Ashes by Stelmarta

Wow, I'm sorry that took so long, but this chapter is rather long itself, so I think I have a more or less viable excuse. Once again, I lied, this is not the last chapter. Or it is and there's just two epilogues. This story just keeps getting longer and longer. I promise the next one (followed by the real epilogue) will be the last. And it shouldn't take me too long, though knowing my schedule it will and I'll get lynched. I'm blabbering, aren't I? It's almost midnight, what do you expect? Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter, because I worked pretty hard on it.

A quick word on reviews: as far as my knowledge runs, three people read that last chapter of mine. I have no way of knowing otherwise. So I would appreciate, if you're reading this, if you would let me know that you're there and review. It doesn't have to be clever, or funny, or coherent, banging the keyboard with your head is welcome. I just want to know if anyone's out there. And as an added incentive, I'll mention everyone who does review this chapter in the next one's dedication.

No dedication for this one, I'm too sleepy to come up with something.



PART XV – The Eclipse

Laesha didn't open her eyes. Her head hurt too much. But try as she might to block out everything and black out again – for there's no pain when you're unconscious – the outside world kept intruding. The cold, smooth stone against her cheek. Ropes chafing her ankles and wrists. A rough cloth gag in her mouth. The sounds of movement, footsteps, the swish of fabric. The faint ringing of a blade being sharpened.

All of these sensations remained separate and distant of each other, Laesha's sore mind unable and unwilling to make any sense of it.

But the reality can only be blocked for so long, and soon the pain ebbed enough for the realization that she was being held captive to coalesce. Her memories were a bit longer in returning, but when they did, only the ropes kept her from leaping up and screaming.

Where was she? Was Cayn behind her, knife in hand? She was afraid to look, if Dust be there ready to take her to the underworld. But curiosity is a force as strong or stronger than fear. She opened her eyes.

She was staring at a pale gray marble wall. No Cayn, no Dust, no nothing. She nearly screamed in frustration at this, but couldn't because of the gag. What in the names of the gods was going on!

After several moments of impotent rage and blind panic, Laesha finally regained the common sense that had abandoned her long, long ago. It was quite a shock, actually, to be furiously tearing at bonds one moment, then calmly telling yourself the next that it was a bad idea and that you should pretend to still be out cold.

So shocking, in fact, that Laesha actually listened and stopped struggling. It was uncannily like Owl was whispering in her ear.

But he wasn't. She was alone in enemy hands and utterly at their mercy. This realization, instead of making her panic, made her even more receptive to this new sensibility she had acquired. So she set her mind into motion, to try and figure out where she was.

She was lying on her side on the floor against a wall, both formed of cold gray marble. Her feet and hands were tied together behind her back, and a gag was in her mouth, tied at the nape of her neck. A slight breath of cool air on the shoulder facing up told her that there was a door or window above and behind her. And judging by the colors cast faintly onto the wall, the Aurora was still blazing. She must have been out for an hour or so; at least that's how badly her head hurt.

Then she listened, hard, to the sounds around her. The hard click of footsteps told of armor, but there also were the sounds of fabric rubbing against itself. There were, she decided, at least two people in the room, one was pacing, and one was sharpening a knife. The walker was farther away and was either a large person or wearing very heavy clothing. The knife was closer, and little could be told about him (or her) except that they were wearing garments made from fine cloth, with long sleeves that hissed along with the sharpening stone.

Laesha began to doubt her faith in simple deduction; she had learned practically nothing at all about where she was. And that little voice replied that she had, but she was too much of a dolt to realize it.

She wasn't so sure she liked this little voice.

But before she could commence arguing with herself, someone spoke:

"How much longer, my lord?" asked a soft contralto with a slight growling overtone. The pacer.

"Not long," he replied cajolingly. The knife. And Laesha knew, with a sickening twist in her stomach, exactly who he was.

"Why do you ask?" he continued after a moment with a tinge of concern coloring his tone.

"Because, my lord, there are people running down the hallway,"

There was a slight titter, but it wasn't either of the previous two.

Crow?

But now she could hear the runners too. Laesha dearly hoped that it wasn't reinforcements from the barracks. But it couldn't be, that annoying little voice pointed out, the rapid footfalls were that of bare feet. So it was the Avengers, acting true to their name and hunting down Cayn Eversra.

A commotion arose from the other end of what she now realized was a very spacious room. The attackers were slamming their bodies into the doors, and the two inside were scrambling to defend themselves.

Laesha had half a mind to start cheering, or at least trying to cheer through her gag, but the other, logical side, suggested that she take this advantage of distraction and try to free herself.

With the best feral grin she could manage through a wad of cloth, Laesha unsheathed another set of claws and set to it.

~*~

The doors gave way suddenly, Avengers pouring from the threshold like a river from a dam. Dusinane had barely enough time to snatch up a sword before they were upon her, scrambling to be the first to cut her down.

But their numbers were their downfall, with everyone crammed into the narrow hallway before the main chamber, Dusinane had only to swing and the entire front line went down. There were quite a few of them, though, and they were getting closer.

She hoped that Cayn was safe by the Altar. Not that he couldn't take care of himself, quite the contrary, but rather he had a job to carry out.

Dusinane kept swinging while the moons moved in their inevitable course across the heavens.

~*~

The Eclipse was almost at hand. Even through the shouts of the attackers she could hear the almost inaudible whispers of the stars down from the open skylight above the Alter on which she was laid.

Crow kept her eyes closed, choosing to feel rather than see; feelings were more vivid than sights. She could feel the deaths of the prisoners. The warm blood upon cool marble. Owl's fury. The strain of the wolf's muscles. Cayn's fear running deep beneath his anger. She could feel Laesha stolidly cutting through her bonds.

It had begun. Crow knew it in her soul and felt it in her body, as if she were being stretched thinner and thinner, leaving her at the transparent essence of herself. The world was already dim, as dim as she was to the world.

The fear was still there, the panicked fear from before, the fear of mortality, but it now tore at itself in the back of her mind, unable to affect her as it had before. A new sensation was overtaking her: a feeling of calm acceptance. It trickled over her consciousness so quietly, so unassumingly that she barely realized that it was there at all. She welcomed it.

The years of fear were being eroded away, and peace came in its wake. Soon Crow would be gone, and Ashes in her place.

Even this thought could not burn away her tranquility. Nothing could, now.

~*~

The Avengers were gaining ground, steadily forcing Dusinane back towards the dais one step at a time. She was in Rage now, foaming at the mouth, eyes red, untroubled by the thousand little wounds she had sustained. Her attacks were wild and sweeping, leaving more than enough openings for the attackers to take advantage of. If they weren't cut down first.

Their ranks were thinning rapidly, but they pressed ahead, regardless of their fallen comrades and of their own lives. Finally Dusinane had encountered opponents less willing to live than she.

Not the least of these was Owl. He seemed to be in Rage himself, barely keeping out of reach of the wolf's blade, sacrificing safety for proximity to his target. He was working solely with his dagger now, having used all his arrows on the remaining guards. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, and it was frighteningly clear that the only thoughts passing through his brain were of clearing a bloody path to Cayn.

The picture of the Altar was an eerie one: almost entirely devoid of color. The gray marble structure with a waxen Crow lying upon it, her silver hair flowing off the edge of the stone, just brushing the floor. Cayn stood by her, his skin as pale as the white robes he wore. The bright red of his hair was the only color in the scene.

Cayn gazed up through the open skylight above the altar; lips curled in an expression that was more like a bear trap than a smile. He gripped the ceremonial knife tightly, as if were the only thing keeping him on the ground.

Only a few more moments before the Eclipse took place. Only a few more moments until immortality…

Laesha had managed to shift enough to get a view of the room. The ropes were stronger than she had thought initially, but she had freed her hands and removed the gag already. No one even noticed she was there.

The view through the skylight drew her eyes towards them, as if by magnetism, and try as she might, she couldn't tear herself away. It captivated her. So much that the newly born common sense was silenced, and she didn't notice the hard black scales that had already covered the entirety of her arms and legs. But those scaly hands moved of their own accord, steadily sawing through the ropes that bound her ankles.

Just as they snapped, the Aurora suddenly disappeared. She hadn't realized how much light it lent to the room before, and in its absence, the only illumination came straight down through the skylight. The attack ceased and those still standing could only stare at the sky. The Rage was calmed, and the pain was soothed.

And slowly, the shadows of the moons began to move into the light.

The Eclipse was at hand.

Cayn raised his dagger above his head; ready to let it fall the moment the last sliver of light was gone, his face in a twisted expression of glee. Gaea held her breath.

The light slimmed to a crescent and kept moving, framing Crow's face. Cayn's knife began its descent, impossibly slow.

At that instant, Crow made her first movement since she had been laid out on the cold marble. She opened her eyes, no longer blue, but radiating a warm gray glow that seemed to reflect the last light of the Eclipse. No mortal had eyes such as these.

Cayn's knife plunged into a pile of white and black feathers.

There was a moment in which everyone could do nothing but stare in wonder. Cayn, his knife buried to the hilt in feathers. Owl and the few Avengers remaining, weapons still raised. Dusinane, bleeding from a thousand places. Laesha, her face covered in dragon scales.

A faint light shimmered below the skylight, and for a moment two figures were visible. A man, tall and powerful, clad in black and face in shadow, and a woman, a graceful beacon of gray light who seemed to smile softly beneath her radiance. And then they were gone.

The shadows moved from the light with their disappearance, and broke the bonds that they had placed. Clear noon skies smiled down through the skylight. No longer were the Temple and Altar places of fear and death, but old and antiquated, as if relics from an age long past, now just another page in the dusty volumes of history. The new light banished it all.

The Avengers' fury had suddenly gone from them, and the ones still living began to sob quietly. Cayn still stood by the Altar, staring in disbelief at the pile of feathers. There was no more pretense, no hiding anything; raw emotion was the only thing left to any of them.

Cayn's masks were gone, showing a brief glimpse of the fear and desperation hid behind the façade of madness. Laesha almost felt sorry for him, he looked like a street urchin, pathetic, starved for love and attention. Almost. She still had the scars from when he backhanded her. But it seemed so long ago, another lifetime.

She absently rubbed her cheek where the abrasions had been. Her face was already covered with a coat of thick, black scales, her fingers capped in the dragon claws she had used to cut through her bonds. But it didn't bother her anymore.

Owl was still standing, though barely. If Laesha had chanced to see him, she would have seen the same wretched expression on his face as she had on Cayn's. He was the last, now. And it showed in the waxen color of his cheeks. No tears fell from his eyes; this was too much for even tears.

Dusinane pulled herself up where she had slumped to the ground. There was fire in a thousand cuts all over her body where blades had scorched her flesh. She knew she should have worn armor, but Cayn forbade it, saying that it would be inappropriate in a ceremony to Dust. And now she could barely stand. She had to get up, to protect Cayn. She was a soldier, and it was her duty to protect her commanding officer. At any cost.

Cayn, still shocked, reached down and gently felt a black feather with his fingertip. A slow, malicious smile spread across his face like a tidal wave, wiping out the raw disbelief and shock and restoring the mask of cruelty and madness in its wake.

He snatched a feather by the stem and tossed it into the air almost gleefully, and let it glide gently down. With one swift movement, he cut the feather in half with his knife, turning a malevolent grin directly at Owl.

He turned away and began to walk slowly towards Laesha, though not to her. She would come later; he had other prey now.

"So, boy," he drawled, turning back, "It seems your little revolt failed. For you see, I'm still alive, and she," he gestured to the Altar, "is certainly not. And your little band, well, I'm afraid they won't survive much longer."

He paced up to Owl, peering at him for a moment, "You must be a Tori, you have the look of their kind. You know, filthy little monkeys with wings. I feel I've done Gaea a great service, ridding them of another of Atlantis' cursed species. I had fun destroying your village; I do love the smell of burning feathers."

Owl had gone very, very still and pale, hands clenched at his sides, knuckles whiter than polished ivory. Laesha had once wondered what he would be like if he really lost his temper, and now it looked like she would find out. This was bad.

Cayn turned away again and paced up to the Altar, taking a handful of what was left of Crow's body and running one under his nose, "And I think these will serve admirably,"

Owl's temper snapped. He threw his knife at Cayn with all the force he could muster in his tired muscles, his face twisted in agony.

But a brown blur stepped out in front of Cayn at the last moment, and the dagger thudded into Dusinane's abdomen instead.

She staggered and fell to the ground, without a sound, without a tear. She had fulfilled her duty. Cayn was safe.

He stepped aside, away from the growing pool of blood around the wolf's body, his look of surprise flickering from revulsion to triumph.

"You see!" he called, " I have cleansed Gaea of another cursed creature, and by your hand!" he crowed with laughter at Owl horrified expression, "Oh, this is too much! If I weren't going to kill you, I'd keep you around for entertainment! But as it is, I am going to kill you and your little friend over there, and then, only then, will my work truly be done." He chuckled, "Dragon-girl and Birdbrain, how precious,"

Then, feeling he had talked enough, he drew his blade and advanced.

Owl was standing there glaring at his enemy, making no effort to try and find a weapon. He had reached that end of desperation when pain is welcomed and Dust embraced.

But Cayn had forgotten about Laesha, and how far from helpless she was.

She rammed herself into him and sent him flying away from Owl. After a stunned moment he leapt to his feet and came at them again, blade dancing, if anything more enraged than before.

Laesha shoved the still unmoving Owl from Cayn's path and narrowly succeeded in dodging his attack. His sword skidded off her scales instead of connecting with flesh. He tried again and thrust his blade at her chest in a killing blow.

With a metallic shriek, the sword was deflected, and Laesha was merely pushed off balance and sent to the marble floor with a crash. Cayn looked rather shocked for a moment before he turned on back on the last of the Tori.

He seemed to have come to his senses somewhat, and was now clutching a rusty blade with both hands. Cayn smirked slightly at this and swiped at him experimentally. Owl made no move to block him.

With a snarl, Laesha leapt to her feet, tail lashing and teeth bared. Cayn dodged her swinging claws and backed away from the two. She moved next to Owl, claws bared.

"Oh, I see," chuckled Cayn, "You two have a thing for each other. How sweet." Before either of them could react he kicked Laesha halfway across the room and engaged Owl with a flurry of well-placed blows. His blade seemed to melt as he swung faster and faster and faster, while Owl's blocks became more frantic and erratic until Cayn's sword cut a long gash in his arm.

Owl dropped his weapon with a gasp of pain, leaving himself open to Cayn's fatal blow.

With a feral roar Laesha flew at Cayn and tackled him to the ground, spitting and snarling. He struggled and swore, trying to get his sword to pass through her scales to no avail.

A dragon's Rage is a powerful force, more powerful than that of the wolf-people, and as a Panwere, Laesha changed in more than appearance. Nothing could calm her now.

With her roar the Avengers woke from their stupor and circled the two, catcalling and baring their weapons.

"Give him a dragon's vengeance, girl!"

"Revenge!"

"Kill him!"

Owl pushed his way through the prisoners as best he could, looking pained and anxious, but not angry anymore.

Cayn stopped struggling when he saw the Avengers brandish their worn blades at him, and looked back up at the girl holding him to the floor. She seemed the personification of demonic with her yellow eyes and slit pupils so narrow they were practically invisible. Saliva dripped from her sharp teeth, and her claws tightened around his neck. This creature above was more fearsome than any land dragon he had seen because it had been human once. He thought he recognized her now, the girl he found at the foot of a tree, the one who escaped. But the resemblance was fleeting. This monster was not human, it was not a god, and he couldn't fight it.

As soon as he realized this, as soon as he let go of his fear and hate, she loosened her grip on his neck. Her double-lidded eyes blinked once and she got up off of him. The scales were already receding from her face.

The Avengers ceased their clamor all of a sudden, and Cayn was paralyzed. She looked at the blood on her hands in shock and then to her victim. Her eyes were a green-hazel now, human, and the rage gone. She was still angry, but it was controlled.

"You have many things to answer for, Cayn Eversra," she began sonorously, like the tolling of a great bell, "You have brought Dust to many people, many not ready for it. But that is not your crime. Your crime is not caring, nay, relishing in their deaths and bathing in their sacrifices. Dust does not crave souls to fill his domain, yet you kept giving them to him. And giving. And giving. Your crimes are many, but your punishment is simple.

"We Forsake you; humanity Forsakes you, the beasts Forsake you, the waters and the earth Forsakes you, Gaea herself Forsakes you. You have Forsaken life, and life Forsakes you."

She knelt down, slightly unsteady, and with a curved black claw, carved a hollow teardrop under his eye. Blood mixed with tears of fear. She stayed crouched over him.

"Your scar is hollow, like your heart. Like her, your lieutenant, your comrade. She died for you. And until you realize the depth of her sacrifice and find life again, you will be as empty as the scar upon your cheek."

She stood, but her voice had begun to quaver, "Now, I am going to give you until sunset before I let the Avengers loose. If they find you, you will die. But if they don't, as pathetic as your life will be, you will live to see another sunrise, and maybe salvation."

And with that she crumpled and fell to the floor. All vestiges of the dragon were gone; she was now just a girl small for her sixteen years, with unruly black hair and a deceptively cute face.

Now Owl stepped forward, face creased with pain, "Go, now," was all he said.

Cayn rose, clutching his wounded face, and ran as fast from the Temple and Graemoon forest as his weary limbs could carry him.

~*~

Dusinane was still alive, though the life ebbed from her with every pulse of her weakening heart. Her breath came in shallow gasps, and her vision was becoming dim. She was alone in the chamber, the Avengers had departed after Cayn had gone, carrying the girl and helping the Tori. But Dusinane had been forgotten.

This was not death. Death was when someone you trusted more than the gods themselves betrays you. When he looks upon you in disgust as you bleed to death at his feet. None of the wounds she bore on her body were half as painful as the look on Cayn's face. That was death, not this loss of blood, this slowing of the breath.

The worst was over, she knew that, but why did she still feel as if her heart had been ripped from her chest? She wanted peace, that was all, but she knew she would never deserve it, not if she took a dagger for a thousand Cayns, because all of them would wear that smirk of triumph.

A white feather landed softly on the ground before her face, and even as her vision grew darker this apparition brightened, until its light seemed to quench the very thirsts of her blooded soul.

/ What do you desire? / murmured a gentle voice, full of compassion and free from judgment.

"Forgiveness…peace," pleaded Dusinane hoarsely, her voice barely audible over the beat of her heart.

/ Forgiveness for what? /

"For the people I killed. My family, my enemies, strangers, all of them. All the blood I shed,"

She felt a soft touch on her face, on the scar branded into her cheek, and with it, peace flooded into her, washing away the pain and freeing her from torment.

/ I forgive you, Dusinane. /

With a sigh, the wolf-woman was dead, a single tear – the first she had ever shed – frozen on her lifeless cheek.