Dagny's Mother by M.A. Jodat-Danbrani

Dagny's Mother by M.A. Jodat-Danbrani

Author:M.A. Jodat-Danbrani [Jodat-Danbrani, M.A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781720273028
Google: a6_puwEACAAJ
Amazon: B07HC1T224
Goodreads: 41855285
Publisher: CreateSpace Publishing
Published: 2018-09-14T03:00:00+00:00


***

She was fading away. That much Aasne could tell of the Slayer. More so than even her daughter. Glassy-eyed. Listless.

Without warning, Horsun gathered up Shilhoar and stood. Hobbled out of the carriage. They had been at this for what seemed ages, and only now did they reach the Great Wound’s middle. How had she known?

Heat hit her like a wall. The Great Wound’s boiling heat. How the treant had not caught fire was beyond her. The aching throb of magic was nauseating. It permeated the very being of all who dared tread here. This was the Lady’s unbridled strength: so many years later it still festered in the Great Wound.

She steadied herself. Gripped what once passed for Shilhoar’s hand for the last time. Looked deep into the roaring river of fire beneath. It wasn’t fair. They were too far from the sea. It would have to do.

Horsun averted her eyes as she did it. Aasne was enraptured. She reached into Shilhoar’s mouth, her arm jerked as if bitten, and the next moment she held a beak stained blue with blood. The only part of her that would survive death.

Her flesh was cast unceremoniously into the Great Wound’s fiery depths. Consigned to ash. Horsun had her trophy. Or so Aasne thought, as she watched her return.

She didn’t even acknowledge the prying girl. Just sat there, beak in hand, contemplating it. As if it was the most important thing in the world. If Aasne didn’t know any better, she might’ve believed it was.

What else would a Slayer do. She had a wealth of knowledge on monsters of all shapes and sizes. Wyrms, beasts, and even spirits. Especially spirits. So, it stood to reason that she would know quite well how to summon one.

And that was exactly what she did.

The beak clattered in her hand, as if speaking in secret. Sputtering. Sparking with her magic. It wrenched itself agape, and from it pooled the miasmatic image of Shilhoar. Horsun’s truest image. Unmarred by anyone else.

She clung to the ground like mist. No different now than she’d ever been. They watched one another. Words were useless. Said too little of what they felt. And yet, they were all they had now.

“Twenty years,” Shilhoar finally spoke. “Twenty long years I was trying to forget you.”

“Me, too.”

“Lady’s tits, I’m already dead. Can’t you just be leaving well enough alone.” She looked to sleeping Dagny. No more anger. Not when Horsun saw her so clearly. “Just be forgetting me. You’ve a daughter to look after.”

“I’ll never forget you.”

She only frowned. Spectral tentacles curling into knots. “You know I’m never forgiving you.”

Horsun’s ghost of a hand reached for hers. “Don’t want you to.”

What was this, some twisted, meaningless parable? Horsun was a fool. Had always been a fool. Why else would she be in this position.

Shilhoar averted her eyes. Looked to Dagny again. Atrophy and contractures. The girl was already suffering the beginnings of them. Of course, Horsun wouldn’t know what to do with them. Not that it was hard.



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