A Reaper of Stone (Echoes of the Ascended: Elinor Book 1) by Mark Gelineau & Joe King

Author:Mark Gelineau & Joe King [Gelineau, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gelineau & King
Published: 2015-09-14T22:00:00+00:00

ACT 4

From the depths of darkness, Elinor clawed her way back to consciousness. She took a deep breath and pain flared in her chest, bright and sharp, forcing her eyes wide and causing her to release a strangled, gurgling gasp. She tried to wrap her arms around herself, cradling against the pain, but her left arm hung limp.

With her good right arm, she tried to push herself up, but that motion too brought more agony. She almost screamed in pain but caught herself, biting down on her lip. No screams lest her enemies find her. Elinor had no illusions that surviving her fall meant real safety. A man like Ephed would not assume she was dead until he had her head in his hands. Already, there would be razors looking to confirm their deaths.

Elinor turned her head, at least able to manage that motion. All around her, tall, green grass obscured her vision. Near her outstretched arm, she saw Tae lying in the grass. It did not look like she was moving, and the grass beneath her was stained red.

Elinor tried to rise, but collapsed. Each breath was a stab of raw agony, and, for a moment, she feared a broken rib might have punctured a lung. She forced herself to slow her breathing.

And amidst her suffering, one thought echoed relentlessly in her mind.

She had failed.

She had failed Aebelm. Failed Tae. Failed herself.

At the academy, she had been tested, challenged every day to earn her spot amidst the pampered sons and daughters of lords and wealthy merchants. She had fought and won. She had outlasted them all.

And then… nothing. With her commission had come not grand adventures or glorious battles. Instead, there was duty, and work like the reclamations, where she oversaw the destruction of history to make way for a new world in which she was not sure she belonged.

The world of Piersym, and Ephed, and the rest of their kind.

She had been naive. The old ways were as dead as the old man Aebelm. As dead as his son and the Lady of Timberline. As dead as his granddaughter, Tae, would soon be.

They had put their faith in her, and she had failed them.

“No,” she whispered. There was such fierce anger behind the word that it even surprised her. Her eyes stung with tears.

Tears of rage.

“No,” she said again, and this time she forced a deep breath. The pain in her chest resurfaced, but seemed smaller compared to the anguish of her shame and failure. Her good hand clenched, gripping at the ground. The feel of cool earth on her skin felt good.

It reminded her that she still lived.

And if she still lived, then she could still fight. Today was no different than any other day. The choice was there. Fight or run. Win or fail. Rise or die.

Elinor’s hand dug into the mud, and slowly, inch by inch, Elinor pulled herself up. Ignoring the pain, ignoring the weakness, she drew herself up until at last she stood tall, looking over the expanse of waving grass.

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