their hands, emerged from the forest.
Kendall, one of Michael's commanders, dropped to the ground nearby to address him. 'I received word of the High Lord's undetected advance on Caedmon's men and figured there was a good chance that His Loathness wasn't the only one with newly formed abilities. I am well aware of the severance, my Lord. The elders can rot in Hothrendaire for all I care.'
Michael stepped forward, torn between gratitude for Kendall's loyalty and quick thinking and frustration for his having gone against the elders' wishes. At the moment, gratitude was the greater of the two emotions. He looked at Jules.
'I could choose you, but perhaps I will offer you clemency. Pick for me your weakest soldier, his life in exchange for your freedom.' Jules paused a moment, hesitant to trust Michael's words. 'The choice is yours. Do you not have a single dispensable soldier among them? Or are you telling me that you're willing to die for your men?'
Jules scanned the lot of them, finally resting his eyes on one who stood behind Jareth. He was one of the younger, thinner men. Jules, his hand shaking, pointed him out.
'You're certain? This is whom you've appointed to whatever end I deem fit?'
'I don't understand the reason for your mercy, but I'm indebted to you.'
Michael took the fated one by the shoulders, looking down at him. He was but a boy in a man's suit of armor. 'As you should be, Jules. I'm granting you freedom from a long lifetime of depravity and wickedness.'
A brief shadow of fear fell across Jules's countenance.
'Tourne ethlis!' Michael shouted.
Jules never had a chance to respond. Michael raised his wings around the boy, shielding him from the carnage that roared around them.
Michael made eye contact with the boy. 'I need you to deliver a message for me.'
CHAPTER TWENTY
'You are not finding Adoria palatable?' Bronach's voice, though unexpected, did not startle Ariana. Its depth filled the small reading room with a feeling of near-reverence, everything else falling away in his presence.
Ariana had begun to notice this — the manner with which he seemed effortlessly to navigate the world around him. It wasn't wisdom or the maturity that comes with age — not even peace, for sadness seemed to dog his steps. She turned in her seat, studying him as he walked into the light, grateful for the interruption.
'Adoria, yes. My taskmaster of a brother, no.'
Bronach laughed, 'I have heard he has taken it upon himself to be your warden. It is the way of things here, you mustn't take it quite so personally.'
'Perhaps.' She took an unladylike bite of kestath root, sucking on it for a moment, letting the bitter spice soak her tongue before chewing. 'You've studied all of this — have you knowledge of human history as well?' Ariana asked. She half-expected Bronach not to have understood her words since she barely did herself. She swallowed and put her snack away.
'They intertwine much more than most realize. Middengard and Adoria have always been tethered in one way or another. But I see more deliberate questions in your eyes. Have you not yet learned there is nothing unworthy of asking?'
She wondered for a moment if he would think her raving mad. Gesturing to a picture drawn in one of the leather-bound books in front of her, she said, 'This picture, I've…' She let her fingers play across the image, remembering how she'd felt upon first seeing it. 'I've seen this before.'
Bronach dropped the bundle he'd carried into the reading room with him, sending parchment maps and loose papers scattering to the floor.
'My, my, these old bones of mine. Forgive me,' he said as he scooped the majority of them into his arms and sat down beside her. He almost missed his chair, his eyes were so locked onto her. 'Continue, please. My clumsiness does little good for those with the unfortunate task of being around me. What were you saying?'
'Just before I came into Adoria, I — you'll think me delusional — it's nothing.'
Bronach placed a hand over hers, giving it a tender squeeze. 'Child, speak, there is no harm in telling a brittle-minded old man.'
'I found a city just before I came here, though it couldn't have been real. I went into a temple and saw this image, among others, painted on the ceiling.'
'Why do you believe your sight false?'
'Because the stones fell to ruin before my eyes. I saw a child there, beside a pool of dark water. She showed me images of my parents, and spoke nonsensical things. 'Say the words.''
'You found the sword outside of the city walls, if my guess is correct.'
'Yes, did…'
'Michael has left the sword in my care for now to research its origin. Tell me, what have you read of the immortals?'
'Very little, they're scarcely mentioned in the books I've been privy to. This book makes a couple references, but they're vague at best.'
Bronach turned the book so the picture of the lovers was visible to both of them. When he spoke, his mouth trembled with age. 'The two you see before you are Irial and Eanna. Remember their names well, for before the world was as it is now, a great love was lost. It is because of their sacrifice that we stand not in the depths of Hothrendaire.
'Darkness has many names and has worn many faces. None has brought him pleasure, only pain and suffering, which he has gladly shared with the mortals of the created realms. He wants for nothing, every indulgence may be granted to him upon a whim, save the one thing his heart truly longs for — Eanna, the daughter of light. Knowing this, her father, the creator, kept his only daughter safe behind the infinite gates to the realm of light and for a time she lived contentedly.
'It came to pass though, as he had feared, that she caught a glimpse of the created worlds and those who reigned in sovereignty — the immortals. She watched them, curious of their ways, and remained at a distance until she saw Irial. After such a thing has stirred the heart of one so innocent, it is irreversible. She could not cross over to touch his brow, or hold his hand, or even whisper his name so that he thought it more than the intimate whisper of the trees. She begged her father for his consent to enter the created worlds, but he refused her, and threatened to take away her ability to view them if she spoke of it again.'
'The immortals were all given gifts, some to use for good, and some to protect from the Dark Lord's hand. One had the gift of nature, and created all that you see around you. She could imagine lakes, and mountains, and forests; some that mortal eyes have never beheld. Another had the gift of music. Every melody sung by bird or mortal came from his thoughts. Yet another had the gift of language, and all things spoken, or written came from her hand. Bronach was granted the gift of sorrow, and was the only immortal who could freely enter the realm of light and commune with the father, for he was the eldest — his gift borne from the creation of Hothrendaire itself.
'Bound in duty by the creator, the immortals ruled among the creatures and balanced the power of the darkness, for the seeds of darkness had long been sown in the realm of man, though at that time few understood how firm evil's foothold was. They fought for the perseverance of goodness and virtue against the nightmares of the dark realm. None could imagine a world where light did not prevail in the end.'
'Bronach felt Eanna's sorrow and petitioned her father, begging him to see for himself the depths of her love for the immortal. When he did, he saw he had no choice, and despite his will, he granted her a mortal form.'
'Eanna said nothing of her true form, but Irial knew the moment he laid eyes on her. They fell in love. It was a love deeper than that felt by any other, and stronger than the power of both light and darkness. It was felt from the foundations of the world, and beyond that even to the dredges of the dark realm itself — awakening in the Dark Lord an even greater hunger for her, an obsession that drove his every breath.'
