The Reborn King (Book Six) (37 page)

Gewey looked into the Dark Knight’s eyes and could see the vacant stare of death gazing back at him. As their bodies plummeted, darkness took him. Only the whistle of the wind in his ears told him that some life still remained. But it was to be fleeting, and he knew it.

When their bodies reached earth and plunged into the gaping depths, the world shook from its core one final time. The vortex gradually slowed its spinning and then began receding. When it was only a few yards across, the sands burst up in a mammoth explosion. It took many minutes for the earth to settle again.

The vortex was gone…and with it, both Darshan and Aremiel.

As the dawn rose, King Lousis said a silent prayer. The vast army of the Reborn King would soon be upon them. And though his men would fight with valor and honor, he knew that this would be his final battle.

His thoughts turned to Selena. He could still see her smile when laying with him on their wedding night. Their love had made them both young again. For the briefest of moments there was no war, no death, and no sorrow. There was only their love…and that was enough.

And if that is all I shall ever have
, he told himself,
it was still far more than I deserved
.

Mohanisi and Lord Chiron rode up to join him. To Lousis, they looked like warriors of legend. Tall and proud with unwavering courage. To think that this would be the day that claimed the lives of such of such magnificent elves brought a monumental sadness to his heart.

“They come soon,” said Mohanisi.

Lousis gave him a thin smile. “Then let us ensure that this is a day they will never forget.”

As if in response to his remark, the ground began to tremble with the pounding of thousands upon thousands of boots. Lousis surveyed his army with immeasurable pride. Not one man was so much as stirring in the face of their oncoming doom.

Drawing his sword, Chiron spurred his horse towar
d the vanguard. “For freedom!” he shouted. “For freedom and King Lousis!”

The army of men and elves erupted in thunderous cheers. Lousis felt a lump in his throat as he heard his name called out repeatedly.

“And for Selena,” he whispered.

Mohanisi closed his eyes and said a prayer.

The long ridge on the horizon was soon filled with the banners of Angrääl. Armor-clad warriors and their swords glittered in the sunlight like a vast galaxy of stars. Wave after wave of them descended, ready for battle. Lousis shook his head and drew a nervous breath. There were so many of them.

He steeled his nerves and drew his weapon. “I will not wait to be trampled over,” he grumbled. He looked to Mohanisi. “Are you with me?”

The elf simply smiled and drew his own blade.

“Sound the advance,” Lousis shouted.

Trumpets blared out the order. Within seconds, his men were screaming the bloody cries of war. As they charged forward, Lousis could see that this aggressive tactic had taken the enemy by surprise. Angrääl had halted and was hurrying to form tight battle lines.

He knew that this would be only a momentary advantage. Prince Lanmore would quickly adjust. Lousis could only hope that his men engaged the enemy before they had time to unleash their terrible weapon.

But these hopes were quickly dashed as hundreds of white balls came streaking across the sky. The elves desperately tried to deflect them with the
flow,
but many still got through. One bolt landed directly in front of Lousis, but thankfully the speed of his horse carried him beyond it a moment before it exploded. Even then, the force of the blast sucked the air from his lungs and very nearly threw him from the saddle. The sounds of the repeated explosions were soon joined by a macabre symphony of screams from the wounded and dying.

Two more volleys were loosed before the armies came together. However, in anticipation of facing such blasts, Lousis’ commanders had spread their advancing ranks well apart, so greatly reducing the casualties. This tactic had weakened their lines though, and almost from the onset of battle, Angrääl was pushing them back. 

Mohanisi maneuvered his horse in front of Lousis and began shouting for the guards to surround the king. Lousis roared with anger.

“Fight!” he cried. “Forget about me and fight!”

He looked up as yet another salvo of explosive bolts were launched. After passing over his head, it appeared as if they would land exactly where his reinforcements were waiting at the rear. But just as the deadly missiles were reaching the apex of their trajectory, the ground began to shake ferociously. Lousis' horse reared in terror, throwing him from the saddle and dumping him hard onto his back. The bolts overhead exploded in mid-air, sending tiny balls of fire raining down all over the battlefield.

The violent earth tremors continued for more than twenty minutes, keeping both armies too occupied with their own survival to bother fighting. A wide fissure suddenly opened just beside Lousis, and he was only just able to scramble away in time to avoid plunging down into the bowels of the earth. The desperate cries of terrified men told him that not all had been so fortunate.

When the quake finally subsided, an eerie hush settled over the field. Stunned men and elves cautiously regained their feet, and the two armies simply stared blankly at one another.

King Lousis surveyed the scene. Neither side knew what to do next. He grabbed one of his guards by the collar and shook him until snapping the man out of his stupor.

“Tell the commanders to pull back,” he ordered. There was no other choice. They were in disarray and needed to regroup. He could only hope that Angrääl would do the same.

A minute later the trumpets blared and the lines slowly backed away. The enemy did nothing to stop them. When they were far enough out of bow range, Lousis ordered them to halt. By then, most had recovered their wits, but still the mystery of what had happened remained.

One by one, Mohanisi, Chiron, Bellisia and the other commanders joined Lousis.

Finally, Mohanisi said what the others dared not to hope. “The war may be over. I believe Darshan has won.”

“I pray you are right,” said Lousis. “But until we know more, we should reform ranks and prepare to charge.”

Chiron and the commanders departed to carry out his orders. Only Mohanisi and Bellisia remained.

Gradually the lines came together and the soldiers readied themselves for more battle. But across the devastated field, things looked very different. The Angrääl troops still appeared to be in total disarray. They had yet to make any attempt at regrouping; in fact, most of them were wandering back and forth with no obvious purpose in mind. Confused shouts and desperate calls were the only sounds that could be heard coming from their direction.

Though Lousis was still unconvinced that it was all over, Mohanisi was not. He sat atop his horse with a wide smile on his face.

“Could it really be true?” said Bellisia. A single tear fell down her cheek.

Lousis called for a messenger. “Send word to our commanders that if the enemy begins to regroup, we charge. Otherwise, we will hold our positions.”

Two hours passed, and the king was still staring intently across the field. But his optimism was growing, albeit cautiously.
Please let Mohanisi be right,
he prayed.
Let this be the end
.

A few minutes later, a group of three men on horseback emerged from the scattered Angrääl army. They were carrying a flag of truce.

The sight of this caused Lousis' heart to nearly rupture from the elation he felt surging in his breast. He spurred his horse to a run, leaving his guard struggling to catch up and place themselves between the enemy envoy and their king. They halted at the edge of bowshot range and waited. Mohanisi and Chiron rode up just as the enemy soldiers arrived.

“Are you King Lousis?” asked the man in the center. He was clearly the eldest of the three. His face was scarred and weathered: his eyes full of fatigue.

“I am,” Lousis replied. “And who are you?”

“I am Dwylin, Your Highness. I come seeking your terms.”

Lousis struggled to keep his hands from shaking. “In whose name do you speak?”

“My own,” he replied. “Our commander, Prince Lanmore, is dead, and our officers have lost their wits. I have been chosen to represent Angrääl in their stead.”

“And what is your rank, soldier?” asked Lousis.

“I am a sergeant, Your Highness.”

Lousis shot a quick glance at the elves, then turned back to Dwylin. “And what of your king?”

“I don’t know,” he replied. “But as near as we can tell, we believe that he is also dead. That is what our officers keep mumbling to themselves, though none of us are really sure.” He reached to his saddle and drew an elegantly decorated sword.

The guards immediately closed in, but Dwylin merely held it up by the blade and lowered his head. “This is the sword of Prince Lanmore. I offer it to you as a prize for your victory.”

One of the guards took it from him and passed it to the king. For a long moment, all Lousis could do was stare at the weapon in disbelief. He then handed it to Chiron.

“We can no longer fight,” said Dwylin. “Our army is scattered and leaderless, and we have no desire to continue.”

Lousis thought for a moment. “And if I allow you to leave the field, what will you do?”

Dwylin shook his head. “I…I don’t know.”

“Then tell your men they are to lay down their arms and return to their homes. Those who do so will be allowed to pass. Those who remain on the field when the next dawn breaks will die. These are my terms, and they are not subject to debate. Do you understand, sergeant?”

“I understand, Your Highness.” Dwylin bowed his head and rode away.

The king sat motionless in the saddle for a full minute before also riding back. Once within his lines, he told the commanders what had transpired and had them form a path down the middle of the ranks through which the defeated enemy could pass.

This done, he slid wearily from his saddle and started toward his tent. But after taking only a few steps, he fell to his knees. Mohanisi was at his side in an instant.

“Are you ill?” he asked.

“No, my friend. Not at all.” Tears soaked the king’s face. His voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. “Thank you, Darshan. Thank you.”

Mohanisi helped him to his feet. Cheers and praises followed their every step. Chiron was already waiting just outside the tent, his face beaming.

“I lied, Your Highness,” he called. He pulled a flask from his belt. “I saved us one more.”

The old king burst into laughter. “You are absolutely forgiven.”

They entered the tent and shared the brandy while listening to the joyous celebrations building outside.

Bellisia came in soon after and placed herself directly in front of Chiron. Her face was grim, one hand gripping her staff, the other
planted firmly on her hip. Chiron frowned with confusion at her demeanor.

“Give me your sword,” she commanded.

Without hesitation, he obeyed.

She looked at the weapon with disgust before tossing it into the corner. “If you are to be mine, you shall never wear that again. Do you understand me?”

Chiron could only look at her with his mouth agape.

“That is, unless you object to a union with me,” she added.

Lousis and Mohanisi both shifted in their seats, trying to contain their laughter.

“I didn’t know that you held such feelings for me?” Chiron said. “I had always thought your heart belonged to Lord Theopolou.”

Her features softened. “He was indeed dear to me. And yes, I loved him. But love takes many different forms.”

Chiron rose to his feet. He met her gaze with a tender smile. “And what form has it taken for me?”

There was a brief silence.

“As when a fool has love for an even greater fool,” she then replied, feigning irritation.

“Then there is little doubt that we are well matched,” he replied, taking hold of her hand. “And I will try to be less of a fool in the future.” He leaned down and kissed her gently.

“This is truly a day of miracles,” Lousis remarked. “We emerge from the jaws of death and fall into loving arms. Though sadly my love is far from here, so I must wait a while longer to hold her.”

They continued to sip the brandy together. Once it was all finished, Bellisia left and returned soon after with a bottle of wine.

“The enemy is already leaving,” she said. “Across the field there is an enormous pile of weapons that they have abandoned.”

The king nodded and took a long drink.

“What happens now?” asked Chiron.

Lousis leaned back in his chair and gave everyone a contented smile.

“Now…now we can go home.”

Basanti sat in the cramped shack she had built for herself, deep in thought. The sound of the ocean and seagulls were constant companions. In truth, they were her only companions. The tiny island where she now dwelled was not suited for any sort of life other than the occasional sea turtle and the ever present birds.

On first arriving here, she had wept continuously for weeks. And when she could shed no more tears, terrible nightmares replaced her sobs with screams. The darkness that now lived inside her would not permit rest. She couldn’t imagine how Yanti had lived this way for so long.

This is what must have driven him mad
, she thought. She recalled his final thoughts…or rather, emotions. The overwhelming feelings of relief, joy, and gratitude. Would anyone come to pay her the same kindness? Or would she remain here and slowly slip into insanity?

The pull to Angrääl had left her some time ago, which meant that the war was over and Darshan had won. This was the single point of light able to penetrate her grief. The people were now free and the gods released from heaven. But even the tiny smile that this thought created was quickly wiped away.

Felsafell. He would have discovered by now what she had done - and why. How hurt he must be. How angry. The broken promise of a life together once the danger had passed clawed at her heart, perhaps even more painfully than her grief over the damage her violence had caused.

When she first became aware that the Dark Knight was gone, the temptation to leave the island was almost too much to resist. But resist she must. If not, she knew that she would become the next plague on the world, just as Yanti had been when he became King Rätsterfel.

But the world would be safe if she stayed here. Not even Felsafell knew of this island, and its tiny size meant that it held no interest for humans and elves. There was very little food apart from a dozen or so coconut trees, and no fresh water. Not that she needed either to survive. But she did enjoy eating and drinking anyway, and this was another pleasure that her choice had stripped her of. Even so, she was not regretful. Jayden and Kaylia lived. And because of this, the future held hope.

She got up and walked outside. The gentle waves were lapping rhythmically upon the white sands. The orange sky of the setting sun – a scene she had so often felt to be the Creator's greatest beauty – now seemed grotesque and miserable. It was a harsh reminder that yet another day had passed by, and that another must soon be endured.

She walked the length of the island several times. The coming night always made her restless. When she was still the Oracle she would often sneak away and wander the forest north of the city for several hours. Those who knew her best constantly scolded her for going off by herself.

'You have no business being alone.'
The words of Allie, her very first personal attendant, came to mind.
'There are brigands and bandits, and bears out there. The gods help me, but if something happened to you…well…I just don’t know what.'

She had watched Allie grow from a young girl to a woman, and then pass into old age. In the end it was Basanti who attended her as life drained away from her frail and withered body.

But Allie was only the first of many. She had seen scores of mortal lives turn to dust; the exact number she had long ago lost count of. Yet through it all she had remained unchanged.
How fitting
, she thought.
Now I will be forever changed
.

She took a final look at the sun disappearing beneath the horizon and returned to her shack. After lighting a candle, she sat down on a straw mat in the corner. She didn’t really need the candle to see, but staring at its flickering light was mildly soothing.

Some nights she would choose to drift off to sleep quite early. Even the nightmares could be preferable to the solitude of her waking life. But tonight the nightmares would have to wait for a while longer to torment her again.

A stiff breeze blew in through the cloth flap that covered the entrance, extinguishing the candle. Muttering with annoyance, she relit it. But another gust of wind quickly blew it out again. Sighing with irritation, Basanti threw herself down on her mat.

“My beautiful child.”

The voice was like sweet music. Basanti recognized it at once and sat up. Sitting beside her, dressed in shimmering silver robes,
was Pósix. Her flawless features and loving expression instantly brought tears to Basanti’s eyes.

“Why are you crying?” she asked.

Basanti wiped her cheeks. She tried to answer, but speech had temporarily abandoned her. Instead, she threw her arms around the goddess in a desperate embrace. Her body radiated an intense heat that would have burned any mortal, but to Basanti it was like a warm blanket she could lose herself within.

“There, there,” whispered Pósix. She stroked Basanti’s hair and rocked her gently.

“I’ve been so alone,” she wept.

“I know. And you did right by coming here.” She eased Basanti back so she could look into her eyes. “Had you not, you would have certainly fallen into darkness. But all that is over now. The enemy is dead and can no longer do you harm.”

“I know,” she said. “But I am still a danger to the world.”

Pósix nodded. “Indeed you are. And one that cannot be allowed to roam freely.”

Basanti closed her eyes. “So you’ve come to kill me?”

Pósix laughed and pulled her close again. “Of course not. After all you have done for the world, what kind of reward would that be?”

“Then what is to become of me?”

Pósix stood up and offered Basanti her hand. “Come. Let us walk together.”

Basanti allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. The strength in the goddess' grasp was shocking, yet tempered. She felt as if she were a small girl being helped up by her mother.

They left the shack and began walking along the shore. Pósix’s movements were fluid and graceful beyond words, and her bare feet left no impression in the sand. Her godly flesh gave off a slight aura that melded with the light from the full moon to illuminate the way forward.

“Am I to be healed?” Basanti asked, unable to hide the desperation in her tone.

“I am sorry,” she replied. “There is no way for me to heal you. And I do not believe it would be right to do so, even if I could. The sacrifice you made must stand.”

“Then what becomes of me? I cannot leave this island as I am. And if you will not end my suffering…” Her tears returned.

“My dear,” Pósix replied tenderly. “I did not say that you would continue to suffer. And I will not leave you as you are. But when you killed, you changed the very nature of what you are. When all those years ago you asked me to heal your brother, I told you that I was not permitted to do so. And though I did not lie, I did not fully understand the reasons.”

Basanti halted. Vivid memories of pleading for Yanti’s spirit to be healed raced through her head. It was the only time she had ever shown anger toward the goddess, and the only time she had seriously considered abandoning her duties.

“Gerath instructed me that I was to leave Yanti as he was,” Pósix explained. “He said that I did not possess the power to heal him. I had thought he meant that it would take a combination of our powers to accomplish it, but I was wrong. Once Yanti’s spirit was altered, death was his only release. Gerath declared that Yanti still had a role to play, and therefore was not to be harmed.” She took Basanti’s hands. “I now see that his wisdom came not from his own mind, but from the Creator
herself
.”

She gave Basanti's hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry that you had to see what your brother became. I know you loved him dearly. But take comfort in the knowledge that now the door to heaven has been re-opened, his spirit resides with us…and he is happy.”

Basanti lowered her head and smiled. “Thank you.”

They continued to walk.

“So what happens now?”

“Thanks to Darshan’s courage and self-sacrifice, the world is free and the gods are no longer needed – though often I wonder if we ever were. The elves and the humans will now make a new life as one people.”

Basanti’s mouth twisted into a doubtful expression.

Pósix laughed softly and nodded. “I know. They are two stubborn races who are resistant to change. And the change will be fraught with obstacles. But in the end, I trust that they will find their way. Whatever happens, they will no longer need to fear our interference. We will become what we were always meant to be…shepherds of the spirits. The mortal world is no longer ours to wander.”

“And what about Darshan?” she asked. “Is he dead?”

“Darshan was born to serve a single purpose.” Pósix's voice was distant and reflective. “And now that purpose is complete. In the end, he knew what must happen and faced his destiny with the valor befitting of a god.” She gave Basanti a sideways grin. “But you should not concern yourself with Darshan. He lives on within the memories and legends of all the people he saved. His name will be in songs as long as mortals roam the earth.”

Pósix stopped walking and placed her hands on Basanti’s shoulders. “And now it is time for you to receive your reward. You have served me and the people of this world for countless centuries, never asking anything for yourself. You have forsaken your heart’s desire so that the hope of all mortals would be saved. For these reasons, and for many more, you have my eternal gratitude. But now your work has ended and it is time for you to live again.” Pósix glanced over to her right, a playful grin on her face.

Basanti's eyes followed her gaze. She caught her breath sharply. There, to her delighted amazement, standing ankle deep in the water, was the tall, muscular form of Felsafell. With the moonlight reflecting off his smooth ebony skin and silver hair, never before had he looked more beautiful to her. She wanted to run to him, but Pósix held her fast.

“When you touch his hand,” the goddess explained. “You will once again be mortal.”

Basanti felt a flash of fear at her words. “Mortal? You mean…”

“I mean you will be as you once were...human. Frail, but free.” Pósix stroked her cheek with the back of her hand. “But you will not be alone. Felsafell has also earned his reward. The moment you touch him, the two of you will be irrevocably joined.” She could see that Basanti was confused. “He will become mortal as well. It was the only reward he asked for…and I was happy to give it.”

“But I thought the
first born
could never become mortal.”

“Never before has a
first born’s
spirit been bonded to that of a human,” she replied. “He will share your mortality. And when the time comes to leave this world, you will both find your peace in heaven.”

Basanti was speechless.

Pósix kissed her tear-soaked cheek. “Now go to him. You have waited long enough.”

Basanti looked again at Felsafell. No longer was he the tall imposing figure of a
first born
. He was now the young flaxen-haired human she had first met in the forest thousands of years ago; the one who had taken her by the hand and led her to safety. His bright smile was conveying all the love he held in his heart for her. She turned back to Pósix, but the goddess had vanished.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Basanti broke into a dead run. Felsafell did likewise. He swept her into his arms, spinning her around and kissing her with complete abandon. As soon as their flesh touched, they both felt their spirits meld as one. They were no longer alone within themselves.

“I can feel you,” she said, laughing joyfully.

“And I you,” he replied. He kissed her yet again, then looked down at his new form and frowned. “It would seem that I am to be human in body, as well as spirit.”

Basanti cupped his face and smiled. “You will always look the same to me – beautiful.”

Felsafell laughed. “And at least we won’t draw attention to ourselves. We can go wherever we will, unnoticed.”

“And where shall we go first?” she asked.

Felsafell pointed down the shore to a small boat. “First, we should leave this wretched island. Then…well…I have never been across the Abyss. We could start there.”

“Sounds exciting,” she replied.

Hand in hand they walked to the boat. Basanti remembered how she had envied the bond the elves shared. Now she knew it was all she had imagined…and so much more. She could feel Felsafell's love and commitment; it went deeper than she could ever have fathomed. Together they pushed the craft into the sea and Felsafell raised the small sail. She sat beside him and rested her head on his shoulder while he steered the boat north toward the mainland.

“A thought just occurred to me,” she said. “As we have become mortal, we will need to provide for ourselves. I don’t know about you, but I have no gold or silver. And now that I am no longer the Oracle…not even my tent to sleep in.”

Felsafell burst into laughter. “Yes. Many things will be different. But you needn’t worry. The same thought occurred to me after I spoke to Pósix.” He pointed to a box sitting beside the mast.

Basanti reached over and opened it. Inside were hundreds of gold coins.