The Tide of Unmaking, page 9
part #3 of Berinfell Prophesies Series
“LOUWIN!” Taeva yelled, “LOOK AT ME!”
The girl shuddered.
“LOOK AT ME!”
Louwin winced at the sound of Taeva’s voice.
“Look at me, Louwin. I’m right here.”
Louwin blinked a few times, then focused on Taeva’s face. A deep breath. Then full recognition. “Princess!” Louwin cried, then fell into Taeva’s crippled form on the ground and sobbed into her shoulder.
Taeva tried to get into a sitting position but the pain was too great. She let Louwin have her way until she composed herself. “I need you to help me up,” Taeva finally said. Her servant complied, and Taeva’s body convulsed with the waves of pain.
Taeva’s eyes rose over the jagged rock wall and gazed upon utter atrocity spreading beneath her. She cupped her mouth. Louwin sobbed, trying her best to steady Taeva.
Their tower stood in the churning waves of the ocean, a lone spire looming in the late morning sky. The walls were gone, collapsed to pieces along with the dome, now a swill of debris and flesh. And beneath it all lay their city, a watery grave for untold thousands of their people.
Huge air pockets underneath the city still bellowed, sending an unending stream of bubbles to the surface. Within another few hours the sea would swallow the remnants and nothing would remain, as if a few millennia-old civilization had never even existed.
Louwin half coughed, half spoke. “Look, my lady!” Clinging to a piece of wreckage almost directly beneath them were at least five souls, maybe two or three more hanging on along the sides.
“We’ve—we’ve got to help them,” Taeva said, breathless. She forced herself to stand.
“No, Princess, you—”
“If I’m going to die of my injuries, my last bit of energy can certainly be used in salvaging those that remain of my—” she coughed, forcing her to her knees. She cupped a splatter of blood in her hand. “—my people.”
Louwin made to protest but Taeva would have none of it. She regained her feet and made the arduous journey down the tower. Whole sections of the wall were missing, giving way to more views of desolation as they descended. More than once, Louwin helped Taeva leap over gaps in the staircase. Finally the pair came through the grand doors of the annex which was now mostly submerged in water. Across the room were the palace doors, and beyond that, the courtyard.
The courtyard. Father.
It was the first time Taeva had thought of her parents. Had they survived? It wasn’t until she thought about swimming over to the palace doors that she noticed bodies floating in the room. First one. Then two. Then too many to count.
Guards mostly. But then she saw her.
“Oh, Princess,” Louwin said, both hands now covering her mouth and fresh tears streaming down her cheeks. “It isn’t—no. It can’t possibly—”
But the Queen’s extravagant dress was unmistakable. Taeva’s mother looked serene in her watery bed, eyes fixed on something in the distance, staring at the annex ceiling. Her face was calm. All terror gone. She seemed weighted to one side. That’s when the Princess noticed her submerged hand clinging to something…
…another arm. Her father’s, his body held down by his armor.
Taeva was too numb to feel. Couldn’t feel. She just stared.
She probably could have stood frozen there on the balcony all day if it weren’t for the screams. The voices on the wreckage just outside the building. Someone sounded hurt. They were calling for help. Clarity was starting to take shape in her mind. Action.
“Here,” Taeva said to Louwin as she gave her hand. “Hold me while I reach for that board.” It was the remnant of some furniture gifted to the High Court by the Elves of Berinfell somewhere in their nation’s past. Now this gesture of goodwill would be used as a water craft to rescue her countrymen. Ailianthum wood, her father had always told her whenever they passed it…something about how it was most precious to the Elves. And that’s when Taeva knew what she must do.
When whoever was left to be rescued was accounted for, she’d take them all south. The Elves would take them in. She was in charge now. Her parents gone, her kingdom destroyed. She had to get her people south. Or die trying.
And if she did survive? What did the Taladrim Code require?
Revenge.
9: Revisitation
KATE SIMONSON COULDN’T SAY THAT she’d found Jesus anymore than an orphan could claim to have found a family.
I’m like Forest Gump, she thought, remembering a scene from the famous movie. When Sergeant Dan had asked if Forest had found Jesus, he replied, “I didn’t know I was supposed to be looking for Him.” I didn’t know either. But something happened to me. Something supernatural.
Was it a real connection? She couldn’t be sure. But it felt somehow wholesome…nourishing even. And that was good enough.
So far, she hadn’t had another incident like the police-car-pull-over episode three weeks ago. But since then, she’d started going to church again. She felt a connection there, a connection to God, sure. But also a kind of kinship to her husband…and even somehow…to her missing daughter. Something about the atmosphere at Hope Community Church. The freedom people had when they worshipped. The encouraging message the pastor gave.
She still didn’t get it completely. Couldn’t lift her hands. Couldn’t sing. But it was having an effect on her. He was having an effect on her. She felt lighter when she walked back to her SUV. She felt lighter when she was around Allan.
Allan. How she loved him. He’d been so faithful, especially through the constant depression, the nightmares, the unexplained walk-outs during dinner. He just kept loving her. “I’m not going anywhere,” he’d say when it got really bad; she thought he’d be crazy not to walk out the door. But he didn’t.
“You can’t change the choice I’ve made to love you, no matter what, Kate,” he’d said. “I don’t care how nuts this gets. I’m staying.”
And that’s when it clicked. His words. They sounded so much like HIS words. I’ll never leave you or forsake you.
But it still didn’t rest well with what she knew in her head. God had abandoned them, hadn’t he? How could He let Kat get abducted like that? If God was so good, like the pastor always said, how could He let bad things happen to innocent people, like Kat?
While her head constantly tormented her—wrestling with scripture and making up arguments to throw at the pastoral staff—it was Allan who was living the faith right in front of her. She didn’t get Jesus so much, but she could see Allan. Flesh and blood. Walking this out in front of her.
Kate found Allan chopping cilantro for enchiladas in the kitchen. “Thank you,” she said.
“For what, babe?” He didn’t even look up.
“For…” How was she supposed to say it? “For…you know.”
He chuckled. “Uh, I do?”
Kate went back to stirring the beans for their side dish.
“Yes, you do.”
Allan smiled. “You’re welcome.”
Kate sat on a bench overlooking the shore. A few people surfed. Fewer sunbathed. It was colder than usual, and she wished she’d brought a sweatshirt.
Wait. Why am I here? she wondered. She couldn’t recall getting into the car. She didn’t remember the drive. Come to think of it, she didn’t remember planning a trip to the beach at all.
I’m waiting for someone. Allan maybe? No, not him.
A few gulls fought over a scrap of flotsam drifting in the waves. Most people thought the birds were so pretty…pure white harbingers of the ocean. Not Kate.
Obnoxious, she thought. Rats with wings.
“Thought you might be cold,” came a familiar voice.
Kate turned.
Before her stood a young lady…late teens, perhaps, early twenties. Kate thought she looked older than she should be. More mature. Her hair was dark purple with hints of indigo wherever stray sun rays lingered. Her large, sepia brown eyes gleamed, sparkling with happiness. They were knowing eyes, full of wisdom and experiences beyond Kate’s imagination.
She was still blue, of course, her skin smooth like porcelain but deep blue with a blush, here and there, of violet. Still beautiful.
“Here Mom, put it on,” Kat said, handing her a gray UCLA sweatshirt. Her favorite. “You’re going to catch a cold like you always do.”
“Thanks, beautiful,” Kate said, taking the sweatshirt. Kat sat down beside her and scooted up close. Kate could feel the warmth of her daughter’s body.
How odd. Why are both of us being so nonchalant? Kate wanted to scream. To smother her daughter with hugs. To jump up and down and call Allan, call the family, the police, the media. Everyone! Her daughter was here, right here, in the flesh. But something kept her from crossing that line. Something elusive. Did Kat feel it too? Surely she was just as happy. Wasn’t she?
“I miss surfing,” said Kat.
“I miss watching you surf,” said Kate. There was a long pause. Somehow Kate knew they were both thinking the same thing. And then they said the same thing at the same time.
“The beach house.” They laughed a little. Smiling. Thinking.
“I miss it,” said Kat.
Kate took a deep breath. “I do too. Haven’t been back since…”
“Since I left.”
“Yeah. Since you left. Wish I knew where you went.”
Kat looked up. “But you do.”
“I do?”
“The letter that Anna left for you and Dad.”
Kate’s emotions were stirring. “I don’t remember…”
“Sure you do Mom.”
“No…no…” All those irrational thoughts—the ones that got her in trouble…got her in a counselor’s office—those thoughts came flooding back again. “It wasn’t real.”
“Yes, Mom, it was re—”
“Please stop, Kat,” Kate said. “I can’t…I can’t handle…”
“You have to handle it, Mom.”
“No Kat…I can’t…”
Kat grabbed her mom by the shoulders. “Listen to me.”
“There’s something wrong with me. It’s post traumatic stress, that’s all.”
“It’s me, Mom. Not some disorder. It’s Kat.” She shook her head and smiled. “I’m far away now, but I’m safe. I have friends too, good friends. People I can count on. You and Dad would be happy. There was so much I would tell you, but it’s difficult to concentrate hard enough for so long. I’m using my gifts, Mom, my Elven gifts. I can project this far for just a short—”
“No! This isn’t possible.”
“Yes, it is, Mom.”
“I can’t,” Kate whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. “I can’t.”
“You have to, Mom. I can’t keep this up much longer. Listen, Mom.”
“No, Kat!”
“LISTEN TO ME.”
“Kat, I can’t!”
“WAKE UP!”
“I…I can’t…”
“WAKE UP, KATE!”
“But I—”
“YOU’RE DREAMING.”
“Dreaming? But Kat—”
“Babe, you’re dreaming. It’s me, Allan.”
Kate opened her eyes. And all at once she was back at the beginning. Losing her grip on reality.
10: A Game of Words
“HAVEN’T WE HEARD ENOUGH?” TOMMY asked.
No one replied immediately. The fire crackled and hissed. Taeva and her attendants formed a taut triangle of eye contact.
“The Spider King’s lieutenant lives to carry on his master’s ambitions,” Tommy went on. “He has become some kind of ultra-Drefid thing, and he’s already murdered thousands. Other lives still hang in the balance.”
“What do you propose?” Goldarrow asked.
“We launch a full rescue mission,” Tommy declared. “If there’s a chance Asp and his armies are still in Taladair, we must empty Berinfell. Overwhelm our enemy, rescue our friends, and search. New portals could mean the way is open to Earth once more.”
“Meet force with force,” Taeva said. “You are most wise, my lord.”
“Too wise for his own good,” Grimwarden muttered. “You cannot leave Berinfell undermanned. With all due respect, your highness, we know nothing but what Princess Taeva has told us. Maybe Asp is wreaking havoc in Taladair, and maybe he wants Berinfell’s armies out on a wild skeemu chase so that he can wreck our city.”
“Grimwarden!” Tommy objected.
“We come to you for aid,” Taeva said, “and you accuse us!”
“The Bloody Fall of 3927, Princess!” Grimwarden thundered. “Or do you not know? I would think Taladair’s finest historical archives would be open to you. Even so, leave this hall. Go and dig in the courtyard to the south. It would not take you very long to find soil that has mixed with Elven blood, blood spilled by Taladrim weapons. Your people invaded our city once before. Why should we trust you now?”
“Outrageous!” Attendant Louwin exclaimed.
“I told you they would not listen,” Attendant Celandria said. “The Elves have nev—”
Taeva held up a hand. “Wait, wait!” she said, tightly controlling her voice. “You have every right to question us, graybeard. You’ve spent the better part of seven years bringing Berinfell up from the ashes of the last invasion. And, of old, the Taladrim have seldom been anyone’s ally. I assure you, if we could have driven off this foe, we would not be here. This Lord Asp, as he calls himself, is the Spider King reborn, that same who sought to exterminate Elves from Allyra. He is as much your enemy as he is ours. Send scouts. Do what you must, but please hurry. What remains of my country withers with each passing day.”
“Is that what you think we should do, Guardmas—Grimwarden?” Tommy asked. “Do we send scouts to verify?”
“If you wish my counsel, Lord,” Grimwarden replied, “you shall have it. But you, the six of you, must take whatever action you deem wise. By your leave, I would send scouts upon Scarlet Raptors to verify Taladair’s fate and assess their need. But I would also summon the Conclave of Nations, and that immediately. If what the Princess tells us is confirmed by our scouts, and we have not convened the Conclave, I fear the delay would mean the blood of innocents on our hands.”
Tommy blinked. He turned to the other Lords and received slow nods from them all. “Send the Scouts,” he said. “And summon the Conclave. We will meet in three days time. Pray that our scouts return by then.”
“You cannot attend,” Goldarrow said, her hand pressed firmly into Grimwarden’s chestplate. “You are retired, after all, remember?”
“Yes, yes, I know,” Grimwarden replied, his scowl hardening. He leaned against a pillar in a hall outside Berinfell’s military barracks. “But I should be there. Ambassadors, diplomats, politicians—for all their words, they say little of value. They seek favor and advantage for themselves but let their people founder. I would give them much to think on.”
“Yes. Yes, you would,” Goldarrow said. “And that is why they forced our hand…forced you from your rightful command as Guardmaster of Berinfell. Still, it was a blessing in disguise. You have made Berinfell stronger than ever before.”
“Perhaps,” Grimwarden replied. “But all this sneaking about…wears on a man. I am no criminal. I should have nothing to hide.”
“Should…have nothing to hide,” she said. “But if Berinfell and the Elven race is to be protected properly, then hide you must.”
“It’s no easy thing,” Grimwarden muttered, “hiding thousands of warriors.”
Goldarrow grabbed up her long, silken locks and tied it up in an elegant golden tail. She smiled warmly. “Nor was it easy hiding the remnants of Berinfell from the Spider King, and yet you managed it.”
Grimwarden scratched at his beard. “Mmhm, how did you get so wise?”
“By keeping company with the wisest Elf I’ve ever known,” she replied. “Now, get yourself away to the barracks. The flet soldiers stuck here could use the encouragement. Go on now, before some stodgy politician spies you and wonders what you’re up to.”
“Let them wonder,” Grimwarden said wryly. “Maybe I’ll give them a wee something to satisfy their curiosity.”
“That,” Goldarrow said, “would NOT be wise.”
“It’s been too long, Migmar,” Tommy said, stooping to shake hands with a diminutive Gnome fellow.
“In reckoning of my own, passed have four years,” Migmar replied. His acorn-shaped green eyes twinkled beneath wickedly curled brows. Elf and Gnome, they stood in Conclave Chamber, a remarkable domed piece of architecture in the center of Berinfell City.
Migmar stroked his long sideburns and said, “Visit us you more often, Elf-boy.”
“I’d like nothing more,” Tommy said. “So long as you don’t throw us in chains again.”
“Trespass you not our land anymore,” Migmar said. “Welcome you as friends now.” With one hand, the Gnome scratched an unruly shock of hay-colored hair. With the other, he took a bite of a twisted piece of root.
Tommy frowned. “Migmar, that’s not dragonroot—”
“Chew now, I do, only when nervous,” Migmar replied. “Worry you not. Sitting Migmar with Strubthak, Thorkber and Sarabell over there.”
Tommy shook his head. “I feel for them.” The discussion volume in the room dropped suddenly. “Ah, looks like we’re getting started.”
Migmar bowed. Tommy returned the gesture. As they parted, Tommy thought he heard a strange sound, but he refused to investigate.
He continued to his seat and was somewhat relieved that Migmar sat on the opposite side of the massive meeting table. The other Gnomes, Strubthak, Thorkber and Sarabell, wore somewhat queasy expressions, complained audibly, and seemed to be trying to scoot their chairs away from Migmar.
