Rise (War Witch Book 1) (36 page)

Forcing herself up, Ramora grasped for her sword, but it was too far away. Dragging in a breath, her lungs burning from the pain of Deacon's magic, she managed to gain her knees, seeing the Demon sorcerer trying to regain his feet as Chara coughed on the floor before him.

Fumbling for something, anything, her hand landed on the sword Chara had held. Clutching it, she drug herself forward, calling on her Divine Gift. She saw it all so clearly, how he would use his Dark Gift on Chara until she was unconscious, then finish off both she and Esteban.

Chara managed to drag in a lungful of air as Deacon seized her by the throat and poured his Dark Gift into her, dragging a scream of pure torment out of her as he set every nerve in her body on fire. Yanking her up, he fastened his grip with both hands, trying to force the life from her.

At the rate he was going, Ramora knew, he'd kill Chara. Forcing herself up, she swung the sword, slashing him across the back. Screaming, he let Chara drop, spinning to face the Blessed.

"You," he said slowly as she swung at him again, forcing him to step back as Chara gasped for air, rolling on the floor, the pain subsiding. Casting a shielding spell, Deacon held back Ramora's next attack long enough to grasp the blade, slicing his hand as he forced it from her grasp.

With her defense gone, he hurled her against the wall with force magic, hitting her again and again, beating her savagely until she knew nothing but pain. There was nothing she could do against him. Her own magic was too weak, and her body too battered. Silently, she prayed Esteban could finish him.

Deacon staggered as Chara slammed a candelabra over his head, her swing wide and strong. Ramora hit the floor as he turned, and got a face full on the young woman’s backswing.

Staggered, he caught the makeshift weapon as she swung again and used it to yank her to him, his face battered and bloodied by her attack. Putting a hand to her head, he ravaged her once more with his Dark Gift, her scream snapping Ramora out of her haze.

Chara, her escape clause. Chara, her friend. Chara, the woman she loved
. Her scream galvanized Ramora into dragging herself up.

Her left leg was all but useless, forcing her to put all her weight on her right one while dragging the other behind her. Her right eye was swollen shut, her face battered, and blood ran from her injuries as she moved in on him.

She still had enough mystic energy for one spell. One good spell.

Her fingers inscribed the runes as she went, stiff and aching though they were. Her Avatar sang power into them wearily, manifesting the fireblades into reality. She drew them back as she stopped, inches away, and spit on him.

Deacon dropped Chara as he turned, eyes wide in shock.

He hit the floor in three pieces, the stench of burning flesh filling the room.

Her spell fading, Ramora collapsed to her knees as Chara gasped for breath. Esteban pulled himself up, finally recovering from Deacon's assault. Slowly, the Blessed pitched forward, exhausted beyond words.

Somehow, Chara was there, catching her as she fell.

"You okay?" she asked, holding on to her.

Ramora shook her head.

"Yeah, me either," the young woman said as she hefted the warrior up, letting her lean on her before calling out, "Esteban? You still with us?"

"I live," he said, limping towards them. "More than I can say for Deacon."

"Well," Chara sighed as they looked down at the remains of the Dark Blessed. "That was fun, but I'm ready for a bath."

Ramora chuckled quietly before passing out.

When she woke, it was to an ache that covered her entire body, drawing a silent groan from her as she found agony in every movement. Though, she admitted, she was glad for it. It meant she was still alive.

"About time you woke up."

Rolling her head, she spotted Chara sitting in a chair she had pulled alongside the bed. Offering the young woman a soft smile, she nodded slightly as she tried to sit up, and felt a wave of dizziness wash over her. To her surprise, she found she could see from her right eye again. She touched it lightly.

"Yeah," Chara said. "We found some healing potions in Imicot's lab. They're old, and it took a while for them to really kick in, but it tended most of the injuries. I figure you can do better once you rest a bit."

Dragging a deep breath, Ramora let it out slowly, lifting the sheet to check herself better. Ugly bruises covered her body, but they were healing, and she knew she should count herself lucky to be alive. Holding up a hand, she asked how long she'd been out.

"Three days," Chara answered. "You scared the Hells out of me, too."

Making the sign for sorry, she fell back and tugged the sheet over her.

"There's some stuff I need to say to you," Chara told her after a few minutes.

Ramora waved it off, asking if it could wait until later.

"No, it really can't," the young woman replied. "I need to say this now."

Grimacing, Ramora nodded. She'd been expecting this, but still, she wasn't ready. She didn't think she'd ever be ready to hear the other woman tell her she loved another.

"You are a total, fucking idiot," Chara said.

Ramora looked up at her in surprise. That wasn't what she'd been expecting.

"Really, you are," the young woman continued. "I mean, there you were, in the library, swearing oaths to avenge the Blessed Draco has killed, and you can't even defeat this Deacon dipshit without the help of a Werejaguar and a farm girl."

Ramora made a quick sign to argue that point.

"No, you couldn't," Chara stated flatly. "He would've killed you. If you can't beat him, how are you going to beat Draco?"

Shaking her head in frustration, Ramora told her she’d figure something out.

"Like what?" Chara snorted back. "Beating his fists with your face?"

Anger getting the better of her, she told the young woman not to worry about it. It wasn't her problem.

Chara shook her head. "Sorry, but it doesn't work that way. I'm in this with you."

Maybe you shouldn't be
, Ramora snapped out, regretting it as soon as her fingers stilled.

"You're right," she nodded. "Maybe I shouldn't be. That doesn't matter now, though. I am. Even if you make me stay away, I'm in it with you, because we're friends, because I care."

Ramora offered nothing else, laying there, glowering at the wall behind her friend.

"I don't want you to be a name in that book, Ramora," Chara said after a minute.

The Blessed began to reply by saying she wouldn't, but Chara grasped her fingers, holding them still.

"I don't want you to be a name in that book."

Seeing the look in Chara's eyes, Ramora relented, nodding slowly.

Squeezing her hand, the other woman said softly, "I don't want you to be sixty-nine, okay?"

Glancing up at her, Ramora tried to repress a smirk and failed. Snickering in silence, she held Chara's hand as her friend scowled.

"Real mature," Chara grumbled. "Seriously. Way to be a grownup."

Lifting her other hand, she signed out, asking if Chara was sure she didn't want her that way.

Letting go of her hand, Chara flopped back in the chair. “I was trying to be serious."

Waving a hand to apologize, Ramora tried to still her laughter, mostly failing. When she finally did, she offered a more sincere apology and promised to behave herself.

Chara shook her head, looking at with a mixture of humor, sadness and disbelief. "Ramora, I'm with Esteban now."

Her mirth died with that as she nodded slowly, telling the other woman that she'd figured that out.

"I know it's crazy, and it doesn't make any sense," Chara sighed. "But, it's true. I'm sorry."

Looking anywhere but at her, the Blessed nodded, letting her now it was okay.

"It isn't okay," Chara said softly. "Nothing about this is okay. I thought we had something, you and me. Maybe it was just what I wanted to believe, I don't know anymore. What I do know is that Esteban makes me feel safe, and stable."

Swallowing down the lump in her throat, Ramora told her again it was fine, and that she understood. She didn't, and it wasn't, but she knew she couldn't say that.

"I'm sorry, Ramora," Chara told her. "I'll always love you, as a friend."

She nodded, smiling as best she could as Chara stood, stooping to kiss her on the head. Patting her on the cheek, Ramora gave her blessings to Chara and Esteban, but it seemed to do little to alleviate the other woman’s sadness.

"Promise me you'll have a plan for defeating Draco before you face him," Chara said, looking into her eyes, so fierce and determined it took the warrior’s breath away.

She nodded, promising. The flair of sadness in Chara's eyes lit up again as she nodded back, leaning down to kiss her lightly.

"I'll be there, by your side, when you do. I promise," she whispered.

Standing, she left the Blessed to rest. Alone, Ramora cried.

THEY STAYED AT THE KEEP
for another week after Deacon was defeated, remaining with Imicot as the sorcerer’s health worsened. After some rest, Ramora healed her own wounds, channeling mystic energy to speed up her natural recovery. She only regretted that she couldn't do the same for the old man, turning back the years and giving him more time. There were limits to what even magic could do, though, leaving her to sit with him as his time drew near.

To their surprise, he quickly grew annoyed with the way they hovered over him, finally directing Chara to a portable Masters board he kept in his study. At the very least, they could be doing something other than staring at him. It would pass the hours better than their worried faces did.

Setting it up close to his bed, they took turns challenging each other, Imicot watching them play as he struggled to breathe, smiling at the way they lost themselves in the game for hours on end. It was better this way, he felt.

Ramora quickly proved excellent at the game, trouncing first Esteban, then Chara, with ease. While the Jaguar’s game never improved, Chara's did. By the third day, it was all the Blessed could do to keep up with her.

Her nimble mind was like a sponge, soaking up everything and grasping it with a fluid ease that staggered the warrior. It didn't take long until she proved herself a merciless competitor, dominating the game, forcing Ramora into defensive strategies within the first few moves.

No match for Ramora, Esteban couldn't hold his own against her either. After a particularly embarrassing defeat, he grumbled he'd rather play the Blessed, for at least she showed some measure of mercy. Chara had smirked, and challenged them both again.

For Imicot, it was a delight, watching them play against each other, laughing and joking, commenting on how deadly Chara was to match wits with. Almost like being surrounded by family, it made his final days easier, and he felt joy as his body wound down.

He had many regrets in his later years. Never finding love, or having children. Looking at Chara, he imagined her as his daughter, and felt a swell of pride. If only he hadn't wasted so many years, he thought.

Perhaps he would've still called Esteban his son. No, he knew he would have. His life would've been incomplete without him. A daughter like Chara, to pass on his knowledge to, with a wonderful woman like Ramora at her side. He dreamed it was true in his fitful sleep, and for a time, believed it was.

His family. They were his family. He loved them all.

When Adalynn appeared, none of them were ready. Ramora and Chara looked up from the match they played as Esteban mewled in sorrow. Seeing the looks on their faces, she smiled, waving them to come join her.

"It is rare," she told them. "That anyone sees what we Ascended of Terakus do. It's our nature to act in secret, easing the souls free of their bodies when their time comes. It's the way of things, and has been since the beginning."

Reaching out a hand, she took Esteban's gently. "However, this one time, I feel you all deserve to be here, to bear witness. Each of you has done something for Imicot that has made his life better, and I would be honored for you to stand, and bear witness, as he begins his next great journey."

Ramora nodded as Chara wiped her eyes, not ready to say goodbye to the kind man she'd only just met. Esteban shook his head and trembled as Adalynn held his father's hand.

"Do we have a moment?" Imicot asked, his breath coming long ragged wheezes.

The Ascended nodded. "We can make one, old friend."

He smiled, lifting a shaking hand. "Esteban, my son. Come to me."

Falling to his knees, the massive Cat grasped his hand, choking out a sob as he buried his face in the old man’s chest. Stroking his hand gently, Imicot shushed him lovingly.

"Father, please," the Jaguar cried, voice trembling. "I don't know what to do. How am I to go on without you?"

"Ah, my son," Imicot chuckled. "You've always been too tender-hearted for this world. Do you not have friends, willing to stand by you? Do you not have a life to live, away from this cruel confinement I placed you in?"

"I'm afraid," Esteban whispered, nuzzling his father’s hand.