Part 7 (1/2)
The siblings exchanged glances.
”He's in the house,” said Cedrik with a slight frown. He squeezed his sister's hand she had placed in his. The three of them followed Deacon up to the house.
Inside Deacon had faded feelings of familiarity that left him with the nostalgic, unsettling feeling of being almost home, all the more cruel for having been so close. Although he was welcomed warmly as one of the family, he still felt he was a stranger, misplaced.
Thaemon was as he had been in youth, handsome and dignified. He rose from his seat when he saw his sons and his daughter with their visitor enter the room. Deacon did not want any formalities or ceremony. Almost pa.s.sionless, he told of his mother's pa.s.sing.
Thaemon had half-expected this news. It did not lessen the pain. For a long interval he stood with his hand resting heavily on Deacon's shoulder, his head bowed. He was trying for composure and would not speak until he had obtained it. Deacon waited immovably. There was no shade of emotion, nothing perceptible of the grief and anger struggling in him.
”You have seen your grandmother?” Thaemon asked, at length.
”I will leave that for you.”
”eomus must be struggling.” Thaemon swept a hand over his eyes. ”When will the ceremony take place?”
”The moment you arrive,” answered Deacon, with an odd note.
”You will not be attending?”
Deacon glanced up darkly.
”That's unfortunate,” said Thaemon, leaving it at that.
Cedrik stood back with his brother and sister, none of them speaking a word. From the next room Clara came in, evidently having heard. She was not perturbed in the slightest by Deacon's removed nature and put her arms about him. Deacon stiffened at the openness of affection, but he didn't mind. Slowly, he allowed himself to become enveloped in her tenderness. He hid his face against her shoulder and wrapped his arms tight about her waist. Closing his eyes he took a moment free from grief and weariness. She smelled sweetly and vaguely of perfume.
She so well supplied a mother's part it became a subst.i.tute more painful for its nearness, since it mocked Deacon with a false resemblance to his mother. Her warmth, her softness, each touch of which seemed perfect, became so unsatisfactory as to cause positive misery. He stood several moments, clinging to the cruelty of her tender sympathies.
Then, feeling overcome, he stood back, and she brushed her hand over his forehead, saying, ”You look utterly spent. Let me fix you something to eat.” She had such an anxious mother's voice that he felt he would fall to pieces if she kept fussing over him as she did, but he compelled himself to stay in command, looking down at her with a tight-lipped smile.
”You know you are welcomed to stay here for as long as you please,” said Thaemon, laying his hand on Deacon as he spoke.
Deacon had arrived without the intention of staying even a night, but his cousins persuaded him into remaining a few days. Thaemon and Clara had taken Brielle with them to attend the burial, while Cedrik and Derek insisted on staying behind. It did not take the boys long to convince Deacon to get out of the house and go to the tavern. It had been so long since Deacon had had ale that he almost lost his taste for it, but he needed to get out.
As they entered the tavern, they were eyed with a certain amount of suspicion from the few number of patrons-their gazes lingering on Deacon. No emotion is more fixed in common minds than dislike and fear of anything unusual, and Deacon, having spent most of his life in the elven realm had acquired an indefinable otherness.
The young men stationed themselves at table in a quiet corner. Cedrik ordered three mugs of ale, which the girl brought promptly. They each put the frothy drink to their lips but after only a single sip, placed it down again. Their tankards sitting untouched on the table, they sat in heart-stricken silence, surveying the laughter and activity as though it was impossible for them to partic.i.p.ate.
”I'm travelling to Cheydon,” Deacon said, as though it had been working in his mind all the while.
The brothers looked up at the unexpectedness of the statement. Something was final and determined in his tones.
”What's in Cheydon?” asked Cedrik.
”There is a mages guild there,” replied Deacon.
”Why not apply for a scholars.h.i.+p here?” said Cedrik.
”Because it takes too much time to apply here,” Deacon said with some irritation, not at Cedrik, but at the thought of going through the university's formalities and procedures.
”It will take no longer than your travel time to Cheydon,” Cedrik said. ”And here you can have the benefit of superior resources.”
Deacon, annoyed, took a sip of his drink. The truth was he had no intention of going through any official inst.i.tution. He wanted access to scrolls and books, and unlike here, the Cheydon spell book emporium was open to the public. Cheydon had a reputation among magical inst.i.tutions as being far more lenient and observing far fewer rules and regulations than any other place. Things went on there that the university frowned at, but the city was so remote it was often overlooked.
Deacon's driving purpose was to discover the secrets of divining, quickly, and in his own manner. It was the only way he thought to find his father. He would not share his purpose with Cedrik, knowing no good would come out of it. Too many questions he was not prepared to answer would be brought up.
”I don't want to be confined to the university's rigorous schedules and formalities,” he said finally. ”I will be glad to just spend some time on my own, studying as I please.”
”When do you mean to return to the elves?” asked Cedrik, taking a sip of ale.
”I don't mean to,” said Deacon without looking up, bitterness in his voice.
Cedrik left it alone. Deacon's tone left no room for argument. His mind was made up and he wanted to leave for Cheydon as soon as possible.
In spite of himself, Deacon spent several days more at his cousins home. It did him good. He seemed able to breath more freely here. He had regained his usual clean, clear-cut look. His bronze skin was warm with a healthful glow, and his eyes were clear and alert, but not for an instant did he forget his purpose. Restless to move on, he soon informed his keepers that he would be leaving the next morning.
It was early when Deacon left the house. He was walking down toward the stables outside the city, when Cedrik caught up with him. Breathless still from running, Cedrik said, ”I'm going with you.”
Deacon stopped dead, and turning, was about to speak, when he spotted Derek from over Cedrik's shoulder, coming up the rear like a hopeless laggard. Slung over his shoulder was a hazardously large bag. Deacon glanced at Cedrik almost fearfully, and said, ”No.” Then he looked down and saw that he also carried a bag.
”We're no longer merely cousins, but brothers,” said Cedrik. ”Trust me to stand by you in misfortune.” He slapped Deacon on the back, giving way to a masculine embrace.
Soon Derek arrived. He yawned and shook his head as if to gain some senses and said, ”Can we first get some coffee?”
”You can get some when you return home. You're not coming with me,” said Deacon. ”Neither of you.”
But neither budged.
”Sorrow such as this was never meant to be borne alone,” said Cedrik stubbornly. Deacon knew that they would have their way. A bright smile broke over Derek's face, knowing they had won.
Chapter17.
Way To Cheydon -erek was more than half-disappointed when they pa.s.sed the first inn. ”But think of the coffee,” he protested, trying to sound persuasive. ”Hot, smooth, sweet!” Glancing backward from his horse, he watched the inn get further away. Cedrik and Deacon ignored him. Both feared it was to be a long journey. They had not yet left the Imperial region, and already Derek was whining.
Cheydon was a considerable journey, and Deacon seemed determined to get there in the least amount of time possible, pus.h.i.+ng the horses as hard as he could without killing them. He scarcely spoke along the way, his mind preoccupied with thoughts he was unwilling to share. Cedrik and Derek could not help but notice his focused intent. Almost they thought him inhuman. He had incredible endurance and wanted to keep going, even when they were near to falling off their horses from exhaustion. Besides his Riven blood, something else was driving him forward, some hidden determination that made Cedrik uneasy. He felt his cousin was not being entirely straight-forward with him.
”Say nothing to him,” Cedrik said to his brother, when he saw the temptation to ask questions and involve himself.
”He's d.a.m.n-well possessed!” said Derek, as loudly as present company would permit.
”Leave it be.”
”You leave it be,” said Derek. ”I'm going to speak, talk some sense into him.”
”You haven't any to spare. Leave it.”
”Fine!” So far it had not been an adventure as Derek had hoped, but proved monotonous. They had been riding relentlessly, and without any of the roguery and daredevilry that redeems the discomfort of journeying.