Son of Ereubus (13 page)

Their robes flowed unnaturally, like living things encircling their frightful forms. Eyes like onyx moved in unison over the expanse of the room and the dark-haired figure that knelt before them. It was Garren.

A dull groan began to sound low in her mind as they spoke, intensifying and drowning out the clarity of their words.

Suddenly, she watched in horror as an all-too-familiar face was brought to stand before Garren.

Gregor. He fought wildly, failing to pull himself free.

The sound grew sharp and piercing, the pain blurring her already obscured vision.

“Who? Who is it that you think you see before you?” She heard Garren’s voice, though his lips remained motionless. Straining to listen, she was troubled by the sudden grief on Gregor’s face — true sorrow, and not for his own circumstances.

Dark things moved among the shadows, tilting their heads and hissing as they turned in her direction. They could see her.

“Garren!” She called out to him, but he lowered his head, lifting a chalice to his lips. The liquid appeared as black as night, fanning out upon his skin in tangled veins the moment he drank of it.

A golden spiral burst forth from the ground, like two great arms, wrapping around his body — feeding from the darkness.

“Who are you?” she asked him, surprised when he opened his eyes. He gasped, shielding his face with his arms and letting go of the cup. It crashed loudly, spilling its contents to the ground.

Ariana opened her eyes, lifting herself from the chair to look nervously about the room. She was breathing hard, an echo of the shrill sound still reverberating in her head.

A clearer image of his face was burned into her memory than she saw in her dream. Her skin seemed still to tingle with the feel of his hand on her arm, her cheek with the touch of his palm. She thought of it as she tried on some of the dresses, changing from the plain garments the healer had replaced her bloodied ones with into a pale blue gown, trimmed in gold, so fair in color it seemed almost silver in the right light.

It had not occurred to her to look into the mirror before now. Having seen her reflection in a looking glass only once, the uncertain likeness on water’s surface was all that was afforded her in Palingard. She passed by the dressing table and it pulled her back to sit. A countenance gazed at her that she had not seen since she was a child. She had never realized how much she looked like her mother, despite how often she had been told.

A young girl, whom she assumed to be Kaitlyn, came to the door to announce Michael’s arrival and ask if Ariana minded his company.

Michael set down a platter of food and seated himself.

“I’m not used to such formality,” she said softly, still looking at the mirror as she made light of it. “What would she have done had I declined?”

The lack of color in Michael’s face, contrasted with the red-tinged whites of his eyes, belied his exhaustion. “I suppose she would have ushered me away.” His dour expression shifted as he took note of her apparel.

“Fits wonderfully, as I thought it might. Are you comfortable? Do you need anything? I was told you were taken to Duncan.”

She turned to look at him. “I’m pleased to hear you aren’t passing off the meeting as chance. I’m not some spoiled frolicsome lady of your courts so let me spare you the idea of treating me as such.”

A pregnant pause hung over them, leaving Ariana unsure of what to say next. Finally, Michael rubbed his forehead with his thumb and forefinger, replying quietly as he did so, “You certainly are worldly for having been raised in such a sheltered place. Would I be correct in assuming that he was adamant about your education as well?”

“Do I strike you as dim-witted?”

Michael was on his feet, courteously excusing himself before she could speak again. She managed, however, to laugh with enough enthusiasm that it stopped him before he made it out of the room.

“Wait, wait, come back. That was said purely in jest. I know perfectly well what you meant, and no he didn’t. Duncan and Bella and certainly Sara’s family concerned themselves with my education.” Her heart ached to think about Sara’s well being.

Michael reclaimed his seat, surprised to discover that it was no longer his alone. Koen, gangly limbs and all, had made himself comfortable in the chair’s fleeting moments of vacancy.

Michael awkwardly repositioned himself, seemingly wary of inciting more pithy comments from Ariana by asking the beast to move.

“What little I know of Eidolon was told to me so long ago that I hardly know the truth of it,” Ariana plaited several strands of hair as she spoke, fastening each braid together like Sara used to do for her on occasion. “Is the soul of man so ephemeral that it may be stolen with simple words?”

Michael shook his head, his eyes turned downward. More thoughts flickered in his eyes than his reply indicated.

“Not so simple. Words are spoken by the Ereubinian who takes the soul, but the act itself is accomplished through what has physically become of the Laionai, through their connection to what is known as the Mortal Coil. The blood of Ereubus was bound to shadow by the Goddess before the ancients walked Adoria, but the Lineage are merely a conduit for transferring the souls to the Coil and because they do so, they in turn are granted power by it—the greater the number of souls collected, the greater the power. If the writings are to be believed, the Laionai feed from the souls taken. It is a dark web indeed that the Goddess Ciara has woven.”

“Why is Adoria spared when Middengard has fallen so far?”

“I can’t say that we have been, Ariana. The divide that protects us is an unknown thing, unspoken of in any of the histories or scrolls. We can’t count on its strength in all situations — though some would tell you differently. The Adorian language is a living language, sustained by light, and can’t be spoken by those who are born of Middengard, whether they are of dark lineage or not. We are the only ones who can pass the divide or usher another in. We know that the divide and the language are tied together, but not how.”

Rising to his feet, Michael motioned toward the untouched food. “You really should eat something, or at the very least try.”

She nodded, “Are you leaving so soon?”

Michael nodded apologetically. “The winter festival approaches. Rumor, I’m afraid, has already begun about your arrival. I had hoped to let you settle in a bit first, but the council has suggested formally introducing you on the eve of Lisida Olein, when there will be a feast and the celebration of the winter moon. I agree. I think you’ll enjoy yourself, maybe see a lighter side of our realm.”

She nodded, remaining silent as he left. All she could think of was Sara. Here, Ariana sat in embroidered finery, and her dearest friend — if she’d survived the siege at all — may fear her every breath.

She did not sleep well that night.

C
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G

arren paced in front of his Dragee’s stall. He’d been there for over an hour, trying to decide whether to ride out or not. Finally, he leaned against the wall and looked down at the dirt floor of the stables.

Just as it was prior to their departure for Palingard, it had remained. He removed his glove and touched the cool earth, letting the dirt fall through his fingers. It felt the same, smelled the same. Perhaps his whole world hadn’t fallen apart, and yet, when he thought about it, it wasn’t so much that his world had changed, but like he’d stepped into a world he’d never seen before. The closest thing he could liken it to in his experience was the immediate relief upon waking from a nightmare.

He paced the Dragee at first, moving quietly through the back roads of the city. His path, covered in shadow, helped him evade his guards. He neared the gates to the city, and came upon several watchmen who fell to their knees at his approach.

“My Lord.”

Garren, in no mood for idle chatter, didn’t pause to acknowledge the salutation. He picked up the pace as soon as he was beyond their sight, rushing through the barren landscape. It was late in the day and the sun had begun to fall below the horizon. The hours had felt long since the previous evening’s observance and the countless moments he’d spent in the sanctuary following it.

The crisp air stung him as he rode. The farther from Eidolon he traveled, the colder it became, the bite of the winter wind taking his mind off what truly had him shivering.

As he came to the edge of the field and entered the peaceful woods, he slowed his Dragee to a walk. He had been riding through these parts of the forest since he was a small boy. He remembered playing among the trees. He could still smell the pine and hear the snap of the branches below his feet as he ran.

He had been about ten at the time. Tadraem had walked with him to the stream and the waterfall that day. They had crawled to sit on an enormous log that had fallen across the expanse of the falls and had gotten soaked from the spray of the water. Garren could not recall all of their conversation, but a few bits and pieces remained. Tadraem told Garren things about his father that he’d never mentioned before — things that he would not speak of again.

They had sat peering over the waterfall, the roar filling their ears and making it difficult to hear one another. Garren reached into his pocket and took out a handful of rocks. He picked them up, one at a time, to throw them. Tadraem patted him on the back, causing Garren to stop for a second, soaking in the affection. Tadraem, though much like a father to him, didn’t openly show affection.

“You remind me of your father,” Tadraem had said. “Have I ever told you that?”

“No. But you have described him to me before. He had dark hair like mine, and was tall — like I want to be when I grow up. Is that what you mean?”

“In a way. But there is more to a man than his appearance. You have his laugh for example, and you are just as stubborn as he was. You do have his hair color, and you have the same brown eyes, but you physically favor your mother.”

“I thought you never knew my mother.”

Tadraem had looked out over the water and then back to Garren. “I knew your mother well.” He sighed deeply. “Your father fell very much in love with her.”

“But she was a human,” Garren had cried, bewildered. “They can’t think or reason as we do. You have told me that much yourself.”

“I have told you many things that are perhaps not always true. Without a soul, one can do very little outside of subsisting. Your father very much had a soul and therefore, the ability to love. Just because it is forbidden does not mean that it does not exist. Ereubinians may not be allowed to be companions to one another, but have you ever heard of two that have had feelings for each other?” Tadraem had asked.

Garren had not hesitated to answer his question.

“One of the boys in my lessons …” he had paused with fear in his eyes.

Tadraem had leaned over and cupped Garren’s small chin with his hand.

“You may say anything here without repercussions. I have told you things that I have never said before and you may do the same. Today, we are honest with each other.”

“One of the boys in my lessons kissed one of the girls last week; no one saw it but me, but I didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t want them to be mad at me.”

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t,” Tadraem had laughed. “You did the right thing in not telling on them. Emotion is not something that’s easily kept away, even with laws and punishment. Your father fell in love with your mother, even upon fear of death.”

“Have you ever known love in this way?” Garren had asked.

Tadraem had curled his hand to his chest as he spoke. “Without fault. Without question, or hesitation.” He had closed his eyes. “I love but her and her alone.”

Garren had struggled to understand what Tadraem was talking about, the expression on his face displaying his confusion.

“I cannot tell you her name or anything more. But I can tell you there will come a day when you will be given a choice. Two paths will be laid before you and one of them will be against everything you’ve been taught.”

“But you’ll be there with me, right?”

“I cannot promise that. Don’t forget what I have told you. Put these things out of your mind for now and ask me not about them later. Set aside this memory for that day.”

They’d continued to talk for some time, but past that Garren could recollect very little. In fact, he hadn’t thought about that conversation for years and had never recalled it with such clarity. Tadraem must have briefly doubted the Laionai — this was several years before he had failed his crusade against Palingard. He’d become weak in his faith and it had cost him his victory. Garren gnashed his teeth, the hard muscles of his jaw stiffening in response.
I will not let the ramblings of a lesser Ereubinian keep me from what is rightfully mine.

Very little stood between him and Adoria. The barrier between the realms would become inconsequential, just as the Goddess had foretold. It was only a matter of time. With their realm no longer protected, Adoria would begin to crumble. Even their best fighters couldn’t contend with an army as strong as the one the Laionai had just commissioned.