Kite - Chapter 12: Healing

 

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The initial burst of light had been momentary and soon everything dimmed again. The sun was a disc surrounded by a dull orange glow near the horizon. As I descended, the sounds of war became louder and louder. Metal struck against metal and explosions rent the earth as entire squadrons of magi attacked their foes.

I almost dove straight into the heart of one such skirmish, barely dodging the fireballs that sailed through the sky. A few curses were let loose as I flew dangerously low and nearly hit the milling soldiers. A fair number of those curses were from Ivan.

Ivan conjured a small magical light to illuminate our way. It was a simple blue ball of flame that had an intense brightness. I flew over the fields, warily watching the sun as it gradually grew brighter. Then, with little warning, streams of light exploded from the disk, gradually bringing color to the monotone landscape once more.



It happened while I was flying above a skirmish that had no magicians involved and as the sunlight washed over the men, I heard a collective gasp and the clatter of weapons and shields upon the ground.

Ivan told me that it was food that had served to kindle the hostilities. Each kingdom, no matter how small or large had enormous underground farms lit by artificial suns. These farms, he said, had been essential during the time of the shadowsworn, who would torch crops on the surface. The Kin were responsible for the technology, or so Ivan claimed. He said that a few months before he left the confines of the mountain city that the crops had begun to die out underground. The few underground farms that had remained untouched were enough to support the remaining Kin populace, but if it had happened to the other kingdoms, the results would have been disastrous.

I felt nothing even as I saw men who had only moments before been enemies, embrace with tears running down their faces. I witnessed war-hardened veterans, those who truly believed in every fiber of their being, that if the Gods existed, they would not have cursed the land, fall prostrate on the ground, faces and hands upturned to heaven.

Everywhere we looked, we saw men in tears, hope glimmering in their eyes, looking towards the sun. Some were standing silently and unmoving, clutching injuries and wounds, eyes and cheeks gleaming with tears, others were crossing over to the opposite camps, embracing, laughing and crying with joy. Still others knelt and wept for their comrades, wept for all the pain they had suffered, and wept, with joy in their hearts, that hope—no matter how twisted—had returned to their lands.

“Extraordinary...,” whispered Ivan, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Kite…,” he muttered. I turned my head to him, unfeeling, numb, and saw in his eyes a plea to descend. I could not argue, and thus simply alighted. At the very edge of the camp, we came upon an old soldier lying on the ground, in a pool of his own blood. He clutched something to his chest. Ivan thought it was a wound and tried to pry the man’s hands away. The grip tightened as the man stirred into consciousness.

The old man opened his eyes that had been squeezed shut and gasped. He gasped at what he saw, and he gasped because of the pain that came flooding back. He coughed and cupped Ivan’s face in his hands. Weakly he said “The… king who is… not kin… You have… returned…” He wheezed, spittle flying into Ivan’s face, who did not seem at all fazed.

“The fae… who is not… where… is she?” he said, starting another bout of coughing. Ivan mentioned for me to approach. “You are… together at last…” the old man pushed his hand into Ivan’s. Ivan looked at me, tears in his eyes, as though pleading that the man be saved. I shook my head sadly.

“Do not… be a puppet… to Destiny’s schemes…” he said with a finality and closed his eyes. For the first time, I felt a sob catch in my throat. Ivan looked at me, and I saw his handsome face marred with tears. From his hand dangled a golden chain that clinked ever so softly.

I stood by him, and placed my head upon his shoulders, the sense of crushing sadness was beginning to pound at me. Tears began to stream down my maw. I raised my head and released a draconic bellow, fuelling it with all my rage, my sadness, my loss. It was guttural and rough, but it told the story of how over thirteen years, I began to lose everything. It told the story of how thirteen years nearly drove Ivan’s people into oblivion.

I heard and felt the clasp of something around my neck. It was the small chain that Ivan had held, it warped and turned into a collar, from which a pendant hung, in the shape of the wing of a faerie. As the light of the sun hit it, I felt myself shrink. Minutes later, I was staring at the tear-soaked hands of a faerie.

For the first time in weeks, they were mine. I looked at the sun, and new hope flooded my heart. It was now a time to bury differences, to rebuild. For me and my broken heart, for Ivan and his broken kingdom, it was a time for healing.