She closed the gap between them without answering him.
Chapter Twenty-Three- Deeper
The storm finally passed after another half day. The shrieking wind was the first thing to die down, and then gradually the relentless, driving rain subsided to only a whimper, finally disappearing completely. There was no more damage to the ship, other than what had happened when the storm had first broken out. And most of that had already been fixed. The badly damaged sails were already being worked on as well. Luckily, or rather cleverly, Valdys required enough cloth to be carried at all times on his merchant ships to repair them, should they have a need. They definitely had a need now.
In the interim, Auri had decided to go diving again.
She sat above the water, her feet skimming the tops, dripping on a plank that Nachal, Liran, and Dhurmic had made for Wolf. It was attached to a pulley system above her, and was suspended over the ocean by four thick ropes. It was large, about half the size of a small bed, and gave her the freedom to be closer to the water when Wolf wasn’t out here, without actually being in it. If ever Wolf got in the water again with her, this would make it easier to drag him back onto the deck of the Tide Skimmer.
She pulled her feet up and onto the plank and curled herself into a ball, trying to understand the strange feelings surging around inside of her. They were close to Eldaria when the storm hit. Nachal told her that they had wandered a little in the wind but when the sails were fixed it would only take them a few hours to reach The Hall . . . to reach her father’s home.
Her bare feet scraped against the wood as she shifted positions. Pulling her knees up tighter to her chest, she rested her head on them and looked outward, trying to see past the horizon to the king’s castle on the cliff.
The silence of the day comforted her, calmed her. The sun beat down on her, flush and golden. Her eyes closed.
For the last few days she had been prowling the confines of her cabin, restlessly moving from one empty floorboard to the next. Her thoughts kept drifting to her father, then El`dell, then Liran, then Nachal, in an endless, unbroken loop. Wolf had watched her pace from the comfort of her bed. His sad, too-intelligent eyes followed each step, each circuit around the limited space of her room.
And now. . .
All of the turbulence burned away in the heat of the sun.
She knew what she felt. For each of them. But knowing, understanding, didn’t make it any easier.
For El`dell . . . and Terradin she felt despair. A sick sense of dread that things could never be put right again no matter how hard she or anyone else tried.
For Nachal she felt warmth. He was an unusual man with an unusual perspective on the world. He loved her, wanted her, cherished being with her, and she was growing to care for him very much. When he kissed her, when he held her, she felt warmth. Nachal was an oasis in a troubled tide.
For Cerralys she felt anxiety. She wanted to meet him, get to know him, but down deep inside of her, she feared that when he finally did see her clearly he would be disappointed. The thought was sharp, barbed and damaging, and she shied away from it, hoping that it wouldn’t be true.
And Liran.
Liran. . .
Liran burned deep inside of her.
Suddenly, something hit the plank next to her. Her eyes snapped open in startled surprise. She turned just in time to get a wet, dripping tongue across her cheek. She laughed, holding her hands out in front of her in self-defense. “Wolf? What are you doing here?”
He whined and put his head in her lap. A voice answered from above.
“He was lonely.”
She looked up to find Nachal looking down at her with a grim look in his eyes. “Come to think of it, I am too. Are you going to drag yourself out of the ocean for a few minutes to see to that?”
She laughed and stood, holding on to one of the ropes for stability. Wolf stood with her. “Pull me up.”
Nachal grasped a thick rope above him and pulled heavily on it. Slowly, the platform moved upward until it was flush with the deck of the ship. He tied the loose end of the rope to the railing and then reached down to help her onto the deck.
He had a towel thrown over his shoulder, and, as soon as she was standing in front of him, he wrapped it around her, rubbing her back gently. “I’m not very wet anymore,” she said lightly, leaning into his embrace. “The sun dried me.”
“I don’t know how you can stand the freezing water for so long.” Then his eyes smiled as if something suddenly made sense to him. “I guess that would be your dragon skin.”
She blinked and then shook her head, smiling bemusedly. “I never thought about it. I’ve just never gotten cold before.”
“Dragon skin,” he said decidedly. “Even in your elven form.” Then he smiled. “Well, for those of us who are . . . sort of mortal, the water around Eldaria is freezing.”
The name silenced her for a moment. Nachal continued to rub her back. She closed her eyes as she asked quietly, “Is the ship ready yet?”
His voice got quiet too. “Almost. The sails are mended. We just need to get them up.”
She pulled abruptly away, nervous again. “I need to get cleaned up.”
He nodded.
She turned and walked away, but before she had gotten half a dozen steps, he called her name.
“Auri?”
She turned.
“It will be alright. He’ll love you, you’ll see.” The grim look was back in his eyes again.
She couldn’t speak past the sudden knot in her throat, so she just nodded and turned back around to head for her cabin.
It was time to meet her father.
She waited at the prow, all alone except for Wolf, and watched the vast stretch of green and brown edge closer. And then closer. Her heart was hammering, her mouth was dry, her hands were slightly trembling. . . She thought she was handling it well.
They rounded a bend . . . and suddenly there it was, perched high on a cliff, vast and slightly gleaming in the softening light of dusk. The sight of it stunned her, making her quick heartbeat stutter and then take off again like a streak of lightning. “Beautiful,” she whispered. Wolf leaned closer to her, lending her some of his strength, and they both stood there, almost as still as stone as the Tide Skimmer drew closer.
After another few minutes, she saw him. His stance was powerful, almost majestic. His gaze was focused completely on the ship as it drew closer to him. His long, white hair blew in the breeze around his shoulders. She kept her eyes locked on him as the ship came completely around the bend. Her heart beat loud in her ears, drowning out the sound of the wind.
The ship finally slowed then stopped. She heard the anchor drop. With still shaking hands, she lowered herself over the side and into a skiff. Someone lowered her down, she didn’t look to see who, and she rowed for the shore. The figure on the cliff started down toward the shore at the same time. Wolf sat on the seat in front of her, blocking her from view.
Too quickly, the boat hit sand, and she got out to drag it onto the beach. Her black hair covered her face as gusts of wind blew it around her. She raised her head, pushing her hair away from her face with her hands. . .
And heard her father gasp.
She stumbled forward on suddenly shaky legs to meet him. He did the same.
His skin had gone as white as bleached parchment, but his eyes—eyes that were exactly like her own—glowed like Liran’s did. From within. His lips formed a single word—Jenna—but nothing came out. He reached for her with a hand that trembled greatly, cupped her cheek, stared hungrily into her face, her eyes . . . and then he crumbled.
He held on to her shirt, fisting it in his hands as his knees gave out and hit the sand, and then her father—the mighty king of the dragons—sobbed as if his world had gone. Like a being who had lost everything.
They stayed like that for a long time. Her hand was gently rubbing the crown of his head in a soothing motion. Hot tears ran unchecked down her cheeks. Cerralys’s face wa
s bowed to the earth, and he was holding on to the bottom hem of her shirt with two hands now, both of them fisted and twisted in the material.
Finally, when his sobs had lessened, she knelt in the pale sand in front of him. “Jenna was my mother,” she whispered.
His head came up slowly, his eyes still shone luminescent. Like a deep blue pool of light. “I know,” he whispered hoarsely back. He touched her face again. “Looking at you, I see her face.”
“My eyes are yours.”
He nodded. “Your eyes are mine,” he agreed quietly.
Evening fell. The pale moon rose over the shore, illuminating the two figures below. One white-haired, one black. Their heads were bent together in animated conversation, and every once in a while, the king would throw his head back and laugh, the girl would smile, and then they would just look at each other, speaking without words.
Stephen watched them for a long time, the king and the girl. Hours passed.
Finally, he turned and left them in peace, a small smile of contentment on his face.
“Cerralys?”
He turned. The light of his eyes had mellowed but a faint luminescence still shone in them. “Yes?”
“How old are you?”
His smile was rueful. “Eight centuries or so. I’ve lost count.”
She choked and immediately started coughing, trying to restore airflow. The king chuckled quietly and rubbed her back until she could breathe properly once again.
“I can see that this surprises you,” he said with a small smile.
“Eight centuries?” she gasped in between choking coughs. “As in eight hundred years?” Her voice went up several octaves at the end.
He chuckled again, shaking his head. “You have a lot to learn about dragons, my dear.”
Auri swallowed, wiping away the tears that were streaming down her face from her coughing fit. “Eight hundred years,” she muttered, feeling completely dazed. “Is that young?”
He smiled. “No. It’s quite old to tell you the truth. I know of a few that are older, but not many.”
Auri nodded, her mind still churning. Eight hundred years!
They sat in silence for another length of time—it could have been hours—before the king finally spoke again. His mind seemed lost in the foamy waters of the ocean as he gazed without thought at them.
“It’s true that my life has been long,” he said quietly. “I’ve seen the powers of the earth crumble . . . and then seen them reborn anew in the ashes. I’ve watched loved ones, those closest to me, die and fade away, only to become a memory.” His voice became as soft as a whisper. “I’ve watched night fall upon the lands for many years’ time and then watched again as morning always came to chase away the darkness. I’ve seen much, Auri, but still . . . I was completely unprepared for your mother.
“The war between my brother and me had waged for many years. The final result was catastrophic. Many innocents died. Finally, those rebels that were left chose banishment over death, and were banished to the shores of Glan`ral. But Obsidian. . .” He shook his head wearily.
“I found myself at El`dell. Still to this day, I can’t remember the journey there. It’s all a haze. Something happened when I first arrived . . . and then . . . I remember nothing more for a long time after that. It was weeks before I was aware, really aware, of where I was. Your mother healed me,” he whispered. “Body and soul, she healed me.”
He closed his eyes. The hands that were clasped loosely in his lap began to tremble. Tears filled her vision as she stared down at them. She reached out and covered his trembling hands with her own.
“After seven hundred years of being alone . . .” He opened his eyes and turned to face her again; tears trailed quietly down his face. “The pain, the loneliness, the heartache . . . after seven hundred years of night, it all faded away with her love. And I would endure that night again; go through every moment of loss, every pain, and solitude if it meant that I could hold her one more time.”
Auri bowed her head and let the tears overcome her. She wept for her mother and the years that she had endured without her. She wept for the lost child she had been, and the lost girl she felt like now. She wept for her father, for his continued pain at the loss of the one that he had loved more than anything, and for the pain that she had suddenly and devastatingly brought into his life. She cried harder than she had ever cried in her life. She cried until she felt dry and empty inside. Until there was nothing left to cry.
Into the sudden silence, Cerralys began to hum a beautiful melody. The notes were rich and deep . . . and familiar.
“Drashmere’s hymn,” she whispered, wiping her nose with her hand.
She felt Cerralys nod against her head as he reached into a pocket for a handkerchief and handed it to her. “Yes. He sung it for me once, a long time ago. The night I died.”
Chapter Twenty-Four- Jenna
“The time after the war saw a great division amongst the elves and Jenna was at the heart of it. She understood, better than anyone I’ve met before or since, the greater cost of the war. The deeper, hidden cost of the war. And it caused her pain. Great pain.”
His voice grew hoarse; his fingers stilled in Auri’s hair, and she felt herself go still along with them. Cerralys continued softly. “I could do nothing but hold her as she cried. I was devastated at the betrayal of my brother, at the loss of so many bright and strong ones, but she felt it. When she breathed, she breathed in the pain of the land. At night, when she slept, she dreamed of it, and sobbed in her sleep, her tears soaking into my chest.
“And then, one day, suddenly, she grew very calm. She called an emergency meeting of the Council of Elders, and they came from the four corners of El`ness Nahrral. The morning of the meeting dawned crystal clear. Everyone was amassed under one of the meeting pavilions. Some of the more powerful Vi`dal were at the back of the room, while the rest stood guard outside. The king and queen were at the front of the room, and all the rest were in between, including your mother. I stood at the very back and watched your mother begin speaking. Her words were like a torch to the already burning embers of the room.
“‘The hollowness is spreading,’ she told them calmly. ‘If we do nothing, it will soon cover us all.’
“She was calm, deliberate. She chose her words with extreme care. And yet, for all of this, it didn’t matter. The words flared, hot and bright, filling the whole room, and pandemonium immediately broke out. Elves began talking over one another, shouting. Chairs scraped against the floor, some overturning and toppling as their occupants jumped to their feet. And through it all, I watched her. The Vi`dal next to me watched her. The queen watched her.
“But Jenna’s gaze never wavered from the queen’s. Not once.
“Jenna openly defied Alera that day. In all the time I had been there, I had never seen her do that. I had been there for less than a half year. Enough time to fall in love with her, go through the elven ceremony binding us together, and leave.
“Those that followed Jenna, believed in her, got on a boat and left the shores of El`ness Nahrral. Most thought that it was temporary. A temporary time away to look for a cure that would reverse the hollowness eating away at the soul of the land, but I think Jenna knew. She knew that she was never going to see the shores of her homeland again . . . and she never did.”
“What happened?” Auri whispered. She sat up fully now, giving her father her complete, undivided attention.
Cerralys’ voice grew soft. Hoarse. “We were a day away from port when a savage storm rolled in. The clouds rolled across the atmosphere like great, billowing waves, blackening the sky completely.” In his eyes was unmasked, buckling pain. He looked at her as if offering it to her. As if begging for her forgiveness. She reached over and covered his hand with hers. Wolf was motionless beside them.
“Within a few minutes, the blackness of the sky seemed deeper than the darkest night. The waves rose up, surging and cresting, heaving over the sides of the ship. It had come on
so suddenly that everyone started scrambling for various parts of the ship, but it was too late. The main mast became damaged beyond repair. The sails were instantly ripped to shreds and lay hanging in tatters. Water kept surging all around us, filling the deck, inch by inch. Some were washed overboard, buried in the depths forever. All was chaos.
“Suddenly, Obsidian was there, descending from the black clouds above as if he owned them. He had come for me. I knew that, with the storm, they had a chance to survive, but against Obsidian . . . ” His voice had become as hoarse as rubble. “If there had been another choice, I would have taken it, but I saw only one—I had to leave her. I held her, kissed her, transformed, and flew away, knowing that he would follow me.” He looked down. Tears tracked their way down, pooling on their joined hands. The wind continued to blow around them, but now the sound of it was mournful. As if nature suffered when Cerralys suffered.
“That was the last time I ever held her,” he whispered. “I fought them both that night, the storm and my brother, and both battles were bitter and savage.
“Obsidian raged at me, shouting and cursing at me for banishing him, for turning on him, for betraying him. We fought for over an hour. Finally, I managed to stun him with a blow to his head from my tail while simultaneously snapping one of his wing joints and shredding his other wing with my claws as he rolled away from me. He couldn’t sustain flight anymore. He flipped, buffeted and totally at the mercy of the winds, before plummeting into the mountainous waves, cursing me and screaming at me as he went.
“Everything about that night is still crystal-clear for me—from watching your mother get smaller and smaller as I flew away from her to watching Obsidian fall from the sky, rage and mania obscuring the eyes that I used to tell my boyhood secrets to. The memories are perfect.” He closed his eyes, shuddering. “It is a curse, Auri, to be able to remember things so vividly, especially when it is things such as these.