Destiny

by Fiona McIntosh

  The Stones of Ordolt were finally reunited but this time they were in the hands of gods. In these children ran the blood of the King of the Host and the ancient blood of the Custodian. They alone had the power to command the Stones.

  The red mist which was Dorgryl faltered, hanging in the air as he too felt this immense new power present itself amongst them, but it was Orlac who was transfixed by the blazing orbs.

  What now? Lauryn asked as the Colours blazed so strongly about the trio it almost hummed.

  We must wield its power, Gidyon said. But I don’t know what it is.

  Think! Lauryn yelled.

  Their father spoke. They were his flowers. You alone can command them.

  They looked towards Orlac. He was reaching his hand towards the Stones. ‘They are mine!’

  The flowers! They belong to the Glade. The Stones can summon the Glade! Rubyn suddenly yelled.

  Join minds, Gidyon said and the Link immediately changed into something more intimate. It was as though he was Rubyn and he was Lauryn. His brother and sister felt likewise.

  It frightened the Paladin to suddenly hear a strange and ancient language issuing from the three children. They began to murmur words of magic not uttered in countless centuries.

  It was a language not of this world. It was the ancient language of the gods.

  A vast power of a magnitude none present had ever felt before began to gather about them. The Flames of the Firmament intensified in brightness; no longer hundreds of them but now thousands, chiming in harmony but ferociously, now in a deafening chorus as the power continued to pull and centralise to a mighty shimmering by the great oak behind the three children.

  But Cloot had eyes only for the red mist as Tor once again offered Dorgryl his body. The falcon took his chance while the mist hesitated as Ordolt, the Glade, suddenly winked into existence.

  Leaping strongly into the air the majestic bird beat its wings angrily, covering the distance between itself and the mist in a blink and gathering up Dorgryl. Cloot lifted, higher and higher in what looked like an impossible ascent, his captive screaming into his mind and fighting violently. But Cloot’s talons held on. He could hear the cries of his friends below and the soft encouragement of the trees.

  He passed the gentle face of Darmud Coril who smiled his serene smile and whispered, Fly bravely, precious Cloot.

  He went higher still, the thing writhing but still he dragged it with him. He could do this. Finally they were far enough away.

  Now you must enter me, beast, he told it.

  Cloot knew it had no other option. It could not survive outside a body for longer than moments. It had to use his body. As Cloot had anticipated the mist shimmered with rage as he felt the vile chill of it enter his bird’s body.

  Some had fallen to their knees. Tor gaped, distracted by the scene before him. Ordolt was here, summoned by the Trinity and their power over the Stones and their ability to speak Ordolt’s ancient language. He glanced towards the children, blazing amongst the fantastical colours radiating from the orbs which held the Glade here in its return to claim back the three dried and hardened magical flowers which belonged to it.

  Staring back out at him from the impossibly beautiful scene which Ordolt was wearing this day, stood two familiar figures amongst many others. He remembered them from his vision in the dreams which Lys had showed him.

  They were Darganoth and Evagora. Orlac’s parents. His parents.

  Orlac too was mesmerised. He was back on his feet, his attention riveted on the tall dark man in the Glade who looked like his brother and the beautiful golden-haired woman at his side. The royal pair looked up towards Cloot who had now stooped into one of his dives.

  It was only then that Tor realised Cloot had left his shoulder and understood what had happened. Darganoth was looking towards Cyrus now and nodding. Tor saw that Cyrus held a bow. He knew Cyrus was a deadly shot with an arrow.

  And suddenly it all came together.

  ‘No!’ he yelled. Cloot, no! he screamed across their Link.

  Farewell, Tor, Cloot whispered. I have loved you in my lives; I will love you in my death. Heartwood, I humbly ask that you accept me for the last time.

  Cloot began his steep dive, Dorgryl screaming angrily in his mind.

  Cyrus let loose the arrow. It impaled the falcon through its breast, killing the man that was once Cloot of the Rork’yel. The First Paladin to the One died and the god, Dorgryl, trapped in a dead, falling body howled his despair as the trees of the Heartwood reached hungrily now to grab their own.

  The falcon’s corpse was still too high in the air for Dorgryl to escape to a new host. Between their hard fingers of wood, they crushed the fragile bones and feathers of the majestic Cloot until he was pulp. Finally the tallest of all the trees took the bird’s remains and absorbed Cloot into itself, returning him to the sanctuary of the Heartwood and Dorgryl to a dark and desolate prison.

  No one in the Heartwood that terrible day would ever forget the bleak expression on Torkyn Gynt’s face when the Light died within and he knew his falcon, his bonded one…his beloved Cloot, was gone. He was bereft. Alyssa and Cloot. There was a hole too big now in his heart and the only thing he could fill it with at this moment was rage. He turned back towards Orlac and allowed all of his Colours to loose themselves. He was no longer thinking rationally.

  Each of the Paladin and his children felt the bristling of another mighty power as the Colours of Torkyn Gynt combined into a pure white rage of throbbing magic.

  Darganoth nodded and whispered out of the Glade into Tor’s mind. Use your anger, son. Destroy him. We will help you.

  The Paladin closed ranks behind Tor into a single line whilst Gidyon, Lauryn and Rubyn instinctively understood their part in this. They opened themselves up to the Host.

  Orlac roared. ‘Destroy me, then. Try. I will best all of you in your attempt and leave this place a smoking ruin. Let loose your power, Father, Mother, murdering brother!’

  And Darganoth did. Using the Stones of Ordolt to channel not only his power but all the power of the gathered Host in the Glade, he cast with a frightening bolt of Quelling magic. As it touched the Stones the rainbow colours intensified and the Trinity allowed its linked powers to be tapped. Now it passed through the Stones becoming a silvery light as it touched the Paladin.

  And as it passed through each of them harmlessly, they contributed their own powers, doubling and quadrupling its ferocity until it passed through Tor. Now it became a fierce, radiant white as all the Colours combined to produce the most pure of the gods’ magics.

  It was travelling so fast now and so savagely it created a hum.

  It shot from Tor’s fingertips, luminous white and angry, to hit Orlac in the chest. He tried to stand strong against it but this was like no other power he had experienced. Even the original Quelling had not felt like this. He staggered and bent beneath its brutality, trying to fight back but beaten down by wave after wave until his own powers were numbed.

  Lauryn wept to see him pushed so violently and without even knowing she was going to do it, she linked to her father.

  Does it have to be like this?

  She heard her father groan; knew how much he detested killing with his power.

  Orlac began to writhe on the ground, his death moments away.

  Lauryn persisted. Orlac did not kill my mother or Cloot. He did not rape me. He is your brother. Can we not save his soul?

  Something in her words touched the right chord. Tor faltered and the white light died. Orlac lay motionless and spent.

  ‘Torkyn!’ Darganoth called from the Glade. ‘Finish it!’

  ‘No!’ Tor hurled back. ‘Enough death. Enough killing!’

  He walked to where his brother lay. The Paladin renewed their ancient skills, creating a field of imprisonment. Now, neither brother could depart without the sanction of the Paladin—or their own death.

  Orlac. Tor could see he still breathed and whilst he still took breath there wa
s a chance.

  Come to gloat? Orlac whispered.

  Tor shook his head. Will you trust me?

  What for?

  To save you.

  Through his pain, the god actually laughed grimly. You, save me?

  Tor said nothing. Everyone watching held their breath.

  Orlac coughed weakly. What do you have in mind?

  That you go back…back to where you came from. Back to Ordolt.

  There was a long pause before Orlac gave a weak reply. Will it accept me?

  It might. If we give it back its flowers which are what it seeks. Will you let me try?

  Why would you do this after all the pain?

  To end the pain.

  Tor crouched down and placed his hands beneath his brother. May I?

  Orlac nodded and grimaced as Tor lifted him into his arms. He was weaker than he had realised.

  Brother, Orlac called softly.

  Yes?

  I may not make it to the Glade.

  Please try.

  Tallinor is claiming me, I fear. How ironic, Orlac said, a soft smile playing on his lips as his face began to slacken.

  Orlac! Take my strength. Tor pushed, opening himself up, watching the horror move across the faces of the Paladin at this dangerous new suggestion. It was all Orlac needed to destroy Tor.

  Do you trust…? Orlac was so weak he could not even finish what he wanted to say.

  Tor looked down into the blurring eyes of Orlac and nodded. Take what you need. We are brothers.

  And Orlac took, drawing on Tor’s strength.

  The Paladin parted, dropping their imprisoning power at Cyrus’s command and watched Tor walk slowly with his load towards a shocked Host.

  He stopped in front of Ordolt, from where Darganoth watched him. Tor could see how he himself might look when he became older. It was an odd thought. He had no plan to live beyond this day without Alyssa or Cloot.

  ‘Take him back,’ he said.

  Darganoth shook his head sadly. ‘I’m not sure we can, son.’

  Arriving behind the King of the Host was another familiar face. Lys. She smiled and Tor saw Alyssa echoed so strongly it made his heart begin its bleed. So be it. He welcomed death.

  She bowed before Darganoth. ‘My King. Tor is right. Offer back the flowers to Ordolt. It is temperamental. We may just catch it in a forgiving mood, sire…please.’

  They waited.

  ‘Very well,’ the King finally replied. ‘We can try. Ask my grandchildren to make their offer to the Glade.’

  Rubyn looked at his brother and sister. ‘I’ll do it.’ He took their stones, still blazing, still holding Ordolt amongst the oaks. He walked to where he could see a soft tear in the shimmering, presuming it was the rent made by the scavengers who once stole an infant god.

  He bowed solemnly to this magical place. ‘Ordolt. Forgive us for holding onto three items which are precious and belong to you. They were taken in innocence by an infant. May we return them?’

  The gorgeous scene shimmered brightly suddenly and although no one knew what it meant, Rubyn took a breath and hoped it was the answer they wanted. He reached in through the hole, feeling the instant warmth of the place beyond it. Reverently placing the three stones on the spongy, verdant grass of Ordolt he gently withdrew his hand and bowed again. They watched as the stones were absorbed into the ground and before their eyes three exquisitely beautiful flowers grew from where they had disappeared. Ordolt flashed this time, returning just as rapidly to its normal soft light.

  It was Tor’s turn to make a plea. ‘Ordolt, may we return another who was stolen from you a long time ago? He is the innocent. He belongs amongst your forests and your beautiful gardens. He has known much sorrow. You would bring him great joy in granting us this. He is yours,’ Tor beseeched.

  Ordolt did not respond this time. Tor looked at his mother. He felt nothing for her but he wished he had known her. Her smile for him was radiant.

  ‘I shall chance it,’ he said, stepping forward. ‘I hope this does not create catastrophes for Tallinor.’

  His mother shook her head gently. ‘No, son. Because it is a returning, it is safe.’

  He nodded, looking down at Orlac now. ‘Fare well, brother,’ he said, softly.

  Orlac was spent, hanging onto life now courtesy of Tor. ‘I’m sorry about Cloot. I liked him too.’ They shared a sad smile. The Light guide you, Tor, he said privately. Tell Lauryn…no. Tell her nothing. Ask her to take care of Pelyss.

  Tor looked towards his parents. ‘I give you Orlac, Prince of Gods.’

  His mother began to weep through her smile. ‘His name is not Orlac, my child. That was the Tallinese name given to him by Merkhud. His name is Aeryn, Prince of Gods.’

  Tor bent to kiss Aeryn on the forehead and as he handed his brother through Ordolt’s shimmering presence, passing through its strange magics, he saw himself hand a sleeping infant into the arms of its mother.

  It shocked everyone, including the Host. For Lys it was the sign she needed; had prayed for. Through her own grief she saw that perhaps, somehow, this all could be righted for two people.

  ‘Tor, wait!’ she called. ‘Come through too. Ordolt will accept you.’

  Tor was stunned. He paused, considering her suggestion.

  She persisted. ‘You have nothing left to do for Tallinor. Everything that is you is here.’ Lys could hear the plea in her voice.

  He glanced around the familiar faces of the Paladin. Saxon nodded. He understood, more than anyone, Tor’s sense of desolation. He too had lost Alyssa, and a close friend in Cloot.

  Go, boy, Cyrus said into his head. Don’t hesitate.

  Tor looked towards his children. Lauryn was nodding through her tears. Find happiness there. Start again.

  He pulled his three children towards him. Will you permit this?

  They all three nodded. You’ve given enough, Gidyon said, his eyes wet.

  It was Rubyn who gave him the response he needed. It was a placation but it was what Tor needed to hear. You may find her, Father.

  I don’t suppose you three would consider it? Tor asked.

  They shook their heads and he understood. They had reasons to stay in Tallinor.

  Tor knew he must not linger. Lys was urging him to step through. Any further delay and the fractious Ordolt might reject him. He did not want to prolong an emotional farewell so he kissed his three children before grinning his unsaid thanks towards his friends in the Paladin.

  ‘The Light guide you,’ he said and stepped through the shimmering presence, taking both his father’s hands and appearing on the other side as a newborn, returned to exactly how he had been before he was given over to save Tallinor.

  The Host wept to have their princes returned.

  And the Heartwood rejoiced.

  Epilogue

  ‘And we cannot persuade you to remain on our shores?’ the King of Tallinor asked.

  Kyt Cyrus shook his head. ‘Rubyn and I have some unfinished business in Cipres, your majesty. But we shall return for the wedding in the spring.’ He bowed to his King. ‘Perhaps we might forge still closer ties between the two realms?’

  Gyl smiled. His father had been right to choose Kyt Cyrus for Prime. And now Tallinor would have a powerful ally in Cipres. He watched the soldier turn and walk towards Lauryn, who was standing with her brothers.

  She smiled warmly at the old soldier. ‘You take care of my brother, Cyrus. Bring him back for my marriage.’

  ‘It seems the Gynt children have a way with sovereigns,’ he said, ignoring Rubyn’s glare. ‘Who knows, I may bring your brother with a new wife,’ he risked. ‘And you, Gidyon. Where are you headed?’ Cyrus said, deciding it was time to change the subject.

  ‘Back to a town in Brittelbury.’

  ‘Ah yes, in the north. You have business there?’

  The man who reminded him so keenly of the young Torkyn Gynt shrugged in the habitual way his father had at the same age. It nagged at Cyrus’s heart.
<
br />   ‘Unfinished, like your business in Cipres,’ Gidyon replied with a wry grin. He turned to his companions nearby. ‘Themesius and Figgis are coming with me…and after that I plan to return to the Rork’yel Mountains. There are people there we gave a promise to.’

  Saxon strolled up. He alone could share none of the joy of this festive scene as the Friends of the Heartwood began their farewells.

  ‘Sax. Care to join us on the road?’ Gidyon asked.

  ‘Well, I would jump at it if your cunning sister and her manipulative future husband hadn’t already persuaded me to return to Tal and help a certain young lad out.’

  Rubyn guessed. ‘Locky?’

  Saxon nodded. ‘Yes. I think I owe it to him.’ Then added sadly, ‘I can lose myself in teaching him a few things, until I can sort out what to do next.’

  Cyrus muttered agreement. ‘And the others?’ he said, turning to where the rest of their companions stood, saying their goodbyes.

  ‘Adongo is headed back to the Ciprean islands where the Moruks roam. Sallementro, of course, is coming back to Tal—I think he’s already dreaming up the wedding ballad.’ They all smiled. ‘Is it right, Lauryn, that Juno is going with you?’

  She nodded. ‘I’ve asked her to. She’s thinking on it. I believe she will.’

  ‘Which leaves our residents of the Heartwood,’ Saxon continued. ‘I don’t imagine either Arabella or Solyana will ever leave here,’ he admitted and the others agreed. ‘I don’t know where I’ll end up—perhaps my birthplace in the southern islands. It’s a bit early yet; wounds still too raw.’

  Those listening nodded sombrely. They knew to whom he referred.

  ‘Father refused to say goodbye to her, you know,’ Gidyon suddenly blurted.

  They looked at him, a mix of confusion and regret on their faces.

  He explained himself. ‘When our mother died and Darmud Coril wanted to take her into the trees, we all said goodbye—we kissed her.’ He shrugged, remembering the moment of kissing that pale, cold cheek a little too clearly. ‘But our father refused. He told me he would somehow see her again…in the Light—in another life, I think he meant.’