Elora held firm to the sword as her father’s wings wafted hot air against her as he writhed to free himself.
“That’s right father. I was a tool. I was the key that released you. But I am also the tool that will spill your blood.”
She couldn’t say whether he heard her or not, he was too busy thrashing about and screaming.
The heat before her was becoming intense, as sharp flames erupted from Diagus’s heart, his blood mixing with her fathers. Impossibly the Shadojak was still conscious.
Elora attempted to release the sword but her hands remained closed, the blade wouldn’t release her and when she stepped away it came with her. Fire crackled along its length, born from her father it licked along its edge, running towards her hands. She was about to snatch her arms away when Diagus shifted and grasped her hand. He slid it over the hilt and onto the flaming steel.
The blade bit deep into her palm and her own blood mixed with that of the Shadojak’s and her father’s. The instant it did she felt a sudden presence in her mind. A sharp hot presence which she immediately recognised as belonging to the blade itself.
It filled her head, drowning out her other senses, filling her mind’s eye with images, with flashes of memories that were not her own. She gave herself to the whispers, to the darkness and to the fire burning and all consuming. She let go of reality and to consciousness, giving her soul freely to the blade - the soul reaver itself - and escaped Chaos.
Chapter 26
The Emperor Can Wait
Elora became aware of singing. It was a man’s voice, his song a soft and flowing melody that she had heard before, yet couldn’t understand.
Light filtered through her eyelashes as she gently opened her lids. The long shapes above her focused onto dark wooden beams that she recognised as rafters. A black falcon was perched upon one, preening its glossy feathers, while staring at her with an intelligence greater than any bird. Prince Dylap sat atop him, his serious expression brightening when he noticed she was awake.
Elora was lying in a bed and when she turned her head she found Nathanial, on a stool beside her, singing softly.
She was in Nat’s old chamber, in her mother’s house. Daylight coming through the open window, lighting the room and casting gentle reflections on beautiful flowers that sat in a vase upon a table.
Her body ached as he attempted to sit. Nat paused his song and lay a hand upon hers.
“Easy, Elora. You’re not quite ready to rise,” he said, beaming at her.
She noticed that he appeared thinner than usual and his face had a swollen quality with stitches sewn along a cut at the edge of his mouth.
“What happened?” she croaked, her throat feeling sore and dry.
Nat produced a cup of water and put it in her hands. She took it gladly and sipped the cool liquid.
“You killed him. Solarius is dead and Aslania is now free from the curse that has plagued it for thousands of years.”
Memories came flooding back then. Of the church, the fire - the deaths.
“Bray?” she asked, a terrible feeling suddenly gripping her stomach.
“Alive. And your mother also. They’ve both been taking turns sitting with you. You’ve been asleep for three days.”
Sleep? Elora had flash backs to the nightmares that came to her before she woke. The memories of Diagus and other men unknown to her, working back through time: of the battles he had had, of the men he had killed - even how he lost his eye. And that hateful sword, the soul reaver, being at the centre of it all. Then more images of the man, the Shadojak who owned it before him, stretching back over hundreds of years as it collected the memories and souls of those it had stabbed through the heart. Right back to her father.
The images had been real; they were still there at the periphery of her mind to be called upon when needed. Each soul trapped in the sword along with their skills and abilities.
Suddenly Bray entered the room, her mother at his heel. He looked tired, dark stubble covering his gorgeous face and Elora felt her heart race faster.
“I thought I heard voices,” Bray said, a grin causing dimples in his cheeks as he came to her. His lips pressed against her forehead briefly before making way for her mother, who planted an equally loving kiss beside his. She took her hand and sat on the bed while Bray stood to her shoulder, his hand delicately resting on the nape of her neck.
Ejan then entered the room.
“You’ve finally had enough of sleeping then?” said the Viking, ruefully.
“Yeah,” was all Elora could manage, needing another sip of water.
“Good, because I don’t want to be hanging around here too long. I’ve got a son to get back to.” She leaned against the door frame and folded her arms.
Then Elora remembered what her father had said before she killed him.
“What about Earth? Solarius said the barrier was gone and that his army was now taking the world.”
Bray sighed heavily. “It is so. Prince Dylap has seen it. The Dark army has already swept deep into Britain, Europe and is making its way into Asia.”
“But, we need to stop them. Is there a way back?”
Nat nodded, his face hardening. “Although there may be more pressing matters to keep you here.”
“The Emperor’s men are at the gate. They’re demanding to see the Shadojak. The Emperor wants answers,” Bray said.
“But the Shadojak’s dead. I killed him.”
“No,” continued Bray, taking something from beneath the bed and placing it beside her. It was Diagus’s sword, sheathed inside a plain silver scabbard. “The Shadojak never dies.” He knelt before her, as did her mother. Ejan joined them, kneeling on the floor as they all bowed their heads.
“What are you doing?” Elora asked, confused.
“You’ve taken the sword, you’ve taken the lives and experiences of all it has slayed. You’ve had the quickening nightmares and you have been blade born.” The grin returned to Bray’s face. “You are the Shadojak, and we are now under your protection.”
