Arrival (33 page)

“Move your hand,” she said softly. He didn’t move.

“Satine, in time you will learn to respect me, even love me,” Vezzet said.

Satine stared at him, completely lost. But his hand was growing warmer where it gripped her thigh, and suddenly it felt like it was burning. She took a breath, trying to gain some clarity, but he wouldn’t move his hand. She was exhausted and upset from so much fighting, and all of a sudden, it became too much for Satine.

“Altor,” she ordered, “go outside right now.” The boy looked at his mother’s face, then slunk out of the tent in disappointment. Vezzet smirked at her and moved his hand up her leg.

A kind of sick panic entered her chest, making it constrict, and the only thing she could think to do was unsheathe her dagger in one swift move and gracefully slice it through his wrist, severing his hand so that it fell from her leg to the floor.

There was a moment of shocked silence as they all looked at what she had done, and then Vezzet began to scream in fury and fierce agony.

“Witch!” he shrieked. This was enough for Leostrial.

“Quiet, you insolent pig. Get out of here before you lose the other one, and never think to speak to the princess in such a way again.”

Vezzet looked shocked and stared at each of them through his tears. Then he ran from the tent, his shrieks lost amid those of the battle.

“Why did you let that happen?” Satine hissed furiously. “And in front of the child?”

“I wanted to see how you handled it,” he replied.

“Another test? I have been fighting in a war for you, and yet you still find it necessary to test me?” she asked, breathing heavily.

His eyes narrowed as he looked at her.

“You can’t let things like that happen in front of Altor,” she said firmly. “He’s just a child.”

Leostrial was silent for a moment, and then he gave a small, terse nod. “You’re right. Forgive me.”

Satine blinked, surprised at his apology. She tried to remember when she’d acquired the power to make him admit fault.

After another long moment, she sighed. “Surely it doesn’t need to be this way.”

“It will be over soon.”

“When they are all dead,” Altor murmured darkly and both adults looked at him, startled to see him back in the tent.

“We don’t want them to die,” Satine said.

“But they do die.” The boy looked at them both and shrugged. “It’s sad.”

Leostrial stirred on his seat. “You need never convince me, boy.”

Satine turned to Leostrial. “Shall we win?” The vulnerability in her voice was clear.

It was a moment before he replied. “I think we shall, for even as we speak, my reinforcements are appearing.”

The reinforcements were not many. A war god. As Aegir was the sea, and Freyja love, so Odin was war. And when he came to the battle, wreathed in fire, soldiers screamed in fear, for they knew that they were finally undone.

He rode a fiery chariot, pulled by two gigantic horses made entirely of flames that rode through the sky and out of the clouds. He carried a fire whip, and lashed his horses into a frenzy. He appeared as though a flame himself.

Far below, Fern watched as the god cut a path through the air. Odin flew above the battle inflicting death upon Accolon’s army below him. He killed as he breathed.

But, as if from nowhere, out of the sky they came, more beautiful than anything any man had ever seen. Actaeon and Danae, king and queen of the gods, dazzling in gold; following closely was Freyja, the love goddess born from the sea, and so lovely it brought tears to the eyes of the battle weary; Ares, god of the underworld, wreathed in darkness, and wearing the skins of the men he had claimed; and Artemis, goddess of the hunt, clad in green and gold, her bow and arrows slung over her back.

They came to land before Odin. Actaeon and Danae stepped forward to speak to him, and their words rang out over the dazed mass of people.

“You have chosen the wrong path, brother,” Actaeon said, his voice a deep rumble.

Odin frowned and said, “No. It is you who have done so, for you cannot beat me here.” He dismissed them with a flick of his wrist and leaped back into his chariot. It rose into the sky, and after a quick glance at the scene below him, Odin flew over to where the Elves were firing into the fray.

Fern watched as Odin flew behind the ranks of Elves, and launched his attack. He began to drive them forward and over the hill.

“Now, men!” Fern heard Leostrial scream, and saw them obey hastily. The Elves were in range of their opponent’s arrows, and one by one they began to die. They could withstand the world’s turning, could live for hundreds of years without ever aging or falling sick. But they could not withstand the simple bow and arrow.

It was, perhaps, the most tragic thing that had happened in the long history of the world. Beings of such beauty were not meant to die in such a manner, herded into the soldier’s range. They could do nothing to fight back.

The Elves were driven into the arrows’ path.

Odin was still herding them from the back when Fern shouted his challenge. It was the only thing he could think of to do.

“Odin! Fight me!”

Odin looked at Fern and regarded him curiously.

“The last one, Odin,” Fern said softly, knowing he would be heard. “The last battle. I know you have been waiting for it. I know it is your deepest desire to fight the last battle. Here it is. Come to me.”

Fern rested lightly on his sword, waiting. The war god came to stand before him, leaving his chariot and horses behind.

He could not resist such a challenge. What he yearned for, ached for, was a real fight.

The battle slowed again, for this was something that had never happened before. No one had ever heard of a man challenging a god.

They stood facing each other, and though he was much smaller, and much more fragile, Fern’s eyes burned just as bright as the god’s.

Not far away, Jane heard the deadly challenge and desperately made her way to where Fern and Odin stood, her heart thumping. The other gods had come to watch, and Jane’s eyes went instantly to Freyja. She registered briefly that this was the woman from her dream who had told Jane to save Fern from dying on Guanu.

Fern’s men stood by, fierce pride and worry in their eyes. All around them the battlefield had fallen silent. The sun began to set and the winter twilight made the fighters shiver.

It was one of the most haunting things Jane had ever seen. The challengers turned and walked to their horses. Fern on Nuitdor, and Odin on one of his fiery beasts, so much bigger than the poor, beautiful little mare. The first charge caught the breath of every person watching. How the two of them, facing something so much bigger and greater and darker, could attack with so much courage and strength was unfathomable. Fern leant down and whispered in his horse’s ear, stroking her gently. Her bravery could be seen in the way her foot stamped the ground hard, her eyes alight.

They took off first, leaping into a gallop, and Odin followed, lashing his horse unmercifully. They slammed into each other with the force of hatred and each rider was thrown from his mount to land quickly and roll to his feet unharmed. They ran towards each other, and Odin fought with the power and the experience of a thousand lifetimes. Fern had only his sword and his skill.

“How is he doing this?” Jane heard the man next to her whisper under his breath, his voice haggard with awe. Jane didn’t know the answer, but it became very clear, the instant they began, that Fern could not win.

Every movement was a desperate evasion, or a gallant attempt at attack, and for all watching it was hurtful to see grace so close to death.

Jane edged closer as another blow was thrown. The clang of steel could be heard, as Fern parried and dived out of the way. The fiery whip came swishing through the air, only to be dodged smoothly.

None of it was going to be enough. And yet, as she watched, it became achingly clear to Jane that he was not giving up.

Fern was growing so weary but the god was like a machine, never tiring, never missing his target. Fern used all his ability just to avoid the blade. Every now and then, Fern would edge in closer to Odin and try to land a blow, but it was blocked every time, for the god seemed always three steps ahead.

Fern was not going to be able to keep it up much longer. He looked past the god and into the battlefield. Bodies lay everywhere. He clenched his teeth at the sight and knew he had to give more, try harder.

The lapse in concentration resulted in a deep gash to his right shoulder, rendering it useless. He grunted in pain and leapt out of the way. With a swift movement he took his sword into his left hand and began to fight again, his right arm limp by his side.

Every time he did manage to strike Odin, the wound instantly healed and the god kept fighting, unharmed.

Every time Fern was knocked to the ground, he dragged himself up and continued to evade and block, his body exhausted and broken.

It went on and on, with always the tireless god chasing Fern, wearing him down.

The sun sank and the air was cold. The stars shone brightly down on the two, and the moons mocked them with their calmness. Next to Jane, a man began to cry. It was too heartbreaking to watch.

Fern gathered his strength one more time and threw himself at the god, diving over the whip and landing in a roll that took him, all in one movement, behind Odin’s legs. He lashed out with a huge swing of his sword, using his whole body for momentum, and felt his sword rake into the god’s legs at the back of the knees. Following through with his roll, he swept himself out of danger. But, his hack at Odin’s legs had pushed the god off balance so that his whip swung around behind him, catching Fern in the air, midway through the dive that would have taken him to safety.

And so, all of a sudden, before he had a chance to dodge, the fiery whip was around his waist, burning into his flesh, pulling him out of his dive and wrenching him through the air.

He could not have known, could not have predicted it, and it was what finally beat him. If the whip had swung in any other direction, or had been flicked mere moments later, he would have avoided it. But, alas...

Fern screamed in agony. He had not meant to scream.

“I must thank you before you die,” Odin said to him, as he held him in the air. “For you have given me a battle such as I have never before experienced.”

Fern heard him through a mist of pain. A veil of red. Then someone spoke his name.

“Fern,” and the voice came like a whisper to his mind, so he opened his eyes and looked over to her. Jane stood amidst the crowd of people, smiling at him through the tears in her eyes, and she looked so proud, and so strong, that how, in the end, could he not take heart from her?

Thus, in an act that encompassed and surpassed a hundred times everything he had already done, he made a final attempt for her, and for all the other lives around him.

His left arm was caught tightly by the whip. He thought it might almost be burnt off. With his sword in his wounded right arm, he ignored the immense pain, and with a cry of agony and fury both, he thrust it forward into the eye of the war god. Right into the fiery orb, and far beyond, finding, by chance, the one delicate weakness in the god of war, the one vulnerability.

Fern was dropped to the ground roughly, but the pain was already so much that he barely noticed the jarring of his body.

All he could see was red, and the only thing he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears. There was no feeling in his body now, only relief and sorrow.

He did not have to wait long, for the anger-crazed god slid his sword into Fern’s heart.

And in that moment Prince Fern of Cynis Witron and the Elvish Land died, and despair rent the hearts of everyone there.

Satine watched the battle and wept. Without ceremony, Leostrial ordered that the fighting resume. There was no time to mourn him.

But the prince ... Even having known him, having known and experienced his courage, and having heard all the rumours about his celebrated gallantry, Satine had never expected such courage from him.

Odin had disappeared the instant after killing Fern.

“Death is but another journey, Sulla used to tell me.” Altor’s quiet words and tentative touch pulled Satine out of her thoughts, and she turned to him with warmth. “Who was that man?” he asked, his voice strained.

“That was Prince Fern.”

“And we are fighting against him?” Altor asked.

Satine looked at him for a moment, struggling to think of something to say. “Go back inside the tent to your father, darling. He will need your help. I must fight again.”

The boy cocked his head and stared at her for a moment. Then he turned and ran back to the tent. Satine didn’t turn back to the battle though. Instead she followed Altor slowly back towards where Leostrial was.

“Our powers are dormant,” Danae said quietly.

“But how?” Accolon demanded.

The goddess frowned at him. “He has made them so. There is a force around us, not allowing us to evoke our powers.”

Accolon sighed. There were shadows around his eyes and lines pinched around his mouth.

Anna had dismounted and come to join them. Luca sat with an unconscious Ria in the healer’s tent. He had been told that she probably would never wake.

The rest sat in Accolon’s tent to consider the options before them. The battle still raged, and Anna couldn’t bear to look upon the bodies piled in the snow.

“Well, we will surely win—we outnumber his army now,” Emperor Liam said.

“But he is not just using his powers to stop us,” Artemis said. She radiated energy, and her eyes were piercing with their sharpness. “Even as we speak, your army tires. Leostrial slows them by putting fear in their hearts. Soon his numbers will overrun yours again.”

Accolon cursed and said, “And we cannot get to him! He leads from behind his army! What are we to do?”

There was silence around the tent as they stared at each other. Finally Actaeon spoke.

“We may have to call upon the army of archangels.”

“What are archangels?” Harry breathed.

“They are my army,” Ares said quietly. “An army of destruction. They grow restless in their fortress in the sky. I’m not sure I can control them anymore. To let them loose here could mean an easy victory, or death for everyone.”

The silence in the tent deepened.

Jane stood near the tent flap and stared outside into the havoc, her face impassive. The gods stood near her, in all their magnificence. Freyja in particular was radiant. She wore nothing, but her nakedness was covered by the glow that came from her skin. She stood close to Jane, and as Anna watched, lifted a gentle hand and laid it delicately on Jane’s cheek. Jane looked at her slowly then turned back to the battle.

Luca sat beside Ria. He stared at his hands laced in front of him. Could not look away from his hands. Hands that looked normal, but the more he stared, the more they resembled the image from the basin, broken, crushed, ruined hands. Tortured hands.

Images flashed unbidden through Luca’s mind of all the men he had just harmed and killed. The fighting, the screams of the dying. Everything around him felt dark. A Bright One, they called him. What an unfathomable joke.

Ria did not stir.

It was in that moment that Luca felt something from the tent next to him, where his friends were, and everything changed.

The time was upon them. Jane looked at the battle, and heard the conversation going on behind her, and she couldn’t help but feel a desperate frustration with herself. Wasn’t this foreseen? Wasn’t she supposed to do something? It was why she was here! People were dying, and she was not doing her job! Could not do it.

Where the hell where Mia and Jack? There needed to be the six of them, didn’t there?

Jane shook her head and closed her eyes tight shut, willing herself to come up with something. It had to be now. She could not let this many people down.

Instead though, all Jane could think on was what a twist of fate it was that had dropped her at Fern’s feet in the first place. It had been too easy, him finding her there like that.

Love will save you. The mermaid’s words ran around and around inside her head. And suddenly, Jane realised what was different, what was keeping her alive.

There was a deep love inside her. A love for herself, and for everything around her. And it was coming from the tiny pearl that hung around her neck, resting on her chest, lending its light to her heart. It was this pearl, and the forethought of the mermaid who have given it to her, that made her realise what she had to do, and how to do it.

She looked at her friends, and in that instant, the power inside her burst forth.

They could not let so many people die.

Those who could see Jane, and even those who could not, felt her power. A great change came about her. Light seemed to burst forth from her body. It was blinding, and even Freyja shielded her eyes from the brilliance of it. Leostrial began to feel the waning of his powers. A brilliant shining light emanated from her chest.

And then, each in turn, the three Bright Ones began to shine in exactly the same way, light pouring from their chests. Knowledge and certainty entered their minds, and they gravitated towards each other, feeding off one another, joining hands.

And so, when Leostrial turned the full extent of his power on them, so great was it, that with Jane leading them, they each turned their newfound power back on him, and the greatest battle of Paragor began.

Satine watched as four blasts of pure light poured onto the battlefield. She was almost at the tent where Leostrial was when Altor walked back out to meet her.

“What are you doing? Has your father finished with you?” She didn’t want him to see what she must do.

He looked at her for a long time, his gaze steady, head tilted. Satine quietened under his scrutiny, and finally, slowly, he pulled a long dagger from his belt. He turned it in his hand so that the handle faced her, and then he handed it to her.

She took the blade wordlessly and walked into the tent.

Leostrial was standing in the middle of the room, his arms out wide by his side, his back to her. She walked round to face him, for she wanted him to see her, to know that it was her.

Though she was crying, her hands were steady. Leostrial’s eyes were shut. The Bright Ones were taxing him now.

“Altor, come here, my boy. I need to use you once more,” he whispered.

When Altor did not answer, Leostrial’s eyes flew open in alarm, but relaxed when he saw Satine. His arms had not moved, his concentration had not yet broken.

“Satine,” he breathed, a smile on his face. She walked forward, and very gently kissed him on the lips. It was light, like the flap of a butterfly’s wing, and in that moment, she slid the knife into his heart, thus completing the final chapter of this terribly long plan.

She felt his surprise, and then the faltering of his strength, and the overwhelming power of the Bright Ones. She sank with him to the floor.

Satine pulled back from him slightly because she wanted to look into his eyes as he died. Her tears spilt forth onto his face, and she could not stop a sob from escaping her lips, for when he looked up at her, his face was so knowing, so understanding. There was no anger or confusion, and this was what undid Satine.

Altor crept into the tent, and though he was clever and powerful, he was still just a boy and too young for all this.

Satine sat up in shock, her beautiful face streaked with tears, and as she saw Altor she held out her arms. Wordlessly he ran into them, and they cried together atop the dead figure of a man they had both loved.