The Last Canticle: Summoner's Dirge (17 page)

The two remaining guards ran down the path, swords forgotten. The dragon let out another powerful roar and released a jet stream of fire. The fire baked the earth and devoured the trees. The men screamed, and the closest guard to the dragon’s breath fell to the ground, a human torch.

“That is Damir,” General Gaius said as he held fast to his horse. He managed to pull Severius down long enough to swing onto his back.

“What?” Balin stared wide-eyed as the dragon headed straight for Canaan.

“What do you think an Anima Stella is?” General Gaius shouted before he shot down the road after Damir.

Balin didn’t know what an Anima Stella was—but he realized that whatever an Anima Stella was, it was something out of nightmares.

The final knight struggled to outrun Damir, but he was no match for the dragon. Damir landed on the ground in front of him, let out another bellow, and spread his wings. His wingspan was so wide it extended the length of his body and destroyed trees from the bordering forest.

The knight let out a scream and tried to backpedal. He fell and scrambled across the grass. Damir took a step forward, raised his claw, and without hesitation, crushed the knight.

Balin raced to the barn and pulled out one of the studs from the stable. He rode bareback behind General Gaius, his hands fisted in the long brown mane of the dray horse. He watched the scene playing out before him with building horror. He cried out, “Damir!”

General Gaius leaned forward on his horse as he galloped toward Damir. He reached into a pouch strapped to the side saddle bag and withdrew something. It took Balin a moment to realize it was a long pendant. A light flashed from the pearlescent stone. It was almost as if a blade struck Damir. Damir reared back, kicked his front legs up, and let out a vicious roar.

Damir took off. Balin pulled on the horse’s mane and turned him around to follow Damir. General Gaius did not. Balin didn’t care. He left Gaius behind.

Balin chased Damir into the woods. He rode hard, splitting his focus between the treacherous path in front of him and the sky above. Through the breaks in the canopy, he could see Damir’s weaving body as it flew.

“Son of a bitch,” Balin cursed and looked ahead. He jerked hard on the horse’s mane and maneuvered around a tree that split the path. His body jumped as he leaned forward, the horse leaping over a fallen oak trunk.

Life whizzed past him. His legs ached as he squeezed tight and dug his heels into the stud’s flank. They barreled out of the forest, leaves flying around them, and crossed the clearing on the other edge of the forest. Beyond were the foothills of Canaan, which led to Helikon Mountain.

Balin pulled the dray to a stop and stared up at the sky. Just like that, the storm clouds had dissipated. The sky was brilliant, an endless blue stretched above. He watched as Damir spun upward, wings twisted around his hulking body, and in a flash, descended to Zoria as a human.

Chapter Thirteen

In Our Desperate Hours

Balin swung off the horse and raced across the field to where he could see Damir’s body would fall. He seemed to almost float down, his hair whipping around his face by some unseen force. Balin held his arms out. Fear dug deep into his heart. He could taste his terror, a sour sludge that weighed his tongue down. Damir’s naked body became deadweight in Balin’s arms as soon as they touched. Balin’s knees gave out, and together they sank to the ground.

Damir remained listless in Balin’s hold. A cold wind blew and broke the heat. Balin laid Damir on the grass and smoothed his hand over his forehead. Damir’s eyelids fluttered but refused to open.

“Wake up; come on,” Balin said.

Time shifted around them. The air still sizzled with the energy that escaped Damir. The sun hung lower in the sky and threatened to tip over and spill the last drops of light. Balin could have sworn it had only been a few seconds ago that he’d been standing by the fence, baking in the hot sun, waiting on water. Now Damir was unconscious before him, and Elina was dead.

Damir groaned and shifted his body. Like a great wave, he surged up, snapped back to the bitter reality of life. His eyes shot open, and a startled cry escaped him. “Elina!”

Balin grabbed a hold of Damir’s arms to steady him, but Damir fought him.

“We have to help her!” Damir shrieked and broke away.

“She’s gone! Damir, she’s gone!” Balin managed to grab him again and held Damir close. He held him so tight he was afraid he’d squeeze the life from Damir.

He was afraid if he didn’t hold him tightly enough, Damir would escape and change again.

Damir shook his head, and the pained sob that escaped him tore at every last piece of Balin’s tar-stained soul.

“No! We have to get to her! Let me go!” Damir twisted out of Balin’s grip and punched him in the jaw. Balin ignored the flare of pain and grabbed Damir’s arms again, pinning them down. Exhausted, Damir sagged against him and let out a heart-wrenching wail.

All Balin could do was hold him. Whatever happiness they had experienced before, whatever bliss and perfection they had savored, like so many drops of honey, was gone. The end had come for the life they had known.

Balin watched the sun creep behind Helikon Mountain. Blood stained the sky. It was vibrant, grotesque—the severed veins of Zoria. Through their fingers the world slipped. Eventually Damir’s sobs trickled off into tired whimpers, then silence. Balin fisted his hand into Damir’s hair and pressed kiss after kiss to his forehead. No words would chase away the agony that raked Damir’s body. All Balin could do was hold him.

“Where is she?” Damir whispered when dusk began to set in. His voice was rough, stripped bare.

“Still at the farm. Come on,” Balin murmured. The dray horse he had ridden remained in the field, grazing. He collected the dusty stud and helped Damir mount.

Damir limply held on to the horse’s mahogany mane. Balin guided them on foot through the forest, the setting sun at their backs. By the time they reached the house, gray had washed over the sky and stars had begun to roll in like scattered diamonds. Damir glowed palely, a smothered candle with no energy left to burn.

Chipo lay beside Elina’s body, her fur matted red. As soon as Damir’s eyes fell on his sister, a new sob escaped him. Balin barely had time to catch his body as he slid from the horse and plummeted to the ground. Balin was forced to his knees.

“Easy,” Balin said as he cradled Damir close.

SILVERY THREADS OF Elina’s hair fluttered in the night breeze. Her skin was washed over in blue moonlight. Damir pulled away from Balin and crawled across the grass to her. His hands shook as he reached for her and dragged her lithe body into his lap. She felt like glass in his arms. She was made of glass, shattered glass.

“No,” Damir moaned. The pendant he’d bought her rested like a green teardrop in the hollow of her throat. He smoothed a hand down her creamy cheek and pressed his forehead to hers. Elina’s skin had grown clammy and cold. She reeked of tart blood and death.

“Wake up. Wake up, Elina,” Damir begged as he rocked her in his arms. They were strong arms. Brave arms. They could bring her back to life. He had powers, gifts. He could heal. He could mend wounds.

He pressed his hand against the garish slash across her chest. The sword that had pierced her supple skin had torn at her budding breasts, drained her of her life. Blood had dried brown on her humble dress, crushed against the wound. Even though exhaustion wafted over his mind, Damir summoned every ounce of power he had and wielded it at Elina’s body.

Damir kept summoning his powers over and over again. His hands lit up like a supernova and then flickered out. Even with exhaustion clawing at his mind, he tapped into a well of aether and drained it of every last ounce of power.

“She’s gone,” Balin said gently from where he sat in the grass.

“No!” Damir snarled at him and continued to try to heal the wound. He managed to knot some of the shallow damage together, but too much time had passed. His entire body trembled in exertion.

Balin got up and walked over. He pressed a hand to Damir’s shoulder, but Damir shook it off.

“She’ll live. It’s healing. It’ll be okay,” Damir babbled.

“Please, Damir. Stop this. She’s gone,” Balin begged and crouched beside him. He slid his hand down to cover Damir’s.

Damir’s head sagged. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Balin whispered. “I don’t know.”

Damir rose to his feet, and his knees almost gave out. Balin caught him around the waist and helped him stand. Damir pushed away. Balin reached for him but dropped his hand when Damir shook his head. Damir bent and picked up Elina.

WITH ELINA CRADLED in his arms, Damir walked to the house. Balin led the dray horse into the stable and brushed him down.

“Shit,” Balin cursed into the night. He threw the brush across the barn, knocking a bucket to the ground. Oats spilled out over the floor. He scrubbed his hands down his face and looked out the barn door into the dim black sky.

How had it happened? How had they come to this point?

With a knot in his throat, he headed back out and carried Chipo’s body to the rear. He fetched a shovel from the barn and dug a grave for the wolf. He hadn’t been her greatest fan, but he couldn’t leave her discarded. She had tried to protect him, had tried to protect them all.

Balin placed Chipo’s body in the grave and began to fill it with the freshly churned soil. Each shovelful of dirt he put into the hole brought him closer to the truth.

Nothing would ever be the same.

* * * *

Damir didn’t sleep. When he returned to the house, he pulled on a fresh set of clothes. He remained sitting up all night, holding Elina’s body in his arms. At first light, he bathed her body in water steeped with lilies and changed her into the buttercream dress she had worn the week before. He brushed her luxurious hair and braided it. Balin watched from the sidelines. He offered Damir food and water, but Damir refused to eat.

When Elina was bathed and groomed, Balin helped Damir build a pyre made of elder for her body. Tucked within the stacks of wood were pieces of basil and aconite. Damir carefully laid his sister across the pyre and arranged her hands in prayer. Fresh tears dripped down his cheeks.

Balin’s gut wrenched. Sorrow was foreign to him. He had cut the emotion out long ago. But watching Damir mourn dredged up every feeling he’d kept locked away.

Damir smoothed his hand down Elina’s cheek. A shaky, bittersweet smile spread across his face.

“She looks so peaceful,” Damir whispered to Balin.

Balin stood to the side of the pyre. He’d watched somberly as Damir prepared his sister. He had never been a pious man, but in that moment, he prayed that there was a nefl. Damir leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Elina’s forehead.

“I love you.”

Carefully he removed the pendant he’d bought her and secured it around his own neck. He stepped away and struck the long match. He tipped it into the pyre. Flames quickly enveloped the wood. The basil and aconite sweetened the air, masked the stagnant malodor of sizzling flesh and singed hair.

Black plumes of smoke rolled heavenward. Damir stood beside Balin, and they watched together in silence. The heat of the flames stung Balin’s eyes. He drew in a breath, took in a mouthful of smoke, basil, and melted fat. The taste stuck to the back of his throat and nearly choked him. He had always felt the weight of death, but it had never been like this; it had never been because he had failed to protect. The stroke of a blade had stung him even without ever touching, and he would always carry the scar.

“Now what?” Damir whispered. He looked like a ghost floating in and out of the world. He no longer seemed to exist, as if every breath hurt.

Balin reached down and entwined his hand with Damir’s. His own throat clenched with restrained misery. Elina had been a light in his dim world, and now it was gone, leaving him in the dark.

“We leave,” Balin said.

Damir looked at him. “Leave?”

“Gaius will be back. He won’t stop until he has you. We have to leave before he returns.”

Balin braced himself for Damir to cast him out. He wouldn’t expect anything less. It was what his wretched soul deserved. But hope bubbled inside him, hope that Damir wouldn’t abandon him. It was selfish and pathetic, but it was there nevertheless, a desperation he couldn’t deny. He wanted to remain by Damir’s side, to be the strength he needed. He wasn’t prepared to let go. Not yet.

“Where to?” Damir asked after a long pause.

Relief washed over Balin. He shrugged and watched the pyre. “Where do you want to go?”

“I don’t care,” Damir whispered morosely.

Damir’s world had suddenly been narrowed to black smoke and funeral pyres. Balin didn’t expect him to be able to focus. He would shoulder the burden of the hard calls. His priority now was protecting Damir and making sure Gaius couldn’t find him.

He would not fail.

Bain turned around to face him and gave his hand a small squeeze. Damir glanced at him. His aquamarine eyes had lost their luster, gone lifeless like a dead sea. Bitter words tumbled from Damir’s lips like knives meant to kill Balin.

“If you had never appeared, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Balin winced and nodded.
What can I say? Argue that it wasn’t true?
Damir jerked his head and hand away and kept his focus on the pyre.

“I want to kill him. I want to watch him burn.”

“I can help you,” Balin said. It was all he had to offer. Words were useless. Apologies would not erase his sins, wash away the blood. Nothing could put out the flames.

Damir remained silent for a painful stretch of minutes. On a frail breath Damir whispered, “You could. After all, that’s all you know, isn’t it? How to kill people?”

Balin wanted to say he was impervious to the words. The names he had been called over his lifetime had never affected him before. He knew what he was. But the endless arsenal of hatred Damir had at his side was enough to bring Balin down.

“Yes, and I can train you.” If it meant he could keep Damir close to him for just a little longer, he would train him, turn him into a creature of darkness.