Alora

by Tamie Dearen

  Stay calm. Stay calm.

  She fought the panic, picturing Uncle Charles’ face. She thought how Aunt Lena used to tuck her in bed and say prayers with her, up until her aunt’s cancer treatments made her too weak. She recalled riding on the school bus with Beth, who was always talking her into attending some dreaded social event. She thought of Kaevin and the first time he’d kissed her... and the last time he’d done it, which really would be the last.

  Vindrake’s image wobbled as tears filled her eyes. She dared not suppress her emotions, knowing how weak she’d already become. It would take so little to push her over the edge.

  Something moved in the edge of her watery vision. Straining, she stared into the shadows beside Vindrake’s throne of rock. It was a person—a small person, dressed in a dark hoodie—hiding in the shadow of the stone, creeping closer and closer to her father.

  The prowler’s hand reached out around the corner and fingers closed on the strap of Uncle Charles’ brown bag. The hand tugged, and the bag moved—maybe half an inch. Slowly, slowly, ever-so-slowly, the bag slid along the front of the stone. The scraping sound of the pack sliding against the rock sounded like a roaring lion in Alora’s mind. But her father, intent on the scroll, didn’t seem to notice.

  The pack was almost to the corner when the flap caught on a sharp protrusion of the rock. The hand tugged, but the pack wouldn’t budge. Again, it tugged. Again. But the bag was stuck tight. With a hard jerk, the bag broke free, as the sharp zip of ripping Velcro rang through the air.

  Vindrake moved so fast, it was a blur. With a cry of rage, he grasped the thief’s arm and jerked him into the air. His hood fell back, revealing short blond hair.

  Markaeus!

  Vindrake twisted the boy to the ground, grappling for the brown backpack with one hand, while holding his precious scroll with the other. Markaeus escaped, rolling to the side, but Vindrake had the bag. Tucking the scroll away, he groped inside the pack.

  But before his hand could emerge with the gun, an arrow flew from the shadows, striking his chest. He stumbled back, but didn’t fall.

  Thud. Another arrow struck, bouncing to the ground.

  A knife flew, striking his chest with the same result.

  Vindrake remained on his feet, apparently without injury. “Ha! You cannot hurt me, for my skin cannot be pierced by metal. But you’ll pay for your insolence.”

  The gun was in his hand, aiming toward the shifting shadows at the edge of the clearing.

  The bushes crackled and shook, and Alora imagined her friends diving for cover. She hoped they at least knew what the gun was and how dangerous it could be.

  The gun fired three times—deafening.

  Alora heard a voice cry out from the darkness and then the sound of someone falling. Vindrake raised his other hand, shining his magick light into the shadows.

  She gasped.

  There, on the ground, lay Jireo.

  Alora felt a yank behind her, and her arms were no longer bound. A second later, her feet were also free.

  “Come on,” Markaeus urged from behind her in a quiet whisper, pulling on her arm.

  “Ohhh!” The cry escaped her lips before she could swallow it, so intense was the pain as Markaeus moved the shoulder that had been wrenched behind her for more than a day.

  Vindrake reacted lightning-fast. He grabbed her arm, twisting hard and lifting her to her feet. She screamed in agony, holding onto her empathy by a tiny thread. The hot barrel of a gun pressed against her neck, but she was more afraid of what would come if she lost control. Months of horrific pain stored up from her severe burns and the excruciating treatments that followed, all pouring out at once. It would feel like being burned at the stake.

  Breathe. Just breathe. In, two, three, four; out, two, three, four...

  “Alleraen! It is indeed good to see you, Brother. How does it make you feel, knowing you failed once again?”

  The pressure of the gun on her neck increased, and she wondered if his finger was trembling on the trigger.

  The gun. He’s fired it five times. There’s probably only one bullet left. But they don’t know he fired it twice yesterday.

  Through her blurry vision, Alora made out Alleraen’s immense, muscular figure, standing a few feet away. She felt his fury, though she couldn’t see his expression. With his ruddy complexion, his face was probably red as a crayon.

  “Let her go, Drakeon. Only a monster would kill his own daughter.”

  “If she dies, it will be your doing, Alleraen. I fully intended to let her live, but you’ve threatened me with my life, leaving me no choice.”

  “No choice? Your choices are what transformed you into the evil person you are.”

  “I’m not evil! I’m doing the will of God. For His plan to be accomplished, some must die. I take no pleasure in it.”

  “Ha! You and I both know you’re lying. And what dark deed have you done to transform your skin to armor?”

  “A secret—one I would gladly have shared, had you chosen to join me.”

  “Drakeon, do you listen to your own words? Can it be you believe what you are saying? Have you forgotten who you were before you found the Maladorn Scroll? Have you forgotten how you changed? How you killed our father?”

  “Enough!” Vindrake shouted. “I’ve heard enough from you!”

  The gun fired. Alora waited for the pain. Waited to die. Her ears rang, a constant high pitch. She heard voices—shouting. But all the sounds were small, like they were a long way off.

  Maybe I’m floating up in the air, and I’ll look down and see my dead body on the ground.

  Only when Vindrake jerked her backwards, searing pain shooting through shoulder, did she realize she was still alive. It was then that she saw Alleraen on the ground, writhing in pain.

  “Wait!” Laethan’s voice called out as he stepped into the moonlight. “I’m a healer, and I bear no weapon.”

  “I have no need of a healer,” said Vindrake. “I’m uninjured, and my skin is impervious to metal.”

  Laethan continued forward. “I ask only that you allow me to examine Alora.”

  Alora felt the calming effect of his words. Laethan was using his empathy, or misusing, depending on your perspective. Whatever he was doing, she was grateful, because she no longer felt out of control. She was safe from spilling over, at least for now.

  “Alora is unharmed. She has no need of a healer, either. I won’t abide your trickery.” Vindrake’s words were distrustful, but Laethan’s empathy was strong, overpowering.

  Right now, I’d step off a cliff if Laethan asked me to.

  Laethan drew closer and closer to her. “I understand, Master Vindrake.”

  His hand shot forward, snatching Alora’s wrist, tight as a vise grip. At the same time, Laethan burst open the fragile container of pain inside her head. Agony seared her nerve endings, starting at the top of her head and spreading down to her toes.

  She screamed.

  So did Laethan.

  So did Vindrake.

  Then everything went silent. And dark.

  ~21~

  Meravelle wept.

  Too much had happened in such a short time. She hadn’t been prepared for the responsibility thrust upon her. Or for the loss and grief. For the nightmare of the past two days.

  She stared at Bardamen’s body, motionless except for the occasional rise and fall of his chest. Alive? Yes. But the Montana healer gave no promise the young shaman would ever wake from his deep sleep.

  As she waited, wondering if each breath would be his last, she stared at the strange room, too exhausted to investigate the wonders of the other realm. The four smooth white walls were unadorned, save for a disc with numbers on the outer rim and three splinters of varying lengths, which moved magically about the disc in a mysterious pattern that seemed significant to the Montana citizens. No windows broke the wall’s continuity to illuminate the room or show the sun’s position in the sky. Instead, light emanated from a magickal box, af
fixed to the ceiling.

  The squeak of hinges indicated someone entering or leaving the maze of similar square rooms. The healer Doc had explained the rooms were built to be a healing house, but the purposes of the myriad of strange devices in each room escaped Meravelle. She knew only that Doc had done “all he could do” for Bardamen, and that might not be enough to save him.

  He was so arrogant... so irritating... so... so self-sacrificing... so noble... And so able to get under my skin, like no man before him.

  She remembered her grandfather’s warning—his last words, spoken for her. “One could live a lonely life in the company of a thousand ancients.”

  Grandfather had known her so well—known her propensity to devote herself to the archives, to the exclusion of all else. But her scholarly life brought her satisfaction and fulfillment, didn’t it? Certainly less frustration and heartache than a relationship with a man. Especially a man as exasperating as Bardamen.

  Not that it matters, now. Even if he wakens, we could never have a future together. My first duty is to the Craedenza... to take my grandfather’s place. I should take the oath tomorrow, after the honoring service for those who passed on during the battle.

  She reached into the special blue box and pulled out one of the pieces of soft magic paper. Raelene had explained it to her. She called it a “tissue.” Sopping her tears with the soft absorbent paper, she wadded it up and threw it in the pail with all the other balled-up pieces of tissue.

  Mera hadn’t seen very much of this new realm, but tissues definitely ranked high on her list of favorite discoveries. She also loved the extra-soft stuffing on the chair in which she now reclined, so comfy she’d fallen asleep several times and only in part because she’d had so little sleep.

  Leaning her head back she closed her eyes, taking a huge, shuddering breath.

  “Still no sign he’s awakening?” Raelene stood in the doorway. Dark circles underlined her red-rimmed eyes.

  “Not yet.”

  With a heavy sigh, Raelene trudged over to collapse in the vacant chair beside Mera. She leaned forward with her elbows on her knees, resting her chin on her hands.

  “We’ve been on several journeys together, Bardamen and I. And though I complained that he talked overmuch, he was a faithful traveling companion. I advised him as if he were my son, never suspecting I’d actually come to regard him in that manner.”

  Raelene snatched a tissue from the blue box, dabbing at her eyes. “He was a well-gifted shaman, a stubborn debater, and a good man with a heart of gold. He always saw to my comfort and health, giving up his cloak to me when the cold wind blew, saying he enjoyed the chilling weather. And he served my stew first, assuring I had the largest piece of meat, while his bowl was filled with roots.”

  Mera sniffed, nodding her head. “I suspected as much. He pretended to have no softness, blustering with his words, but his eyes revealed his consideration. And more than once, I caught him being selfless, though he would deny it.”

  Raelene reached her hand out, and Mera took it, squeezing tight, as she bit her lips.

  “Raelene, I wished to tell you... I’m sorry for your loss. I didn’t know him well, of course, but it seems Stone Clan has lost a fine man.”

  “He was. He was a fine man. Highly gifted. Unselfish. I still can’t believe he’s gone.”

  They sat for a few moments in silence. Then Mera gave Raelene a sideways glance, not surprised to see tears rolling down her cheeks. “Raelene... we could take his body and honor him along with our dead, tomorrow. I’d be honored to offer a place for him beside Grandfather on the funeral pyre.”

  “No. We hope to transport all our dead back to Laegenshire and honor them at our home.”

  “For that to happen, Alora must awaken.”

  “Yes, I have to believe that will happen.”

  “And Alora must awaken so our efforts are not wasted.” Meravelle’s throat felt tight. “So he did not die in vain.”

  “Alora is my granddaughter, and I love her more than life, and Kaevin also. But no effort that thwarts Vindrake’s evil is wasted.”

  “But we failed... I failed. I’ve not yet admitted it to anyone.” Mera’s breaths came faster, and the room tilted.

  Raelene patted her hand. “Be calm, Mera. Our plan was not a failure. We retrieved the gun and the scroll, did we not? And we prevented Vindrake from attacking Glaenshire again.”

  Mera held her breath until her head cleared. When she spoke again, her voice came out as a whisper. “It’s true Markaeus recovered the weapon. But I made a mistake. While Charles, Wesley, Brian, and Arista carried the dead and wounded through the portal, I located the sack containing the Maladorn Scroll, lying beside Vindrake’s body, and carried it here. I was so relieved to have the scroll back and so concerned about our injured, that I didn’t think to look inside the sack for at least a hand of time.”

  “And the sack was empty?” Raelene rubbed her temples in small circles, as if her head was giving much pain.

  “I didn’t want to tell anyone, not while so many things were uncertain.”

  “Might the scroll be on the ground somewhere?”

  “No. For you see, when I returned through the portal, Vindrake’s body was already missing. I searched everywhere, but the scroll was lost. It must have been inside his cloak.”

  “Perhaps the scroll is no longer of import. We don’t know for certain that Vindrake remains alive, do we? He could be truly dead, as you originally thought.”

  Meravelle’s tongue felt thick and heavy, as if it didn’t want to say the words she knew were true.

  “If Vindrake was dead, his bloodbond would no longer have any power. It seems highly unlikely his guards, acting of their own accord, would carry his body away out of some sense of duty or loyalty.”

  “You expect too much of yourself, Meravelle. You are gifted in wisdom, but that doesn’t mean you can control the circumstances of life.”

  Raelene’s motherly tone tugged at Mera’s heart. Her own mother had died of the plague when Mera was still an infant. Her father had done his best to care for her while working long hours in the fields. But when she came into her wisdom and language gifts, he’d traveled back to Glaenshire, leaving her in the care of her grandparents. By the time her grandmother passed, a few years later, Meravelle was responsible for all the daily responsibilities at her grandfather’s home, in addition to her studies at the archives. She saw her father on occasion, but he’d remarried and started a new family, of which she’d never felt a part. Now, with her grandfather gone, she was truly alone.

  Studious and determined, Mera had never complained about her circumstances. Still, something deep inside longed for the love of a mother. And sharing with Raelene, revealing her failings and sampling a taste of unconditional maternal love, her tears flowed again, weeping for all she’d missed in her childhood.

  “Remember, Meravelle, you’re only expected to use your gifting in an honorable way, for the betterment of others, to the best of your ability. Beyond that, you bear no responsibility. Recovering the scroll was more than we’d hoped for. We accomplished our most important goals—recovering the gun, protecting Glaenshire and the Craedenza, and rescuing Alora. You mustn’t demand the impossible from yourself... or from others.”

  Running footsteps pounded down the smooth gray stone hallway floor, and Beth appeared, her wavy auburn hair bouncing as she danced in place.

  “Alora’s awake!”

  **************

  The first thing Alora saw when her eyes opened was Kaevin’s smiling face, surrounded by a cloud of white.

  “Are we dead?” she asked.

  His jade green eyes crinkled in the corners, and a dimple flashed. “No, we’re not.”

  “Oh, good... because I hurt all over. And I was thinking, since there isn’t supposed to be pain in Heaven, that might be a bad sign.”

  When he laughed, she could feel the vibration through her fingers where they rested on his chest. As her blurry eyes f
ocused, she realized the white cloud around Kaevin’s head was actually a fluffy pillow. His face moved closer, and he placed a tender kiss on her mouth, so soft it only hurt a little bit when he touched her swollen lips.

  “I bet I look pretty awful.” She tried to remember how many times her father had hit her face.

  “You look beautiful to me. Just having you here with me is...” His face crumpled, and she felt his sadness and despair. It was then that she remembered the gun. Vindrake had fired four times at her friends.

  In a panic, she craned her head, looking around the small room. The one person who should have been there was absent. His best friend, defender-bonded for life... Jireo.

  Her entire insides turned to stone. She couldn’t swallow. Her hand tightened to a fist, wadding up his t-shirt.

  “Where’s Jireo?” Her lower jaw trembled. “Is he...? I saw Vindrake shoot him...”

  Kaevin wrapped his arms around her, pulling her head against his chest. “Jireo’s alive. I was insane last night. My head pounded almost as badly as when you and I were first separated for days. I had to reach him. I crawled out of bed, fell and tore something open. Doc found me on the floor and used his magick to make me sleep. But I still dreamed about Jireo.”

  She opened her empathy, sharing his pain, and felt his tense muscles relax somewhat.

  “I know the bullet hit him. I saw him on the ground. Where did he get hit?”

  “No one has shared the details with me. But when I awoke, I knew he was alive, and my defender bond no longer gave me pain.”

  “And Alleraen?”

  Kaevin chuckled, rumbling in her ear. “I haven’t seen Alleraen, but I heard him. His loud voice carried as if he were right in this room, so he must be nearby. He was objecting to something called a bed pan.”

  Just as she was feeling better about Jireo and Alleraen, a new worry struck. She looked at the small room with bare white walls and their twin IV poles.

  “Jiminy Cricket! We’re back in the hospital... both of us in one room... in the same bed! Isn’t that nurse going to call that reporter guy and sic him on us?”