Chapter 8

––––––––

Councilor Meril Talryn and his wife, Farina lived in a moderately large home off the Huiron Estuary down a secluded inlet. The single story, stone manor sprawled among tall, broad-leafed trees that dappled the manicured lawn in early evening shadow.

Inside, the household’s only servant busied herself with cleaning the kitchen while waiting for the family to finish their evening meal. The occasional clatter of pots could be heard, jarring in the silence that permeated the dining room.

Marc ate his meal quickly, excusing himself from the table as soon as his parents showed signs of finishing. His younger brother, Trey, hardly looked up from his plate. He was only sixteen, a late surprise for their mother and father. He had black hair and grey eyes like Marc, but he wasn’t quite as tall. Not yet, anyway. They both took after their father, except for the traces of grey that now ran through his hair.

“Marc, your mother and I want to talk to you,” Meril Talryn said, setting his utensils aside.

“Not tonight, Father, please. I’ve got to get some sleep.”

“We want you to stop going to Brent,” Farina said to stop him from leaving, pushing her half-eaten plate of food away. She too had dark hair that bore more than a few silver strands, but her eyes were vivid blue and at the moment, full of worry.

Marc stopped in the doorway to the hall, turning to them. “I’d have to resign.”

“Yes, you would,” Meril said. “We feel it necessary, considering the situation in Brent. Your safety is more important.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Inquisitor Sadek has mentioned this to us and feels you may be placing yourself in such danger purposely,” his mother blurted out.

“Farina,” Meril said sharply, then shook his head. “The Inquisitor’s opinions don’t mean anything to me. The fact remains, Brent is about to erupt and we don’t want you caught there when it does.”

Marc ignored his father. “You think I’m going there to get myself killed? Then it would surprise you to know that I’ve gone to Daryl countless times already, warning him that Brent is getting more and more dangerous. He refuses to listen. He’s waiting for the trade agreements to be broken and won’t budge until they are. If I refuse to go he’ll replace me, or idle the ship until he can get some fool who knows nothing of Brent to take the ship there, putting my crew, my friends, in danger. I won’t let that happen.”

“Marc,” Meril began sharply.

“I won’t resign. I’m being as cautious as I can be going to Brent and I’ve managed to escape the place safely. You’ll have to believe that, no matter what the Inquisitor says. I’m going to bed. I’ll be gone before dawn tomorrow.”

He turned quickly, precluding any further argument. He knew this wouldn’t be the last he heard of it, silently fuming at Sadek twisting the truth so badly to his parents. Sometimes he thought the man lived to make his life impossible when all Marc wanted was his life to return to normal. As normal as it could be without Matt.

He undressed for bed, trying without success to put the conversation from his mind. He could hear his parents arguing softly from the kitchen and Trey’s door closing. Marc rolled over, seeking the oblivion of sleep.

It felt like he’d hardly closed his eyes before the dreams began, pulling him down into darkness until he felt he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t escape either.

Incomprehensible images came in bits and snatches, blending one into the other. At first, it seemed like the same dream as before. He was running, desperately trying to escape, racing through thick woods, branches and leaves slapping him, heedless of the scrapes accumulating on his face and arms. A clearing opened before him. It wasn’t escape he intended, but a terrifying need to arrive in time, to save his brother.

He lay twisted on the ground, except it wasn’t Matt, but a stranger. Not Matt, but someone who felt like it should be Matt. Someone Marc knew and didn’t know, and he was dying. He was covered in blood from a wound that ran from shoulder to waist. Marc felt the pain of it and something else blackening his veins. His vision blurred. A flash of emerald. His hand closed around a ring of green stones.

A low, horrible moan, devastated with grief, echoed in the quiet of the woods. His brother begged him to leave, pleading with him to escape before it was too late. The trees around him erupted with men and he fled, weeping. Another voice, cold and insinuating followed him, taunting him with laughter. He left his brother to die.

Abruptly the dream changed. The outdoor smells of a barnyard filled the air. People tended animals and crops. Simple, but caring people who were happy with their lives. People Marc didn’t know, but had a sense of knowing. They had taken him in when he was sick and as he grew stronger, he helped them with their work; farming, tending the animals, chores around the house. Three sons and a daughter; a jovial, plump woman and her sturdy, weathered husband. The young girl, her hair as black as the darkest night, kissing him. On a bright, inviting day he took the wagon into the village, gathering up supplies. He didn’t want to leave this place, but to keep them all safe, he had to.

Animals ran loose in the yard. The stone house stood silent, without any sign of the usual activities. Fear encased him as he walked from the wagon, slowly, cautiously peering inside the house and finding it empty. He turned to the barn. Fear washed through him, the smell of it mingling with something else.

She was lying in the middle of the barn floor, sprawling. Blood soaked her clothes and the ground below her, her body sliced open from shoulder to waist. Bile rose to choke him, stomach retching at the sight and smell.

A form detached from shadows, approaching slowly with a sneering laugh he recognized. Terror gripped him. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t get away.

“You should have taken her when you had the chance. Now the worms will have her.”

A blinding scream filled his mind, an uncontrollable rage. His sword flashed out and was met, steel jarring against steel. “I will take from you everyone you care about.”

More shadows detached from the dark recesses of the barn and surrounded him. He was attacked, killing some while others sought to kill him. There were too many and he was forced from the barn into the open, injured and bleeding. Death came for him.

Marc struggled to escape, eyes open sightlessly. Darkness enveloped him, fingering him, relentless hands reaching for him, holding him down. Fear and horror choked him.

He jerked awake, the dark outline of his own room returning. The harsh sound of his breath cut through the silence. He knew again where he was and what had happened. His breath hissed out one last time as he sank back into his pillows, clutching the covers around him. He wondered if he’d screamed.

The house remained silent; undisturbed. The gentle lap of the water against the break wall mingled with the sound of crickets and frogs. He relaxed and breathed again, shivering slightly.

He didn’t understand at all what he’d seen or heard, yet somehow he knew those people, knew that they were all dead and felt he was the direct cause. Except Marc had never seen them before in his life.

He knew their names. Elana, the daughter of Riegle and Viana. Their three sons, Rorin, Dray and Broq. All of them dead. Marc’s breath caught. He knew the man who’d killed them; Maralt Adaeryn, a name that sent a shiver of fear through him. He knew that Maralt relentlessly pursued him.

He shook his head, seeing even in waking the terrible visions. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, afraid to close them again. He rose, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep. Not this night. He moved to his door and opened it as quietly as he could, then went down the hall to the sitting room, where he closed the door behind him.

Darkness lingered, but wouldn’t much longer. Wearily, he moved to the kitchen, rubbing his stiff shoulders. He stoked the fire and put on water for tea. He felt the unwilling drag of his eyes and the vestiges of a nightmare that would pull him in the moment he slept.

He waited for the water, eyes closing. Stark weariness swept through him and he sank into the nearest chair as something drew him in, pulling him down again, something unseen, but hideous, the edges of a nightmare too horrible to endure. Maralt leaned over him, eyes boring into him as his hand sliced into the skin above his heart.

Marc forced his eyes open and pushed himself up. He shook, looking down at his chest to make sure there wasn’t a hole in him. The worst of it was not knowing why he was having these dreams. He didn’t know why he was afraid. He didn’t know who any of these people were.

Fear slowly receded as he poured the tea, sipping it carefully. He added some cold water and drank faster, waiting for the drink to work, to wake him, wishing it would do so quickly.

Inexplicable tears burned his eyes. He thought again that he really must be losing his mind, a thought that terrified him. He didn’t know what to do. Maybe he should wake his parents, but he didn’t want to. He didn’t know how he would explain this. He stood for a moment, undecided, paralyzed again by unreasoning terror.

Then suddenly, it was gone.

He felt like he could breathe again. He didn’t feel like he might die from fear. His life, as difficult as it was some days, wasn’t the nightmare he just woke from.

He got another cup of tea and moved outside, standing on the porch, trying not to think at all. Cool air touched his skin, waking him. He walked down to the dock and sat there, watching while the night crept slowly to dawn. He didn’t think, emptying his mind into the fading stars as the eastern horizon brightened.

Insects woke and buzzed around him, water rippling as fish came up to feed. The river began to wake. Marc pulled in a deep breath, realizing he felt better. Still, he didn’t want to think about it, afraid for many different reasons what he might discover. He put it out of mind, holding on to the relief he felt at making it through yet another night.

He returned to the house, getting a third cup of tea, turning to go back to his room to dress when he heard the door to the hall open, and the shuffle of slippered feet. His mother rounded the corner and stopped when she saw him, blinking at him.

“Good morning,” he said and retrieved a cup.

Farina nodded and got some milk from the cooler. He glanced in and saw that he needed to put in another order for ice. “How long have you been up?” she asked.

“A few hours,” Marc said and shrugged when she looked at him. She seemed like she would say something, but patted his arm instead.

“Your father will be up in a moment. Would you put on more water? Are you hungry?”

“I’ll eat on board.”

She nodded, silently starting her morning preparations. She stopped abruptly when he turned to leave. “Marc, I’m sorry for the things I said last night, about Inquisitor Sadek. He’s only concerned about you and the danger you face in going to Brent.”

“He’s less concerned than it seems, Mother. You can’t ask me to trust him.” His mother knew nothing of what Sadek really did to him. He sometimes wondered if that would make a difference, then shook his head at the thought.

“And do you hate me so much for allowing you to go to him?” she asked, seeming to see through his answer.

“No, I don’t,” he stammered. His mother rarely spoke to him so directly and almost never about Sadek.

“I can’t face losing you again, Marc. Not again. Not after losing Matt.”

“You aren’t going to lose me.” He shook his head, unsure how to go on or what to say. “I know that this can’t be easy for you. I only made it worse by ... when I tried taking my own life. I didn’t think I could go on, but now I realize that what I did was not only wrong, it was stupid. Sadek at least proved that to me. It won’t happen again. I don’t like going to Brent any more than you, but I have to.”

“Maybe Inquisitor Sadek can influence Daryl’s decision. I could speak to him about it.”

“No,” Marc said too quickly. “Mother, once he’s made up his mind about something it’s rarely changed. If he thinks I’m going to Brent to put myself in danger, he may mistake your going to him with a different suggestion.”

He didn’t say that he thought Sadek was somehow involved in Daryl’s decision to keep going to Brent and that the scheme also involved Sammel in some way. He couldn’t say it, not with his father on the Council.

“And you’ll pay the consequences. If there was a way we could get you away from him...”

“When the time is done, I’ll be released. And that time is only a half-year away. I can manage until then.”

“Your father did everything he could.”

“I know that. I should have been sent to detention. Instead I live here. I know what the consequences could have been.”

She hesitated again, seeming on the verge of tears, which he knew he couldn’t stand. “I want you to know that your father and I love you, and we’re worried about you, and we’re dreadfully sorry for allowing this punishment.”

“You can’t blame yourself. Not for Matt’s death and certainly not for what I did to myself. I knew what the law was and I broke it. There’s no one to blame for that but me.” He could tell she didn’t accept that, and on impulse took her in his arms and held her, realizing how nice it felt to have her hold him back, clutching him to her almost desperately. “I’ll be all right.”

“Yes, you will. I think you will.” She nodded, looking up at him, slightly abashed at the emotional display, but she smiled.

“I have to go get ready.”

“Yes, yes. You wouldn’t want to miss the wind.”

He moved away and she returned to the cook fire. “Mother,” he said and waited for her to look. “Thank you. For talking to me.”

She seemed surprised again, but she nodded, and he left her smiling for the first time in many long days.