The Witch (18 page)

She raised her hands, and her
vestis
fell back, revealing the extent of the scars dealt her by the Dark Sorcerer to all close enough to see. Her gifts shot from her hands and lifted her off the ground half a foot. She concentrated her light directly over the center of the dome-shaped barrier.

Nalik’s own light and that of his female hit just below his mother’s.

Then all the present Laquazzeana were sending power that only those higher than any damned gods could. Every color imaginable surrounded them.

Jushua was only vaguely aware of Barlaam and his female leading everyone but the most essential out of the courtyard.

Why did these things keep happening in courtyards? That was something that hadn’t ever occurred to him before. But it was truth.

Every major event so far had taken place in a central or ruling city, within view of everyone else. There had to be a reason the rising of the Laquazzeana had been so visible. At least the recent ones—Black’s female, Renakletos’ female, young Bronwen. Why?

That was something he did not understand. But it was something he would figure out.

If it had meaning he would find that, as well.

In the meantime, he was who he was. And that was Dardaptoan Warrior. Through and through. And that meant fighting for what he loved.

He lurched away from the rest of the crowd and closer to the dome.

It was then he saw it. Covered in blood.

His dead brother’s sword.

It burned orange and vibrated across the ground. From the power of the people nearby? Or from those trapped within the dome.

Jushua didn’t care. If it burned and had power it was his only chance to get that damned barrier down.

He fell to his knees and wrapped his hands around the sword.

He had not touched his brother’s blade in five thousand years, but he could still feel his brother when he touched it.

Estacles had been wise and brave and so damned honorable that Jushua had had a difficult time understanding who his brother was, until it was far too late.

It hurt him to touch something that held so much of his brother within it. Estacles had carried the blade for hundreds of years, it was bound to be imprinted with the traits his brother had possessed.

Jushua gripped the handle and lifted. The blade sang through the air, radiating orange fire.

About time someone remembered me, brother.

Jushua knew he was crazy, but he almost heard his brother in that moment.

You did hear me, little Jushie. We do not have much time to educate you. You will need to use me to cut through his power; it is that power which protects him. But it doesn’t realize that those around him wish to help, not harm. He has been trapped as long as I. You must help him; Raijlun is a great soul. He will be needed in the coming days. And he has given so much for the worlds, already. Help him, brother. This is the last I will ask of you.

Jushua wept, as he realized something that he suspected Dekimos and Loren had already knew. His brother was within that blade, wasn’t he? Somehow.

And there was nothing that would be freeing him.

But Estacles could be used to save Dekimos, to save Loren.

And that was exactly what Jushua was to do.

He ran toward the barrier, sword raised and ready.

There was a solitary spot, between Loren and his brother. It would be the only place to safely bring the sword through the barrier. Any other area and he’d risk hitting Deki or Loren.

He yelled as he ran.

No one tried to stop him.

Loren saw him coming, and her breath stopped. Just stopped. He looked magnificent. She fell back to the ground, using her body to protect the Ancient’s.

Dekimos ducked just in time. Jushua pierced the barrier with the Sword of Estacles and the light bent and fractured around them.

The barrier surrounding them went down. She rolled out of the way just in time.

Jushua landed beside her. She wanted to throw her arms around him and cling.

“Help me!” Dekimos yelled, and she didn’t know if he meant her or the people that surrounded them. “Heal him! Keep his power contained! Do not let even a single piece of it escape!”

It took her another moment to realize what he meant. She almost couldn’t see for the light around them.

But she knew what she was to do. “Give me the sword!” She yelled the words at Jushua as loudly as she could. He still held his brother’s sword.  He handed it to her without question; the faith and trust he had in her almost moved her to tears. Or would have, if she hadn’t already been weeping.

She touched the hilt. It was so familiar to her.

Blood. Everything comes from the blood. Even this
.

She recognized the voice of Estacles, though it was faint and pained.

Do it.

She looked at Deki, and knew he understood. Did Jushua? Deki nodded, just before hands wrapped around him and pulled him away from the Ancient.

Eaudne. Protecting her sons.

She tried to pull Jushua away, but he resisted his mother. Why? When he wrapped a hand around her arm and pulled her closer, she understood what he meant.

“Do what you must, Loren! Do it now!” Dekimos shouted.

Loren took a deep breath. And then did it. She drew her fingers across the blade, trying not to scream at the burn. Jushua cursed, reaching for her as the blood welled.

“No! Let her!” Dekimos was there between them. He held out a hand, and Loren brushed the blade over his skin.

She apparently didn’t get deep enough. No blood was there when she needed it. “Do it again!”

Deki’s words were harsh, impatient. “I’m sorry about this.”

“Hurry!”

She did it. He didn’t so much as flinch.

Sounds began to die off around them. But the light remained, grew brighter. But she began to be able to distinguish the colors again. To see who and what it was surrounding them.

To see what it was she was supposed to do.

The man, the Ancient, before her wasn’t moving. Had he moved at all since he’d catapulted them all back to Thrun? She didn’t think so.

She took the blade, with her blood and Deki’s mingled on it, and sliced directly over the Ancient’s heart.

Nothing happened.

Nothing at all.

She put her hands over the still gaping hole in his abdomen where the sword had first impaled him. The bleeding hadn’t slowed.

He was dying at their feet.

She closed her eyes and pulled her gifts, gleaned from so many Druids before her, around her. She could feel the original Druid’s soul in the gifts in that moment.

And she knew who it was.

Nelanora’s mother.

Nevva
.

The first.

Loren opened her eyes and looked at the people surrounding them. The Laquazzeana. They were strong, powerful, determined to do what was right. What they must.

They were just like her.

She was just as Laquazzeana as they. And had been for a very, very long time. From the moment the Dark Sorcerer had killed her.

It was time she accepted that.

She put her hands over the Ancient’s heart. Pushed her power toward his soul.

Strength and something more filled her. 

He vibrated under her magic, until the lines of power radiating from him pulled back toward the source. Into him.

He rose from the ground. Just a foot or so, and his body seized.

For a moment she was afraid she’d killed him. Until Deki’s power joined hers. Then Eaudne’s, Nalik Black’s, and some others she did not truly recognize. They combined to keep the Ancient’s soul within his body. To keep his power, frighteningly strong power, where it belonged.

Loren was knocked down by the final blast.

Dekimos shoved Jushua out of his way, then leaned over Loren. Jushua grabbed her arm and tried to pull her to her feet. She wasn’t cooperating, and fought until she got to the Ancient’s side.

She looked up at him. “Help me. We need to close the wound somehow.”

Dekimos ripped the bottom of his
vestis
free. “Slip this over it. Press down, hard. I do not know what happens when one of this Kind bleeds.”

“It’s about the blood.” Loren said slowly. Jushua stared at her a moment. Her hand was still on the sword.  “And the sword. And power. And something I can’t figure out.”

Jushua looked at the Ancient. For just a moment the power shifted. And he saw it. “It’s about a damned man bleeding to death at our feet.”

He yanked the sword out of her hand and tossed it aside. It embedded in the soil at their feet. He didn’t look. He lifted the man in his arms and looked at the two women who mattered the most to him. “He needs the healers. We need to get him there.”

Black looked at him. “I don’t think he is the only one. Let us help you, brother. You do not do it alone any longer.”

Accept the help, brother. For none of us can do anything alone in this war. None of us. Our family is fractured no longer.

Jushua looked around, searching for the source of the voice that was so much like his brother Estacles’.

The sword still burned where he had thrown it earlier.

Jushua didn’t know why he did it, or even how. He looked at his mother. Her eyes were so terrified, but she hadn’t run away. He’d never expected that she would. She was made of far stronger character than that. “The sword. Get the sword.”

She nodded. Ran for it as best a maimed woman could.

The world around them stopped when she touched the blade.

Jushua struggled with the male in his arms, the force of the winds rising around them so strong that he, a male close to one hundred eighty stone carrying the weight of a male equally as heavy, could not keep his footing.

Yet his mother stood strong at the eye of the winds.

The Sword of Estacles in Estacles’ mother’s hands.

She held it above her head, and it took him but a moment to realize that she was holding the sword to the earth. That it was pulling itself to the skies.

But she would not let it go. And it was taking her with it.

He dropped his burden; five thousand years of loyalty to the woman who’d birthed him easily making the decision for him.

But he could not reach her; with a swirling gust she and the sword rose above the crowd. Spun.

The sword exploded, fifteen feet above where Jushua stood.

His mother fell to the ground amidst dust and light and screams. She did not move for the longest time.

Jushua lifted her into his arms. She was not breathing.

Loren was next to him, and shame filled him. He had not meant to forget her, but it had been done. “Look!”

She pointed to the shards of the sword, broken like glass at their feet.

They burned the ground where they lay. But something was coalescing above them.

The image of a man was forming.

Estacles.

Loren recognized the man’s form as soon as she looked at it. At him. Through him.

He was coming together right before their eyes.

A golden light surrounded her…and him. And Jushua, Eaudne, Dekimos, and the Ancient. Everyone else was once again kept out. Why?

Her Druidic gift was pulled from her, almost unwillingly. But it bathed Estacles in a glow, and she saw similar threads weaving between all of them.

And then the Laquazzeana Phaenna was there, in the direct center of them. Over where Estacles was lying surrounded by pieces of the shattered sword.

Eaudne was still unconscious in Jushua’s arms.

Dekimos leaned over his wounded brother and something passed from him into the wounded one.

Loren dropped to her knees next to him, instinctively knowing what was about to happen. What was needed from her. From all of them.

She could never put into words what it was they’d done, but when it was finished she knew the truth.

Estacles was whole again.

He hadn’t been
meant
to be reformed, but they had managed it somehow.

The Laquazzeana had pulled a soul from a sword, and brought a body back to breath.

She would never forget it that day.

Loren stumbled away from Estacles and the Ancient who lay nearby. She was only vaguely aware of a big purple creature lifting the Ancient, of Dekimos struggling to lift his wounded brother.

Jushua was there, and he had her in his arms.