The Tears of Elios (32 page)

CHAPTER 23

Gregor focused on the circle he had drawn around his campsite and said the words Ranealya had taught him. A blue spark formed across from him and raced around the perimeter. A bright dome surrounded him and vanished within a few seconds. When he reached out, magic from the invisible barrier tingled on his fingertips.

He grinned. He’d finally mastered the circle of protection spell.

He sat in front of fire and allowed his tense muscles to relax, knowing that there was something between him and the night. He’d been on edge ever since he stopped that evening, like there were eyes in the woods watching him.

He also missed Ranealya. He never appreciated how much he depended on her until he became jumpy over normal woodland sounds. The tough dried meat he had for dinner was a poor substitute for the fresh rabbits she would catch and roast each evening.

He missed her company, too, even when she was in one of her foul moods. The fact she had left without saying goodbye bothered him, and he wondered if he would ever see her again.

Of course you’ll see her again
. She said she would send Galen to teleport him back to the camp as soon as he got the third orb. She was probably disguised as an owl, watching him from the trees at this very moment and laughing at his unease.

He’d grown tired of playing games. The next time he saw her, he was going to demand she tell him how she felt about him. If he needed to, he would cast an honesty spell on her or force her to share her thoughts with him. Then maybe they could enjoy each other's company without interruptions.

A dark and overcast morning greeted him when he opened his eyes. The horses squirmed against their ties and whinnied, their eyes rolling. Gregor sat up and peered into the woods. When he saw nothing, he attributed their behavior to being so close to the Ruins of Rhodus and lowered the circle.

A black hooded figure burst from the trees. He choked on his own fear.
An Azekborn!
It probably had been there all night, waiting for him to lower the circle. He dropped his belongings and cast the first spell that came to mind. A large fireball flew from his fingers, knocking the Azekborn down and engulfing it in flames.

Ha, that’ll teach it not to sneak up on me
.

But the blaze was doused as if the sky had poured a bucket of water it, and the Azekborn stood, drawing a glittering black sword with a curved blade. Then another black figure emerged from the tree line.

Gregor gulped as his blood turned cold. He reached out with his mind for Ranealya and prepared to battle the two Azekborn.

***

Ranealya awoke with a scream. She sprang from the cushions, trying to make sense of the dream as her pulse pounded in her ears. All she remembered were two Azekborn approaching from the woods and Gregor calling her name. Her stomach clenched when she realized it wasn’t a dream—he was in danger.

She searched the tent for Galen, but she couldn’t find him, she sprinted to the last place she’d seen him—Kira’s tent. As she burst in, she caught a brief glimpse of Galen’s head bent, his lips pressed against the curve of Kira’s neck, and felt a pang of envy.

She disrupted their intimate moment as she panted out, “Gregor needs our help now!”

Galen jumped to his feet. “Where is he?”

“Near the ruins—I'll show you.” She opened her mind to Galen and shared what she had seen with him.

He frowned and grabbed his sword. “Don't worry, Ranealya. I'll get him.”

She grabbed his arm. He needed her if he was going to battle the Azekborn. “You're taking me with you.”

He looked at her with curiosity but nodded.

Kira stood in the periphery, her fingers knotted in her skirt. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Yes,” Galen said as he fastened the last button on his jerkin. “Go to my tent and find the hykona leaves. You know where I keep the dried herbs.” She nodded and ran out of tent. He turned to Ranealya. “I have a feeling I'm going to need all we can get.”

She nodded and tried to stay calm. It wasn’t like her to let fear take control like this, but every second felt like an hour of torture. She grabbed his arm tight enough to blanch his fingers.

A curtain of blue surrounded them, and she felt her body disappearing into weightlessness and being pulled into the air. She’d always hated teleportation, but if it would get her to Gregor sooner, she would endure it. Her body began to solidify as the blue light faded. She braced for an attack, but none came.

The Azekborn vanished into the tree line as soon as they appeared, and Galen gave chase, leaving her alone. The campsite lay in shambles. Both horses had been slaughtered. A knot formed in her throat as she turned around and saw familiar cloak crumpled on the ground.

She rushed to Gregor and rolled him over. Blood seeped out of the corner of his mouth across pale lips. His cracked glasses lay crookedly on his pointed nose. And he was as still as a frozen lake.

She hesitated to touch him, for fear he was already dead. Then she heard a faint gurgling noise from his throat and noticed the ragged rise and fall of his chest. He was alive, but barely.

She pulled Gregor into her arms and held him close to her. An odd wetness formed in her eyes as his breath brushed again her neck.
We weren’t too late
.

“They blinked before I could get to them.” Galen cast a circle of protection around them and knelt beside her. “Let me see the damage.”

She loosened her grip on Gregor so they could inspect his injuries. Four gashes tore across his chest and stomach. She pressed her hand against one of them to try and slow the bleeding. “Why aren't you healing him?”

“Because these are Azekborn wounds, Ranealya.” He frowned as he surveyed the smaller injuries on his arms and legs. “I can't heal them with magic.”

“Then do something!” His blood made her fingers stick together, and she grew lightheaded. “We can't let him die. He doesn't deserve this.”

“I need to save my strength to take him back to the camp.” Galen gathered him in his arms. “Once I get him back there, Kira and I will do all we can to save him.”

Ranealya relinquished control of Gregor to her brother. “I'll be right behind you.” She began to think about which form would get her to the camp the fastest.

“No, you need to get the third orb.”

Her body stiffened. “I can't go back there. Not again, not after what happened.”

“Then the Azekborn will continue to do this,” he replied as he wrapped his cloak around Gregor. “It’s all up to you, Ranealya. You're the only one who can retrieve it now.”

Her fingers grew numb, and she reminded herself to breathe.
Can I do it? Can I face my worst fears?

She looked down at Gregor's ashen face and felt her heart lurch. “I'll do it if you promise me you'll do whatever you can to heal him.” She grabbed Galen’s shoulder. “I don't know what I'd do if I lost him.”

Galen held her gaze for a moment, and she didn’t care that he was searching her mind. His eyes warmed. “I promise.” As soon as she released him, he dispelled the circle of protection and vanished, taking Gregor with him.

She shivered. Thick clouds covered the sun overheard, blocking its warmth. She turned to the tree line. She knew she could easily pick up the scent of the Azekborn and track them down. Nothing would please her more than to have her revenge for what they did to Gregor. She started to walk in that direction when a gust of wind blew her hair into her face, forcing her to turn away.

When she pulled her hair back, she saw the ruins at the bottom of the hill. Doubt edged into her mind, but she remembered what Galen had told her—that unless she retrieved the orb, the Azekborn would continue to hunt her and those she cared about.

Of course, if she hunted them to extinction first, then it wouldn’t be an issue.

She turned back to the tree line, and another gust whipped through the camp, knocking her to her knees. She waited until it died down before she stood, only to be assaulted once more. She stumbled forward toward the ruins and gathered her strength. Even the weather wanted her to face her past rather than hunt the Azekborn.

She wound down the hill, the wind at her back the entire way. With each step, her confidence grew. She could do this. All she needed to do was grab the orb and leave. The visions from the other orbs didn’t show any specific guardian here. This should be the easiest one to retrieve.

And yet, when she came to the edge of the ruins, her old fears seized control of her mind. She wasn’t ready to do this and started to back away.

Then her thoughts turned to Gregor. He was supposed to have retrieved the orb, not her. Yet he was severely injured, and it was all her fault. If she hadn’t been such a coward and left him, she could have defended him from the Azekborn.

Ranealya took a deep breath and crossed the boundary into the ruins. Nothing happened. She exhaled, and her fear eased as she took another step.

Then something curled around her ankles. A swirl of mist.
Odd
. But she continued forward to the main courtyard. Her foot stumbled, and she noticed that the mist had doubled in size. Her pulse raced as it poured from the rocks and crevices of the ruins, all flowing towards her.

“Nyelle,” the wind hissed as it ruffled her hair.

She spun around, trying to see who was standing behind her, but saw nothing. The mist was rising now, circling her legs, making it difficult to walk. She swatted at it, her hands creating harmless eddies in the unsubstantial body before it closed in around her.

The hum of a hundred voices surrounded her, growing louder but remaining indiscernible. Something coiled around her wrists now, and she jerked her hand back. Her movements seemed hindered, as if she was moving underwater.

“Nyelle,” she heard once again, this time louder over the increasing murmurs.

She whirled around, freeing her body from the grasp of the mist for a few seconds. “Who's there?”

The voices all laughed, and something pushed her further into the ruins.

“Nyelle.” The voices taunted her from every direction, but all she could see was the rising gray fog.

“Stop calling me by that name!” she shouted as she tried to wipe away the damp air that covered her arms. She grew cold and pulled her cloak around her, but it offered little protection from her vapid assailants.

In front of her, the mist began to take the shape of an old man with a staff and a long beard. He limped towards her. Although she could see through him, there was no mistaking the madness in his eyes as he drew near. “Yes, she'll do nicely,” he said, his voice full of menace.

Hundreds of bodies materialized around her, all transparent, but with faces twisted in agony. They swarmed her, tugging at her clothes, grabbing her hair, dragging her deeper into the courtyard.

She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. She tried to shift into an eagle so she could fly away, but her body refused to change. The voices laughed again and closed in around her.

“Go away!” Ranealya swung at the figures. “Leave me alone!”

The misty figures pulled her to the ground, and as she looked up, she realized the faces were a mix of humans and shape-shifters—the ghosts of those that had been here that night of the ritual. They shoved her to her knees, forcing the air from her lungs.

“Stop,” she pleaded, her voice a mere whisper.
What do they want with me?

The ghosts delivered another blow, knocking her flat on her back. Dozens of hands fell upon her, pressing her body into the dirt, smothering her screams. She struggled to wrestle free from them, but they outnumbered her.

The ghost of Travodus hovered above her. His grin sent shivers down her spine just as it had over three centuries ago. The other spirits waited for his command as he stared at her. “Welcome home, little elf.”

Her body filled with a searing pain, and the ghosts allowed her screams to escape. Her vision blurred as their memories took over her mind. The pain of their transformations. The attack of goddesses after the ritual. Their slaughter by the Azekborn. One by one, she relived each and every one of their sufferings.

Ranealya’s consciousness faded into a haze of pain and despair. She was unsure how much time had passed before the pain subsided, but at last, her vision began to clear. Above her, the ghosts retreated and dissipated into mist. Her body trembled, but she was too tired and weak to move her limbs. Her fingernails dug into the dirt.

A warm golden light appeared next to her like a sunbeam in the darkness. The goddess, Elios, knelt next to her. “Nyelle, I told you that you would be the first and the last of the shape-shifters.” Her words felt like a healing balm for the pain. “Why did you return to this place?”

Ranealya opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Her body shook with noiseless sobs as she visualized the orb in her mind.

“You came for one of my Tears?”

She found enough strength to nod. If she was looking upon the goddess, she had failed, and she turned her eyes away.

“Nyelle, before I end your miserable existence, is there anything about your life that you truly regret?”

She immediately thought of Gregor. She never wanted to hurt him. She never meant for him to be killed by the Azekborn. Now she would never be able to tell him how she felt about him. She realized with a sudden pain that she loved him, and a moan broke free. “Gregor,” she whispered, “I'm sorry.”

Elios appeared surprised at her reply, but then smiled as she wiped Ranealya's tears away. “Very well. I will give you three days.” The goddess stood and vanished before she had a chance to ask her what she meant.

The pain began to ebb, and Ranealya succumbed to the dark blanket of sleep that enveloped her. She enjoyed the dreamless repose it offered her and begrudgingly opened her eyes when it wore off. The first beams of dawn stretched across the sky, and the larks sang their morning hymns.

She sat up, relieved to finally be able to move of her own free will. Despite the torture she had suffered, there were no visible marks on her body. She looked to her right and saw the Tear of Elios beside her. She had succeeded.