Mistweavers 01 - Enchanted No More (31 page)

Even if they didn’t believe she was important, Jenni knew she would stick to doing her duty, while the Eight ignored what they couldn’t see.

She looked down. Her blouse and undershirt gaped, showing brown-scabbed skin that ached. She had to discount it. Yes, so much for guards.

Her anger, her bitterness, her grief had to be quashed—or more, finally released. Jenni took the whole seething mass of negative and violent emotions within her and
flung
them away toward Kondrian. There was a concussion of magic when it hit the Dark one—the
thing
that was less than a person. Its aura shivered. Flashing green and silver sliced at it—Aric, fighting. For her, for them, for his belief in the Lightfolk, whom she doubted.

Again and again she flung her rage and loss and wailing desperation at the thing and it receded. Then it snapped out a tentacle and shadleeches swarmed.

Toward her.

Instinctive panic that the shadleeches could enter the mist, trap her and feed off her as they had her brother.

She spun around, saw no more flames of elemental magic that would signal any other guards but Aric. Once again she shoved her anger out and away from herself. Betrayed or not, she must keep her bargain.

She coughed, sucked in a breath at the realization that she
believed
in the good of this mission. If the Eight and other Lightfolk could influence the energies inside the bubble for the good of the Lightfolk, create a force for good in this world, any sacrifice would be worth it.

So she pressed her hand to her side even as she fell on her knees and faced the direction where the bubble lifted from the ocean into the air. She
willed
it to rise faster, but it continued to move at a steady pace. She began gathering all her energy, drawing sheets of water energy from the ocean, earth from the rocks and sand, air from the turbulent wind, fire from the very source of the bubble, magma under the earth’s crust, close, close.

The Eight’s ritual continued. They were ready for the bubble. Good for them.

She’d make sure to do all she could, in memory of her lost families—the Mistweavers and Emberdrakes, Aric, if he fell, even for herself if she did.

Resting on her heels, she studied the glorious pearl that was the sphere—shining with energies moving within it, painting its gleaming surface.

A shadleech zoomed through the mist, another and another. A mass. She wasn’t ready for the agony as they bit her and hung on.

Breathing through the pain, Jenni flung her arms to shake off the shadleeches. Didn’t happen.

Had they been mutated again by Kondrian? Or was it that the spiderweb tatt didn’t work as well in the mist as the forest? But it had been as a protection for the dryads and Treefolk. The first was a shock, and the second and third. Piercing pain as their teeth clamped on her. Terrible lassitude as they sucked her magic before her mind overcame her rioting fear and sent fire against them.

Yet they fastened on her side, slurping her magical energy—and blood. Two others attached to her raised arms.

She wiggled until she buried her knees in rich earth energy, drew that into her body, it came slowly, reluctantly. The Earth King not so supportive in this, either.

Jenni! Jen-gin!
Rothly’s call touched her mind. She shuddered.

Roth-ly!

I’m here to help.
He sounded grim.
Use me and my power, our shared blood-bond.

She looked around but couldn’t see him in the mist. More shadleeches were coming, though, enveloping her.

And energy began to trickle into her. She gasped and felt more power. From Hartha and Pred, from the small browniefem of her suite in the Earth Palace. From Fritterworth-Crag and Chinook and
Rothly.

I love you, Jenni…I forgive you, and myself, and thank you for forgiving me.

Pulling a fire sheet closer, she drew the energies into herself. Shadleeches flapped and unheard screams rippled through the atmosphere. Some had fried. She found herself grinning, gnashing her teeth as if ready to rip into the things.

Evil hive creatures. She
loathed
them.

And Rothly’s energy matched and twined with hers and she
reached
for Aric, found him desperately fending off Kondrian, helped by more Waterfolk. She bonded closely enough with him that they shared magic, and sensations. She
felt
his weary-heavy sword arm swing, and surged fire through it.

Aric lunged with a flaming sword, cut Kondrian’s belly open so his putrid guts fell out, and flamed, and he died screaming in an oily spiral of smoke.

“The bubble!”

It was a chant she could hear in the interdimension. Aric whirled and she caught a glimpse of what he saw—an enormous iridescent bubble full of elemental magic. Breathtaking.

She caught one sentence of the rising chant of the Eight—a triumphant Eight. Understood from Aric that one other Dark one had been defeated and slain.

“Give us what we need, the way to prosper—Lightfolk and human.” The words Aric heard reverberated into her ears.

Jenni, the bubble,
Rothly whispered in her mind and she turned her sight again to the interdimension, the massive amount of energy about to burst.

The bubble and the forces were just…too…big. She couldn’t control all of it, could balance the energies but not control. And she didn’t think that the Eight and their dancing could, either. She gave her all, then watched it pop, most of the energy flowed and was directed by the Eight.

Grab some, Jenni! Pull it! Use the bubble magic to become a true Lightfolk!
Rothly shouted in her mind.
Become a real djinnfem or elffem!

He was right. She
could
become a true Lightfolk, a pure magical being.

If she did, she’d give up her elemental balancing talent. She was the last, and she was proud of that talent and being a Mistweaver, a Mistweaver Emberdrake.

She watched the energies of the bubble and the sheets of elemental magic she’d summoned to equalize them meet and merge. Water to fire, earth to air. But not equally—and balancing them was beyond her.

The chant moved over her, but she couldn’t hold on, was drained.

Letting go of the last of her own magic, she fell again into the real world, found herself on the beach with water lapping at her.

ARIC GRABBED HER, HIS ARMOR GONE
, smelling like sweat and blood.

She leaned against him, feeling scoured out, both tired and good. Finally she had managed to rid herself of negative emotions that had been eating at her from the inside. She glanced again at the wound in her side, healed somehow in the last few minutes to a wide and shiny red scar.

“Jenni. You did it. I love you. We
did
it!” Holding her, Aric hopped to his feet and whirled them around. “Two Dark ones dead, their shadleeches dead, too.”

“We did it,” she croaked, putting her head on his chest. “I love you.”

“I heard you.” He kissed her. “I felt you. The most amazing thing. My Jindesfarne.”

The elf guardian appeared before them. He had a few smears of blood and ichor on his clothing. Jenni figured that if his appearance really matched the way he’d fought, he’d have been covered in the stuff, his armor would show rips and blows, his hair would be matted with sweat and blood of his own.

But he looked just a little less than immaculate. And he was smiling—deeply, joyfully—as if he, too, felt an immense relief.

He bowed. “Well done, children.” Shook his head at Jenni. “Your skill is incredible. Thank you.” Then he clapped Aric on the shoulder, nodded. “You are a man I’m proud to fight next to.”

“Thank you.”

“And your father, Windstrum, is in the triage tent and has asked to see you.”

Aric flinched. “How badly is he hurt?”

“Not too badly, a sword thrust through his chest, but being healed. Fluttering the healers’ hearts, of course.”

“Of course.”

“Go see your father, Aric,” the elf said softly.

Aric’s brows came down. “Advice. So you’re being a guardian?”

“Always.” The elf bowed once more. “Again, good job, both of you. I am glad to see the future in your eyes.”

“Uh,” Jenni managed before he strolled off.

Aric slid her to her feet, but kept an arm around her. She turned her head into his shirt, let it soak up more tears. “I could have lost you,” she said.

“We could have lost each other. And not just from battle. I felt that great bitterness you had.”

“Gone now. As gone as the Emberdrakes.” She couldn’t help the tears. “I didn’t know how much I liked them.”

“You never know how deeply you feel,” he said.

“I know that I never liked Synicess.”

“She was deranged. And sly. Waiting until the worst possible moment to try and usurp both Fire royals. I’m sure she believed she could win.” Aric shook his head. “I didn’t realize how angry she truly was until she met you.”

Jenni tried to think. “The other kings and queens wouldn’t have interfered.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time violence was used to become royal. Kingship goes to the strongest. Though I doubt Synicess would have held that throne long.”

Jenni gulped and clutched his shirt, decided to change the subject. “You have a father, Aric.”

“You have a brother.”

She sniffed loudly. “And we’ve made up.” His gaze was green and soft when she looked up. “We’re good now, Rothly and I. And Rothly and you.”

“I’m glad.” Aric pulled her along to the nearest tree at the bottom of the hill, they entered, then exited at the top.

The ridge was full of rushing people dealing with the aftermath of battle, or collapsed nearby in sweet gratitude that the fighting was over and they’d lived. The sun was warm on them and Jenni finally smelled their own odor—forest and air and sticky-resin-sweat from Aric. Regular human sweat from herself with a hint of ocean and scorched hair. She released Aric’s hand to run her fingers through her hair. Definitely some crispy ends. And why was she thinking about her hair when Aric was having a crisis? She tugged at it.

Because she didn’t want to prompt him further to do what she thought was the right thing for him. He had to decide and he already knew her opinion.

He turned and reached up and took her wrists. “Leave it alone, it looks fine.” After a breath in and out, he said, “We’d better go see Windstrum.”

“Don’t do it because of me.”

He snorted. “That’s what I think I should do. Make my peace with him.”

She pulled her hands from his grip, linked an arm with him. “Good idea.”

“After all, half of my nature comes from him.”

“Yes.”

“I was hurt when he didn’t come to help us.”

“Yes,” Jenni said again.

“I know what you felt that first battle. And I’m sorry now that I hurt your feelings then.”

“Ah.” She wasn’t sure what to say. Everything seemed so complicated. She didn’t want Aric to mix his feelings about his father and her together. “It’s past.” As the Emberdrakes were past and her grief was present and would have to be dealt with in the now and the future.

The rest of their walk to the triage tent was in silence. The place was dim, and Jenni’s nose twitched at the stringent odor of healing herbs. No one was groaning in pain or despair though, the way it had been during that first battle. The Eight had been prepared this time. Those who were dead had been taken away by their families or the Eight had cared for them. Those who had been deeply wounded had been transferred to palace healing wards. Only those with minor wounds were still here.

No stench of death was here, either, and Jenni breathed easier.

A healer of the minor Waterfolk, a naiad, hurried up, but Aric waved her away. His gaze had already fixed on a raised pallet in the corner of the tent near a light-heat glow globe. They walked toward the elf reclining there, pale and beautiful. His harp and flute cases were beside the bed.

“Hello, Windstrum,” Aric said.

“Can’t you call me Father?” Windstrum’s eyelids were puffy and heavy, but his voice, though plaintive, was still musical.

Aric hesitated, then bent down and kissed the elf’s smooth cheek. “Hello, Father.”

“So tall and sturdy and strong, excellent,” Windstrum murmured.

Jenni leaned against Aric. “I think so.”

“A good man. A strong man,” Windstrum continued. “I am not much of either.” He cleared his throat. “I was not the father I should have been. Will never be the father that I should be.” His eyes seemed to burn. “But know that I care for you, and that I think often of you.” His breath bubbled on his lips.

A healer hurried over and tsked at them, bending a disapproving look on Aric and Jenni as she stroked Windstrum’s brow. Then her hand went to his chest and pressed. Green healing energy flowed from her hands into Windstrum. He tensed, then went limp, but his gaze was still fixed on Aric’s face.

For an instant they looked eerily alike—in bone structure and expression. With a slow incline of his head, Aric said, “Thank you, Father.” He reached out and took his father’s long and fine-boned hand in his larger one, clasped it between both of his, sent his father loving energy.

The healer hummed approval. “Very well done.”

“My son is a better man than I am, and I am pleased with that,” Windstrum said on a small sigh. Then his merry smile curved his lips and was reflected in his gaze. “Most of the time I am pleased that he’s an honorable man.” He fell asleep.

Aric stepped away from his father’s bedside, shaking his head as if at a loss for words.

“He is what he is,” Jenni said.

“He is what he is, and has never pretended not to be what he is. That’s something.”

“Yes.”

“I do love him.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll never understand him, but I love him.”

She hugged Aric. “And he loves you. You felt it when you held his hand, didn’t you?”

“There was love passing between us, yes.” Aric’s voice was rough. He wrapped his arms around her. “He loves me in his own way.”

“And it’s not a bad way. He wasn’t there for you when you needed him. But you found others to help you along your way.”

“Your brothers, your father. Etesian, even Cloudsylph.”

“Yes.”

Aric sighed, glanced around at the tents. “It’s over. Let’s get our stuff and leave.”

“Fine by me. My pocket computer stated the weather in Denver would be cloudless and in the upper sixties.” She rolled her shoulders. “I’m sure the brownies have my yard spick-and-span and maybe there are a couple of lawn chairs out in the back where we can soak up rays.” She sniffed and the scent of the ocean came to her as it had so often in the last week.

“I’m invited?”

“Of course.”

They hurried to the guest room and packed the few things that weren’t already in their bags—Jenni’s palm computer that she left on the desk, a sea-stained paperback book she’d carried along and been trying to read to distract herself, her brush.

“Ready?” Aric asked.

“For sure.”

They reached for each other’s hand at the same time and Aric smiled. He tugged her to the sliding glass door and opened it and the screen. They stepped from the house onto the hillside and let out pent-up breaths. Aric didn’t close the doors behind them as they walked around the house.

“I’m going home with you,” he said.

“Yes,” she said, then caught the resonance in his words, flashed back to a time long ago after she’d first met him. They’d been in a pub that catered to halflings, and her brothers—his friends who’d introduced him—had wandered off. Jenni had invited him to the house. That had been the first time he’d been to her home, met her parents. She knew now how much that simple invitation had meant to him at the time, outside of the sex that he’d anticipated and they’d had. She also knew now—they both acknowledged—how her inviting him to her home had changed and enriched his life.

She didn’t think this invitation could match that.

Hurrying her along, Aric took her to the empty area where the dancing circle had been. Powerful magic thrummed under her feet and the lingering traces of elemental power nearly made her dizzy.

He walked her straight to the center, turned them until they faced the forest south, took her other hand and gazed down into her eyes. Uh-oh.

“Will you wed with me and twine our lives together until we pass to the next?”

She hesitated. Even harder to answer than the
I love you.

In the aftermath of the victory, of the knowledge that she had completed her mission, she could have let the giddy rush of triumph that still fired her nerves answer him with a yes. But she didn’t.

She
had
forgiven him, hadn’t she?

He stood there, tall and broad and with a mask of inscrutability on his face and his eyes dark and aching.

She hurt for him, too. Surely that was enough. She wanted him. She treasured his friendship and companionship. She loved him.

Before she could answer, the Eight glided toward her, and she had an instant’s revulsion and panic. She didn’t want to see them. Not when the faces of the Emberdrakes were new. Be congratulated on a good job when all this still reminded her of the past.

Despite everything, she hadn’t forgiven them. Aric was right, she felt deeply and she hung on to those feelings too long.

And despite the true words of love she’d screamed at Aric, she hadn’t forgiven him, and wouldn’t until she’d forgiven the Eight, and rooted out that last kernel of hard, unforgiving self-guilt.

She had to forgive them all. She had to open her heart and accept that they had all made errors in judgment that had led to tragedy.

She wouldn’t be whole, couldn’t claim this man who stood and suffered before her, if she didn’t forgive. She wasn’t the person she
could
be if she didn’t forgive. Her parents, her family, had taught her that.

She’d forgiven Rothly, but that was almost easier because he’d been the one who’d been the more bitter of the two of them, and he was a loved brother, not a beloved man that she wanted to spend her life with.

Then the Eight were there, not appearing as sorrowful as she thought they should. But even the younger Emberdrakes had lived centuries, and known losses before.

The Earth King walked up to her until he was only a handspan away, invading her space. “Well, child?”

“You abandoned me. Without me that bubble energy would have been nothing but chaos.”

The king’s face was as inscrutable as rock. He inclined his head. “That may be true. As it is true that I believed—” he put his thick-fingered hand on his chest “—that you would survive and triumph, as you did.” He stared at Aric. “That I believed our Treeman would fight and not fall. Which is what occurred.”

They stared at each other. Jenni and Aric against the Eight.

“Do you take our man from us?” asked Cloudsylph.

“Aric is his own man,” Jenni said.

“He is and we are honored to have him represent us,” the dwarf king said.

That was something.

“So you feel now, as you have felt all along. Angry at us. Can you not understand our past actions—even those of an hour ago—and forgive us?” the dwarf asked. “We were Six instead of Eight and needed the guardians. Had we fallen, the Dark ones would have swarmed over our gathering and eaten you all.”

Jenni shuddered. “I can understand and I can say I will forgive, but feelings don’t always follow words.”

“For now, the words will do,” the Water Queen said.

Many of the circumstances were the same as after that long, failed mission. But Jenni had changed. Was willing to admit that she’d changed, and she didn’t want to hold anger and bitterness close to her, let it poison her life as it had.

“I forgive you, I forgive you, I forgive you.” And she continued the magical three-chant for each.

“And you forgive yourself,” the Water Queen said.

“I forgive myself, I forgive myself, I forgive myself.”

“And now, a boon for you.” The Earth King snapped his fingers and held a small crystal sphere. “I captured one of the minor bubbles that formed after the huge one broke. It’s yours, to do with as you please.” His lips twitched. “I think you will find that the elemental energies are balanced.”

When Jenni didn’t take it, he lifted her hand, put the thing in her palm and closed her fingers over it. “To do with as you please,” he repeated. “To become a full djinnfem or elffem if you please.”