Glass Throat - Chapter 9 - Epilogue

“Elia.”

That was her name. She was sure of it.

Birds were chirping. She was horizontal. On something soft. A slight breeze gently caressed her face.

And the sensation of the breeze on her skin was agony — her entire body was on fire. She groaned and opened up her eyes just a crack. What? I’m not actually on fire? She closed them again. Maybe the bed would swallow her and take away the pain.

“Elia.”

It took her a minute to open her eyes properly — the light lanced into them like a dagger. There was a man standing over her. Clad in purple sigmarite plate, he radiated confidence. Wrinkled and with a slight tan, he sported a shock of white hair that reminded her of both snow and lightning at the same time.

“Do you know who I am?”

He was familiar. She thought she should know. But she didn’t. She tried to speak but couldn’t.

Her eyelids drooped, but she kept staring at him.

The corners of his eyes crinkled as a gentle smile crept onto his battered face. “Rest. I’ll come back later.”

~

After a day and a night, he came back.

She remembered him now. Remembered a lot more.

“Lord Castellant Strongoak?”

“Yes,” he said. “Welcome back Elia.”

“My skin is on fire.”

“It doesn’t look that way to me.”

“It feels like it.”

“The reforging process can be painful.” He grunted, before quietly adding “I’m sorry.” As if it irked him to admit it.

Elia ground her teeth and grimaced. “This never happened before.”

“Every reforging is different.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Living is painful. Fighting is painful. Dying is painful. This is worse.” She trailed out. She could feel drool dripping from her mouth. She let it flow down her face and neck.

He smiled sadly.

“This reforging was more difficult than most. I understand Grungni himself had to detangle your energy from the others.”

“The others?”

But as she asked it, she knew the answer. Their images came to her. Not as she’d left them, screaming and broken in the throat of the beast, but as they’d been in her mind. Cassivar at a forge, Serida with children in front of a lake. She looked up at the Lord Castellant. “Serida. Cassivar.”

“Yes.”

She leaned her head back, waiting for the update.

“Cassivar is back, though he hasn’t said a word. I understand that is not unusual for him.” Strongoak clenched his fists, and his voice grew hard. “Serida is ... not. There wasn’t enough left of her to reforge.”

Elia let out a slow moan. “Noooo.” Elia had barely known her, but the loss felt like a knife-blade through her heart. “I killed her,” she whispered. “Ended her.”

“It was the lantern, wasn’t it?” Strongoak asked.

Elia couldn’t respond. Grief had seized her heart. She had killed an immortal warrior. Her comrade.

The lantern. She would never use it again.

“What else do you remember?”

“I remember Thaelon. Rykhar. Tirra. … and Ardevan and Syris.”

“Thaelon is back as well, though he doesn’t remember any of the mission. His last memories are from before he became liberator prime.” Strongoak gazed out the window. “A pity that, he was a fine leader. Hopefully he will become one again.”

He turned back with a slight smile creasing his face. “Rykhar and Tirra are back, none the worse for wear. Though … Tirra’s hair sticks up constantly as if she has electricity running through it.” He chuckled and leaned back against the wall. “It’s not often we get something innocent to laugh about.”

That did sound fun. She would like to see that, though she couldn't bring herself to smile right now.

Strongoak grew sober. “They described a massive beast. Almost a godbeast. Is it? …” His voice trailed off.

Elia nodded slowly. “Dead. In our last moments, we saw its shadow heart dissolve in the lantern’s light.” She paused. “That was what took Serida and Cassivar … and me.” The words tasted bitter.

Strongoak walked over and laid a hand on her shoulder. The pain dulled a bit with his touch. “Serida died for Sigmar, in his service. She gave her life, and her soul. She’ll be asked to serve no more. Her reward for service is the blessed peace of oblivion.”

Elia closed her eyes. The idea of ending a stormcast still horrified her. But Strongoak was right. That did sound like a peace — beyond even Nagash’s grip. “Ole bones’ won’t be able to get his claws on her.”

“True enough.” Elia could hear the smile in Strongoak’s voice.

The chirping grew louder. Elia opened her eyes and could see a midnight blue Aetherwing sitting on the windowsill.

She turned back to Strongoak and raised her eyebrows. “Knight-Questor Vornus?”

“He’s back. But different. The reforging process wasn’t kind to him. He doesn’t remember anything before his last mission. So your mission is complete, but his is not.”

“His mission,” Elia’s voice cracked. “His … Mission …” the words wouldn’t come. The fire across her skin extended down her throat and into her lungs.

Strongoak handed her a cup of water. The water felt cool on her lips and within her body. She closed her eyes and basked in the luxury of clean cool water.

“His mission is complete.”

“Oh? The Mirrorhold?”

“The Mirrorhold was the beast. It is dead now.”

“Hmmmm.” Strongoak grunted — and paused, as he considered the ramifications. “So we have nothing guarding the other side of the realmgate?”

“Nothing but the mists in the Throat of Lies valley.”

“I will talk with the stormhost and city leadership about this. We will need to boost security on our side of the realmgate.”

Elia considered. That seemed reasonable. Easier to defend in Aqshy than the Throat of Lies. She lay her head back again. The Aetherwing was still there, staring at her.

"It's possible the beast's body is still there and can be occupied again. I do not know."

Strongoak nodded. “Elia, you did well.” He turned to go.

“Wait. Ardevan and Syris?”

Strongoak sighed. “Still no sign of either of them.”

Her brow furrowed. “Sigmar’s bolts.”

His lips twitched — a smile at her blasphemy, hastily concealed. “Elia, you may need to go after them.”

“Of course. As long as I can leave the lantern here.”

“You know it is necessary.”

“Then have someone else carry it.” Her chest tightened at the thought of using the lantern.

“Unfortunately I cannot. I will explain another time. For now, you need rest.”

“But…”

“Rest.”

Strongoak turned and left before Elia could protest further.

She would need to use the lantern again. Her chest felt like it was closing in on itself. An uncomfortable sensation, and wholly different from the agony her skin was in.

Fear. That’s what it was.

The tightness in her chest. The constriction of her breath.

She was feeling fear.

Elia closed her eyes. She was Elia Iceheart. She didn’t feel fear. And yet here it was in her chest now. She couldn’t argue it. She was afraid of carrying the lantern. Using it again. The fear enveloped her.

If she wasn’t the Iceheart, who was she now?

Elia closed her eyes and turned away from the aetherwing perched on her windowsill, to hide the single tear rolling down her cheek.