Red's CD Project Story 2: Part 38 – The Unforgiven (section 2)

Note: Sorry again for taking so long between parts. Just been super busy. I think all three of these sections will come across better when they are all together. At least I hope so.

“He could just be gone”

Nestor rolled, glanced back to see the trail of blood running down the stonewall leading to Oan’s still body. Two shafts dug deep into the boy, one in his shoulder, the other his stomach. Mortal wounds, no doubt, even for a boy with his talents in healing. One last arrow was split through his palm.

Around Nestor heavy steps crunched in the deep snow and long shadows fell about him, as the old man clung to his spear.

He risked one more look at the boy and, for the first time in a very long time, he thought of his own son, who was almost certianly dead. For had Nestor not seen the Dinar run him out into the Sorna? Something in him was not entirely sure. His son was just another sacrifice, for what now appeared to be a fool’s hope. Immortality was not for him.

“Ah, my boy.” Nestor mumbled, hoping he had changed enough to make some of their attackers pay. For long life was not the only perk of his cursed bargain.

He focused inward, feeling something cold, almost slimy, slither through his veins. Every sense heightened, if they had not, he would never have noticed the boy’s eyes flicker. He saw it just in time before changing completely.

Stopping the change, he rose to his knees to meet the attackers.

“Ah, my boy,” he whispered, and now a frozen bit of intuition fell through him. Somewhere, his son barely clung to life, but with a rage that roared like a fire. “Forgive me, my son.”

* * *

“How can I be lost, if I’ve got nowhere to go?”

The voices overwhelmed him, pounding like a hammer against the inside of Eden’s skull. He came to think of them as the voices of the damned. For all of them were in this together.

There was Cortrobrane: “Out into the country, to a farm, I believe your father’s ranch, I followed her…”

Kendra: “If I give you my heart, my lord. Will you accept it and keep it safe.”

A thought crept in – they were both masked and shaved clean. His mother had said to make sure Ewam looked like a prince. The thought was swept away.

Cortobrane again: “They stood on the porch and spoke words of lovers.”

His mother: “It’s true all of it. My own brother told me so. She was with him. He was in her.”

The sword Fangen: “Make the blood flow. Spill the blood. Make the blood flow. Spill the blood. Make the blood flow…”

His father: “Find your heart my son, find it while you still can. Use the sword if you must, but only…”

His brother (in their twin language): “Do you really love her?”

His own: “She’s a lovely girl. One suiting a prince…”

The sword: “Make the blood flow. Spill the blood. Make the blood flow. Spill the blood. Make the blood flow…”

Cortobrane: “They kissed. Not like a brother kisses his brother’s future wife.”

His mother: “He was in her days before your wedding. He defiled her and then she was pregnant…”

Cortobrane: “They went inside…”

His mother: “He went inside…”

“I HAVE HEARD ENOUGH!” Eden screamed, holding Fangen up high. Silence rang in his head before one voice dominated his head.

“Make the blood flow. Spill the blood. Make the blood flow. Spill the blood. Make the blood flow…”

* * *

“How come it’s got so cold?”

Banik disappeared among the Children, and while Ewam did not have time to follow his descent Ewam was sure the man was going to receive enough aid to stay alive. Ewam knew that Duna provided him such confidence. The sword did not believe in or perhaps did not understand the term defeat.

The path between him and the Dinar was cleared as the battled rage on around. The two creatures dismounted from their hellish beasts in perfect synchronicity. Drawing their black swords, their voice from mouths formed in endless grins boomed in his head.

“Die, half-King,” Het said.

“Die, betrayer,” Lars said.

The name betrayer struck a blow at him. Where had he been called that before? He did not have time to contemplate it before the twin Dinar lifted their swords and their dead black eyes burned hot red. All the warmth in the air drained, an unusal chill took its place.

“Die,” The voices said in unison.

A groan came from the ground, and his footing became unsteady. Before he could muster an attack, something grabbed hold his foot. It was a hand, stripped clean of skin and flesh protruding from the earth. Another sprang forth, grabbing his other ankle. The bone fingers shredded his pants and tore into his flesh. More hands began to appear and then mouths from long-buried skulls. All of them clutched and pulled and before Ewam cut through some, but the ones that fell were quickly replaced by two more. His feet were actually sinking into the ground. He looked up to see that the Dinar had moved almost within reach of his swords.

“Meet the dead, betrayer,” Het said.

“Die.” Lars coldly reiterated.

* * *

“And how can I blame you when it’s me I can’t forgive?”

Another few moments surely, Kendra thought biting her lower lip to forget the throbbing pain eating away at her body. At least she did not feel her broken ankles any longer. Delirium and shock had numbed both her ankles and feet. She supposed, in time and treament, both would heal reasonably well, but she would never walk the same. Eden had broke them days before, Kendra was not sure how long, time moved differently for her now. He had tied her mouth shut to muffle her screams, not that any one would have come to her aid.

It was almost over now, she told herself again. With every slight step, she fidgeted thinking that it would be Eden. She knew that his next visit would be his last, and she expected that to happen soon.

She clutched the dagger to her chest, embracing its cold touch.

“You could end you know, before he comes.” It was Ewam’s voice in her head. Looking up, she saw him standing there. He was haggard, tired, just as he had been that night at Thunder Sted, and undeniably alive. His beard was still thin stubble after having shaved for the Reap Ball. His red hair was starting to curl again on the back of his neck.

“You could and not have to face it,” Ewam reached for her hand. “Please, I beg it.”

“I cannot,” Kendra answered, embracing the illusion and hiding the dagger once again under her blanket. “It is my penalty to face.”

“It is my fault,” Ewam said. “I shall take his penalty. Blame me. Say that I forced you, that you had no choice. He may show mercy.”

“No, it was I that sought you out,” Kendra grabbed the apparition’s hand. “In my heart, I knew what I was doing even if my mind did not. I betrayed him, not you. It is I that shall bear the penalty.”

“I cannot bear of you,” Ewam cried. “I cannot.”

“Hush, my love,” she cried along. “Hush, Ewam Perde, son of Rudan, King of Satar, Dawn of Man.”

He smiled and tears changed course in the new lines formed on his face.

“I love you,” he said, kissing her hand then her mouth.

“I love you, and the shame of hiding it has worn on me more than any other hurt delivered or any call from a cursed demon. It is time for my heart to be free of this guilt. I shall ask for forgiveness, first here then when I meet the light.”

“Will you wait for me?”

“I’ll be standing on the porch, waiting my dear and that night shall last a thousand years,” she smiled, closed her eyes and when they opened he was gone.

The door to her chamber opened, Eden, clutching a strange sword, walked in. Following behind him was a fat mat that smelled like swine.

“My husband,” she said in a warm voice. She had called him so their first night of marriage and meant it. Briefly, they had been truly happy. His face softened slightly, but then hardened and angered.

“Kendra Leone Perde, I, King Eden Perde of Isa, am here to pass judgement.”