Part 6 (2/2)

”I care nothing for your deities,” Deacon muttered. An injustice still burned within him. ”Tell me. How is it that you can wors.h.i.+p them so blindly when they will permit a man who could not be more loathsome, more contemptible, to live and breathe, while my mother lays cold in the earth?”

eomus knitted his brow and said bleakly, ”Our minds are finite, and our understanding has limits.”

Deacon sneered at that unsatisfactory answer and again looked away.

”This world has many failings,” said eomus. ”But take comfort that it is a temporal existence and preparation for what is to come.” He paused a moment, feeling he was failing Deacon. He could not bring him comfort. ”The future will hold joys for you, now unseen and unknown. Do not let the tears in your eyes blind you to them.” Deacon s.h.i.+fted slightly at his words but would not not look up. ”You may go see her yet. We'll not say our last goodbye till your family is here to take part.”

”I will not be here,” said Deacon.

For a considerable time neither spoke. Then eomus said, in grievously low tones, ”You will for the rest of your life mourn her earthly presence. But would you, if the power were in your hands, take her from the joyous regions in which she now resides and have her return?”

eomus waited, looking at Deacon helplessly. Deacon remained silent. He would not look at him. eomus left with reluctance. One's courage is tested to its utmost limits when left alone in grief, but he felt there was nothing more he could say at present.

Chapter16.

The Dawn Of A New Beginning.

-umbed and disconnected from any thought or feeling, Deacon lay wide awake. Thankfully, it was to be his last night in the house. eomus had offered, almost implored, Deacon to let him send somebody to inform Thaemon of his sister's pa.s.sing, but Deacon insisted that he go himself.

The dawn of a new morning came. After the heavy, unrefres.h.i.+ng sleep of exhaustion, Deacon left the house early. Dew clung to the foliage, and the air had a crisp chill. The moment he set foot outside, Deacon grimaced. The brilliance of the streaming morning suns.h.i.+ne seemed to mock his anguish. Swiftly, and with bowed head, he went through the woods. None of the elves spoke. Silently he pa.s.sed, and it was as death itself had pa.s.sed, blackening their realm.

He went directly to retrieve a st.u.r.dy beast for the journey. There was a fierce black thing for which he always had an affection, a beautiful mare, well-groomed and strong. With committed intentness he saddled her up. His bags, packed and ready to go, lay at his feet.

”You are determined to do this?” He heard eomus ask from behind, disappointment in the tone.

Deacon briefly glanced back and answered tersely, ”Yes.” His mood was tense and dangerous. He hadn't wanted to see eomus before leaving. He hadn't wanted to see anyone.

”How long until you are to return?”

”I will remain in the Imperial for a time, so don't fear the earth has swallowed me whole, when I do not return directly.”

Both men turned their heads when they heard approaching footsteps. Coming toward them through the trees was Mariwen, her eyes full of care as she looked upon Deacon, who refused to look at her. She stood, uncertain, almost timid, as he aggressively and mechanically readied his horse.

”How can you leave eomus at such a time?” she asked, a slight reproach hidden in her att.i.tude.

”I'm certain he will bear his burden better than I do mine,” said Deacon. ”After all, the elves have always been beyond the ailment of human sentiment.” He turned his face to eomus as he spoke, his expression leaving no doubts to his meaning.

Then he turned back to Mariwen. He could not bear her presence; it made him feel insane. ”Why are you still here?” he asked, suddenly showing some frustration and only just now looking her in the eye, his anger faltering briefly when he saw the hurt in them. He turned from her, stooping down. He hauled his bag up onto the horse and fastened it, trying to remain blind to them both.

”Deacon,” she pleaded, drawing forward.

He grew still on a sudden, both hands on the back of the horse, and said, ”Do not stand near to me. I cannot breathe the air where you are.” He kept his face partly averted but spoke so vindictively, she stepped back, stunned as though he had physically stuck her.

eomus reached a gentle hand and drew her to his side, not trusting Deacon in his present state of mind. Mariwen could scarcely refrain from tears, looking at Deacon as if she thought him very much changed.

”I will look forward to your return,” eomus said confidently as Deacon mounted, but eomus knew that he had no intention of returning. Deacon dug his heels brutally into the beast's side and set off at full speed, without so much as looking back.

Deacon's mind was emptied by the rhythmic pounding of hooves on the ground. The vast landscape pa.s.sed him by monotonously. Dark clouds enshrouded the sun, and a dull shadow came over. The atmosphere was in motion, a deep restlessness. A damp wind stung his face as he went through a shroud of misty rain, but he rode on unfalteringly. There was a deep rumble of distant thunder, and Deacon spurred his horse to go faster, as if he could outrun the impending storm.

Into the Imperial city, the city that never sleeps, Deacon finally arrived. He had ridden strong, barely stopping along the way, but now was so tired that dark circles showed through the bronze under his eyes. He made his way to his uncle's house, the same house where he had spent many nights in his childhood.

In a stone courtyard with a well-cultivated garden, prim with its formal beds of flowers, two young men sparred with swords. They were both dressed with a great deal of care and taste. They had sandy blonde hair, and their complexions, fair by nature, had been burned brown by the sun. Both were handsome in a well-bred way and looked considerably alike. Their sister lounged on a garden-bench, watching them. They were not well-matched in their sparring. Cedrik was by far the superior swordsman, his movements more contained and controlled and with a subtlety which lends itself to accuracy. At only twenty-four, he moved and fought with the experience of one many years older. So exceptional was his skill that he had been accepted into the Imperial legion and had served for the past seven years. He bore an unblemished reputation, always conscious of his father's expectations of him as eldest son.

Derek fought like an artful fighter but one who in his rage forgets all his skill and fights recklessly. He did not have the patience and perseverance to perfect his technique. He had a convinced a.s.surance about himself that was almost remorseless, and he was tireless in efforts to project a great deal of masculinity, yet for a young man he was quite pretty, with full lips and lively blue eyes. He was well-known as a bit of a scoundrel but had some fine redeeming qualities. He also had a certain charm the women adored, and he adored them.

”You leave your heart open to me too often,” Cedrik said to his brother. ”I could kill you easily, which I might have considered had we not the same mother. You're a disgrace!” he said in good-natured raillery.

Brielle called to Derek, ”You're like a great ox-charging in like that! Show some finesse!”

His sister's remark flared Derek's temper, and he fought all the more recklessly, swinging his sword wildly and making lunges clumsy from fatigue. Cedrik laughed. ”I swear you would make an ox seem a model of agility,” he said, ducking swiftly as Derek's sword slashed wildly over the top of his head.

”He'd be better off fighting with his head. He might actually do some damage!” said Brielle. Derek's teasing could put her in a fit of rage, and she enjoyed getting back her own in a subject most sensitive to him.

Hot and intent, Derek made no retort. They continued to spar pa.s.sionately when, without warning, both swords were torn from their hands and dropped like leaden weights onto the stones with a loud clang. They were both stunned, staring blankly at one another; then they heard a familiar voice call to them. ”Don't injure yourselves!”

They recognized it immediately and, glancing up, saw Deacon coming toward them. Despite his weariness from travel, he had an easiness and a grace, a token of his elven heritage. The elven-made cloak he wore was a deep green-the colour of dead-green foliage. It looked thick and durable, yet possessed the softness of the finest fibres. Under his arm he carried two swords.

The brothers half-ran to met him, followed at a much slower pace by Brielle, who always had the merest hint of animosity towards Deacon. She loved him, really, but was a little afraid of him, and he had the habit of getting her brothers into mischief.

Cedrik and Derek clasped Deacon's arms and shoulders in excitement. None of them were compelled to embrace, but they huddled together, happily engaged in banter and good cheer, despite the strangeness of separation between them.

Deacon stood back and looked at his cousins with fondness. ”It must take a long time to dress in the morning,” he commented, looking at all the b.u.t.tons in their attire. He said to Cedrik, ”You've gained some weight.”

”It's called brawn,” replied Cedrik with the quickness of good humour.

Deacon half-smiled, then said, ”And you, Derek, you've outgrown your brother almost by an entire foot.”

”And he does not tire of reminding me,” said Cedrik, putting his hand on his brother's back.

Here Deacon gifted them with the swords.

Expressing a little sigh of appreciation, Cedrik took the sword firmly in both his hands. It was light but exceedingly sharp and felt good in his grip. It was a finely crafted weapon, the blade inlaid skilfully with decorative silver. Derek ran his hands appreciatively over the fine detail.

Just as much care had been taken with the bracelet Deacon had crafted for Brielle. The young men parted to make way when she approached nearer. Deacon smiled down at her affectionately. She was tiny and delicate. She could have fit in his arms twice. With her dark hair and sharp features, she looked more like his sister than she did her own brothers. Looking up at him, she chewed on the side of her cheek, uncertain as to whether she should embrace him. Deacon's manner was less restrained when with his cousins, but he maintained a certain reserve that verged on coldness.

She was reluctant to accept the gift he offered, but a glance of the handsome eyes, and a small imploring gesture, had her, in spite of herself, holding out a wrist for him to clasp the bracelet.

”What mischief do you intend getting these fools into now?” she asked with a wry smile, fondling the pretty jewel at her wrist.

”Actually, I'm here to see your father,” Deacon said. His voice was thoroughly self-a.s.sured. ”Is he about?”

<script>