B008P7JX7Q EBOK (2 page)

“You
will not turn me back!” he roared at the unseen source of the light. It was
half a cry of rage and half a bellow of pain. “I need you!”

Then
his hands encountered something round and he snatched at it, wanting to grasp
it in his arms and never let go of it. There was the briefest of moments when
the light seemed to reach back towards him. But the moment his hands closed
around the sphere the pain engulfing him became an inferno of anguish. He threw
back his head and screamed atop his lungs as his flesh seared and burned, as
his insides twisted and stretched, as though something were trying to rip him
apart. But the greatest pain of all was in his mind. It felt as though his very
being was coming unraveled. Thoughts were broken apart before fully forming.
For a moment of clear contemplation he thought his mind must be ripping apart.
Then he realized that the damage was being forged far deeper than a physical
harm. Then his very thoughts seemed to become distorted, and there was only the
pain. His screams had dragged the breath out of his body and left his lungs
raw. He stood there, holding the object of his search, the object he had
dreamed of for so long, and moaned aloud as the pain wracked him.

LEAVE
NOW, BLACKHEART, AND RETURN NOT.

The
voice spoke clearly in his head. He caught a glimpse of something, surrounded
in white light, with the barest hint of a dark outline.

He
was thrown back violently. He went sailing across the cavern and struck the
wall hard. He lay there writhing in pain, eyes squeezed shut in torture. At
last, when clear thought did not bring too many flashes of pain, he began to
drag himself away.

Jonas
dragged himself out of the cavern. He came to the dark, never so relieved as to
be surrounded by pure darkness. When he tried to think of what had happened
blinding pain wracked him and he could do nothing but writhe in his misery.

As
he came out beneath the dark sky, fear and pain filled him to his very marrow,
but beneath those feelings his rage grew into a dark fury.

The Call of Dreams

1

All around Adrian there was a bustle of activity,
from the harbor before him to Fisher’s Market behind and the greater part of
Port Hope beyond. He sat on the small brick wall and stared over the water,
struggling for control over his emotions and desperate for some peace. The
large galleys swayed gently with the rising and falling waves of the water.
With their sails furled the wooden giants appeared stark, almost naked.

He shivered in the cold wind that rolled off the
harbor, but a part of him cherished the bitter wind for the numbness it
brought. He watched as sailors unloaded their cargo. Despite the chill, the
harbor was busy as ever and people moved about their jobs. The docks reached
into the water like fingers, welcoming ships and their crew.

Adrian saw the sailors and merchants without
truly seeing them. They were in another world to him, separated by a
transparent membrane that nudged them into his awareness now and then. He was
barely aware of the pungent odor of fish and spices that hung thick in the air,
or the seagulls that circled idly above.  

As he sat there he felt a small measure of peace
settling over him, something he had not felt in over a month.

That was when the dreams first started.

The view before Adrian’s eyes slowly waned and
the harbor was gone, replaced by the horrible scenes his treacherous mind
seemed bent on showing him. He saw what he witnessed in his dreams so much
lately; all the death and carnage, the blood and screams, bodies being heaved
onto a large pyre. He felt whatever peace the docks offered him dissipate. Tears
suddenly brimmed in his eyes and threatened to overspill.

From behind him came the sounds of the usual
activity in the lower market. The familiar noise slowly brought him more and
more out of his reverie and to his surroundings. Tears still brimmed in his
eyes but he fought to hold them back. There was a woman in the dreams, that
much he knew. What they did to her was horrible. He felt a bitter hatred for
them, whoever
they
might be.

He sat and stared out into the harbor, watched
as new ships came and others left, trying to find his peace again. It was not
long before Connor appeared around the wall and spotted him.

“There you are!” he cried jovially. He strode
down to Adrian’s side and hoisted himself up onto the wall. “Should have known
you’d be down here.”

Adrian didn’t turn to look at him. “What is it?
Does Quinn want us back to work?”

“No. But we’ll have to head back soon anyway, a
lot of work to be done, you know.”

“I know,” said Adrian without much enthusiasm.
He did not dislike working in his uncle’s stables, but lately he simply did not
have the heart for any task.

For a few moments they sat in silence. Adrian
noticed Connor watching him in sidelong glances, and knew what his cousin was
thinking.

“It’s the dreams still, isn’t it?” Connor asked.

“Yes.” Adrian turned and looked at his cousin’s
worried face. At fourteen, Connor was the elder by a few months and half a foot
taller, but at the moment worry made him look younger. His brown hair curled
down nearly to his eyes, free and unkempt, just as Adrian always thought of
him. It was sad to look at him now without his usual carefree smile.

“Are you sure they’re not just simple dreams?”
Connor asked, though he sounded doubtful himself.

Adrian shook his head. These were not simple
dreams, whatever they were.

“Why won’t you tell my father?”

Adrian only shrugged. How could he tell Connor
that he did not feel there was anything his father could do? Perhaps if the
dreams continued then he would tell Uncle Jon, but for now he meant to keep it
between Connor and himself.

For a while longer they sat there and watched
the ships roll in, then they made their way back home.

2

The lower market was all abuzz in the evening.
The smell of fish and spices was strong, but underneath it lay the distinct
odors of sweat and food fried in tortoise oil. But the smells were not so sharp
or loud as the voices that made up the usual din of the market; voices of those
bargaining with hawkers or hailing one another, of merchants shouting out their
wares.

The two boys made their way slowly through the
crowd, walking in the shade thrown by a tall warehouse on one side of the
street, hardly looking twice at any of the vendor’s booths or the small shops
that lined both sides of the street. They had explored them all countless times
before. At last they escaped the stirred anthill that was Fisher’s Market and
turned towards home. Buildings of stone and plaster as often as whitewashed
wood looked down on them, their windows either shuttered tightly or open to the
fading light of the sinking sun.

Connor regarded his cousin in quick sidelong
glances, and his heart went out to Adrian. Looking at his cousin he was
reminded of a cheerful boy who had greeted everyone and everything with a smile
that was both honest and open. When he looked at Adrian now, he saw only a
ghost of that boy. These days Adrian spent too much of his time gazing out
someplace Connor couldn’t see, his face always creased in worry or despair with
a shadow of fear. His cousin looked haunted.

He worried that the dreams Adrian complained
about so much were slowly unraveling him from the inside out. In a vain attempt
to cheer him up, Connor said, “I wonder if Jaime still reeks of stale eggs.” It
had been a small prank they played on Jaime for refusing to pay a lost wager
after a game of marbles.

“I don’t know,” Adrian mumbled. His eyes had a
faraway look to them, and he sounded as though he spoke from a great distance.

Connor gave up and they walked in silence.

3

The walls of The Golden Lilly were painted a
mosaic of white and pale yellow, with windows at regular intervals along the
walls. A red tiled roof jutted over the sides like an oversized hat. Adjoining
the inn were the stables, a large wooden structure that looked out of place in
the surrounding opulence. Adrian almost felt at peace in the stables, where he
and Connor spent much of their afternoons taking care of the animals.

“Great!” cried Connor. “This stupid horse!”

Adrian looked over and saw a fresh pile of dung
beneath the horse Connor was tending to. He shook his head and could not help
but smile as he watched Connor fetch a shovel to clean the mess. He gently ran
a brush down Wind’s side, laughing at his cousin’s curses, most of which he had
learned down at the docks and none his father would be too pleased to hear him
spout.

“It’s always this one,” Connor muttered to
himself, and then crossly to the horse, “What’s the matter with you?” The horse
whinnied and tossed its head.

“You’ll get kicked if you keep that up,” Adrian
warned as he worked with the brush. He had found that as long as he kept
himself busy the dreams did not have so strong a hold on him. He tried to keep
himself very busy.

“If it weren’t for its owner, I would have
broken the shovel over its idiot face long ago,” Connor said.

Adrian laughed at the thought, and became aware
how odd his own laughter sounded to his ears. It sounded as though he were
trying to remember how to do something he had forgotten.

He and Connor threw down hay from the loft and
fed and watered the horses. With their tasks done they sat down pulled out
their bags of marbles. They had just begun when Bertha poked her head in from
the kitchens.

“Come in and eat, you two! Nina cooked fish, but
it won’t last forever!” Before she had finished, the two boys were up and making
for the door at the rear.

 They waded their way through the bustle of
cooks and helpers, trying not to get in the way, and headed to the large table
on one side that was reserved for the workers. They sat down beside one of the
serving girls, Hailey. Across the table sat Bertha and Anne, Connor’s oldest
sister.

Hailey immediately made a face. “God, Connor,
when was the last time you had a bath? I could smell you coming.”

“Always a pleasure, Hailey,” Connor said with
mock sincerity. “Where’s the food?”

“If you want it so badly, why don’t you go fetch
it yourself?” Anne asked with all the poise that her seniority over the rest
carried. Adrian smiled secretly to himself as he watched Connor frown at her.

Nina waddled over to the table like a proud hen.
Behind her one of the servants came bearing a tray with roast salmon on it.
Nina watched carefully as the boy set the tray. Adrian felt sympathy for Tin,
having to put up with Nina’s austere rules as he did. The boy grinned and gave
him a sly wink as he laid out the food. The head cook was a wide woman, the
white apron she wore straining around her middle, and she ruled the kitchen
like a strict monarch. Adrian avoided meeting her gaze; she was not above
giving any of them a firm spanking, as she had done many times in the past. He
and Connor had both felt the sharp sting of her tongue when she caught them
trying to pocket something from her kitchens.

“It’s about time,” Connor muttered, and received
a cold stare.

Nina surveyed the rest with a small smile, silently
urging them to eat, and then turned to Hailey. “You’ve had a long enough break,
girl. Get up and get back to work.”

“Well, now we know where Bertha gets it from,”
Connor muttered under his breath.

They set to the food with a will. From the
common room came the loud sounds of men talking and laughing, and floating
along those rough voices was the tuneful whistle of a flute.

4

The boys were sitting by themselves, hoping to
get a slice of pie from one of the helpers when Nina’s back was turned, when Connor’s
father strode over to them. Jon Moor would have towered over the two boys even
had they not been sitting. His short, light brown hair curled back from his
forehead, making his head seem a soft bird’s nest. For a moment he studied the
boys with calm blue eyes. “Done eating, are you? Good. We’ve just had two new
arrivals and I need you to go and tend to their horses.”

“But, da, it’s after hours!” cried Connor.

“I know, Connor. But I can’t find Quinn or Joni
anywhere, and these are the last patrons we’ll be taking for the night. Take
care of their horses and you can go to bed.”

Connor sighed and stood up. Adrian followed him
and the two headed to the stables again. Adrian supposed Connor’s sour mood
could be boiled down to the fact that it felt more of a chore to his cousin
than it did to him. They unsaddled the new horses, watered them, rubbed them
down and threw down some hay. It was only when they had nearly finished that
the other two stablemen came sauntering in. Adrian noticed Connor staring at them
balefully.

“Where did you two go off to?” Connor demanded
the two grizzled men.