Part 22 (2/2)

”Deacon!” he cried wildly, putting his head down to hear a heartbeat. In an instant his cousin was at his side. He turned to Deacon in despair. ”Can you help him?” he asked tightly.

Deacon shook his head, unable to speak. He swallowed his fear and forced himself to remain calm. His mind worked frantically. He became conscious of Magenta at his side. In her hand she held a vial of liquid, to which she had added some sap of the poisonous plant, the very same as had attacked Derek. Magenta shook the vial. The two substances mingled, and an imperceivable reaction took place. As she did this, Cedrik watched with apprehension. ”What's she doing?” he said to Deacon, then to Magenta, ”What are you doing?”

Deacon prevented him from reaching out and taking the vial from her hand. ”Let her,” he said gently. Only when Cedrik had nodded his consent did Magenta proceed to administer the stimulant and force the body into expelling the poison.

”What do you give him?” Cedrik asked, as she held the vial to Derek's lips, but the slight revival of his brother arrested his attention. She administered to Derek several times. He lay in a cold sweat, periodically suffering violent, involuntary muscle contractions.

Magenta bent over him and put her mouth close to his ear. ”I know you can hear me, Derek,” she said firmly. ”The poison will leave your body in time.” As she spoke, a single determined vine began to work secretly about his ankle and made its way up his limb. Magenta caught it in her grasp as if it were a snake and tore it loose.

It lashed and stung her hand, wrapping itself round and round her wrist. She gripped it tighter to make it shrivel and let go. It released, but not before leaving a red, stinging mark round her hand and wrist where it had lashed. Deacon gave her a look of feeling, sorry she had been harmed.

”Derek, can you hear me?” asked Cedrik. He could barely contain his anxiety. Derek lay in a frightful state, his body afflicted with uncontrolled twitching and sudden spasms. He was sweating profusely, the potent substance reacting within him. Although he was immobile and incapable of any kind of communication, an involuntary secretion of tears streamed down his face. His lack of responsiveness had Cedrik in a panic. ”What is happening?” he cried, restrained in his cousin's arms.

”His body is expelling the toxicant,” Magenta explained with a taut calmness, affording little comfort to those observing. Slowly, by degrees, Derek began to recover, his body calmer. Inarticulate sounds issued from his lips. Soon his gla.s.sy eyes blinked and returned to life. His eyelids closed, and he began to stir with movements of his own accord, tossing his head in mild distress. When his eyes reopened, he rolled to his side and with childlike desperation clutched Magenta, straining his face against the softness of her stomach, his arms about her waist. His muscles quivered uncontrollably. A teary relief swept over Cedrik, and he at once sought Derek, his hands groping as if he had lost him. Transferring from Magenta to his brother, Derek went weakly to Cedrik, and the two clasped each other, locked in a vice-like embrace. They remained embraced silently for long minutes. Derek convulsed periodically in his brother's arms.

After Deacon fetched the horses, they moved on to find a safe resting place. That evening Derek slept observed. Magenta sat next to him, watching over him. Though he didn't want it, she made him drink a considerable amount of water. He was dehydrated and exhausted.

When she was content that he was sound and peaceful, Magenta closed her eyes and became deeply calm. In this relaxed condition she entered a state where the deep unconscious mind was invoked for superior and faster healing. She reopened her eyes when Cedrik appeared quietly at her side. He said softly, so as not to wake Derek, ”Are you very much hurt?”

She shook her head, her attention still on the young one. It was then Cedrik noticed she bore not the slightest mark of the day's struggles.

”You have healed your injuries,” he said, relieved and curious. ”Are you able to heal his?”

She shook her head with apology. ”I cannot heal others, only myself.”

”It's all right; I'm made of steel,” mumbled Derek. ”This time I really do feel as if you took to me with a stick.” He had only just struggled to sit up and Magenta held a cup of water to him. He groaned and took it begrudgingly. ”I think I would rather have the poison.” He wiped water from his chin with his sleeve. Still weak, he sank easily back into sleep.

”It is good of you to watch him,” said Cedrik. He ducked out of the tent and sat before the fire alongside Deacon, who looked up with concern, subdued.

”Is he all right?”

”He's all right.”

Deacon stared into the flame with a haunted, set expression. His voice came unexpectedly with strained emotion. ”When my mother was dying, she had that same look in her eyes, that same fear.” Cedrik dared not interrupt. For a minute Deacon was utterly silent. Then he confessed: ”I go to Terium. There is something there that I need.” At what point he decided it was best to keep Cedrik at his side, Deacon didn't know, but he thought now it was best Cedrik not return home just yet. If word got to eomus that he had discovered Terium, eomus might try to prevent him. He said, ”You may come with me, if it is still your wish.”

Cedrik was disappointed more information was not volunteered but said, ”Do you want us to come with you?”

Deacon hesitated, then nodded slowly, his lips compressed. ”Don't ask me questions but understand it is what I need.” His jaw worked tightly. ”It's not something easy to attain.”

”Is this why you didn't want us to come?” asked Cedrik. ”Why you don't want her to?”

The look he received convinced him he was pretty near to the truth. Deacon turned his eyes back to the fire. He stared with such unblinking intensity, Cedrik thought the tears he could see glistening there would gather and fall, but they dissolved and were not released.

Chapter36.

An Observable Change -an is intrinsically drawn to truth. In the absence of inner truthfulness, ignoring the inner voice and living a lie, the nature of his being will suffer the restlessness and discontent of the ceaseless voice telling him he is wrong.

Deacon was vividly conscious of his dark purpose. It bled him of his vitality and self-respect. The complexion that had previously been burned brown by the sun had lost its bronze and by degrees grown pale. His form was still impressive, but it looked defeated now, his shoulders bowed, his face downcast.

He seemed to lack the essential consciousness of well-being, denying himself comfort and sustenance and, of all things necessary to the human form, companions.h.i.+p. He became drawn inward. Even Magenta could not understand the mystery in which he shrouded himself. He seemed striving to be sufficient unto himself, not wanting to be in need of any living creature.

His abject state left his companions wondering what illness had taken him. Though it was evident his sufferings were self-inflicted, he alone was in possession of the cause. Magenta saw with deep concern that his countenance was losing its warmth and that the spirit in his eye was failing. He seemed in a kind of living death. The body corresponds with the spirit, and his body was suffering accordingly.

Deacon moved away from the warmth of the campfire and sat with his back against a tree, among the night's shadows, which seemed to clasp him too closely and too far away from her. Magenta had prepared him something to eat, but he scarcely touched it. She watched him with growing distress. There were violent alterations in his character. To her it seemed he had taken on another consciousness, another self; he was not who he had been when she had him to herself in the woods. His spirit had fused with the hate that churned in a slow, ever-burning furnace.

”Tell me, Cedrik,” she said, subdued, ”can your own heart deceive you?”

”Can my heart lie to me?” he said, lightly. ”I'm certain it does.” Observing her downcast features he grew serious. ”The thing about the heart,” he began tentatively, ”is that it has a necessity for hope. Sometimes it's difficult to discern between it and truth.” He saw that she struggled with emotion and said nothing more.

When Magenta saw that Deacon had finished eating, she went to him. He had been deeply engrossed in his thoughts for some time when he became aware of her. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked up at her. She reached out for the plate; with a tight smile he handed it to her, muttering his grat.i.tude. She stood over him as if she would be fixed there forever; he was tense under the agony of it. Soon she crouched down near to him. ”Do you suffer illness?” she asked. Her low, sweet voice, her touch upon his arm, brought back emotions he had hoped had left him.

”There are better things you can achieve with your time, than to concern yourself with me.” He could not keep the bitterness from creeping into his voice. He paid no more attention to her presence. She drew away. He sat without a sense of feeling.

It seemed he had lost complete interest in her existence, and as if her existence required his belief in it, she began to fade. A melancholy swept over her and seemed to extinguish the life in her. There was a calm, unearthly beauty in her sorrow. Her deep eyes gave the impression of looking beyond rather than into those of their beholders. In this state she held a quiet, complacent sense of forbearance, belonging to her love for him.

One evening Magenta stood away from camp beneath the open sky spread with stars. She looked into the night with a vague, distant look, a wistful and gentle acquiescence to her fate. At a near distance Deacon perceived her there. He stood with his shoulder against a small tree, watching her with strange intentness. She was lovely in the tender light. Every movement woke greater sentiment in him. All the while he grew more sullen and unbearable to himself. The terrible softness of her, he longed for.

The fire was put out and the companions settled into their beds for the night. In his lonely isolation, Deacon lay awake, wis.h.i.+ng he was lying beside her with the warm darkness folding them close. His body ached with physical longing, and his heart with something of greater depth.

In her bed, Magenta heard a light step pa.s.s the tent. She arose and upon venturing out, saw that Deacon wandered away from camp and vanished in among the trees. She returned to her blankets but was stirred into wakefulness, too alive to consider sleep. She at last flipped back the covers and ventured into the cold night, wearing only her light sleeping s.h.i.+ft.

The moon afforded scarcely enough light for her to make her way through the black ma.s.s of trees. She soon came to find him in a small clearing-a lonely silhouette standing by a dark pool of water. From her angle she could not see his face, more than the strong line of his jaw. But she could discern from his bowed head that his attention was fully fixed upon the precious jewel he held out from its chain round his neck. It was like none other she had ever seen, with a luminous quality that to her seemed most certainly of elven make.

For a moment she watched him, her presence hidden by the darkness of the night. As she drew nearer he heard her approaching steps and casually, but swiftly, returned the jewel to its place beneath his s.h.i.+rt. Crouching down by the pool, he splashed cool water over his face in an attempt to remove any sign of grief. Drying his face on the sleeve of his s.h.i.+rt, he glanced briefly over his shoulder.

”You cannot sleep,” he said, rising to his feet, keeping his face partly averted. He knew affliction was still too apparent on his features. She hadn't a chance to respond, when the eyes of both caught the back of something slippery and eel-like surfacing briefly from the water. Deacon grimaced at the thought of the tainted water having touched his face and spat out the taste he imagined was in his mouth. A faint smile lifted one side of his mouth as he stole a quick glance at her, saying in a lighter, more playful tone, ”We shall avoid the water tonight, I think.”

She smiled bleakly at the manner by which he sought to put her at ease, though he was not at ease himself and failed miserably to do so for her. But still, something akin to hope rose within her at his sudden warming toward her. Unfortunately he could not, it seemed, sustain the lightness of manner which he so sought, for he all too quickly sank back to his former state of misery.

His eyes fell once more to the still, black water. Magenta joined him in this silent absorption, occasionally glancing over to observe his features. His bitterness, while still apparent, was overshadowed by a heavy weariness, which in turn made her heart very heavy for him.

”You are weary,” she said, softly. At the sound of her voice his eyes returned from vacancy but nevertheless stayed fastened on the water. She turned to face him, wondering what the source of this self-imposed deprivation was. ”Why must you punish yourself so cruelly?”

She was not certain, at first, that he would respond. He was still greatly detached from her, his face so ashen as to suggest death. But within him, somewhere, there was something much alive, despite his look of illness. ”Our existence is brief,” he said at length. ”We must push ourselves if we would achieve great heights.” He turned his eyes full upon her and said quietly, but with great intensity, ”I do not wish to fall among the wretched and forgotten.”

She could see now that he belonged to his destination, willing to sacrifice all to get there. ”That will not be your fate.” She looked at him in a manner as to suggest wonder and awe. Dropping his chin to his chest, he smiled, a grim smile of self-scorn.

”There are many things in this world that appear fascinating and inexplicit, but on closer inspection turn out to be merely commonplace,” he said, so cynically she knew at once he spoke of himself and her idea of him.

”And I have no doubt you are not one of them,” she said quickly. ”You are greater than you know. There is more in your one sentence than in a thousand utterings of most, and you continue to perfect your mind. But you mustn't neglect the present life for the future life. We must take time for the beauty that lies between us and our goal. If not-we may miss the many wonderful things along the way.”

He could not doubt the meaning of the last of what had she said, and staring in her wonderful dark eyes, the strong feeling of affection for her came over him, battling against the weariness and pain. He wanted so much to rest in the warmth of her love. She was so strong in her self-possession, and she was so determined to think well of him, believing so a.s.suredly that she should belong to him. He always proved wanting, always failing to deny the sudden onset of this love that had so rapidly taken full possession of him. He knew discovering the intricacies of her character would be a lifelong endeavour, one he would gladly embrace, if he did not feel with certainty that she was made of a finer material than himself and deserved infinitely more than he could deliver. So he turned from all tender thoughts, once again turning himself inward and away from her, though he knew her heart was breaking at his absence.

A heavy silence befell them. Her attention was drawn to his chest, where he absent-mindedly had laid his open palm. She knew there were other things that worked on his troubled mind.

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