Yelora

Ronith stopped fighting Yelora’s grip on her wrists. Her face was wet with tears, frozen in a visage of shock.

“You are the newest-born Elf.” Yelora continued her plea, desperation infusing every word. “You are the one the Oracle spoke of. You have to take this machine”—Yelora nodded toward Bayne, who had emerged from under the footbridge with the transformer—“into the heart of the meteorite. Connect it to the crystals. Turn it on. The power it unleashes will be great. Chances are you won’t survive.”

Kashur had crept over to Gorlo’s body. Ronith turned a stricken face over her shoulder toward him.

“The Summoner will revive him,” Yelora said gently, knowing full well she was making promises she couldn’t keep. But Ronith must do this. And Yelora was her queen. Despite the fact that she’d given Ronith no reason to trust her, to obey her, to care at all about what Yelora wanted, it was her job to convince her.

Ronith’s lip curled. “Why should I do anything for you? You’ve always hated me. You treated me like I was... contaminated.”

“I know I did, and I’m sorry,” Yelora said, cracking open the door to regret—a door Queen Fara had taught her to always keep tightly sealed. “When we were training for our positions together, even when I accepted you into my court, I know I treated you differently. I shouldn’t have. But this is not about me. You must do this thing, Ronith. You’re the only one who can save us. Not just the Elven Faire, but all of Terris.”

The chamber surged with another quake. A crack split the edge of the pond, and the purple water gushed into it, leaking away, leaving only a tiny fountain of fresh water bubbling up from the spring below. The shattered dome above was now crawling with Celestiri who had hatched from gardens outside the chamber. They wanted in.

“We need to do it now,” Kashur warned. “If we wait too long, we’ll lose our advantage.”

“I’m ready,” Bayne said, hefting the machine and starting toward the crystal garden.

“No!” Yelora swept her hand in petty magic, stopping him in his tracks. “It has to be her.”

She turned back to Ronith, heart fluttering in her chest like a hummingbird. She must convince Ronith. This was the moment of truth in her reign. If Yelora could not do this, she would fail her people.

Perhaps she could force Ronith. Compel her.

But no—no spell existed that could force a person to sacrifice herself against her will. Saving the Elven Faire could not be done with a show of strength. Not this time.

Yelora would not make another mistake. She couldn’t afford to.

Tapping into the heightened magic all around them, Yelora made the token and cast a time lapse spell over her Dark Elf and herself. “Ronith,” she said, softening her voice. She captured the Dark Elf’s hands in hers. They were smaller, daintier. Yelora had never noticed that before. “You know what Mol Morin is doing is wrong. You aren’t poisoned by the crystals because you haven’t been using them, and I think there’s a reason for that. I think it’s because you love Terris. You love it even more than I do, because you’re right—I only loved the parts of it that I saw as worthy. I shunned you for having darkness in you. I shunned Gorlo for not being the Elf child I wanted. It took a war for me to see the value in the Dwarves and Imperials. But I see it now—I see what you saw in Gorlo from the start, what you see in everyone. They’re all worth saving. All the peoples and creatures of Terris. Every single one of them.” She took a deep breath. “But I can’t save them. Only you can save them, Ronith. You. You’re the newest-born Elf. You’re the one. Please, you must do it.”

Ronith’s mouth twitched to the side. Her yellow eyes flicked to the Dwarf with the machine in his hands, frozen in time. Kashur was bent over Gorlo, working his healing spells. The Celestiri crawling into the shattered dome were so fast that the time lapse only slowed them to a wandering pace. The battle waged in howling, bloody slow motion all around them.

Ronith slipped her hands out of Yelora’s. Slowly she turned and took the machine from Bayne’s hands.

Relief gushed through Yelora so powerfully that she could barely choke the explanation out. “Take it deep into the crystal garden. We’ll cast a shade spell on you and a protection spell. Do you see the space next to the opal? Some part of the garden must be touching the electrodes in that space. Then you turn the machine on with this switch, and the opal will convert the alien energy into energy Terris can use to fight this onslaught. To heal itself. To save us all.”

Ronith studied the machine as Yelora spoke—the weapon that would end her life even as it saved the rest of theirs.

Sprites, let her agree to it, Yelora prayed. Don’t let me have ruined our whole world’s chances with my own prejudice and folly!

Ronith sighed. “It’s the opal that makes it work?”

“Yes,” Yelora gushed, heart soaring. “You’ll be remembered forever,” she promised. “I’ll make sure of it. You’ll become legend.”

Ronith fingered the opal in the machine. Then she began to tug it out with her fingers.

Yelora’s blood tingled in warning, a mixture of confusion and horror. “What are you doing? The opal needs to stay in the machine!”

Ronith’s lips moved and her free hand made the token, but Yelora recognized it too late. The opal crumbled in Ronith’s fist.

She tossed aside the handful of dust. “I’d rather lead this new world than be dead in yours. And speaking of dead...”

Her fingers flashed, the throwing knives reappearing in her hand. Yelora felt the stab in her gut before she saw it. There was no protection spell to shield her. Kashur had had to lift it in order to try to heal Gorlo. And Yelora’s magic was being used for the time lapse, which fell away as she crumpled to the floor, the chaotic noise and motion pouring in on them like an angry ocean.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Ronith whirled with the machine, cracking Bayne across the skull with it. Yelora felt his weight as he landed in a heap beside her. With a cry of protest, Kashur leapt from Gorlo’s side toward them. Ronith’s arm sliced the air and a burst of red appeared on Kashur’s tunic. Yelora felt the thud as he collapsed on top of her.

“Don’t worry about this new world,” Ronith sneered, lifting Gorlo’s limp form. “You won’t be here to see it.” She turned her back and retreated down the footpath strewn with bodies.

Yelora’s breaths were thin and shallow, as if air could not get into her lungs. She forced herself up on her elbows, shifting Kashur where he had fallen on her. His forehead lolled against hers, black curls tickling her face. Red bloomed across his white tunic. Just like in her vision.

She’d seen him dying. What she hadn’t seen was herself dying alongside him. And Bayne. And the Elves. The Terris she knew and loved.

It wasn’t just Kashur’s death that had been foretold. It was the death of everything Yelora cared about.

“We were wrong about everything,” she whispered against Kashur’s cheek, breaths coming harder through her punctured lung. “I was wrong about everything.”

His head lolled, thick lashes fluttering toward the white sky. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” His lips twitched into a weak smile. “Can I tell you a secret?”

Yelora nodded, fighting for breath. Fighting against despair.

“All this time, I’ve been waiting for the convergence to be over, to be free of my curse, just so I could touch you with my bare hands.” A gloved hand went to her cheek, caressing it. “Selfish of me, isn’t it?”

“We’ve all... been selfish,” she gasped. “That’s why... they were able to infiltrate... Terris. The darkness—they didn’t bring it. It was... already here. The seeds of it... were already here... within all of us.”

“I still wish we could stay,” he whispered. She felt his arms snaking around her. “I wish we could try again. Do better next time.”

She let herself crumple into his embrace, eyelids growing heavy. She had no breath to say the words on her tongue: I do, too.

***

Ivy

Bayne! He’s hurt! I have to help him!

You cannot help him. Not the way you are thinking.

I want to help him in any way I can!

You can help them all. Bayne, Kashur, Yelora, the Emperor, even me. All of Terris. We need your help, Ivy.

What do I do?

You must get Bayne’s machine and take it into the garden. You know how to do it.

But I’m afraid.

Everyone is afraid sometimes. And this is a frightening thing to have to do, a frightening moment to have to live through. But you were made for this moment, Ivy. You are special. I made you special. You have everything you need.

You made me?

I am Terris. Everything that is is because of me.

But why did you make me different? Why did you make it so people were afraid of me? They made me leave when they saw I was different. And I’ve been so lonely.

It is true, child, you have suffered much. You have been lonely. But you won’t be lonely anymore.

What happens when people die?

It is like going to sleep.

Will I dream?

I am Terris. I do not see past what is here. But I think you have many more dreams in you, Ivy of Terris.

I never told Kashur the truth. Will you tell him for me?

He knows.

He does?

Deep down, he always has.

***

Kashur

Dying wasn’t so bad. Disappointing, but not terrible, when one got to do it with the Elf Queen in one’s arms.

Yelora. He’d never gotten to touch her without his gloves. He’d only kissed her once. But it was something to be grateful for. Maybe he’d get to see her in the next life. Did Elves and Imperials go to the same Afterlife? Soon, he would have the answer. He only had to succumb to the whiteness of the sky, the soft weight of her body against his, the warmth that came with bleeding out in a heap of other dying people, in wet clothing, as the world fell apart around him.

But something was jostling him, despoiling his happy death with pain. He heard the grunt. Focused his vision enough to see the pair of skinny legs, the flapping braid. The machine looking oversized and monstrous in the arms of the tiny person running away from him.

Ivy!

He tried to shout her name, but he was too weak. What was she doing? Did she not know the opal was gone, crushed in Ronith’s spiteful hand?

The battleground had quieted, but that only meant a little girl running across the chamber was more conspicuous than ever. It was for nought. There was no way Ivy would survive this day, or, if she did, what came next. He raised a hand and whispered the protection spell anyway.

“Yelora.” He jostled her, hoping he hadn’t ruined a pleasant death for her, too. “Look. Ivy. She needs shade.”

Yelora’s eyes fluttered open, green as spring fields after a rainfall. Fellesman’s oath, he’d miss those eyes.

Yelora cast the shade spell, trusting him, even as she asked, “What... is she... doing? It has to... be... Ronith!”

The Celestiri were fast. They went for Ivy, but the shade spell made it difficult for them to see her, and the protection spell meant they couldn’t touch her. Kashur and Yelora just had to stay alive long enough to protect her as she did whatever it was she was doing.

Of course, if she succeeded in getting the machine working, the resulting power surge would kill her anyway.

She was in the heart of the meteorite now, a small girl in the mouth of the beast. It looked like a mouth, too. The meteorite shell, built into the castle wall was a gaping maw, the tendrils of the garden like tentacles issuing from a monstrous, purple throat.

Ivy knelt down.

Kashur sat up so he could see her better. It hurt, but something about the girl’s courage gave him strength. Nyla’s daughter was something else. Yelora was watching, too. He nudged Bayne.

“Dwarf, wake up! Wake up!”

Bayne moaned, opened his eyes, and squinted. “Is that Ivy?”

“She’s running your machine,” Kashur said. “Thought you’d want to see.”

He didn’t feel sleepy anymore. He didn’t want to give up. Didn’t care an owl’s hoot about his pleasant death. Because something was happening. A hum began to resonate through the chamber. The line of planets in the sky above flashed green, and Kashur’s hands tingled with the last dying throes of his curse. He peeled off his gloves. The mottled skin was already beginning to change, shifting to the warm olive color that matched the rest of him. Not gone yet, but going.

The chamber quaked. The Celestiri halted where they stood, their needle-mouths opening and closing in something that resembled unhappiness.

“She doesn’t have an opal,” Bayne muttered. “Ye can’t run the machine without an opal.”

The sky flashed again, and this time Kashur saw something else flash with it. The opal birthmark on Ivy’s neck lit up like a beacon. Symbols danced on her skin, just like the ones that had appeared on Yelora at Creation Falls.

Holiest of holy shrines! “She doesn’t need an opal,” he breathed. “She is the opal!”