Chapter Nine
Merthisan noticed something was wrong as soon as he entered the small kitchen. Feryl was already awake, dressed, and sitting at the corner table as he had every morning. Hunched over his untouched bowl of porridge, the boy was sullen and bleary eyed. He looked as though he hadn't slept at all. A spoon made idle patterns in the soft gruel, which had long since cooled.
"Are you alright?" The swordsman asked, making a cup of tea for the day ahead.
The boy stiffened as if taken off guard, having been too lost in his own thought to notice his entrance. A quick nod gave an affirmative, and he stuffed food into his mouth. Chewing was less than enthusiastic.
"Are you sure?" Merthisan approached him, and frowned when he noticed the inch long scratch on the boy's chin. He brushed hair aside to get a better look, only to have the boy swat his hand away.
"I said I was fine!" Feryl snapped, this time glaring. Merthisan had never felt the brunt of his temper before and taken aback by the sudden spark.
"How did that happen?"
The boy's face tightened, lips pressed into a firm and stubborn line. "I fell."
With the deep red eyes boring into his own, Merthisan might have believed him, except he recognized the smooth edge of the wound. He knew the difference between injury caused by a fall and those caused by a blade. Why would he lie to me?
The smoldering gaze soon dropped, and Feryl slid out of chair to place dishes in the sink. "I'll meet you in the practice room." The boy muttered,
Just as he was moving to go, Lyra arrived with her usual bright smile and rosy cheeks. "Good morning!" Her voice was musical, mostly directed to Feryl. She tugged off her cloak to hurriedly don her apron.
Normally, the elfling would reply with at least a smile, but this morning, he frowned and retreated down the hallway.
"What's wrong with him?" The girl asked.
"I'd like to know." Merthisan replied.
--------------------
Practice proved to be a test of wills rather than learning the art of the sword. Through his own training as a youth, Merthisan learned you discover a great deal about an opponent during a fight. Warriors fought with their hearts, using passion to fuel a strike or parry. Through a fight, an opponent's fears and confidence exposed their nature to reveal more of who they were. Never had the philosophy been truer than now.
Feryl was lashing in caged anger, battering against a blade without care of retaliation. Normally the swordsman would blame sloppiness on the student's part, but he knew better with this boy. Feryl was a natural, almost instinctive with sword fighting. He had grace and balance, with normally a strong instinct for self-preservation. The dropping in defense seemed deliberate, as he wanted to be hurt. The young elf seemed angry, more so at himself by the way Merthisan found his dulled blade striking too often past defenses that should have been guarded. Feryl was letting him beat him.
"That's enough." He finally announced.
The elf was sweating profusely, from overexerting and working too hard. A permanent scowl marred his otherwise determined expression. Hair worked loose from its leather strap keeping most of the length from his eyes. Loose tendrils had pasted across his cheeks. He gasped air from the exertion.
"We've only trained for an hour." The boy protested, taking a bold step towards Merthisan to commence once again with sparring.
"And I've said enough." The stern tone normally deterred upstart behavior, but Feryl took another step. The swordsman watched as the boy seemed to battle within himself.
Years of experience made reading a person's intention as clear as words. A shift in weight, a turn of the head, a look in the eye would reveal volumes to him. Even as the boy started forward, Merthisan lifted his sword to block the sudden onslaught.
Whatever anger Feryl felt was finding its way through the sparring match. Merthisan blocked again, seeing now the boy was frustrated and the anger was not at him. Merthisan wasn't certain how he knew, but he understand that fighting seemed to work things out for the boy. The swordsman pushed back with his sword, letting Feryl block, spin, thrust again before dodging another blow. Each contact was hard, joined with gritted teeth and a wild sparkle in his eye. He was grunting with effort to fight him off.
"What's wrong?" Merthisan asked when Feryl finally disengaged to catch his breath.
The only answer was another series of blows, strong and consecutive. The sword struck, then spun low. Merthisan was deeply disturbed with the ferocity. If he hadn't known better, he would've thought the boy was actually trying to strike a damaging blow. The dulled practice sword would do little harm. Surely, Feryl must know that.
Whatever prompted Feryl's temper had not abated. A fire was in his eyes, something wild and almost violent. The boy, however, was tiring. The sword didn't hit as hard now, and he struggled on shaky legs. Merthisan felt the time was to end this farce. He locked blades, pushing the boy back against the wall, pinning him and his sword to end the fight.
Feryl struggled briefly before finally sagging against the stone. After a few heaving breaths, he dropped his sword.
"Do you mind explaining what that was all about?" The swordmaster demanded. He stepped away, pointedly kicking the practice sword clear from the boy.
Feryl caught his breath, wiped sweat off his brow. His gaze flickered towards movement in the doorway. Renis had watched the confrontation, and now stood with an unblinking stare. Something seemed passed between them. Now Merthisan began to wonder more about his assistant, who had voiced his concerns with the dark elf staying in the school. What had transpired the other day, with the Khajiits and the elf boy?
Merthisan had hoped for an answer, wanting to help the boy through whatever he was going through. Just as he seemed ready to reply, the boy pushed off the wall and strode out of the practice room. When he brushed past Renis, he leaned towards the teacher to shove a shoulder against him, pushing him out of the way.
"What's gotten into him?" Renis snapped after the elf.
"He just needs time." Merthisan told him. He hoped his words rang with some truth. For now, the boy needed time to himself. He'd speak to him later.
---------------
"Where is Feryl?" Lyra asked herself when the elfling didn't meet her in the kitchen as he always had since his arrival. After he showered, he'd often seek her out to do the necessary chores around the school. She'd already finished dishes and laundry, with still no sign of Feryl anywhere to be found.
Curious to what happened, she discovered him in the bathing room. He should've long since left. Instead, the young elf stood in one of the shower stall. Hands splayed against tiles, propping him upright as he bowed his head. Water splashed over his head, down shoulders, down the length of his lean frame. He'd gained weight since his first arrival. Bones didn't jut out as they had before, and toning defined new muscle from the daily sparring matches. She could see the edges of manhood about him, indicating he was closer to her age of thirteen than she had guessed, perhaps older.
The light from the single lamp in the room made his skin appear almost black, as if carved from stone. He was motionless beneath the stream of water. Only when the girl approached, she realized Feryl was shivering. Breath was trembling in short gasps, and closer still, she found he had turned on only the cold. Most of the water would be straight from the cistern built underground, fed from a freshwater spring.
The icy water drenched him, pasting hair against his face. Streams of droplets cascaded over his face, leaving gooseflesh. Eyes closed, and lips trembled from the bitter cold.
"Feryl?"
The boy didn't seem to hear.
She grabbed up a towel, and spoke his name louder. This time, his head lifted, then turned slightly in her direction.
"What do you want?" The voice had changed, almost stuttering from the cold. The tone was irrevocably hard and unmoved by her presence.
Master Kendari had told her of the sparring practice, and Lyra couldn't help but bristle at his tone now. Anger flared at the thought he'd been in here, freezing all this time. "Get out of the shower." She told him firmly. "What's wrong with you?"
He didn't reply, nor did he respond when she turned the water off with the facet next to him. The icy cold water splashed against her apron, causing her to gasp. All the boy did was remain as he was, looking as though he'd been dumped in the river, and left to drown.
She wrapped the towel around him, only then having him pull away from her. Or try to. He couldn't, being too cold and chilled. Determined, the girl grabbed another towel, adding that to swaddle him in the cloth.
He slumped, leaning back against the tiles. Eyes closed against her, shutting her out when she patted him dry. Rubbing vigorously, she hoped to get circulation back into his arms and hands.
"Why, Feryl?" She asked him. Fear and worry was thick in her heart.
"Cold." He whispered, teeth chattered. "I needed the cold."
"But why?"
"To …feel numb."
"Numb...?" She wasn't certain she understood what he said. No matter, she would set him back to right. "C'mon, let's get you dried off and something warm in you."
"I'm …sorry." He mumbled.
"For what?"
He never answered her. At least he let her dry him enough to help him dress.
"What happened?" Lyra asked, yanking his shirt on over his head. He moved slowly, but at least he moved. "Why are you acting like this?"
She wasn't sure if he would respond. When he spoke, he sounded far away as if the water had done what he wanted, dulling whatever feelings he had. He looked so very tired.
"Bad dreams." Feryl told her.
"Of what?" She watched dark emotion flitter across his eyes before he turned and said nothing. What had that master of his done to him to cause such turmoil? The question sparked anger again, this time to the man that had hurt him. What sort of monster was this that could affect the boy in his dreams?
"Get up to bed. I'll warm up some soup for you."
"Not hungry." He muttered.
He hadn't eaten except for the few bites of cold porridge that morning. "Just get up to bed." Lyra pushed him in the general direction and he thankfully went. Later she checked on him, finding the familiar pile of boy and blanket on his bed, she realized how tired he was. He was curled up against the wall, arms and legs hugging blankets and the pillow covering his head. Not having the heart to wake him up, she left the soup by his bed and shut the door.
-----------------
Feryl woke with a start. Confused to time and place, he rubbed his face to wakefulness and sat up on the narrow cot. He brushed hair from his face, assessed the bone weary tiredness he felt. By the darkness at the curtained windows, the day was drawing to a close. He'd slept a few hours, and missed supper by the hollow feel of his stomach.
The tray beside his bed told him of Lyra's concern. Soup was cold but would suffice, and the bread gone stale. He didn't care. He chewed and swallowed, not tasting anything.
Memories of the morning sparring and Lyra finding him in the shower made him grimace in self-disgust. He didn't know why he did it. Slept hadn't found him all night, as fear and anger battled deep within him. The cold shower meant to deaden the pain he felt. At first, the cold droplets were soothing, and he welcomed the chill to flesh gone hot from the exertion of sparring. As he remembered each strike against the swordsman that wanted only to help, Feryl found biting cold was punishment enough for an ungrateful elf boy who was now meant to kill those who cared for.
Your first blooding is at hand. Bring the girl, and prepare to be tested.
The food in his mouth suddenly tasted as paste. He swallowed hard, pushing away the remainder and felt sick.
He wants me to kill her. That was the only answer to Nekros' demand. Of course Lyra must die. The assassin must have guessed his feeling for her, and what better method to prove his loyalty than to destroy someone he'd grown fond of? No doubt, Nekros will want him to finish Merthisan and Renis as well, though he must know I might not be able to take on a master swordsman, or his apprentice.
No…Nekros would take care of them in due time. Lyra was the best and only choice for his blooding.
He felt pain in the sting of fingernails cut into palms when he clenched his fists. If I don't kill her, he will. Memories flashed like a razor's edge of Nekros' victims. Feryl witnessed some of the murders, their panic and horror was drawn out as much as their pain. Nekros enjoyed such reaction from his victims. He drank in their fear. Torture was a drug to him. And he would do the same to Lyra.
Wouldn't it then be a kindness to kill her quickly than have to face that monster? Feryl tried to imagined if could do this, tried to imagine a blade taking her life. The vision was too much to bear as hot tears stained his cheeks.
But if I don't, she will die anyway…. Feryl wiped his cheeks, forcing his fear back. I could tell Merthisan. He would know what to do. He could protect her-
But for how long?
And Nekros will kill me too.
The boy slowly sucked in another breath, calmed the fears that threatened to choke him once more. And if I did this thing for him, if I kill Lyra….I go back to an empty, dark world again. Death didn't seem so bad to him then. Yet, even his death wouldn't stop Nekros from having his revenge. He'd kill them all just out of spite.
But I can't do it…Feryl forced himself to his feet. Nekros wanted her tonight, which meant he'd have to find some way to get her to the apartment across town. She would trust me, he thought uneasily. All I have to do is ask her, and she would follow wherever I asked. And he would have to do this evening.
Taking slow steps towards the kitchen, the boy found the task ever more difficult as he remembered how easily he grew accustomed to the girl. He liked her laugh, and her efforts to make him do the same. He found he even enjoyed her chatter, and eagerness to teach him. Any question he had, she'd give him an answer, even if it was "I don't know". She doesn't deserve this. She didn't anything wrong.
But she did. She liked me.
For that, Nekros will have her pay dearly. The thought came to him hard, but Feryl knew this was the truth. Nekros would never allow him to have anyone in his life. He killed a cat once Feryl had found, explaining they could not keep pets. Too much trouble, was his excuse, though the creature had been a stray. Why hadn't he just let it go back out into the world?
Because I wanted the cat, Feryl thought.
Bastard.
Fists clenched again until knuckles popped. Feryl let his rage kindle beneath his apprehension. Justified anger burned away years of fears, cleared away doubts with each step-
Voices from the practice room interrupted his inner dialogue.
"Lyra's gone."
Feryl felt as though his heart would stop.
Renis was standing before Merthisan, nursing a broken arm and bloodied face. "I…don't know what happened." He was babbling. "I was walking her home, and this man came out from nowhere and attacked us."
The swordmaster was dabbing salve on bleeding wounds. "What did he look like? Where did he go?"
"He took her, Merthisan." Renis' voice cracked in fear. "He took Lyra."
Merthisan looked grim. "Focus, Renis. By the Blessed Nine, focus! Tell me what he looked like! Where did he take her?"
Feryl hovered to the door, already knowing the answer.
"Tall…dark…He was shrouded in all black." Renis was trying to remember but the boy knew Nekros was a master of hiding his features. "Big man…but fast. After I fell, I heard her scream. He took her up towards the wharf-"
The boy frowned, caught between wanting to tell Merthisan, and concerned that things would be made worse. He won't be able to save her, he thought. She could already be dead- No, a dark calm settled over the young elf. He's waiting for me. She's still alive.
That decided him. He wouldn't tell. If he did, if anyone but him showed up, Nekros would kill her.
"Feryl-" Merthisan's voice cut into him sharply, as the man motioned him to tend to the other man. "He needs a healer. I'm going after Lyra, and will need to alert the guards. Stay here." The salve and a handful of bandages were thrust into his arms. "Lock the doors."
As he watched the swordmaster belt his long blade to his hip, Feryl knew he was going to be heading the wrong way. The wharf led in the opposite direction, just as Nekros had wanted it.
"Stay here." The swordsman told him gently. His focus on finding the girl made blue eyes turn to steel. All Feryl could do is nod.
When he was gone, he found Renis still babbling. "He was so fast…barely had time to block. How could anyone move that fast?…"
Feryl set the jar of healing salve on a table, and slipped out of the school without his knowing. Renis' pride was hurt more than his body, and the elf had little care for the man who hadn't protected Lyra as he should have.
Instead of heading back to the bleak apartment with dread, Feryl felt his heart race in anticipation for a fight. Nekros will die. The thought rang in his head like a clamor. Nekros must die. That was the only choice left to him. He refused to go back to that lightless existence again. I'll die first, even by my own hand!
The chances of saving Lyra were slim, his own survival was unlikely, but by the graces of luck and all things good, Feryl was going to put an end to that man's wretched life! With grim determination, he bounded up the narrow walls of an ally to reach the rooftops. From here he moved easily and with a speed that was so close to flying, he sprang over the narrow spaces between buildings, leapt over gables of home and merchant's shop, finding the path to Nekros undeterred.
Senses sharpened as he moved, adrenaline pumping through his body that had gained strength from weeks' with master Kendari. Anger focused his mind, fears abated. If ever a time to face Nekros, it would be this night!
I'm not coming back, he realized. A strange calm settled over the boy even as he ran across slated rooftops. Tonight, Feryl dies, but it will be a good death, a worthwhile death. More importantly, if my death ends Nekros' terror, then this is all worth it.
Accepting this fate, Feryl ran on.
We're reaching the crux of the story now. The plot thickens, and Feryl has accepted what needs to be done. This chapter illustrates the inner turmoil Feryl holds inside of himself. Apparently, Nekros is none too sure of his apprentice bringing the girl to him, so he takes matter in his own hands. Its also another trick he likes to use to keep the boy guessing.
Thanks for the reviews! )