Mantle: The Return of the Sha (35 page)

He had also received word from King Zander that the war would likely begin within two days, but he commanded his fleet to continue on toward the fight nevertheless. He would not sit out the fight if he could be of use, and he suspected this would not be the only battle fought—not by a long shot. They would push on.

The Battle in Front of the War

ALTHOUGH IT WOULD turn out to be four days before they would arrive, it was on the third day that they could be
heard
coming. The rumbling of the Skite army was, at first, only heard by the keen ears of the horses, but as the day pushed on, the rumbling sound became audible by everyone who stood on the border—a border that would soon be a frontline in battle. The men were anxious, to say the least.

Both Kings Cergio and Zander went along the lines of their troops, rallying them and promising them a victory that they could not possibly guarantee.

On the night that the rumbling of approaching Skite soldiers had begun, it was late when Zander knocked at the door of Lizabet’s quarters. When she bid him to enter, he found her and Dorian sitting at the small wooden table in her room. The light crystal that Lizabet had brought with her was in the center of the table, casting light over the small space easily.

When the king entered, they both stood from their benches immediately upon seeing that it was him. He was standing in the doorway and was grasping the fairy staff with his left hand. He smiled at the sight of them (he did that often now). Lizabet and Dorian had been virtually inseparable since arriving at the post and their friendship brightened Zander’s outlook each time he saw them.

“Majesty, what brings you here at such a late hour?” Lizabet asked with a tone of slight panic.
What has happened to Bella now?
she wondered.

“Dorian, please give us the room,” Zander said.

“Yes, Majesty, of course,” Dorian responded as he walked through the door, closing it behind him.

“Is Bella all right?” Lizabet asked, once Dorian had left. She needed to be sure before they went any further.

“Yes, she is fine. She is resting and while I worry for her safety, I believe we will make it through one more peaceful night before battle. Although it seems the days aren’t much brighter than the nights anymore.”

“Then, are
you
all right?” she asked.

“Yes, as well as I can be, under the circumstances,” he replied. “I come to you about another matter. What, if anything, can you tell me of your newfound abilities as a sha?”

“There isn’t much to tell, as I do not know much myself. But it is coming to me quickly. It’s as if I’ve come of age somehow. Do you understand?”

Zander understood what she meant. After all, it reminded him a great deal of being crowned king when he was still fairly young. He hadn’t understood all of
that
either—not really, but he had learned quickly.

“Yes, I think I
do
understand,” he said.

“Have I told you of the butterflies in the Hidden?” she asked.

“Dorian told me of them. He told me what they said, and how they helped you, as well.”

The king’s time had been increasingly limited lately, for obvious reasons, so Lizabet had not been able to tell him everything that had happened along their journey all at once. She mentioned pieces as she could, that was all. Apparently Dorian had been asked about their travels, as well.

“Majesty, I sometimes feel as though I am being
instructed
,” she said, taking her seat once more. “It’s as if I’m being handed knowledge by way of instinct, or maybe intuition. Whatever it might be called, it comes on strong at times.”

She stopped speaking abruptly as if she meant to say more, but had thought better of it.

“What is it?” Zander asked, taking his own seat at the table.

“I told you of the Locks…the Locks that we killed in the forest?”

“Yes, you told me that you had no choice but to confront them. What of it?”

“I felt a rush of
joy
when I took its head,” she said. A tear began to form at the corner of her eye. “For all of the smiles that I supposedly spread like white fire, I felt
joy
at killing him!”

“Lizabet, my dear,” Zander said, “you had a rush of energy. It is what kept you alive. It was your instinct to defend yourself, and the joy you felt was not for the death of the Lock—you had won your life. It was the joy you felt for living another day. That is all.”

“It felt different somehow, as if another part of me was just beneath the surface,” she said. “I believe that the feeling should be taken seriously, but I also believe that I will understand it myself in time.”

“Lizabet,” Zander said, taking her hand in his, “I am not sure how this battle will play out, but I am sure that you have a role in it. Yes, I have instincts, as well.”

“What can I do? I am not a fighter by sword.”

“I do not know, and I don’t expect that I will. I believe
you
will know when the time comes, if that time should come at all.”

“Is that why you’ve come to visit me? To tell me that I might have a role to play?”

“Yes, but there is more.”

Zander stood up from the bench and walked back to the door where he had left his staff leaning against the wall. He took the staff in his right hand, and walked back to Lizabet, who had also risen from her seat.

“Lizabet, did I ever tell you how this staff came to me?”

“Yes, Majesty, you told us at supper on the first night of your visit to Terra. I believe you were directing your tale to my
sister
, but I was listening nonetheless.” She smiled at him knowingly.

“Your memory is better than mine,” he said. “Jacobi, himself, delivered it to me for the fairies. It was quite an honor.”

“Why do you talk of the staff now?” she asked, confused.

“The fairies are a secretive bunch, Lizabet. One never knows what they are up to, and we can only count ourselves lucky that they work for good rather than evil.

“I believe that they have been a bit deceitful with their gift.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that, although the fairies gifted this staff to
me
, it was never intended to be
mine
.

“They
knew
, Lizabet—they knew that you had come—or knew that
someone
had come, anyway. I do not believe that this staff has chosen me as its rightful owner. Although I do not expect that it would be
owned
by anyone.”

Lizabet now understood where this was leading, but she would let him finish. She didn’t want to influence the king on the matter in any way.

“When I hold it, and use its light,” he continued, “I feel almost as though it is an object that has been borrowed. I can
feel
it, constantly reminding me that it belongs to someone else—that it never belonged to me.

“And I believe that the only reason that it helped save our lives in the Outlands was because it did not belong lost in the wilderness forever either.”

He held the staff out toward Lizabet, who began walking toward him.

“Please take the staff—hold it. If it belongs with you, you will know.”

Lizabet stepped closer and took the staff with both hands. Zander, who was closely watching her, saw Lizabet’s eyes swirl with white for an instant, before returning to normal. It looked like clouds passing over her eyes.

The staff lit up beneath her hands and the light spread out in all directions until the full length of the staff was glowing white light. And it
was
white
light. The light itself was somehow
clean
, without glare, giving no reason to squint against it.

Lizabet began to whisper words in a language that Zander had never heard before. Her whispering seemed to have an echo to it, but he realized that it was an illusion. The way that Lizabet was
saying
the words was causing the echo. The echo was the
accent
of the language.

When she stopped speaking, the light in the staff dimmed.

“What is it?” Zander asked anxiously. “What language were you speaking?”

“I was speaking to the staff in the language that it chose to speak,” she said in a whisper. “It has been waiting for me, and thanks you for protecting it. I then welcomed it.”

When the silence became long, Zander said, “And then…what else is there?”

“That is all. I felt as though it would not often speak freely, though. Thank you for recognizing what it was telling you. It somehow feels like being reunited with a friend. Isn’t that odd?”

“No,” Zander said beneath a smile, “I don’t think it is odd at all.”

Lizabet’s eyes lit up as she said, “It feels like the moment when Dorian arrived at Obengaard after all that time.”

She was actually relieved when she could compare the feeling to something. She wanted to share as much of it with Zander as she could. After all, it had given him comfort for a good amount of time and he was now giving it up.

“Majesty—Zander, I cannot possibly take this from you without giving something in return. Surely, there is something that I can do.”

“Lizabet, it was never mine to bargain with,” he replied. “It always belonged to you—it was simply misplaced.

“Please, it is yours and you should have it.”

“Thank you from the bottom of my heart,” Lizabet said, “I will never forget this.”

She stepped closer and stretched up to kiss him on the cheek.

“Thank you.”

Once they finished their embrace, Lizabet asked, “What do you suppose it is that the Skites
want
?”

Zander was stunned by the question. He hadn’t considered what the Skites
wanted
—not really, only that they represented evil. And wasn’t that enough?

“I do not know for sure, but I can offer you what I
believe
,” he replied.

“What is it that you believe, then?”

“Menagraff may be a king in his own right, but he is not the king of Skite—not really. If he is a king, he is the king of all evil. He is
concentrated
evil.

“For centuries, we have enjoyed peace. Nobody ever fought. Evil has been suppressed and good has been allowed to flourish. It has flourished a bit too well, it seems. The world is out of balance, and without evil there can never be measurable good. The oracle told me that, and I believe that I am beginning to understand.

“Anyway, there are so many levels of good that one experiences in a lifetime that the experiences that land at the bottom tend to seem bad although they are not. Good is measured against evil.”

He looked intensely at Lizabet now.

“What is it—why do you look on me in such a way?” she asked.

“I believe that early on, when Menagraff began his return, it was because the scale of the world had tipped too far in the favor of
good
. Menagraff was the method that the Father of Nature chose to balance our lives.

“But it seems that Menagraff was set to overcorrect the scale to the side of darkness and evil. That is where
your
role began. You are here to balance it once again.”

Lizabet sat staring at him. She suddenly felt the weight of the world resting on her young shoulders.

“Menagraff will be determined to keep the scale tipped in his favor, even if he doesn’t fully understand why—and I believe that he might not. The key flaw in his plan is that, if he were to eliminate
all good
, he would have no
purpose
—like good, evil is also ranked on many levels. On what level would he rule from in a world such as that?”

It wasn’t meant as a question, and Lizabet didn’t take it as one. She continued to sit quietly, taking in what the king was saying.

“You ask what they
want
?” he continued. “They want death. They want suffering. They want pain and weeping and sadness. They want
evil
.”

“Do you believe that they will venture into Forris if the battle is lost?” Lizabet asked in a near whisper.

“Lizabet, I believe that they are counting on it.”

****

During the night, there was no sleep to be had. The rumbling of the approaching Skite army had become deafening just before dawn. The soldiers of Bore would retell the story by comparing the sound to that of the great herds of wild horses that roam the Bore countryside.

As the sun began to tease the horizon, the landscape became illuminated, but the darkness that had crept in from Skite would not allow the sun to shine down on what would become the battlefield. The battle would take place in perpetual dusk.

Both King Zander and King Cergio were summoned just before dawn, when the noise had suddenly and briefly stopped. The silence lasted a mere thirty minutes before the rumbling resumed, and when it did, the watchmen on the towers could see the faint orange of torchlight peeking from behind the farthest hills. It seemed clear that the Skites had stopped briefly before making their last run toward the border.