The Legend of Oescienne--The Reckoning (Book Five)

by Jenna Elizabeth Johnson

  Jahrra continued to drift in and out of consciousness for the remainder of that week. One morning, though, she woke and glanced over at Dervit. The limbit watched her with careful eyes, his good hand clutching his hat. Something almost like a smile tugged at the corner of Jahrra’s mouth then.

  “Were you hurt badly, Dervit?” she whispered, her voice weak.

  Dervit was so overcome with relief and joy, that he almost started crying.

  “N-no! Not much at all, honest. I did dislocate my elbow,” he stated, gesturing to the sling, “and my tail was singed by dragon fire, but that’s healing fast.”

  He proceeded to tell her all about the battle and how he had found Ellyesce and Denaeh and helped them break free of the prison.

  Jahrra’s bottom lip trembled, and she drew in a rattling breath. “You are a hero, Dervit,” she murmured.

  He blushed and shook his head. “You are the hero, Jahrra.”

  She lifted a hand then, and placed it over her eyes. It did not stop the flow of her tears as she asked, “Why did he have to fall?”

  Dervit did not know what to say to that, but in the next breath realization struck, and he frantically started patting at the pockets in his vest. It had been the one he’d worn the day of the battle. His fingers slid over a small lump over his heart, and he reached into the inner pocket and drew out the pendant that still resided there. It had not been lost, despite the hard fight on the roof of the castle.

  “Jahrra,” he said quietly.

  She lowered her hand, her eyes swollen and red, but those same eyes widened when she saw what he held. Jahrra pushed herself up into a sitting position, careful of her stitches, and reached out shaking fingers.

  “Where did you find this?” she asked hoarsely.

  “In a drawer in a desk down in the dungeons. I found it when I was looking for a set of keys to free Ellyesce and Denaeh.”

  The chain slipped from his fingers, and he watched as she fastened it around her neck. Jahrra held the dragon scale in the palm of her hand for a long time before tucking it beneath her tunic. So that it might rest against her heart, Dervit realized. He turned away to give her privacy, but squeaked in alarm as she pulled him into a tight embrace.

  “Thank you,” she whispered harshly. “You have no idea what it means to me to have this back.”

  She shuddered as wracking sobs took hold, but Dervit only returned her embrace, giving her what comfort he could as she finally let some of that numbing sorrow flow free.

  Jahrra’s violent outbursts all but disappeared after that morning, and the healers, as well as her friends, thought that maybe she had finally begun to accept the fate of her guardian.

  “I think part of her soul died when Jaax did,” Denaeh breathed morosely to Ellyesce one afternoon as they watched Jahrra from the doorway of her room.

  Dervit, as always, sat in a stuffed armchair nearby, but the angle of his head suggested he had nodded off. Jahrra, on the other hand was awake. Solemn, silent, and pale, her eyes staring at the ceiling as if she couldn’t see it.

  Ellyesce squeezed the Mystic’s shoulder, lowering his head so that he could murmur in her ear, “We’ll go back with her to Oescienne and stay as long as she needs us.”

  Denaeh turned in his embrace. “What if she needs us for the rest of her life?”

  The elf grinned, the sorrow in his eyes losing some of its weight. He brushed his lips against her forehead and whispered, “Then, we shall make Oescienne our home.”

  Denaeh leaned into him and sighed, asking Ethoes and the Oracles now gone from this world, to send her a new vision soon, one that showed her a future filled with happiness and not sorrow.

  * * *

  Nearly three weeks after the battle against the Tyrant, the free people of Ethoes gathered at dusk to give thanks for their victory and to honor those who had fallen in battle. Dhuruhn, the king of the Creecemind dragons, as well as Vandrian and his sons, Storian and Edinas, had sacrificed their lives for the freedom of their people. So, it was with great sorrow, but also pride, that Queen Evielle stepped aside to allow her third eldest son, Vellios, to assume the throne of not just Dhonoara, but Ghorium as well. Evielle would help the young king in his new position, but her heartache was too great to continue ruling Dhonoara alone in the absence of her husband.

  The newly crowned King Vellios stood on the grand terrace of Dhonoara Castle overlooking the upper valley and raised his arms to quiet the thousands upon thousands of people from all provinces who had gathered for this momentous occasion.

  “Friends, allies, citizens of Ethoes, through great sacrifice and courage, we have finally eradicated the evil Tyrant who had once poisoned our land and threatened our desire for peace throughout the seven provinces of Ethoes.”

  Denaeh, once again garbed in her formal Mystic’s attire, stood close to Ellyesce. She took his hand as Vellios began to speak, seeking comfort as they remembered their fallen friends. The elf squeezed her fingers, giving her his strength so that she might make it through this ceremony without breaking down. It was a time for celebrating, and she did not regret her part in this war. That didn’t mean, however, she could not mourn the loss of her son. All she could do was give thanks that his spirit was now free and not condemned to an eternity of punishment.

  The Mystic lifted her eyes and spied Jahrra, standing solemnly in her beautiful elvin gown of deep blue, the color of mourning. Jahrra was still healing. It would be a very long time, Denaeh thought, before the loss of Jaax became like one of her scars, present upon the surface of her skin, reminding her of the pain that once was, but no longer giving her discomfort. No, it would be a very long time before Jahrra healed from that wound. But Denaeh could not be more grateful. Jahrra had granted Cierryon a gift, one that could never be repaid. She had forgiven him for the mistakes he’d made. She’d given him something none of them had been able to do for the hundreds of years he’d been held captive by Ciarrohn. Jahrra had actually looked into his heart, seen his soul and glanced beyond the hatred and malice that overshadowed the good in him. And, it pained Denaeh to know that Jahrra had been hurt the worst in the end, had her very heart torn from her body.

  “We gather now to pay homage to all who have left us in order to grant us this freedom.”

  Denaeh blinked back unbidden tears and glanced at the new elvin king. Vellios had been speaking for several minutes, but the Mystic had been too lost in thought. She looked to Jahrra once more and frowned. Most likely the savior of Ethoes hadn’t heard a single word, either.

  “We will now remember those who have made the ultimate sacrifice. I humbly ask Jahrra of Oescienne to honor us by lighting the first lantern.”

  Jahrra didn’t seem to hear him, her pale face angled slightly downward, her blue-gray eyes distant. Denaeh swallowed back a swell of emotion and stepped forward, releasing Ellyesce’s hand. The elf did not protest as she closed the distance between herself and Jahrra.

  “Let me help you, Jahrra,” the Mystic murmured, gently taking the lantern from her friend’s fingers.

  A few days previous, an announcement had gone out for the people remaining in Dhonoara to fashion a lantern after someone they had lost. Denaeh had brought the news to Jahrra, as well as the waxed paper and broad pins used to create the lanterns. She wasn’t sure if Jahrra would be up to it, because even though the wild panic had not taken hold for several days, Denaeh knew it would be difficult for the young woman.

  As Denaeh held the finished lantern in her hands, however, fresh tears sprang anew in her eyes. Jahrra’s design was a beautiful swirl of constellations, bloodroses, and messages etched in Kruelt. Words of love and memory, good memories, though, not the darkness that so often pulled one further into sorrow, honoring the life of the dragon Raejaaxorix so poetically, Denaeh’s fingers shook as she attempted to light the match that would set the lamp aglow. Finally, when the flame was strong, the thousands of pinpricks forming the designs and letters twinkling through the thicker wax paper like tiny stars, Denae
h placed the structure back into Jahrra’s hands.

  “You honor Jaax’s spirit far greater than any other, Jahrra,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face.

  Jahrra bowed her head, not uttering a single word, as her own tears fell unchecked. With silent reverence, Jahrra walked towards the balustrade, all those gathered upon the king’s terrace stepping aside to give her space. She stopped before the railing, held the lantern up before her face and leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss against the bright outline of a fierce dragon. Then, Jahrra gave the lantern a gentle push upward, letting the wind and rising heat from the flame carry it skyward. Both hands dropped to her chest, and she lifted the pendant she wore around her neck on a chain, bringing that to her lips as well. A dragon scale, Denaeh remembered. Jaax’s dragon scale.

  Dervit was the next to step forward, climbing atop a stone bench and, with Jahrra’s help, directed another lantern, this one created for Kehllor, to rise and join the one representing Jaax. For several silent minutes, the two lanterns danced in the sky like wayward stars, rising ever upward to symbolize the freedom won by those who had fought so bravely.

  Soon, more lanterns were lit and set free to spangle the darkening sky with their beauty. Denaeh and Ellyesce lit one for Cierryon. Vellios, his queen, and his remaining siblings, including Dathian, released three more lanterns for their father and brothers. The Creecemind dragons, settled along the mountain ridges beside them, let loose five lanterns for their king and four of their people.

  Golden lights drifted ever upward from both the upper and lower valleys as the dead were honored and remembered, but Denaeh watched as the lantern that was Jaax’s floated above them all and she smiled, despite the sorrow in her heart. She would take that as a sign, then, that the dragon’s spirit would watch after them all, especially Jahrra.

  * * *

  Two days after the coronation and memorial ceremony, Jahrra and her friends were ready to return home. Three of the Creecemind dragons agreed to carry them to Oescienne, a final gift to the young woman who had led them to victory.

  “The road will be too long. There is no guarantee all of Ciarrohn’s remaining filth have scattered,” Prince Eairhýut of the Creecemind proclaimed, nodding his head towards those who had volunteered to deliver the savior of Ethoes and her companions to the west.

  “We appreciate your offer,” Ellyesce stated, returning the prince’s slight bow with one of his own, “and gladly accept.”

  The day before, Vellios and several of the other delegates, including Ellyesce, Denaeh, Sapheramin, and Tollorias, had gathered to discuss the future. Vellios and his kin had thought it best for Jahrra to remain in Dhonoara since Jahrra herself had told them all about Kehllor being the lost prince of Oescienne.

  “The royal line of Oescienne, unfortunately, is no more. Without a king to rule that province, there is no guarantee the Tyrant’s surviving sympathizers won’t invade and wreak havoc there. It’s best for Jahrra to live here with the elves,” the new king of Dhonoara had claimed.

  But Denaeh and Ellyesce had held fast to the idea of Jahrra returning home.

  “Her life was happy there,” Denaeh argued. “It is where she belongs. Let us return her home and when she heals, if she wishes to leave and live elsewhere, then so be it.”

  In the end, the Magehn and the Mystic won out. The very next morning, Jahrra, Denaeh, Ellyesce, Dervit, and a veritable parade of curious onlookers gathered in the wide open meadow below the castle. Three enormous Creecemind dragons in shades of palest blue, silver, and creamy white lay basking in the sun like great lions. Jahrra, who had managed to sleep through the night on her own without any awful dreams to haunt her, paused to study them. For the first time in days, something other than raw sorrow filled her heart. Large contraptions, reminiscent of long, stylized carriages, were strapped to the backs of the two biggest dragons.

  “What on Ethoes?” she breathed.

  Ellyesce, who led Gliriant, Phrym, and Rumble behind him, followed her gaze and gave a little smile. The two semequins had survived the battle, simply because they had not been ridden into the heart of the fight. Rumble, on the other hand, had enjoyed a luxurious stay in the stables of Dhonoara Castle.

  “It’s a days-long flight to Oescienne, Jahrra. What took weeks on foot ought to only take about a week in the air.”

  He then began to describe how one of the vessels would accommodate them, while the other was more suited for horses.

  “I just hope they aren’t afraid of heights,” he said with a grin, patting Gliriant on the neck.

  Phrym, who had also been eyeing the dragons and their cargo quite curiously, swiveled his ears in the elf’s direction, then stepped forward to nudge Jahrra with his nose. Smiling, she turned to lean into his forehead. Phrym was another reason to be grateful, she reminded herself. At least, she still had him.

  She scratched his neck and whispered, “We’ll be home soon, my friend. Things will be better once we’re back in Oescienne.”

  Or, so she hoped. Jahrra just had to remind herself she’d lost loved ones before, and she’d survived. She didn’t remember it ever hurting quite so badly, but perhaps, that was because she had lost so many friends at once this time. Fighting back tears, Jahrra cleared her throat and stated, “Shall we go home now?”

  They bid their final farewells to all those they’d grown so close to, spending extra time speaking with Sapheramin and Tollorias. The two Korli dragons would return to Nimbronia with Eairhýut and the other Creecemind, then make their way to Oescienne when things settled.

  After sharing warm wishes with the two Korli dragons, Jahrra turned to Dathian, who had broken away from his family to give her a bone-cracking hug.

  “I have to stay in Dhonoara for now, to help my brothers rebuild what was lost to our family so many centuries ago. As soon as I get a chance to travel, I’ll come to Oescienne to see you. Maybe I’ll even visit Lidien first and pick up Torrell and Senton on the way.”

  He winked, and a few more shadows drifted away from her heart.

  “I would like that, especially if you bring Haedron along as well,” Jahrra admitted, brushing away a stray tear. The red-headed elf was healing from his injured leg and could not join them on the field. Jahrra had bid her farewell to him up in the castle’s healing wing. “Thank you, Dathian, for everything.”

  He nodded once, keeping his own emotion in check, and stepped back as Jahrra followed Denaeh up the steps leading into their flying carriage. The dragon carrying her and her friends, she discovered, was named Rhumoryn and it was his mate, Erlaeya, who carried the horses. Aandor, the third Creecemind in their party was Erlaeya’s older brother and traveled with them as escort, in case they met trouble along the way.

  “We don’t expect to,” the large, pale blue dragon rumbled, “but I will accompany you, nonetheless.”

  With that reassuring thought to ease her mind, Jahrra stepped into the spacious compartment that would be their quarters for the next week. Plush couches sat beneath glass windows looking out over the dragon’s sides, and near the back of the vessel was a hallway with four doors lining each side.

  “Bedrooms,” Denaeh said as she followed Jahrra’s gaze.

  “It’s like a ship,” she mused, running her fingers along the polished woodwork framing one window.

  Denaeh nodded, smiling a little. “Yes. An airship.”

  Lifting her head, Jahrra peered towards the front of the main receiving room. More glass, this time a large panel, covered the front, and she caught a glimpse of Rhumoryn peering back at her with one large, icy blue eye. Below the glass façade was what appeared to be a kitchen.

  “Fully stocked with everything we’ll need for the next seven or so days,” Ellyesce commented.

  Jahrra blinked and turned to regard him as he came up the stairs.

  “The horses are settled,” the elf continued. “Their quarters are just as luxurious. Finer than any stable I’ve ever seen. I even found a perch for Milihn.”

&
nbsp; The korehv had made himself scarce the day Denaeh, Ellyesce, and Jahrra left to free Jaax from Castle Vruuthun. It was only during the army’s return to Dhonoara that he found his master again, the pair of them delighted to find the other alive and mostly unharmed.

  Jahrra only nodded in response to the Magehn’s statement, not able to muster enough energy to even smile. She was tired. Exhausted. This sorrow she carried around weighed her down, like chainmail pulling her beneath the depths of a lake. She was losing strength, and soon, she would have no choice but to give in and drown.

  “I think I’ll go to my room for a while,” she murmured, her voice hollow.

  Dervit, who had been pulling open drawers in one of the desks, paused in his exploration to watch her. Being a limbit, his senses were keener than the others’.

  “Jahrra?” he pressed, clicking a cabinet door shut and making to follow her.

  “Don’t,” was all Jahrra said. “Just let me be.”

  The limbit glanced toward Denaeh, but the Mystic gave a small shake of her head. Feeling helpless, Dervit watched as his friend moved down the narrow hall like a phantom directed by the wind.

  “Your things are in the first room on the left,” Denaeh called out as Ellyesce stepped up behind her.

  Jahrra didn’t acknowledge she heard the Mystic, but chose the correct door anyway. She turned the knob, stepped inside, and shut it behind her with a click.

  “Should we worry?” Ellyesce asked, tone grim.

  Denaeh drew in a small breath and let it out slowly, shaking her head from side to side.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I expect her to mourn. I expect her to weep. This wraithlike behavior is new. Was she acting this way yesterday?”

  She turned curious eyes onto Dervit, and he shrugged. “A week ago, she was waking up from horrible nightmares, the sedative the only thing giving her rest.”

  Ellyesce leaned down and pressed his lips to the top of Denaeh’s head.

  “She is probably exhausted,” he said. “Not only from the physical trials she experienced in the Tyrant’s dungeons, or the fight on the castle ramparts, but deep, soul-bruising sorrow. It will wring you dry.”