The Loneliest Traid

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  • Published: 2 Apr 2017
  • Updated: 13 May 2017
  • Status: Complete
Love and death and war and Gods and blood and magic and dancing and rest and revenge and kings and fate.
Don't worry, within these three stories you'll know yourself,
And I will put you back together again.


81. Rise

Chene reached the beach, walking along where Gomez had died.  He found a horse, red in colour, that Noom lurched for, but they kept walking.  They passed passed sirens, who did little to hurt the man who wielded such a heavy heart, because they knew that they weren’t strong enough to steal it.

    He took the boat, and fell holding the dragon close, and he only looked into the ghosts of the souls who dragged him under to find a face that he missed so much.

    No one saw him, they were too busy celebrating.  Even in dirt crisp clothes, he passed festivals and parties with little more than offers of drinks.  He politely declined, and kept walking.  A few saw him, a few Gods we know, but they too let him go, and clinked their glasses together.

    Everything was going so well.

    And that’s when he met her, the one who began all this.

    Up the mountains, a several day’s walk in, she sat on a rock and looked off into the night as lanterns were lifted into the sky.  The war had ended, the elves finally losing, and not a damn person left to care.  These light were for those people, and she explained that to him.

    “I know you,” he said afterward, breathless, collapsing to the seat she cleared beside her, “You were a fortune teller, in Mavros.”

    “That’s how you remember me?”

    He was quiet, so she sighed, and  offered him water, which he drank gratefully.

    “There’s something good in jinn winning through, Chene.”

    He mumbled around his full mouth, “What?”

    “Wizard and witches were on the winning side.  They’ll be accept now.”

    He hadn’t thought about this.  He swallowed, “I hope so.”

    “I know so.  But too bad for you, you aren’t wizard?”

    “You’ve said that before,” he said, but even though he felt his temple throb, she seemed careless, looking out to the skies, closing her eyes slowly, “Can you explain?”

    “Those lanterns will end up on the shore, and the mortals will only burn them for fire, or for an execution.  It’s a shame.  They’re so pretty.”

    “Will you tell me?  Please?”

    She opened her mouth, and sighed what she had been holding for so long now, “I’m your mother.”

    Chene didn’t say anything.  Not at first.  He let her lie against his shoulder, and suck in her lips to keep from showing him exactly how much she had always wanted this, to have her son in her arms, to watch him grow up.

    “I can’t stay long,” she said.


    “But I’ll say this,” she took Chene’s cheeks and kissed his forehead.  It almost felt real - alive, “I’m so glad you found someone to love.  I wanted a home for you, not what you got.  I ran from your father because I knew he’d corrupt you.  But I know the hero you were supposed to be, Chene, and I am so proud of you, because you really are him now, you’re a hero.”

    She kissed his nose, and his cheeks, and his eyelids.  He was frozen solid.  She kissed over each scar he had earned, and then she pulled away.

    “And now,” she rubbed under her eyes, and he saw her.  Bronze skin, warm eyes, her arms - alive, holding him, under the stars.  He knew her well, “Go, find the spell.”

    “But…” he gulped, and felt his body shake for him, “What am I?”

    She gave him her demure, cunning smile, one he had watched grow older in his face, and said, “You’ll know soon.”

    “Where’s my home, ma?”

    “Don’t worry about that, bab, you’ll see it soon enough.”

    “But without him,” she wiped his tears, “How can I ever be home again?”

    “You’ll find away.”

    “Don’t leave.”

    “You’ll be great, Chene.”

    “Please!  Not again-”

    “And soon, you’ll be home again.”


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