Alora: The Maladorn Scroll (Alora 3)

Too much had happened in such a short time. She hadn’t been prepared for the responsibility thrust upon her. Or for the loss and grief. For the nightmare of the past two days.

She stared at Bardamen’s body, motionless except for the occasional rise and fall of his chest. Alive? Yes. But the Montana healer gave no promise the young shaman would ever wake from his deep sleep.

As she waited, wondering if each breath would be his last, she stared at the strange room, too exhausted to investigate the wonders of the other realm. The four smooth white walls were unadorned, save for a disc with numbers on the outer rim and three splinters of varying lengths, which moved magically about the disc in a mysterious pattern that seemed significant to the Montana citizens. No windows broke the wall’s continuity to illuminate the room or show the sun’s position in the sky. Instead, light emanated from a magickal box, af

fixed to the ceiling.

The squeak of hinges indicated someone entering or leaving the maze of similar square rooms. The healer Doc had explained the rooms were built to be a healing house, but the purposes of the myriad of strange devices in each room escaped Meravelle. She knew only that Doc had done “all he could do” for Bardamen, and that might not be enough to save him.

He was so arrogant... so irritating... so... so self-sacrificing... so noble... And so able to get under my skin, like no man before him.

She remembered her grandfather’s warning—his last words, spoken for her. “One could live a lonely life in the company of a thousand ancients.”

Grandfather had known her so well—known her propensity to devote herself to the archives, to the exclusion of all else. But her scholarly life brought her satisfaction and fulfillment, didn’t it? Certainly less frustration and heartache than a relationship with a man. Especially a man as exasperating as Bardamen.

Not that it matters, now. Even if he wakens, we could never have a future together. My first duty is to the Craedenza... to take my grandfather’s place. I should take the oath tomorrow, after the honoring service for those who passed on during the battle.

She reached into the special blue box and pulled out one of the pieces of soft magic paper. Raelene had explained it to her. She called it a “tissue.” Sopping her tears with the soft absorbent paper, she wadded it up and threw it in the pail with all the other balled-up pieces of tissue.

Mera hadn’t seen very much of this new realm, but tissues definitely ranked high on her list of favorite discoveries. She also loved the extra-soft stuffing on the chair in which she now reclined, so comfy she’d fallen asleep several times and only in part because she’d had so little sleep.

Leaning her head back she closed her eyes, taking a huge, shuddering breath.

“Still no sign he’s awakening?” Raelene stood in the doorway. Dark circles underlined her red-rimmed eyes.

“Not yet.”

With a heavy sigh, Raelene trudged over to collapse in the vacant chair beside Mera. She leaned forward with her elbows on her knees, resting her chin on her hands.

“We’ve been on several journeys together, Bardamen and I. And though I complained that he talked overmuch, he was a faithful traveling companion. I advised him as if he were my son, never suspecting I’d actually come to regard him in that manner.”

Raelene snatched a tissue from the blue box, dabbing at her eyes. “He was a well-gifted shaman, a stubborn debater, and a good man with a heart of gold. He always saw to my comfort and health, giving up his cloak to me when the cold wind blew, saying he enjoyed the chilling weather. And he served my stew first, assuring I had the largest piece of meat, while his bowl was filled with roots.”

Mera sniffed, nodding her head. “I suspected as much. He pretended to have no softness, blustering with his words, but his eyes revealed his consideration. And more than once, I caught him being selfless, though he would deny it.”

Raelene reached her hand out, and Mera took it, squeezing tight, as she bit her lips.

“Raelene, I wished to tell you... I’m sorry for your loss. I didn’t know him well, of course, but it seems Stone Clan has lost a fine man.”

“He was. He was a fine man. Highly gifted. Unselfish. I still can’t believe he’s gone.”

They sat for a few moments in silence. Then Mera gave Raelene a sideways glance, not surprised to see tears rolling down her cheeks. “Raelene... we could take his body and honor him along with our dead, tomorrow. I’d be honored to offer a place for him beside Grandfather on the funeral pyre.”

“No. We hope to transport all our dead back to Laegenshire and honor them at our home.”

“For that to happen, Alora must awaken.”

“Yes, I have to believe that will happen.”

“And Alora must awaken so our efforts are not wasted.” Meravelle’s throat felt tight. “So he did not die in vain.”

“Alora is my granddaughter, and I love her more than life, and Kaevin also. But no effort that thwarts Vindrake’s evil is wasted.”

“But we failed... I failed. I’ve not yet admitted it to anyone.” Mera’s breaths came faster, and the room tilted.

Raelene patted her hand. “Be calm, Mera. Our plan was not a failure. We retrieved the gun and the scroll, did we not? And we prevented Vindrake from attacking Glaenshire again.”

Mera held her breath until her head cleared. When she spoke again, her voice came out as a whisper. “It’s true Markaeus recovered the weapon. But I made a mistake. While Charles, Wesley, Brian, and Arista carried the dead and wounded through the portal, I located the sack containing the Maladorn Scroll, lying beside Vindrake’s body, and carried it here. I was so relieved to have the scroll back and so concerned about our injured, that I didn’t think to look inside the sack for at least a hand of time.”