Luathara - Book Three of the Otherworld Trilogy

by Johnson, Jenna Elizabeth

  Cade grinned, his eyes gleaming a beautiful jade green. “Is that a yes?”

  Finally, some real words got out. Yay! “But, Danua?”

  Ugh, why had I said my mother’s name?

  Cade’s grin widened. “She was the one who suggested we go through with the bonding ceremony.”

  He reached down and gently kissed my cheek, just below my eye.

  "A princess of Eile cannot remain unmarried for very long once she reaches a certain age. It would be shameful and the last thing I would want to do is bring shame upon yours and your mother's names."

  I took several shallow breaths and stuttered, “M-Mom will want to know about this . . .”

  “She’s the one who helped me pick out the right bracelets.”

  He kissed my other cheek, his lips lingering on my skin.

  “Wait!” I breathed, my heart hammering against my ribs as I grabbed at his hands and pulled them away from my face. I could not think straight with him kissing me.

  “What about Dad?”

  Cade sighed gently and stepped in closer. He pulled his hands from mine and ran them along the sides of my face, threading his fingers into my hair.

  “He said the same thing he did when he took me aside at your house those many months ago,” he murmured.

  “Oh,” I managed, “and what was that exactly?” Why wouldn’t my heart stop beating so wildly and why were my palms so clammy?

  Cade looked me in the eye and answered, “That if I ever hurt you he would find me and kill me, even if he had to cross into the Otherworld to do it.”

  I bit my lip and stopped fighting the tears that were forming in my eyes. “And what did you tell him?”

  Cade’s lips quirked up and his eyes took on a mischievous glint. He leaned forward and pressed his mouth against my ear.

  “I told him,” he whispered, his warm breath sending goose bumps down my spine, “that I had already died for you once and that I would not hesitate to do so again.”

  At some point I had curled my fingers around his shirt collar, but now my grasp was so tight my knuckles actually hurt. It was getting harder to breathe and I felt flushed.

  “So Meghan Elam, daughter of Danua, high queen of Eile,” Cade said, kissing my neck, “will you marry me? Will you be my better half and live with me here at Luathara and help me destroy what faelah the Morrigan has left behind? Will you take care of me and let me take care of you?”

  Finally, the answer I had been trying to give him all this time pushed its way past all the other silly, insignificant thoughts that had flooded my brain and burst forth.

  “Yes Caedehn MacRoich of Eile, of course I will marry you. Of course I will stay by your side and help you rid this world and the mortal world of evil. And yes, I will take care of you.”

  I laughed then, my smile hurting my face as he scooped me up into a great hug, twirling us both around on the stone terrace of Luathara as he kissed me again and again.

  We remained outside until well after dark, dancing to our own music and to the natural rhythm and song that could only be found in Eile. Three years ago I was nothing more than an awkward teen, ready to move on with my life even though I hadn't the slightest idea where I wanted to go. And then Cade had stepped into my self-conscious, pitiful little world and turned everything on end. I had survived the wrath of a goddess, had made peace with a mother who had abandoned me, had discovered a brother who could share my life in the Otherworld, and had fallen in love with a young man who I knew, without a doubt, would always be by my side to help me through anything. I knew this because, let’s face it, he'd already proven his devotion to me.

  As Cade and I slow danced under the moon and stars of Eile, I finally let my joy spread through me. I was so very happy, truly and blissfully happy, and I had an eternity to spend adding to that happiness. For once in my life, I couldn’t wait for the future to start.

  Acknowledgments

  I want to take this opportunity to thank all of those who have been with me on this long journey, including my family and friends and everyone who inspires me and encourages me every day to continue with my grand writing endeavors. I especially want to express my appreciation towards my readers, who have, over this past year, sent me wonderful messages and comments about the Otherworld Trilogy. I am exceedingly grateful for your dedication to Meghan and her friends, and I'm so very happy that my books have brought some joy into your lives. Finally, I especially want to thank Jodi Moore, Kaitlyn Ikenouve and Keisha Martin for their help in adding the finishing touches to Luathara. Once again, thank you all for being there right beside me on this wonderful adventure.

  About the Author

  Jenna Elizabeth Johnson grew up and still resides on the Central Coast of California, the very location that has become the setting of her Otherworld Trilogy, and the inspiration for her other series, The Legend of Oescienne.

  Miss Johnson has a degree in Art Practice with an emphasis in Celtic Studies from the University of California at Berkeley. She now draws much of her insight from the myths and legends of ancient Ireland to help set the theme for her books.

  Besides writing and drawing, Miss Johnson enjoys reading, gardening, camping and hiking. In her free time (the time not dedicated to writing), she also practices the art of long sword combat and traditional archery.

  For contact information, visit the author’s website at:

  www.jennaelizabethjohnson.com

  Other books by this Author

  Otherworld Trilogy

  Faelorehn (Book One)

  Dolmarehn (Book Two)

  Luathara (Book Three)

  Ehriad - A Novella of the Otherworld

  The Legend of Oescienne Series

  The Finding (Book One)

  The Beginning (Book Two)

  The Awakening (Book Three)

  Tales of Oescienne – A Short Story Collection

  Connect with me Online

  Twitter: @JEJOescienne

  Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Jenna-Elizabeth-Johnson/202816013120106?sk=wall&filter=12

  Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/jejoescienne

  A Sneak Peek at The Finding, book one in The Legend of Oescienne series:

  The Legend of Oescienne

  ______________

  The Finding

  -Prologue-

  Evasion

  Morning’s first light poured into a cramped, dank cave casting strange shadows against its distorted walls. It was a very ordinary cave as caves go, and up until a few days ago it seemed things would remain that way. The cave had sat empty in a cliff above the western sea, left alone to inhale the ocean’s salty air and capture the sound of the waves crashing below. Hidden and unseen in a cove only a few knew about, the cave had remained empty for so many years. But that was all about to change.

  A piercing beam of light fought its way through a narrow hole in the ceiling of the cavern breaking into the empty chamber and making the sunlight flooding through its mouth seem dimmer. The ray came to rest upon the pale face of a figure bunched upon the cold, dirty floor like a pile of discarded rags. His eyes were closed in sleep, but the silent expression on his face was far from restful. His dark hair was unkempt and his face appeared almost bloodless. He was as still as death, but his tense features and the grim cut of his mouth confirmed the struggle that only the living possessed.

  The man stirred awake and rolled onto his side, sending a scraping and soft groaning sound playing against the curved walls. Wincing and gasping in pain, he clutched his shoulder and dragged himself up into a sitting position. The bright beam of light was now slanted across his profile, illuminating the distinct characteristics of his race. His fine features and narrow, sharply tapered ears proved that he was of elfin descent, but it was his dark hair, pale skin and uncommonly tall stature that revealed him as one of the Aellheian elves of the east.

  He blinked his eyes as the waves of pain ebbed and passed, looking blankly around the natural room that he’d been slee
ping in. The cave was littered with jagged stalactites and stalagmites, making it resemble the mouth of a yawning dragon. Several conical tunnels were scattered throughout, giving the impression that a giant had pressed its fingers into the small space while it was still a soft cavity of clay, leaving their indentations behind.

  The injured elf breathed deeply as he recalled climbing up here only a few days before. He was grateful despite the exhausting effort; at least now he could rest easy. This place was a great secret not known to his pursuers. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind. A sharp, metallic taste in his mouth forced him to recall the skirmish he’d had not long ago, the one that had landed him in his current situation. He sighed and rested his head against the wall, listening to the low rumble of the waves outside as he tried to distract himself from the endless sound of dripping water echoing throughout the cave. The smell of saltwater and pine resin, dust and distant fog hung in the air like a delicate feather, reminding him of the thick forest perched on the edge of the cliffs just above his head.

  Despite his hot skin and the relatively relaxing rhythm of the crashing waves, the elf felt a cold chill clenching his heart. He ran his fingers through his tangled hair as if this action might comb away the grogginess and pounding headache that seemed to swallow him. He’d been in this place for three days now, or so he thought, and he feared the wound in his shoulder might be infected. He’d cleaned it and treated it with an herbal balm, but it was swollen and throbbing.

  For several months he’d managed to evade the Tyrant’s men but now it seemed they’d finally caught their prey. He’d gone so far as to enter the land west of the feared Thorbet and Elornn mountains, a place the Crimson King would never go, but it was clear the Tyrant’s soldiers thought differently. They’d finally moved in close enough to place an arrow deep in his shoulder just to the left of his heart. Desperate, injured and out of options, he headed further west towards a land he’d once considered home only to find a familiar place of sanctuary. This particular cave would hide him well, but he also knew that if he died here so would the secrets he carried.

  The elf trembled again, blinking against the harsh light hitting his face. Whether the shivering was a result of an encroaching fever or from the thought of his world crashing down around him, he couldn’t tell. He drew a long, deep breath and carefully pulled a leather-bound journal, a pen and an inkwell out of the saddle bags he’d had the sense to grab before fleeing on foot. He propped himself up against the wall, quietly thanking Ethoes it was smooth, and leaned forward so that one of the empty pages of the journal lit up to a blinding white from the sunbeam pouring through the roof. He thought for a while as he continued to fight off the sickening heat emanating from his shoulder. After several moments of reverie, he dipped his quill into the inkwell and began to write:

  It has been three centuries and more since the world changed, but not much has happened since. Whether that fact bodes good or ill towards the people loyal to the Goddess, I cannot tell. The pages before this tell the story of the world and how Ethoes created all the living and nonliving things that exist upon its surface, of the rise of the god Ciarrohn and Traagien’s defeat of him, of the folly of the elves and the creation of the humans and their eventual end. All of the pages before this one hold that story and the secrets of the royal family of Oescienne.

  Therefore I, the last Magehn of the Tanaan king, will not waste time with the tales of old. What I can tell you, however, is that three hundred years ago the Crimson King cast a terrible curse upon the last race of humans, transforming them into dragons and severing their link to the province of Oescienne. From that point on, the tie between the western province and its rightful sovereigns, the race of humans, was destroyed, setting in motion the Tyrant’s first steps in clearing the way for the complete domination of all seven provinces of Ethoes.

  A muffled shout followed by a torrent of angry words brought the Magehn’s pen to a stop. His heart quickened its pace and the throbbing in his head and shoulder fell into rhythm with it. The noise came from above, and through the tiny skylight in his cave the elfin man could barely make out the foreign tongue of several of the Tyrant’s men. He hoped they wouldn’t find his horse, but then he remembered he’d removed its bridle and saddle, encouraging the animal to flee just before he made his way down the narrow trail leading to his hiding place.

  Although he couldn’t decipher what it was the men said, the Magehn knew that they’d tracked him this far. How they found the courage to cross the mountains is beyond me, he thought bitterly. Then he realized it hadn’t been courage but fear. Those loyal to the Crimson King may have feared the far western mountains, but they feared their king more.

  The elf listened silently as the voices trailed off. When he was certain they had moved on to search for him in some other location, he got back to his work, focusing on finishing while he still could:

  Though the humans are now dragons, and those dragons are now scattered, there is reason yet to hope. The Tyrant still suffers from the wounds inflicted upon him in that final battle with the last Tanaan prince and his people; he still struggles to regain his strength from the effort it took to transform them. Yet no one knows when the Crimson King will regain his former might and attack the remaining provinces. Most believe it is only a matter of time, and time is running short.

  The last Tanaan prince is now lost. Many claim he is long dead, for wouldn’t he have returned to his people and rallied them by now, even in their reptilian forms? Yet I saw his transformation and witnessed his escape within the confusion of the aftermath of the great battle. I believe with all of my heart, though I may not live out my immortal existence as I had once hoped, that a day will come when the Tyrant’s curse is lifted and the Tanaan humans will return to rule in Oescienne once again.

  The elf halted his hand, staring down at the stark black marks he’d sketched upon the paper. He was writing in his native language, the language of the Dhonoaran elves, descendents of the Aellheians. He should have felt pride for their development of such a beautiful language, but instead he felt a bitter taste of disgust rise in his throat. So much sorrow, so much pain, destruction and avaricious betrayal had come from his people that it brought him some shame, even though he knew it wasn’t his fault.

  The Magehn drew a sharp breath as a sudden stab of pain ripped down his arm. He had been about to continue his notation but instead he paused, his jaw clenched, willing the ache to pass. As he waited in agony, he returned his thoughts to the ugly circumstances of his world. Instead of thinking of his ancient elfin ancestors, however, he recalled his own loved ones harmed or corrupted by the Tyrant King. He thought especially of the one whose trust he’d lost, someone who was still dear to him. Soon he felt another pain, a pain that would never heal. The ache in his shoulder and the ache in his heart mingled, combining to form one great pang of anguish.

  The elf took a deep breath, suppressing the distracting memories that were now surfacing in his mind. I don’t have time to tell my own story. I have time only for this . . . He forced his screaming thoughts to the back of his mind and continued on with what he had started. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead, but he wrote on:

  I have spent long years mourning my king and my people, but I could not hide from the terrors of this world forever. I came out of my hiding no more than six months ago, and it took the blessed words of hope to make me finally face my fears. I knew the Tyrant searched for me, that he seeks vengeance, even now. He is aware that I hold the secrets of the Tanaan and believes that I know the location of their prince. But I braved his wrath and went forth into the world despite the great danger, for I had received word of something amazing, something extraordinary.

  Before I was tracked down and wounded by the Tyrant’s minions, I had been riding throughout all of Ethoes, spreading this great news, news of an answer to our plight. The Oracles, those that still remain with us, spoke of a miracle promised by Ethoes herself, one that could mean the salvation of ou
r world.

  Pain beyond description flared through the elf’s fevered body. He cried out in anguish as his pen dragged across the bottom of the white paper leaving a long, jagged black line. This ache was worse than the ones before, and it struck fear into the Magehn’s heart. His eyes watered and his vision became fuzzy as he wondered about the origin of the arrow that had caused this wound. Perhaps it had been poisoned. He felt lightheaded and sensed his mind being pulled in and out of consciousness. Furiously, and with fresh determination, the last Magehn of the Tanaan king began writing as fast as he could, able to produce one more sentence before he knew no more:

  I have done what I can to spread this new prophecy throughout the land, a prophecy about the return of a lasting peace, a prophecy about a lost prince, and a prophecy about a young, pure-blooded human girl born to save us all.