Chapter 127
Chapter 127
Thaila found Neville under the shade of the black tree, which had rooted on the battlefield, its little fluorescend leaves shimmering as it gorged in death. Thaila and Neville looked up to the fire beyond the sky. A red flash, then white, then nothing.
‘It is over,’ said Neville.
Rederico saw War’s death from the roof ot the Eliana, with Old Woman wagging her tail on his lap. The little dog raised her snout and howled like a wolf of Sátiron.
Clément saw it from his windon, in the Rock.
‘I believe it is safe to le me out now,’ he told the soldiers. Get your horses ready, let’s go find my mother.’
Pierre’s father read inside his house, in the Frontier. He didn’t notice anything. At the top of the Wave, Lucille cheered. Slowly, then, her smile faded and she felt tremendously sorry for that creature that, like any other creature, just wanted to live. Lucille gradually leanerd to see the world from a non human perspective; from a Mystery point of view.
Behind her, Nuille stood up.
Pierre didn’t come back from the Mouth of War. Vivianne called Gregoire and three random soldiers:
‘Let’s go search for him.’
She barely stopped speaking when she heard the sound of wings.
Gregoire looked up, wondering if Chelag’Ren was back.
Wide wings darknened the sun, coming down in slow circles, than na eagle landed on the road. Vast, its plumes thick and shiny. It put Pierre gently at Vivianne’s feet, then took flight again.
Vivianne and Gregoire knelt, he because his legs gave away, she to check Pierre’s pulse.
‘He is alive,’ she said.
Fregósbor put Pierre’s bones back in place. At each clec and croc, Gregoire shrank a little further, Vivianne felt her blood stream dying before it reached her brain.
‘Give him time,’ said Fregósbor. ‘He is not in danger, but ne needs rest.’
Then he went back to his own tent, where Líran refused to wake up and Sáeril remained in rags. Vivianne wanted to stay by his side, but Fregósbor didn’t allow it.
‘I had to raise a magic barrier around this tent to protect the rest of the camp,’ he said. ‘Sáeril is like a thunderstorm with lightnings of mystery, winds of darkness. Stay away. I promise you will be the first to know when something changes.’
Vivianne went back to Pierre’s tent and sat beside Gregoire, who was also frustrated in his own manner, at his wild brother who kept on trying to die, while Gregoire remained just background to his story.
Coalim and Leonard showed up with Marie of Chambert, who examined Pierre, said Fregósbor had done everything possible, gave a few tips on how to keep the patient comfortable, and went back outside arm in arm with Leonard.
‘What now?’ Coalim asked Vivianne. Gregoire had left to search for food.
‘I suppose we will have to rebuild,’ said Vivianne.
‘What about Clément?’
It took Vivianne a moment to understand the question. She had forgotten Clément’s position. He was the King of Deran.
‘Clément is no threat to Pierre.’
‘But Adelaide is,’ said Coalim. ‘She will never give up the throne. I hope Pierre doesn’t have to kill Clément.’
Vivianne held his hand.
‘Pierre won’t kill anyone just like that.’ She leaned against her chair. She thought she deserved, — they all deserved — a long rest. She tried to imagine the crumbling touch of old maps under her fingers and retraced the lost lines of her destroyed maps in her mind. Paper gave way to skin and Vivianne’s imaginary drawings became Pierre. And she slept.