Heir of Hope (Follower of the Word Book 3)

by Morgan L. Busse

  When the last thread broke inside her, it didn’t hurt. Instead, the world disappeared. There was no roar, no wind, no fire.

  Just silence.

  Slowly Rowen opened her eyes. She stood in a warm fog, with soft light around her. Her tattered, dirty dress was gone. Instead, she wore a long gown of white silk, as white as a new snow on a winter morning.

  A man approached, his body shrouded by the fog.

  As the fog parted, she knew Who she would see. She had seen Him before, in the abandoned Eldaran Sanctuary a long time ago. But there was no fear of Him this time. Only a deep longing for His presence.

  The Word stepped from the fog. He was dressed in a simple white robe. His hands were calloused and scarred, a particularly large one across His left hand. She looked up. He stared back, with eyes dark like the night sky. More scars covered His face, a long ugly one down His neck, and a crisscross patch across His cheek, and . . .

  A small white one just below His eye. The scar He bore for her.

  He approached her and smiled.

  Rowen trembled. She wanted to touch Him, just the hem of His robe, but was afraid to move.

  He opened His arms. “Come here, Daughter of Light. There is nothing to fear.”

  With a gasp, she lurched forward and reached for Him.

  He enfolded her in His arms. He was warm, like a spring day and smelled like the meadow outside the White City, fresh and clean.

  “Well done, my child.”

  She began to cry.

  “Well done.”

  Chapter

  50

  The patter of rain woke Lore. He opened his eyes and stared at the sky. The dark clouds above had faded to a soft grey. He pushed against the cobblestones and sat up. The back of his head throbbed and his body ached. Down the steps from where he sat, others were rising. Murmurs echoed across the arena.

  He touched his face, the one spot on his right side bruising from his fight with the twisted soldiers. How long had he been out?

  “What happened to me?”

  Lore looked back.

  A Thyrian soldier came stumbling from the street, holding his head. Other men stood as well, all dressed in yellow tabards. Another one moaned. “The light . . .”

  The light!

  Lore scrambled to his feet. The world became a mesh of grey. He reached for the pillar and leaned against it. The light. Waves of it. Crashing down, knocking people to the ground. Just like that night a year ago in the White City.

  The sky settled once again above him and the pillars returned to their place.

  He looked toward the front of the arena, his chest tingling. Rowen had done it again! Someway, somehow—

  The stage was empty.

  His heart stopped and his smile faded. Where was she?

  Lore stepped away from the column and made his way down into the arena. More people woke up and began to move. He bypassed them, his gaze fixed on the stage.

  Was she gone? Had the Word taken her somewhere? He saw the Shadonae in his mind, his body splintering into a shower of golden sand before drifting away in the wind.

  Did that happen to her as well?

  He was half way to the stage. A sick feeling swelled inside his middle and his mouth went dry. No. Rowen couldn’t be gone. It was her light that had made the Shadonae disappear. She wouldn’t fade herself.

  Would she?

  Word, help me find her. Please don’t let her be gone.

  His throat felt like someone was squeezing his last breath from him. He stumbled across a body, caught himself, and continued toward the stage. Someone called out to him, but he ignored the voice. He reached the stage and launched himself up onto the platform. She had to be here, somewhere. She had to be! There was nothing else . . .

  A flutter of white caught his eye near a pillar to the left. Lore raced across the stage.

  Rowen lay on the ground, the pillar hiding the upper half of her body. He choked out a breath. “Rowe—”

  He slowed.

  Her body lay at an odd angle.

  The sick feeling came back tenfold. “Oh, Word, no.” He stepped around the pillar. “Rowen. Rowen!”

  She lay face down, her hair splayed out around her head.

  A cold sweat broke out across his body. ”Rowen?”

  She did not respond.

  Maybe she was unconscious. But something didn’t seem natural about her.

  Lore knelt down, his heart fluctuating between racing and standing still. He reached for her shoulder, his hand trembling. “No, please Word . . .”

  With a gentle pull, he moved her onto her back. Her hair covered her face like a veil. A shout began to form deep inside his throat. He brushed her hair away. The cry moved to the back of his mouth.

  Blood trickled from her right nostril, drying on her pale skin. Her lips were a bluish pink. And her eyes—he couldn’t breathe—so blue. Blue like the ocean on a sunny day.

  Now empty.

  Rowen stared up at the sky, but he knew she was gone. He had seen death too many times to deny what he now saw in her face.

  His lungs didn’t work and his mind refused to think. He reached over and touched her cheek. Her skin was cool beneath his fingers.

  “No, no, oh Word . . .” He gargled out the last words and gathered her into his arms. Already she was growing cold and stiff. He held her tight against his chest. A long moan escaped his lips. “You can’t leave me! You can’t—”

  He buried his face in her hair and rocked back and forth. A light drizzle fell across his body, soaking into his hair.

  Lore leaned back. Even in death, she was the most beautiful woman he knew. He stroked her hair, and then, unable to stand her empty gaze, he brushed her eyelids shut.

  Tears stung his eyes, pooling there, but not yet falling. “I came for you.” He swallowed. “Just like I said I would.” She couldn’t hear him, but he needed to say these words anyway. “I love you, Rowen.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “I always have. And I always will.”

  He held her close again. In that moment, his heart shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. She was gone, really gone. No more searching for her across seas and desert. No more fighting. No more wondering if he would ever reach her.

  She was gone, to a place he could not follow.

  The tears finally came.

  Caleb groaned and sat up. Others were sitting up around him, rubbing their heads or glancing around. Soft rain fell across his head and shoulders and the sky grumbled above him. His mark burned across his palm like a hot poker pressed against his skin.

  He brought his hand around and stared at his mark. It pulsed with a soft light. The wave of light had ignited his mark. He could still feel that power now, deep inside: the searing touch of the Word across his soul.

  More people awoke. Simon groaned and sat up. He blinked a couple times and a bruise bloomed across his cheek where he had hit the ground. He looked around and his brow furrowed. “What happened?”

  Caleb didn’t answer. Yellow movement caught his eye. Thyrian soldiers came around the columns at the top of the arena. They wobbled like newborn lambs, leaning against the pillars or sitting down along the stairs. But there was something different about them now. They moved naturally and their eyes blinked.

  A woman shouted nearby and scrambled up the steps. The soldier nearest her dropped his jaw. She grabbed him and held him tight. Brother-sister, wife-husband, he didn’t know. More reunions like that happened around the arena. People embraced one another. Surprised shouts, laughter, and crying mingled in the air under a canopy of gentle rain.

  Caleb breathed in deeply and smiled. They had done it. They had won. And he had been a part of it, a part of something bigger and grander than himself. The salvation of a people.

  “I can’t believe it.” Simon smiled nearby, his eyes
wide and glowing. “We are free. I never thought . . .” He let his breath out slowly. “Down in the depths of Cragsmoor I thought the Word had forgotten us. But He hadn’t. He was with us the entire time.”

  Caleb nodded, his heart full. “Yes, He was.”

  They may not be friends, but there was now peace between them.

  Cargan coughed nearby and sat up, rubbing his chest. A patch of crimson stained his shirt near his shoulder. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped. “What in all the Lands?” he sputtered as two Thyrian soldiers walked past them down into the arena.

  Simon laughed. “We are free. Finally free.”

  Caleb stood up and glanced around again, this time searching for Lore. He wanted to share in his friend’s joy. By now he should have found Rowen. He glanced at the stage, but saw nothing—wait. There, at the far end between the tower and one of the columns.

  He started across the arena, walking around groups of people talking and laughing. Half way, a moan filled the air, barely audible above the festive sounds around him. He tensed and the elation from moments ago vanished.

  He hurried through the rest of the crowd, jostling between people and shoving through tight spots until he reached the stairs. Lore knelt beside the farthest pillar, rocking back and forth.

  His mouth went dry. It couldn’t be, not after all she had done . . .

  Caleb scrambled up the stairs that led around the stage. He stopped at the top, his whole body tingling. Lore didn’t seem to hear him. Over his shoulder was a head of pale hair.

  Behind him, the arena exploded into laughter and joy.

  Lore started rocking back and forth again, his head pressed into the body he held. Another moan escaped him.

  Caleb held his hand out, then pulled it back. The sound tore through his soul. What could he say? What could he do? “Word, this isn’t how it was supposed to end.”

  He swallowed, debating whether to walk over, or to let Lore grieve in private. He chose the later.

  He turned around, sat down on the top step and held his face in his hands.

  Yes, they had won.

  But the price had cost Lore everything.

  Chapter

  51

  The pain, the heartache, and the cares were gone. No more burdens, no more fear. Instead, peace flowed around Rowen and through her. Like a sigh at the end of a long day.

  The fog rolled around her and the Word, filled with soft light and the smell of springtime. It wasn’t wet, not like the mist she remembered back home. It was like warm water, only it did not dampen her clothing or skin. There was no sound, just silence.

  She never wanted to leave.

  The Word pulled away.

  She glanced one more time at the scar below His eye before He turned and stood at her side. He took her hand and they walked through the mist, His fingers warm and calloused.

  After a couple minutes, the Word spoke. His voice was quiet and low, so different from the thunderous voice He had used when confronting Valin. “Daughter, you have finished one part of your journey. But it is not your time, not quite yet.”

  Rowen lifted her head.

  “It is not time for you to come home.”

  “But I’m already here.” She felt like a child talking to her father.

  The Word smiled. “There are those who still need you.”

  She remembered people from her life, but they were just part of a dream fading from her mind.

  “Sometimes the hardest part of sacrifice is choosing to live. Someday, when you are older, you will enter my halls. But not yet. Your story is not finished.”

  She wasn’t afraid. Fear was an ancient memory. But she knew it would not be like this if she went back. “Will you leave me?”

  “No. I have never left you. I was there when you were conceived. I was there when your mother left you on that doorstep. I was there when your father died and when you came into your power. I have walked beside you everyday, though you did not see me. And I will walk beside you again, until your time at last is finished in the Lands.”

  Rowen glanced down. The mist swirled around their legs. Would her life be filled once again with pain and sorrow? How could she go back to that and give up the peace she had here?

  The hardest part of sacrifice is choosing to live. She looked away and saw the barest outline of a city far off in the mist. The Celestial Halls, home of the Word.

  She would not be going there today. She would return and finish her life. But someday she would come home and never leave. And that gave her hope. “I will go back.”

  The Word stopped and turned. He looked at her, His face calm and peaceful. “I will always be with you.” His last words were a soft whisper, carried on the warm breeze.

  When she blinked, He was gone.

  The mist rose, folding her inside. The soft light changed to grey, darkening until she could no longer see.

  In the darkness, her soul sank back into her body. As it did, each ache and burden settled across her like a heavy cloak. The Word’s peace still lingered, but it was only a sigh now compared to what she had experienced moments before. The warm fog disappeared, replaced with cold air that brushed her skin and rain falling across her face.

  Life was so dark and cold.

  Rowen gradually opened her eyes. The darkness turned to grey. She closed her eyes and opened them again. It was the sky above her that was grey. She took a shallow breath. How odd to breathe again. As air entered her body, sensations rushed back: hundreds of pricks and pains. Her whole body ached. Yes, she was back. She was alive.

  And it hurt.

  Someone held her. Strong arms cradled her beneath her shoulders and knees. She turned her head bit by bit. It hurt to even do that. A head bowed inches from her face. Hair hung down, the color of sand.

  She knew that hair. And those shoulders.

  She lifted her hand inch by inch and reached beneath the curtain of hair. Her fingers brushed across a coarse beard.

  The head moved and the curtain of hair parted. Deep grey eyes found hers. Eyes she knew so well. She placed her hand along a cheek covered in grey peppered stubble, with a gash above the hairline and a bruise along the cheekbone.

  His eyes went wide. His lips moved, but no sound came out.

  Rowen breathed again and smiled.

  “You . . .” His voice was hoarse.

  “Lore.” She said his name with her next breath. Then she felt it. The blaze inside him. Warm and comforting.

  Lore stared at her, his eyes never blinking. Then his hand left the back of her knees and his fingers touched her face. Strong, gentle fingers. He wiped the area below her nose. Blood tinted his thumb as he pulled back. Still, he never spoke.

  Then he dipped his head down. His lips touched hers, tender first, then stronger. His hand came around and braced the back of her head, pulling her closer. He tasted of everything she remembered, salt and rain.

  Her soul reached out and touched his. He was her other half, the part of her she had missed all these months. Now he was here with her, and she was complete.

  Lore pulled back. He looked different with the beard, older, wiser. But his eyes were the same, those same deep-sea eyes.

  “I don’t understand.” His voice was still hoarse. “But I don’t need to. You were dead, and now you’re alive.” She touched his lips with two fingertips and he kissed them. “I have you back. And I will forever be grateful to the Word.”

  She stroked his cheek. “The Word said my life wasn’t over yet. It wasn’t time. He said you needed me.” And others. But for now, Lore was enough.

  A tear trickled down his cheek, disappearing into his beard. “Yes, I do need you. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” Rowen looked up at the sky. Thank you, Word.

  The sun set across the ocean, a blazing orange ball of light. The last few clouds fro
m the storm changed to red and purple and the first star came out just above the horizon. A bonfire blazed to Rowen’s right, built from large pieces of driftwood and dry dune grass. The surf gently rose and fell along the golden sand, a quiet sound in the background of laughter and chatter.

  More bonfires burned along the beach, surrounded by the survivors of the Shadonae. To the north stood Thyra, a dark shadow of a city. But soon it would be rebuilt. Buildings would be repaired, ships would sail again, and refugees would be called home.

  A small crowd gathered near the bonfire, holding hands, standing close to loved ones. Those who had lost everything to the Shadonae were embraced by those around them, so not one person was alone.

  The heat from the fire seeped through her simple dress and her hair hung down her back, freshly washed and untangled. The last of the wildflowers graced her head, woven into a simple crown.

  Lore stood across from her. He had shaved the beard and now looked like his old self, save the leather jerkin he always wore back home. The firelight played along his strong features and there was a soft smile across his lips.

  Rowen smiled back. A new journey began this evening, a different one from the long dark road that had marked her life. There was no Oathmaker to bind them, but there were witnesses, so the binding would be true.

  Rory stood on the outer edges of the light. The first person she had rescued in Thyra. Next to him stood a young woman who looked like his sister. Regessus was next, his hands folded, standing a head taller than everyone else. More people stood next to them, but Rowen did not recognize them, only the yellow tabards they wore. Men whom she had freed at the end.

  The scribe Nierne stood at the edge of the crowd, her hair a brilliant red in the firelight. Next to her stood Caleb Tala, the Temanin she had touched long ago in the field outside the White City. Lore had told her that afternoon about their journey, and about Caleb. He too was an Eldaran. And together, they were the last. Only . . .