Traitor

Arawn felt a bit unsteady on his feet, but he couldn’t make sense of why. He straightened and shook his head at Fedelm’s concern.
“I’m fine,” he said. “We have to go after her. Anu’s army may have lost their leader, but they don’t know that yet.”
They would soon. Had Sirona managed to kill the king as well? What about the Herald? His head ached and he could project his sight over Anu’s lands. Though her grip on the continent had eased, allowing a bit more of the natural energy of the land to resurface, it wasn’t enough.
He mounted one of the spare horses they’d brought and fell into formation with Fedelm and Soren’s battalion. It was familiar in an uncanny way to be riding into battle on horseback and stirred memories up from centuries ago. Taran had told him something once that he’d forced himself to forget, but he couldn’t remember it now either.
He should be happy that Anu was dead, yet he couldn’t find much joy in that. His thoughts were on Sirona and the fit of rage she was in.
He didn’t want her to have to learn to forget wiping out an entire city or a country. He thought of the vision of the star falling to earth and tearing through everything and hoped that it wasn’t too late to stop her.

Sirona flew over the city, ignoring the murmurs of fear that filled the air or the way the knights were still struggling to get the king’s head and body out of the fountain. She saw the Herald long before he saw her. He looked panicked and fearful as he ordered the knights around. Her mother trailed along behind him. She watched them walk down the hallway, much closer than what would be appropriate.
“The knights are saying that it was your daughter who did this,” the Herald said.
She shuddered, “No daughter of mine would do such a thing.”
They disappeared into the temple as she landed. Before the knights could speak, she removed their heads with a swipe of her hand through the air and walked on towards the room. She entered as her mother cried out in pleasure and the Herald chuckled.
“We must hurry. I am sure the queen will return soon.”
“Your queen is dead.”
The Herald sat up sharply. His face went pale. Her mother sat up and stared at her wide-eyed in horror as she tried to adjust her robes to cover herself. Sirona eyed them both with an odd detachment. Anu’s memories seemed to war within her, revealing bits and pieces of the Herald.
Had he once been a noble who had entered the temple when his family’s lands had been seized or had that been one of his ancestors? He’d clawed to the top with his feigned devotion.
How long had it been that he and her mother had been involved?
Did it matter?
Her eyes found her mother’s. Anu had only had fleeting memories of her, but Sirona didn’t. The sound of her voice betraying her father to the throne of Conna echoed in the back of her mind.
“S-Sirona?”
“Traitor,” she said, stepping closer. She looked at the Herald, “Hypocrite.”
Sirona conjured her sword, furious at the betrayal and so much more. She couldn’t say if it was all of her anger or something more than that. She heard Druid’s voice like a whisper at the back of her mind, but it only made her more furious. She charged forward and cut through the Herald with a swift swing of her sword. Half of his body went flying off. Her mother ran to the other side of the room, clutching her rosary.
Sirona severed her hand with savage glee. She shrieked as the hand fell to the ground still clutching the rosary.
Sirona grabbed her by the neck.
“By Anu’s will were you united. In faith. In desperation and duty.”
The woman choked, “Sirona, I—heretic.”
“Traitor,” she said slowly and threw her to the ground. “Adulterer.”
She shook her head, clutching her bleeding arm. Sirona cut off her other hand, then her legs at the ankles before leaving her to bleed out, staring at the Herald’s severed body.
She left the temple, but her anger would not subside. She walked through the city, but no one attempted to stop her. No one spoke to her. When she left the capital, she stepped into the air and drifted through the sky until the wind had taken her to a place she thought might have only existed in her childhood.
The ruins where her father took her were mostly unchanged by time. They bore a resemblance to Druid’s ruins, but they were not the same. Slowly, she walked into the crumbling gazebo and sunk to the ground, leaning against a vine-covered pillar.
She felt drained and half alive.
Slowly, she let her exhaustion and shock pull her into sleep.

When she opened her eyes, she knew she wasn’t awake. She was standing in a vast field filled with flowers that had once grown in Gunning.
“Hello, Sirona.”
She turned to look at Druid. He smiled at her but came no closer. His brilliant hazel eyes seemed rested and peaceful.
“You’ve… really made a mess down there, haven’t you?”
Her jaw trembled, “I… couldn’t.”
He nodded, “I understand, but it is done now.”
“How can it be done? You—You’re—”
“There is nothing you can do to change that. If you keep going like this, where will be the end?”
Sirona couldn’t answer that. He stepped closer, placing his hands on her shoulders.
“You’ve cut the head off of a very large beast,” he said. “The cult of Anu, the kingdom of Conna will decay. Fedelm will take over. There are no further battles to fight. Sit with me.”
She sunk to the ground beside him and let him hold her hands.
“I promised to try and remind you of who you are,” Druid said. “Perhaps you could be a deity of retribution, but you are not just that. There is so much light and warmth in you, Sirona. Remember that.”
She nodded, “Can I… stay a bit longer?”
He nodded, “As long as you wish.”

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been asleep or unconscious, but when she opened her eyes again, she knew that she was actually awake now. The grief of knowing that Druid wasn’t going to be at his home if she went back to it was heavy.
Would she ever see him again? She doubted it.
But he’d given his life for her, the least she could do was honor his last request. She staggered to her feet and left. No sooner had she stepped down from the last step, she heard a soft rumbling sound. She turned around and found the ruin starting to fade. She turned back to try and stop it, but it vanished.
The sense of loss felt just as heavy as the rest of the losses, so she turned back into the forest and walked wherever her feet would lead her.
She found her way back to the capital somehow. Conna’s banners had been torn down from all the awnings. The temple’s banners were being thrown into a large heap and the soldiers of Conna who had come were handing out blankets and providing healing.
Her hands shook as she looked around.
There is so much light in you, Sirona. Remember that.
She approached a young man who was slumped against a half-destroyed stall. He looked up at her in alarm and fear as she crouched beside him and reached out to him. He flinched and curled into himself, but she didn’t stop. She placed her hand over the large red gash across his back and pushed the soft, warm power out of her hand. He gasped as the wound began to close. He looked up at her in alarm and she stood and offered him her hand.
“Will you help me find others who need it?”
He nodded shakily, “Who are you?”
“My name is Sirona.”
“Blessings be upon you.”
Sirona lost herself to the steady push and pull of healing the injured and the sick. She helped liberate the people who were held captive by the temple and healed them, though she didn’t see anyone she recognized among them.
When Fedelm declared Conna fallen and flew Berth’s banner over the capital, she returned to what was left of Gunning.
The main city looked squalid and empty. The Daran Estate was unkempt.
She called a ball of fire to her hands and threw it into one of the windows. She stayed to keep the fire contained until the last cinder died several days later before taking to the air and returning to the city where Druid had once lived. The tree was still as magnificent. The garden was still lively as if they had only stepped away for a short time.
She opened the back door and didn’t plan to leave for a long time.