Thrall - Christie Golden [109]
Thrall took precious minutes attempting to firmly ground himself in the present moment. He had no way of knowing if the ceremony he had just led had done what it was supposed to have done. He had wanted more time—time for the Aspects to fully integrate, to blend, and to settle into this new way of being, before turning their full attention toward Chromatus and the cult. But such thought was not being truly in the moment, as he had learned. He had done what he could in the time he had, and there was a curious peace in his soul at the thought.
From what he could see, the Aspects had recovered faster than he had, even though they had been unfamiliar with the sort of ritual he had taken them through. Thrall dared hope it was because they were doing what was right, what was needed—what they were supposed to have been doing all along. They moved swiftly and with grim purpose toward Chromatus, who paused and hovered in the air, flapping his strangely jointed wings before opening the mouths of all five heads. Flame, ice, sickly green energy, sand, and a terrible black cloud buffeted the Aspects simultaneously. All four were knocked backward, pummeled by the force of five striking spells.
“No!” Thrall shouted, but no sooner had the cry left his lips than the Aspects had recovered. They halted their tumble and, graceful and unified as they had been before, renewed the attack.
It took Thrall a moment to realize that he could see them more clearly than he ought to be able to. And he suddenly realized that each form, while its color remained unchanged, was limned with golden-white light. Even as he watched, the illumination seemed to crackle and pulse. Their poses seemed … calm, somehow. Focused, yes, but not urgent. They had a purpose, a goal, and were approaching it as a single unit, not four individuals.
Chromatus, too, seemed to notice. He suddenly rose straight in the air and wheeled about, his body tense and alert. “So,” the black head bellowed, “you think to defeat me by joining against me. I can sense the new unity among you. Know that it will ultimately fail. How precious. But you will never be complete! You are missing someone, or have you forgotten? Deathwing is my patron, and he will see all of you destroyed!”
The voice was louder than it had been, booming and terrifying. Thrall found that, while he wanted desperately to aid his friends in this perhaps final battle, he could not tear his eyes away from the spectacle. He suddenly realized that it was because he, too, was an integral part of it. That was why he was having such trouble becoming just himself again: because part of him was still connected to the Dragon Aspects.
They did not need Deathwing for the ritual. And despite Chromatus’s challenging words, Thrall realized they did not need Deathwing now. They had Earth. They had Thrall, and for this little while, the Spirit of Life had granted him the strength to hold something so strong, so profound, that it had once been granted by the titans themselves.
Just as he had exchanged his armor for robes in order to fight another sort of battle—one to calm and heal the earth—Thrall realized he had exchanged his ability to help as an individual for something far greater. He was not, could never be, an Aspect. But he was what helped bind them together, to do what they needed to.
Tick did not question Thrall’s sudden inaction, but neither did she cease her own fighting. She cast a spell that seemed to freeze several twilight dragons in place, and Thrall realized that for those unfortunate ones, time itself had stopped. Tick now dipped and dove and attacked, raked with her powerful claws and lashed hard with her massive tail. Thrall observed, but his true attention was deeply focused on helping the Aspects maintain this newly discovered unity.
He shook his head, suddenly finding it difficult to concentrate. Why? He had been focusing so clearly a moment ago. His thoughts were jumbled, slipping from his grasp. Sudden fear gripped him. He was the anchor, what helped