The Storyteller's Tale

Chapter 40: The End or the Beginning of the Storyteller's Tale

Part V A Beginning

Chapter 40: The End or the Beginning of the Storyteller’s Tale

And so here we are, at the end of the tale, the Boy has become a Man and that Man had fallen, can he rise again? The phoenix has died. She was really no phoenix, or was she? Rushia had once found a true phoenix, maybe our Boy will too, but what if he doesn’t? Will he walk away unscathed. 

He does not know yet.

And I do not know how to tell him.

The warriors are coming, the old and the new, the Master and his fallen troops. Will the Master rise again? That is another story. 

“Wake up, Tamar, wake up my Boy,” I kneel down beside Tamar and whispered. 

There are people gathered outside my door, I could hear their footsteps and their voices. 

“Who is there?” Tamar mumbled in his sleep. “Jade, are you there?” 

“It is just me,” I reply, wiping his brow, he was burning up.

“Zsara de la Mira,” he said, when for a brief moment I had thought that he would ask me who I was. “How are you? Are you hurt?” he reached out and touched my face. “Have you been crying?”

“Who should I cry for?” I asked. “The Past mourns for no one,” I said. 

“Will you ever mourn for me?” Tamar asked cheekily.

I laughed, “Who are you Tamar Kobin, to make the Keeper of History cry?” 

“I am your savior,” he replied with a smirk, “I rescued history from the clutches of the evil White Prince.”

“Do you regret this?” I asked, before I remembered that he did not know yet. 

“I never regret things,” he said, “because I believe that as long as I am alive, with truth on my side, I can make a difference.”

I smiled, and said, “Then maybe the histories need your help more than ever now, Storyteller.”

“Why, the war is over,” he said. “We have won.”

“Silly boy, have you forgotten my words? No one ever truly wins a war.” I said, stroking his hair. 

“But we have won, we have stopped the invasion.”

“Have you?

“Haven’t I? Where is Jade? Zsara! Where is Jade?” he demanded, trying to rising, but his leg was still broken. He had ran over to pull me away from the debris falling from the sky and had his left leg crashed underneath a gigantic ancient corbel.

“Sit down, Tamar,” I said, pushing him down on the bed, “Do not fret yet,” I lied. 

“Where is she? Where are the others?” he demanded.

“They are outside, waiting to see you,” I replied, gesturing to the door. “Should I let them in?”

“Yes, please.”

“Do not get too worked up.”

“Just tell me what happened and get it over with”

“Jade is dead,” it was the Black Prince’s flat voice. I saw in my past sight that his eyes were dry. 

Tamar wailed. 

“Your work had just began,” I whispered to Tamar, “storytellers do not have time to cry.” 

-END-