When good people like Autumn died and the wicked thrived, surely there could be no justice left in the world.
Soren wrapped Autumn inside his arms then stopped. He had felt the cold reminder of something obscene. A determined hilt shoved against his body as if to put an end to consolation.
His bottom lip quivered as his chin dimpled with the onset of anguish. His hand clasped around the hilt. “I'm sorry,” he whispered before his hand pulled the sword from Autumn's body.
Soren reared back his hand to throw it away when he realized that the weapon had been melted to nothing. Beneath the hilt there was little more than a stub of seared metal. It was still hot to the touch.
His eyes lowered to the bit of exposed flesh seen through Autumn's pierced armor. It remained warm with the child so nurtured by its mother's womb, but where there should be a mortal wound there was only smooth olive skin.
The druid's eyes were blinded by a range of colors. Those colors originated from the woman in his arms.
A loud hoarse gasp filled the air. Autumn's eyes flashed open. She struggled, remembering the last images to race across her mind shortly before her death.
Soren cleaved to her trembling body. Gently, he shushed her. He spook soothingly, putting an end to her struggling. His crimson eyes stared tearfully after the departing owl which was little more than a speck on the horizon. His fingers were lost in thick waves of brown. With abandon, he wept. He wept for the sheer gratitude of having this second chance. He wept for the blood spilled to bring about its life, but mostly he wept fearfully for the bargain he knew must have been struck.
It had to have been the mother's bargain, he thought.
Autumn felt a fiery warmth coursing through her body. It was scorchingly restoring life throughout her being. As she stared into nothingness, she somehow saw into the veins of her body. She saw their channels coursing with fiery red. Then she witnessed silver vines of molten metal snaking throughout her body. The sword meant to end her life was actually saving it. Its strong makeup was patching the injured parts of her, but how?
Loudly, she heard the sound of a heartbeat growing strong once more. She wept soundlessly with joy as its song grew louder. Autumn jerked with a flashing vision of crimson eyes encasing golden flames.
Slowly, the color began to return to her once deathly pallor. Autumn leaned into Soren's long white hair. Softly, she cried into it. “Take me home,” she whispered.
The Flame of Wrath Page 44