Chapter Thirty-Four –

A Picture:

The World at Winter

There was a dread pall of silence: thick, black, and chillingly morose, over the entirety of the Black City. Indeed, the Dark Realm itself had held nothing but a seething quietness for several months now. And the war that had looked to be so swiftly and mercilessly sweeping down upon the world as a whole?

It was as if all evil had begun to slumber.

But even a sleeping giant is not rendered less dangerous by his dreams.

Within the Ebony Queen's palace, there was no movement, no colour, or sound but the whispering footfalls of the jet-robed courier who now strode through the deserted halls, calmly and purposefully nearing the throne room of the lady herself. The gigantic, steel-bound double doors there had been left open – not completely so, but brought far enough away from one another so that a space of about ten feet was made between them.

Through this the messenger passed, moving through the doors to come and stand in the center of the floor of black malachite. From her seat upon her high and magnificent throne, Zaschaea acknowledged him.

"What news do you bring, Rook-Lord?" she said, naming the low-ranking warlord by his official title. He was captain of a changeling army, which often took the form of a flock of pit-black and unusually large crows.

The messenger bowed deeply to her, eyes watching the coldly beautiful face of the one who was held in supreme reverence as mistress of all the forces of evil.

"It is not news that will please you, I fear, my lady," he said, softly, and then stood straight as he continued, in a level and even tone of voice, making certain that she heard everything that he had to say.

"The alliance of the seven Zekkflagor generals made to go forth on the march to Iordania of Elvendome, with the intention to attack and subdue it as you had commanded, however—"

He paused, meaningfully.

"They were embattled long before they ever reached that city."

Zaschaea did not react to this. It was as if she had expected it, although it did have to be noted that her fingers – tipped at their ends with perfectly manicured black-red and talon-like nails – drummed a bit on the shimmering crystal orb that she held with a casual indifference in one hand. She raised one dark eyebrow coolly, dangerously.

"And?" she asked. "Where did the attack take place?"

"Just over the border of Sytherria, my lady. I was informed by my scouts only that they had come upon a scene of utter and bloodless destruction – a battlefield, where not a single body remained to tell of the skirmish that had taken place. Scavenging vultures flew overhead, wheeling 'round and 'round in the sky over the field, but they found nothing to satisfy their appetite for flesh. There had been a battle, but nothing remained of either side – the army that you had ordered to march, or their assailants."

"An invisible foe. You should learn then – never underestimate our enemies, Rook-Lord. It would be the unguarded chink in your armor."

This was said in a tone of voice that indicated, plainly, to him that their audience was over. The Ebony Queen needed to hear no more from him. He had said his piece. And so, with a respectful and silent bow, he turned and departed from the chamber.

When he had gone, Zaschaea turned the crystal orb over and over in her palm, although it seemed as if she did it mindlessly. Her flame-coloured eyes had focused on some object far out in the distant, impenetrable horizon, and it hardly needed imagination to guess at what she was thinking of.

For the past several months, her plans had been inexplicably thwarted – foiled, the designs, the stratagems, of her: Zaschaea, the Ebony Queen! The war that she had so carefully structured and nurtured, over the countless years of her own dark existence, had come to what was without a question a complete standstill. Every army that she had sent out had been prevented from accomplishing its purpose, meeting always with the same end. Before it had even come close to reaching its destination, the entire army was utterly wiped out, and no sign was left of its existence but the blackened but somehow not scorched grass of an empty field. There was never any blood, never any wreckage or sign of aggressor or defender.

Simply nothing.

Zaschaea's wrath had climbed to nearly deadly level when this had happened for the first time. How could anyone have foreseen the exact location of her dark forces, and then managed to destroy it without leaving a sign of any struggle that had taken place? She knew of no realm in the world – even the White Realm itself – that could so effortlessly surmount, in battle, her own armies. Her warriors were well trained and devoted to their duty; they would not just fall.

It baffled her: the appearance of this nameless, faceless, and intangible enemy who had now risen to confront her.

She had tried to conceal her ire, and instead concentrated on striking back, on reclaiming lost ground. More armies could be raised – more warriors could be created. This was not a setback: not for the great Dark Realm. She could take this on.

But it was like fighting the wind.

No matter which way one struck at it, one could never touch it, or harm it in any way, and it was still there, everywhere. So she lied. She covered up the failings of her plans with authoritative and confident words, and sent out more armies, in greater and stronger droves. The Black City was far from being emptied of all its evil creatures, and the war was yet to escalate to its final deciding battle. Truly – hardly any battles had even been fought yet, thanks to this invisible foe of hers…

Even now Zaschaea's eyes narrowed, as she sat in silence upon her throne.

It went without saying that the destruction of her partnership with her Dark Knight, Jaedin of Sytherria, was a notable – and hardly painless – loss for her. She had been severely crippled when he had announced, openly to her, his intentions to leave her service. She had been forced to extemporize, drastically, and she knew that he was fully aware of what he had done to her. Perhaps he knew better than she did just what his leaving had done to her – perhaps he didn't.

She could just imagine the knowing, strangely youthful smirk that would have come across his proud, handsome features if he had had those words told to him. He would have been sated, in his own twisted way, knowing that he'd dealt her a blow.

That was the way Jaedin worked: in the typical manner of a Dark Lord, and a well-trained and experienced Dark Lord at that. His motivations were ever and only for himself, first and foremost. Himself, and none other.

Quietly, as thunder rumbled distantly outside the black onyx walls of her Light-forsaken structure, the Ebony Queen went over the ordinances that she herself had drilled, over and over again, into Jaedin's mind. She remembered well, so well, those bygone days when he had been a willing and deadly-powerful pawn in her hands – a supple and corrupt and darkness-tainted knight whose power and prowess was excelled by none…

Her masterwork.

"A Dark Lord can know nothing of the weak and pathetic strivings of the other beings, Sentient or otherwise, in the world around him."

"His sole thought is of gaining everything and anything he desires, no matter what the cost."

"He knows nothing of love, nor pain, nor loss – except that which he suffers or inflicts in battle – and to any being to cross his path, his touch is nothing but cold and brutal: his will of adamantine, and can never be otherwise. This is his fate, who he has chosen to be, and it cannot be changed, not by time, not by will, and not by desire…"

"A Dark Lord can know nothing outside of himself. His heart is black, and in the end, it will be his sole companion: his painful solace in the unfeeling, icy shadows. It is his life, it is his soul, it is his every thought and word, IT IS HIS DOOM."

Stirring restlessly upon her throne, Zaschaea loosed her grip on the crystal, allowing it to slip from her palm and fall through the air. It burst, noiselessly, into a shower of black-garnet shards of light the instant before it hit the floor, as she stood.

Her black silk gown whispering about her, she crossed the throne room, moving away from the throne, and went to stand at the balcony at its other end, looking out across the entire panorama of the Black City.

He had been there, several months ago – six months, now that she turned her full concentration upon it. How he had managed to get a hold of a key to one of the Gates, and then entered the realm without her knowing it, she didn't know and didn't care. It could hardly irritate her that he had done so; after all, she had taught him to act with such shadowy covertness. She had no one to blame for it but herself, after all.

Without that spell, it was inevitable that the Dark Realm would fall.

Of course, her war would still go on. Fate could not be denied; she had pushed this thought from her mind for long enough, denied its truth, but now she had learnt to face it. From before the very beginnings of time, her Dark Knight had been meant to destroy the very blackness that had, for so long, been his home.

And he would do it…he would do it, and he would have his Princess, the Child of the Faeries, Daughter of the Light, at his side when he did. Together, Jaedin and Princess Elowyn of Avalennon would strike forth against the Dark Realm, and it would fall. No effort of Zaschaea, the Ebony Queen, would serve to make this otherwise.

But while strength remained in the darkness, she would go on with her plans. The war could not be delayed forever – not even by this faceless nemesis that thwarted her so mockingly. Soon enough, even if she herself had to join her armies and assail the walls of Avalennon itself again…

If the Dark Realm was to fall, then it would fall – but not without taking the White Realm with it. She was confident that this could be done.

Turning her eyes again to the scenery of her jealously guarded black paradise, Zaschaea let her eyes focus on the mountainous horizon.

Live while you can, Jaedin.

You have escaped me for now, even while I held your soul in my hands: your precious life-essence…but I will not let it rest forever at this…you know that it cannot end happily for you; at this very moment, you know that they will never forgive you, and they will not allow you to hold onto her for forever, however you have acquired her—

If you have at all.

So live while you can, Jaedin, and I will be watching, in the meantime, and waiting. I'll unravel what secrets are left in this world, and will have the end.

I'll let you play your little game.

But hate has too far devoured your soul. You are lost. You have no hope.

* * *

Elowyn stood quietly in the midst of the snowy woods. She was dressed warmly, in a thick, many-layered gown and hooded cloak, with tall boots on her feet and velvety gloves on her hands, a scarf swathed about her graceful neck; it was winter. Snowflakes fluttered down through the air around her, the sunlight glancing upon them every so often and causing them to glimmer brightly for a moment. The scenery, indeed, was entirely covered in the cold and feathery whiteness, with only the dimmest outlines of the dark trees and undergrowth to relieve it.

"And here we are – again," she said.

Jaedin, her sole companion, looked at her, and nodded. He was without words at that moment, but he could hardly be blamed for it, in the face of this newest reality. Within only a very little while, the blissful and indulgent world that had held only the two of them – the world that they had known for the past six months – would melt away, falling into shards of its former self, and what had always been, was, and would be would come to take its place. Its rightful place.

Within moments, everything would change again.

Still without a word, he stepped over a fallen log and came to stand beside her, the hem of his long, full-cut black velvet cloak brushing against the immaculate white snow, stirring it gently. His quicksilver eyes scanned briefly – silently – sharply, over the wide panorama of the scenery before them, and she felt a ripple of some emotion go through him. He was her mate: her husband, and her only love, and she knew him well. She waited for him to speak.

Finally, he stood back, stepping slightly behind her, so that her shoulder blades could have touched against his chest, if she had moved that way.

"Will they understand?" he asked.

Elowyn felt a knot of emotion – feelings that she had, for so long, pushed into the back of her mind: doubt, fear, guilt, longing, and so many more – form in the pit of her stomach, and then rush into the back of her throat. It threatened to choke her.

She hadn't wanted to think of this. To consider all of it. They had been so happy with one another…their lives had been perfect, after that sublime moment in which they had realized that not only had they been meant for each other from the beginning of time – they belonged to one another, they were one another…

Hers had been all the unquestionable joy and contentment of a bride: sharing each moment, even her very dreams, with the one she loved, he who was her world. Even as they had covertly kept back the forces of the evil Dark Realm, confounding each attack without ever showing themselves, their minds had been focused on one another. At the end of the day, it was his arms that she sought, his kisses that rained down upon her brow, his voice that she felt her soul thrill at the sound of…

Now this.

It was time for them to return. The end was near, and it could only come if they were willing to recognize their responsibilities, and buckle down for the final battle. In the end, good would always win over evil…

But there were still questions, in the meantime. What would happen once they did what they had traveled so far to do, she and her love? How would the White Realm and its allies react when all had learnt of the union between the Princess of prophecy, and the Dark Lord of old?

Jaedin had many a wicked and cruel deed to his credit, and many a twisted and bloody secret in his past – she knew well of this. How many nights had she awakened to the feel of him stirring beside her: his sleep tormented by dreams of the past, nightmares so awful that he would only find calmness again after she had held him in her arms for what seemed to be hours upon end? And all this to demonstrate what kind of person he had been…hence his question—

"Will they understand?"

They would. They had to. There were other things much more pressing for them to be turning their minds towards.

Wasn't it enough that the world had changed?

Elowyn shook her head, clearing off these thoughts, and pivoted so that she stood facing towards him. Her husband was broad-shouldered and tall; his strong and well-formed frame seemed to tower over her, statuesque and reassuring and powerful, with the grace of a large predatory cat and the darkness of the encroaching night. He was so much different from any other person she had ever known.

Perhaps that was part of why she – Elowyn – loved him – Jaedin – so much. But then she – Love – had always held a passion that was more than incomprehensible for him – Hate – in her heart.

She looked up at him for a moment; then, she stepped forward again, closing the gap between them totally, and draped her arms about his waist, pulling him to her. She let her eyes slip closed, and pressed her face against his thick black velvet shirt, inhaling his familiar scent of incense, fire, and wild, fresh air. He was still for a moment, and then she felt his arms move to close about her, holding her tightly.

"But then…I have you…don't I?" he murmured, seeming almost as if he was a young boy wondering at his first sight of a phoenix taking flight. "I have you…and nothing else can matter, can it? As long as there is us…"

He didn't finish that sentence, however.

At last, she pulled away again, and met his gaze with hers, solemnly: reminding him, again, that here was not merely a young, naïve, and guileless faery princess – here was a goddess, who had as many years, as many lifetimes, and as many memories as he himself. Yet she was made of the Light…entirely composed of the one thing that he had, for so long, told himself he could never touch, much less ever possess…and here she was, in his arms. His own, at his side, through the coming war, which would take all the strength of good in the world to win.

"Do you know how much I love you?" she asked him, in a murmur, leaning her head against his shoulder. He made a soft sound deep in his chest – one that almost reminded her of a purr, and most likely was – and replied…

"Tell me, my Princess."

"Count the stars," she said, and brushed her lips against his skin at the point just below his squared jaw line. "Number each blade of grass, each laughing baby's smile, each grain of sand, every tear ever shed…then you will know."

Now he kissed her softly, with a gentleness that no one – not even the most imaginative soul in the world – could have thought him capable of, had they seen him fully engaged in combat in the raging inferno of the fiercest battle, or snapping off orders as the relentless and cruel Dark Lord that he was…had been.

"And I love you."

The snow continued to fall, as the world at winter swept along, on its timeless, unaltered and steadfast way…

* * *

A/N: Me, back again after a lengthy hiatus! I have been gearing up for the imminent Armageddon-esque battle between the forces of ultimate good and evil, so I hope you'll excuse the wait... Look for an appearance by all of your favorite friends of old, from throughout this series of mine, and the introduction of some as-of-yet unheard-of characters, including an old, old acquaintance of our Dark Lord of Sytherria!

As for now, we will have a bit of downtime in this chapter, and the next, a little more action. Some of the first Travelers of Enchantment will be found engaged in battle after these two, though...but don't skip over these, even though they may seem slow! They're important, as they fill in the story of what's been happening over the past six months in Evyrworld! Action will commence soon enough. Have no fear.

Answers to questions and comments to be found at the end of the next chapter, so you are aware.

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