The Girl With Red Hair (The Last War Saga Book 1) (39 page)

Adelaide drove her sword into Hilaros’s jaw just as she expelled her deadly breath. The stream of magic took out a large swathe of trees and knocked the dragon off balance. Adelaide dropped under a retaliatory swipe, spun over the other arm, and fell at Jaydan’s side. She put a hand on his shoulder, cutting off his channeling.

He looked at her with weary eyes and she saw that he was killing himself in a vain attempt to protect her. She would have cursed him had she not been so moved by it. She stared into his soul, wanting to
know
him.

“What is it?” he asked, frowning at her.

She looked back and realized she had gasped. It hadn’t been her intention, but having seen him…
No
, she thought. Them
.
She had seen
them.

“Look out!” he shouted, and pushed her roughly aside.

Still stunned, Adelaide faltered and fell to a knee. It was all she needed to regain her focus. Jaydan rolled aside and tried to stand, but his back was splayed open and retching blood. Her power surged as she knelt at his side. Hilaros roared with thick laughter and leapt into the air, her wings beating heavily at the air to keep her giant body off the ground. Adelaide could sense the Guardian’s power gathering.

The child in her wished to stall a time that didn’t exist. She pressed a hand to his back. She didn’t need to draw on the power of the world, for it already existed within her. She dipped into her own soul and created a link between them. And, with all that she was and all that she would be, she forced it into the quickly dying body opened up before her. He twitched violently as the flesh on his back stitched itself back together and new blood grew from the magic.

Just as she completed the act, Hilaros unleashed her full fury upon them.

Sachihiro saw Jaydan cut down and immediately lost his battle fervor. He ran for his fallen friend, but Adelaide recovered first and there was a bright flash of light between the ethereal child and the bleeding man. Hilaros hovered in the sky above them, each beat of her wings pressing Sachihiro into the ground. Necessity kept his heart beating and his steps sure, but he couldn’t reach them before a thick stream of pulsating energy engulfed the pair.

It was strangely quiet. The only sound that could be heard was the heavy beat of dragon wings. Hilaros held the column of magic, continuing to channel it into Jaydan and Adelaide. There was no way they could have survived. Even with whatever strange magic Adelaide commanded, Hilaros was a creature of legend. Something that shouldn’t exist. And no legend told ever ended with anything short of utter destruction.

Sachihiro’s feet were rooted in place as he watched the blades of grass surrounding the place Jaydan was lying on catch fire. Alexander began shouting and ran toward him, glaive raised, face streaked with tears. Tannyl was on his knees, farther back, face a vacant shadow. Sachihiro caught Alexander by the shoulder as he passed by. The thinner man fought hard, but had no true strength left.

“Addy,” he said.

Hilaros bit off the magic. Smoke curled from snout and nostrils. Then she roared and thrashed in the air. Celebrating. Laughing.

“Addy,” Alexander said again, but this time with a far different tone.

Surrounded by scorched soil, Adelaide was leaning over Jaydan. One hand was extended above her head, while the other rested on Jaydan’s chest. A shimmering dome of golden light winked out as she stood. Her sword appeared in her hand and she launched herself toward the dragon.

Sachihiro could see Hilaros try to react to the streaking girl, but she was little more than a stream of light. His eyes didn’t see the attack, but Hilaros fell out of the sky like a stone. Her lifeless body took out a large portion of forest, while her neck slammed into the clearing. The head landed nearby.

“Whoa,” Sachihiro said, knowing it failed to summarize the scene.

“Addy!” Alexander shouted, and took off running.

Lying in the charred grass near the slain dragon was a figure with red hair. She wasn’t moving. Sachihiro sprinted to her, arriving just after Alexander. Alexander cradled her still form in his lap and looked up at Sachihiro, eyes searching for an explanation he didn’t have.

“Whoa.”

“She’s…” Alexander said, his voice trailing off as he looked back at the girl in his arms.

The figure had long red hair, freckled cheeks, and skin nearly as flawless as a polished gem. One ear was pointed like an elf’s while the other was rounded. Her eyes were shut, but Sachihiro knew one to be golden and the other a swirl of gray. The girl Alexander held was certainly Adelaide. It had to be, he told himself. But as he continued to stare at her, the doubt and confusion grew.

The girl Alexander held in his arms was at least sixteen.

Chapter Forty-Three

THEY STOOD IN a loose circle around Adelaide for a long time in silence. Her clothes were tight on her blossomed body, revealing more of her skin than Alexander thought appropriate. Jaydan assured them that she was still alive and breathing easily. He couldn’t explain her dramatic aging, however. Or why she wouldn’t wake.

Sachihiro was the first to speak. “What do we do now?”

Jaydan shrugged, though his eyes kept jumping to the dragon’s corpse at his back. Alexander expected the giant creature to rise at any moment, but the look in Jaydan’s eye was something other than fear. He almost looked eager.

“We continue what we started,” Alexander said. “We take Adelaide to Wolverhampton and get answers.”

“I agree,” Tannyl said, drawing all eyes to him. The elf hadn’t spoken since the battle. He looked at each of them and then at Adelaide. His expression was just as hard as ever.

“All right, but how exactly do we do that?” Jaydan asked. “Any of you know how the Fae Bridges work?”

All eyes went to Tannyl again. The elf nodded. “We need to wait until the girl wakes up, and we could all use a bit of rest.”

Alexander couldn’t argue with that. With the bloodlust of battle gone, the overwhelming pain in his gut returned twofold. It was difficult to stand and even harder to breathe. The others were just as beaten, save for Jaydan. Whatever Adelaide had done to save him from Hilaros had also mended all of his wounds. In fact, the Healer looked absolutely giddy.

“I know a place we can retire for the night,” Tannyl said. “I’ll point you there. Should be safe.”

“Wait,” Sachihiro said. “You’re not coming?”

There was a faraway look in Tannyl’s eyes. “There’s something I need to do first.”

Sachihiro shrugged. “All right. Give me a hand with ‘er, Jaydan.”

Once they had Adelaide secured, Tannyl escorted them to the edge of the clearing. He pointed into the dark forest. “There are a series of carvings in the trees here,” he said. “Follow them. They’ll lead to a large tree with a tunnel cut into its trunk. There’ll be shelter inside.”

Before Alexander could question him, Tannyl moved back into the clearing, chin tucked against his chest. He still didn’t trust the elf—he held too many secrets—but the anger had faded. Something told him that Tannyl did not deserve it, or at least wasn’t worth it. The same something told Alexander that compassion would be more prudent. It was difficult to argue with one’s own certainty, so he let the feeling simmer and turned his attention back to Adelaide.

“Let’s go,” he said, leading the march with a stiff limp.

Underneath the dried kindling, he discovered the seeds lying together. Tannyl breathed a sigh of relief when he found them. Even now, they remained joined. He pressed his lips to hers and placed them both into his pocket.

He surveyed the clearing and found it difficult to find any comfort in reclaiming the seeds. There were many more that needed to be put to rest. He gritted his teeth, wiped away his tears, and set to work.

They had once been his family, but now were little more than ruined flesh. The ground was a muddy rust color, saturated with the blood of the Druids. He hated them, even more now, but they hadn’t deserved such a brutal end. He cursed himself, knowing that he had inflicted worse when he betrayed them. The clearing was a reminder of that. Even after thirty years, it was little more than a field of grass. It would remain a lasting scar, carved into the greater forest, to remind all of those that saw it of his treachery. But with the slaying of the Na’Ling tribe, he wondered who would ever witness it again.

It was his fault. As much as he wanted to deny that fact, he couldn’t. Maira had merely finished what he had started long ago. It was a task he had sworn off and a life he had let die that same day, but there was no changing it. And it was foolish to think he could ever rise above it. Some shackles weren’t meant to ever be unlocked. Some things were forever.

He forced his mind from the carnage of his failings and abandoned the memories. It was Adelaide his thoughts went to instead. It was clear she was much more than he had thought initially, and the others were pledged to her guardianship, though Tannyl knew none of them understood her true nature. His eyes fell on the slain dragon, confirming the notion. None of what he had seen over the past few days made any sense, but he felt inextricably linked to Adelaide and to the others. He had tried turning from it. He had tried to leave them behind. Was this where he was meant to be?

Dawn came at some point, though Tannyl took no notice of the rising sun until his task had been completed. His hands were sticky with blood and his eyes blurred from lack of sleep and endless tears. But there was no rest to be had. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

He allowed himself to stand with his face turned toward the warm light before continuing his journey. He closed his eyes. The weight of the seeds bundled together in a torn robe had the weight of the world. His guilt and regret pulled at his limbs even more. He didn’t think he had the strength to stand, much less do what needed to be done. But when he opened his eyes he was already in the forest, marching west, a prisoner in his own body.

The sun was already falling in the perfect Fae sky when Tannyl arrived at the edge of the Garden. He couldn’t recall the journey and he didn’t know why it had taken so long. He pulled the bundle of seeds to his chest and wrapped both arms around it. And then he continued walking.

The Garden wasn’t endless, Tannyl knew, but it was hard to shake the thought as he walked among the grasping vines and towering trees. Neat paths snaked through the fragrant flowers, sometimes tunneling beneath the vibrant overgrowth for hundreds of feet.

It was a place of perfect tranquility and silence. The creatures of the forest and the sky knew well enough to stay beyond the borders of the Druid resting ground. Tannyl knew he was the only living creature within the Garden, but he had never felt
less
alone. Every blossom, vine, and sapling held the spirit of a fallen Druid. Or so it was told. Some had risen into towering trees, sentinel and still. Others had grown into snaking vines of thorn and blossom, covering the ground. Some had been there from the beginning, others freshly budded. Each was unique, yet part of the greater whole.

Tannyl stopped whenever he felt it right, dropping to his knees and carefully placing a seed into the soft, fertile soil. The spirits of the Garden directed his journey and guided his hand with each planting.

“Grow in the forest just as the forest grows in you,” he said with each burial. The words were sacred, but they felt hollow on his tongue. He had no right to say them.

The process continued for all of the seeds in the bundle at his chest. Each opened up the wound anew and Tannyl wished to crawl into a hole himself, though he doubted anything would spring from his corpse.

And so it went for the remainder of the day. He quickly lost track of his position in the Garden and had grown numb to all but the seeds and the hurt and the guilt. It was a necessary task, but he knew it would do nothing to expunge what he had done. There was no redemption. And he no longer wanted any.

As the sky darkened and the moon rose, Tannyl found the bloody robe empty. He stared at it for several moments, knowing what came next. His feet continued to move of their own volition and they brought him where he knew they would.

He didn’t know whether he knelt or fell, but his hands were in the soil and his eyes were on the twisting monolith before him. Its trunk was covered in a weave of brightly flowered vines, nearly obscuring the dark trunk beneath. It stood tall in the night sky and blocked the entirety of the moon. The sound of Tannyl’s throbbing pulse faded. Even his thoughts quieted. Perfect silence. Imperfect peace.

He sat back on his heels and folded his hands in his lap. He stayed as still as the great tree before him until the first color of dawn spilled across the sky. Then he carefully dug a shallow hole at the roots, at a point where they branched out, and reached into the hidden pocket of his vest. He ran a finger over the pair of seeds, feeling the warmth within.

“I know how much you liked watching the sun rise,” he said. “In time, you’ll reach the top of the tree and be able to greet the sun every day. And I know you will.”

He laid the seeds in the hole and sat back again. It was blasphemous to bury a seed for one that had not died, but it didn’t seem right to leave Fae’Na alone. And perhaps her spirit would latch onto his and pull him to the peak of the tree. She had always been stronger than him.