Disclaimer: disclaims
Author's Notes: I am so sorry for the sheer lateness of this, guys. I really have no excuse. Only technically difficulties and college can be added. But, on the bright side, this is the last chapter before the epilogue. Wow, we are almost done. Can you believe it?
warnings: character deaths
Act XXVI: To the Victor Goes
Light Jak…
That was what Keira called it. Jak had whispered to her that her power—the power that was passed down to her through her Goddess bloodline—was the precursor to Light Eco. A primitive form of the powerful white eco that had seemed to vanish from the earth hundred of years ago.
He was glowing so brightly, and so powerfully, that for a moment she could barely breathe. It was almost as if Jak sucked up all forms of energy around him, leaving them all weak for oxygen.
"Jak," she breathed, daring only to take a step closer.
Jak was still staring at her and Keira realized that it wasn't exactly Jak. Jak was in there, somewhere, but this new form acted like Dark Jak. Another form of him, nearly a separate entity living inside him.
There was dim recognition in his eyes, but only dim. This new entity knew who Keira was, but only because it was a part of Jak. Not because it had a personal knowledge of Keira herself.
Beside her, Aithne roused. She blinked hard as the shining light from her father's wings touched her. Lifting a hand, she managed to force herself up into a sitting position. Cyren had one hand protectively locked around her shoulder as she stared up at the entity that had appeared before them.
"What…?" Aithne mumbled, staring up in disbelief.
"What happened to Roid?" Cyren whispered, well aware that no one would answer him. He had not taken his eyes off the Phoenix since Roid had rushed at it.
Fiery blood pooled onto the sand beneath the Phoenix's claws. It was like acid, burning up everything it touched. But the Phoenix, who had looked ready to ascend proudly to the heavens, was flapping lopsidedly.
It was weakened. Roid had done that.
Light Jak turned his glowing head away from Keira and looked at the Phoenix. All at once, the unearthly creature's intention became clear. Filmy, weightless wings spread out into the air, white light flooding the sand like rain.
"Jak!" Keira shouted, stumbling as she turned and ran back toward Sig.
The big man instantly tossed the Virgae-Mors sword. Keira caught it and cradled the handle in her two hands. It was heavy for her and she nearly sagged under the weight. But, even as she tripped once over her feet, she was moving back to Jak, kicking at the sand and the air.
"Jak, here!" With all the strength left in her weak arms, Keira tossed the sword. It didn't go very far, not even four feet, and Keira sunk to the sand in exhaustion, her breath heaving.
Jak swooped in and caught the handle with expertise, looking down at Keira without any emotion in his gaze. But somehow Keira sensed that Jak was looking out at her and she nodded to him, trying to reassure whatever part of Jak was still inside.
Then the glowing creature turned and began flying, racing across the sands toward the Phoenix as it attempted to fix the damage already done to its body.
When the massive bird saw Light Jak coming at him, and coming at him fast, it let loose a wild breath of fire. Light Jak dodged it easily, lifting himself higher into the air, above the reach of the flames.
Now, above the Phoenix, and only feet away, Light Jak picked out its mark. The crimson of blood was easy to find against the flames. Dark fire seemed to emit from the wound, boiling the acid blood before it even truly escaped it's body.
Course set, Light Jak raised his sword. The Virgae-Mors sword glowed nearly pure white, absorbing the fluxing power coming in and out of his body. The tip of the blade lowered and pointed directly at the target.
Without any warning, Light Jak pulled his wings close to his body. He went careening at the Phoenix in a hard beeline, the light emitting from his body acting as a barrier from the searing wind and fire the Phoenix threw out at him.
Fire surrounded Light Jak, burning his fragile, human skin. But the Light Eco, given and harnessed through his mate, healed him. With each burn he received, another was healed. What would have killed a normal human was merely an irritation to Light Jak. He healed himself too fast for the Phoenix to keep up.
He felt the resistance as the Virgae-Mors sword drove itself right into the Phoenix's core. Even hotter fire lapped at his wrists and hands. Jak would carry those scars for the rest of his life. The heat was too much for Light Jak to heal, even with such powerful eco flowing through him.
But that didn't stop him. Light Jak pressed his entire weight against the sword, lowering his head to dodge talons as the Phoenix swiped at him in panic, in fear.
Heart… Light Jak knew he needed to reach the heart, the hottest part of the Phoenix, to truly defeat him. Even as the fire lapped at his elbows, he kept going.
"What good will fighting do you?" a voice wondered inside Light Jak's head and he knew that it was the Mage, using the last bit of his telepathy to buy himself some time. "What do you truly hope to accomplish?"
Light Jak said nothing, just kept pushing forward, not even flinching as the fire ate at his arms.
"I had been a head researcher," the Mage said, his voice full of memories and wistfulness. "In Sage-Harmona. It was my duty to design and manufacture the disease that would wipe out our enemies, the Desert Tribes."
Venn's father had been a victim of the disease. A late, rarer form of it, but one that would not have been a threat if Sage-Harmona had left them alone.
"How ironic was it that it was I who caught the first strain of my work?" The Mage's voice lifted into a laugh that held no humor. "I died from the very thing that had become my life's work. I died from that disease."
He was getting close. Light Jak could feel it. It was a pulsing power, a fiery controlling power. One that rippled across his skin and moved across his arms, right up into his face. If Light Jak had had such human emotions, he would have sucked in a breath, would have forced his body to fight against it.
But Light Jak was beyond such human trivialities. That was why he had been born.
"I had died before Eris had risen up and slaughtered Sage-Harmona and all the others. I would not be brought back. I was enraged. I deserved to be alive as much as the next man, didn't I? More so." The Mage's voice had taken on an almost musing tone as he conversed easily with Light Jak. "That was when I felt it, the Phoenix. The creature that had been created from the excess magick, the creature that had been born of our sins and indulgence and gluttony. We had given birth to this monster, we who used magick and allowed the leftovers to go unchecked. It had grown a mind of its own and it knew only the destruction of the race that had created it. It had been killed before its work had been finished. That was when it found me, a wandering soul in the afterlife."
His sword cut through the hard tissues of breastbone and hot, acid blood burned his skin right to his bone. The Phoenix screamed in agony, withering and twisting, trying to shake Light Jak loose. But Light Jak would not be shaken.
"It promised me life, so long as I gave my body over to his intention. I was desperate, ready to live, and angry that so many got another chance at life while I got none. So I agreed. It was easy with the Phoenix's power to trick the Goddess's own power to transport me back to the earth." For a moment, just a moment, the Mage almost had Light Jak. His voice was enthralling, filled with power. But he kept on going, had to keep on going.
"But I wasn't ready for the Phoenix to gain hold of me, to use me for its purposes, just then. My death needed to be avenged, I needed to wipe out all those who had wronged me. The Yoshimoro family, the desert tribes, all those who got to be reborn. They needed to suffer first. So I picked up fools like Hirmoyarbeshi and studied the Dark Warrior Program implemented by Baron Praxis of Haven City. I stole desert tribe filth and tested it on them. Hirmoyarbeshi moved against the Yoshimoros—a massacre we now know their young son escaped from—and I made a startling discovery."
The part of Light Jak was that was still Jak Mar shuddered, remembering. So it was Baron Praxis—the last monarch of Haven City—that gave birth to Sage-Harmona's Experiments? Yes, he could understand that. He had smelt it on them. Eco on the creatures the Mage and Hirmoyarbeshi had twisted to their purposes.
"Eco is normally in a liquidized form. What Baron Praxis did in his Dark Warrior Program was pour liquidized Dark Eco into a body via their pours and other openings to the body. At first, I followed his example. But the experiments kept dying. That was when I decided I would turn Dark Eco into a gastric form and plant it directly into a subject's blood stream. Funny how Baron Praxis never though to take the time to make that discovery. It wouldn't have done any good for you, Jak Mar, as your body is naturally inclined to accept Eco no matter the form. But Praxis could have saved countless lives, and had himself an entire army, as I did. But I suppose things worked out for the best. After all, I wouldn't want to contend with a Baron and his unholy army.
"The first subject survived the initial experiment. But she had been an adult and her body already had an immunity to the Eco. She died as her body attempted to expel the Dark Eco, which had by then completely taken over her bloodstream. Hirmoyarbeshi was the one to suggest a child, an infant, that would not have such a disposition to Eco. So I plucked an unborn baby from a desert tribeswoman's very womb and made the Girl, the first of a perfect breed of soldiers. She was almost perfect, she had been the start of something glorious. But as you can see, I should have paid more attention to that Girl. Her human instincts and emotions had not been fully subdued, even my magick could not completely rid her of them. But I was too focused on my duty, on what needed to be done. And so, Jak Mar, here we are. Do you honestly think you can succeed?"
He didn't think. He knew. Victory was already singing through his blood. Light Jak pushed his sword straight through the organs that blocked his path. The Phoenix could heal and regenerate those organs. But he knew, had been told, there was one thing that would destroy the Phoenix completely.
Nyx and Nik and Crea, and their team, had done it long before, during Sage-Harmona's true reign. Jak had studied, and been told, and had seen exactly what needed to be done.
Now Light Jak would follow their example.
"I belong in this world, Jak," the voice whispered, and it was different. It wasn't the Mage. The subconscious of the old man had given way to something much more dark, and evil. This, Light Jak understood, was the Phoenix talking. "I belong in this world for as long as humans exist. You created me and this world is mine as much as it is yours." Light Jak did not answer him and the Phoenix's voice almost became strained. "You will accomplish nothing by doing this. Humans breed war and death. So long as they exist there will be more like me. Many more, and they will just bring more war and death."
Jak Mar broke free of the cold ice Light Jak had encased him. His mind, for a fleeting moment, had control over Light Jak. His thoughts went out, and the Phoenix heard him.
"Yeah, well, when they come, I'll be waiting for them."
Even as Jak Mar faded back into the subconscious of Light Jak, the heat and power of the Phoenix's core radiated into their body. Light Jak twisted the Virgae-Mors sword in his hands, prying the hard tissue that protected the Phoenix's heart away from it.
"No! No!" the Mage and the Phoenix's voice molded into one being, howling out in pain, withering as Light Jak's hand closed over the pounding organ. "You can't do this to me! You can't!"
The smell of burning flesh filled Light Jak's nostrils and he felt a sharp, intense pain as his skin was burned away. But the Light Eco given to him by Keira was already healing and nothing would stop him from completing his endeavor.
With all his might, his whole arm shaking in pain and power, he tightened his hands over the organ, his nails digging right down into the very tissue of the heart, and yanked his arm back with all his might.
A deafening scream of pain tore from the very deepest part of the Phoenix as it went soaring high into the sky, thousands upon thousands of feet above the earth.
But the damage was already done. Light Jak pushed away from the Phoenix, the bleeding heart burning away the skin on his wrists and hands. He allowed his body to freefall several feet before his wings whipped out to catch the air.
The Virgae-Mors sword went clattering to the earth, the Phoenix finally shaking it free. But it was too late for the Phoenix, it flew up in a glorious dying fire, its wings molting off its body in licks of flames. Heat pulsated all across the desert and everyone living felt the dying cry of the Phoenix.
Then it began to sink to the earth, the fire giving way to soot and ashes. A trail of smoke followed the giant bird down and ashes leapt from the body as it crashed into the sand. A dying keen rose up from the bird as it flapped lopsided wings.
A wall of fire blasted forth from its body. Light Jak took a long, twisting dive downward to avoid it. Heat blasted him in his face before it finally died down. Ashes seemed to rain from the sky, hardening as they hit the suddenly cool desert ground.
Light Jak released the heart he clenched in his fingers and sunk slowly to the earth. The Phoenix was dissolving, becoming ash, and the blazing fire of its power dissipated, leaving only a coolness.
"Jak!" Keira shouted as she watched his glowing body descend, like an angel. She kicked herself to her feet and began to run, tripping over the hard rocks that had been formed from the Phoenix's ashes. "Jak!"
The glowing foot of Light Jak touched the ground lightly, and then the second one joined it. Keira hurried over to him and watched as Light Jak stared down at the crater the Phoenix had made as its fiery body had crashed into the earth.
Suddenly, the light faded and the blue tint left his skin. And, within the blink of an eye, Jak Mar stood in place of his Light Eco counterpart. He was breathing hard, his shirt dark with his own sweat and blood.
"Keira…" he croaked and turned to her.
She gasped, looking down at the hideous scars that decorated his hands and arms. Part of his pants had been burned away by the fire as well and the skin was crisscrossed with burn scars. A long line of scar tissue was forming on his neck as well, from his collar bone right to the side of his chin.
Light Eco would prevent the fire from leaving permanent damage to his body, but the scars would remain.
"I'm so tired…" he muttered, not even glancing down at his hands. He was so drained it was likely he couldn't even feel the pain as the Light Eco attempted to heal him. "So—"
He didn't finish it and he crashed to the ground. Keira gave a yelp and leapt the remaining distance to him, her arms folding him close to her body. His weight brought them both to the ground, but Keira cradled his body against hers, murmuring comforting words into his hair.
On the battlefield everything had gone still. It was as if the Mage's destruction had sucked all the strength those still alive had to fight. The world was absurdly quiet, almost alarmingly so.
A great power had been ripped from the earth and for the first time, everything was silent.
Epsi Wind bent beside Kiff Fire's still, bloody body and touched her skull with his knuckles. He looked down into her face, her eyes already closed, and he sucked in a breath, his scaly chest, gleaming with blood, shaking.
"Roid?" he asked as he picked himself up. He looked toward the Phoenix's damage and then lowered his head. "Back. Back into the shadows."
The Metal Heads obeyed his command, gone before anyone could realize what was happening to them. Epsi cast one last look at the remains of the Phoenix, sucked in a breath, and followed his brethren.
Sala approached the remaining ranks of the Sage-Harmona army, Ashelin flanking her. Nyx and Nik were behind her, Nik supported on Nyx's shoulder. Though Nyx's face was impassive and unrevealing they both knew that Nik would walk with a limp forever.
Ashelin had a gun in her hand and she pointed it at the only general from Sage-Harmona that still breathed. Sala had her sword out and pointed at them.
"Surrender," she ordered, and knew that they already had. She glanced over at Nyx and Nik, her face unbearably tired.
Wordlessly, she turned and surveyed the battleground, looking at the many fallen soldiers, at the Metal Head carcasses, at the sheer destruction Hirmoyarbeshi and the Phoenix had caused.
Suddenly, she was so weak she almost couldn't move.
"Go get my son," she ordered, her heart heavy like a stone.
It hurt Aithne to move. She winced as Cyren shifted her in the circle of his arms. Her whole body felt as if it were on fire, white hot fire. Every now and then there were little black dots in her vision.
"What's going on?" she groaned, swallowing whatever salvia was in her mouth, trying to wet her aching, dry throat.
Cyren mumbled something unintelligent, his eyes on the spot where the Phoenix had disappeared. Aithne blinked and realized he hadn't even understood her question. She lifted her sore arm and griped his shirt.
"Cyren," she said as firmly as she could, but could only end it in a cough, hissing out in pain as her throat burned and brought tears to her eyes.
Her pain brought his attention to her instantly. He brought her closer to him and the warmth of his body soothed her, even though she felt like she was burning up. She wanted to see where her mother had run off to, what had become of Jak Mar, but her head was too heavy to lift from her shoulders.
"Help me," she asked him softly. "Help me up. I need to go see—"
"Aithne," Cyren interjected, concern creasing his brows. "I don't think you should move. You—you're still covered in blood."
"I'm fine," she lied and lifted both of her hands to his neck. "I need to see."
"Let me, let me," Cyren protested as she tried to force herself to her feet. He scooped her up in his sweaty arms and cradled her as gently as he could, turning and heading toward the crater.
Aithne gritted her teeth against the pain that ripped through her with every move Cyren made. She couldn't understand why she was so weakened. She couldn't remember what exactly had happened, her head was fuzzy and frayed along the edges. All she knew was that she was tired and every part of her hurt.
Jak was recovering already. The Light Eco flowing through his blood enabled him to bounce right back from his use of power. He stood on shaking legs, Keira at his side ready to catch him, and looked over at Aithne and Cyren as they approached.
"Are you—" Cyren began in earnest concern.
"Yes," Jak cut him off, looking down at his burned and scared hand. Something flashed in his eyes as he stared at the markings, but he said nothing of the feeling and carefully stroked the patch of skin that had been burned off. "I'm fine."
"How did you…?" Keira choked on her own confusion, frowning over at him as Jak struggled to regain his strength. "How did you know what to do? How did you know how to defeat it?"
Just as Jak was about to open his mouth another wave of power rushed over them. Jak nearly collapsed to his knees but Keira was faster than he was and had his arm in a death grip before he could hit the ground. Aithne moaned in pain and rolled her head into Cyren's chest.
"Why don't I answer that?" a new voice called and all heads that could hear it turned toward the crater left by the Phoenix.
A man stepped out from it. He was average, in everything. Average height, average build, average attractiveness. Yet there seemed to be an aura of power surrounding him, from the top of his brown head to his small, sturdy boots. His smile was enigmatic and his eyes were golden.
"Lokin," Jak hissed and answered everyone's unspoken question.
"Him!?" Keira demanded, stepping forward protectively in front of Jak, her eyes blazing. "This is the man who took you away?"
The god smiled, slowly, charmingly. "Now, now. Let's be nice." He strode over to them, a little spring in his step, his voice sounding as if he was talking to an annoyed pet. "After all, we're all winners here, aren't we?"
No one said anything to him. Cyren was too amazed, Aithne was too tired, Jak was glaring and so was Keira. Lokin shrugged as if he had expected their reaction—which he probably had—and continued to grin merrily.
"You look like her, you know," Lokin said, inclining his head toward Keira, circling her. One hand gripped his chin lightly as he eyed her, taking in her appearance. "My sister, your "Goddess".
Casually, as if Lokin sought to solidify the fact in his mind, he reached out and touched her cheek, platonically rubbing it, his eyes furrowing and his grin widening.
"She would have been proud of you. Of course, Gaeny was proud of all the tiny things you mortals managed to do on your own." Something flashed very briefly in Lokin's eyes, and was gone as if it had never been there. "She was an impossibly easy child to placate, until she got it into her silly head that she was in love. Fool girl, she should've listened to me when I told her no good would come of loving that knight."
Keira jerked her face away and Lokin's smile widened. He leaned toward her and Jak gave a warning snarl low in his throat. His fingers tightened on Keira's arms and he would have dragged her away if he had been strong enough.
"Relax, Jak," Lokin advised, lifting his hands in a sign of non-aggression, his smile still easy. "I mean your woman no harm."
"What do you want?" Jak managed, pressing a hand to his sore ribs, sucking a painful breath, as Lokin chuckled at him.
"To congratulate you, of course. You've done good, Jak. So good." Lokin's attention left Keira and zeroed in on Jak. "After the Goddess died—sacrificed herself, whatever—her dear siblings and relatives lost a lot of our powers. We didn't really have a say in the mortal realm anymore, we were pretty much locked away in the heavens, only looking, not playing."
"I already know that," Jak snapped, unable to stop himself from leaning down on Keira to support himself.
"Oh, Jak. Jak. Jak. I don't think I need to remind you that you've been gone for seventeen years?" Lokin gave him a cheeky chuckle when Jak bared his teeth. "They don't know the full story and I'm sure they've got some unanswered questions."
Cyren knelt down into the dirt, rolling Aithne as gently as he could so she could face Lokin. Blood had dried and caked around her face and she moaned softly, weakly rubbing at the irritation on her skin.
"Anyway," Lokin went on with a shake of his hand. "Where was I? The Phoenix was created by Sage-Harmona, you know. They tended to use too much magick for their own good and all that excess energy formed into a very unstable, semi-conscience entity. It was… for the most part… comatose, just collecting the leftover magick from Sage-Harmona, growing more and more powerful every day. But that wouldn't have been so bad… but then it started collecting emotions too. Hate and greed and rage from all those people who used magick. And so, suddenly, it was awake and it was not a happy camper. Humans… when will you learn?"
"You came all the way here to tell us that?" Aithne demanded, forcing herself up into a sitting position.
"Well… yes." Lokin shrugged once at her, but kept his attention solely on Jak. "My sister, Morrigan, was in charge of watching over dead souls, and her main duty was to see to it that the Phoenix never wrought havoc on this world again. So when the Phoenix twisted around Gaeny's power she was in a real fix. Luckily for her—not me—I had an old debt to pay her and she requested that I take care of the Phoenix for her. Now, I didn't have any powers in this world, either, but did she care? No. Debt was debt. So I had to find some human who could take down… well, a Phoenix."
The god approached Jak and picked up his left hand, touching the silvery mark that still glowed there. "The fact that the Phoenix had been created through dark magick, anger, hate and greed meant that, once it was back on earth, it was virtually indestructible. In order to beat the Phoenix, I needed someone to counteract that darkness. I needed Light Eco." Lokin paused and smiled right into his face. "And who better to handle Light Eco than the well known eco channeler Jak Mar? There were other candidates, of course, Aithne being a top one, but Jak Mar had something everyone else didn't. A tolerance for Dark Eco. You know by now that the ancient powers we gods use are the ancestors of the eco your kind uses today. Jak's tolerance for Dark Eco would protect him from the worst of the Phoenix once he managed to get close enough."
"And it took hi—Jak—seventeen years to control Light Eco." Keira looked down and over at her husband, her eyes narrowed. "He's used it before."
"Ah, cousin, but you see, there was no Light Eco left. It had all been wiped out, destroyed, by years of destitute and hate." Lokin lifted his hand and it filled with light. "We had to… condition Jak's body to recognize the gods' power as Light Eco. Now that took some time. Intense training. We also had to do it in a setting already intoned with the flow of magick and eco. A precursor temple."
"That took years to find," Jak added, wincing, and gripping his ribs. "There weren't any left. There was only this one set of ruins half way around the world."
"There had to be deep meditation and conditioning of the body. The gods' power might have had a very close signature to that of Light Eco, but it still wasn't eco. Jak's body had to learn to absorb the power. Then after that, which took quite a while, Jak had to come all the way back." Lokin gave a small laugh and rolled his shoulders. "So seventeen years isn't bad considering all that he had to do."
Keira looked at him in disbelief and Lokin just shrugged. He walked past them and bent down beside Aithne, touching her forehead lightly. The blood covering her face disappeared.
"In the future I would advise against using your power at all, my dear," Lokin said with a small chuckle to Aithne. "Next time you get in your head to use it, you might not survive."
"What are you talking about?" Aithne demanded.
"Aithne's doesn't—doesn't have any of the power Jak has," Keira said tightly, her face growing pale with worry. "I took her to the doctors. I had her monitored. We know that she doesn't—"
"Your body rejects your power," Lokin cut in, still smiling. "See, you're a unique girl. You inherited both sides of your parents' powers. Keira's immortal ones and Jak's ability to channel and control eco… but less with the control. Now, normally, because Keira's power is wholly light and Jak has become predisposed to dark, you're power would have nullified itself. You would have been, just as your doctors think, without any form of power."
"Then why isn't she—" Jak started and Lokin gave a rumbling laugh, standing.
"Oh, Jak. Duh. You don't just control Dark Eco, do you? You've touched all forms from red, blue, green, yellow right on down to light. Your blood stream is a very coagulated breeding ground of eco. Dark Eco might be the most prominent, but you have all the other powers in there too and they all got passed on to your daughter." Lokin rubbed his shoulders, as if they were stiff. "So she basically had all forms of power in her body, the forms of Eco from you and an immortal's power from her mother. It created a massive, highly unstable, ball of energy inside her. One that frightens even me, I must admit."
"So because of my… earlier days Aithne… has this power?"
"Yes. Of course, human nature has a funny way of evening out these sorts of things." Lokin glanced at Aithne over his shoulder. "Your body has rejected the power, it's too massive for it to control, ever. So it has been locked away, in a place you can never touch unless you're under extreme emotional duress—a good example of which would be, as we've seen, war. The power you've been gifted with, my dear, tears apart a mortal's body. It's highly unstable and the constant raging of power tends to destroy one's body. That's why I don't suggest attempting to use it again. Next time you do, your body might truly decay and die."
"Don't worry," Aithne snapped at him, shivering. Cyren rubbed her arms absently, a worried look coming over his eyes.
Lokin stood suddenly, his head titled toward the sky. A smile curved his lips. "Ah, so my sister finally decides to call me back. Seems that my constant visits to this world have put a strain on our very limited power." He started to walk back from where he had come and patted Jak's shoulder absently. "See you around, Jak."
Wind blew up and the sands swirled around Lokin for a moment. He turned and grinned at them, waving, and then was gone.
"I certainly hope not," Jak muttered sourly and then collapsed completely against Keira.
"I'm alright," Aithne said, pushing herself weakly to her feet. Cyren was at her side, gripping her arm. "Really, I'm fine."
"Aithne," Cyren said as gently as he could, well aware that she was far from fine. The idea that she had so much power bothered her, he could see it in her eyes. It was almost as if she was afraid to draw in too deep a breath.
"We need to find Roid," she cut in. Quickly, before he could get another word in, Aithne began to hobble over to the remains of the Phoenix, nestled neatly in the crater.
"Mrs. Mar?" Cyren looked over at Keira as she jammed her shoulder against Jak's arm to keep him upright. "Do you need any help?"
"I've got it, Cyren," Keira said gently. She looked off to where Aithne was headed. "Go help my daughter find your friend."
Cyren nodded and hurried after Aithne, nearly tripping in his haste to reach her. She stopped once she reached the steep incline of the crater, looking down at the ashes that filled the hole like water.
"Help me down," she ordered and Cyren grabbed her arm, sliding her along the dirt to reach the very bottom of the crater.
Silently, they got to work. The heat the Phoenix had emitted as it had come crashing down to earth had hardened its own ashes into stone and Aithne and Cyren struggled slowly to lift each piece of stone, too work through all the ashes, calling out for Roid.
But Cyren already knew that Roid was gone. And Aithne probably knew it too, but she wouldn't give up until she had exhausted every nook and cranny.
"Aithne," he said, trying hard to remain calm and unaffected. But his heart was aching deep in his chest. All he could think was that he hadn't even said anything when Roid had scooped up Aithne's sais and dived headfirst to the Phoenix.
He should've—
"I didn't even… do anything," she said softly, her voice oddly distanced. "He took the sais and I—I knew what he was going to do but I—I didn't do anything. I should've… should've stopped him…"
"There was nothing you could have done," he told her, also telling it to himself. He brought Aithne into a fierce embrace, her back pressed against his chest. "He was—he knew what he had to do. It was what he needed to do, Aithne."
"He can't be dead," she whispered, lowering her head to the arms he had wrapped around her chest. "How can he possibly be dead?"
Because he didn't know, he couldn't answer. Suddenly, looking at the charred ruins the Phoenix had left in its wake, Cyren didn't know anything anymore.
--&--
Sedet came out of the palace with a tense Nyx by his side. Nik had stayed behind with Sala, and then had gone off with his soldiers to check over their losses and name the dead.
Sala felt herself wince with every step Nik took. He tried to hide it, but they all knew that he was limping badly, and would limp for the rest of his life. He had taken a sword right through his tendons to protect her when her horse had collapsed from exhaustion.
But she couldn't think about Nik's injuries, not now. Not right now.
"Mommy!" Sedet raced from Nyx's side and right into Sala's opening arms. She scooped him up, despite his height, and she felt the comforting warmth of her son's head nestled against the underside of her breast.
Holding her son close, Sala felt the first onslaught of tears threaten her. She sucked in a deep breath, reminding herself that she was still the queen. She was not just a woman, not yet. There was still too much she had to do.
"My lady?" Nik hobbled over, ignoring Nyx's move to help him stand. He, instead, gripped her hand tight in his and looked right. "My lady there—I—please, come with me. You have to—"
She already knew and her sharp nod cut him off. Nik's eyes were dark and sad and so terribly heartbreaking. Sala's whole body shuddered as she struggled to control herself. As gently as she could, she placed Sedet back onto his feet.
"Mommy?" Sedet asked then, his eyes wide.
"I need you to come with me," she told him, her voice not harsh but not gentle. She couldn't be gentle, not when it felt like her entire being was being ripped to shreds. She lowered her head, took another deep breath, and looked back into her son's eyes.
He nodded and she gripped his hand, following Nik slowly as he led her to where she already knew she would end up. Somehow she had known.
The Holy City, on the orders of Nik, had rounded up the dead. Not harshly, but with such great tenderness it made the air soft. There was an aura of mourning surrounding the bodies. The countless people—from Holy City to Haven to Sage-Harmona—covered the blood that painted the sand, a black smudge among the white.
"Sala," Nik said, stopping and looking over at her. His face was tight with his restrained emotions. "He's over there. There's nothing we could do… the healers said…" Helplessly, she trailed off.
Sala's attention was drawn to Crea, who stood still like a stone, with an ashen face Venn by her side. The young man was gripping his arms, blood still rolling down between his fingers. He had a jagged cut across his eyebrow and his nose looked like it had been smashed in.
That wasn't why she stared. Crea was looking down at something, and Sala knew what it was in her heart. Sedet started trembling by her side, but said nothing as she led them both over to where Crea stood.
The young woman's face said everything she would not. Her eyes were torn, a storm of emotion and when she saw Sala and Sedet, she turned to mourn privately. Venn snapped into action and slowly brought her away from the carnage.
Sala was on her knees before she could even comprehend what was happening. Sedet started crying, big, soft tears. He pressed his hands into his eyes and vainly tried to muffle his sobs.
Gareth looked up at her, his chest shaking as he fought off the fatal wound that drained him of life. His entire lower torso was marred with blood, the stomach wound Hirmoyarbeshi had given him a parting, forever gift.
"Sal—Sal—" Gareth couldn't get his words out. He rasped once, his whole chest rattling with his gushing breath, and rolled onto his side to cough, blood splattered against his fingers.
"Daddy! Daddy!" Sedet's head hit Gareth's chest as he gripped his arms, as if his tiny boy fingers could keep Gareth tethered to the earth.
There was only dim recognition in Gareth's eyes as he looked at his son. A bloody finger was raised only for a second or two to touch Sedet's cheek. It dropped heavily back into the earth, where Sala picked it up and held it tight in hers.
Their eyes meet as Sala brought Sedet against her side, keeping her hand holding Gareth. She couldn't manage to smile for him, but Gareth smiled all the same. He looked over at his son, who sobbed softly against his arm, and Gareth's own eyes filled with moisture. His face contorted as the first tears began to fall and Sala had to look away to keep herself from crying.
"I'm sorr—"
"Don't be, my love," she told him as strong as she could, her fingers tightening over his. "I'm so proud of you."
Then Gareth's eyes dimmed and pain overtook him. He rolled his head away, his whole body shaking again.
And she held him, held her husband and her son, until she felt Gareth still.
Her throat was dry and aching as she released Gareth's hand and stood, Sedet sobbing in her arms. Her spine was stiff as she turned away from him.
Just as she stood Jak, Keira, Aithne, and Cyren made their way over to them. Jak was unconscious and slumped against Keira. Aithne looked just as weak as her father, but she stood on her own two feet.
All looked as weary as Sala's heart felt.
Keira sucked in a breath as she noticed Gareth. Her eyes were wet within a second. "Sala, I'm so sorry," she managed, her voice strained from using her power and for surviving all that she had.
"Don't be," she said and they were both surprised at how strong her voice could be. "He died for a reason. A purpose. He died with honor. I—he—he was a brave man. And he—he will be remembered."
Because there was nothing else to say, Keira shouldered Jak once more and began to make her way back to the Holy City.
For a long moment, Sala stood staring out into the sands tainted red, Sedet's little hand caught in her own.
"Cyren," Tage said as he moved from his silent vigil over the dead soldiers. His leg wound had been healed and there seemed to be no permanent damage to his person save for one crooked scar across his neck. "Cyren, the people need you."
For a moment, he didn't understand. Then Tage motioned to Cyren's right and he turned, looking at the people from Sage-Harmona who had fought for him, and the survivors of Hirmoyarbeshi's army.
Yes, they did need him. He was Cyren Yoshimoro. He was their leader.
Annityn materialized at his side without any fanfare. He blinked in surprise at her as Annityn glanced over at him, once.
"You are not king yet," she pointed out.
Nodding, Cyren moved over to his people. The civilians looked up at him and the soldiers looked away. There was a rift between them, those from Sage-Harmona, and Cyren knew that it would take years and years for him to ever mend the gap that had been created.
"I am—" he stopped himself and drew in a steadying breath. Then he lifted his head high and went on, "I am Cyren Yoshimoro and I have come to claim what is rightfully mine."
It was a while before the statement set in, before the truth became apparent. But then the clamor rose up. The citizens who had abandoned their homes and risked their lives to fight for him. Their cry of victory rose into the sky.
Despite the dead and the sacrifices, they had still won and this moment of celebration was something they deserved.
Aithne watched Cyren as he was swarmed by his people, Tage and Annityn by his side, protecting him. Her face was tight and her eyes were dusty and dry. She felt her whole body trembling as she watched Cyren disappear from her view.
Unable to watch anymore, she turned and walked away. Keira was only a few feet ahead of her and she stumbled as Jak's weight became a little too much.
Without thinking about it, Aithne rushed forward and grabbed one of Jak's arms, helping her mother to shoulder the burden of his weight. Keira blinked over at her daughter in surprise, but said nothing as Aithne helped her take Jak to the Holy City.
--&--
Night fell faster than anyone would have guessed it would. But time had flowed so much quicker than it had the day before. There had been so much to do. Bodies to embalm, Sage-Harmona soldiers to store and guard, and the wounded to tend to.
Aithne had helped Keira get Jak to the medical bay, ignoring the scars and burns on Jak's body. Then she had purposely lost track of them both and had wandered around. She met Crea and Venn as they went into their room as the sun set, near passing out. Nyx had taken Nik to medicinal bay as well, along with Torn and Ashelin.
Sig had kept Aithne company for a few hours, looking as if he just needed to have some connection to something. And because Aithne had needed it too she had stuck close to her grandfather. Sig went to check on Keira and Jak afterwards and Aithne found herself to be all alone.
The Sage-Harmona citizens were welcomed into the city as heroes and had been given quarters within the Holy City. There were tiny sparks of animosity for what Sage-Harmona had done, but everyone was too tired to do anything about it now.
She wandered the halls of the palace, feeling empty and dejected, a ship without a sail. She didn't know what to do or what to think. So many people had been lost. So many friends and allies had died.
Maelia and Ryu were nowhere to be seen and Aithne refused to think about it any further than the fact that she could not see them directly in front of her. It felt like one good gust of wind would blow her over and she refused to allow it to be her own doing.
They're fine. Everyone's fine…
Night was colder than normal but Aithne stepped out into the gardens away. The chill that worked up her spine was welcomed. She had felt so hot and stuffy in the palace. A chance to escape it was like heaven.
It wasn't until she had all but crashed into Annityn did Aithne notice her. She blinked in confusion as Annityn turned and raised an eyebrow, her arms still crossed over her chest, her eyes still unreadable.
Then Aithne became aware of Cyren, seated just in front of them on the bench. Annityn, of course, had been keeping a silent vigil over him. He was so deep in thought that he had remained unaware of Aithne's arrival.
As she looked onto is silvery head, glowing even paler in the moonlight, Aithne felt her heart ache. It had been aching all day—ever since they had failed to find Roid—and she felt like she would collapse from sheer misery.
Annityn looked at Aithne, asking her what she wanted, and Aithne just nodded to her. But Annityn understood and cast one last look toward Cyren, before backing into the shadows.
Aithne stood where she was, looking at Cyren, until she felt Annityn leave them completely. Then she took in a deep breath and approached him, trying to remain as silent as she could.
"I—I won't ask you to come with me," Cyren said suddenly, making Aithne jump. She hadn't been as quiet as she thought. "I want to—but I won't."
"It's—it's good that you don't," Aithne said softly as she seated herself beside him, her throat constricting. "Because I would say yes."
And they both knew that they couldn't. Aithne's place was not in Sage-Harmona and Cyren's was. To ignore those facts would be selfish and childish and both Cyren and Aithne had cast aside that part of their life.
But it was still bitter and it still made Aithne want to shriek.
"How are you?" he asked and for the first time in their life, they were awkward around one another. They had everything to say, and no way to say it. "With—with your power?"
"I don't want it," she whispered brokenly, turning her head away when Cyren moved to face her. "Not because it's from Jak… but because I—I just don't want it."
"I understand," he said gently and she fought back tears as his hand closed over hers. "Aithne—I—we—the funeral rites are tomorrow."
"I know." Aithne kept her face turning, her heart aching from the loss she already had—Roid—and the loss she would face soon enough—Cyren.
"After… afterward we're going to go back. To Sage-Harmona." Cyren bowed his head, dipping it right down into his chest, his shoulders shaking. "We—I—think it's best. We've got so much we have to do. So much we have to fix…"
Tears ran down Aithne's face but she said nothing. She knew what lot they had been cast and she was so tired of fighting everything around her. Helplessly she leaned into Cyren, tightening her hold on his hand, and dipped her head onto his shoulder.
Cyren brushed a kiss across her hair as she began to cry.
--&--
Keira entered the room she and Jak shared after she had seen to Sala. There hadn't been a whole lot she could have done for her and Keira felt so helpless and lost she had eagerly allowed Nyx to take over once Nik had been deposited in the medical bay.
Jak had left after only a few minutes of being in the medical bay. They had both known that he was not physically damaged—he was just scared—and Jak hadn't wished to take a space in the medical ward when there was a soldier who really needed it.
"Jak?" she called softly. Jak had turned off all the lights in their room, so only the pale moonlight worked as a light for the room, and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness.
He was sitting in a chair he had propped up against the balcony doors, his hands in his lap. The silvery light made the burn scars marring his hands seem especially grotesque and the patch of skin on his neck seemed to be so oddly discolored from the rest of him.
There was something in his eyes that Keira didn't like as he traced the lines of the scars. She hurried over to him and quickly covered his hands with hers, forcing him to raise his eyes and meet hers.
"Jak," she said again. When he said nothing she plopped herself right into his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. Jak's hands shifted to grip her waist and it made Keira's distress ease.
"It can't go back, can it?" he asked, looking at the way his horribly puckered skin clashed with the pale skin barred on her hips. "To what it was before?"
Wordlessly, she pressed her mouth to his, holding his tight against hers, trying to understand him. After seventeen years they were together again, but they were so different from the eager young couple they had been.
"We'll figure something out," she promised him gently, rubbing her knuckles against his jaw.
Nodding, accepting, Jak brought her mouth back down to his, cupping her cheek firmly. He winced slightly as his scars rubbed against Keira's smooth skin, but she held him where he was and wouldn't let him think about it.
They would figure something out.
--&--
Annityn sat in a small chair she had propped up against the wall just outside the medical bay. The moans of the wounded and the dying filled the air. The battle might have been over but the suffering was not.
Soldiers filled the hallway with her. Not everyone had been able to fit into the bay and less seriously wounded soldiers filled the hallways, stretched out on makeshift cots. Nik had left the ward not long ago, hobbling the whole time but looking determined to do it on his own. Sala had breezed in with Sedet, had herself looked over, and quickly left. Jak had been in as well, but not for long. Torn was still in there, with Ashelin and Ryu by his side, as one of the Mages went about setting his broken leg.
Tage had come in as well, carrying an unconscious Maelia. Though Annityn had not inquired of her, he had told her that the girl suffered from a small concussion and nothing else. Then, he too, had left.
With nothing to do, and no real help to offer, Annityn rested the back of her head against the cool wall, her hand slung across her lap. Aithne had asked her to let her and Cyren have private words and Annityn had almost refused.
Never before had she felt so useless. Never before had she felt. She was a body trained and made for killing, but the blood and death was over and she was purposeless. She felt lost and confused, lost because she was purposeless and confused because she was not supposed to feel at all.
The Mage had been correct, with the elimination of his power, the things that had subdued her humanity were returning. Slowly, but surely, and Annityn wanted to fight them off. She was not programmed to deal with it.
Programmed… like a machine… she stood and walked away from the hospital, ignoring the soft groans of pain from those injured.
But she still had Dark Eco in her blood, did she not? That was why she had not needed to be treated for her shoulder wound. But the time Tess had reached her she had already healed herself.
General Tage Yao wasn't speaking to her. Save when he had stormed in with an unconscious Maelia—and a worried Ryu—he had not said a word to her. He had been enraged with her when she had taken the blow meant for Cyren and she did not understand why. It was both their duties to protect Cyren from all harm.
Not sure where she was going—even though she had the blueprints of the palace memorized in her mind—she wandered the empty halls of the Holy City. Most of the battlefield had been cleaned up and the funerals would be held tomorrow. Everyone else was merely too tired to do anything but sleep.
She felt halfway tired, but not enough to close her eyes and sleep in the small room she had been given.
Her feet were silent as she strode across the marble floor. She entered the very back of the palace, where few citizens dared to travel—it was the royal chambers—and caught the side of their two bodies, framed by the moonlight coming in from the large bay windows that acted as the hall's walls.
It was Queen Sala of Rye, her head buried in the arms of her general Nyx Urban Mandrake, her eyes staring blankly out the window. General Mandrake was stroking the older woman's hair, murmuring into her matted locks, as Lady Sala's hands tightened on General Mandrake's arms.
They were just two women, framed by milky light. Sala's dark hair, and Nyx's light hair, made them appear unbearably young and they seemed almost unmovable in their grief.
"He's—he's dead," was all Lady Sala said as she stared out into the darkness, her voice strained and distant, and Nyx pressed a shaking kiss onto Sala's head.
The Queen was not crying.
Something strange tightened in Annityn's grip and she was leaving before she could even comprehend what she was doing. Her feet were taking her somewhere and she did not have the energy to try to see where.
Lord Gareth is dead, Annityn thought as she came out into the fresh air of the garden. But the queen is not crying. Maybe she cannot cry. Statistics show that rare occurrences may happen in which a person is unable to cry despite overwhelming amounts of grief… the Lady Sala may also be refusing to cry for it is often considered in society improper for a ruling noble to cry over a death due to…
…Roid…
Annityn dropped herself to her knees. She had walked to the very end of the garden, where the high walls of the Holy City protected it. The green had died away to show cold concrete and a shiver worked its way up Annityn's body.
Cold. Caused by the slowing of air molecules and weather fronts that seasonally change course and direction, affected by the tides which are in turn affected by the sun and the moon—I am cold.
Blankly she stayed where she had fallen, her knees pressed into the hard, unforgiving concrete, her hands splayed across it for balance, her hair curtaining around her face. For some reason she was panting.
"You alright?" a voice asked and Annityn glanced up as Tage approached her, his face unreadable. There was a small spark inside Annityn—one she recognized as surprise—that she could not read him, because she had always been able to.
"I am… quite well, General Yao," she told him as she climbed to her feet.
"Tage, damnit," he muttered under his breath and looked away from her. Then he looked back at her and his eyes widened. "Are you—are you crying!?"
She blinked at him and lifted a hand to her cheeks. Wetness rolled down her fingers and fell to the floor. Her mind understood that it was tears—the expelling of salt water through the pours in the eyes—but she didn't understand why she was crying.
"Yes," she answered neutrally, lowering her hand.
"I'm sorry, about Roid," he told her and she had no answer for him. He bit his lip in anger before continuing, "What will you do now?"
"What?"
Tage approached her and drew down her shirt—Annityn had taken off her armor earlier—and touched the C carved into her skin. His fingers were amazingly hot against her cool skin.
"Your debt has been paid. The spell is broken. Even I can tell that." Tage looked at her and then quickly looked away, dropping his hand. "So what are you going to do?"
The honest truth was that she hadn't thought about it and she realized just how completely without direction she was in that moment. She stared off into the distance, her eyes staring at the nothingness.
"I do not know," she admitted softly, not looking at him, her fingers curling against the scar on her collarbone. "I do not know."
Annityn had no course, and no direction. She was free floating and Annityn was not sure what to do with herself. She had never gone a day without having duties, without an order, and she felt lost knowing that now she had nothing.
The heat of Tage's palm just an inch away from her cheek had her eyes coming back to him. She stared at him, her face not giving away a single thought, and she watched him. His fingertips were mere inches away from her face.
He dropped them in disgust. "You'll have to decide," he said.
And he left her standing there.
--&--
Nyx was more exhausted then she had ever been in her life. And it wasn't because her body was tired. Her soul was aching, right down to its center. Nik had passed out from the pain his leg had given him in their bedroom, with Merasaki asleep against his side. And Sala…
Goddess, Sala. Could so much grief be contained in one woman?
It hurt too much to think about it and all Nyx wanted to do was go to sleep. But, instead, she found herself entering her sister's bedchamber, a small light burning in the corner. Crea was standing in front of her bed, packing what meager belongings she had brought back to the Holy City, into a small rucksack.
"You're leaving," she guessed and Crea turned to face her, the eyes that had once been so open and clear to Nyx now hidden and guarded.
"Yes," she answered deeply, turning back to her packing. But they both knew she was already done. She just didn't want to look at Nyx. "My home… is with Venn and he needs to find his people. They need him."
"I know," Nyx asked and stepped cautiously closer to her sister, not quite sure if she wanted to touch the young girl or not. There was such a rift between them and Nyx knew there was no real way to bridge it. "That's why I'm not asking you to stay."
"I—I won't stay away," Crea said softly, her fingers tightening around her rucksack. "Not like I did last time. I promise."
"That's good," Nyx returned and encircled Crea in her arms. They held each other for a long while, Nyx trying to remember what it had been like before. "Merasaki's become fond of you. I don't want you to miss out… on her growing up."
"I won't," she promised and they broke away. Nyx touched her face once and then backed away, keeping her in her vision.
"Goodbye, Crea," Nyx whispered and then, because her heart burned so badly, she went to find her husband and her daughter and comfort herself with them.
Just as Nyx left, Venn walked in. He watched Crea's sister leave and then looked back at the younger woman lower her head and go back to her packing, her shoulders stiff and straight and so terribly sad.
"You don't have to leave, Crea," he pointed out softly, coming over to her and wrapping his arms around her shoulders. "You can stay."
"No. I'm not—I'm not the person who Nyx wants me to be. I—I can't." She inhaled a shaking breath and turned into his arms. "And I want… want to go with you. And be with you. I love you, Venn."
"It's over," he told her gently, pressing his mouth down into hers and holding her as she shook with gentle, silent sobs.
--&--
Funerals usually took place several days after a person's death, but Sala had set everyone out the very next day to collect bodies and prepare them for their rites. Everyone was tired of war and death and the closure needed to come fast and soon.
So, by the time the sun began to set, the bodies were ready for their funerals. There were too many to bury and Sala had decreed that pyres would be built right on the battlefield where their lives had been taken.
The misery that rose up in the air was almost too much to bear. So many people wept, from surviving soldier to widowed woman or man orphaned child. War had cost them all so much and had taken so much from everyone that it was almost as if they would drown in their feelings of loss.
Aithne stood at the back of the large crowd that had gathered to pay their final respects to the men who died the day before. Even Sage-Harmona soldiers were mourned, because in the end they had just been men following orders.
Maelia and Ryu had gone to stand with their families and Aithne admitted to herself they really had nothing to say to one another. But she had been pleased to see they were alright. There had been no wounds there and they had hugged and cried over the fact they all remained unharmed.
Ryu now stood with his father and mother, ready to support Torn should his broken leg give him any trouble. Jak and Keira were beside them, but Aithne hadn't wished to stand with them—and it had nothing to do with Jak. Daxter, Tess, and Maelia were near the front as well, Maelia's eyes reassuringly meeting with Ryu's.
The list was read. Lists of names of the soldiers who had died defending their beliefs. Not the Sage-Harmona soldiers because no one knew who had died, but they were given respect as well during the procession.
Gareth's name came last and Sala's face was so unmovable when she said her husband's name that Aithne felt like crying for no reason. She hadn't know Gareth personally, hadn't been able to pick him out of a crowd, but this woman had lost a husband and the tiny child, pale and quiet by her side, had lost a father.
They had won the battle, had claimed victory and beat back yet another wave of evil, but the cost was so great it almost wasn't worth it. Women were made widows and children were made orphans and there was sadness for every spurt of happiness that rose up.
As the funeral pyres were lit, Sala withdrew another list from her mourning robe. Nyx, flanking her right side with Nik and Merasaki, took the list containing the human names from her and handed it to her daughter.
Dutifully, Merasaki walked towards the burning embers and tossed the names into the flames, the sparks rising up into the darkening air.
Then Sala began reading off Metal Head names. What ones they had known and she apologized to the creatures who had been for years their enemies, even though they could not hear her nor accept her apology.
Kiff Fire was the first name that had been mentioned. Aithne knew Jak was the one who had supplied her with it. And several others had been given, ones that Annityn had picked up from Roid…
…and Roid. When his name was read, Aithne turned into Cyren's arms to hide her tears. Cyren, who had not left her side since they had come down to the funeral, held her tightly, mourning for their friend himself.
"They had been warriors and allies," Sala concluded, her face tight and without any sign of tears. "All of them. Gods in the heavens, please, I—we send you strong souls. Watch over them for us."
"Watch over them," Sedet intoned by her side, tears running down his face. His father had been shrouded in a dark cloak, but the boy easily knew which body burning on the pyre was his father's.
Roid. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
Aithne had known how dangerous the war would be, how many people would die, and yet she hadn't expected so much loss to hit her so fast and so hard. And those who had died… she had never wanted them too. Thinking about war, accepting it, was so different from living it through.
Cyren came close to tears when Sala offered up prayers for his family and Zen-Fai Yao. She looked right at him as she said that they had spent too long a time going without being mourned and Cyren had to look away to keep his face dry like hers was.
Then it was over and Sala was approaching them, moving through the crowds of people who went on to mourn privately. Cyren and Aithne approached, Aithne looking away and Cyren looking right at her.
"Thank you," Cyren managed thickly. "Thank you."
Softly, Sala reached out and touched his forehead. "I respected both your parents and I pray that Sage-Harmona will blossom under your rule."
"I couldn't have—" he broke off quickly and struggled for a moment to regain himself. "I couldn't have done it without General Tage Yao and An—" he stopped himself when he remembered that Annityn had not had a choice. "And Roid. They were the finest allies I could have asked for."
Sala merely nodded to him and Cyren could see how impossibly tired she was. He allowed her to pass him and watched as she found her son and made her way back to her generals, Nik and Nyx, a lonely widow.
He touched Aithne's hand lightly and she nodded, letting him go as well. He approached the platform where Sala had stood and ascended it, approaching Ashelin and Torn as they both watched the mourners.
"May I say something?" he asked Ashelin as he nodded to Ryu, who lifted his head in greeting. It surprised him, how only a few weeks ago they had both been just normal boys, not quite men.
And now they were completely different.
"Of course," Ashelin answered and smiled at him softly. "I wish you the best of luck."
Taking a deep breath he stepped right into the center of the stage and all eyes were brought to him. He closed his hand into a fist and then took a deep breath, preparing himself for what he needed—as the future ruler of Sage-Harmona—to say.
"I'm—I am Cyren Yoshimoro," he began slowly, careful to keep his voice strong and firm. "And I would… I would offer my condolences for what Sage-Harmona has done to you. It will… it will scar us forever… and I'm sorry for what men do in their greed and lust for power…"
His eyes meet with Aithne's over the crowd as they stared at him. She managed a shaky smile and they both knew that this was it. This was the last time they would see each other. If they tried to gain a few moments with one another they would destroy each other. The ripping from separation would be too great.
Cyren wanted to call out to her, to say he loved her and that he never wanted to go a single day without her. But he knew that it would have to remain quiet and unsaid in his breast. He was now the heir apparent of Sage-Harmona and he couldn't cling to the things he wanted.
Goodbye, Aithne, he thought and he turned away, walking off the stage and back toward the palace. Annityn and Tage flanked him quickly, but he said nothing to either of them as he walked away without looking back.
Aithne had seen the goodbye as well and she forced herself to accept it, even if she didn't want to say goodbye yet. She had thought—foolishly—that they would have had a few more moments. But it was over and they were done.
When Keira and Jak approached, Aithne threw herself into her mother's arms, gripping her tighter than she had ever before. Keira stroked her head softly, understandingly, and Jak stood tall in front of them, shielding them, and looked to where Cyren had walked off.
Nik excused himself from Sala, Sedet, Merasaki, and Nyx as Crea approached Sala. Venn was hovering by the side, watching Crea give out her final farewells.
"So you're going with Cyren and his soldiers?"
"Just halfway," Venn answered with a small nod. "My people are in Donna-Rune and it's in the direction the Sage-Harmona brood is heading in. I figured that it be safest for me and Crea to travel with them for part of the way."
"Crea's my sister-in-law," Nik told him, and touched his shoulder lightly. "I don't want to find out you've hurt her."
"I'm not going to hurt her," Venn answered and looked at Crea as she approached him, their eyes meeting and clashing and Nik nodded in satisfaction.
He nodded once to Crea and then went to go stand beside Sala, now the sole ruler of the Holy City. As they started walking away, he reached out and took Nyx's hand. She looked over at him and nodded.
Wincing from the pain in his leg, Nik walked back home.
--&--
Two weeks later, Cyren was on his way to becoming king of Sage-Harmona. He, Tage, and everyone else from Sage-Harmona had left with the sun, under Cyren's insistence. He just hadn't been able to stomach the thought of being so close to Aithne and being unable to touch her.
Planning was something that needed to be done and took up most of his time. His coronation was put on hold because Sage-Harmona's reconstruction required most of his attention. Hirmoyarbeshi had left most of the houses surrounding the palace in disarray and Cyren and Tage went over their budget and did their best to find a way to slowly begin to heal the wounds that had scared their city.
They also had to set up a council of advisors—Tage had told Cyren that every ruler of Sage-Harmona, save Hirmoyarbeshi who had only relied on the Mage, had one—and Cyren had to rely heavily on Tage to help him decide on which men and women would work best for his council.
Even then there was the dangerous, and disturbing, process of going through Hirmoyarbeshi and the Mage's personal belongings. Annityn had informed them that both Hirmoyarbeshi and the Mage had kept hidden rooms deep under the palace to perform their hideous Experiments.
And, of course, they still had to deal with the Experiments themselves. Those that had survived Aithne's burst of power had escaped to the desert and news was slowly trickling in that they were aggressive and would attack anyone who came near them or happened in their path.
Venn had sent word out to the many desert tribes he had connections with that they were stay away from areas where the Experiments had been sighted, but Cyren knew it was a problem they were going to have to deal with sooner or later.
"I don't know how we're going to deal with all of this," he muttered sourly.
"Relax," Tage advised, shifting through his own heavy set of papers. "I'm with you every step of the way."
They were sitting in a small room only a few halls down from his bedroom in the Sage-Harmona palace. There was a small, dim light on the center of the desk that rested between them. Countless amounts of papers and reports had been stuffed into the room and Cyren's eyes were strained from reading so much.
But having so much work was better than having none, or too little work. Cyren's mind tended to stray to thoughts that caused him too much pain. He was nearly a king now—people had taken to referring to him as their 'Lord Prince Cyren'—and he had come to understand that being king meant sacrificing.
He had to admit that, even as his soul yearned for what he had lost, this was where he needed to be. More than that, this was where he wanted to be.
Aithne…
Shaking his head, Cyren lifted his tired head from his papers and looked around the small room. He blinked when he saw nothing in the small, darkening corner of their room.
"Where's Annityn?"
Tage shrugged his broad shoulders. "Who knows? It's not like we really have a say about what she does anymore, Lord Cyren. And it's not like she's an actual citizen of the city…" As he was prone to do whenever Annityn was mentioned, Tage frowned.
It was true. Annityn had followed him and Tage back to Sage-Harmona but she was a tender subject. Her duty had been performed and she was a free woman. Cyren wasn't sure why she continued to stand by him and he didn't know how to ask her.
"What is it?" Cyren asked as Tage's scowl deepened.
"Do you think it's wise to allow her to remain here?" he asked and Cyren had grown used to his blunt honesty enough to know he meant no offense. "She… unsettles many of the people, Lord Cyren."
Cyren had also spent enough time with Tage to understand that Annityn affected him more than anyone else. Tage had eagerly accepted Cyren's request for him to become the commander-in-chief of his army, which Cyren prayed reverently they would not need, and Cyren was accepting that Tage was not only a calming voice of reason in his whirlwind claim to power, but also a good friend.
And Annityn was his friend too.
"This is her home, too, Tage," Cyren pointed out and frowned. He dreaded what information would come to light soon enough. Because Annityn had already told him that Hirmoyarbeshi had kept records of all the advancements he had made in Baron Praxis's Dark Warrior Program, Cyren knew that they would both find out some rather disturbing things about Annityn, about what had been done to her.
"Yes, I know that," Tage agreed, sounding sour. "But still…"
"Whatever she chooses, I'll stand by her." Cyren went back to his papers and added under his breath, "I think she's more lost than anyone else, Tage."
Because Tage was inclined to agree, he said nothing.
--&--
Annityn knew Sage-Harmona like the back of her hand. It was merely because the blueprints had been imprinted into her mind via the Mage's power, but she had long ago decided not to give much thought to it.
She rested along the smooth, flat stones of a Sage-Harmona house just outside the palace. She knew that Cyren and Tage Yao were both up, but for some reason she hadn't felt like remaining near them.
It wasn't because she had any firm distaste for them—Annityn wasn't sure she 'distasted' anything; even though she understood the emotion—she had just felt so unnecessary that she had had to leave.
For as long as she could remember, she had always had a purpose and a cause. Now she was listless, without direction. She thought that what she felt now was called 'lost' but she couldn't be sure.
Not for the first time, she wished someone would tell her what to do. But she supposed that was the point of being free. No one was to tell her what to do. And the idea of being her own master did not displease her, but the idea that she was completely alone did—surprisingly.
Suddenly she tensed and whirled around, her daggers in her hands and her body braced at the ready. After a moment, she threw the dagger with expertise into the shadows. Then she settled back down and waited.
Roid had her dagger in one of his claws and he handed it to her as he joined her on the rooftop. They said nothing for a moment when suddenly Roid lifted his other hand and revealed Aithne's sais.
"Will you give these back to her for me?" he asked and said nothing more, already knowing that she would.
"Everyone thinks that you are dead," she pointed out casually. Roid merely glanced over at her calmly. "So you lead the Metal Heads now."
All he could do was nod. "Unlike Cyren, I do not believe that Metal Heads and humans are truly ready to coexist peacefully together. So we're moving, far away. But if… if Cyren knew that I was alive he would expect me to support his ideals. And I would out of my… promise and my affection for Cyren, I would. But I know that is not what is best."
"I understand," Annityn agreed softly. "But why did you inform me of this decision?"
"I suppose that I needed to let someone know I wasn't dead." Roid looked down at his talons and then stood. "I just thought that you'd be the one able to keep it quiet… and I wanted to see Cyren one last time."
Not a word was exchanged between them. Roid sighed and looked up into the inky blackness of the sky. Annityn wondered what he thought about, and then realized that she had never before wondered what had gone on in a mind.
It was such a strange thing, human emotions. She wasn't quite sure yet what to do with them, but she was almost positive she was pleased to have them.
"Perhaps in time, I will return and tell Cyren everything. He'll be angry, no doubt, but he'll understand. It's his nature." Roid touched her wrist and the contact was warm but fleeting. "I would stay and support Cyren, but no matter how much the world has changed now, Metal Heads and humans can still not coexist with any harmony."
Annityn realized with a slight blink that he was looking for her opinion. She said, staring out in the darkness, "You assumption is the correct one. Prejudice will not fade between the races and for them to live together now, it would only cause another war. Perhaps, in many years, there is a 56.4 percent possibility that…"
When she trailed, no longer able to stand her voice being so cold and methodically, Roid released her wrist. "Then, we shall both hope that the day will come when we see each other again. Until then, Annityn, I trust you to find peace and happiness for yourself."
She looked over at him as Roid prepared to slip back into the darkness. She gripped Aithne's sais, charred from the Phoenix's powers but otherwise unharmed, and watched as he nearly disappeared.
"Roid?" she called and she felt his presence remain. "Please allow me to accompany you." She could feel his eyes upon her, even though he could not see her. "I do not know what I would do, but I think I would be able to help you."
And, suddenly, she didn't want him to leave.
Wordlessly, Roid crouched by her once more. She felt the cool touch his claw against her cheek. "I wish that I could say yes because your presence would comfort me. We understand each other, Annityn. But you as well as I know that that is not what is best. Your place is here with Cyren."
"I have no place," she told him. Not bitterly or sourly or sadly. She was merely stating her facts.
"You do. You'll see." Roid bent down and touched his glowing skull to her hair dark hair. "Take care of yourself, youngling. This is our chance to start over."
Then he was gone. Annityn stared into the darkness until she felt completely alone. Then slowly, with Aithne's sais in her hand, she descended the rooftop and made her way into the palace.
"Your place is here with Cyren." Perhaps.
Cyren had retired to bed when she entered the small, cramped room where Tage and the future king had been going over the latest reports of the day. Now only Tage remained, finishing up the last of his duties as High General before retiring to his rooms.
"General Yao?" she asked calmly as she stepped fully inside the small room.
"Yes?" Tage called over his shoulder, not looking at her. Then, suddenly, his back stiffened and he stood straight up, recognizing her voice. "What do you want?"
"I wish to remain in Sage-Harmona," Annityn answered coolly, walking over to his side. "I believe that I would be able to offer aid to Lord Cyren as his spymaster. That is a position that is not yet filled."
"Spymaster?" Tage raised an eyebrow, goggling at her. "You?"
She understood that he still did not trust her and, she could admit to herself, that she did not trust him very much either. All the same, Roid had given her a new purpose and she understood that she was now determined to see it work for her.
Everything was changing, Annityn realized, and she would have to adapt.
"Yes, I feel that my abilities as spymaster would aid Cyren the best," she explained and tilted her head to the side, her golden eyes almost warm in the light. "If you will have me, General Yao."
The desk hit her back hard and Annityn did not recognize the new emotion of surprise. Nor did she quite comprehend what she felt when she felt Tage's lips slanting against her own. His arm was underneath her head, acting as a cushion for her fall, tangling in her hair, the other cupping the front of her neck, bringing her face closer.
It was strange and she was not sure what she felt as Tage pressed his body down against hers. It was not unwelcome and she could not compare to what it had felt like to have Hirmoyarbeshi kiss her.
Perhaps it is because General Yao is younger? She thought. All she knew was that Tage seemed to know what he was doing when it came to kissing. There was a low pull at the bottom of her stomach that Annityn thought was the beginning of lust, but she could not be sure. She had never felt 'lust' before.
When she responded, it surprised them both. Tage recognized it, and Annityn categorized it as yet another emotion she was not accustomed to. She leaned up slightly, catching his mouth with hers, pressing their lips fully together and mimicking what he was doing. A scrap of tongue, a clash of teeth, and tiny zings here and there, her fingers encircling the collar of his shirt.
Suddenly, Tage broke away, as if she had physically hurt him. Annityn did not understand his action since she had in way caused him any harm.
But Tage was backing away as Annityn lifted herself off the desk, looking around the papers they had scattered. He shook his head, as if to clear off a wayward thought, and kicked open the door.
"Oh, I'll have you," he told her and was gone, leaving Annityn there.
Neither were sure what exactly he meant.
notes well, yes. I couldn't leave Annityn and Tage hanging, could I? And with all that UST? No way. Of course, they won't get the closure the rest get, but at least it's something right? Their story can only happen after this. Anyway, see you guys in the epilogue.
Hehe. Epilogue. Sounds so funny to say.
Epilogue: time to close the final pages of the book
reviews
jaklover123: lol, yeah. That was my reaction of Light Eco in Jak 3. "Like wasn't this stuff supposed to be rare and hard to find? Where the hell were those Precursors looking exactly?" But, then again, there were a lot of plot holes in Jak 3. Naughty Dog just didn't take their time with it, like they did the other games. Well, that's just my opinion.
Chantz: I actually hate writing battles scenes, and I never think I'm any good at them. And I stole the "gentleman's meeting" shamelessly from Pirate of the Caribbean. Hopefully, Aithne's problem was shed some light on and made a little more sense.
Xazz: hopefully our omnipresent resident god Lokin answered your questions for you. And you thought he was just going to be annoying and in the way. XD
ForestWalker: well, obviously, Roid isn't dead. He was just playin'. I love Light Jak, so I had to through him in. He heals himself and flies. I couldn't not. And poor Aithne, but she's basically just a normal girl since she can't ever really use them without killing herself. XP I think sometimes I'm a bit too cruel to my OCs.
Carree: the sad truth is, that's really the cost of war. In fact, you could say this whole story is about the penalties of war (hey, that's it's title right?) I mean, Jak loses Keira and Aithne, Keira loses a husband, Aithne loses a father, Cyren loses his family, Roid loses Rosalyn, Daxter loves his soul and his son, Tess loses her husband and her son, Maelia is never given her family and is denied love, Ryu never measures up to his war-hardened father… the list goes on.
GundamWingFanatic90: well, Gareth's definitely dead. Actually, it's surprising. I had pretty much decide that Gareth was going to die in the very first chapter of Secret Origins. I knew was going to kill him. I just didn't know when. Hehe. Well, yes, at least they all died for their cause.
Specter Von Baren: I know, isn't it great?
ChatterBox101: Gareth had to die. I can't really explain it, but he was marked for death from the first time I formed him in my head. And him being a possibly rival for Keira's affections had nothing to do with it, since that was doomed from the start. If you knew how many more people were actually supposed to be dead at the end of this chapter, you'd probably hate me… XD