Chapter Ten The Garden

Chapter Ten The Garden

Tierney Calix

Northern Vo River

“Open the shielding!” Tierney cries, her gaze pinned on the black Noi Fire Hawk hurtling through the Unbalanced storms toward

the Vo River’s dome-shield, which she and Or’myr are struggling to hold over the Vo. The hawk’s wings beat the air, its form

lit up in the night by the emerald light emanating from the ring of Varg runes orbiting it, a bubble-like translucent green

shield coursing out from them.

Wasting no time, Or’myr slides his wand over the series of purple geo-runes marked on the wall before them.

A small opening snaps into being just in front of the bird, the roar of the surrounding storms suddenly battering Tierney’s

sensitive ears.

The hawk soars through, and Or’myr swipes his wand over the runes before him. The shield’s hole snaps shut, and the sound

of the battering storms is once again muffled.

Tierney sprints toward the hawk as it lands on the riverbank in a flurry of midnight feathers, its shielding blinking out

of existence. The hawk sets its violet eyes on her, a scroll cylinder strapped to its leg. Wasting no time, Tierney retrieves

the cylinder and pulls out a small missive. She rapidly scans it, struggling mightily against an almost violent upsurge of

grief that has her gut heaving.

“Tierney,” Or’myr murmurs as he lowers himself beside her, holding out his palm for the missive.

Furious tears welling in her eyes, Tierney thrusts the missive toward Or’myr, and he takes it, her River’s increasingly frightened energy ramping up her distress as she rises.

“It confirms some of what I’ve already read in the Waters,” Tierney snarls, angry tears falling, but she doesn’t care as the

salty tears slick her lips, her rage and grief overwhelming all other possible emotion. “The Zonor has been destroyed ,” she rages. “The Natural Matrix of the East has been destroyed . The Dyoi Forest has been destroyed . We’re holding on to Erthia’s last uncorrupted major Waterway .”

“This is Trystan’s writing,” Or’myr notes, voice tight, purple eyes grave. His Strafeling aura is pulsing violet-hot around

him as Trystan’s leading words blare out from the page— HOLD THE VO .

“So,” Tierney roughly spits out, “there’s one day left before they go to war with Vogel. And possibly only a few days before

my River is consumed by Shadow.”

Or’myr’s jaw ticks with tension as he gently strokes the hawk then prods it forward, the exhausted-looking bird taking flight

and alighting on a nearby branch. Or’myr stands and turns to face Tierney, purple lightning flashing through his eyes. “It’s

not over yet,” he insists. “Your river still lives .”

Static from Or’myr’s lightning aura crackles around Tierney, and she looks toward the beautiful jade-hued dragonflies flitting

across her River, hundreds of animals and plants sheltered near and under its surface. Or’myr’s lightning embrace intensifies,

challenging her to hold firm, the palpable love in it only provoking her internal storm to more painful, chaotic heights.

“Everything good in this world is about to be lost ,” she rages. “And Vogel hasn’t even sent his own storms in yet.” She thrusts her hand toward the maelstrom lashing above.

“All this, the East’s own doing! Fools, all of them! Cruel and unthinking fools! East and West alike!”

Her magic breaks loose, a storm cloud forming above her head, her tempestuous grief and fury triggering a peal of thunder

and a sheet of rain that soaks them both.

“I can sense Deathkin energy rippling through my River,” Tierney grits out. “I can feel Viger and my kelpies and the other

Deathkin holding back a Reckoning. Barely ...”

“Your river still lives ,” Or’myr insists again, ignoring his increasingly rain-drenched form. The lightning flashing through his eyes is so intense

that Tierney is stopped short, an upswell of answering warrior resolve surging through her power like a lifeline.

“Then we hold it,” Tierney vows, wiping the tears from her cheeks, every fiber of her Asrai being filling with the terrified Vo’s As’lorion

call for protection.

Against all odds.

Tierney gets ahold of herself and her storm, strikes the water from her and Or’myr’s forms and they wordlessly set back to

work, feeding power into the Vo River’s shielding in concert with distant Fyordin, his power shot through with the same determination

as theirs, all of them intimately linked.

Tierney pulls in a deep breath as she keeps her left hand pressed to one of Or’myr’s shield-amplification wards that’s marked

on the stone embankment before them. She concentrates, brow knotted tight, and flows the Vo’s powerful energy into the wards

in a rippling rush while Or’myr feeds his formidable geomancy and Magery into the wards, as well.

Both they and Fyordin holding back the East’s untethered storms and fortifying their shielding for the Magedom’s inevitable

onslaught.

“We’re so strong together,” Or’myr marvels from beside her, his eyes meeting hers as he holds his geo-wand to the rune before

him. “We can hold this shielding, Tierney. We can hold the Vo. And if our allies win the coming battle, we can keep hold of it.”

The passion in Or’myr’s tone catches Tierney in an upsurge of emotion. She studies him as he focuses back on the violet rune

he’s pressing his wand to. The wand is lit up phosphorescent purple, a luminous net of violet energy coursing out from the

ward to ray clear over the huge dome-shield above them while Or’myr’s invisible lightning continues to envelop her in a crackling

embrace that’s been building throughout the day.

“I can sense, through your power... that what you feel for me has gotten... stronger.” Her words break off, both the

draw of their bond and her fatigue making it far too easy to speak with blistering honesty, Or’myr’s proximity and the pull

of their Deathkin binding filling her with the increasingly hard-to-control desire to blast through their incompatible magic

and pull him into a desperate embrace.

Or’myr shakes his head, his jaw tensing. “I really love being linked to you in a way that makes it possible for you to read

my every emotion.” He casts her a beleaguered yet affectionate look that immediately softens the unbearable stress and loosens

Tierney’s shoulders. She loves this about him—how his humor is able to cut through her intensity and help her keep hold of her internal storm. His personality, his affection, and even his magic, able to so powerfully ground her.

“At least this mind-scattering bond provides a distraction from the possible end of the world,” Tierney returns, attempting

to be wry in turn. And failing miserably. She looks at him, her mouth trembling, struggling to tamp down her terror for her

Vo.

Their gazes snag, and Or’myr studies her closely, a glint of understanding passing through his eyes before his lip ticks up

once more. “So, it’s a distraction you’re looking for?” He gives her a rakish look, eyes sparking, and Tierney feels that

blastedly strong flare of attraction firing between them like it always does now. Every damned time their eyes meet.

She realizes her flare of longing for him has briefly cut through her fear, steadying her nerves.

“I’m in sore need of a distraction,” she admits as the Vo’s energy flows more easily through her and into their shield. “I’ll

go mad if I continue to dwell on what could happen if Vogel and his forces win the battle ahead. Distract me, Or’myr.”

“All right,” he agrees as he tinkers with the amplification rune, swiftly linking an additional rune to it. He shoots her

a knowing smile. “Have you given any more thought as to where you stand in ‘the garden’?”

Surprise darts through Tierney. She shoots him an exasperated look, which prompts a short laugh that’s so enticingly wicked,

Tierney’s water aura gives a chaotic leap toward him, a flush blooming on her face.

“I see ,” Or’myr notes.

Tierney bristles as she keeps her palm pressed to the runes. “I really love being linked to you in a way that allows you to

read my every feeling.”

Or’myr laughs. “You asked me to distract you.”

She opens her mouth, closes it. Then shakes her head, glaring at him. “You know I have a hard time talking about such things.”

He cocks a purple brow.

She purses her lips at him. “You don’t understand. You’re from the East.” She waves her free hand loosely around in the air.

“You’re all so brazen and unfettered. With your Xishlon ‘finding the moon’ all over each other.”

Or’myr laughs again, and the runes before them flash a brighter, fully charged violet. He lowers his wand, and Tierney draws

her hand away from the stone wall, the break in tension allowing their power to flow without touch into the charged runes.

“Use your euphemisms, then,” Or’myr prods. “That’s sure to be a good distraction for us both.” He glances up through their shield at the surrounding, lightning-pulsing storms. “Clearly, I could use one, as well.”

Tierney gapes at him. “ My euphemisms?”

He shoots her a dry look. “You mentioned one before. They must have quite a few in the West. Every culture does.”

“Well,” Tierney hedges with a shrug. She gives him a sheepish look, suddenly all too aware of his dauntingly attractive, very

male form. “Swords and so forth.”

Or’myr’s eyes widen. “Swords?” he sputters, seeming instantly scandalized.

“You know ...” Tierney prods, rolling her hand in the air, her embarrassment reaching epic proportions.

“No, I really don’t,” Or’myr states, emphatic.

She loosely motions toward his groin, barely able to look at him. “Your... your ‘sword of manhood.’ ? ”

“My ‘ sword of manhood’?” Or’myr sputters. “Like... for fencing? That’s bringing an incredibly bizarre picture to mind.”

“Not like that .”

“You use weapons for sex metaphors? That’s horrifying. No wonder none of you Westerners can speak of this.”

“Well, what do you call it?” Tierney asks, growing exasperated. “Your ‘magic wand’?”

Or’myr flashes her a wicked grin. “See, you’re good at this.”

“Okay,” Tierney sharply returns. “You’re completely mortifying me, but go ahead.” She swipes out a hand in invitation. “Tell

me your Eastern Realm metaphors.”

“Well,” he says, growing thoughtful, “we have the ‘staff of delight.’ You must have seen one or two on Xishlon. People dancing

around them and trying to land wreaths of violet seashells atop their pinnacles.”

Tierney coughs out a laugh. “Staff of delight? Like a runic staff ?”

Or’myr throws her a look of mock censure. “Not like a weapon . You don’t joust with it. Sweet Holy Vo, you probably would in the West.”

“Likely,” Tierney concedes.

Their eyes meet and they both burst into much-needed laughter.

“You know, it’s good luck on Xishlon,” Or’myr says, wiping the mirthful tears from his eyes, “to send a wish out to the Goddess

Vo for your beloved. You send the wish into the shell wreath and toss it onto the Vo’vish’luure staff. You can just about

imagine what the wreaths represent.” He waggles his brow suggestively.

Tierney can barely bite back the laugh. “Did you toss a seashell wreath onto the staff for Xishlon?” she jests, barely believing she’s daring to joke like this.

Or’myr shrugs, tossing her a grin. “I might have thought of you and laid one.”

“To get hold of my seashell?” Tierney asks, grinning, unable to contain the laughter that’s bubbling up once more.

Or’myr’s grin widens. “With my ‘staff of delight.’ ? ” They break into uproarious laughter once more. But then Or’myr’s laughter fades, his gaze on her suddenly serious. Pained

almost. “I really like you,” he says. “We’re poised before what actually could be the end of the world, and all I can think

about in this moment is how much I like you.”

Tierney gives him an answering smile, joviality still dancing in it. “I like you too.”

“No,” he says, firm, as he motions between them. “I really like you. This is hard. Because I want to be your closest friend. I want to be the first person you want to come to with...

with anything . And yes, Tierney, I want you. I’m so in love with you, it’s tearing me apart. And the fact that these could be our last days together...”

A knot of emotion forms in Tierney’s throat, his words striking way too close to home. “These won’t be our last days together,”

she doggedly insists, knowing, as her inner storm strains to break free and fly toward him, that it’s her turn to be strong.

“Our allies are going to drive Vogel back.”

Or’myr nods stiffly, shooting her an impassioned look, and Tierney senses, through the flow of their magic around each other,

how she’s bolstering him in this moment. Grounding him .

Which makes her frustrated urge to embrace him even stronger.

“And even if we had hundreds more days together,” she says, attempting to suppress her growing want, “it wouldn’t matter.

Our magic won’t allow us to be together, and there’s no sense pining for what can never be.”

Or’myr brings his hands to his hips and looks out over the River, jaw rigid, his lightning aura a crackling, forking mess,

flashing around and through her. “It’s so easy for you, then?” he raggedly levels.

Her feelings surge, her storm cloud breaking loose to churn above them. “You know it isn’t! But it doesn’t matter if it’s easy or hard. We can’t have each other. Even if, by some miracle, we survive all this!” She shocks herself with the harshness of her own tone, everything in her suddenly wanting to drive him away, to stamp down this uncomfortable whirl of emotion that’s tightening her chest. “Let this go, Or’myr,” she insists, glaring at him even as her feelings for him tear at her heart and she curses the fact that she can’t keep her lips from trembling around the words. “If we survive this, find another ‘garden.’ Not every woman in the East is unable to handle your lightning.”

Or’myr looks away, rigid. He swallows as if holding back a fierce wave of emotion, the hurt crackling through his power sending

a shard of glass-like pain through Tierney’s heart.

“We’ve thrown as much power into the shield as we can for the moment,” he says, his tone clipped, not looking at her. “When

the runes dim a bit, we’ll anchor more power to them. Get some rest. I’ll stand sentry.”

He gets up and walks away, and Tierney feels his absence like a knife strike straight through her heart.

The second he’s out of earshot, the tears come, fast and furious. Great, heaving sobs that Tierney struggles to keep quiet—grief

for this thing building between them that they can never have. Then, an even bigger grief rushes in on the heels of it.

Grief for the Natural World.

Her near-debilitating fear for her River rushes in, so hard Tierney feels crushed by it. She stays there for a long time,

watching the Vo, trying not to let its lapping waves of affection completely shatter her heart, as night digs in deeper and

she reads, in the steady, relentless flow of both Or’myr’s power and hers toward the shielding above, that despite their pain,

they will hold the Vo.

Or die trying.

A few hours later, Tierney finds Or’myr by the rune-marked embankment wall. She watches as he steadily reorients geopower

from the purple crystal veins in the bank’s stone to their shielding’s northern focal rune, puffs of purple light trailing

his wand’s motions.

Her throat tight with emotion, Tierney takes a seat on one of the benches Or’myr carved in the embankment’s stone.

“You should really get some rest,” he comments without looking at her.

“I can’t sleep,” Tierney stiffly responds, her cursed feelings for him surging.

After a moment, Or’myr sheathes his wand and quietly sits down next to her, the two of them staring over the night-dark River,

the Xishlon moon Or’myr conjured still stubbornly suspended above the Vo.

Tierney glances at him sidelong. “Your Eastern Realm metaphors were a bit overwhelming,” she stiltedly jests, realizing, almost

instantly, that she’s picking at the wound running between them.

Or’myr’s lips lift. “You prefer your weapons metaphors?” he jests back, glancing warmly at her. Their eyes lock, and Tierney feels that spark of attraction race straight down her spine, her magic heating with it.

“Maybe something in the middle that isn’t so ridiculous?” she ventures, suddenly hyperaware of how close they are.

Or’myr cocks a brow. “The sword thing is pretty ridiculous. And frightening.”

They share small, knowing smiles as a more intense warmth slides through Tierney that’s only heightened by the affection crackling

out to her from Or’myr’s lines of magic. They reach for each other’s hands at the same time, fingers interlacing, the static

of Or’myr’s power prickling over Tierney’s skin.

Her breathing turns erratic, a flush warming her face and neck. She notices that Or’myr’s breathing has deepened too.

“I love you,” she states raggedly, unable to hold back honesty in this moment, the words streaming from her as her storm cloud

forms above them and rain begins to patter down on their heads, warm tears escaping her eyes.

“I love you too,” he says, his voice tight with feeling as her rain falls. He meets her tear- and rain-slicked gaze. “I would

kiss away your tears if I could do it without hurting you,” he roughly states, a mournful look in his eyes.

“I know you would,” Tierney responds as her rain strengthens, saturating them both.

“So, we love each other from a distance,” he offers. “And fight the war for the Natural World together. A war that allows

others to love. That allows children to live.”

Tierney nods. Steeling herself, she gets hold of her storm, drawing it in, her rain ceasing. “We’ll fight it together,” she

staunchly agrees. “So that others may love and Waters can flow clean and children can live.”

Or’myr’s lips twist into a heartbroken smile. “Let our hearts break, then, Tierney’a’lin. It will be our tribute to the world.”

“A cruel tribute,” she spits out, giving him a tear-soaked, loving smile.

Or’myr nods, eyes flashing jagged purple lightning. “If we survive this,” he says, a harsher edge to his tone, “find someone

else. As horrible as never being able to have you is, the thought of you alone and unhappy is even more terrible. Luckily,

there are many, many gardens.”

“None like yours, I’d imagine,” Tierney says with a trembling attempt at a smile, her rush of affection for him slicing into her heart anew.

Or’myr grins. “It’s a rather nice garden,” he concedes, glancing teasingly down his frame before his smile dampens once more.

Tierney brings her palm to his shoulder, braving the sting of lightning crackling through her palm, a momentous sorrow shivering

through the bond between them. Ignoring the hurt, she sends a bolstering wave of water power out to him at the same time that

he sends a supporting wave of geopower out to her.

“C’mon,” she says, caressing his shoulder, “let’s get back to work. We have a River to hold.”