Chapter 5: Sever

Rhydian blinked, his vision blurry. It felt as if time had slowed, he could hear his own shallow breathing and the rustling of some woodland creatures scampering behind him. The day was cloudy, as if a child had painted the sky with different shades of grey. Rhydian swayed, in an attempt to roll to his side, but immediately regretted the action as sharp pain radiated from his hips to his knees and his stomach cramped in such a violent way, worry flashed across his face that he might just vomit. Grimacing, he tried again. Growling through the pain, he used the momentum of his teetering to prop himself on his elbow. With another surge of determination, he shakily moved to a sitting position. Hunched over, and holding himself tight, he felt his biceps burn. If he had been looking in a mirror, he would have been mortified at the man staring back, his face caked with mud, his lips a deep chestnut from having eaten the still hardened earth. Flexing his jaw, he was edging toward crying out, but resisted as he didn't want to alert anyone nearby, having no clue as to where he was or how he got there.

Looking beside him was a large hole, messily dug. Turning over his hands, he found his nails chipped and his fingers stained with blood. Curling his toes, he shuddered. While he couldn't see them, he was certain they were mangled and cut. "Where am I?" he whispered, his throat unnaturally sore.

Hesitating to try sniffing the air around him, he finally acquiesced as he most definitely needed to know where he was currently. It smelled of mold, harsh and wet. It was dirt, still thawing from the unrestrained winter mixed with fallen pine. He snorted, flecks of crud shooting from his nostrils. On his second attempt of breathing in, his eyebrows knitted together, "Stoneybridge."

How'd I get here? He carefully examined his surroundings, and confirmed his guess, he was deep in the woods of Stoneybridge, maybe seven - eight miles from the edge of his family's home. He heaved and spit some more dirt out, missing the ground, he caught the bottom of his pants. Scrambling to come up with any memories how he managed to travel from the city back to the rolling outskirts of the quaint town, he came up short. It felt as if the answers were locked away, tauntingly close, but just out of his reach. As he slowly moved to all fours, and steadied himself, one foot planting itself firmly to the crunchy ground, he looked up and saw what had been haunting him, looming right behind.

The buried case.

Shuffling as he tested his balance, he looked from the hole to the stained leather trunk that looked menacing in the chilly March morning. Rhydian shakily reached a hand out and gently pushed on the trunk as if he expected to go through it like some type of mirage. It's not possible, he told himself.

It was then he noticed the dull ache in his jaw again, and the copper taste in his mouth, looking down at his jeans, there was a crimson flecks from when he had tried to spit. He touched his mouth and found it was bleeding the same shade that colored the buckles that were still clasped. At some point, unable to bite through them, he must have bit through the leather belts. Staring back at him was the very treasures he tried to bury and forget.

Rhydian wanted to scream but couldn't. Run but couldn't. Before he could stop it, stinging tears rolled down his filthy face.

Unable to gain anything more from staying, and knowing he needed help, he edged closer and carefully - against every muscle's will - carried the chest back with him to his parents' home.

Upon seeing the small garden that was recently tilled, he couldn't verbalize the immense joy he felt. The walk had been excruciating, and while he was angry at himself for running back home, running that distance in one night, blacking out, and digging that damn trunk up, he was thrilled to have not buried it any farther because he was sure he wouldn't have made it.

"Rhydian!" yelped Ceri, who had been preparing lunch when Rhydian helplessly dragged himself into the kitchen from the back door. He dropped the trunk unceremoniously onto the dining table, the contents rattling noisily inside. Flopping into the nearest chair, he closed his eyes, exhausted.

He could feel his mother quickly turn the knobs of the gas stove off and rush to him, her finger tips soft, but palms still hardened from working the garden and just keeping with some of the older ways of doing things. She touched his face and turned over his hands. He could hear the second to bottom step creak under her weight as she rush upstairs to retrieve her vials of Wild Wolfblood remedies.

She seemed to have collected a litany of supplies as he heard her lay out several bowls, the light thud of towels - he could still smell the lavender detergent they were washed in - and the unwrapping of the tattered leather-bound casing of different herbs and salves. "Who did this?" she pled, a warm rag gently pressed to his face and moved from his nose to his temples as she tried to wipe the dirt and blood from him.

"I did," he answered so quietly it was more mouthed than said.

"What?" she asked, her mind clearly more on his well-being than the conversation.

"I think . . ." he began more clearly, "I was the one that did this to myself."

He felt his mother still under his response, but just as quickly hasten to continue cleaning his face. Opening his eyes, he watched his mother pour something greenish with the consistency of pea soup into two soup bowls and place his hands in them to soak.

"Anything else hurt?" Her forehead was beaded with little droplets of perspiration and she dabbed at them distractedly with the back of her hand.

"My muscles feel as if they are on fire, and . . . " He thought of his feet, but if everything else could be looked at and treated, he would worry about them later. In truth, he just couldn't muster the energy to take the boots off. The less movement the better. "My muscles," he reiterated.

Rhydian sighed, he had been sitting in silence for some time as his mother left to hang the laundry on the line before returning to her cooking of lunch. Ceri found him where she left him, sitting, staring out the window with a pensive look on his face.

"Rhydian, I am your mother and I want to know what happened."

There was a hard look in her eyes that said he was not going to talk his way out of it or pull rank on her. With greater effort than he'd like, he let out a sigh and nodded his head slowly to show he wasn't going to put up a fight. "All I can say, is I think I'm the one that hurt myself. Though, I thought most Wolfbloods healed under the effects of a full moon."

"Not if they've been in a battle, it wouldn't have time, but you weren't in a fight," she commented, the last part sounding more a question than an affirmation.

"I . . . I can't remember a thing from last night." He looked at her imploringly for answers. "Has that ever happened before where a Wolfblood blackouts during a full moon?"

Ceri wrung her hands on the dish towel she was holding and looked from the large pot on the stove top, where a beef stew was simmering, to her son. "What do you have in there?" She pointed to the filthy chest perched in the center of her dining table. He gave a small jerk of his head, wincing at the movement, but unable to say anything. Ceri leaned over, throwing back the lid that speckled dry dirt about the clean table. She pulled out some items, his framed drawings of Maddy and he, a ticket from the local cinema, and a broken bracelet from a dance. She peered in, quickly taking in the remnants still inside.

Without needing to be probed, he offered, "I thought it was time to move on and to do so, I buried everything that tied back to that part of my life."

"That was a part of Maddy," she clarified. Feeling unbearably guilty as if he had buried her alive, all he could do was look away.

"I thought it would help me, make it final . . . I don't know . . ." he resigned with a sigh. Wiping his hands on a hand towel she left for him, he patted his hands absentmindedly. "I don't know a lot. Like what happened the last twelve hours."

Ceri considered the items in her hands, gently wiping the smudge on frame's glass. His coat sleeves were tattered and blanketed in debris, his entire backside damp from resting in the woods.

"I know you said it was time to move on . . ." Rhydian groaned at his mother's words, feeling a lecture percolating. She gave him a warning look and continued, "But I think . . . what you are trying to achieve is dangerous. This moving on," she sucked in a breath as if burned by the words, themselves, "It feels like it is doing more harm than good and . . ." her silence was unnerving like what she was coveting were so dangerous if merely said would cause irreversible damage and could not be contained.

He wanted to remind her that moving on was challenging, but once accepted by everyone, they would all be better. But he didn't get to voice any of it as as he heard voices in the distance, his father's and Bryn's.

He could see them walking the stone path that was slowly disappearing back into the ground like old runes.

"I need rest," he announced, rising gingerly from the table.

"You need a bath," she added, raising one eyebrow.

Letting way a nervous chuckle, "Right . . . shower then rest."

"Then dinner," she finished. Rhydian nodded, his mother blowing a kiss to him as if afraid she gave him one on the cheek he'd crumble.

Rhydian skewered another piece of steak and angrily bit down on it, grimacing at the immediate pain it brought. It came as no surprise that Laura didn't respond to his texts or calls nor had she sent any.

At some point while he was napping some one - his mother probably - had returned the small trunk to his bedroom. Yet, Rhydian couldn't stop starring at the corner of the table to which he dropped it several hours earlier. The evidence it had ever been in the kitchen had been cleaned after he had left to shower, yet, it felt as if the time capsule was ever present, joining them for supper. As if realizing he wasn't eating alone, he looked to his family. It was incredibly silent, awkwardly so, and Rhydian had no reservation that he was the reason. He gleaned a quick look at his father who seemed to be in a heavy conversation with his mother communicated only through quick glances at each other. Turning to his right, he jumped at the fact Bryn was staring at him, his brother's gaze boring into him as if he was judging his very character right then. Rhydian finished swallowing and quietly excused himself. As he entered the small hallway that led to his bedroom, he could hear them whispering.

Closing the door to hamper the sound of his family's discussion, Rhydian ventured over to the simple pine desk and opened the trunk again. Delicately he began unpacking the contents. He had only extracted a few items when there was a light wrapping at his door. Before he could answer, the visitor had let himself in. "'Ey," Gerwyn greeted. "Got a few?"

Rhydian gestured to the bed, pulling the desk chair out and sitting in it backwards. He rested his forearms on the high-back of it, and then laid his head on top of his arms. Gerwyn hesitated then saddled himself up to the side of the bed and grabbed for his ankle, tucking his leg in toward himself.

"Uh . . . " the older man began, pulling off his tweed cap to scratch his messy hair before returning his hat to his head. "Your mum and I been talkin', yah?" He cleared his throat. "What you went 'n told us - that just isn't natural, son."

"Yeah, I know that. Most people don't just lose their memory for twelve hours and during that time traverse a day's drive into the woods of some little town," he snorted, rolling his eyes.

"No, I mean . . . Wolfbloods don't have memory lapses, Rhydian," he clarified, and oddly the tone unnerved the Bradlington High graduate more than the actual statement.

"What do you mean?"

"Your mother would be more apt to explain this, it's more her thing to carry such understanding of the old ways."

As if on cue, Ceri floated into the room, startling both men. "I'm worried, Rhydian."

"But, why?"

"I don't think you had am-knee-she-ah," Ceri attempted, struggling to remember the Natural's term for memory loss. "What you described, I only read about in old tomes from the Elder of our Wild Wolfblood pack." She grimaced, clasping her hands. "I think your Wolf took over and an overtake such as this, for that long - is serious, love."

"Wha - what do you mean?" Rhydian asked, his voice rising.

"Wolfbloods who are at odds with themselves in where the human part of them and the wolf part of them are set on two different paths, will sever."

"Split apart?" He shot up and hissed at the knee-jerk reaction. He wanted to counter that her source was written by a people that believed in humans being the enemy and to be afraid of indoor plumbing, but he resisted because as his mother's eyes watered, she looked to have more to expound on him. "You can't - that . . . How are there two of me, I can't split myself in two."

Ceri shook her head. "You're right, one of you will lose - must lose."

"So what happens then?" He really didn't want to know, but he also didn't want to find out the hard way.

"Either you'll lose your mind to the Wolf, or you'll lose your Wolfblood abilities and become a Natural."

Rhydian sunk back onto the bed, suddenly struggling for air. He couldn't figure out if there was a lesser evil - to lose your mind and become the Wolf entirely ,or lose your abilities as a Wolfblood. To have that happen, would be like cutting off his right arm and carrying it around to taunt him of what he had. He let his head fall into his hands, "God, why me?"

As if the ultimatum wasn't bad enough, he definitely couldn't have a relationship with Laura if either happened - if that was even a possibility still.

"How do I fix it before I black out again and wind up in Canada?" he groaned, missing the glances exchanged by his parents.

"You have to figure out what has you fighting with yourself and resolve it . . . because the next time might be the last time."

Rhydian felt his stomach spasm and contort, her ominous words not missed. He had month.

It was rounding midnight and the only reason he knew the time was by the position of the moon. He let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing his face with his hands roughly. He sat up, the bed sagging under his weight, and looked about. He launched to his feet and paced for a minute or two before his eyes landed yet again - for the umpteenth time - on the desk that had his treasures messily unpacked on it. He sat back down on at the desk chair, his one arm looped around the back of it, as he clutched a framed picture of Maddy and he sitting at the green tables in the courtyard of their former high school. They were looking at each other, apparently in one of their many long talks. The wind was docile that day, and the sky the bluest of blues. He ached to jump through the thin glass and relive that moment.

The rustling of the door knob being twisted, pulled Rhydian from his reverie as he watched Bryn step inside. He was mostly through when he paused and knocked in a disjointed way. Rhydian sighed, at least he was trying to remember some of the manners he had watched of Tame Wolfbloods.

"Rough day," he started with a chortle.

Rhydian didn't placate at the attempt at humor and instead scowled.

Snatching the frame from his older brother. Bryn stared at it, as if searching for something greater within it. "I liked Maddy," he said offhandedly.

"No, you didn't!" Rhydian shot from his chair, careful to keep the pain of the movement hidden. "You were more than glad that I had left Stoneybridge."

"Yeah, but it really had nothin' to do wit' Maddy, you know?"

Rhydian extended his hand, wanting the picture back, his anger rising, watching his younger brother nonchalantly walk about his room like he owned it.

"She was pretty, not exotic-like, just pretty. From my understanding in crossing paths with Alric, she was a strong Alpha, not to be underestimated."

"Picture. Now," Rhydian commanded, gesticulating with his proffered hand for the item to be returned.

Not phased by the sudden ruffling of Rhydian's fur, Bryn quietly handed it back.

"What did you come in here for?" His anger simmering as he was relieved to have the picture returned.

Bryn's eyes rolled around the room, seeming to soak up every fissure where the foundation was settling and the walls were cracking, every speck of dust, and the gentle sway of the bushes outside the window. "I want to help."

Rhydian swallowed the insult lingering in his mouth and forced his nerves to settle. "I don't know how you can. I don't know if I can even help myself out right now."

"Sure, you can. You're no weakling. You're just a coward."

The word hadn't fully left Bryn's mouth, before Rhydian was face to face, mere inches between them, glowering. Yet, Bryn, who in his later years had a growth spurt and was slightly taller than Rhydian, didn't budge a millimeter. "Take it back," Rhydian demanded between clenched teeth.

"No," he returned with just as much intensity. Time seemed to pass slowly, and the only sound was the loud swallowing by Rhydian. "You are not going to hit me because I am right." The was a deadly silence that filled the room and seemed to squeeze itself in the little space between the brothers. "More importantly, you are lying to yourself about the reason you are having the blackouts." His face softening, worry starting to puddle in his dark, chestnut irises. "Let me help. I don't want to lose my brother more than I have already," Bryn finished. It felt like his heart seized up, and it took a second before Rhydian could process anything. Slowly he nodded, returning to the desk chair that was left vacant. "We need to find out what happened to Maddy. Good or bad," Bryn said aloud, bringing to light the very thing Rhydian wished desperately to keep hidden away.

"How? It's been ten years."

"With help." Bryn reached behind Rhydian and handed him his cellphone. "Call the Na - Shannon," he instructed, pointing at the device. Rhydian took the phone reluctantly from Bryn, and started scrolling for Shannon's name in his phonebook. "Grovel, if you have to," Bryn clarified, as if it was needed.

Rhydian pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, yeah, I know, Bryn. I got it, mate." And he did. Though, groveling would be the least he would probably have to do, if he wanted help and possibly forgiveness from the one, Shannon Kelly-Okanawe.

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