na daui nai din siel vae’ryn von myia haydria. M? Heraya tael du ia’sine ael. L’uva vosko il aldrír. Il?n denír g?r indil myia sidir. Tarím alaith, myia yíar. Tarím alaith.”
You can rest now, Alvira. To die by your side would have been my honour. May Heraya take you into her arms. I will carry the flame. From this day until my last. Sleep well, my friend. Sleep well.
Fane stood amidst the ashes of the world he had destroyed. He looked out over the devastation. Nothing but stone, and bones, and death. More than a million souls extinguished in a single night.
This had never been what he had wanted. The Order on its knees, yes.
The corruption bled dry, yes. But this? He let out a soft breath to join the ashes that blew past him in the wind, swirling among the dragon bones jutting through the rubble.
This was what was required of him, not what he had wanted.
Something shifted in the air and a voice sounded behind him.
“Very well done.” Amatkai’s footsteps crunched as he walked.
“What do you want, Sathar?”
“Amusing.” The man folded his arms, pushing a blackened skull with his foot. “I thought that name was clever, myself.”
Fane ignored him, staring up at the Blood Moon in the sky.
“This was only the first step,” Amatkai said. Fane could feel the man’s attention on him. “The path ahead will be no simpler.”
“I do not walk your paths. I walk my own.”
“Oh, of that I am sure. This is quite the most fun I’ve had in millennia.”
Fane looked over at Amatkai, searching those shimmering eyes.
There was not a book on the continent about druids or Terroncia that Fane had not consumed, not a scrap of knowledge he had not dug from the cracks of time, and yet he still couldn’t quite figure out what this man truly was.
A god perhaps. Not that it mattered at that moment.
“This means nothing to you, does it?” Fane asked, looking out over the ruins of Ilnaen.
“On the contrary. It means everything.”
“Tell me, the path I walk and the path you walk, are they the same?”
Amatkai laughed at that, folding his arms as he did. “Now, mage, now you are asking the right questions.”
“And the answer?”
“Can two people walk the same path to different destinations?”
Fane nodded, clasping his hands behind his back. “Then we are at odds. Why should I listen to a word you say when I know that one day we will not walk the same path?”
“Because for now we do. And you cannot get to where you are going without me, for I am the only one who can see in the dark. I am the only one who knows the truth of what lies ahead. And believe me when I tell you, the truth will set you free. Or it will kill you.” Amatkai turned to Fane, those eyes piercing him. “Either way, the path must be walked.”
The End