Hero of Arcadia

by Annathesa Nikola Darksbane

  Elizabeth caught it in the palm of her hand, then slung the sword—and Jone with it—into the nearest wall with tremendous force.

  Jone smashed into the wall spine first, head second. There was a flash of pain, and she saw an instant of bright, dazzling light as both cracked and broke on the unforgiving marble.

  Then everything went black.

  Somewhere impossibly far away, her skin burned.

  “I. Won’t. Let. You. Die!”

  Adie’s flame flickered and dimmed; somewhere far, far away, she felt the girl she loved waver on her feet but refuse to fall. Many others did the same, and a few sputtered out and went completely black, never to shine again. She felt her network of followers light up with even more silver flames as she reached out involuntarily, more souls rushing to her call like the tears that flooded her eyes.

  Slowly, Jone realized she sat against a blood-splattered marble pillar, cradling a half-melted greatsword.

  Rote receded, releasing her hold on Jone’s followers.

  Stubbornly, she struggled to her feet, blood dribbling thickly from her lips.

  “Jone, you impress me. A lot. I like you, even.” Elizabeth floated closer, shaking her bloody palm calmly as the deep cut sealed shut without a trace. “But if you continue to resist, I will destroy you. Then, in time, your people will join me, and I will finish what I set into motion over three hundred years ago. This broken world will be whole, whether you stand in my way or not.”

  Before Jone’s bloodied lips could form a rebuttal, Elizabeth gestured. A razor-sharp wind lifted her into the air at the Queen’s bidding, pinned her against the stained marble, and threatened to slice her in half.

  Jone grinned through cracked, bloody teeth as it too was drawn into her hungry, hollow core, filling her to the brim with a torrent of stolen strength.

  But it just kept coming.

  As the Eternal Queen smiled grimly, ice and wind poured into Jone, rending at her flesh, pressing her aching spine against the cracked stone—and her body just kept absorbing it.

  Jone screamed as the initial pain overcame her; she was certain her body was going to burst apart, blazing bright then evaporating like a falling star.

  Somehow, she managed to grit her teeth and bear it, just a little longer.

  “I...can’t...believe in you!” Jone snarled the words through teeth clenched so tight she feared they might shatter. “I’ve seen...what you’ve done.” As her eyes fluttered closed, then snapped open again, she gazed deeply into Elizabeth's dark, striking eyes, their faces almost close enough to touch. “Slaughter...oppression...slavery…” She tried to reach out to Elizabeth, or to swing her sword, but she couldn’t feel her arms anymore; she wasn’t even certain they were still there. “How is...that...your new, better world?”

  The Eternal Queen looked deep into Jone’s eyes in return, blinked—and hesitated. Rote pushed forward, embracing the pain as she shouldered Jone aside.

  “Enough of this. MY TURN.”

  Jone coughed up black smoke, vomiting it forth as her body started to disintegrate from the torrent of power it could no longer withstand.

  Like the flip of a switch, they swapped places. Jone compressed into a space in the back of Rote’s mind as the spirit assumed control by force. She watched from behind her own borrowed eyes as billows of smoke boiled from her extremities.

  Rote’s vibration of alien rage resonated through the stones at their back as she called out to her own kind, compelling and empowering them to act.

  Jone felt it through expanded senses as the glow-lights throughout the palace burst and the tritanium cables feeding them ruptured. Spirits and energy spilled forth like glowing blood from energized veins. Vicariously, Jone felt the thrill of sudden freedom, of rage, of glee, of foreign feelings she had no name for, as water heaters and plasma generators exploded, tiny mephits and sprites mingling with undine and ifrit larger than horses as they swarmed to Rote’s mandate.

  “YOU ASSUMED YOU WERE THE ONLY ROYALTY HERE,” Rote spoke with her own inhuman voice swallowing Jone’s whole. “YOU WERE WRONG.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes went wide as her protective sigils melted, swarmed by the entirety of the palace’s spirits. They poured through her broken defenses and consumed her, all at once.

  Then Rote added her own power to it and borrowed a little more from every spirit that could spare it and live.

  All of them. Everywhere.

  The Great Palace shook, crumbling as the Eternal Queen desperately met the assault with her own arcane might—

  —and failed to match it.

  A jolt of grief and pain lanced through human and spirit alike, as hundreds of spirits were annihilated in the backlash of Elizabeth’s magic. The shockwave sent Jone flying, tumbling dizzily through the air like a rag doll.

  For a moment, she felt nothing. No sense of Rote’s presence; no connection to her own followers.

  For the first time, she was utterly alone, and it was terrifying.

  Then she flopped and skidded across the ruptured, grassy ground, tried to stand, tripped over a slick rock, and whacked her face on a painted piece of the fallen roof.

  It all came flooding back to her.

  Jone’s followers lit up in her mind, many weakened from helping her, but more numerous than ever. Rote rushed back into her, leaving her breathless as voluminous dark smoke poured into the uncomfortable, lonely void in the back of her mind.

  She sighed with relief, then promptly wedged her boot into a crevice and stumbled headlong into a battered thornbush.

  “Get up, Jone. Get up get up get up get up get up!”

  The soldier pried herself carefully free of the tattered plant, trying not to hurt it any more than she had to. And as she staggered to her feet and pulled her foot free of her hopelessly stuck boot, she spotted Elizabeth.

  Picking herself up off the ground.

  Much like Jone, the Eternal Queen was battered, but not broken. Her elaborate hairdo was destroyed, as was most of the excess frillery of her priceless dress, and her pearls lay scattered across the floor. Blood trickled from her scalp, her mouth, her nose, and one ear. A crimson stain slowly crawled down her abdomen, and one arm hung limp, the fingers scorched and the painted nails blackened and trailing smoke.

  But her eyes were still bright, defiant—and very angry.

  “Um. Not good.”

  “No one told me,” Elizabeth snapped and spat blood, kicking off her remaining heel as she strode toward Jone. “I thought they were something like animals, like energy.”

  Rote growled weakly in the back of her mind as Jone glanced around for a weapon, but found nothing. She spotted the hilt of her melted Highlands greatsword, but it was on the other side of the Queen and too far away to be useful, wedged upside down near the bottomless portal to the strange rushing water.

  As the injured Queen stomped toward her, Jone shook her head to clear it and settled into a fighting stance, calling on her magic for strength.

  Elizabeth slapped her across the face, nearly breaking her jaw outright.

  Pushing through the stunning pain, Jone bellowed with defiance and tackled the Queen, driving her back several steps and knocking her to the earth. Elizabeth whacked her head on a rock and Jone mounted her, pinning her injured arm with a knee and extracting a snarl from the small woman as they stared into each other's eyes. Jone tried to punch her opponent in the throat, but Elizabeth’s eyes blazed with invoked power, and delivered an open palm to Jone’s lower ribs that broke at least one and sent her flying.

  “You could have helped me.” The Queen reiterated, rising to her feet as Jone did and stalking toward her, murder in her eyes. “We could have worked together. More of her people would be alive now, do you realize that?”

  Jone lashed out with a kick as the woman came in range, but the Queen kicked the inside of her knee quicker than she could react, annulling the blow and destroying her balance. As Jone stumbled, an enraged Elizabeth slammed the sword edge of her hand down
on Jone’s collarbone with brutal precision, shattering the bone in a shower of agony.

  “Now many more will die, human and spirit alike.” The Eternal Queen lifted her easily off the ground by the throat with her one good hand, her fingers cutting off Jone’s air as she stoically ignored the soldier’s struggles and kicks. “While I must navigate these treacherous skies alone. Again.”

  Rote tried to surge forward again, but Jone felt her falter and fail, too drained from the exertion and burst of loss to push her way to the surface.

  “I do not enjoy this,” Elizabeth commented calmly, a note of regret embedded within her eyes. “In fact, this is the saddest execution I’ve had to perform in...as long as I can remember, really.” The Queen sighed, then smiled thinly. “Goodbye, Jonelise.”

  An instant before Elizabeth could snap Jone’s neck, something slammed into the small of the Queen’s back, right next to her spine.

  And exploded.

  Jone fell free as the world rocked, and nearly cracked her skull on the rounded, fractured edge of the strange, world-spanning pool.

  Halfway across the garden, Sir Francis Drake ratcheted another bolt into his repeating arbalest and fired.

  This time, Elizabeth turned in time; Jone saw her back, a bloody mass of shredded flesh and tattered dress, dripping a heavy patter of blood to the earth. From the Queen’s outstretched hand formed a hazy sigil, and the next bolt deformed and detonated harmlessly on it, as did the pair that followed it.

  “Deep inside, I knew it was you, Old Dragon,” Elizabeth mused, her voice traced with pain and sadness. “The traitor in my midst, that is.” She motioned once, and The Drake fell to his knees, the arbalest tumbling from his suddenly weak hands; Jone’s oldest, canniest foe rendered helpless with a single dismissive gesture. “I am sorry, old friend.”

  Before her eyes, Drake’s hair ran thick with gray as it fell out, and his skin wrinkled with age as his body grew thin and frail. He strained not to topple forward, staring past Elizabeth with pleading eyes. “Please,” he mouthed.

  With a shout, Jone surged to her feet, grabbed Elizabeth by the throat with her working arm, and slammed her down onto the jutting, half-melted spike of the Highland greatsword, ramming the blade through her ribs and out her front.

  Then she kicked her into the world pool.

  As the Eternal Queen fell toward the strange waves, Jone raised her arm, dark smoke trailing from her fingertips, and Rote reached out through her.

  Their eyes met one last time as the battered stone ring set into the floor cracked and broke, and the alien world abruptly vanished.

  In its place was a simple hole that opened into the Abyss, all the way down to Gatekeeper Jones’ embrace.

  The Eternal Queen...was gone.

  Stomach churning, Jone backed away, allowing her body to slowly heal from its punishment as Sir Francis Drake limped toward her to stand at her side.

  “It’s done,” she said finally.

  “So I see.” Drake sighed. As she watched, his hair filled out again and his body strengthened, becoming The Drake she knew once more. But he still looked...older, somehow. Even more tired than before, or maybe it was just more obvious now. “I wasn’t certain you’d be able to do it. It’s...hard to believe she’s gone, just like that. After all we’ve been through. Like she should still be hanging onto the edge, refusing to let go.” He peered carefully over the edge. “That would be like her.” His voice held a thick, unfiltered note of sadness.

  “Do you regret having done it?” Jone asked, rubbing at her healing ribs with an aching arm.

  “No. I regret it being necessary.” He sighed, straightening.

  “I know what you mean,” Jone replied solemnly.

  He caught on just as Jone put a boot into his back and pushed him into the hole.

  With a cry of shock, The Drake managed to catch onto the very edge of the inner stone ring, a shallow crease in the stone several inches below the lip of the hole.

  He smiled.

  “Finally learned that lesson, Jonelise?”

  “The one about cheating to win?” Jone was still for a moment. “I suppose it was finally time.”

  He chuckled weakly. “Well, I taught you enough times. It was bound to come back on me, eventually. Do you think your conscience will survive the blow?”

  Jone shrugged. “It’ll have to. The other choice is for you to pick up the pieces after Elizabeth’s death. I never wanted Elizabeth dead, Drake. I didn’t enjoy it. I just wanted my people to be safe. Something that will never happen while the Butcher of Arcadia lives.”

  “Fair enough.” With a surge of energy, The Drake hooked his other arm on the upper lip of the stone ring.

  Jone hoisted the heavy stone she’d picked up, holding it out over his head.

  “Checkmate,” he whispered.

  The two hundred pound chunk of ceiling scraped Sir Francis Drake off the stone like a fly, bloodying his face as it sent him spiraling into the bottomless, insatiable Abyss, one more soul to feed its endless hunger.

  Only after he’d let go did Jone notice the black and gold eye hanging around his neck, peeking through his tattered shirt, the amulet a near twin to her own.

  His smirk vanished into the churning steam, mocking her.

  - - -

  Jone took her time picking her route through the room. There was a lot to think about.

  Her crime against Drake—or more accurately, against her own values.

  Her collision course with Elizabeth, and the validity of the powerful woman’s philosophy.

  The Amulet of Osiris hanging from The Drake’s neck, and his smile when he saw her notice it too late.

  The bright silver lights of Esmeralda Thresh and Samantha Bellamy, which had appeared during her conflict with Elizabeth, and which seemed to be getting rapidly closer.

  On her way out, the amulet around her own neck went suddenly cold and heavy—and then, nothing. Light as air.

  The bottomless, hungry hollow in her gut was gone. Just like that.

  Rote stirred sluggishly in her mind, exhausted, but offered no answers.

  Jone stopped near the crushed red marble table and salvaged a half-broken bowl of beans and eggs, accepting the late Queen’s hospitality about a quarter hour too late.

  Weary and full of doubt, she found herself wishing she’d done so from the beginning.

  <>

  Thank you so much for reading!

  <<>>

  Please join our mailing list to be updated when the final chapter of Jone’s story is released!

  From the Author

  I feel bad.

  Not sick (though that happened too). I feel bad because I promised you guys something and couldn’t deliver. I wanted to drop this book about a month ago instead of keeping you waiting, believe me I did.

  Unfortunately, life had other plans. And family emergencies pay no mind to schedules.

  But that’s all I’ll say on that. Here’s hoping things get better, because I really want to actually be able to write more again, to get more books out again. Not that I’ve ever really been successful (in my own opinion at least), but it won’t stop me from continuing to try. Thanks for sticking with me in the meantime. You all rock.

  As for Jone...five down, one to go. I kinda don’t know how to feel. I’ll be happy to finish working on the next Ashes books, and maybe branch out a little more, but I’m also very fond of Jone, her friends, and the world I made for her. So we’ll see where things go. :]

  In this one, we saw Jonelise fall, find herself, and rise again. Last book, you saw hints of what made Sam, Esmie, Adie, and several others tick. In this one, you saw the same in Rote, Drake, and even Elizabeth. Oh, and Jone herself. I hope you enjoyed, because the final book is where it all comes together.

  Did Jone play into Drake’s hands all along? Who inherits the power of the Elizabethian Empire, or does it fall alongside its Queen? How does Jone handle her role as assassin, an
d how do she and her friends mop up the mess that revolution makes of their world?

  You’ll have to wait and see next book. I hope you enjoy the end of the ride.

  Happy reading, all and see you soon!

  Continue Reading in

  Book 5: Hero of Arcadia

  Thank you again for reading my works. If you like vampires, diversity in fiction, or urban fantasy, check out our other two series below, and sign up for our mailing list for release announcements and more. There’s a free book in it for ya! You can also get free stories and more from our Patrons Only Library on Patreon where you can get all the insider details. See ya next time!

  Further Reading from Darksbane Books:

  Dakota Shepherd Novels

  Awakened (#1)

  Hunted (#2)

  Driven (novella #2.5)

  Blooded (#3)

  Dakota Shorts Vol. 1 (#3.5)

  Risen (#4) - SOON!

  Fallen (#5) - TBA

  Dying Ashes series

  Dead Girl’s Ashes (Dying Ashes #1)

  Recommended: Five of Five short (Tales from the Ashes #1)

  Blood Red Ashes (Dying Ashes #2)

  Recommended: Homecoming short (Tales from the Ashes #2)

  Heart of Ashes (Dying Ashes #3)

  Recommended: Trouble on the Green short (Tales from the Ashes #3)

  Dreadful Ashes (Dying Ashes #4)

  Recommended: Haunted Motives short (Tales from the Ashes #4)

  From the Ashes (Working Title - Dying Ashes #5) - Coming 2nd Quarter 2019

  www.DarksbaneBooks.com

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to Shei and Rune, my little family.

  Thanks to the people that invited me and encouraged me to give this whole thing a try; it escalated from “I don’t think I’ll like this” to “I adore this story” rather quickly. And it also taught me a bit about writing to boot.

  Thanks to our Patreon supporters: David Nields, Abi Grey, BK Dobbs, Cheryl Bowen, Claire Smith, Hans Watts, Paige Abendroth, Ross Grant, Susan Wilson, and everyone else who’s ever supported our dreams, big or small.