Soul's Reckoning (Broken Well Trilogy) (27 page)

Losara paused in the shadows of the coiled root, watching as Corlas organised the reconstruction of the hut. It had caught a spell or three during the fight, and Charla had seized the opportunity to convince Corlas to rebuild it more grandly, ‘as befits the Lord of the Wood’. Sprites were dragging in logs from the forest, and Corlas stood in the middle of the clearing chopping them, sweating as he rolled his shoulders and brought down the heavy axe.

Losara stepped from the darkness and made his way over. When Corlas noticed him, he set down his axe, wiped the beads from his brow, and smiled.

It gladdened Losara no end that his father accepted him, for with Bel now a part of him, he had inherited their bond. Thank goodness Corlas had given up his allegiance to the light, and was simply happy to have his family back.

‘Hello, Father,’ said Losara, clasping Corlas’s hand. ‘How goes it?’

‘Quite well,’ said Corlas. ‘Although hopefully she will stop wanting extra additions at the last moment.’

Losara chuckled.

‘And you?’ said Corlas. ‘I take it you have succeeded.’

‘You heard the crack?’

‘Aye,’ said Corlas. ‘And the voice.’ He picked up a cloth and wiped his hands. ‘It is the end?’

‘Yes,’ said Losara. ‘Arkus is gone, and light magic has failed.’ He frowned, momentarily troubled by the idea of crystal spiders dropping dead from peeling trees.

‘In that case,’ said Corlas, glancing at the roiling Cloud above, ‘I was hoping perhaps you might do me a favour.’

‘Which is?’

‘Let us have some sun. The trees would be grateful.’

Losara nodded. ‘I have done the same for the Saurians, off in their desert.’ He raised a hand to the sky and gave a little wave. The Cloud began to part, sunlight streaming through.

‘Thank you,’ said Corlas.

‘Where is Charla?’

‘Off at her friend’s place while all the hard work is being done,’ Corlas said, then revealed a wry look. ‘Can’t say I blame her, though. Not in her condition.’

‘Her condition?’ Losara stood dumbstruck, and his father laughed at his expression.

‘You are going to be a brother,’ he said.

Losara laughed too. He could not believe it.

‘Hopefully,’ added Corlas, ‘his hair will not be blue.’

‘Aye,’ agreed Losara. ’We’ve had quite enough of that.’ He shook his head in amazement, then glanced around. ‘What about Fahren? I would see him while I’m here.’

‘Not sure,’ said Corlas. ‘Though he’s taken to wandering the edges of the forest. Will you return for dinner?’

‘I will,’ said Losara. There was still much to be done in this new world, but it could wait.

Turning to shadow he whisked off to travel the outskirts of the wood. He wondered briefly if Vyasinth would appear to him again, but somehow he doubted it. Perhaps in time she would learn to accept what had happened .
 
.
 
. to be content that her people had been preserved, that her sanctuary would endure. Perhaps.

He found Fahren sitting on a rock overlooking the place where the Nyul’ya entered the trees, staring out across the shadowy Grass Ocean with a faraway look in his eyes. Loosely dangling from his hand was a golden band that sagged as if melted – and Losara realised it was the Auriel. He formed next to Fahren, who started, then turned his face away.

‘How do you fare, my friend?’ said Losara.

Fahren sniffed and gave a disconsolate flick of his fingers. ‘My magic is gone,’ he said bitterly. ‘I’m just an old man now. I still cannot believe .
 
.
 
. ah, but I don’t think I ever will.’ Tears welled in his eyes. ‘I didn’t even get to ask her forgiveness.’

Losara watched him sadly. He still loved the man – that he had also inherited from Bel, and other relationships besides, which he hoped might continue in some way. Hiza and M’Meska were still out there somewhere, had probably been slogging their way towards the battle even as it ended without them. Well, he would find them, if they were alive, and ask them for understanding .
 
.
 
. but he knew that things would never be the same.

‘I’m sorry, Throne.’

Fahren grimaced at the word. ‘I thought we were meant to win,’ he said. ‘I thought we were on the side of right.’

‘If there is a right, Fahren, then everyone thinks they’re on its side. If we shared the same perspective of what it was, we’d never have fought in the first place.’

Fahren sighed.

‘Someone always had to lose,’ said Losara. ‘That is the way of war. It is not your fault. You did all that you could.’

‘Yes indeed, and much that was difficult, or against my own liking .
 
.
 
. yet I built myself a rich collection of compromises, all for nothing.’

Sunlight found them, for the gap in the Cloud had grown wide enough for the whole wood. Fahren looked up in surprise, then to Losara in question.

‘Corlas asked me for it,’ said Losara, shrugging. ‘I do not mind. The sun is no longer the eye of Arkus.’

Fahren nodded. ‘Nice to feel it again.’

‘You are welcome to stay here as long as you like.’

‘It is strange, you know. I did not expect this .
 
.
 
. this
afterwards
. If we had taken Fenvarrow, none of you would have been left alive.’

‘I know,’ said Losara. ‘I have seen it.’

‘Then why?’

Losara rose. ‘The harm I’ve done was to save my people. Well, they are saved. And, in a way, so are yours.’

‘How so?’

‘There is no more war to worry about. We have turned a page and, after a thousand years .
 
.
 
.’ He paused as, upriver, he saw a man arrive carrying a fishing pole. ‘.
 
.
 
. there is peace.’

He patted Fahren’s bony shoulder. ‘Take heart, my friend. When your soul is reborn from the Well, you won’t remember any of this. You will be happy again, I promise. In the meantime there’s nothing for you to do .
 
.
 
. except maybe take some well-earned rest.’

He held out a hand.

‘Come – will you join us for dinner?’

Fahren looked up at him a long moment .
 
.
 
. and then took his hand. Losara helped the old man up and, together, they walked into the wood.

And so, and so .
 
.
 
. as for me, sometimes my past deeds bother me still, but a man who would change the world must do great and terrible things. And although a part of me sometimes grows restless, and longs for the old days of battle and adventure .
 
.
 
. well, we all have butterflies to carry around.

For a millennium the lands of Fenvarrow and Kainordas have been at war, ever since the gods of shadow and light broke the Great Well of Souls. In the absence of victory a stalemate persists – until a prophecy foretells of a child of power who will destroy the balance forever.

Mages from the two lands race to claim the newborn, but in a ferocious battle of magic fought over the baby, his very soul is ripped apart, leaving two boys in its wake. Each side seizes a child, uncertain whether they now possess the one capable of victory.

Bel grows to be a charismatic though troubled warrior, Losara an enigmatic and thoughtful mage. Both are strong, yet incomplete. As they struggle to discover their destinies, each must ask the ultimate question: will he, one day, have to face himself?

The blue-haired man is prophesied to end the age-old conflict between the lands, but with his very soul divided in two, much remains uncertain.

On the side of light, Bel sets forth on a journey to find the Stone of Evenings Mild, his only hope of reuniting with his shadow half, Losara. But the Stone is lost, hidden away by an undead mage of questionable allegiance, in the lair of an insane dragon.

Meanwhile Losara has his own problems. The Shadowdreamer wants him dead, but with war coming he must unite his people for the final battle. His plan – to build a weapon so unstoppable, it concerns even him.

How can two men fulfil a fate meant for only one? Is hope lost, or is there a way to close destiny’s rift?