David Dalglish - The Shadows of Grace

Velixar shook his head as he stood.

“Such a shame,” he said. “Suffer however you wish. This world is almost ended. I have no time for your doubt and self-pity.”

He turned and walked through the fire, and he was not burned. Qurrah got to one knee, took a deep breath, and stood. His heart pounded in his ears. He wasn’t sure which way was south. He closed his eyes, and in his heart he begged Tessanna to help him. When he looked again, the fire had parted before him. He hurried through, still clutching his chest. He ran past trees when he saw them, and stumbled off of them when he didn’t. His mind was desperate. He had to get to her. He had to hurry.

When he found her she still held their child in her arms. She was crying.

“You left me,” she cried when he returned. “How could you leave me?”

He stumbled to her side, buried his face in her neck, and held on for dear life.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, feeling consciousness fading fast. “Please, Tess, I’m so sorry.”

And then he saw nothing, heard nothing, but in his dreams, he still felt the pain. It seemed no matter what, he would never escape it.

He dreamt of their child, never even given a name.

Q urrah awoke covered with a cold sweat. His chest felt like ants crawled just underneath his flesh, biting and digging. It was still dark, the stars hidden by branches.

“It hurts to move,” he heard Tessanna say to him. He shifted closer to her on the dirt, resting his head against her chest.

“We’ll be all right,” he told her.

“She needs to be buried,” Tessanna said.

At this Qurrah turned over and looked at his lover. The dead child was still in her arms, completely wrapped in the torn cloak. It was a tiny, pitiful package.

“I’ll do it,” Qurrah said. He got on one knee, then clutched the dirt as a wave of dizziness assaulted him. He fought it away. So what if he’d lost a lot of blood. He’d lost more before, and he had no time for weakness. He stood, took a few steps away from the tree, and saw a patch of soft earth.

“I have nothing to dig with,” he said, glancing back to his lover.

“Your hands,” she said.

He fell to his knees and started digging. Rocks tore at his soft skin, and his fingernails cracked as they dug into the cold ground. He ignored the pain. At one point a jagged edge of a stone cut into his finger, and as his blood dripped into the grave he found it oddly fitting. At last he stood, curled his arms against his chest, and nodded to the dead child.

“Give her to me,” he said.

She offered the bundled cloak, and he took it, sickness growing in his stomach as he felt how little it weighed. Tears ran down his face, along the scars he had cut, determined reminders at how he had sworn to cry no more for his brother, to weep no more for his guilt and his loss. They seemed pathetic now, a ridiculous gesture. He might as well have stabbed himself in the heart.

Into the ground went the bundle. He returned the dirt to its hole, and all the while his gut groaned with anger and hurt.

“A fire,” Tessanna said when he finished. “Build a fire atop her grave.”

He had not the heart to argue or question her desire. He gathered a few branches and piled them together. A simple spell, and sparks flew from his fingers, setting the wood aflame. A shallow grave with a fire for a tombstone. Again, fitting.

“We have to name her,” he said as he watched the fire burn. Tessanna sat up, dragging her lower body as if she were paralyzed. She scooted back so she could lean against the tree, and as her head pressed against the bark she let her eyes linger on the fire.

“Teralyn,” Tessanna said, closing her eyes. “My mother's name. Let her die as Teralyn.”

“She can’t die,” Qurrah said, an ugly frown on his face. “She never lived.”

“She lived inside me!” Tessanna shouted, startling him. “Don’t you dare say that!”

He felt foolish and vile. “I’m sorry,” he said. He knelt beside the fire and spread his arms as if he were an offering. The heat washed over him. Silence followed for several long minutes. Any time the fire flickered or weakened Qurrah tossed another branch onto it and showered it with sparks. He had every intention on having it burn throughout the night. He felt he could live forever without sleep. His dreams, he didn’t remember them, but he remembered the horror chasing him when he awoke.

“What do we do now?” Tessanna asked, breaking the oppressive silence.

“Velixar lied to us,” Qurrah said.

“Do we turn against him?” she asked. She bit down on one of her nails and chewed. “He’s powerful. Not as much as he used to be, but neither are you. And if he dies, you die.”

“I can release my grip on the portal,” Qurrah said. “It will crush him if he tries to keep it open.”

“Then we won’t be able to escape,” she said. “We’ll be stuck here, forever, with mommy watching me and your brother hating you. Everyone will want us dead, Qurrah, everyone!”

She started sobbing.

“Then what do we do?” Qurrah asked. “Continue on with Velixar? Keep serving Karak? He has given us nothing and taken everything. I cannot live this life anymore. I would rather die.”

“Live for me,” Tessanna said. “Just for me. Can’t I be enough?”

He sat down beside her, wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and leaned against the tree.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know if anything will ever be enough.”

“For once, trust me,” she said, burying her head in his chest to wipe away her tears. He kissed the top of her head and wondered if he could.

V elixar arrived while the two still slept. He watched them, clinging desperately to each other even in their dreams. Nearby he saw a dying fire, and he sensed the death that lingered about it.

“Never before have I asked for a miracle,” Velixar prayed. “But Celestia’s power is dwindling. Perhaps there is time.”

He scattered the embers with his hand, then dug into the dirt. He glanced at the two lovers, making sure they still slept. He did not want to wake them. If there was anything that could damage them further, it was false hope. Faster and faster he dug, casting aside the earth until he found the bundled cloak. Closing his eyes, he slipped his hand within its folds until he felt cold flesh.

“Give her life,” Velixar prayed. “Whatever life you can give.”

He felt the power flow out of him, into the dead child he touched. The voice of Karak rang in his ears, strong and clear.

I do not mean him to suffer, Velixar heard. But this world is broken and dying, and there is naught I can do to stop it. But I will. One day, my faithful servant, we will end all their suffering.

The power ceased. He felt the child move. Eyes still closed, his magic wandered, and letting out a sigh he felt his spirit drop. The child moved, yes, but it was undead, just like any other corpse he had drawn from its grave. He let go of the child and stood.

“They could never love you,” he said to the squirming bundle. “Such a shame.”

He waved his hand, bathing it in fire. As the grave was consumed, he heard a noise from behind, like a soft cry of a bird. He glanced back to see Tessanna watching him, her mouth open, her eyes locked wide. There was no trace of sanity in them.

“Get out of here,” she said. “I will kill you if I see you again. You’re sick, and you’ve poisoned us all.”

“I only meant to help,” Velixar said.

“Fuck your intent,” she said. “Leave. Now.”

Qurrah stirred, and as he did, Velixar shook his head and left. The half-orc opened his eyes, saw the fire, then the chaos in his lover’s eyes.

“What’s going on?” he asked.