Teardrops part 8
Reading direction from left to right. Tried to paint a bit organized here, hope it worked with the panels.
Painted in CSP, colored in Photoshop.
Bellari sidestepped a root, ignoring the crumbling skeleton within its grasp. Her mission was to save the living, not mourn the dead. Not more than she already had.
Few drops of moonlight found their way to the ground through the twisted canopy. But her pace never faltered, despite the dark.
She needed to end the tension before another war began. It should have stopped long ago. Before the Halridge Raid. Before the corpses of her people littered the forest floor. Before he stole the Bloodstone.
And . . . before she hid the Tear.
Her people would still be dead without her involvement. There was no point in punishing herself for neglecting to see the origin of the conflict. But she had intentionally provoked the Cursed, and now the forest provided insufficient protection for those who lived on the west side.
The guilt never went away. Her people destroyed themselves, but the human casualties were on her.
There was one thing she could do to prevent the Cursed from invading.
A soft ripple filled the air, indicating her destination nearby. Through a break in the trees, a clearing expanded before her in a near-perfect circle.
No longer obscured by leaves, moonlight caressed her skin with loving hands. Instinctively she turned her face to catch its rays and whisper her respects to Acina Ona. As long as the moon graced the sky, She would protect her children.
Just not from each other, unfortunately.
Tangled grass wove between rocks varying in size from pebbles to small boulders. They created a swirling pattern that led to the center of the clearing, where a single stone pillar stood erect.
Her skin itched. Bellari grit her teeth and willed herself to ignore the prod of intrusive magic. She closed her eyes and evened her breathing. The feeling did not change.
One step forward. Then another. Instead of heading straight to the pillar, she followed a line of rocks that curved toward the center.
Magic throbbed through the air in waves. The pressure willed her to give up her form, but she held on stubbornly.
Halfway there.
Her breaths became ragged. The air imposed itself on her, pushing its will down her throat. She coughed it out and stumbled to within a few feet of the stone. She grasped a small bag inside her pocket.
Her legs trembled with exertion, but she dared not lean against the pillar. Instead, she emptied the contents of the pouch. Seven pieces of raw ore lay in her hand, each with green cobweb-like fissures.
She set one in the dirt inches from the pillar and did the same with five others. The throbbing lessened to a dull ache. It became easier to breathe almost immediately. She straightened, reaching to place the last on top of the stone.
She licked her lips nervously. Once her hand entered the ring she created, the full force of the magic slammed into her. The taste of blood coated her tongue, but she bit down harder. The pain kept her focused.
Tears blurred her vision. She blinked them away, squinting to see the stone. Her fingers clenched the ore. She loosened them one by one until it fell the short distance to land on the smooth surface.
She snatched her hand back.
The pillar remained unmoving.
One second.
Two.
Crack!
She fell in surprise. The pillar split down the middle, then crumbled into sand. Dust wisped over her, leaving a grainy taste in her mouth.
A faint glimmer caught her eye. The Tear.
Half-buried in the sand, it sparkled invitingly. She crawled over to it and blew the dust away from its surface. It shone as a pale fire, reminiscent of the Being that shed it.
Even with the Veryss iron dimming its potency, she dared not touch it directly. She carefully nudged under it with her bag, slipping the gem inside.
That done, she placed the seven pieces of iron back in the same pouch.
She sighed in relief. The worst was behind her. Well, at least until she made it out of the forest. Then a whole new set of problems would present themselves.
She allowed herself a moment of peace, then stood to face the trees once more. She must return to Hulf.
Hours passed without interruption. Her legs protested every step, but she dismissed their plea. Soon faint blue crept over the sky.
She felt, rather than heard a presence in the shadows.
Bellari slowed to a walk. “Care to join me, Sarex?” she called out.
“You’re still playing human?” A voice rumbled behind her.
She spun around.
A Ma’Ona towered above her, their eyes glowing a dull yellow. They bared their sharp teeth, contrasting with the dark spots clustered along their skin. To a human, the Ma’Ona resembled the drakes of the Piroda Desert. She didn’t see it.
They clawed the ground threateningly.
“Hello to you too,” she greeted.
Sarex growled. “Why are you here?”
Bellari bit back a snide comment. Instead, she avoided the question entirely. “Am I not welcome in my own home?”
Sarex let out a sound between a hiss and a snarl.
Bellari tsked, but then grew serious. “I think you know why.”
They paced around her with catlike grace. “I can feel it on you.”
“What of it?” Her increased heartbeat betrayed her easy demeanor.
“Whatever you’re using it for, it won’t change anything. You already failed.” They ceased their pacing. “How long are you going to chase after a past that never was?”
“We failed,” she spat. “All of us! And now I’m the only one trying to make things right by them.” Why were they so insistent on doing nothing? Until every last Mari’Ona died, she refused to declare defeat.
“They were a mistake.”
“We made the mistake of abandoning them,” Bellari hissed. “They forgot themselves because of our indifference.”
She took a deep breath to calm herself. “It may be too late. But I’m not going to stop. Especially when the Cursed still have the Bloodstone.”
“You’re planning on getting it back?” they snorted.
“Not in the way you’re thinking.”
The atmosphere changed from tense to something more defeated. “Do what you will. It’s your death.” Sarex turned their back on her, tail lashing in discontentment.
Every conversation ended like this. Their protests. Her stubborn reasons. A difference of opinion that only increased the rift between them. It hurt, but not enough to give her pause.
That’s what she told herself.
Her conversation with Sarex bothered her the entire way to Ajercho. The constant presence of the Tear was preferable to the frustration bubbling in her chest. Her friendship with Sarex was nothing less than rocky. But, if she succeeded, and one day she will, they would see eye to eye with her again.
She passed a copse of saplings at the edge of the forest, away from the older trees. They grew unaffected by the blood spilled only a decade before; no hint of a blue tinge to their leaves.
The rest of The Forest of Impressions lay behind her like a house long abandoned: empty, dark, and devoid of life. Its depths separated the Cursed from where she exiled herself.
She frowned. With the forest undefended, that wouldn’t last forever.
Which made her mission all the more important.
She will heal the forest. And she will bring back the Children of Acina Ona.
