Part 18 (1/2)

”How is it you know that was Terium?”

”I recognize it. I've been there twice. I have a cousin there, you know.”

”Of course you do.”

”You thinking about going there?”

”Thinking about it,” said Deacon. He left Cade and made his way down the length of the lake.

”Why? What's in Terium?” Cade called after him. ”Other than my cousin! Hey, if you see him, tell him I said he still owes me three silvers!”

Deacon crouched over the water again. This time he had a clearer idea of what he wanted. Growing very still, he repeated the process. The images he saw caused him to pale visibly. It was many years since he had looked upon that face, and it was much changed, yet he knew him at once. He felt it was him. Deacon had seen him in his mind almost every day, haunting him as a ghost that would not die.

Deacon gripped the rock upon which his hand rested as if he might shatter it, like one crazed with trembling agony. For long minutes after the vision had vanished from his sight, he sat benumbed in his soul. After a moment he rose from his trembling and despondency. His breathing quickened as if he might give way to more violent emotion. Back toward the house he began to walk in a tense, absent-minded manner. There he found himself alone, the old woman asleep upstairs.

Deacon paced the room. At times he seemed agitated and anxious, then he would fall into a dangerous calm, all the while his blood running hot. He could still see clearly in his mind the image of his father. It pierced him like an agony and made him clench his hands tight in order to subdue the pain. He wanted to bring the walls down around him in a fury. He didn't know what to do with himself.

The heated thoughts of his father tore at him, along with the painful thoughts of Magenta. He had a restless desire to see her before leaving, and she was withheld from him. He quite unexpectedly seized a vase from the table and hurled it across the room, shattering it on the wall. He gazed at it a moment, breathing heavily. The flowers looked lovely still, even among the broken pieces of pottery. He crouched down and begun to pick them up, carefully removing them from the broken shards so as not to lacerate the tender stems. He looked up and saw Cedrik standing at the doorway with a look of concern heavy over his features. Deacon carelessly let the flowers drop from his grasp.

”I'll replace that for her,” he said, with barely breath to utter the words. Derek came in shortly after, clutching to his chest a bag loaded with bread and other baked goods. Deacon's appearance was enough to make him pale and stop in the doorway. Coming up from behind, Cade pushed his way past. His gaze fell on the shattered pottery.

”My Grandmother's vase,” he said, horrified, through a mouthful of sweet-cake. ”Anything else you feel like breaking?”

Deacon pa.s.sed a tremulous hand over his dazed brow, lost for an apology.

Cade let out a sigh. ”Not to worry,” he said, pus.h.i.+ng the broken pieces with his boot. ”She never really liked it anyway. I'll get something to clean it up.” He made no move, however, and showed great uneasiness. His glance pa.s.sed back and forth between Cedrik and Deacon. ”I'll take my time,” he said with little subtlety, and going out, took Derek with him. ”Let your parents argue alone,” he said as he pa.s.sed, clutching the front of the younger man's s.h.i.+rt and urging him outside.

The two left standing there remained motionless. Soon Cedrik came in from the doorway, a.s.suming a more casual air. ”Your mother loved roses, I remember,” he said, motioning to the flowers, though no roses were in the arrangement. Deacon said nothing but watched him from under dark brows, as if Cedrik were a stranger in whom he had no trust. He knew Cedrik was leading somewhere with the conversation.

Cedrik was a good man, with a less complex heart. When he went to his bed at night his conscience was light on his mind, but of late his mind and heart were heavy. He missed his cousin. He needed him back. ”I think of her sometimes,” he said. ”She was a good sister to my father-”

”Cedrik, what are you doing?” Deacon asked, annoyed. ”Leave it be.”

”A fear has been growing upon me! Ever since your mother pa.s.sed.”

”Mind what you say,” said Deacon and shuddered violently.

”You will not let me speak of her to you!” Cedrik's voice rose in despair. ”You hide away in this grief. You keep it gathered to yourself as if it was yours alone. As for your father, I don't dare to speak of him,” he said, as though it was a lesson well-learned. Deacon looked up, his black eyes flaring a caution. ”It seems there are many things you no longer wish to speak to me about.”

Deacon's eyes sought the ground. He folded his arms and compressing his mouth, made great efforts. He seemed to be suffering such a bitter grief it tore at Cedrik's heart to see. A long silence ensued before either felt inclined to speak.

”I'm concerned,” said Cedrik. ”Are you ill?”

There was no answer, save a shake of the head.

”What's the matter with you, then? Where have you been all these days?”

Still no answer.

”Have you been off with that woman?”

”I wasn't aware I was in the habit of discussing such things with you,” Deacon said slowly as he looked up into his eyes. Cedrik became exasperated.

”I don't wish you to share with me every thought to pa.s.s through your head, but I need you to tell me what it is you suffer. And I want to know what aim your will is bent on. I know you well enough to perceive you have your sights set on something. Why did you come here? Answer me truthfully. I've held back from you long enough.”

”I have told you once why I've come,” said Deacon. ”I'll not repeat it.” Cedrik looked at him with a gaze that challenged and doubted.

Deacon brushed past him on the way out. ”We leave tomorrow,” he said with a brutality bred of frayed nerves rather than anger.

After dinner, Cade lit a fire in the hearth and Cedrik, Derek, and the old woman settled down in the sitting room, each with hot spiced tea.

”We're leaving tomorrow,” said Cedrik.

Derek groaned, sinking down into the couch. He tried not to think of the long journey ahead of them. The mere thought of getting back on a horse hurt his spine. Cade looked surprised, if not a little disappointed. ”Early?”

”No. I'll go into town and buy provisions first.”

”We should buy something to take back as a gift for mother and Brielle,” Derek suggested.

Cedrik nodded and sipped the hot drink, then said to Cade's grandmother, ”I should like to give you compensation. You've been very good to us.”

”Nonsense,” said the old woman, affectionately. She had taken a real fancy to Cedrik and his tight-laced way and perfect manners. ”You can fix that step for me in the bas.e.m.e.nt, and we'll call it even. I've d.a.m.n near broken my neck on it three times. This useless thing,” she motioned to Cade, ”has been promising for months.”

Deacon came down the stairs and in pa.s.sing, announced to no one in particular that he was going out for a time.

”I shall go with you,” offered Derek, starting up from the couch. His brother caught the back of his s.h.i.+rt and pulled him back down. Deacon pa.s.sed out of the room without so much as a glance.

”You might convince that villain to stay in one of these nights,” said the old woman. ”Tonight is going to be cold. And you can tell him to take back that poor excuse for a vase.” She pointed over to the pretty thing sitting as a replacement. It was expensive and characterless, she thought.

”What are you complaining for?” asked Cade. ”That one's better than the old cobweb collector.”

”That was my favourite,” she said. ”Your father bought me it when he was not much older than yourself.”

”I am sorry.” Cedrik apologized again.

The old woman waved it off and sipped her tea. ”Don't worry your pretty head about it. It's evident you have enough to worry about with that black devil.”

”I caught him scrying down by the lake today,” said Cade. ”As if that water isn't black enough.”

”What was he scrying for, do you know?” asked Cedrik, sitting up with interest.

”Place called Terium, I believe. Except he didn't know it was Terium; I had to tell him that. Whatever he was looking for wasn't the city itself.”

In the cool evening air, Deacon stood by the water's edge. He stood absolutely motionless, transfixed, staring out toward the isle. He held his cloak tightly round his body. As the night closed in, he watched the death of day, heavy with a sense of impending separation. He had a pallor about his mouth as if he suffered some consumptive illness. The thought of leaving her behind bled silently like a hidden wound. The night grew very dark about him. She could not come to him. He knew this, in agony. At last he decided he must go to her. She would be bound within that terrible darkness, but he could get to her. It would be his last indulgence. He would subdue his pa.s.sion to see her one last time, then be free to part ways with her. A man never lies more convincingly to himself then when he has persuaded his conscience it is the last weakness in which he means to indulge.

He went to the dank cottage down by the little wooden pier and knocked. A thin, care-worn man came to the door, holding a lamp in his old, brittle hand. ”I need you to take me across the water,” said Deacon, tossing him a pouch of coins.