Part 5 (1/2)

A long fever gripped Daenara and left her so weak that there was little hope of full recovery. Her days pa.s.sed in a state of listlessness sad to witness. Deacon did little else but watch over her, staying at the bedside, as though he could will her back to health, and loathed every moment that did not find him at her side. The elven healers had done all they could for the present. There was nothing for him to do but wait.

eomus was downstairs. He put himself aside for the moment, leaving Deacon to spend what precious time he had left with his mother. She had declined into a state of unconsciousness, and it was not certain she would recover. eomus had offered to retrieve Deacon's uncle, but he wanted no one.

In the subdued light of night, Deacon sat by his mother, leaning over her bed. He lay with his cheek on his forearm, his face near to hers. There he waited, motionless, with eyes dark and tender, his countenance grown wan and grim from watching and grief. Her sleeping face was smooth and peaceful. His fingers wandered over her cheek pitifully. He had difficulty convincing himself that he was losing her. Her existence was so very much a part of his own.

”Do not leave me,” he whispered, as one murmurs unconsciously in sleep. There were long intervals between the lift of one breath and the next, so that he feared each was the last. He put his fingers to her lips, tinged a strange hue, and shut his eyes tightly to prevent himself from being overcome.

He soon became aware of eomus standing near at his side. Slowly sitting up, Deacon pinched his fingers into the corners of his eyes and recollected himself before facing him.

”You should get some sleep,” eomus said, resting his hand on his shoulder in a fatherly gesture. ”The human frame cannot endure.”

Deacon set his jaw against the reference to human frailty but said nothing. Sick with pain he rose feebly. He stood looking down on his mother miserably. He didn't want to leave her, and sleep was not something attainable, but he knew also that eomus needed to be with her for a time.

eomus watched the young man whose look was becoming more inverted each pa.s.sing day and felt deep concern. He loved him as well as his own, but there was a film of ice between them that he could not break through. He could foresee Deacon closing himself off further still. He feared that Deacon would be consumed to the point of self-obliteration and that he would lose him along with Daenara.

”Deacon,” he said, ”loss is a natural part of existence. We mustn't forget those around us who still live.”

”You speak as though she is already dead,” said Deacon quietly, but with burning vehemence.

”No-but you grieve as though she were. And I fear you are in danger of being overcome by dwelling excessively on the pain.”

For a moment the two men stood opposite each other: one tense and resentful, the other grave and aggrieved.

Daenara stirred slightly. Both looked down on her and decided to take their conversation out of the room.

”Profuse sorrowing,” said eomus the moment he closed the door behind him, ”destroys the strength of the body and the health of the mind. And, if you're not careful, it has an embittering effect on the soul.”

Deacon turned very cold and hard. It was not in his understanding how eomus could appear so calm at such a time. His eyes remained fixed on eomus, expressing hurt and anger as he spoke. ”How can you carry on with your usual composure and feel nothing, while the woman you claim to love lies dying in your bed. Are you so cold in your perfection!”

The serene brow showed dismay at last. ”You have mistaked me all this while,” eomus said, in a tone of plaintive reproof. ”I live with breath as you, feel want, taste the bitterness of grief. I am subjected to these as you! Only I do not understand why you should add further affliction to grief by turning from me.” He stepped toward Deacon but did not touch him, saying with an expression deeply afflicted, ”Why are you so anxious to be from me when I need you now the most?”

For the first time Deacon felt a tide of affection for eomus come over him. Only by the clenching of his jaw and the unshed tears in his eyes could it be told how much moved he was.

”Will she die without regaining consciousness?” he asked at length.

”I am unable to say.”

The two stood in the hallway, momentarily wordless.

”Take comfort,” said eomus, resting his hand on Deacon as he spoke. ”In times such as these we must turn to higher realms for guidance and courage. May they be your strength when sorrows bear down hard upon you.”

Deacon wanted none of it. What were these G.o.ds that they should do as they please with the frail beings they created?

The next morning Deacon rose unrested. His whole being seemed beaten down. Coming to stand at his mother's door, he knocked lightly; hearing eomus tell him to enter, he pushed it half-open. The morning sun poured in on a made and empty bed, and for an instant his heart ceased to beat. Abruptly he pushed the door fully open.

He saw eomus standing by the balcony, and sitting there also was his mother. Almost he lost his breath in relief, and as she rose unsteadily, he closed the short distance between them, taking her in his arms. Only for a moment she held him and kissed him, then withdrew to look at his face. She hadn't much strength to speak and said, trying to sound quite normal, ”You look a terrible sight.” She touched her fingertips to his face, rough and unshaven.

”You look beautiful,” he said softly, overcome. She smiled wearily, and he helped her back into the chair. Her movements were unsteady and full of suffering, killing all joy and relief for him. He would have taken the pain himself if he could.

Chapter13.

Ill Informed.

-n a vast room splendidly furnished, eomus stood at the side of one of the elven leaders, Aldar, a dignified man with high cheek bones, pale eyes, and flowing silver-grey hair. He said to eomus, ”If my counsel is to be heeded, nothing shall be kept from him. However, the choice lies with you.” eomus looked a moment as if he might protest, then looking resigned, inclined his head.

Out in the hallway Deacon waited, anxious to know why he had been summoned. Aldar would not have sent for him with reference to any small matter. Nevertheless he retained his composure, his eyes fastened on the door, which was soon opened to him. When he entered he found himself in the presence of the two elven men. Aldar had his back turned, facing the window, while eomus looked grieved. Deacon stood a moment, waiting for one of them to speak. Great windows displayed a beautiful view of woodland and a magnificent flowing waterfall. However, such a prospect did nothing to dissolve the tension in his heart. He feared they were to inform him of something regarding his mother.

”Perhaps you should seat yourself,” said Aldar.

Deacon did as he was instructed. Both the elven men looked upon him, and there was an intense silence, as if they feared to tell him something crucial. ”If there is anything that I hate, it is a mystery,” he said, trying to keep from the angry impatience that deep anxiety breeds.

”You must prepare yourself for distressing tidings,” eomus told him with dismay.

”Whatever I must bear.”

”It has come to our recent attention,” began Aldar, ”that a man whom was long looked upon as being dead ...” he paused, seeing the young man's face had become very pale.

”My father,” said Deacon, haltingly, and with the intensity of a hate that had been nourished over many years. ”He still lives.”

”The council betrayed none of this to any outside their own. It was by mere chance we discovered Luseph's circ.u.mstance.”

Deacon sat silently as the truth slowly came upon him. Black cloud after black cloud shrouded his mind, until his entire countenance was as dark as his thoughts. ”Does she know?” he asked, thinking of his mother.

”Yes,” said eomus.

”Why did she keep it from me?” Deacon asked, though he could guess why. A dangerous thought entered his mind and his whole manner immediately changed, becoming feverishly determined. ”Where is he?” he demanded through compressed lips, the heavy beating in his chest making his words uneven. eomus had a look of misgiving and did not speak. Deacon rose agitatedly to his feet, not liking to have to look up at them. He repeated more forcefully, ”Where is he?”

”Luseph chose to retreat to the country for his confinement,” Aldar said calmly. ”There, eyes shall seldom see him.”

The elven men were looking at Deacon with closed expressions, and he could not fail to understand that they were disinclined to reveal the location of his father. ”You have no confidence in me,” he stated angrily.

”Pause a moment, regain your clarity,” said eomus, concerned by the feverish flare of Deacon's eye and the unnatural calm of his manner. He was trying for the appearance of composure, but his whole att.i.tude betrayed deep resentment. Not a muscle of his face relaxed as he spoke.

”What was the punishment before his confinement?”

”His punishment was self-embraced,” said Aldar. ”His body was shattered and destroyed to spare your life.” As he spoke, Aldar took himself over by the window, a gesture intended to quench conversation.

”Which he endangered to begin with,” Deacon said, not letting it be ended there. ”It is because of him that she's dying! He must be punished!” His voice rose a pitch higher when Aldar refused to face him.

eomus spoke calmly. ”He has been punished.”

Deacon's gaze s.h.i.+fted furiously, and he said, low and hateful, ”On his terms. Where is the justice in that?” He looked at Aldar again. ”You say he has been punished, but the only person who has the right to say so is the one who suffered the injustice.”

”Self-reproach is the bitterest of all punishments,” said eomus, maintaining his calm. ”Think of the wound to his conscience, the inward suffering and torment he must bear.”