“Open the gate,” Vandrian cried out from the back of the crowd, “we wish to continue our meeting in the North Grotto.”
Blinking in surprise, the guards jumped to follow through with their king’s orders, pulling the iron gates aside with an audible groan. Denaeh gave them a small smile as she passed, but their narrowed eyes and barely hidden scowls told her they suspected her of putting a spell on their sovereign. The Mystic shrugged off their disdain and instead took a deep breath of the mist-tinged air as she traversed the steps leading up the side of the narrow canyon. It was late afternoon by now, the sun an hour or so from setting. The warm spring air was cooled by the narrow creek tumbling down the rocky culvert, the source of all the mist, and she had to be careful not to slip on the rudimentary granite stairs as she and her escort moved ever closer to the grotto at the top of the canyon.
As they climbed, Denaeh reached out her hand to keep her balance, her fingers brushing against the damp moss and ferns that carpeted the canyon walls in rich, dark greenery. By the time she reached the flat expanse of the terrace built against the gully wall, Denaeh’s scarlet slippers were soaked through. Ignoring the small discomfort, the Mystic let loose the section of skirts she had been clutching with her left hand, the hem brushing against the slick, rainbow-hued stone of the spacious veranda. Here, where the water cascaded over the edge of the canyon wall some fifty feet above, the culvert widened dramatically. The stream itself was a tributary of the Chloress, the much larger river cutting down the centers of both the upper and lower valleys of Dhonoara. But the most impressive feature of the North Grotto was not the waterfall, curved walls, variety of exotic, flowering plants or the colorful statues and benches scattered about the space, but something else entirely.
Denaeh tilted her head back and breathed deeply, soaking up the special energy that could only be found in such sacred places of Ethoes. For at the top of the gully, like the Apple Tree standing guard over Ehnnit Canyon back in Oescienne, there grew an enormous, multi-trunked aspen tree. And not just any aspen tree, but Ethoes’ Sacred Aspen.
-Chapter Thirteen-
Truths and Lies
Denaeh stepped out onto the spacious patio, heading toward the stone podium rising from its center. But it wasn’t the beautiful podium, the sides decorated with an intricate, lacy pattern carved by Dhonoaran stone artisans, that demanded the Mystic’s notice. Instead, Denaeh’s eyes, and her full attention, were locked on the massive tree casting shade over the curved walls of the grotto. Its new, vibrant leaves shimmering like peridot jewels as they whispered against one another in answer to a gentle spring breeze and the gusts cast up by the cascading water nearby. The roots of the Aspen, papery white and streaked with lines of copper and dark gray to match its multiple trunks, curled around the top of the deeper inset portion of the grotto like ancient fingers. And all along the inside of that grotto small shelves, carved out by visitors past, held a collection of trinkets - offerings to the Tree and Ethoes.
Closing her eyes, Denaeh let the cool, misty breeze brush over her heated skin, listened to the rustle of the leaves and the rush of the water, breathed in the rich, green scent of spring. She delved deep into her soul, seeking the Mystic’s magic she had trained her entire mortal life to acquire, letting it bask in the natural beauty around her. As the suspicious king and his skeptical delegates and allies filled in around her, she sent her own silent prayer up to the Aspen and to Ethoes. Please. Grant me the patience and the strength to do what I must. Give me the courage to see this through, all the way to the end. And I beg you, let them believe me and heed my words.
After some time, Denaeh lowered her head and turned to face the crowd. Just as they had done in the castle, the people circled around her. Only half of those present in the throne room had followed her up the path and only three dragons. Sapheramin and her mate, Tollorias, hung back along the trail, their large Korli bodies unable to fit in the smaller space. Jaax, however, had managed to squeeze in and now stood beside the grotto, Ellyesce lingering in the shadows beneath the curved rock wall beside him. Denaeh bit her bottom lip then settled her eyes on Vandrian and Evielle. Their eldest sons stood on either side of them.
“Well, Mystic. You dragged us all up here. We will hear the rest of your story now and decide whether or not we can trust you in the days to come.”
Denaeh, who had been facing the Aspen, and the grotto, turned ever so slightly so that she stood directly before the king. She didn’t dare look at Ellyesce again as she drew in a deep breath and said, “I will tell you about my life now, from my own mouth and not through the eyes of another.”
Flashing a quick glance at Vandrian, she reiterated what he had already covered, but in her own words: How she had dedicated her mortal life to becoming a Mystic, and how she’d lived peacefully among the elves of Dhonoara. And she told them how Cierryon’s father had charmed her and won her admiration. Denaeh flicked her topaz eyes to Ellyesce at this point, only to discover he was watching her, still with that distant look of disdain. He gained my admiration for a short time, Ellyesce, not my devotion. Not my heart, she wanted to say.
Since he would not listen to her in any case, she saved the words meant for Ellyesce for another time. She continued to explain to those who would listen that she was not the vile witch their king made her out to be.
“I do not wish for your pity, and I do not blame you if you revile me,” she proclaimed, her steady voice gaining a minute tremor. “All I ask is that you allow me the chance to redeem myself, to make right what I put into action so many years ago.”
Silence filled the alcove, the rush of the nearby waterfall the only sound disturbing the air.
“How do we know you are no longer pledged to the Crimson King?” someone, a Resai elf, asked. “A mother would be hard-pressed to remain completely estranged from her child, or so I’ve learned in my experience.”
Denaeh let her chin fall to her chest, weariness threatening to consume her. When she lifted her head, her golden eyes were bright, despite the frown marring her face. “I cannot prove it. I have only my word, and my actions over the past several years to speak for me.”
It was Jaax who interrupted next, his words stinging like a whip.
“You mean the actions of a woman hiding out in one of the most remote corners of Ethoes? A woman who manipulated a young child into doing her bidding? A woman who then trailed after that girl and her guardian like a hound on the scent?”
Denaeh stared at the Tanaan dragon, her face paling a bit. She wasn’t surprised, not really. Disappointed, yes. She knew Jaax trusted her just about as much as Ellyesce did, but she had hoped he’d not dredge up that part of her past, at least not in front of the entire council. Apparently, he and Vandrian had something in common.
“You want our trust, Denaeh, and considering the circumstances, that trust will not be easily earned. If we are to believe your word and follow you blindly into battle, then we had better be entirely certain you do not mean to lead us into a trap.”
Archedenaeh, the most powerful Mystic Ethoes had ever known, leveled a hard, unyielding gaze on Jaax. The Tanaan dragon’s own unflinching regard did not waver. A pillar of unshakable stone when he wanted to be. And now, with so much at stake, nothing she could do short of telling him the Truth she’d revealed to King Dhuruhn in Nimbronia, could rattle the foundation of that stone. She could batter against him like a wave against a rocky shore, and he would not budge. And she would not tell him the truth she had foreseen, the vision that played over and over and over again in her mind as she slept and as she dreamed. She would not tell him how much that Vision had terrified her. Not unless she had to.
Perhaps she had no chance in winning Jaax over completely, as she had hoped. But you may still be able to get him, and everyone else present, to shift, just enough to believe you.
Drawing in a deep breath, Denaeh announced, “I won’t deny that I came to Oescienne those many centuries ago knowing that someday the human child would be found
there. My sight showed me glimpses of a beautiful land adorned with forests, hills, farmland, and pale, sandy dunes forming a crescent to catch the gentle waves of the western sea. So, I fled Ghorium and sought refuge in southern Oescienne. I hid away in the great forest the people living there avoided, and I bided my time.”
She paused and returned her eyes to Jaax, willing him to sense her sincerity and know that everything she had done had been done for his, and Jahrra’s, benefit. “When Jahrra first came to Oescienne, I felt her like a ripple in the fabric of the subtle magic only the elves and the Mystics can detect. I followed those ripples, leaving my secluded home for the first time in centuries, and found a Tanaan dragon delivering a tiny infant to a Korli dragon. I watched from the edge of the woods skirting the boundaries of an apple orchard as the infant Jahrraneh Drisihn was handed off to her foster parents.”
The only hint of surprise Jaax gave was a tightening of his mouth, a slight narrowing of his eyes. Denaeh would have smirked at him had they not been standing before the king of Dhonoara and all the allies of the Coalition. Perhaps this stone could be moved after all.
“For years,” she continued, flicking her eyes back over the assembled men and women, “I watched from a distance as Jahrra grew, always keeping away but knowing one day our paths would have to cross and intertwine. That opportunity arrived when Jahrra was twelve years of age. She was dared to venture into the black heart of my forest, where I lived, and confront me. The local children believed a witch lived in the depths of the swamp within the woods, and Jahrra took their dare.”
One of the people assembled, a Nesnan man by the looks of him, snorted and ran his eyes over the Mystic from head to toe. His smug confidence, collection of scars, and powerful build told her he had experienced many hard battles.
“You don’t look much like a witch to me,” he said with a smirk.
Denaeh met his eyes, one dark red brow arched, then silently called upon her magic, the power that transformed her visage. Gasps and looks of shock ensued as the youthful, beautiful Denaeh melted away to reveal the old, weathered hag.
In a scratchy voice, Denaeh intoned, “You clearly don’t know much about Mystics then, do you, General?”
The Nesnan man could only shake his head, mouth hanging slightly open.
“You can spend all day impressing us with your tricks, Mystic, but we still have yet to decide whether or not to trust you.”
Denaeh shifted her attention to the elf who had spoken, one of the warriors from the Hrunahn Wilders. His rich, brown skin stood out among the others, but his eyes were a soft, almost transparent opalescent blue. In her opinion, the most keen and observant among the whole assembly, save for Raejaaxorix and Ellyesce.
Taking a breath, Denaeh nodded and transformed back into her younger self, her scarlet skirts and cloak fluttering about her on a phantom wind.
“Yes, thank you for getting us back on track …?”
“Lindas,” the elf replied in a clipped tone. “Emissary of the Rael and Raella of Hrunah.”
Denaeh nodded again and continued her tale. “Jahrra entered the Black Swamp expecting to find a witch, not a Mystic. And for the next several years, I encouraged her to visit me, teaching her about the forest, sometimes throwing in a little history of Ethoes, all the while earning her trust.”
“So you could bend her to your will, and use her to bring about the end you wish to see,” Prince Storian sneered.
Queen Evielle pressed a hand to her eldest son’s forearm, a gesture of warning or encouragement, Denaeh couldn’t tell. Either way, the prince ignored her.
“You manipulated my uncle,” he jerked his head toward Ellyesce, who stood motionless and silent, half hidden in the shadows. If Denaeh didn’t know any better, she’d say he was doing his best to remain unseen. “And it sounds like you manipulated Jahrra, sneaking around behind the backs of her guardians, encouraging her to make mischief among her peers.”
Denaeh took a breath to interject, her brow furrowing in anger.
“So,” the prince barreled on, cutting her off, “what is to keep us from thinking you were the one to manipulate Cierryon’s father in the beginning, and not the other way around? And you expect us to believe you are here to aid us? When, by your own admission, you have a habit of bending people to your will?”
A low chatter passed between the two dozen or so present, the mistrust in the grotto ratcheting up a few notches. The Mystic’s eyes glittered angrily, like chips of citrine, her fists curled at her sides. She had been gaining ground, and now, all of a sudden, she felt it all slipping away.
“I have told you the truth, so that you will understand my actions and believe me when I tell you I wish only to help in the liberation of Ethoes! My only goal was ever to aid the Coalition in their cause. Of course I had to work in secret, for Raejaaxorix and Hroombramantu would never have allowed me to spend time with Jahrra. I befriended the girl because I knew someday I’d be called upon to right the wrong I had caused, to assist her in her own quest. Sometimes,” she hissed, her gaze flicking to Jaax, “you have to lie and keep the truth to yourself in order to help others. In order to ensure the right steps are taken in the right order.”
Jaax’s lip curled in irritation at the Mystic’s words, but she brushed aside his derision, continuing on with her speech before the envoys and delegates could grow more demanding and boisterous with their arguing. She had hoped they would see reason without having to resort to desperate measures, but the gods and goddesses weren’t going to go easy on her. Very well, then. She had played this game before, and she would play it again if it meant victory in the end.
Taking a deep breath and praying she was making the right choice, Denaeh called out above the din, “If I am lying, and if I meant to lead you all to your deaths, then I never would have begged the king of the Creecemind for assistance.”
Silence ensued as a collection of faces, all plastered with varying degrees of surprise, turned in her direction.
“What is this you speak of, Mystic? More pretty lies to mislead us?” King Vandrian asked, his expression unwavering.
Denaeh lifted her chin and gave Vandrian a long, frosty look. “Before joining Jahrra and her travel companions in the Kourhiont Mountains, I visited Nimbronia.”
Once again, the unshakable Jaax snapped out of his cool complacency. Emerald eyes blazed forth amid an expression of death.
“I met with the king of the Creecemind, and he greeted me with as much warmth as you all have. But in the end, I convinced him the Coalition’s need was great.”
It was a barb merely to prick at them, wholly unnecessary but satisfying nonetheless.
“Dhuruhn was told of the threat facing us in the east,” Jaax ground out, taking a step forward. “I pleaded with him, begged him, to promise his ice dragons in the impending war. Jahrra was presented before him, the proof that the Tyrant’s reign would soon come to an end, and that all the free peoples of Ethoes must band together in order to defeat him. And you are telling us that a single Mystic, one whose reputation has been thoroughly blackened by her relationship to the Crimson King and his sire, was able to win his support?”
Jaax had moved closer to her, forcing the others to back away to avoid being stepped on, or perishing in the wake of his wrath. Denaeh, however, held her ground, refusing to cower before the Tanaan dragon.
“Yes,” she said in a rather steady voice.
The dragon’s eyes narrowed to a blade’s width. “How?” he bit out.
Denaeh drew in a steadying breath through her nose, and let it out slowly.
“I told him I’d had a vision of the final battle of the war against Ciarrohn, and that I’d share it with him only if he promised to lend his aid in this war.”
“You lie!” Jaax snarled, smoke rising from his nostrils and between his teeth.
Murmurs of alarm burst forth from the Resai and Nesnan gatherers, but Denaeh did not so much as flinch at Jaax’s outburst.
Between gritted teeth, sh
e snapped back, “As with everything else I’ve told you tonight, I do not lie!”
“Raejaax, Denaeh, enough!” Vandrian bellowed. “Save the personal grievances between you for later. Let the Mystic finish her tale. But you will tell us how you convinced the king of the Felldreim, a Creecemind dragon famous for staying out of politics not taking place in his own realm, to bolster our own armies when the time calls for it.”
Denaeh turned her attention from Jaax and faced the royal couple, their fine features and pale skin standing out starkly against the deepening shadows of the day. Jaax was a little less gracious about his obedience. The Tanaan dragon shot the elvin king an annoyed look, but backed down, rejoining Ellyesce in the most shadowed section of the alcove.
Her voice quavering, Denaeh breathed, “He wasn’t easy to convince. Even witnessing the vision through the magic of the Sacred Pine growing high atop his mountain, he was still reluctant to concede Ethoes would fall without his help. Dhuruhn promised me his aid only if I told him three Truths and three Lies.”
This time, the outburst from the delegation broke all barriers of common decorum. At least, the reaction from those old enough to know exactly what it was Denaeh had done. As the small crowd squabbled around her, the Mystic stood as rigid as a stone pillar at sea, letting the chaos crash around her like so many storm-tossed waves. Eventually, though, the allies of the Coalition quit their bickering, but only after Vandrian called them all to order once more.
The Legend of Oescienne--The Reckoning (Book Five) Page 18