Linarra watched her terrible magic wake the dead. They shambled towards her, some of the corpses so old they broke apart as they moved. The better preserved bodies had less difficulty. Now, it was time to test them. She closed her eyes and commanded them to break the ironwood bars.
When she opened her eyes, three reanimated corpses tore at the bars, pulled at them with preturnatural strength. In their hands the bars snapped and broke like dry twigs and soon Linarra was able to escape them entirely. Without command, the dead simply stood, not moved by breath or expression, they looked like rotting statues. Pain kept stealing her breath and making her stumble. Sahimul was still being hurt.
He was close. She could feel him close. Maybe just outside the mound. Linarra tried to ignore the pain as best she could, but new injuries kept appearing on her body. Her side, though mostly healed by her magic, now oozed with fresh blood again. She could feel, with every step, her strength draining away.
She looked at one of the sturdier corpses. Linarra commanded it to carry her. As long as she was conscious, she could command them to be her strength. This corpse, like the rest of the Wild Elves, was mumified and not as putrid. It smelled musty and unpleasant, but at least it didn't have the stink of an open grave. Easily, it hefted Linarra into its arms and carried her.
"Go. Up and out of the mound. If any cross our path?" She took in a shaky breath. "Kill them."
The only hint that the corpse understood her direction was that it started walking, its pace as brisk as its condition would allow. The rest followed, half a dozen, maybe a few more. She didn't count and couldn't in the dark besides. The light she had manifested flickered, nearly going out. It was hard to maintain that plus control the dead she had raised.
Linarra expected resistance. She expected men with crued spears. Elves and their magic. She didn't expect the place to be entirely empty, but that seemed to be the case. She ran into no opposition to her leaving.
It was a small blessing that she feared wouldn't matter. Every beat of her heart brought new pain, new injury. She didn't know how much her body could take. She didn't know how Sahimul was fairing either. Yes, he was a demigod, not entirely physical, immortal (as far as she knew), but what if some magic they had really could hurt him? What if they could kill him or seal him away again?
A wave of weakness and dizziness had her fighting to keep her eyes open. Her ears rang and her vision tunneled. She felt another wound open up on her back that made her whimper and writhe in the dead man's hold. Just a little further, she thought. Please.
At last, they exited the mound. The sky was dark overhead, the air cool. It was a relief to breathe the cold air, to feel the wind across her fevered skin. That relief was short-lived.
It was hard to count how many Elves there were, but they formed a semi circle behind Sahimul, who they had bound in chains. If it weren't for the bond, she may not have recognized the Usurper at all. His head was bowed, his body slick with his black blood. They'd stripped him of his clothes and were shouting at him, threatening to burn him with torches.
"Put me down," she said softly and the dead man obeyed. She could barely move and could hardly stand, but she managed to on pure rage alone.
They were going to kill him. She knew that. She could tell by the expressions they wore on their pointed faces. But first, they had to humiliate him, torture him. She'd seen enough.
"Kill them," she said to the corpses. She meant it. She'd never felt more convinction in a single decision in her entire life. Linarra wanted every one of them to die. Painfully. They were not the Elves High Priestess Liriel had come from, but to her, they were just as guilty for the state of the world.
Just as her raised dead descened on the gathered Elves, Linarra watched as Sahimul raised his head. They locked eyes and his expression brightened when he saw her. She gave him a furitive little smile. He wouldn't like what she was about to do. Linarra reckoned he'd argue with her if he knew. As if on cue, his expression darkened, his brow knotting in worry.
Then the screams began. It was what she needed, just a little distraction. Just a moment where they weren't focused on Sahimul. Just a little time to do what she intended to do. If it worked.
As the dead began to tear into the Elves, ripping at them, biting, confusion reigned. The Elves didn't know who or what had attacked them. When realization came, they howled in grief and rage that their own dead would be used in such a way. They ignored Sahimul, clearly intent on defending themselves.
Linarra knew she only had moments to act. A handful of heartbeats. She drew herself up, tall and proud, despite the agony and pain. She closed her eyes and took a deep, deep breath, filling her lungs until it hurt. She found that place inside her that made it's own light, that could heal. Linarra didn't pray to the Mother. She instead drew on her own energy. It was blue, like Veshier said it was. She could feel it. Almost see it.
She took it and concentrated it. When she did this, focused it, she could feel it began to stitch together broken flesh, heal her wounds. But she couldn't and wouldn't keep it. Instead, she pushed it out of herself with her breath. Linarra pushed and directed it at Sahimul. It hurt as it left her, like electric shocks, like little knives tearing through her skin.
Though she'd never done this before, she somehow intrinsically knew it would kill her if she didn't stop. That was okay, though. Sahimul would be free. Maybe he could fix the world. Maybe he couldn't. But Linarra thought he at least deserved to try. The chance he'd never really had.
As she fell, vision going dark, she saw Sahimul break his chains. She saw his wounds close before her eyes. A blue glow surrounded him. When Linarra hit the ground, she had a few glorious moments of watching him tear his attackers to pieces with his bare hands. She thought she heard him scream her name.
#
Time seemed to both slow and speed up as he fought his way to her. Sahimul went for their sorcerers first, the elves in long, tattered robes. He was the Aspect of Love and abhorred violence. It seemed unfair and against his nature that circumstance forced him to be violent. At least, he thought, he was damn good at it.
It was the sorcerers and their magic that had him weak and in chains. They'd used Linarra to lure him. He tried not to panic when he saw her fall. She wasn't dead. Not yet. He could feel her, barely clinging to life. It told him a couple things. The bond would not kill him if she died. And that she was far more powerful than he'd thought. Like Ishahn had been.
A man threw himself at Sahimul, knife in hand. Sahimul snapped his hand up, caught him by the throat and squeezed until the flesh collapsed and bones cracked. A font of blood spewed from the man's dying mouth. He tossed the body aside like rubbish. He had to get to Linarra. Just like all things that came from the Mother, he could heal too. He far preferred it, frankly.
He felt renewed by whatever she'd done. Whatever magic she'd given him. He felt stronger than he ever had. Sahimul cut a swath of blood and bone to get to her with his bare hands.
She looked so pale and broken laying there in the dirt, her face smeared with blood. Sahimul feared she might be gone, even though he felt her still. It wasn't a rational fear, but all the same, he gingerly took her into his arms. Linarra was barely alive.
His rage could have seen him stay and finish off the entire lot of the Elves. They might be immortal, but they apparently had short memories. He'd wreaked havoc on them two thousand years ago. And he'd do it again.
The Mother had given them the best of everything. A beautiful, fertile world, magic, immortality, beauty. And what did they do with it? They ruined it all. For greed and power. No more, he thought. It had to end. If all the world named him Usurper and Destroyer? Then that is what he'd be.
There wasn't time to think about it all now. Sahimul needed to get Linarra out of there. He simply took them somewhere else. Not too far away. He didn't know how that kind of 'travel' would affect Linarra in her precarious state. He just needed far enough away to keep her safe while he healed her.
In the dense, twilight forest, he tugged her robes open to look at her wounds. They were the same wounds he'd received when the Elves had him chained by their magic. She had dozens of little cuts, several big gashes. Her blood stained his hands.
"I'm sorry," he breathed. It was his fault, he knew. He shouldn't have let her walk away in anger. He'd done it before too. With Ishahn. He'd let her walk away and never explained himself or apologized.
Sahimul didn't want to bother with healing each wound individually. I am endless, boundless, he told himself. He would expend the energy of the damned sun if it meant saving her. So he did. He healed her in a rush of power. The leaves and grass wilted and died around them. Birds dropped from branches, shriveled. Even stone turned to dust.
He didn't care. Color returned to Linarra's face and he could -feel- her heart beating under his fingers. She looked up at him, her eyes the color of a troubled sea.
With bloody hands, he clasped her face and kissed her. It wasn't erotically charged, but grateful. He pulled her against his chest and smothered her face against him. "I'm sorry," he told her again, making sure she could hear and understand it.
He felt her sigh against his chest. It was sublime.
"You're all right?" she questioned, voice muffled.
"Thanks to you, yes. I'm fine."
"What do we do now?" she asked, her fingers curling in his hair. He could -feel- her love him. It was different than before. Somehow. It was all he'd ever wanted.
Sahimul wanted to take them both away, across the sea. Places he'd never been. Somewhere safe and far from the rest of the world. But there wasn't any place like that, not really. Their troubles would chase them across the sea. They'd never be safe.
"We...have many wrongs to right," he said. "I have a gift for you."
He'd brought them to where he'd intended on taking Linarra in the first place. Standing, he carried Linarra into a little cave covered by vines and foliage. He was certain they'd be safe there for the evening. Gingerly, he sat her on the cave floor, made a little fire without kindling. No need, he thought. He felt energized still.
He rustled about and brought forth what he'd come here for, a long, polished wooden staff. It was plain. Sahimul got on one knee and presented it to her.
Frowning, Linarra took it. "What...is it? A walking stick?"
Laughing, he shook his head. "No. It's Ishahn's Staff. Imbued with her essence. She told me once, if anything were to happen, she would keep it here. I didn't understand at the time, still don't, honestly. She sealed me in stone using this. I had thought when I woke to break it over my knee, but I think you should have it instead."
Her eyes grew wide. "You...must really trust me," she said softly with a little smile.
Sahimul nodded. He did. She'd just nearly given her life to save him. It was the most beautiful, selfless thing anyone had ever done for him.
"Besides," he said, sitting next to her. "You're going to need it. I have a plan. And you're going to hate it."