Souls of Aredyrah 1 - The Fire and the Light (7 page)

“Why is no one helping?” Ruairi shouted,
turning his eyes angrily in their direction. Then he noticed their
attentions were not focused on Cinnia, now lying on the grass. They
were focused on him.

He glanced down at his hands and cried out,
then staggered up. The gasping crowd shuffled away from him,
muttering words of shock and pity. Ruairi held his hands up and
inspected them. They looked strange, rough and black, red and
blistered, but he could not understand why. He laughed nervously.
Were they burned? Curious how they did not hurt.

The horrific pain of the injuries suddenly
matched his terrifying realization of them. His stomach lurched and
his legs went weak. He fell to his knees, shaking, and dropped onto
his back. The world spun wildly as his mind struggled to cope with
the pain that enveloped him. He forced his gaze to the star-filled
sky above, anywhere but the disgusted faces staring down at
him.

Wings. Dear gods, please just give me
wings.

Then he saw it, for a fleeting moment, a
great gold and red light blazing across the heavens. His eyes
widened, and he wondered dreamily whether the vision might be the
wings he so desperately wished for. Then his eyelids closed and he
felt himself drift into blackness.

It would be a long time before he looked into
that sky again.

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Chapter 3: The Dread of It

D
ayn sat on a chair
by the hearth, nervously tapping his feet. It wasn’t his usual
habit, the tapping of his feet, but this morning he felt more than
a little anxious. He leaned his head against the chair’s high back
and gripped the arms as if clinging for life. He had promised to go
to the Summer Fires Festival to see his sister crowned Maiden, and
there was no getting out of it now.

He stared into the hearth and narrowed his
eyes. The mountains of charred log looked like miniature
landscapes, he thought. Perhaps like those of Aredyrah a thousand
years ago when the mountains spewed fire and rock, or perhaps like
that place where the demons lived now. Dayn shivered, reminded of
what he was.

It had been a year since he had been accosted
by Sheireadan and his pack on the path, a year since he had
overheard his father and the Spirit Keeper on the porch. He’d never
spoken a word of it to anyone, not even to Alicine in whom he once
could have confided anything. He’d chosen to keep the secret tucked
within his heart, and had isolated himself at the farm instead.
Strangely enough, his parents had allowed it. His mother no longer
sent him on errands to Kiradyn, not since he had told her months
before that he refused to go. Even his father didn’t argue the
point anymore, though it was clear he noticed a disturbing change
in his son. But now, weakened by his sister’s tears, Dayn found
himself going to the biggest festival of the year. And the dread of
it was unbearable.

The festival started at sunrise, as most did,
but his father insisted they not leave in the dark. Dayn was
relieved; that meant less time to endure the ordeal ahead. They
were just waiting for Alicine now and, thankfully, she was taking
longer than usual to get ready.

Dayn looked down at himself and surveyed his
clothing from chest to toe. Determined to go to the festival
looking his best, he had bathed in the pre-dawn hours, gritting his
teeth against the chill of the bath water. He’d rubbed his
shivering body with quince lotion and had even put sweet-smelling
herbs under his arms (something he usually scoffed at.) His pale,
shoulder-length hair was parted and tucked behind his ears. His
face was scrubbed as clean as he could get it. Even the birthmark
on his neck seemed paler. He wore his best tunic, the forest green
one with the decorative plaid border, and had pinned it with a
bronze curvilinear brooch. His best boots were polished, their long
leather straps wrapped in a meticulous pattern up his brown woolen
trousers. He had never looked better, and maybe Falyn would think
so, too. That is, if he got up the nerve to approach her.

Dayn watched as his mother strolled from the
bedroom to the living area. Beads tinkled and petticoats swished
with every step she took. Her indigo dress was the only nice one
she owned, but in it she looked truly lovely. It was long-sleeved
and high-collared, as was the fashion with Kiradyn women, and the
gold-braided bodice hugging her waist outlined her slender figure.
Colorful ribbons were woven into the two long plaits of her hair,
and she had lined her eyes with black pencil. Dayn could not help
but smile as she fluttered about the room. He had not seen her this
happy in a long time, nor this beautiful.

A clamor directed Dayn’s attention to the
front door. His father’s voice could be heard on the other side of
it, grumbling about the fool horse. Gorman burst inside, dressed in
his festive best, but still complaining about the horse, when his
face broke into a wide grin. He strutted over to Morna and pulled
her close, then lifted her up and swung her around. The beads that
adorned her boots tinkled a playful tune as she twirled.

“You’re as beautiful as the day I first laid
eyes on you,” Gorman said. He set her down and planted a kiss on
her lips. It wasn’t a common custom for people to show this type of
affection in front of others, even their own families, but Gorman
was clearly in love with his wife, and this morning he did not seem
to mind whether or not his son witnessed it.

Watching his parents laugh and dance across
the room, Dayn felt a sudden admiration for their devotion to each
other. He wondered if he would ever feel a love like theirs, but he
pushed the thought from his mind. There was no sense in thinking
about such things now. He was only sixteen, and it would be months
before he was old enough to court. That is, if anyone would have
him.

“Isn’t your mother beautiful, Dayn? Have you
ever seen her look so radiant?” Gorman asked.

“Yes . . . I mean, no . . . I mean, she looks
very beautiful, Father.”

Morna blushed and slapped her husband
playfully on the chest. “You boys are embarrassing me. Now then,
are we all ready?” Her eyes scanned the room, then she headed
toward the stairs.

“What could be keeping that girl? Alicine,
it’s getting late, dear,” she called up the stairwell. “Do you need
some help with your dress?”

“No, Mother,” Alicine’s muffled voice called
from the room above. “I’m almost ready.”

Morna strode over to a three-legged stool and
pulled it next to Dayn. She fluffed her skirt and sat down in a
billow of blue. For a moment she seemed hesitant, then she said,
“You look very nice today, son.”

Dayn smiled and nodded, but did not
reply.

“I know you don’t want to go, Dayn,” she
said, “but I think you’ll have fun. Surely things have settled down
between you and Sheireadan this past year. Just stay with us, dear,
and everything will be fine. You’ll see.”

Dayn looked at the hearth, tracing the
outline of the imaginary mountains with his eyes. “Just stay with
us, dear,” his mother’s voice echoed in his mind.
Like a
child.

“Son?”

This time it was his father’s voice, and Dayn
was surprised by its unusually gentle tone. He glanced up to see
his father standing next to him with something cradled in his
hand.

“Son, I want you to have this,” Gorman said.
“Now that you’re sixteen, I feel it’s time you had it.”

Gorman stared into Dayn’s face with such
intensity that for a moment it was almost alarming. Dayn turned up
his palm and waited with uneasiness for the token of his father’s
generosity to drop into it. Gorman paused, then placed the object
onto his son’s outstretched hand.

Dayn sucked in his breath. It was the brooch,
the one of the cat-like beast he had admired for as long as he
could remember. The ornament was gold and molded with the finest
detail into the shape of a mythical beast: a four-legged creature
somewhat like a large cat, with a long tufted tail, fangs, and a
great head of hair. It was eternally poised to pounce, claws
outstretched, its mane blowing in an imaginary wind. It was the
most valuable thing his father owned, and Dayn couldn’t believe the
man was actually giving it to him. He hadn’t even been allowed to
see it since he was a child.

The only time Dayn had ever seen the brooch
was when he was six years old, but he had never forgotten the
details of it. He and Alicine had been playing a hiding game in the
house one rainy afternoon when he stumbled upon it while pushing
himself behind the dresser in his parents’ room. In his haste to
move the cumbersome piece of furniture, he knocked over his
father’s jewelry box, the intricately carved one that held his
brooches, belt buckles, and torques. He remembered fingering the
brooch that tumbled out amongst the other baubles onto the floor,
mesmerized by the shine of its gold, intrigued by the beast
depicted in its design. But his father had grabbed it from him and
tossed it back into the box, ordering him never to touch it again.
Dayn hadn’t been allowed to see it since, but he remembered it well
enough to make up childhood stories about it. On more than one
occasion he had found himself at the end of his mother’s wagging
finger for drawing chalk pictures of it across his bedroom
wall.

Dayn stared at the brooch, unable to take his
eyes from it. An overwhelming guilt washed over him. He had treated
his father so coldly this past year, and now the man was giving him
this precious gift. “Father, I . . .” But a rising lump in his
throat prevented him from saying the rest of the words, words he
didn’t know how to express anyway.

“You don’t have to say anything, Dayn,” his
father said. “It’s yours now.”

“Here, son,” his mother said, leaning toward
him. “Let me help you pin it on.” She reached over and removed the
bronze brooch Dayn had pinned to his shirt earlier and replaced it
with the gold one. She stood and stepped back, smiling, but there
was a hint of sadness in her eyes.

Dayn gazed down at the shiny beast clinging
to his breast and traced it with his finger. “Thank you,” he
whispered. “Thank you.”

Alicine descended the last few steps of the
stairs, holding her full skirt up over her slippered feet. Dayn
rose, grinning, and glanced at his parents who were staring,
misty-eyed, in their daughter’s direction. His little sister did
indeed look radiant.

“You look…nice,” Dayn said, then felt his
face blush. He wasn’t accustomed to complimenting his sister on her
appearance.

Alicine displayed a smile of satisfaction.
“Well, I should. I certainly worked long enough on this dress.
Goodness knows how many bottles of potion I had to sell to buy the
material for this thing.” She laughed and strummed her fingers
across the skirt.

The dress was of harvest gold and decorated
at the bodice, hem, and sleeves with hundreds of tiny white
flowers, each meticulously embroidered. She had worked on them
every day for months. The bodice was laced with a dyed yellow cord
pulled into a bow, accentuating her developing bust. Delicate,
ivory lace trimmed the collar that reached to her chin as well as
the tips of the long sleeves that stopped in a point at her wrists.
Her ebony hair was braided into one long plait woven with colorful
ribbons and embellished with flowers strategically placed. She had
even dotted her lips and cheeks with pink and outlined her eyes in
black as her mother had.

Dayn felt uneasiness in the pit of his
stomach as he watched his sister. She was no longer a girl, but a
young woman, and he wasn’t particularly pleased about it. It would
only be two short years before Alicine was seventeen and allowed to
court. She would have no difficulty finding a beau. Dayn was
certain of that. But what of himself? He might never find someone
willing to accept his differences. What would he do then? Spend the
rest of his years with only his aging parents to keep him
company?

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Alicine
said. “It’s getting late.” She lifted her skirt and pushed open the
front door with her foot, taking herself, as well as the flowing
yards of golden material, through it.

Dayn followed his sister and helped her up to
the bench of honor in the back of the wagon. The wagon was hitched
to the stubborn mare that snorted and stomped the ground. The old
gray was the only horse they owned, and for a moment Dayn wondered
if the poor thing would be able to manage the load. In addition to
the four passengers, the wagon was loaded with food, water, and
bottles of remedy to sell at the festival. Dayn shook his head.
They could get to town faster by walking, but he plopped himself
onto the open gate of the bed anyway, and dangled his feet into the
dirt.

Gorman flicked the reins and the horse
lurched the wagon forward. Dayn faced out the back, his feet
dragging, but he lifted them in a hurry when he noticed the damp
dirt of the road begin to replace the polished shine of the
leather. He folded his legs in front of him and propped an elbow on
his thigh, leaning his chin onto his fist. His body rocked back and
forth to the rhythm of the wagon as it made its way through the
bumps and ruts of the road.

As they lumbered along, Dayn watched the
house grow distant. Dwindling tendrils of smoke rose from the
chimney. Porch rockers swayed to the rhythm of the chimes in the
morning breeze. A strange feeling washed over him. He could not
seem to take his eyes off the place. It was as if he would never
see it again.

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Chapter 4: Dark Talk

T
he much anticipated
wedding of the young prince and his bride was but three days away,
and the great city-state of Tearia was in a festive mood. For
months the possibility of the union had been in doubt; the royal
household had been in turmoil ever since the fire the year before.
But now, after much speculation, the couple was to marry, and the
continuation of the royal line was all but assured. There was great
joy for it in Tearia, but there was also dark talk. Some felt the
wedding would not, or should not, take place; surely the gods would
intervene and put a stop to it. Others cheered the event, believing
the gods had already intervened on the prince’s behalf. But one
thing they all agreed on was that a royal union needed to take
place soon. The King had not been well these past months, his body
grown weaker and his mind more confused by the day.