Wings of Lomay (39 page)

The large red Dragon gave a slow nod of assent.

***

THE BLACK-AND-PURPLE clouds overhead formed into a funnel, dipping toward Kiora. She was in agony, but despite that, she pulled more magic. She
would
finish this.

And then, something broke inside her.

A sharp pain shot from her feet to the top of her head, so intense it nearly dropped her to her knees. But then the pain vanished, replaced with a pulse that throbbed through her—the heartbeat of nature itself. She could feel the waves in the lake, the force of earth beneath her feet, the sky, the trees. There was nothing she wasn’t aware of. She had tapped into nature in a way she had never understood was possible. They had become one, and she now wielded a force even Jasmine couldn’t compete with. Harnessing it, she threw a gust of wind.

Jasmine put up a shield. Even so, she stumbled back from the force of the blow.

Kiora shoved out a second burst. It tossed Jasmine into the air and dropped her flat on her back. Kiora immediately knelt, placing her hand on the ground. But this time there would be no small tricks, no rolling of the earth—just raw power.

The sand popped and fissured, spouting up puffs of air along the fault line she had just created. The bedrock beneath groaned in protest as the island was ripped in half. The air filled with dust and dirt, and chunks of rock cleaved from the sides and fell into the lake.

Jasmine lay on one half, Kiora and the rebels on the other.

Kiora looked up to the purple, storm-filled sky. She could feel the clouds moving, the water within them, and the lightning. That’s what she needed. One gentle nudge and a bolt of blue lightning slammed into the middle of the island where Jasmine lay. It impacted with a
boom
that shook the very air around them. Another fissure opened next to Jasmine, and Kiora widened it with a flick of her hand.

Jasmine’s head jerked up. Her dark hair blew around her face, and for the first time, Kiora saw panic in her eyes. She pushed herself to her feet, grappling for control of the magic Kiora was using to rip her section of the island in half again.

But Jasmine didn’t have the Light, and with all the power of nature behind her, Kiora was more powerful. Jasmine relinquished her attempt to control the earth and fired a volley of shots toward Kiora. Red magic rained down. Kiora shielded herself.

Reaching out with both hands, Kiora paused for a moment as the magic built within her. White light crackled around her fingertips. Jasmine took a step back. She looked around frantically, but there was no one left to help. She put up a shield.

Kiora took hold of the north and south edges of Jasmine’s piece of island and pulled them out of the water. For a second, the land refused to comply with the unnatural angle, but then the weakened seam in the middle snapped and the island separated into two. The pieces rose into the air and the edges towered out of the water as the middle submerged. Jasmine slid down, clawing at the sand and grappling for a handhold as she tumbled past spears and tree stumps.

Kiora brought both of her hands in with one quick movement and the pieces slammed together. Dirt and rock rained down over the sound of tons of earth being ripped apart and then smashed against each other. It was a glorious spectacle of evil’s defeat. The dark thread that had been chilling Kiora’s heart was gone.

The island stood upright, two halves sandwiched into one. Kiora applied pressure, forcing the pieces to the bottom of the lake. The water bubbled and boiled around the edges as it swallowed her enemy.

Kiora breathed out, letting the relief run through her. The nature magic was fading and she grabbed what she could, sending up a swirling torrent of wind that broke through the cloud cover, allowing the glorious sun to shine through. It lit the dust-filled air, surrounding her with shimmering golden light. She leaned her head back, relishing the warmth on her face. It was over. She had done what she had come here to do.

The nature magic receded, and she wasn’t sure if it would ever allow her to find it again. But in its absence, the fire in her body remained. It consumed her, just as it had in Meros, and she collapsed.

***

ALCANDER WATCHED KIORA CRUMPLE and found himself turning toward Emane, only to remember that he was not standing next to him, but lying in Drustan’s arms. He jerked forward only to stop again—unsure what to do.

“Go to Kiora,” Drustan said.

With a lump in his throat, Alcander sprinted across the island—or what was left of it. He knelt at her side, looking down in wonder. Her hair fanned out over the sand—completely white. Her face was pale and pebbled with sweat.

“Kiora?” he asked tentatively. She didn’t open her eyes or give any indication that she had heard him. He scooted closer and pulled her head into his lap, running his hand over her hair.

Drustan came up next to him, followed closely by the rest of the rebels. He knelt and laid Emane respectfully in the sand. “She’s changing again,” he said, his tone raw with grief. “It happened in Meros as well.”

“How long until she wakes up?”

“In Meros, it took days. Let’s hope it’s sooner this time.”

It was silent as the rebels made a circle around Kiora. They dropped to their knees, each bowing their heads. The Dragons encircled them, each taking one knee and flaring their wings as they, too, bowed their heads.

Alcander looked around with tears in his eyes at the miracle of unity. For the first time, he could see hope for a future.

After a few moments, the Dragons stepped back and collected their fallen queen. They rose in a blur of red, yellow, and orange, singing a mournful chorus.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Aftermath

IT HAD BEEN A long and painful journey back. Kiora didn’t hurt as much as she remembered hurting in Meros—at least, not physically. She had searched for Emane silently in the dark, not wanting to wake anyone. When she had finally found the right tent, she stood with her hand on the flap for what felt like an eternity before she had gone inside.

She stood over Emane’s body. They had wrapped him tightly in white fabric and she could see no part of him. A tear trickled down her cheek. She didn’t know how long she had floated around in dreams plagued by Emane’s loss, but waking up did not ease the nightmare—not this time.

Alcander came in. “You’re awake.”

Kiora couldn’t respond.

“I’ve been waiting for you to wake up for two days.”

Still, she could say nothing.

Alcander took a step forward, the rustling noise of his pants the only sound in the room. “I didn’t know what I should do,” he said softly. “Drustan offered to take him back to Meros.”

Kiora wrapped her arms around herself, shaking her head. “No,” she croaked. Her throat felt like sandpaper. “He told me he didn’t want to go home. He wanted to be burned, like the Winged people. He said he wanted to be free of the body that had kept so many things from him.”

Alcander came up next to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Why would he tell you that?”

She leaned into him, grateful for his steady strength. “Alcander, it was like he knew. I don’t understand.”

The minutes ticked by as they both stared at the shrouded body, silently grieving, taking strength from each other.

“The funeral will be tonight,” Alcander finally said. “We shall honor his request.”

***

THAT NIGHT, THEY GATHERED for the last of the burial ceremonies. Arturo silently flew in, landing amongst them to pay his last respects.

A three-legged stand had been constructed, and Drustan approached with a Light in his hand. Its brilliance washed over the beach. It was power—the magic and immortality of the Creators. But it was more than that—it was love and peace . . . and hope. Glorious hope that rang through Kiora like a bell, hope that everything would be all right. That life would go on
.
That
was what Jasmine had taken from the world, what had left them in darkness, filled with hate and longing and utter despair

The rebels had constructed Emane’s platform higher than the rest and placed it in the center, the fallen rebels around him in a circle. One by one, the bodies were brought forth and laid on a platform. When all but Emane had been placed, Alcander, Drustan, Nara, and Einar disappeared within the tent and emerged with his shrouded body lifted up on their shoulders.

The island was utterly silent. Even the chatter and hum of insects seemed to fall quiet as the four walked solemnly forward. The lump in Kiora’s throat was painful and her heart felt as if it would burst. This was never supposed to be how it ended—never. Emane was supposed to go back to Meros, where he could take the throne, find a wife, and have children. He was supposed to be able to live where he wasn’t just a Witow. But now, none of that would happen.

As the group bearing Emane’s body reached the funeral pyre, they paused. Alcander gave a short nod and they lifted as one, gently sliding his body onto the platform. The other three backed away, melting into the ring of rebels, but Alcander remained. He swallowed, the planes of his face illuminated by the rays of the Light as he inclined his chin. He stood there, saying nothing.

Alcander turned his face to Kiora.
I have so much to say,
he thought.
I don’t know how to do it.

Just pretend you’re talking to me
. Her bottom lip trembled.

Alcander’s silence stretched out for another moment before he finally open his mouth. “We are here to honor those who have fallen. Some have already been buried or taken back to their homes. The rest are here before us, ready to depart this life. Although all fought valiantly and all deserve our highest honor, none of us would be here today without one man. Our Protector, Emane—prince of Meros.”

A murmur of approval went through the crowd. Kiora saw Drustan across from her, his arm around Nara, his eyes fixed upon Alcander with respect.

Alcander waited until it quieted. “When I first met Emane, I was angry. How could a Witow possibly have been chosen for the impossible task we faced? A Witow and a girl who had never known evil. It seemed like madness. But I was wrong.” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. He met Kiora’s eyes again, searching for the strength to continue. “Witow. A word I thought I understood. A word I thought was fitting. But again, I was wrong. Emane was not a Witow, for ‘witow’ means without, and Emane . . .” His eyes glistened with tears that he was desperately holding back. “Emane was without
nothing
.”

Kiora’s hand flew to her chest as a ragged sob escaped.

Alcander opened his mouth to say more, but he couldn’t do it. Shaking his head, he held out his hand for the torch. He motioned Kiora up next to him and put his arm around her.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Ready?”

“No.” She would never be ready to say good-bye to Emane. She kindled the torch with her fingers and Alcander passed it over to her. She looked up to the white-shrouded body. “Emane, I love you. I will love you until the day I die. I hope you get your wish—that you are truly free of this body that held you back. Fly,” she whispered. Holding out the torch, she ignited the dry wood along the bottom.

Alcander and Kiora turned, joining the circle as the rest of the funeral pyres were lit, lighting the night sky with glowing flame.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Promises

THE NEXT MORNING, ARTURO nudged her.
I need you and Alcander to come with me. There is something I promised Emane I would do.

When Arturo landed in front of Lomay’s concealed home on the cliff, Kiora was confused.

“Why are we here?” Alcander asked.

In the library, behind a tapestry, there is something you need to see. Emane left it for you.

Kiora’s mouth went dry. “Emane left something for me? Why didn’t you tell me before?”

It wasn’t time,
Arturo said, settling himself down into the snow.
I will wait for you here.

Kiora looked at Alcander. “He said there’s something we need to see in the library.”

Alcander whispered the incantation that solidified the pathway and they made their way into the house. It was exactly as she remembered—the grand staircase in the main entry stretched up before splitting off to the left and the right. The slaves had already received word and had left a few days earlier. The house was as pristine as when they had first arrived.

She walked with some trepidation to the library. She barely noticed the books as they walked in, her eyes immediately focusing on the tapestries. “Behind those,” she said, pointing.

Alcander pulled the first tapestry off the wall with a wave of his hand. The wall behind was blank. He moved to the next one. As this tapestry crumbled, the scene that appeared was too familiar, a scene she never wanted to see again but saw repeated in her dreams over and over. Alcander walked forward on stiff legs, holding his hand to her. She slipped her fingers through his and came up beside him.

The wall had been painted with the final battle. In the background, they could barely see the outline of Kiora and Jasmine. But in the foreground, surrounded by the dead in blood-caked sand, sat Alcander—his head thrown back in agony, Emane’s dead body lying with his head in Alcander’s lap.

The ground seemed to drop out from beneath Kiora. Emane
did
know. He had known since they had left this place. It explained everything—the comments, the attitude change, his acceptance of her and Alcander, him telling her his desires for his burial.

Alcander walked closer to the painting, peering at it, before reaching into the wall and pulling out a rolled-up piece of paper. Pale, he turned around and held it up. “I think this is for you.”

Kiora took deep, heaving breaths and took it with trembling fingers. She unrolled the note, her stomach clenching at the familiar handwriting. She immediately noticed a smear on the page, halfway down, where what must have been a tear had dripped onto the paper. Her legs grew weak and she grabbed a chair and dropped into it.