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Veldor staggered forward. His hair flashed out as he roared with anger. The last of his foot soldiers were marching down the spire, returning to their grave for eternity. “No!” he bellowed after them. “You are mine now, my army.” He glared at Bron. “You will not beat me."
He darted away and pulled his sword from the ground, holding it in front of him as he began to run, moving in league with the last of his foot soldiers. Moving into the depths of the spire. Moving toward the demon underworld that had called to him for so long.
Bron watched until he disappeared from sight, and then bent to lift Maerose into his arms. The staff pulsed fiercely, her wound closing before his eyes. She was pale, her eyes still shut. As he got to his feet with her in his arms and the staff between them, he saw the spire bubble high, flames leaping up its walls, taking back the souls it now called its own. Forever. He thought he saw a glimpse of Veldor's flaxen hair amongst the flames, and then it was gone. A lone demon swooped down in front of him, hovering outside the circle. Its yellow eyes blinked, eyeing them hungrily.
"Leave us, demon,” he shouted. “Veldor and the bloody hordes are yours to keep.” The staff pulsed fiercely.
The demon's lips peeled back in a death-like grin, and then it looked to the spire, swooped in and was gone, into its nest to collect its newest soul. The black earth tumbled in on itself, closing the gate, the gaping maw in the spirit world that Yaxlan and Crondor had created with their vow, gone. “Forever,” he whispered.
Reaching to kiss Maerose, he swallowed down the feeble relief he felt when her breath touched his face. She was close to death.
He moved cautiously at first, and then faster, using what remained of his powers to carry her back through The Strangeling as fast as he could. The moon glowed strong, through the fading pall that had once covered this land, the skies growing clear. Around them, the ground had begun to change, the dust settling, the far trees moving in a breeze more natural than he had felt here before. That helped him, as did the flood of support he felt swelling from the other side of Edren.
At one point her eyelids fluttered open and she whispered his name. Weak fingers clutched at his shirt. “Bron,” she gasped. “Did we win?"
He bit back the emotion that rose in his chest. He bent to kiss her forehead, holding her close in his arms. “Hush, my love, rest now."
"But did we win?” Her fingers dropped from his shirt, a deathly sleep pulling her from him again.
He moved faster, his heart shot through with desperate need to get her to shelter, to care.
Yes, we won. We won. It is over. He planted the words deep inside her so that whatever happened, she would know.
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CHAPTER ELEVEN
Maerose heard her mother's voice calling her, from some place faraway. She opened her eyes into bright light. Her skin burned with fever, her thoughts were jumbled and unclear.
Am I dead?
She struggled to move and through the haze of her thoughts she found that the smell of mossy grass was all around her. Lifting her head from its resting place, she saw that she was lying amongst the bluebells in the special forest. She smiled fondly, recognizing it deep in her heart now. The dappled sunlight filtering through the trees moved across the ground in mesmerizing patterns, and she breathed in the scent of summer. All would be well here. Heavy with sleep, it took her a moment to realize she was fully grown, no longer a child.
"Maerose."
It was her mother's voice, and with effort, she raised herself up onto her elbows. Her mother was standing nearby, smiling. She came nearer and Maerose struggled to her feet to greet her. Her head felt heavy and hot, her limbs weary.
"It is time to go home now, Maerose,” her mother said. “It's a long way, but you must try to find the path home soon, before it is too late for you...” She paused, her expression reflecting the importance of her words. “I cannot come with you this time."
Maerose's heart felt heavy, but she knew it was true. “I understand.” She reached out her arms. “I miss you."
"I miss you too.” They held each other silently, for a moment, and then her mother drew back, brushing Maerose's loose hair back from her forehead. “I'm very proud of you, my special, fey girl."
Maerose saw her smile fondly, and then she slipped away, turned and walked into the sunlight, her image quickly disappearing from sight. Glancing down at the spot where she had stood, Maerose saw a bunch of bluebells, and bent to pick them up. Breathing their scent, she started to pick her way between the flowers, trying to find the path home. It was difficult, because she could not remember how she got there, and for a while she circled the same spot. She grew weak and dizzy, her head hot, as if a fever were upon her.
I cannot find the path. It is too hard. I need to rest a while, before I look again.
She lay down on the grass. As she did, she saw a woman's face bending over her, gentle concern in her eyes, then the vision skewed and faded into darkness.
* * * *
Bron watched, silently, as Felicita bent over the bed and drew a cloth soaked in her healing brew across Maerose's pale lips, squeezing it gently so a few drops passed into her mouth.
"I think the fever might be breaking,” she said, and her words were filled with tender hope. She set down her chalice of healing brew and touched closed Maerose's lips with one gentle finger.
Bron's head dropped onto his hands where they rested on the bed covers, and he begged the gods for their intervention. He had sat by her side constantly since they had arrived back at the settle, a sentinel beside the bed she lay upon.
After a while he lifted his head and looked over to where Egremont stood at the foot of the bed. “I feel blessed, in having known her."
