Reaching up, she wiped a tear from his cheek. “Odd, isn’t it, Tristan?” she asked. She paused slightly as if trying to gather her breath to form her last few words, then continued in an even more faint voice. “Had I been able to choose a place to die, it would have been in your arms.” Her eyes closed for a moment and then opened again, more slowly this time, the light in them already beginning to fade. “There will be another for you, Chosen One,” she whispered finally. “One whom you shall truly have the chance to love. Find her. Then plant your love and let it grow.”
Stay, his heart called out to her. Gently, quietly, she closed her eyes, and was gone. And then he screamed. Screamed aloud at the true, unrelenting insanity of it all.
It was a blind, overpowering, plaintive scream that seemed to go on and on and live in his heart forever as he sat there uncaringly in the dirt, holding her in his arms. An angry scream that rang out not only for Narrissa but also for his family, for the Directorate of Wizards, and for his countrymen. And for the nations of Eutracia and Parthalon, which had virtually perished at the hands of the Coven and the grotesque, winged monsters that now stood before him, impossibly calling him their lord.
She never knew I was a prince, he realized as he looked down into Narrissa’s face. The only woman who loved me for who I was, and not what I was. She was so hard to find, and now so much harder to lose.
And now I feel truly lost, he thought. Lost in the arms that once held me. Then from all around Narrissa’s body light began to gather, finally coalescing into an aura of radiant illumination. It slowly condensed into a small, twinkling amber sparkle of light that revolved in the air before his face as if somehow trying to say good-bye. And then the amber, sparkling light that was Narrissa’s soul came yet closer to his face and brushed his lips once, and then twice. Finally, reluctantly, the fragile, amber sparkle ascended into the sky, vanishing forever.
Fly to the sky, his heart cried as he looked to the heavens. Go and join your brothers and sisters in death, the Specters of the Gallipolai.
He might never have moved from that spot had he not heard the sound of a baby crying.
He looked back at the old wizard, his heart and mind struggling to deal with all that was happening. Wigg was getting to his feet, holding something in his arms.
“Shailiha’s child,” the old one said, smiling. “Her daughter is here. The truly firstborn of the Chosen Ones.”
Gently laying Narrissa’s body down, Tristan stood shakily to look at the baby Wigg held. His eyes opened wide.
From all around Shailiha’s newborn daughter came a dazzling, azure light. The baby gazed up at him, exuding a calm, quiet consciousness that the prince had never before seen in one so new, almost as if the child were already aware of her place in life.
Tristan turned to look at Narrissa’s body lying there on the bloody ground, and then once more looked into the face of the newborn child. A life that I cared for has left me, he thought, but another that I will love has somehow found me.
“… and the azure light that accompanies the births of the Chosen Ones shall be the proof of the quality of their blood …” Wigg quoted as he rocked the child gently. He looked into the prince’s eyes. “It is from the Prophecies. The Prophecies that you will soon read.” Holding the newborn in the crook of one arm, Wigg looked to the sky, taking note of the position of the sun. It was directly at its zenith in the bright, Parthalonian sky. He then reached beneath his robes with his free hand and removed the Paragon from the locket, placing it on its chain about his neck. As soon as he did so, Tristan could see the sparkle of the gift returning to the old wizard’s eyes.
And then, almost immediately, the wizard’s face darkened, and Tristan knew why. He could feel it in his blood, and it seemed almost as if his entire body was in some kind of harsh, stark awareness of it.
He turned with the old wizard to see Faegan’s portal starting to form at the base of the destroyed aviary.
On and on it came, swirling in a magnificent circle of azure, turning faster and growing in strength. Tristan could feel the warning of its arrival rising in his blood. Finally the portal stopped growing, and its turning slowed. The sky-blue light beckoned to them.
Realizing what the appearance of the portal meant, Tristan went directly to where his sister was sitting on the ground, her eyes still lifeless, unseeing. Her hair was soaked with perspiration, and her black, bloodstained gown was torn. Her medallion, the duplicate of his own, still lay upon her chest, suspended from the chain around her neck. Tristan’s heart went cold, knowing that the time had finally come to take the responsibility for her into his hands.
Wigg handed the baby to Geldon and quietly walked up behind the prince. “She has shown no improvement,” the old one said. “She cannot go back with us, Tristan. You must see that now. To infect Eutracia with one who was once a sorceress and still so overcome with these remnants of one of Failee’s incantations would be unforgivable.” He paused for a moment, letting his words sink in.
“And I’m afraid the child must now be dealt with, as well,” he continued, his heart heavy. “Although the baby appears normal, there is no way to tell for certain, and there may never be until she has matured. Only if the princess were to show some awareness of her former life could I then in good conscience take with us both her and her daughter.” Wigg hung his head as a tear came to the corner of one eye; he brushed it away, trying to keep command of his feelings.
“It is time,” the old one said.
As much as he wished to contradict the old wizard and simply take his sister back through the portal, the prince knew he could not. Wigg was right. But the reality of it all made Tristan’s endowed blood feel like ice in his veins, as if he were no longer human.
Because the task he had to perform was so inhuman.
“How do you wish to proceed?” Wigg asked softly.
Tristan looked away. “I will tend to Shailiha,” he said, his voice shaking. “She is my twin, and my charge. You do what you must with the baby.” Biting his lip, he paused.
“I will bury the bodies of my sister, her child, and Narrissa in the cemetery of my family, and in this I will hear no disagreement.” He gave the wizard a cold, resolved look. “I wish to speak no more of it until it is done.”
He walked back to Shailiha and knelt down before her, looking her in the eyes. Stroking her wet hair, he pulled some strands of it off her face and looped them behind an ear. Then he spoke to her for what he knew would be the last time.
“Know that I did all that I could,” he said, the tears once again starting to come. “We were fortunate to have come this far, but now your journey with us is over. I promise you that in my remaining days I will see Eutracia whole again, and restored to her past glory. You are and will always be my sister, and I shall love you with all of my heart until the day I die.” He kissed her softly on the lips.
He stood, taking the dreggan from his scabbard, knowing that a clean strike with his sword would be the most painless way. The sword sang its usual, oftentimes reassuring, song as it came out of its sheath. But this time the sound was one of sadness, rather than one of protection.
Raising the dreggan high into the air, he held it there and momentarily closed his eyes against the pain. The sword’s blade caught the midday sun just before beginning its deadly path downward. His gold medallion, the gift from his mother, dangled off his chest as he bent forward, its glossy surface reflecting the light across his sister’s blank, emotionless eyes.
“Forgive me,” he whispered.