Priestess

Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Throwing herself down, Ara tried to place a hand on her mother’s forehead but grasped only emptiness. “Mother!” she cried helplessly.

As if hearing her, Qessa opened her eyes, her gaze fluttered fleetingly around the cave. “Ara?”

Myrel stroked her hair. “Hush, Qessa. Ara’s fine. Shhh.”

“Mother, I’m here Mother!” Lodan’s words rumbled in her mind, like a boulder crashing down a mountain and crushing everything in its path. “The dying can summon its power.” “No! Please no!” she begged.

Qessa reached towards Ara’s voice. “Ara,” she called weakly.

“I love you Mother,” she cried as tears burned the back of her eyes.

Qessa tried to rise. “Where’s Ara? I can’t see her.”

The others fought to keep Qessa down. Then, of her own accord, she settled against Myrel’s legs. The fevered look left her eyes. “Tell them I love them.” One final, shuddering breath, and then the cave blackened and the points of light returned.

Ara stood, gasping. Slowly, she opened her clenched fist. But instead of a star, she held a used up bit of coal. Her hand trembled in horror. The stone slipped from her grasp. She watched as it fell into a bed of thousands of fallen stars. “No! No, No, No!” Sinking to her knees, she clenched her eyes shut, covered her ears, and screamed.

Some unseen thing reached out of the darkness and grabbed her. She pounded and fought to get away, but it held her tight.

“Ara! Ara!” A familiar voice cried.

Opening her real eyes, she saw Coen holding her tightly. She buried her head in his chest, sobs wracking her body. A look of bewilderment on his face, Coen cradled her like a small child—stroking her hair and shushing her.

Lodan burst into view; his eyes wide in panic. He linked with her mind, and she let him look through her memories. Grief filled his large eyes. He gently stroked her cheek with his muzzle.

Ara cried until no more tears would come, and then she sat numbly, staring into the fire. Coen never pulled away. Just held her and stroked her hair. She felt dead inside. Her voice flat, she said, “I saw my mother die.”

When Coen didn’t respond, she drew out her necklace. “I held it in my hand and called for her. It took me to a place filled with millions of tiny stars. Her star came to me and then took me to her.” The pendant was swallowed in Ara’s fist. “Was it real?” she breathed, though she felt she already knew the answer.

Coen tucked a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. “Yes, Ara. It was real.”

Tears burning her eyes, she nodded.

“Ara,” Lodan called.

She tipped her head back to look at him. Arching his neck, he touched her star with his horn. Everything brightened. Memories of Qessa flitted past Ara’s consciousness like a flock of startled songbirds. What should have taken hours, took only moments.

Lodan pulled back. The raw throbbing inside Ara had softened to a dull ache. He had healed a little of her heart. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Lodan nodded. “I only wish I could have done more for Qessa.”

She placed a hand on his cheek. “So do I.” An image of Qessa’s bruised face flooded her mind. Inside her breast, soft embers of sorrow blazed to white hot anger. They will never hurt one of my loved ones again!

She left Coen’s arms to stand with her jaw set and her feet spread. “I’m done with grappling.”

Coen studied her before sighing. “All right.”  

At her saddlebags, she retrieved her father’s old sword, the edge freshly sharpened.  

Back and forth they practiced, until darkness fell and they couldn’t see what they were doing. Not caring that her arms and shoulders ached, she sank to the ground.

From then on, Ara was careful to not be still. When she was, she started remembering. Better to practice until her body and mind ached for release. Then rise again the next morning and repeat the same process.

Always, Coen beat her. Always she would face him and repeat the same word, “Again.”

One such night, during Coen’s attack, she tripped over an overgrown root, smacking her head against a stone. Her skull felt like a cracked egg. Her vision swirled. She tried to blink her mind back to its senses.

“Ara?” a man leaned over her, his face close to hers.

She studied him, not quiet sure who he was. Only aware of the pleasant burning where he touched her. She combed her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck before pulling his mouth to hers. She mumbled something unintelligible against his lips before closing her eyes.

The next morning, Ara awoke on her bedroll. She stretched and yawned, feeling better than she had in weeks. “Morning,” she called to her companions.

Lodan studied her quizzically.

Coen didn’t look up from stirring the oatmeal. “How’s your head?”

Confused, she reached back. Her fingers found a stinging bump on the back of her head. She undid her braid so she could get a better feel. “What happened?”

Coen brought her some oatmeal and a poultice of strong smelling herbs. Ara recognized it from all her lectures—the kind that helps with swelling. Tipping her head forward, he parted her hair and applied it. She hissed at the pressure. “What happened?”

 For the first time since she had known him, Coen seemed flustered. “You tripped while we practiced and hit your head . . . Don’t you remember?”

She slowly shook her head. “. . . No.”

Nodding, he let it go with a quick exhale. “Finish eating. I’ll go saddle them.” He whistled and Gyniv trotted over.

“Lodan.” Coen called when he’d finished with Gyniv.

Still, Lodan didn’t move. Ara looked up from tying her boots. “Lodan?”

“I don’t want him saddling me.”

She looked from Lodan to Coen and back again. Something had happened last night. But what? Why couldn’t she remember? “Why not?” she asked carefully.

Lodan’s tail twitched in annoyance, but he finally dragged himself over to Coen.

“Coen’s just being nice,” she chided.

“I know.” Lodan stamped his foot.

Coen looked to Ara for an explanation.

“He’s tired of wearing the itchy thing,” she lied.

Though his glance said that he didn’t entirely believe her, Coen didn’t pursue it.

When Coen’s back was turned, Ara studied Lodan. “What’s going on with you two?”

He snorted. “Nothing.”

Pressing the poultice down, she winced. She hadn’t hit her head hard enough to scramble her memory, had she? “Obviously something’s going on.”

“Ara!”

She held up her hand in defeat. “All right, fine. But don’t expect me to take your side if you won’t tell me what happened.” 

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