But, selfishly, she also wanted to be by herself. No demands. Nothing but silence in her heart. Emersyn was torn from her thoughts by a new voice.
"Can we talk, Emersyn?" Strangely hesitant, Bannon's words were accompanied by a pained look on his normally scowling face when she turned to him.
Searching, her doe eyes examined the Annunaki for any residual feelings of anger or betrayal and found none. Think of Sarah... Emersyn quelled her fear of the male and nodded.
Taking the hint, Jaela and Alvin left the two to give them privacy. Though, Emersyn noted Jaela ducking behind a hut. Her sister of Liindre peered out from the shadows and gave a nod of her head to reassure Emersyn that, no matter what, she would be there to ensure Bannon did not overstep himself. The golden gaze slowly faded to nothingness, but Emersyn knew Jaela was monitoring the conversation from the shadows as only a Liindre mercenary could.
Bannon sighed, drawing her full attention. "Look... I'm..." He paused, at a loss for words, before blurting out, "I apologize."
Emersyn dared a look up at the male. "What did I do to make you hate me?"
"What makes you think I hate you?"
"You growl when I hug Sarah. You never want her to be around me or Jaela." Her lips turned down. "She loves you. I would never do anything to hurt that. I just want my sister back."
He ran blunt claws through his hair. "It might not mean anything to a human, but I have enough instinct to resent the hell out of you and Jaela for the bond you have to Sarah when it comes between us. She is my wife. I should be the first in her heart. And our children,” he added almost as an afterthought.
One of the hunters came around the bend and called for Bannon's attention. There was a carcass the other man had found in the wood and wanted his opinion on it. Bannon turned back around to face Emersyn. "Visit her tonight if you want. Just try to keep the touching at a minimum. My sense of smell is not as refined as my uncle’s, but I can still detect you on her hours later. It irritates my senses."
"Deal," she said with a strained smile. She watched him walk off, completely at ease with himself and the world. Knowing Jaela could hear, she whispered, “I need time. I will be back before full dark.”
Melancholy a weight she could feel as easily as the heavy braid that nestled between her shoulders down the length of her back, Emersyn walked without direction away from the half-hearted apology she knew Bannon did not mean and the responsibility she felt called to act upon in spite of what it would mean for her. Soon, she found herself at an old, gnarled remnant of an ancient oak that had fallen deep in the woods. This was one of her favorite places in Gilvern. It reminded her of her mother. Before Sariah had become lost, she had accompanied her on many walks to visit fallen trees.
Sariah had brought her to them to show how even in death there was life. Upon the corpse of the once mighty trees, an entire community of small animals, insects, and many different varieties of mushrooms and lichen thrived. Her mother told her that, one day, the trees would be gone. Their truest legacy was not the vague memory of how large they had been or how many years they had survived, but the generations of life they had fostered in life and in death.
Emersyn fell to her knees before the fallen oak. She watched ants march in a straight line across the rotted bark and her ears picked up the rustling of beetles going about the business of hunting for their dinner in the fallen leaves that had long dried up. The warmth of summer was soon to give way to autumn’s bright camouflage of reds and oranges, and the denizens of the wood were scrambling to gather of the plenty that still surrounded them.
She prayed to those who had always loved her. The only ones she had left to believe in. Sarah’s loyalty was to her husband and daughter now. Jaela loved her, but she would not understand the struggle in Emersyn’s heart. Despite her freedom from Liindre, Jaela still saw in remarkably stark shades of black and white. She would have no qualms with leaving Akkadians to their own devices and would, no doubt, insist Emersyn do the same. "Please give me strength. Mama? Papa? Please be here for me." She had never felt so alone. Emersyn clasped her hands together and looked up.
Her lip trembled as the air before her blurred. Fate had decided she was to be a tool of Akkadian salvation. But it seemed an almost impossible task.
It would not be the end of the world for them, a small voice whispered in her mind. Akkadians would not die out completely if they learned to live peacefully. To not use Ki. They would just not be as powerful as before. Would it be so bad to have that kind of destructive capability disappear? Would that not be another step to prevent the before times from happening?
Or would it? Emersyn's heart countered, quieting the voice she almost did not recognize. Emersyn tried to imagine Lord Dalaric without the snow-white hair and intimidating stature. Tried to wonder how he would feel knowing the ultimate power he had been trained to value above all else was locked deep inside him. Untouchable. All because the human witch had denied him.
Emersyn sighed. She was a means to an end. She did not matter. Emersyn was unimportant in the whole of it. But, before Lord Dalaric had left, he had revealed the tragic truth behind his brother’s end. Upon Varian's madness, Bannon's mother, Alendria, had run into Meghara's killing flames. Grieving her lost son, Meghara had only seen the human blood within Bannon. It had been the human wife who had refused to bow her head to claim a place in the clan and give her a grand youngling to hold in place of a son. Meghara had turned from the squalling infant. Dalaric had been left with no choice but to take the child to a nursing mother in the village to add to her brood.
Wiping her tears away on the blue tunic sleeve, Emersyn turned to sit beside the tree corpse. Her fingers stroked the rotting wood. A memory surfaced. She had trod upon a cricket in the garden as she raced to watch the moon flowers bloom. She had not even seen it, in such a rush to witness the event. The feel of it beneath her foot was her only warning. She had been devastated.
Her mother had hugged her tight and whispered her name repeatedly until her sobbing stopped. Only then did her mother soothe, "Your heart is good; you meant no harm. Just take from this the reminder that we are not alone on the paths we walk and do not let yourself become blind to those who share it. And if it happens that you bring unintentional harm, always ask for forgiveness and make it right."
A gentle wind wafted across her skin. The tender breeze lifted a stray curl from the loose braid to caress her forehead. The scent of clover and peppermint surrounded her for the briefest of moments before fading just as swiftly as it arrived. Tears pricked then fell to leave tracks over cheeks shadowed in the ebbing light of the setting sun, but a small smile curved her trembling lips. Mother. Papa.
Resolutely, Emersyn swiped the tears away with a brush of calloused fingers. Her shoulders set. The way she saw it, she had two choices. She could look selfishly at her own suffering. Or she could be grateful she would not be forced to know innocence faced damnation while she stood powerless to do anything about it.
She had decided.
A Mother's Love
“Only those females of the most noble blood earn the strongest of warriors to their Sydae.”
-Akkadians: Past, Present, Future-
Striding into the elegant room, Dalaric's attention focused immediately on the commanding presence that sprawled in opulent splendor. "Mother." The Akkadian folded his hands behind his back and glared balefully toward her disrespect in not rising upon his arrival. "For what purpose did you seek Gilvern?"
Quirking a brow, the Akkadian laid out before him chuckled, her humor at odds with the flash of rage at her son's question. "You travel quickly. I had not even an opportunity to seek you in my mirror.”
His features cleared of emotion at her evasion. "Varian was my brother. His son is weak. But he is still blood. Had you been a proper grandmother you would have taken Bannon under your wing despite his mother's rejection. Varian's son should have been brought here and given training and discipline. Instead, he was raised by humans and was
made weak by it." Dalaric narrowed his eyes upon his mother. "But this is an old argument without end. What," he enunciated each syllable, "were you doing in Gilvern?"
Standing in a flurry of gold and red silk, the Akkadian stared up at her only surviving son. He felt the hair on the back of his neck rise as the air vibrated with her anger. "You know perfectly well what I was doing there. Not only has that bastard married," she spat, "he dared to breed without so much as a by-your-leave!"
"You freely admit to going against my orders?" he demanded.
Her smile was back in full force while she turned her back on him. She wandered over to the window covered in glass that had been gilded with precious metals and gems. After a few moments of silence, she turned once more to address her son, "If I had not, then I would not have interesting news to impart."
Dalaric took his time in replying, weighing his words. His mother waited by the window as the light from the moon came in to highlight her ethereal features. "News?"
"We are facing extinction, our race dying out. Yet your nephew held a marked witch to himself all this time."
He caught her attention with a wave of a hand. "He is too human to understand her worth, let alone see the mark. His youngling is born of mana alone. Undiluted, our blood is powerful. Within Bannon it is weak against human taint. Annunaki hold no Ki but the barest amount to extend their lives beyond a human’s and have not enough to give to their young. The whelp is human. Even if he could know what the witch is, Bannon would have no use for her."
Snorting, she shook her head. "You would trust his intentions? He could covet her for his own purposes."
"He is half-human, Mother. He will never Ascend. He holds Ki within him, but his body would fail him during the Rite even if he did attempt it."
Meghara stilled, a hand upon the sill of the window as she looked out across the land. Dalaric walked behind her.
"When will you stop blaming him for Varian's death? He is not at fault for what we could not prevent. You taint yourself with this obsession for vengeance. This is not the mother I remember. Father does not know you for it."
Meghara held to her silence. Dalaric decided he had wasted enough precious time. His lips thinned. Damn her stubborn pride. "You spite yourself," he bit out. "But your worst transgression is denying me my right to guard my brother's legacy with your refusal to acknowledge Bannon. However, I will not be lenient should you go against my word again. Bannon is not to be touched. The same now goes for any he sires."
He watched as the emotions stormed across her elegant features. His mother had hatched three sons of her eggs. His oldest brother, Landar, had died during the same raid which had killed the last temple witch. Their entire clan was nearly wiped from the earth by the rogue dragons. Still weak from his transition, Dalaric had been hidden away by his mother and only his grandfather's intervention and subsequent death had saved his life.
Unlike the red dragon warrior breed or even the lusty but still able warriors of the blue breeds, the white dragon breed was clan-orientated by nature. To become only a group of three had been a hard blow for his parents. His mother had gifted to his father another egg after many centuries of his father trying to convince her that he would find a way to protect the youngling from the madness even without a temple witch.
Varian had been born of that egg. His father had found the use of mana wine, but it had not been enough. He had left Meghara on another quest to find a witch when Varian was lost to madness. Meghara had been forced to fire upon her own son – burning him until even his bones became dust and killing her heart in the process.
Raised apart, Dalaric had not the bond to his nephew, Bannon, as he would have otherwise. It ate at his innards to so dishonor the memory of his brother, but Dalaric had no choice. His mother had never recovered from the loss of her youngest. Bannon's presence would either unseat her entirely, in which case Dalaric would be forced to kill her, or Meghara would murder her own grandson.
Perhaps, with Emersyn brought into their clan, not only would Caelwin be granted salvation from madness, but the stain to his clan's honor could be rectified.
And if miracles were going to happen, Dalaric wryly decided, perhaps his father could also persuade his mother to hatch again. Another whelp might soften a heart made hard by loss.
His mother's movement from the window brought Dalaric's thoughts to an end. Gauging her narrowed eyes for threat he raised his chin, giving her his silence. It was her place to apologize and make amends.
Clearing her face of emotion, the Akkadian female strode forward. Waving a hand regally before her face, she vowed, "I will not visit the village again."
He held his stance. She would not be allowed to ignore the slight.
Meghara scowled but bowed her head in a short dip before admitting, "I overstepped. I apologize." Under her son's watchful gaze, Meghara approached the low table next to the grand mirror which hung upon the far wall. A stone bowl filled with silver liquid squatted beneath the reflective surface.
"I have seen witch bowls," she stated while stroking the rough surface of the raw quartz bowl. "Their weaker constitutions restrict them to using water and they can only spy upon others. Perhaps one day they will learn to use mercury so that their words can travel the lands and not just their eyes."
Dalaric ignored her rambling when he joined his mother. When things did not go her way, she had a habit of discussing inane trivia. "Has father sent word?" he asked, willing to allow the conversation to flow into less dangerous territory.
"The negotiations stall as they always do. The blue dragons think themselves above the need to share their wealth of knowledge. They ask for what we will not give."
The tall Akkadian was not surprised his father had hit the wall of foreign clan diplomacy. Blue dragons in the East had long ago surrendered the wilds of their homelands for the comfort of cities and towns which had only just begun breaking ground within the domain of the white dragons. His breed. The blues demanded mining rights. Huge sections cut from the pristine continent to feed their greed for gems. Never.
"You summon him?" Dalaric asked. Initiating communication between distances was not in his ability. Female Ki, as far as he knew, was the only essence capable of such.
She flicked the mercury with silver-tipped claws. A foreign Akkadian's visage swam to the surface. Pale features that sparkled with gems were haloed by a mass of crimson hair. Dalaric grimaced, unseen by the female. So, his father's tales were true. The eastern dragons had taken to coloring their hair and adorning their skin with paint and piercings of gold and precious metals. His mother may adore fine silks and tipped her claws in metals, but the female reflected in the mercury appeared as a ghoulish caricature of Akkadian grace and beauty to his critical gaze.
"Meghara," the female greeted with a broad smile. "What brings you to summon me?"
"I have need of my mate, Kylara." Meghara answered. "News which cannot wait, I fear."
"Varian traveled to the city with Dorian," Kylara said. "A disease has begun killing off the humans. Your foolish mate decided to investigate."
"There is a similar sickness here," Dalaric said. "Is it the same disease my father knew of these lands?"
Kylara strained to see into the darkness around Meghara. "Is that my favorite mistake, Meghara? Such poor manners to speak out of sight."
Dalaric's jaw clenched. The wench had never been respectful, but now she dared much by virtue of the distance between them. She had adapted to life as a crass blue quite admirably. He moved to stand behind his mother's shoulder to glare at the obscene female.
"There you are, father of my Caelwin," Kylara purred. "How is he?”
"Strong," he bit out around incisors which had lengthened with his anger. His son was not hers.
Meghara added, "A marked witch has been found."
"When he finds his wings, be sure to send him to me so that I may foster the Ki of my blood within him."
Never, Dalaric vowed while Meghara tilted her head in
agreement. Allow his son to be corrupted by the harpy? He would sooner cut off his wings.
"Your mate?" Meghara inquired politely. "How does he fare?"
A curl of smoke drifted from Dalaric's nostrils at the mention of the male. Dorian. A perversion of the warrior breed of blues who had denied their right to search his lands long ago for a witch. He was lucky his father, and not he, Dalaric, had been in the envoy to ask permission. The bastard blue had not even bothered to search on his own for the sake of his clan. Blues were not all lazy and given to extremes of hedonism, but Dorian had certainly never done justice to his breed.
Rather than training his Ki to retain what had, at one time, been a formidable power to form barriers and make a weapon of electricity itself, Dorian had bartered away his pride and honor to the humans. It was only a matter of time before Dorian’s human guards were overrun and he was challenged by another Akkadian warrior who had spent their time training. Then there would be a new First Son to the blue dragon breed.
Kylara grinned. "He is made quite mad by our daughter, Melia. She is given all her heart desires. The little glutton hordes more jewels than I do! All too soon she will be accompanying him on his trips to the West to learn the trade connections he has with the humans there."
Dalaric scowled. The West was a wild, lawless place ruled by barbaric humans who had none of the civility gained through Akkadian rule. A few foolish Akkadians had made their homes in the west but none were strong enough to wrest control from the humans there given the frigid condititions that made prey less plentiful. Starvation controlled Akkadian numbers on the ice flows that dotted the many islands to the west while the significantly more dimunative humans proliferated on fish and the meat of sea animals. "Her Ki potential?"
"Dalaric, she has no need to risk herself or the madness which comes with such." Kylara giggled. "Here, our younglings do not fall to the madness anymore so long as they remain in peace. We build treaties with the humans and buy guards and keep our young in mana wine rather than risk our future."
Last of the Temple Line Page 6