Elizabeth Heydon - Elegy for a Lost Star

He was in the midst of a very pleasant dinner when the noise leaked in through the windows on his balcony; it started as a high-pitched chorus in the distance, but quickly rose to the level of cacophony such that he was given to sudden indigestion.

Irate, he rose angrily from his meal, tossed his linen napkin violently onto the floor, and strode to the balcony, slamming the doors open and stepping out into the chilly air.

From the balcony he could see the world below falling into madness.

The height of the upper terrace afforded him a terrifying view of the streets of Jierna’sid, their roadways a grid visible from the air. Down the central street a human shadow lumbered, gigantic given its ability to be discerned from such a distance. Around it tiny human figures the size of ants were scattering, some of them toward it, to be flung away seconds later, others away, some successful in their flight, most not. Talquist lost his water onto the floor of the balcony.

There was no mistaking what was coming.

In a heart’s beat he was screaming orders to the captain of his guard, commanding cohorts and divisions to be activated from the barracks below. He watched in terror as his orders were carried out; an entire column of mounted mountain guard thundered into the streets, firing at the approaching titan, oblivious of townspeople who were fleeing in their path. Talquist could only stare as the immense statue, now more man than stone, waded through the horsemen as if they were surf, pummeling men and beasts with brutal efficiency that led to such a bloody result he could only turn and flee himself.

He knew the statue’s destination.

He ran from the balcony to the tower stairs, climbing two at a time, his heavy velvet robes no longer a cherished luxury but a fatal hindrance. He had barely broached the doorway of the tallest tower when he heard the shattering of the palace’s massive gates; the screams echoed throughout Jierna Tal, shaking the walls of the minaret.

There was nowhere else left to run.

Gray sweat poured from his brow and neck as the thundering steps of the titan approached. The resistance noise had disappeared; after the decimation of the soldiers sent to battle it, the household staff had fled or was hiding. Now the regent emperor could hear the heavy footfalls thudding as mercilessly, unfalterigly, the titan came closer.

The tower shook violently as Faron mounted the stairs, climbing four at once, honing in on his prey. Talquist lost what little was left of his composure and screamed, slamming and bolting the door of the highest tower shut behind him, knowing as he did what a pathetically futile action it was.

He had taken cover behind an overturned table of shiny walnut wood when the door split open and the titan emerged, dragging his massive body through the stone opening that was too small to accommodate his height.

Talquist screamed again. Knowing that Faron had come for vengeance, he dropped to the floor on his knees, hopelessly praying that the titan might recognize the gesture of surrender and be moved by it.

Faron broke through the stones of the doorway.

With all hope lost, Talquist began to weep.

“No, Faron,” he gasped, struggling for breath in the grip of terror. “Please—I meant only to—”

Fear got the better of him as the living statue’s eyes, blue and milky with cataracts, stared at him stonily, and he fell silent.

Slowly the titan crossed the small room until it was standing directly in front of the regent emperor.

Its stone arm reached out at the level of Talquist’s neck.

Its gigantic hand opened.

In it were five colored scales, each tattered about the edges, each inscribed with runes in a language long dead in the material world. Each was of a different hue, though in the fading light of dusk they gleamed iridescently in all the colors of the rainbow.

Humming a symphony of power.

With great care, the titan crouched down and placed the five scales on the floor at the regent emperor’s feet.

Dumbfounded, Talquist could only stare at Faron for the longest of moments. Finally he found his voice and thoughts again.

He reached into the folds of his robe where he always carried his treasure, the violet scale, and drew it forth, holding it up before the statue’s milky eyes.

“Is this what you seek, Faron? A return to Sharra’s deck? Are you looking to join forces with me, and combine them into a set again?”

The titan nodded slowly.

The regent emperor let out a sharp gasp.

Then a chuckle of relief.

And finally an unbridled laugh of manic glee that echoed off the broken tower, down the stairways, over the grounds of the palace, and out into the night, where it rang, triumphant, through the streets of Jierna’sid.

A thudding shook the foundations of the cavern that was once Llauron.

Achmed sat upright, jolting the baby awake.

Rhapsody had collapsed against the wall where she’d sung. She barely stirred as the thudding ceased.

A light appeared on the wall, forming a doorway in the side of the great stone beast. Achmed summoned the strength to rise to his feet, his eyes stinging, and pulled Rhapsody up behind him, still clutching the baby in his arms.

A dark humanoid shape, taller than a man by half over, filled the opening.

“Oh, right, ya can’t manage ta stay in Ylorc yerself, so now yer draggin’ me away from there now?”

Achmed stumbled forward, using his right arm to shove Rhapsody into Grunthor’s while cradling the baby with his left.

“Air,” he croaked.

The light dimmed and vanished. The giant Bolg grabbed the Lady Cymrian and lifted her out of the cavern, depositing her quickly and gently onto the snowy ground outside, then pulled Achmed through the opening as well. Then he leaned back into the cavern, letting out a low whistle as he did.

“Criton, what’s this?”

“It used to . . . be . . . Llauron,” Achmed said, choking on the fullness of the snow-filled air of the forest. He took a moment to catch his breath, then looked up at the giant Sergeant. “He died rescuing us from Anwyn,” he said when he could speak.

“Ah, she made it ’ere, then?” Grunthor said under his breath. “That bitch. Glad Oi brought this with me.” He held up the key of Living Stone that had once opened Sagia’s root. “Oi was right there in the vault when the call came, and Oi jus’ ’ad a feelin’.”

Grunthor looked down into Achmed’s arms and froze, his amber eyes widening in the morning light. “Whatcha got there, sir?”

Achmed shook his head and nodded at Rhapsody, who was rising weakly to her knees, staring at the carriage that was waiting in the glen a short distance away.

She was watching her husband approach the cavern, the end of the world on his face.

Winter had returned in all its fury by the time the caravan returned to the sheltered courtyard of Haguefort.

Gwydion Navarne watched the carriages arrive from the tall windows above the library; the firelight reflected off the glass in the panes, warming a room that had felt cold for some time. How long, he did not know; he waited anxiously for the doors to open, but the carriage driver took his time, endeavoring to position the coach as close to the steps as possible.

Melisande stood beside him, wrapped in the drapes, dancing impatiently to see the baby.

“Why aren’t they hurrying?” she demanded, pushing in front of her brother again.

Gwydion’s hands came to rest gently on her shoulders.

“They want to keep him as warm and safe as possible,” he said, thinking back to what he had seen in Ghant, and what it portended for the future. His hands gripped her shoulders a little more tightly, as if to hold on to her without worrying her. “I guess that’s the natural impulse with babies—and sisters.” He smiled as reassuringly as he could as Melisande looked up at him, her face contorted in humorous doubt.