“And Elyara?” Feyden prompted.
“I have never known her to go against Y’arren’s wishes,” Dagna said, “but I believe in this case, she will, if it comes to that.”
“And Idonea,” Lorifal began, then stopped himself. “Well again, that goes without saying. The lass will not leave her mother or Raine there. And I don’t believe that Bristol will abandon our cause, either.”
“So regardless of what the nations decide,” Feyden said, “we are committed to moving forward, the six of us?”
“Yes,” Lorifal said. “And I’m guessing that little firebrand of a Tavinter, Skye, the one who is connected to Raine, will not let us go without her, either.”
Feyden nodded his agreement. “So even without Gunnar, with Skye we will still be seven, and once Raine is rescued, we will be eight. I’m guessing that Talan’s son, and perhaps even the other Ancient Dragon, Kylan, will also accompany us, so we will have two dragons instead of just one.”
“And once Talan is rescued,” Dagna said, “we will have three.”
None commented on how ridiculous their unspoken assumptions were, that they could even reach the Underworld, let alone infiltrate it to rescue Talan and Raine, then escape. They ignored the ridiculously small number of their proposed party, concentrating instead on its symbolic parallels to their previous journey, the similarity in numbers that was ultimately meaningless. And truthfully, not a one thought they would survive or succeed in their quest, but not a one of them was unwilling to try.
Chapter 25
Y’arren sat in the Queen’s inner forum, gathered around the fire pit at its center. She was surrounded by the Ha’kan royalty and staff who sat on the cushioned seats around her, along with Idonea and Elyara. Drakar and Kylan stood, leaning against the pillars behind the seating area, and Skye moved restlessly about in the shadows.
“Do you have any more insight?” Queen Halla asked.
Y’arren was filled with an unusual uncertainty. “Isleif’s plan, as brilliant as it was, did not account for this. We always assumed the final line of the prophecy foretold some great promise, that it would follow in the vein of the first lines.”
“This doesn’t change anything,” Skye said, moving about the room. “It doesn’t change a thing.”
But she could see in the expressions of those surrounding her that it did indeed change things. Even Y’arren was dismayed by the words of the prophecy, words whose meaning she still couldn’t grasp in their entirety.
“I have no doubt of your bravery,” Y’arren said, “and of the bravery of all the peoples of Arianthem. I have not seen such unity of purpose since the Great War. But it is one thing to battle Hyr’rok’kin, demons, and the gods themselves; it is another to fight against the monolith of fate.”
“Raine told me that fate is what you make it,” Skye said, “if she said that once, she said it a dozen times.”
“Yes,” Idonea said quietly, “she told me that she would make her own destiny.”
“She said that?” Y’arren asked. “In exactly those words?”
“Yes,” Idonea said, “on many occasions. It always seemed to bring her comfort.”
Y’arren mulled the words. There was nothing remarkable in them, she herself had heard Raine speak them. But in light of the current revelations, perhaps they had a deeper meaning. She would have to meditate upon them, to see if perhaps there was something profound there that she had missed.
“I do not have a clear path for us forward,” Y’arren said, “so I suggest that everyone just continue to prepare as they have.”
Skye did not wait, but strode out of the room to return to her training. Y’arren sighed, for the young Tavinter was becoming very headstrong, and without Raine’s calming presence, more than a little reckless. The wise elf looked to the Ha’kan First General, who also was a calm, authoritative figure to Skye. Senta nodded her understanding and rose to seek out her First Ranger.
Y’arren returned to her thoughts, and as all quietly dismissed themselves, she was also aware of the meaningful look that passed between her apprentice and the dragon’s daughter. She had no doubt that the comrades from the first quest, the bard, the knight, the dwarf, the mage, and the two elves, would all be returning to the Gates of the Underworld, regardless of the opinions or actions of anyone else in the world.
Chapter 26
The dim light was slightly brighter than its darkest state, giving Raine the subtle indication of daytime in the underground world. She was alone in the great bed, and all the despair caused by Fenrir’s latest visit returned to her. She raised her head from the silk pillow. She could see Weynild from where she lay. The sight of her lover was enough to bring her to her feet and draw her into the shrine. She pressed her forehead against the cold, transparent prison, longing to touch her one and only love. The act made her ache, filled her with anguish. But for once her mourning was unaccompanied by the anxiety of discovery. Normally, she displayed little weakness or affection in the presence, or potential presence, of the Goddess, for there was no telling when Hel would appear. The Goddess moved about silently within her realm, at times passing through the land of the dead to materialize where she willed. This ability to move about undetected had created a constant wariness within Raine.
But that wariness was blunted today. Raine drew back from the block of amber, her brow wrinkled in thought. Something was different. She turned and re-entered the main bed chamber, looking about her, but she could see nothing out of the ordinary. She pulled on the clothes that had been laid out for her, then walked to the balcony leading to the throne room. The staircase was guarded by two great demons, barring her entrance into the hall, but that was not unusual. The throne room below was sparsely occupied, those few denizens present looking up to nod deferentially.
Raine returned to the bed chamber, ran her fingers through her hair, perplexed, then went to the terrace that led into the garden. It, too, was empty, save for the gardener who walked by in his dreamy ephemerality, oblivious to her presence. She stepped down onto the path, her brow still wrinkled in consternation, trying to figure out what was bothering her, what had changed. She trailed her fingers along the tops of the tall, florescent flowers, and the stems bent forward with her touch, then sprang back into position as she passed.
She stopped in front of the Tree of Death, that hated entity that had grown even more despised once Weynild’s confinement was revealed. Her anguish returned and the sight of the glowing sap infuriated her, filled her with rage that this was the substance that had captured and imprisoned her dragon. Her fists clenched. Given the opportunity, she would destroy this monstrosity with her bare hands, but undoubtedly she would be stopped by the Goddess before she could even start.
Raine froze. That was it. That’s what was different.
Hel was gone.
Raine was not certain how she knew it, other than she felt it, but to her it was as clear as the tree standing before her. Hel was not in the Underworld, and although Raine had no idea where she was, that mattered little to her. For this brief, shining moment, the shadow of the Goddess did not loom over her.
She strode back to the terrace, took the steps three at a time, and quietly pulled the two great doors that led to Hel’s chambers closed. She grabbed the metal spade that had been left leaning against the new walls that surrounded the garden, the elaborate, heavy-duty gardening tool she had fantasized about using as a weapon. She spun it about on the palm of her hand, then shoved it through the heavy, engraved door handles. Now the only entrance to the garden was blocked, at least temporarily. Raine did not expect the doors to hold very long against the brute force of those demon guards.
She made her way back to the tree. Unfortunately, the spade was the only utensil left in the garden, so she had no tool with which to inflict damage. But as she stood before the malevolent, twisted trunk, she did not care. She would enjoy the pain this ca
used her.
She raised her bent arm, violently twisted her torso, and struck the tree such a blow with her elbow and forearm that a chunk flew from it as surely as had she struck it with a sledgehammer. Golden sap flowed downward like blood from a wound, and the reddish amber resin added to this symbolic imagery.
The Underworld shuddered.
Granted, it was a small shudder, a barely perceptible quake that left many wondering if they had imagined it. The demon guards glanced to one another, then shrugged their shoulders. Feray herself was seated at the time, and thought perhaps she had suffered a slight dizzy spell. Still, something caused her to get to her feet and to begin to search out the Arlanian.
Real blood flowed from Raine’s forearm where the blow had split her skin, but she did not care. She raised her left arm, coiled her body in the same twisting posture, then unleashed another devastating strike with her other elbow. Another satisfying chunk of wood and bark flew off, and another bleed of sap and resin was opened. This strike was accompanied by another slight quake, making it clear Raine had not imagined the previous one. Although the quake was gratifying, she knew it would expose her actions. This did not give her pause, rather increased her urgency. She took a stance, then spun about on her planted foot, and delivered the devastating kick for which the Scinterian were feared. The sharp, leading edge of her shin cut through the wood as if it were an axe, causing damage to both the leg and the tree, but far more to the latter. This blow caused a perceptible rumble as her blood mingled with the golden sap of the tree.
Feray reached the doors to the garden as the ground distinctively shook for the first time. She saw with dismay that they were shut, and when she pulled to open them, was stopped by something jammed through the door handles on the other side. She peered through the small crack and saw the Arlanian covered in blood and glowing with sap.
“Get in here,” she commanded, and the demon guards appeared. The intermittent rumbling was beginning to unnerve them, and they readily obeyed the handmaiden. Faen also appeared, having correctly deduced it was likely the mortal at the center of the disturbance.
“What is going on here?” he screeched as the two demons began struggling with the door. “What’s happening?”
“The mortal is destroying the Tree of Death.”
“Destroying—?” Faen could not even finish this impossible sentence, he shoved one of the massive demons, twice his size, out of the way so he could peer through the crack. He saw the Scinterian, blue and gold markings barely visible in the flurry of strikes she was unleashing on the tree, surrounded by a spray of sap and golden-red mist, at the far end of the garden. He shoved the demon guard back into place as the subterranean palace shook once more.
“Get this open!” he screamed.
The demon guards began struggling with the door to the degree that Raine could now hear them. This did not deter her actions, rather she increased her speed, the damage to herself and the tree growing accordingly. But although the tree was hemorrhaging sap and resin, it was not enough. She was running out of time, and she was not going to be able to destroy the abomination.
She stopped, breathing hard, oblivious to the blood running from every limb. Her anger had not lessened at all, rather was a seething river that flowed outward, desiring to destroy the garden with a tidal wave of rage. She did not know if she was capable of doing what she was about to do, truly, did not know if anyone was capable of it. But she was going to try.
She stepped toward the tree, put her arms around its massive trunk, placed her feet slightly wider than her shoulders, then squatted down. The circumference of the tree was such that her arms barely reached halfway on either side, but it did not matter as she tensed every muscle in her body and began to lift.
“What is she doing?” Faen said. He could barely make out the scene on the other side of the doors, but the demon guards had widened the gap and were close to dislodging or snapping the garden tool blocking their path. Apparently the mortal had completely lost her mind, because it looked as if she were trying to uproot the tree. This momentarily comforted him, because at least she had stopped damaging two of Hel’s greatest prizes: the tree and herself. But his relief was short-lived as the ground began a low, sustained rumbling and the walls around him began to shake.
Feray had not even Faen’s short relief. She had watched the mortal with growing apprehension, startled at the amount of damage she was inflicting on the tree. So when Raine took the position to uproot the monstrosity, Feray felt only alarm. She was not surprised when Raine slowly began to stand upright, her arms still wrapped around the tree.
Raine was aware of none of this. Every muscle in her body was corded, every ligament stood out in bold relief, every tendon was strained to its breaking point. Her face was a study in concentration, the stress evident in the tension in her jaw, but her expression was calm. Her pale blue eyes glowed with a preternatural light. Slowly, the tree began to rise, the roots began to move, the dirt beneath her feet shifted, and the Underworld again shuddered as something it could not comprehend began to happen.
“Get in there!” Faen shrieked as the spade finally broke and the doors flew open. The demon guards galloped across the garden, pikes held before them, but they slowed in disbelief as the Tree of Death came slowly free from the earth, its roots dangling above the black soil which had nourished it. The mortal was dwarfed by the enormous trunk she held, leaning back to balance the massive weight. Sap flowed outward from the hole in the ground left by the violent extraction. This river of sap was unlike any normal tree, for it bled from the hole as if its heart had been ripped out. Raine could not hold the tree any longer and released it, barely managing to stagger out of its way as the gigantic trunk began to fall sideways. It crashed downward, landing partly on the garden grounds and partly on the wall that had been erected to keep out the darkness.
Raine could not even stand. She wavered, stumbled, then fell to her knees in exhaustion. She would have pitched forward onto her face were her forehead not suddenly leaning against the thigh of the Goddess, who had materialized right in front of her.
Complete silence fell on the garden. Those who had been drawn by the rumbling, the commotion, and the gigantic thud of the tree trunk cowered in the doorway, peering over one another. Faen shrunk away from the black outline of the Goddess. Feray simply steeled herself, resolution on her features. The demon guards shriveled before their Queen.
Hel examined the fallen tree, her face expressionless. Her silent inventory of the damage seemed to go on forever, endless to those awaiting their fate. Raine was not one of these, for she was barely conscious, leaning against the Goddess, still on her knees. Hel turned her scrutiny to the prisoner at her feet, again silently inventorying the damage. Both arms and both legs were injured, sustaining wounds that made it appear the mortal had tried to beat the tree to death. Hel’s perusal returned to the trunk of the tree as her hand absently stroked Raine’s hair. It looked as if the attempt had been partially successful. The tree bore cuts and gouges about its lower extremity, covered in both sap and blood. She finally turned her emerald gaze to the roots, the exposed, twisted branches that somehow had been ripped free from the earth.
Hel let out a great sigh, reached down, grasped Raine by the collar, and lifted her clean off the ground. She gathered the limbs into position to carry her, propped Raine’s head on her shoulder, and turned about. All those cowering in the doorway fled like rats, flitting away into the darkness. Both Feray and Faen stood with their heads bowed, and the demon guards recoiled as their Mistress passed.
But Hel did not look at any of them as she walked with her consort in her arms, lost in thought. She carried her captive up the stairs, then to the bed where she placed the prone figure in the sheets.
“Tend to her wounds,” she said, and all the handmaidens jumped to comply, grateful for the strange, distracted air of their Mistress.
Hel return
ed to the garden, again passing Faen and Feray without reaction, and Feray had the presence of mind to wave the demon guards away. Hel stopped before the fallen tree, next to a transparent, flickering figure who leaned over the disaster in an attitude of dismay. Hel herself turned transparent, at least to the eyes of Faen and Feray, as she entered the realm of the dead.
The gardener, on the other hand, solidified and filled with color and form, at least in Hel’s view. His dismay was even more evident as he muttered to himself about the calamity in front of him.
“Is it salvageable?” Hel asked.
“What?” the gardener sputtered, startled. He was not used to being spoken to, or even acknowledged. Hel ignored the gardener’s informality because he was completely insane. The only coherent conversation he was capable of involved gardening, a skill in which he was without equal.
“Is it salvageable?” Hel repeated.
“No, no, not a bit,” the gardener muttered. “Quite impossible. Too much damage. Who could have done such a thing?”
Hel frowned, but the gardener continued muttering to himself.
“Good thing, those saplings, good thing.”
“What saplings?”
“What?” the gardener said, spinning around as if Hel had just appeared.
“The saplings?” Hel said, one fine eyebrow arching upward.
“Ah, yes,” the gardener said, pleased with the subject and wondering how this lovely lady knew of it. “The saplings. Took the liberty of growing a few more of these, maybe an even better stock.”
“How many more?”
“Three of four, maybe twenty.”
“Maybe twenty?” Hel asked.
“No, no,” the gardener said, shaking his head. “Who told you that? I have at least thirty.”
A slow smile curved about Hel’s features. “Look at me,” she commanded.
The Goddess of the Underworld: The Chronicles of Arianthem VIII Page 12