Please, Cierryon still pleaded with his eyes. Please.
With great effort, Jahrra nodded once, then parted her cracked lips, and even though speaking the words made no difference, she said them anyway. She poured her heart, her soul into them. She shared the joy Cierryon had never experienced. She conveyed that she understood, that she felt his pain and wished to heal it. Not just because in doing so her world would be saved, but for his sake as well.
In a voice that rasped against her throat, Jahrra whispered, “You. Are. Forgiven.”
The moment the final word escaped her mouth, the world around Jahrra blinked out of view, and it was just her and Cierryon once again. He smiled down at her, tears forming in his eyes as that last, hair-thin thread tying his soul to Ciarrohn, severed with a flare of bright white power. Jahrra watched as the Crimson King, entirely free of the demon who had possessed him for so long, looked over her shoulder and smiled more brilliantly than ever before. Jahrra drew in a small gasp at the sight and pure, blissful serenity washed over her. It nearly made her weep, almost made her lay her head down and finally let the weariness draw her deep into the depths of unconsciousness, but his next words prevented her from doing so.
“Mother,” he said, the tears streaming more freely now. “I am sorry. I’m so very sorry. I love you. I forgive you.”
He nodded his head once, and Jahrra had just enough time to glance back to find the Mystic Archedenaeh wielding a spear, the sharp tip stained with blood. Denaeh, too, had tears streaming down her battle-weary face, sorrow so thick it wrapped around her like a wool blanket.
“I love you, too, Cierryon,” she rasped. “I always have. I always will. I am sorry. Goodbye, my son.”
With a cry of anguish, the Mystic bolted forward, her right leg dragging behind her in a limp. Her skirts were torn, her scarlet hair whipping around her on a phantom wind. A few lingering soldiers broke out of their dazed expressions, shouting in alarm as they noticed this new threat to their king. But it was too late. Denaeh scrambled up the stairs, sobbing and screaming as she drew her arms back, then drove the spear deep into Cierryon’s chest. The Crimson King’s eyes went wide and he gasped, but as the shock of the weapon piercing his heart passed, he settled his dark eyes on his mother once more and smiled.
“I am free,” he whispered before taking his last breath.
And then, the world around them came crashing down.
-Chapter Twenty-Nine-
A Curse Broken
The moment Cierryon’s body slumped against the basalt throne, blood seeping from his mouth and the gaping wound in his chest, the essence that was Ciarrohn roared with fury. Like a hurricane, the black cloud of evil and hatred began swirling, far faster than it had been. Soldiers standing near the cliff’s edge were tossed over the side, their screams disappearing as they plunged to their deaths upon the jagged rocks far below. The Morli dragons, smaller in number than before, screeched as the power that fed them lost its hold. Still, the clouds boiled above, but the god who had stirred them was falling, no longer able to call their lightning to do his bidding.
Jahrra rolled to the side and clapped her hands over her head, her forearms covering her ears against the cacophony as every beast, every creature, every being cried out in panic as Ciarrohn tried desperately to cling to their world. And Jahrra was in the midst of it all. Power so vast it vibrated through her bones and boiled around her. But, she was alive. She was still alive! Jahrra’s eyes shot open and crossed the vast terrace, searching for the one soul among the many she cared most about.
There, where those bastards had chained him to the wall, pierced and broken his wings, Jaax struggled against his bonds. He had managed to get one leg free, his taloned fingers trying to rip away the chains holding his hind legs in place. Ellyesce, bless him, was working on the other chain, a stream of powerful magic cutting into the iron. Jahrra gathered what strength remained and forced herself to her feet. She spotted her sword, lost to her earlier, lying on the ground not too far away.
“Hang on, Jaax!” she rasped, a sob breaking free of her wavering control. “I’m coming!”
Jahrra limped down the stairs, ducking under a whip of dark energy as Ciarrohn continued to rage and thrash above the castle, his corporeal form blocking out what weak light the sun tried to provide. She made it to the bottom of the dais, scooping up her discarded sword, and pushed herself forward. Only a scraped and strained ankle, nothing too serious. With a snarl, Jahrra slashed at an approaching soldier, easily breaking through his guard and toppling him to the ground. She dodged two other lunges, not interested in engaging them in an actual fight. She had to get to Jaax. Had to help Ellyesce remove those awful chains and manacles.
Three more deflected blows and a wide gap opened up between her and her guardian. Jahrra watched as Jaax jerked his head to the side, trying to pull the chains free, wincing as the barbs in the muzzle dug into his snout. His eyes were closed against the pain, but when they opened again, they landed on her and flared like brilliant emerald flame.
Jahrra sucked in a breath and bolted forward, her ankle twinging a little at the movement. It was only pain, and a small amount of pain at that. As she crossed the sleet and blood slicked terrace, lunging to the side as fire and ice rained down from the dragons above, Ellyesce was jerked away from cutting through the chains by one of the broehr. Jahrra screamed, both in fear for her friend and in anger that the Tyrant’s beast had distracted him from helping Jaax. When the elf rolled to his feet, brandishing a curved sword to fight off his attacker, Jahrra breathed a little easier.
Hang on, Jaax, she thought fiercely. Hang on. I’ll figure out how to get you free.
Jahrra was only a few dozen yards or so from her guardian when a tall, familiar figure stepped into her path. Dark, unkempt hair, a scarlet cape unfurling from his shoulders like a banner of death, Boriahs stood his ground like an immovable mountain. He turned his head just enough to show Jaax the scar burned into his cheek, and held the dragon’s gaze long enough to give him a wicked smile.
A muffled bellow of rage from the still-leashed Tanaan dragon joined the cacophony, nearly matching the angry thrashing of Ciarrohn’s eroding form. But Jahrra could give neither of them her attention as Boriahs dove forward, his curved sword slicing toward her neck. Barely, she managed to dart out of the way, tumbling to the side and rolling into a crouch, her breath coming in short gasps. She was utterly drained and knew she couldn’t last much longer against her enemy. The king’s mercenary reacted quickly to her dodge, spinning on his heel and lifting his sword again to come cutting down. The blade crashed into her own, forcing the tip to grate against the black stone underfoot. But, she had gotten her block up in time.
Despite the distraction of Boriahs doing his best to kill her, she caught Jaax’s own struggle out of the corner of her eye. Her guardian was pulling against the last two chains keeping him in place with all his might, blood streaming freely from the wounds caused by the spikes. It must have hurt terribly, but he did not back down. Boriahs lifted his sword again, this time attempting to run her through with a thrust. Emboldened by her guardian’s efforts, Jahrra leaned away just as the sword would have pierced her stomach, and managed to slap Boriahs’ blade aside. The snarl thrown at her sounded weak, as if he was just as drained as her.
Good, Jahrra thought, clenching her teeth against her weariness. I hope he’s in as much pain as Jaax.
Either Boriahs didn’t suffer the same wounds as the rest of them, or he had learned to fight harder past the pain, because his next move was a feint, one Jahrra, in her exhaustion, fell for. His following blow met its mark, and Jahrra gasped in shocked pain as the mercenary’s sword cut across her abdomen, splitting flesh and muscle in its wake. She staggered, fully collapsing to the ground, but clutching the grip of her sword tightly. She couldn’t see the injury. Sweat and blood stung her eyes, and a scattering of black spots swimming in her vision informed her she wouldn’t be conscious much longer.
So, this is ho
w I die, she thought with some irony. By the same means I was meant to die in Cahrdyarein, and probably by the same hand.
She would have laughed if she’d had the energy to do so.
At least, she mused as Boriahs raised his sword in a final, triumphant gesture, I put up a good fight. At least I freed Cierryon and set in motion Ciarrohn’s banishment from this world. At least, she closed her eyes as the blade came down, I will have died with a sword in my hand.
Before the dark, stinging pain of death could overwhelm her, a wave of searing heat washed over Jahrra. A choked scream, then another blast of what had to be dragon fire pummeled her senses. After a few heartbeats, she opened her eyes only to suck in a breath. She wasn’t dead, or if she was, she still lay upon the castle terrace, a bloody laceration in her side, the shadow of what remained of Ciarrohn still swirling and howling above her, the clash and distant thunder of the waning battle below. The few remaining Morli dragons battled the Tanaan and Korli that had survived to this point, and every so often, the massive pale shape of a Creecemind dragon soared past, spewing its icy breath over the lingering enemy on the plain.
Craning her neck, Jahrra spotted Jaax, fire pouring from his throat as he incinerated something to her left. The small mass twitched, and a black metal sword clanked to the ground. Jahrra cried out as she pushed herself into a sitting position. Boriahs. He had been moments away from severing her head, but Jaax had managed to tear free of his bonds and get there in time. A ring of blood decorated his snout and metal cuffs still encircled his wrists and ankles, broken chains trailing behind him like delicate threads.
His emerald fire ceased, and all that was left behind was a pile of black ash. Jahrra blinked away the pain and weariness and surveyed their surroundings more carefully. The battle was coming to an end. The allies had overtaken the city, several fighters finishing off that which remained of the Tyrant’s forces. Behind her, she detected the faint sound of weeping. Gritting her teeth, Jahrra turned her head to find Denaeh prostrate before the slumped form of her son, a bloodied but alive Ellyesce standing behind her, his hand pressed to her shoulder in support. Ciarrohn still wheeled above, his form no longer as solid, the edges of his essence fading fast, like the screams of his rage growing fainter with each passing moment. There was only one final abomination left to repair, one final mark of Ciarrohn to reverse. The curse. Jahrra knew, without a doubt, that as soon as every last tendril of black smoke that was the evil god dissipated, the curse of the Tanaan would be broken.
The scrape of claw against stone snapped Jahrra’s head around, and she almost fainted with relief. Jaax stood across from her, tattered, broken wings trailing by his side like ruined sails, looking more solemn and weary than she ever remembered seeing him. Deep wounds, places where the spikes of the metal bands pricked his hide, dripped blood, and his movements weren’t as graceful as usual. He took a step, limping a little as those spikes still embedded in his arms and legs dug into him.
Jahrra had never seen anything so wonderful in her entire life. She smiled then, relief, joy, pride pouring fourth like the rays of the sun breaking through a bank of rainclouds. Tears ran down her cheeks, and she didn’t even try to stop them. He was alive. She was alive. And, the evil that had plagued the world since before she was born was moments from being cast from Ethoes forever.
Jahrra let out a sob, part anguish, part disbelief, part joy. They were alive! She pressed her hands to the frozen stone floor and tried to rise. She had to get to Jaax. She had to help him. Painfully, slowly, she got to her feet and started to limp toward the Tanaan dragon.
“Jaax!” she screamed, her throat raw. “Jaax!”
He turned to regard her, the hazy shades of pain vanishing from his eyes as that strange, rare emotion, the one she could not name, seeped forth. Jahrra was too lost in euphoria, too drained, too focused on her guardian standing, mostly whole, before her. So when a Morli dragon, still enthralled by its master’s dwindling power, swooped in low, neither she nor Jaax were prepared. A roaring shriek split the air overhead, her only warning as a great force threw Jahrra to the ground once again. She gasped as the air was knocked from her lungs, wheezing as she rolled over to look for her guardian. He wasn’t there. One moment, he was standing before her, grinning like a fool, and then she blinked and he was gone.
No! Jahrra thought, struggling once again to stand. No!!! The fight was over. They had won. She would not lose Jaax, too. She couldn’t.
Her guardian had been pinned by the monster, the Morli snarling in fury as it opened its jaws. Before it could breathe its deadly fire over him, Jaax acted first, spewing a jet of emerald flame down the Morli’s throat. The creature bellowed, and tumbled off Jaax, its legs collapsing beneath it as it beat its mighty wings, trying to escape the pain.
“Ellyesce!” Jaax roared as he rolled to his feet, his useless wings getting in the way.
The elf, turned his attention away from Denaeh. He eyed Jaax quickly, then the Morli dragon.
“To Jahrra!” Jaax snarled as he whipped his tail low, knocking the Morli off its feet.
Jahrra didn’t notice until it went over the edge of the cliff that one of its wings had been damaged in the struggle with her guardian. It plunged over the edge of the mountain, roaring its rage as it plummeted to the sea below.
Jahrra fell to her knees as a flood of relief washed over her. She threw her head back, her eyes pressed shut, and turned her face up to the sky above. Perhaps, that was why she didn’t notice the last swirling tendrils of Ciarrohn collapsing to the earth like geysers working in reverse. She didn’t see one of those funnels, the largest one, taking the form of a huge arm, or the clawed hand spanning wide at its tip. She was too overcome by everything, too grateful Jaax had avoided death once again, to realize her guardian and her friends were screaming her name. When she finally opened her eyes, it was to find Jaax running at her, utter horror clouding his eyes.
Only then did she register the shadow falling fast upon her, Ciarrohn’s last attempt to destroy the young woman who had destroyed him. As that massive, demonic arm of smoke and evil clawed downward to rip her from this world, Jaax threw himself in front of her, taking the brunt of the blow. Jahrra slammed up against the steps to the dais, groaning at the fresh pain. She forced herself into a sitting position, her eyes seeking her guardian … and finding him just as those enormous, clawed fingers swept towards the end of the terrace overlooking the sea.
Jahrra drew in a deep breath and screamed as loud as she could, “JAAX!”
For a split second, his gaze met hers, the stubborn determination there telling her everything she needed to know. More tears streamed down her cheeks, and she shook her head. The Tanaan dragon kept his eyes locked with hers, as if to memorize her face, to prove to himself that she was still alive. That his sacrifice was worth it.
“No!!!” she sobbed, standing only to collapse as her legs gave out. But, it was too late. Far, far too late.
Until my very last breath, Jaax mouthed just before the final remnants of Ciarrohn’s essence brushed against him, pushing him to the end of the terrace and forcing him over the edge.
“JAAX!!!” Jahrra wailed, shoving against the stone steps of the dais as she scrambled to her feet. The pain was almost unbearable, and she stumbled several times as she tripped over fallen bodies, enemies and friends alike, pushing aside those still able to stand.
She was mere feet away from the edge of the cliff, blinded by panic and grief, when a pair of strong arms wrapped around her middle, pulling her away from the brink of death. Jahrra barely noticed, for she would have kept on going. She would have followed her guardian without even thinking. He couldn’t leave her. They had won, they had defeated Ciarrohn. She had to help him as his wings healed. As they both healed from this terrible war.
Eventually, Jahrra realized she was no longer moving forward. She kicked and screamed, even as her actions made the deep cut in her side tear even further. She clawed at the fingers clinging to her like steel bands,
her eyes and nose streaming as sorrow so deep, so immense, threatened to shred her soul and swallow her whole.
“Jahrra! No! Stop! You’ll go over the edge too!”
A familiar voice, but she didn’t have the energy to discern who. Only one name occupied her mind. Jaax. Jaax. JAAX. He was hurt, he needed her help. He was falling, several thousand feet to the crashing waves below, his bones shattering upon the sharp rocks. Dead. Dead. DEAD. He could not survive that fall, not with his ruined wings. But he could not die. Not Jaax. Not her Raejaaxorix. Too much. It was all too much. First Kehllor. Now, Jaax.
“Jaax!” she screamed again, the name wrenched from her heart. “Jaax! No! Jaax! Let me go!”
Her chest heaved as she struggled to draw in breath, her sobs of anguish wracking her body. It was no surprise, then, that the arms holding her easily pulled her away from the precarious drop, but not before she had time to gaze down into the frothing waves below. It may have been the distance, or her shocked sorrow, or the dark clouds still swirling overhead. In any case, all she could see were the waves churning below, crashing angrily against the jagged black stones at the base of the cliff, a mockery of her own emotions. There was no sign of Jaax. Those waves had taken him away. He was gone. He was gone. He was–
A new wave of anguish washed over her, and she went limp, falling to her knees as she keened her despair for all to witness. Jahrra had done what the prophecy foretold. She had brought an end to the reign of the Crimson King, but there was no longer any room in her heart for celebration, only sorrow.
* * *
The Mystic Archedenaeh had watched in knowing horror as the dragon Raejaaxorix fell over the cliff’s edge. She had stood still as a statue, unable to move after finally turning away from the lifeless form of her son, and witnessed the unfolding of events her vision had not shown her.
The Legend of Oescienne--The Reckoning (Book Five) Page 41