The Jewels Rise Again: Chapter 4

Greeted with the Deepest Sorrow

“The storm broke.” Artham had announced an hour or so earlier. “We’re right on course for Anniera. In fact, we're just a half-day’s sail away.”

Sara had stared at him like he was crazy. The storm had raged for days. The waves had crashed, and the wind had blown furiously. How in Aerwiar were they still on course?

I will always provide, a Voice whispered in Sara’s mind, even as it thundered like the unceasing storm that had filled her ears only yesterday. My daughter, I will always provide for you.

Sara knew Who spoke those words. Her mind flooded with a thousand thoughts when she recognized that Voice, a Voice that, while she had never heard It speak before — at least not so clearly — yet she knew Him. The words quickened her breath and filled her with hope and peace.

Once they were in Anniera, she knew all would be whole. He had provided for her in the Fork! Factory! — He had given her Janner. He had provided for her during the liberation — He had sent Artham and Gammon. He had provided for her and the orphans in the battle — He had gifted them with Armulyn’s whistleharp. And He had provided for her on this journey to Anniera — the storm could have only come from Him.

“It’s amazing,” Artham had whispered. “When the Wingfeathers fled from Anniera so many years ago, their little skiff was rocked by a storm as furious as this. Yet they were not dashed to pieces on the rocks, nor drowned in the towering waves. They were washed ashore in Glipwood, the same town where Podo was raised.”

And, Sara mentally added as she helped the smaller girls on deck and began brushing their hair and straightening their dresses. It was that storm which allowed me to meet Janner on Dragon Day, and then eventually in the Fork! Factory! Praise the Maker, who has sent me to him through another storm.

Artham had flown off as soon as his wings were dry enough to scout ahead. They only had two hours left, and surely Artham could fly there in less time than that. 

So, once everything was in order, once the tangles in Lizzia’s and Rena’s and Ingrid's and many other’s hair were fought with and smoothed out, and once their few clothes and possessions and toys and shoes were cleaned up and placed in wooden trunks, and once the children and Armulyn had been told several times to quiet because they were shrieking with delight too loudly (or, in Armuyln’s case, playing his whistleharp), and once Errol had hushed the crew and told them to mind their own business; the children had a right to be excited and the music was entertaining for everyone  — once all that had happened, Sara sat and waited.

She tried to sit still. But her heart was flipping excitedly and her mind was spinning with the knowledge that she would see Janner, talk to him, spend time with him, in just an hour or so. Instead, she hummed quietly to herself. She hummed the verses of an old Annieran tune that Armulyn had taught her: My Love Has Gone Across the Sea. It wasn’t a perfect match — she was not dead — but she had sailed through a fierce gale across the Dark Sea to reach her love, and she longed to be with Janner again. 

“I seem to recognize that one,” Armulyn said, walking over to her. “Who do you sing it for?” 

Sara glanced up at him, just to make sure he wasn’t teasing her. But his eyes were sincere. “Janner,” she said softly. “Janner Wingfeather. I never thought I would see him again. Yet the Maker has been gracious.” A smile came to her face and she rested her chin on her hand. “I just can’t wait.”

*****

When they had finally, finally reached the dock after what felt like countless hours, Sara stood, waiting. She was practically exploding with excitement. 

“Don’t worry, Queen Sara,” Armulyn said as he stood next to her. “I can escort the children to Castle Rysen safely. Go on ahead.” He nodded to her, an encouraging look in his kind eyes. 

Sara stared at him, barely registering what he had said. As soon as the gangplank was down, she raced off of it, then turned around, realizing she had forgotten something. “Thank you, so, so, much, Armulyn!” She yelled. 

“Be safe, Queen Sara,” he replied with a smile and a wave. 

Then Sara was off, racing along the dirt road that led to the ruins of a castle in the distance. Castle Rysen. Where, according to Artham, Janner had been born. Where he was right at that moment. Her heart leapt again. 

As she ran, Sara barely looked at her surroundings, barely paying attention to what the land looked like. But after a while, she stopped to walk. Not for a break. No, she couldn’t take a break. She couldn’t stop — not fully stop, at least — until she saw Janner, until she saw the light in his green eyes, until she heard his voice say her name. 

While she caught her breath, even as her mind sprinted with thoughts of Janner, she saw the beauty of the Shining Isle. Surrounding the path on either side and stretching on for what seemed like eternity was a vast carpet of glistening, white flowers. They sparkled and shone and sometimes cast little rainbows over themselves when the sunlight bounced off them. Anniera glowed with loveliness. Bird song fluttered through the air and insects hopped through the grass. The island was alive again.

Then she was off again, racing along the only thing that marred the picturesque landscape: the muddy, rutted path that looked as though it was worn and tired from years of use and fury. 

Sara shook the thoughts from her mind. She had no room in her joy for such things. She was going to see Janner again. After so long, he was only minutes away from her. 

But suddenly, something held her back. Something stopped her, right there in the middle of the road. She had no idea what it was or why she felt as though she couldn’t move further, but she knew that even if a Fang ran up behind her and began chasing her, she would not budge an inch. 

So she waited. She sat down on the edge of the road and waited. She picked some of the flowers and slit their stems, just enough to turn them into a flower crown. Lizzia would like it. 

A few hours passed. The sun was beginning to go down, and the fields of flowers ignited into waves of shining amber and gold. The image was breathtaking. It was in the middle of that picture that Sara first saw Armulyn and the orphans, walking, trotting, and skipping along the path. 

“Why, Queen Sara,” Armulyn addressed her as soon as they were close enough to speak without shouting. “I thought you wanted to run ahead and see your friend?”

“I did,” Sara replied. “And I still do. But I wanted to wait for you and the orphans. All of you long to see Castle Rysen as much as I want to see...well...Janner.” Sara actually doubted those words, but did not tell them that. “Let’s all arrive together.” This was not the true reason, but since she had no idea what the true reason was, that is what she decided to tell Armulyn. 

So they did. They were greeted with a surprising sight: hundreds of people stood, talking, and walking. Children skipped in the fields and laughed merrily. Sara looked at all the people in amazement. She hadn’t been expecting so many.

“Where did they all come from?” She wondered aloud as she looked at the throng.

“We were all once Fangs or Cloven,” a man passing by told her. “But we were transformed. The Throne Warden was indeed the Seed, as Queen Arundelle said he would be.” Then he was gone; he had disappeared into the crowd of people.

Sara blinked in confusion, not sure what he was talking about. What was a Cloven? Who was “Queen Arundelle”? What Throne Warden did he speak of? Artham? Janner?

Her heart beat faster, but this time it was not in joy or hopefulness — it was out of fear. She feared something was wrong. Terribly, dreadfully wrong. But nothing can be wrong. Nothing is wrong. 

Sara broke away from Armulyn and the orphans and pushed through the masses and masses of people, desperately searching for a familiar face — Artham, or Janner, or Leeli, or Kalmar. 

Then she saw his wings. His glorious, feathered, dark wings. He held them high. A tall woman with pale golden hair stood next to him. “Artham!” Sara called out, walking towards him. 

Artham turned to face her. Sara felt her heart stop at the look on his face. It was one of sorrow and pity . Everything is fine , she told herself. Just calm down. Remember, the Maker sent us here as fast as He could for a reason . There’s a reason why we’re here — why I’m here. I’m here to see Janner. I sailed with memories of him flying through my mind. He’s here. That’s why the Maker brought me here. He brought me here to see Janner again. Nothing will change that. 

“Artham,” she said again, with a slight tremor in her voice. “What’s going on?”

Artham hesitated, then looked away from her. It seemed as though he was whispering to someone in front of him.  Sara thought she heard a light gasp, and her spirits lifted at the thought that Janner had made the sound, that he was utterly surprised that she was here, and that he would come right behind Artham, his face a picture of delight. She knew that was what her face would look like.

But he didn’t. Only Artham came. Only Artham walked over to her. His wings were lower than they were before, like he was tired or upset. 

He stood in front of her for a minute, twisting his hands and intertwining his talons, just like the old Artham would have. He opened his mouth several times, but words failed to come. Then he bent down on one knee, looked her straight in the eye, took her hands in his, and began to speak.

“Sara,” his voice was soft and gentle. “You see all these people?” He gestured toward the multitudes surrounding them and Sara nodded. “Well, they were all destroyed by Gnag. Some of them were mindless Fangs, with the desire to kill and steal and destroy. Others were Cloven, twisted things, products of Gnag’s failed Fangings and torture sessions. Do you remember when I told you about the melding when we were sailing here?” 

Sara nodded again. It had been during one of the meals in the middle of the storm and had been a frightfully confusing conversation, but she remembered. “Yes, Artham. I don’t understand, what does that have to do with anything?”

“I’m telling you,” he said quietly. “This morning, every person here was a Fang or a Cloven or a person who had been broken by Gnag’s cruelty. But something changed.” Artham took a breath. “They re-melded. They took on the shape of another. They took on the shape of not a mindless beast, but a courageous person. They took on the shape of a boy.” Artham’s voice cracked a bit. “They took on the shape of the bravest, most sacrificial, kind-hearted boy I know.” He whispered. 

Sara stared at him. She stared at him and blinked. She stared at him and read the name on his mind, the name she knew it was — the only name it could be — the name that scared her the most. “Janner?” She asked in a shy, squeaky voice. 

Artham nodded, and still holding her hand, led her to the woman he had stood next to just a few minutes earlier. “Come and see,” he said softly. 

Sara followed him. The people ahead of her — she didn’t register their faces or anything about them — parted as Artham led her through.

There was a woman, her dark hair pulled back in a braid, kneeling on the ground. A human-lengthed parcel lay partially on the ground in front of her and partially in her lap. The woman’s head was bowed, her arms wrapped around the object in the cloth holding it in a tight embrace. 

As she approached, the woman looked up, and Sara saw a tired, tear-stained face filled with the deepest sorrow she had ever seen. Without a word, the woman laid the object gently on the ground and got up stiffly, taking Artham’s hand for support.

Sara’s breath caught in her throat and her heart stopped when she saw what — rather, who — was folded in the cloth. No, no NO! Her mind yelled. Her hand went to her mouth and she fell to her knees, screaming silence taking over her mind and body. 

It was Janner. Janner was the one wrapped in the dark cloth, Janner was the one who had brought the Fangs and the Cloven to life again, Janner was the one who lay before her.

Dead.

Sara buried her face in her hands and wailed. Why, Maker? WHY, she shrieked inwardly. You give me this hope, this light, this strength to keep going no matter what, You give me someone to cling to, to hold when my world is crumbling, and then You wrench him away from me, as if You don’t even care. Why did You do this to me? Why did you allow me to long for so many months, only to do THIS? Maker, this was YOUR doing!

“Maker, why?” Sara cried aloud, lifting Janner’s head into her lap and pressing her forehead to his. He was cold and pale and sunken.

She stroked his sandy hair, brushing it away from his face. Her tears fell on his face and ran down his neck. Sara touched the red scars there. “Oh, Janner,” she whispered. “Janner, I love you.”

Her light. Her love. Her life.

He was gone.

Notes:

1. I'm SORRY 😭😭😭

2. The tall woman with "pale golden" hair is Arundelle (my view of her, I'm aware that's not what she looks like but it's a little too late to go back on it in the other fic) and the dark-haired woman kneeling on the ground is Nia. Sara only registers 3 people because she's distressed and doesn't really know anyone.