Chapter 111
Long after the others had retired for the night, Taran lay awake, staring out his window in silent thought. He had convinced Dalben to go to bed, assuring him that if the pain got too bad he would call for him. But even if he were not in pain, sleep would still be out of the question for Taran after today, and although the cottage was quiet, he doubted the others were sleeping either.
His mind was a whirlpool of overwhelming thoughts that were racing over each other so swiftly he couldn't even begin to straighten them out, but overlapping all of them was the horrific image of his very worst nightmare come to life.
The Horned King was back.
'I hate you.'
Taran had guessed that already, but hearing the words out loud drove them home like nothing he had ever heard before.
The Horned King had nearly killed him. He would have if Avalina had not intervened when she did. And in the tiniest area of his mind, Taran was horrified when he came to the conclusion that the lich had every right to murder him.
Taran had destroyed the entirety of the Horned King's plans, his goals, and then the lich himself, all in one fell swoop. It was easy to see how the Horned King would want revenge on him. Everything that heartless monster had held of any value had been stripped from him, in one day. Not by an army, not by a warrior, and not even by a mage. But a pig-keeper. An *assistant* pig-keeper, to be precise.
There was rarely a night that Taran did not jump awake in the darkness, his heart pumping in terror, feeling the Horned King gripping him, or seeing those murderous eyes, or fancying he sensed the lich in the room with him, or hearing his death scream. . .
That scream.
Taran shuddered, wincing as his ribs shifted slightly with the movement.
That scream was the most unworldly, ear-shattering sound Taran had ever heard in his life. The agony in it was gut-wrenching, and he felt as if his heart was being torn out of his chest every time he heard it.
Even worse than the fleeting visions of the Horned King that lingered in the back of his mind and started him awake almost immediately were the nightmares. Nightmares he could never wake from no matter how often he tried. Not until they had played themselves out to their fullest.
Always the same one, it was. It never varied. A constant, incessant replay of he and the Horned King's final confrontation in the bowels of the castle. It played out exactly the same, every time. No variance to what had actually happened at all. Nothing added on, nothing taken off.
The worst part of it was that scream. And *watching* the Horned King die. Taran could only stare, completely frozen, as the lich was torn to pieces, skinned alive in the truest sense of the word, dragged into the Cauldron one piece at a time. The monster's flesh coming right off his bones, which glowed sickeningly white in the chamber. . .
It didn't matter if Taran tried to run away. He was always frozen to the spot. He had tried innumerable times to close his eyes or cover his ears, so he wouldn't have to see that, hear that, all over again, but his dream self would never cooperate for him and obey.
Taran heard every bit of the monster's agony in that scream. Every last bit of his rage. His panic. Even his fear. Taran had never believed the Horned King to be afraid of anything, but after seeing the same nightmare for months on end, he noticed things he hadn't noticed before.
How there was desperate defiance in the Horned King's voice as he declared the Cauldron would never have him, how his voice changed as he realized he was going to die, as he cursed the Cauldron. Or Taran. Maybe it was both of them. . .before pleading in horrified terror, and then. . .
The Horned King's scream rang inside Taran's head again and he shook, feeling the small bite of food he had eaten earlier push against the back of his throat warningly, the images of the Horned King being ripped to pieces flashing before his eyes again.
And now, the Horned King was back. Taran's terror of him had compounded over the months instead of fading, whereas everyone else's seemed to have dulled as they moved on with their lives. And it frustrated Taran that he could not. He had slept since the incident, but there was no rest in it and it was an act he dreaded more with every passing night, because he knew what awaited him every time he closed his eyes.
He had mentioned nothing of the nightmares to anyone, but he had a feeling Dalben knew. Possibly Eilonwy as well.
His first thought upon seeing the Horned King alive and whole again had ignited the terror inside him that had been stocking up on fuel for months. He had fully expected the Horned King to deal him the exact same treatment the Cauldron had given the lich. The look in the Horned King's eyes as he seemed to stare right into Taran's soul had certainly suggested that.
Taran had wished and prayed and begged for the nightmares to leave him, but they had not. They were driving him crazy, and he was terrified at the thought of having to live with these hideous things for the rest of his life.
He wanted rid of them. More than anything else. He wanted them *gone.* They had gotten to him so badly that he had begun wishing he had never wanted to be a warrior. He would never say it out loud, but he wished with all his heart someone else had done the grisly job.
'But no one else *could* have done what I did,' he thought.
'I was the only one who could stop the Horned King, and even that was simply chance. Pure luck. The circumstances lined up just right for me to defeat him. The odds of that happening to another person were next to nothing.'
As his nightmares tolled on him, he was horrified to realize a very great deal of him was wishing he had never killed the Horned King.
This only gave him more conflict and made him feel even more guilt-ridden. If he hadn't killed him, the entire world would have been eradicated by the Horned King and his undead army. There wouldn't be a single living creature left. Taran had told himself this over and over in an attempt to reconvince himself he had done the right thing, but the thought that kept cropping up no matter how often he tried to smother it was the fact that he wished he had never done it. The castle had a dungeon, surely he could have figured out a way to trap the Horned King in there and alert the King of Prydain to assign soldiers all around. . .maybe then have someone else execute the monster, as long as it didn't involve him. . .
Thinking back over every possible option that would have bypassed these aftereffects, Taran had regretfully begun wishing he had managed to throw himself into the Cauldron before Gurgi beat him to the punch and sacrificed himself. At least then if he was dead he wouldn't have to put up with the constant nightmares.
Taran was most conflicted over this scenario. He had been ready to die then, knowing it to be the only way to stop the Horned King and bring peace to Prydain. But now, every time he thought of death, he felt afraid. He had been afraid before, a little. But now, his fear of dying increased more with every passing night, watching the Horned King's demise, over and over and over again. . .
'The Horned King was a murderer and he had gotten what he deserved,' Taran had tried to reassure himself countless times, but if the Horned King was a murderer, then what did that make Taran?
'It's completely different!' Taran argued with himself.
'The Horned King is heartless. He had to be destroyed somehow, and if I didn't do it, who would have?'
So far, that paranoid voice in his head had not replied to that, but he knew it was only a matter of time. The main question weighing on his mind that outshone all the others was this.
If the Horned King was a murderer and died in the most horrific way possible, what sort of end would Taran meet?
His ribs shifted as he shivered at the thought, and he stiffened in pain, gritting his teeth to keep from crying out. He wished he had accepted Dalben's offer of an extra dose of painkiller, but there was no way he was calling for Dalben, although he doubted the other was asleep. Taran was a man, he could handle this. . .
Absently, he twisted a torn strip of Avalina's riding cloak between his fingers, one that had fallen off on the way here and he had stuffed it in his pocket, forgetting about it til Dalben was helping him to bed.
He couldn't see anything in the darkness of the cottage, but he could feel the rough, raveling edges of the cloth, (that he remembered was black in color) contrasting with the smoother, slightly softer sides.
He hoped with all his heart she was alright. She looked terrible, but he distinctly remembered that she had been uninjured the first time he had lain eyes on her today. The Horned King must have struck her when she tried to interfere.
How could she stand there in front of Taran and defend that monster, after everything he had done? Taran didn't understand. Hen-Wen's visions had shown him everything that Avalina said was the truth, but Taran could simply not take it in.
The Horned King was what happened when Evil itself took a form. Every move or act he made reflected this. The vision Hen-Wen had shown them of that monster and Avalina standing together nearly made Taran nauseous. She was so fragile, so beautiful, and he was so. . .hideous and wicked. . .
Taran couldn't believe what he had seen. But he had nothing else to believe that had such proof behind it. There was no denying what Hen-Wen had shown him. And the lich had spared his life today, when he could have so easily killed him and Eilonwy both. That was something Taran had never expected him to do. The Horned King never spared anyone.
But he had spared them, at Avalina's urging. And. . .she had been his prisoner for months, so how was she still alive?
This was a rarity never even heard of. The Horned King not only taking a prisoner, but keeping one.
Taran knew there was much Hen-Wen had not shown them, and despite his horror at the entire circumstances, he couldn't help but be eaten up with curiosity about what he didn't know. He had so many questions. . .why had the Horned King spared her? How did he come back? Why hadn't he started waging war with Prydain again in some way?
The boy wished he knew the answers to those questions. He wished he could band a small army together to go and rescue Avalina. But he could do nothing without endangering Avalina.
Taran yawned, his rampant thoughts exhausting him. He didn't want to sleep. He knew what waited for him. But he could do nothing about that either.
"Well?" The Horned King growled, staring in the direction of his chamber door, which had just opened.
"Sire, I'm afraid she has a concussion," the Invisible reported.
"You hit her very hard. A little bit harder, or a little lower or higher, and you would have killed her. She's very lucky."
The Horned King felt that painful weight in his chest increase, although he did not know the reason why. Avalina could have told him what it was, but she couldn't right now. . .
"How bad?" The lich demanded.
"The usual. Killer headache, blurry vision, dizziness, can't walk properly, she reacts to every ray of light or sound like it knifed her. But she could be worse."
His chest felt heavier with every syllable the Invisible spoke.
"On the upside, she's not dead and there seems to be no permanent damage from what we can tell. It's difficult to gauge at this point, however. We're having to keep her awake for a while just to make sure."
The Horned King's voice was little more than a snarl.
"You will report to me daily on her condition and inform me immediately of any changes."
"Yes, your Majesty."
The door closed.
His eyes flashed red as the rage that had been steadily building inside him since the incident threatened to overtake him, but he clenched his fists and strode to the window, staring out into the black.
How could he have allowed the boy to escape? How? That insufferable brat had been *right there* and he had let him go. *What* had he been thinking?
He snarled out loud in fury. How could he have let that boy escape? How could he? He had stood there, right in front of him, and the lich had lost his chance to unleash all of his hatred on that damnable pig-keeper and make him suffer for everything he had done, and everything the Horned King would suffer for when his time was up.
All because she had begged him not to.
No. It had nothing to do with her. He had been a fool to listen to her. It had been *him.* He had held power over everyone in the entire clearing. He didn't have to listen to her. He could have ignored her. He *should* have ignored her. He could have batted her aside as easily as a feather. So why hadn't he?
The Horned King snarled out loud again at this realization, his fists clenched in fury.
He wanted to hate Avalina for stopping him. He was furious at her for it, but since when did the Horned King listen to anyone other than himself? It was his own fault he had let the pig-keeper escape. He was the one solely to blame. He could have killed the boy. He *should* have killed him.
He knew he would never have another chance to unleash his vengeance on the pig-keeper. Never. That had been a once-in-a-thousand chance meeting, and he had let it pass him by. *Why* had he let it pass? He had allowed his own murderer to escape before his eyes, when the boy's fate lay right in the Horned King's hands.
And now, the Horned King wanted nothing more than to go back in time and rip that pig-keeper limb from limb. He should have when he had the chance.
Snarling in rage, he gripped the window sill so tightly his claws left indentations in the stone, scarcely able to control himself.
He hated that boy. Oh, how he hated him! His desire to torture the boy to death knew no bounds.
But he had passed up his chance to do so. And he was furious with himself because of it.
The faint breeze that had been ruffling his robe suddenly picked up, the wind giving a faint howl as a cold blast of air swept into the room.
The Horned King scarcely heeded it, his eyes glowing like coals out into the night, no words available to express the raging hatred that consumed him.
A conversation between me and one of my editors upon ending this chapter.
Her: "Temper, Spiky, temper...count to ten, now, you'll feel better. *ducks*"
Me: "Feel better, indeed. XD"
Her: "Twenty then. XDXDXDXD"
Me: "Better yet, don't give him a limit. Just let him count til he cools off, which by my calculations should take about...ten years. LOL!"
Her: "And how high would that be, does he get bathroom breaks? XD"
Me: "If he counted incessantly at the rate of one number per second, let's see...60 seconds in a minute, 60 minutes in an hour, 24 hours in a day, 365 days in a year, multiplied by ten, so...he'd count to 315,360,000. Not counting bathroom breaks or leap years. XDXDXDXD"
Her: "He's going to be thirsty. XD"
Me: "LOL I know, right? But if it takes his mind off Taran...XD"
Her: "It'll take his mind on a trip to the loony bin. xDXD"
Me: "NUMBERS! 0_0"
Her: "What?"
Me: "NUMBERS EVERYWHERE! 0_0 (That's all he'll be able to say when he's checked in.) LOL!"
Her: "ROFL!"
Reviews much appreciated y'all! :D