Souls of Aredyrah 1 - The Fire and the Light (13 page)

Alicine could hear her mother’s gasp even
from the wagon. But her mother was not the only one shocked by
Gorman’s sudden irrational behavior. Alicine had seen him angry on
more than one occasion—he was famous for his temper—but never like
this. Then she realized it wasn’t anger, it was fear, and she had
never seen her father afraid of anything.

Alicine shaded her eyes from the sun and
scanned the hut and the surrounding area. There was no indication
the woman was home, no smoke from the chimney, no sounds other than
the tinkle and clank of chimes fighting against the wind. Even the
windows were shuttered. Alicine’s trepidation was suddenly replaced
by aggravation. Eileis probably wasn’t even home. They should be
back at the festival looking for Dayn, not wasting their time
here.

She jumped off the wagon, her legs trembling,
and took a step toward the house. Nervous butterflies battled
against the walls of her stomach, but she tamed them back. Her
father had ordered her to stay, and she knew better than to
disobey, but she also knew she could not stand by and do
nothing.

She made her way to the side of the house
nearest the wagon, careful not to be seen from the open door, and
crept toward the window along its wall. Positioning herself beside
it, she scanned the path that led back to the wagon. She would need
a quick route of escape should her parents decide to leave. She
leaned her head toward the window. The shutter was pulled closed
but it was, as were most things around the place, hung crookedly,
which left a tiny space perfect for spying. Closing one eye,
Alicine peered through the crack with the other.

Eileis’s entire house was one great room
without walls or partitions to obstruct Alicine’s view. It was dim
inside, only a few lit candles scattered here and there, but she
could see the Spirit Keeper clearly. The woman was sitting
cross-legged on a mat in the center of the room and before her was
Gorman, on his knees and pleading.

“Please, Eileis, you must help us,” he said.
“Dayn revealed himself at the festival. He—”

Eileis lifted a hand and silenced him. “Dayn
has revealed nothing,” she said. “He has always shown us his true
self. Can you say the same?”

Gorman looked at Morna, who now knelt beside
him, and shook his head.

Eileis sighed, then raised herself up from
the floor and hobbled to an overstuffed cabinet across the room.
She reached in, shuffling and restacking parchments as she dug to
the bottom of the pile. The great leather-bound book she pulled out
was old, its pages brittle and yellow with age, its leather cover
held together with a length of frayed twine. A grin spread across
Eileis’s weathered face. “At last,” she said, her eyes twinkling.
“At last.” She walked over to Gorman and Morna and laid the book
before them, then settled back down on her mat.

Alicine watched her parents as they stared at
the book, their faces a mixture of fear, curiosity, and confusion.
It was clear they did not know what the strange book was, but
Alicine knew. It was ancient writings of Kirador, writings whose
histories dated back even before those of the Written Word. Eileis
had shown it to her once, but that had been years ago, and Alicine
could remember only bits and pieces of it now. There were stories
in it, that much she recalled, stories about people of old, strange
tribes of races long gone, consumed by the fire and rock of a
wrathful god. Some were historical while others were fiction, based
on legends and ridiculous prophecies, prophecies that had never
come true, prophecies long since forgotten. Alicine leaned her ear
in closer. Why in the world was the Spirit Keeper showing her
parents the book
now
?

“Now, Gorman, you shall have
your
lesson,” Eileis said.

“We have no time for lessons, Eileis,” Gorman
said. “Dayn revealed himself and is missing. We have to find
him!”

“You will not find him and you must not try
to,” she said. “Dayn is not missing. He is returning to the
cave.”

“What?” Gorman gasped. “To the cave? How do
you know this?”

“It was told to me. I knew it before he
left.”

“Then I’ll find him!” Gorman said.

“No,” Eileis said, “you will not.” She
unbound the twine that encircled the ancient book and opened it,
then turned back brittle page after brittle page. “Aha . . . here,”
she said, pointing a gnarled finger.

“We don’t have time for this,” Gorman
said.

“Silence!” Eileis snapped. She shot him an
angry look then turned her gaze back to the parchment. “Now,
read.”

Gorman moved his eyes over the page for a
moment. “An old folk song. What does this have to do with
Dayn?”

“Perhaps a great deal. I think there’s more
contained in these words than most realize.”

“What nonsense are you talking?” Gorman
said.

“These verses contain a message. A message of
truth.” She eyed him darkly. “But you seem to have difficulty with
that concept, don’t you?”

“What are you implying?”

“Didn’t you tell your wife that you rescued
the infant Dayn from a demon-witch?”

“That’s the truth,” he said defensively.

“Is it?” Eileis asked. “Are you so certain
the demon was not simply a woman? A woman like any other?”

“Impossible. She was white-haired and
pale-skinned. Only demons are like that, made that way from years
of living in the darkness.”

“But Dayn is white-haired and paled-skinned,
and he never lived in the darkness, except that which you made for
him. But you insist a demon gave you this child. Curious thing for
a demon to do. What, may I ask, did this witch-woman think you
were, Gorman?”

“What does it matter what she thought?”

“Answer my question,” Eileis said.

Gorman swallowed deeply. “She--she thought I
was a god.”

“Are you?”

“Of course not!”

“But you let her think you were. You let her
think she was giving her child to a god. Would a demon have done
such a thing?”

“I don’t know what a demon would do, but I do
know Dayn revealed himself as a demon today.”

“Who said Dayn revealed himself?”

“Sheireadan said—”

“Sheireadan--ha! His words are empty air.”
Then Eileis’s face took on an expression of concern. She gazed down
at the book, still open to the passage, and said, “All we can do
now is wait.”

“Wait? Wait for what?” Morna exclaimed. She
had been quiet throughout the conversation between her husband and
Eileis, but now her temper was flaring. “You accuse my husband of
lies, then you tell us we can’t look for our son? Are you mad?”

“I believe this passage contains a message, a
kind of prophecy. I believe Dayn has a part to play in it. The fact
that he was brought here—by you, Gorman—and the fact that he may be
going back to where you found him tells me something’s at work
here.”

Gorman and Morna stared at the Spirit Keeper
as though she herself was a demon-witch. Then Gorman turned the
conversation back to his utmost concern. “Regardless of what that
passage says, we can’t let Dayn go to the cave. He won’t know how
to get there! He’ll get lost! There are night creatures, there are
dem—”

“He’ll know to follow the river,” Eileis
said.

“My god, the boy doesn’t even have the sense
to take a coat, or food, or—” Gorman was suddenly on his feet. “I
can’t just stand by and do nothing! I have to find him. He won’t
survive out there.”

Eileis rose and Morna followed her lead.
Alicine watched as the three of them argued in the shadows. They
argued about the validity of the passage Eileis had read, over
whether or not they should look for Dayn, about the boy’s chances
of survival. Alicine listened to their words, but the meaning was
only beginning to register in her mind. Dayn was born of a
demon-witch? Impossible. Perhaps their father had rescued him from
some strange woman, but her brother was no demon. And what was this
nonsense Eileis was saying about him having a part in some old
prophecy? The Spirit Keeper was surely confused. And to simply sit
back and allow Dayn to go to the forbidden cave alone? Alicine
straightened her spine. That would not happen. Not while she could
stop it.

She turned from the window and looked toward
the mountains. It did not matter what her parents did or did not
decide. It did not matter what the Spirit Keeper commanded. She
would find her brother, with or without their approval.

She raced back to the wagon and reached
inside for the bag containing the lunch her mother had prepared for
them that morning. Then she flung it over the horse’s back and
threw a water pouch and Dayn’s coat next to it. After unhitching
the horse from the wagon, she dragged out the box that had been her
perch. Climbing onto it, she hiked up her skirt and swung her legs
over the horse. She grabbed hold of the reins.

“Horse, you’ll have to go just a bit further
today. We have to go find Dayn,” she said.

The horse rocked its head, and before Alicine
could kick in her heels, it took off full speed. Alicine leaned in,
clinging to the horse with all her might, her golden skirt swirling
behind her. She would find her brother and she would bring him
home, home where he belonged.

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Chapter 8: Flight of Fantasy

T
he blanket was
pulled over Reiv’s head, daring even the smallest ray of light to
trespass beyond it. The sanctuary he had created in his bed was a
necessity, at least to his way of thinking. The moon had been
annoyingly bright, and the invasion of its rays upon his dark mood
warranted additional protection. Even the drape that separated his
room from the atrium had failed to deter the glow creeping beneath
the hem, and so he was left with no choice but to sweat within his
hot cocoon.

As Reiv stared into the emptiness, the only
sound he could hear was that of his breath quickening to a pant.
Perhaps the nausea swelling in his gut was from the heat, or lack
of air, but he didn’t care. It would be morning soon, and then he
would just as soon be dead anyway. When the sun rose in all its
glory, Cinnia and Whyn would be wed, and he would have nothing left
to live for.

Gods
, Reiv thought,
just push it
from your mind
.
It does no good to dwell on it
. He
tossed to his side, hugging his knees to his chest.
Push it from
my mind? How can I?
Today Cinnia will belong to Whyn. He
will put his foul hands upon her and
. . .

Reiv clenched his eyes, willing the image of
them to disappear, but it was no use.

Maybe there is still a chance. Maybe with
the Lion. Cinnia is probably waiting for me at this very moment,
waiting for me to save her.
His eyes flew open to the darkness,
but his mind saw a far brighter vision. The fantasy consumed him,
and for a moment the delusion brought him solace. But then a cold
voice whispered:
You know he already has her.

Reiv flung the blanket to the floor.
“Enough!” he shouted. “Enough!” His body was drenched with sweat,
and the air that rushed to envelop him felt cold and clammy against
his skin. He shivered and raised up, then twisted around to the
edge of the bed. He sat there, bare feet planted on the tile, his
hands clinging to the side of the mattress.

“You need to get a hold of yourself,” he
said, shaking his head to clear the foolishness. “There is nothing
you can do about it.” But the voice that had nagged him earlier
returned, and the thought of rescue turned to that of revenge.

He stood and moved to the trunk located at
the edge of the bed. It was old and large, with intricate
depictions of ancient tales and children’s stories carved into its
graying wood. Its original owner was unknown—Reiv had inherited the
trunk along with the rest of the furnishings in the apartment when
he moved in—but in a way the carvings gave him comfort. There were
no lions, much to his disappointment, but he still gazed at it at
times, staring at it the way he once stared at the fresco in
Labhras’s guestroom. But that fresco was long gone, burned to the
ground with the rest of the house, and the trunk was the only
source of fantastic adventures he had anymore.

He lifted the lid and leaned it against the
wall, taking care to scuff neither. The Lion lay within its
scabbard, wrapped in a faded tunic Reiv rarely wore, hidden beneath
a second blanket the temperature seldom warranted. He reached in
and pulled the bundle out, then unwrapped it and slid the sword
from its sheath. He held it up and rotated it, the imagined power
of the weapon surging through him.

Reiv set the sword down and pulled on his
gloves, determined the focus of everyone’s fears would be on the
sword in his hand, not the scars upon them. He took no time to don
appropriate attire; the cloth around his hips would have to do.
Snatching the weapon, he stormed through the doorway of his room
and into the blackness of the living area, then headed for the
front door. He would stop the wedding. He would save Cinnia. Then
he would get his life back.

He jerked open the door and paused. The
street was quiet and empty and draped in gray pre-dawn shadows.
Tightening his grasp on the hilt, he took a determined step, but a
burly arm was suddenly thrust before him, knocking him back a
step.

“Oh, no you don’t,” a gruff voice ordered.
“Get yourself back in there now.”

Reiv felt his body go rigid. Guards were
posted at his door!

“How dare you order me about,” Reiv said with
forced authority.

“I dare at the behest of the Commander,” the
guard said. “And his orders are that you are not to leave here ‘til
next morning.”

“I am no prisoner! I have committed no crime.
Now, out of my way.” Reiv pushed against the guard and took a step
past him, but a second guard grabbed him by the arm and yanked him
back.