41. Serendibite
Every nerve in my body feels like it’s going to combust. We march in an hour, but I’m lying awake in my bed.
Estela is nestled into my shoulder, sleeping soundly.
I have been here, alternating between watching her rest and reading a scroll titled A History of Giants to see if there are any other morsels of information about Rholker or his family I could use if he tries to negotiate. The man has been motivated by being underestimated, and I had felt so confident when I started scanning the words. Now, each sentence floats away from me in the whirlpool of my thoughts.
I remove my crystal spectacles, rubbing my eyes. My mind races harder.
Once, I stood on the precipice of a dark future with too many men, and too few women and children. My people were dying out, and I had accepted that was the end of everything. I spent so many years believing and repeating to myself that I just needed to survive until death.
I could pass my crown onto some other person, perhaps Vann or a mated couple. They could die out or slink off to some elven town and simply… fade away.
We had paid for our sins in extinction. Millions dead, a war that ravaged the lands, not to mention the preference to not mingle outside of our species. Maybe we deserved to end.
And yet, here I am, looking down at my mate. In her womb, my child is growing.
Our child.
A small creature who is neither Enduar nor human carries on my story. Pieces of my very soul.
Have I atoned enough? Am I weak, as my father believed?
The youngling will be another person to witness the moments of my life and remember me, continuing this circle yet again. Will they find me wanting, like I found my father?
The crown is a heavy burden; some may even consider it a curse. I swear I could never ask this child to do the same things my father asked of me. I wouldn’t train them to be a weapon of death or ask them to sacrifice their dignity for information.
If I could, I would shield them from bloodshed and subterfuge.
My arm is already tightly wrapped around Estela, and I dare not move for fear of waking her.
Dread and sickness curl in my belly as I think of how she wants to come with me to the battle.
A part of me wishes to leave her here—to slip out and leave the war behind her so that no part of it can touch her already scarred flesh. She is stubborn, but she doesn’t know what it is to be dragged into the clash of metal and the stink of blood and gore.
No, she shouldn’t be anywhere near any of this. But if I leave her here, even with someone to watch over her, it’s also possible that she could be harmed by giants or ogres invading the camp. Such a thing is just as inconceivable as taking her and watching her be hurt.
This is how I spend the next hour, torn between both outcomes and praying with all my heart that I never see either of them come to pass.
When the first sounds of midnight camp movement begin, fresh waves of terror wash over my skin.
Estela and I will not be with the first leg of warriors and hunters to close in on the fortress. That will consist of our finest benders, whose mission is locked on the stone towers of the mine’s fortress that protrude into the clouds, sharp and pointed like the tips of the giants’ spears.
It disgusts me. I’ve spent years paying for my father’s sins, but Rholker remains unchanged by his father’s legacy. He continues to cause the world so much pain, and he remains unrepentant.
I murmur profane prayers.
May their strength rend such towers to the ground so that the elves may burn down the wood harvested from the carcasses of trees.
May the animals swarm them and pick at their flesh...
When Estela stirs, I look down at her and watch those few sweet moments when she wakes. Her long black lashes brush against the skin on her cheekbones, and her eyebrows scrunch together as her body flexes.
My prayers change.
Please, on the lives of Endu and Grutabela, stay the weapons of the giants. Shield her from any harm. Protect my child.
I take another deep breath, grateful for the way she causes me to soften and pull away from the darkness, when her eyes flutter open. I lean down and kiss her cheeks. The moments between her dream bliss and crushing reality are sweet, and they almost catch me off guard.
When the reality of where we are crashes into her, she bolts upright, curls puffed in every direction. She looks over at my lap and sees the scroll.
“Is everything okay? What is this?” she asks hoarsely.
She slowly pulls the scroll into her lap, and I marvel as she works to read. She’s still a novice, and I help her through the more complex words, but she is reading.
“The royal line has been preserved by rigorous repopulation efforts over the last four thousand years,”she reads in my tongue and then looks up at me. “Why are you reading about this?”
I shrug. “Light reading helps calm my nerves.”
My poor attempt at humor fails.
Her hand goes to her belly instinctively, and I watch the movement. She swallows.
“How soon until we leave?” she asks.
“At least a few hours. We must wait for the towers to fall,” I say, picking at the blanket which covers us both. Despite the thick fabric, my skin is clammy.
She looks around. “Do you have spare parchment? I need to write before we go,”
I take her hand in mine. “Write what?”
“My memories. My head is too full. I dreamt of Mikal again,” she says, taking an unsteady breath. “If something happens today?—”
“Nothing will happen. I will be there,” I say resolutely, feeling the tears crowd in my eyes once again. It’s a weak action, butmy emotions are frayed and scattered.
She shakes her head.
“If something happens to my memories or me, I want my story to live on. You should know as much as possible,” she says gently. “Please. I do this to help my mind, not hurt you.”
The protest sits on the tip of my tongue, but I cannot bring myself to say it as I smooth back some of her wild hair. My throat bobs.
“Let me get a scroll.”
As I stand, the chilly air bites into me. I walk to the crate containing writing supplies and select what she has requested. Before I return to her, I walk to the flap in our tent. Slowly, I pull one side open and suck in a sharp breath.
Hundreds of elves are already dressed and ready to leave. Their sharp weapons glint in the starlight, and though I can make out their shapes with my Enduar eyesight, their black clothing and dark-colored beasts blend into the night.
Flicking my eyes up to the sky, I look at the moonless sky. Hoping it will not be a bad omen, even though Liana assured me it wouldn’t be.
Marching under a new moon is as good as securing Grutabela’s blessing.
Then I see Ayla and a few of the other squadron leaders. They ride their enormous alces, leading the formation lines. There is the soft crunchy press of snow into grass as the predators move, and the rustle of leather and clink of metal.
When I see the stone benders who accompany them, I suck in a sharp breath. I do not know them all yet, as many come from the deep ocean. But I recognize the stone animator Si’Kirin.
Dread coils in my belly.
And thus, it falls upon us like a black cloak and a dagger to the throat.
More poetry flits through my mind as it sinks in with fierce finality.
The Second Great War begins today.
That thought adds kindling to the fire of determination. We will be able to staunch most of the impact with this attack, ideally eliminating the rest of the human witches who tortured Estela, but King Arion and his elves will be the next battle. Mrath hungers for the blood of her brother.
“Teo,” Estela whispers, as if she doesn’t want to break the silence around us.
I tear my eyes away from the thousands of elves, beasts, Enduares, and glacialmaras moving outside.
“All is well, my star. The first regiment has begun to move,” I say, turning back to her. I return to the bed and help her glowing form off the ground. “Let us prepare for battle.”
We open the chests housing our blades and armor. I blink back tears as I see her crystal-studded breastplate, and the way it begins to sing to her without even needing to open her mouth.
I draw her hair over her shoulders, untangling knots and braiding her hair into a crown around her head. I help her put on her under armor garments. Each touch is a reminder of my love, a prayer.
I’m lost in my thoughts until her breastplate is clipped on, and her legs and arms are covered. We will ride in on a mythical creature and burn the remaining giants to the ground.
Estela is still hesitant because her magic is not refined, and she doesn’t want to kill any of the humans.
When she is fully dressed, she looks like a queen of battle. Capable, but… gods. She’s not meant for this. Just like my mother wasn’t meant for this who should’ve stayed an instructor at the university, filling young minds with knowledge instead of being sucked into my father’s destructive orbit.
Her hands reach up and stroke my unkempt hair. Without words, I turn around and kneel, letting her braid. Then, just as we did the day I fought the creatures in the cave, she helps me with my armor.
Her fingers do not tremble as they did that day. She does not look afraid.
She should.
“Now what?” she asks.
I cup her uncovered cheek. “Now we wait.”
It doesn’t take much more time after that to feel the ground shake beneath us. The crystals that were silent upon moving now pierce the air, across the distance to our camp.
It is an overwhelming beat, one that sparks movement and action before thought. It hasn’t been long enough since the battle song last played.
When the air stills, I know it’s time. Only a few moments of quiet are spared before the roar of crumbling stone pierces the air.
Estela’s eyes grow wide, and she dashes out, squinting to make out the cloud of dust that shoots up in a long column before billowing out like a mushroom cap. We are easily an hour”s walk from the mine, but it looks far closer than I realized.
“Can you see it?” I ask, knowing that while her eyesight has improved, it is not effortless like mine.
She nods, silently.
It is time for the second regiment.
Soon, the third group will go in from behind and invade the camp from the top of the mountain mine.
And then…
Gods, it’s happening too fast.
“Teo, Estela,” Mrath’s voice says from behind. She commands the space, fully dressed in her black armor, covered in razor sharp leaves. “It is time to move.” She stands with a group of her dryads and Thorne.
My heart stutters, but Estela turns around, proud. “Let us uncover drathorinna.”
We follow the elf to the dome that was made from the trees to cover the dragon’s crystal glow. Slowly, the twelve of them work their magic, releasing the bindings around the drake.
She stretches her long neck and expands her wings.
If the elves are as awestruck as the rest of us, they do not show us tonight.
I can feel a new battle song start up in camp, an elvish sound. It matches the beat of my heart, the same as Estela’s. We walk together, but when she reaches drathorinna, she climbs to the top like the tree climber she once was.
Following behind her, I feel the amplification of the war cries. The marvelous creature takes a step and then another.
“Teo,” Vann calls out. “Are you ready, brother?”
I jerk around to look at him.
It is a vision from my past to see him in full armor, and his cleaver hanging from his hand. We fought alongside each other through many battles, cutting through our enemies with a frenetic need that once drove the giants to their knees in submission.
He was meant to ride, but that was before I knew about the child Estela carries. There’s no one I would trust more at my side to help protect her.
“Come,” I call, gesturing him up.
He looks at me, confused.
“What are you saying? I came to wish you luck.”
Estela turns, a protest written on her face, but I give her a pleading look and say, “Every butcher needs a fine cleaver. Let him come. We can keep you safe,” I say.
She presses her lips together, nods once, then calls, “Lord Vann, your king wants you to fight at his side!”
Drathorinnaextends her wing, and Vann studies it, clearly hesitant. Then, he climbs up, and the wing moves, depositing him behind me. A new handle appears on the back of the great beast, and he clutches on.
“Holy shit,” he mutters from behind.
“I know the feeling,” I reply. Only a Fuegorra reader can control such a beast.
Luckily for us, my wife is one.
We move with the troops, getting into place, and then when the signal comes, we lift off, flying right through the front gates.