Oh my. It's been a doozy of a few weeks. o.O* But, for better or for worse, here is the next part. =)
P.S. - A big, enthusiastic thank you to all those who reviewed and replied to my question concerning Vanyel's spell! You were all very, very helpful, and enough of the events have been jogged out of my memory, I think, for me to rewrite the scene a little more confidently. sighs Perhaps, in the future, to save me from sounding like a broken record, would you all accept cookies in lieu of repeated thanks?
And, once again, individual replies to some of the reviews have been appended to the bottom.
The Words Between - part 8
Any winds tonight would have been nothing short of biting, and rain might very well have come down as the first snow of the season. So Kyn thanked whatever deity was left who might still be looking down on him favorably that neither were present, with him in only a short, light coat in the middle of the city. In order to reach the back of the Moon Lady's Inn after his last class and before the duke habitually retired to his room, he had had no time to return to his own room for his cloak, the garment forgotten at the day's beginning after a restless night's sleep.
He had to be sure the duke was following his usual pattern tonight. He had to be sure that the duke would return to the inn promptly at sunset, take his supper, and then move to his room to read, write missives, or any of half a dozen other tasks that he had habitually indulged in just before sleep. Today was the sixth day of the duke's stay, and according to Brin after their second meeting, Se'Fannouel's business in the capitol had all been completed. Kyn could not depend on Minnefei's charm keeping the duke any longer than the man had planned - if the girl wished him to stay longer at all, which was questionable at best from her increasingly sour moods after each encounter with her father - and if Kyn was to act, it had to be tonight.
There. Lamps were lit in the third room from the right rear corner of the inn on the first floor, the soft yellow light increasing by turns as someone - most likely Roald, the manservant - touched the wicks of all four lamps with a smoldering taper, turning them up to their highest intensity. Figures passed before the window - there, the duke, and then there, Roald - before the curtains were drawn across, hiding everything but for a soft, rectangular glow outlining the window's casement where the cloth couldn't reach. Satisfied, Kyn pushed away from the wall he had been leaning against, lengthened his strides into a jog, and began to make his way further into the western quarter, pacing the by-now familiar alleys with eyes and nose alert for a particular man-sized bundle or dizzyingly sweet scent.
Tonight was also the time in which he was supposed to meet with Master, a fact that he had viewed with mixed apprehension and relief. He could tell Master what he had Seen, and Master would tell him in turn what he had to do. The burden of the decision would no longer be upon him. And yet...what if Master decided against killing the duke? Kyn knew he should not be pondering the subject so much, that he was yet again committing the sin of trying to predict everything, of letting his thoughts wander and cloud his purpose with suppositions and scenarios and arguments. But he had to admit to himself that Master might have other plans, plans which - for the first time in his life - he might object to. If the duke were permitted to live beyond this night, he might leave in the morning. And if he left in the morning, Kyn would not be able to follow. He held no illusions about the slackened observation provided by the Heralds and Companions over the last months - he would never be allowed to leave the capitol.
And if he didn't kill the duke, the duke would kill him. He had pored over the tantalizing glimpses he had been given in the daytime, and his dreams had been haunted by similar images every night.
There had been a grand hall, draped with the unstirring banners and tapestries of families and clans, steeped in a tradition and history that mocked him with his lack of past or blood relation, as shallow and transient as a rain puddle against a mountain lake. Household staff and Heralds, guardsmen and lordlings, had been herded like stock through long corridors, lured with the illusion of escape while the shadows gathered ever more thickly around the flickering edges of guttering torchlight. Shadows were ever-present; shadows that thought, that hungered, that moved of their own volition to reach longingly for the terror they could sense, already tasting the pain they could inflict. And circles carved within circles carved within circles, arcane symbols of slashing strokes and jagged edges, worn from time and feet and embedded in the very stones, and standing within them...
The duke. With a genteel smile on his face, and false words of regret on his tongue. Wielding a cold, cold blade that carved into Kyn's flesh.
Kyn told himself that he did not fear the duke, who hid himself behind a veneer of civilization and high society, almost ghastly in the contrast between seeming and truth. He insisted that he did not fear the knife, when his first instructor in blades had purposely slid a whetted edge across his arm to teach him its touch. He had long believed that he did not fear death, when nothing but his assignment's completion and Master's bidding had ever held him to life. He would have no regrets to hold him back if it were to abruptly end.
But of what came after death? For himself, for Master, for others? He feared what might be able to follow him past that barrier, especially with the presence of the sentient shadows - already cheerfully flaunting the laws of nature - hovering near and biding their time as if knowing he would not be able to escape, either physically or through death. He feared what might become of Master, who had stood in direct opposition to the duke, with no one to guard his crippled shell while his attention and intellect was turned elsewhere. He feared. With a gut-clenching breath-stealing dread that he had rarely experienced, and which seemed to have managed to become a near-constant companion in the last few days.
Enough! There was no use thinking on such things; it was either too early to tell how they would come to be, or the entire matter would become moot when the duke died. Master was right. All his doubts, all of his mental agony, came from thinking too much. Kyn straightened, back stiffening, chin rising. He would let it all go. Follow blindly as he had in the past. Why sink himself in a morass of circular logic when Master would sweep it all away in the space of a few, decisive words?
It wasn't until he had forcefully set aside all his musings that he slowly realized he had nearly reached the city's outer gates. Stopping, he turned to look behind him, a frown forming on his face. Had he missed an alley? Overlooked some sign of Master's presence in his preoccupation? Trepidation shortening his breath, he hurried through the last few feet, looking up and down the side street to be sure, and then began to retrace his steps.
A quarter of a candlemark later, he let the doubt set in. Or rather, he finally acknowledged the doubt and anxiety that had been hovering in the pit of his stomach ever since he realized that the usual time for the meeting had long passed.
Master wasn't here tonight. There would be no meeting. Why? Kyn stumbled to a halt, blindly staring at the facing wall of a T-intersection. Why had Master not come? What was he to do now? Was it worth risking Master's wrath if Kyn killed the duke and Master still had need of the man? Surely, from the vision, Master was strictly opposed to the duke? What am I supposed to do?!
Breathe. He closed his eyes, sucked in a sharp breath, and held it, consciously retaking control of his body from the rising confusion. Releasing the air again with a soft hiss, he rolled his shoulders, looking around with a clearer gaze, and instinct pushing him to move though he had no clear idea as to what to do next, his hindbrain insisting that he should not remain in one place for too long when visiting uncertain territory, especially with the night deepening. More lights than usual dotted windows and outlined doorways, people still adjusting to the unusually rapid onset of darkness with winter's coming. Nevertheless, it had already grown noticeably 'quieter' as those who functioned strictly with the daylight - or were conservative of lamp oil and candles - took to bed, leaving only the subdued murmurs of a city that hadn't quite acknowledged the dreamlord's influence yet.
It had been two candlemarks since he had left off his observation of the inn. Another one at most, and he knew with absolute certainty the duke would be in bed and all the lamps snuffed. Only half a candlemark later, and the inn itself would close its doors, one of the few that could afford the luxury of ignoring potential customers in the middle of the night for the sake of a night's uninterrupted slumber.
He finally decided that the opportunity was too perfect, the consequences too dire for him to ignore. And shouldn't he take the initiative, if the circumstances were right? He had been trained to act as an independent agent, to improvise with need, given just as rigorous a course in scholastic subjects as the physical for that very purpose - his mind was to be used in the absence of any other presiding figure, and as such, should be honed just as any other tool. That was what Master would want, right?
Or had it been the Heralds?
Grimacing, he kept his eyes focused grimly before him, resolutely thinking of nothing at all as his feet automatically carried him back to the inn's front, stopping just within the shadows pooling between buildings. There he stayed, never turning away from the Moon Lady's facade until lamps and candles within were gradually extinguished, one after the other. When the level of illumination had died to about what might be expected from only two or three remaining sources, he tugged the coat closed around him, stuffed the hem of his tunic into his pants edge to keep it out of sight, and then hurriedly sprinted across the street to knock demandingly on the door.
There was an irritated grumble in direct response, a low, husky woman's voice calling out, "Hush it, or I'll send you to the havens m'self for waking up the paying customers!"
"I was delayed on an errand," he called back, pitching his voice a touch higher than its usual octave, hunching down so that he appeared smaller and hoping that the poor lighting and the coat would cover the telltale uniform of a trainee. The pants alone were generic enough that any boy could have sported them outside the collegium grounds, and the tunic and shirt itself were now out of sight. "Let me in! The master'll be lookin' fer me!"
More grumbling, in which the sounds of a latch being fumbled with were heard on the other side and the door abruptly pulled open. A slender, rather well-shaped woman - even if her features weren't particularly pleasant on the eyes - leaned out to squint suspiciously at him, raising up a candle in its holder to complement the wan light from the street lamps. "And what sort of errand would send a boy out halfway through the night, hm? I've a mind to just leave you out here for your master to find. Maybe then you'll get the thrashing you deserve for all the racket you're raisin'!"
Kyn sniffed, rubbing his nose against his shoulder - in the same process, ducking his head away from the spill of light, no matter how dim - and shifted agitatedly from one foot to the other. "That'd be my master's bizness," he muttered. "And I wouldn't've caused such a ruckus if you'd just let me in, right? You haven't even locked the place up yet! M'lord's payin' good money for the rooms - "
The proprietress blew out a frustrated breath and abruptly withdrew from the doorway, swinging the bronze-strapped, one-piece oak door aside with her so that a space just big enough to admit him was revealed. "All right, y'scamp! Just move yourself straight to your master's rooms - and if I hear one more peep out of you, I'll toss you out on the middens heap behind the kitchen m'self, y'hear?"
He didn't wait for a second invitation, and pushed his way past almost before the woman had started speaking. The main room in which customers were invited to sit and eat or drink was flanked by two stairs on either side, underneath which was a hallway each leading to the rooms on the first floor, all centered about a wide fireplace overhung by a pastoral scene by a local painter who had won himself no little renown over the last few years. Perfectly symmetrical, everything was scrubbed and oiled until wood glowed with a satiny finish and brass winked coyly at even the most timorous glance of light. The Moon Lady catered to only a certain class of society, and she was not shy about letting this be known.
Kyn took only enough time to gain a general knowledge of the layout before ducking into the nearest passageway to the left, more concerned with appearing as if he knew where he was going than in actually finding his way yet. One more turn to the right, and then he stopped, tilting his head and holding his breath as he listened for the proprietress' movements. There were sounds of bottles clinking, knickknacks being straightened or moved around, and then the shuffle of slippers that headed across the room and started up one set of stairs. He counted slowly to thirty beneath his breath before letting some of the tension drain from his shoulders, loosening them with a shrug as he looked around.
From the constant movement of supplies, trash, and personnel in and out of the kitchens throughout the day, he knew they were in the back. While elaborate in design and decoration, the Moon Lady was relatively small, and so he began loping farther down the corridor he was in, confident in the fact that the inn's layout couldn't be too complicated if rooms and passageways were to all fit inside its boundaries. Intuition proved correct where specific experience was lacking, and the free-swinging double-doors that allowed servers to pass through with both hands filled by laden trays soon came into sight. They were unsecured - perhaps to allow guests suffering from insomnia to retrieve a late-night snack should the urge come to them? Still, he fully expected the back door leading out into the alleys to be locked; it should not be so unusual for the inner ones to be left open in that case. Even if the owners were worried about the silverware, considering the Moon Lady's clientele, either it would have been preposterous to accuse a customer of filching them, or financially and socially damaging. There were also plenty of opportunities for any of a customer's entourage to sneak a fork or spoon into a pocket throughout the day, when mealtimes were served according to an occupants' whim without worrying about after-hours thieving. The matter rationalized to his satisfaction, he eased himself through while minimizing the swing of the pinewood slabs afterwards, immediately stopping when he found himself in nearly complete darkness. The corridors had been punctuated by the occasional window, allowing the half moon's light or the street's illumination to find its way in. But here, there was only the faintest of glows filtering in around the curtained windows on the far side.
Still, it might be enough, as Kyn took his time examining the silhouettes of scores of racks, shelves, storage bins and all the accoutrements that they held packed all around him. Sliding one foot gingerly before the other, he let his hands slide gently across the counter space, flutter over a wall mount, hesitate on the knobs of a line of drawers. Yes, there...his fingertips slid across the familiar feel of cool metal, flat and smooth, tapering down to a sharpened edge. First choice was too unwieldy. The second and third too small and too thin. But the fourth...the fourth would do. Sliding it carefully from its setting, he hefted its weight and tested its sharpness all along its length before carefully stepping back the way he had come.
Outside, he took a long look down either end of the corridor, reorienting himself in relation to the duke's room. There was the briefest hint of hesitation, the beginnings of a doubt that he ruthlessly squashed. There was no room for either when on assignment. Shifting his hold on the knife, camouflaging its length along the inside of his forearm in a reversed grip, he walked casually down the hall, turning the corner and counting the doors from there to the one that would lead to Se'Fannouel's. Standing right before it, he tilted his head, held his breath, and listened.
Twenty heartbeats. Thirty. Fifty.
When a full minute had gone by with no sounds detectable, Kyn released the air he had been holding, reached out, and took a hold of the door's ornate brass handle. He paused at the unexpectedly warm feel of it, its slick, polished surface feeling almost wet to his touch, reminding him uncomfortably of blood -
Blinking, he shook himself, unsettled enough to actually look down and check that the surface of the bronze metal was indeed unmarred. As soon as he did, he silently berated himself for such superstitious foolishness, all the more vindicated when the spell seemed to be broken and the alloy felt as chilly as it should be. Irritated at himself and the duke for putting him into such a state, he pushed the door in without a second thought and slid inside.
Only then did he wonder why the door had not been locked.
Only then did he wonder if the odd sensation when he had taken a hold of the handle was actually a premonition.
Only then did he wonder if, perhaps, he should be less worried about failing in his self-appointed assignment, than of ambush.
"Did you really think you could come within thirty feet of me without my noticing?"
Kyn's breath froze in his chest at the softly uttered words, his hand tightening on the haft of the knife though he dared not move anything else as his eyes frantically searched the corner from which the duke had spoken.
The man unfolded himself leisurely from the seat he had dragged into the far end of the room, setting a closed book on the edge of the desk nearby. The man loved his posturing, holding on to a book in the dark. "Really, I do wonder if something other than just his looks was damaged. Jenner was always so fastidious with the details; it's unlike him to forget something as simple as this."
Kyn edged back a step. He couldn't help himself. The duke had known he was coming...had he been mistaken? Were the visions pointing at now, rather than some vague moment in the far future?
"Not one for words, are you, boy? But I suppose you wouldn't be. Jenner never did take interruptions well." Se'Fannouel took three measured steps toward him, stopping as soon as Kyn drew back. In the dim landscape of flattened silhouettes produced by what moonlight managed to creep around the curtains, he had to depend on his ears more than his eyes for what moods the duke might be in. "Why are you here?" Se'Fannouel asked, either impatient or looking to provoke a response. "I would have thought he had given up by now. He really shouldn't waste his remaining years on a silly vendetta like this."
Kyn resisted the urge to ask what the duke was speaking of, to ask if the duke had mistaken him for someone else or if Jenner really was who Kyn thought he was. Concentrate on the assignment...let Se'Fannouel talk and distract himself. All Kyn needed was one unguarded moment...two steps closer, and a moment of inattention...
The man slid another foot nearer. "Answer me." Impatience had wound itself through the arrogance. "What does Jenner want? I dispatched his first two pets over a decade ago and barely noticed the attempts. He should know by now it is futile."
"Pets?" The word was drawn from him involuntarily, and Kyn bit his tongue sharply enough to make his eyes prickle at the small pang.
A thoughtless motion of the hand brushed the subject aside. "Your predecessors, you might call them. Jenner has been playing this game for a very long time, and quite frankly, it is beginning to bore me."
No distractions...no distractions...ignore the little morsels of information being scattered about like so much chaff and remember why he was here...
The shadow of the duke's head tilted. "But you are different somehow. I do not know why yet..." He took the last step forward that Kyn had been waiting for. "But I am going to find out."
And as the sound of the last syllable had yet to slip from the man's lips, Kyn lunged forward, snapping the knife blade out in a curving arc aimed for the duke's throat.
Except...something happened. There was the briefest of moments in which his vision went white - or was it black? - and suddenly, he realized he was staring up at the room's ceiling. He tensed - or tried to. He felt the ghostly sensations of a rug beneath his back, the hard knots of tassels and then the un-giving wood-paneled floor. He received the vague impression of the fingers of his right hand being pried at, a weight lifted from it...the knife! The duke had taken the knife! And when he tried to gasp, eyes growing wide...he suddenly realized that he was completely helpless. Everything felt as disconnected and...'uncomfortable' as if his body was a set of ill-fitting clothes he had borrowed from someone else. The pitiful attempt he made to retain possession of the makeshift weapon resulted in a soft thumping sound as his fingers curled convulsively and the limb thudded against the floor in confusion, and someone else's hand pressed it down with surprising gentleness.
"Now do you see?" Se'Fannouel whispered, Kyn squirming uselessly when the duke's voice sounded but a few inches from his left ear. Turning his head laboriously, he could see the man crouched beside him, peering down with an expression of - curiosity? - that could barely be made out in the dimness of the room. "Jenner truly has taken leave of what senses he had left, sending you to me. Using Vinsen's progeny, those of his blood? It puts you directly into my hands as nothing else can." With economical swiftness, Se'Fannouel lifted Kyn's right hand, pulling back the coat and shirt sleeves to bare the wrist and forearm, and wielded the kitchen knife like a seasoned butcher. Kyn barely felt the edge's kiss that sliced skin next to and across old scars, blood dark as ink welling up immediately like oil slick on the surface of a marsh. The duke shifted his grip, dipped his fingers in the sluggish stream, and then touched them to Kyn's forehead, murmuring something with a lilting, liquid accent.
Jenner. Vinsen. Progeny and pets. The names and terms swam in Kyn's head as he struggled to rouse himself, staring at the shadow hunched over him, trying to stifle the shrill voice of panic and largely succeeding until he felt a tentative touch - but not on his skin. Somewhere inside, where only himself and Sianni resided. This time, the cry rose unimpeded as a strangled croak while he tried to squirm away in unreasoning terror, scrabbling for something, anything, mentally or physically, that would bar that intrusion. No! Stop - get out! he snarled, grasping for the lessons he had tried so hard to learn but which had stubbornly eluded him, as they eluded him now when he most had need for them, leaving him vulnerable to that alien touch.
"There is no use in your struggle, Kyn Mrr'Thaine. Save your strength," the duke murmured in a preoccupied tone, and still that touch persisted, grew more concrete even, nosing through his thoughts like a blind, searching worm.
No! he howled, in his desperation turning to the one source that he had consistently shunned until now. Sianni!
"She can not help you," Se'Fannouel's implacably calm voice overrode his thoughts. "You waited too long, Mrr'Thaineson; what defenses you had were laughable. There is no one who can hear you now except for me, so you might as well relax and save yourself some discomfort."
"Nuh - " he tried to speak, but his tongue and mouth behaved as foolishly as his limbs had, and he gave up the effort in favor of sending his darkest glare toward the man. No. It can't end like this. It's not supposed to happen this way.
"Oh really?" The purr seemed to shiver through his very skin, oddly doubled in his ears and in his head, an almost sensuous musing that curled around his mind and batted playfully at some stray memory that wandered through the psychic landscape. "And would you care to elaborate...ah, yes, here we are. Most intriguing, what Jenner has done; he has certainly grown more imaginative with each attempt and failure. I wonder how much of what he has done has been revealed to you? Did you know your precognitive abilities were induced at least eight years before they were to emerge on their own, perhaps even more? But that little fact carries but limited shock value - perhaps this path will produce something truly exciting..."
No more. He couldn't stand it any longer, that hypnotically low voice sneaking into his ears and pouring into his head until he felt it would either burst from the number of minds being stuffed inside, or he would be subsumed completely in the peremptory rearrangement of his thoughts. The extra presence licked at the corner of a voice he half-remembered, nuzzled a strong and heady scent that he both detested and cherished, played with the sensation and comfort of holding a properly weighted knife. He had no shields, no defense. He had no route of escape. The only choice left to him was to endure, but he couldn't endure this anymore, not the rake of insubstantial tines through his memories that unearthed dark and secret things to squirm helplessly in the open.
Endure. Or retreat. Retreat and regroup, evaluate and revise one's strategies before making another attempt. But to where? Where did someone retreat to when they were trying to run away from what amounted to themselves? There must be a place - he cringed as the curious, questing probe followed after his spark of consciousness, riffling through the images left in its wake without compunction - there must be a haven, a sanctuary, there always was...he just had to look harder, think, throw the right combination of pieces together and let his Gift move them into place...
The garden suddenly came to him. There was a pause, and he distantly heard the duke's murmured, "And what's this...?"
No! Not there...he must not be allowed in there! But how was he to bar the duke's entrance? Bar him from...the pond. It was the pond, that he most needed to save, and in turn, the pond would save him.
Frantic, feeling the duke's touch already brushing his shoulders, he crashed through the vegetation, did not know if he merely ignored the sting of branches slapping against him in his pell-mell rush, or if they were as substance-less as he was in this illusory world. A world within myself. A world created by me. As the pond suddenly revealed itself in a reluctant retreat of scraggly twigs and spicy evergreen needles, he cradled the precious thoughts close, nursing them along with a stubborn sense that this was not right. I am being routed within my own mind! He invades and I can do nothing but run!
He thought his fingers might have twitched, out there in the real world. Curled into a tight fist of indignation, perhaps. But he spared little more thought for investigating the matter as he continued his headlong sprint straight for the pond, gathered himself when he was one step away, and launched himself straight toward its center when his toes curved over the lip of a little hummock overhanging the mirror surface. There was no grace in the dive, just speed and necessity, and though he felt the shock of relative cold as he would expect the shadowed waters to feel, he could not quite hold on to the feeling of wetness that should come with the immersion. Just another detail to ponder in less trying times, a delightful little mystery that he could pick over if he found himself dangerously idle. As for the moment...
He twisted himself around with the languid fluidity of a fish, finding himself suspended easily within the medium as if he had no buoyancy beyond that which balanced him perfectly just beneath the surface, with as little need for air as a stone tossed inside, staring up at the sky and the fringe of plants around the edges through the pond's perfectly still surface. Its equanimity was unmarred by his entrance. Silence...peace...haven...
Something touched the pond's edge. Tasted the water, and complained to itself about the dark and wet and the temptation of memories to pilfer. Kyn's eyes narrowed.
It started as a muffled crackle, a skitter of hoarfrost across the pond's originally flawless face. But then, finding confidence in this little evidence of his newfound control, Kyn drew his hand in a wide sweep before him, palm out, as if wiping away an unsightly vision.
And the pond abruptly froze over with a sharp crack! - a foot-thick barrier between himself and the intruding presence. Smug and safe, he let himself drift a little deeper, eyes still fixed on the half-opaque, half-translucent shield above, tiny snippets of rainbows caught within its uneven, refractive width as the dream-sunlight danced across its surface, attempting to win through.
He could sense the duke's eventual frustration and retreat, but remained within his pond, watchful. He heard the man's demands, the threats and the cajoling, and still he held himself still, watching. When his body was shifted, his slit wrist tucked against his chest so that the blood soaked into the fabric instead of dripping onto the floor and then arms slipped beneath his shoulders and legs, he stirred uneasily but did not banish the ice, nor move any closer. He bided his time, unwilling to risk the return of the duke's probing psychic touch, refused to acknowledge that he was even conscious as his body was carried to the window, awkwardly propped against the sill as it was opened and himself drawn out with him when the duke clambered ignominiously through. Almost, he laughed at the thought of the dignified aristocrat climbing in and out of windows like a common thief.
His humor rapidly waned, however, when he was finally propped up against a store's siding after being dragged through two alleys, and the alien-sounding syllables spilled from the duke's lips once again. Almost, he melted the ice away to stop those words, before remembering that his body might still be unresponsive and that he would then be left vulnerable to intrusions. And so he reluctantly held himself still in a tight little knot, cold dread overtaking him by inches as if the ice was gradually spreading throughout the pond, encasing him within. He remained utterly, breathlessly still as the warm, dry fingertips rubbed at the blood on his forehead, smearing the mark, and there was a tantalizing...far too familiar scent...
Something had been crushed beneath his nose. The crackle of dried leaves and paper and other, unguessable materials reached his ears at the same time that the mingled scents registered on his brain, and he could feel his own body jerk back in reaction...in remembrance...
And finally, finally, the duke left. Sprawled inelegantly against the wall, the only thing that goaded Kyn into acting at all instead of remaining suspended in the dry waters, unfeeling and unthinking, was the growing sensation of cold lethargy overtaking him. Only when he could no longer justify to himself that it came from the illusion of ice he had drawn over the pond did he venture upwards to place fingertips tentatively against the shield, and dismantled a tiny piece from it. :Sianni.:
:Chosen!: the reply came immediately, frantic with worry and fear that he felt as intimately as his own, and he felt a small pang of remorse at being the cause of it before he could recall himself. :What happened? Where are you? You just suddenly...disappeared to me, and even Brin could not find you with his Gift...:
:I think...I think I am five to ten stores down from the Moon Lady's Inn. You might wish to come quickly,: he warned absently before quickly retreating back into his pond's depths, the ice restoring itself to pristine condition once he had finished speaking.
"No! I refuse to help him out of a bed of his own making! I don't care anymore. I say you're better off without him."
The frenetic activity that had surrounded his finding by Brin, his Companion Raolian, and Sianni had convinced him that his pond was the safest place to be at the time. Brin had seemed on the verge of breaking down into tears. Sianni had been visibly beside herself at the state they had found him in. Raolian had seemed to be the only one that was maintaining a cool head in the group, and Kyn had felt distant relief as the Companion maintained his composure and nosed Brin into creating a makeshift tourniquet and bandage out of saddle lacings and a shirt sleeve. The trip back to the collegium Kyn ignored completely as he turned away from the pond's icy film, pondering over the names and facts he had gleaned from the duke.
Jenner might be Master, if the duke was to be believed. And Vinsen...Mrr'Thaine...Vinsen Mrr'Thaine? An ancestor, or...he shied quickly from where that particular thought led. No, the duke had to be mistaken. Kyn had no connections, no history, and took a mixed relief from that anonymity. There was nothing to tie him down with inherited obligations, or to point him out as something extraordinary to someone with its attendant responsibilities. He had enough bindings as it was. And how was he to trust anything that the duke said, anyway? The man could be mistaken, or laying false trails. How had Se'Fannouel known so much about him? How had he known he was there in the first place?
How had the man gotten into his mind?
Kyn closed his eyes, wrapping himself in the calm stillness beneath the ice. Too many questions, too many conflicts, he should just let it all go for a little while and rest. It might sort itself out without requiring his intervention. All the better if it does.
"Nadia, please! He'll die!"
"Do you know what he did when I offered my help freely, Brin?! He threatened me! I say if he has a deathwish, who am I to stand in his way?"
"The boy is right, Healer. No choice do any of us have in this. Maintain contact with his master he does, this much we know. But little else were we able to discover without tipping our hand as tonight proved. Investigations in other areas go too slowly, so he must be allowed to continue as he has."
He had only been half paying attention to what happened around him, knew intellectually if not viscerally that Brin and the Companions had dragged him immediately to the healers' hall. Sianni was the one who had insisted on Nadia and discretion when Brin had complained, and it was only her obvious anxiety over Kyn's wellbeing and a gentle nudge from the equally puzzled but less objecting Raolian that finally convinced Brin they should wait until the young healer herself came grumbling down to take them in. Bypassing the main hall, she had led them directly to a private room, stocked anonymously with a bed, table, and shelves lined by rolls of bandages, little drawers labeled clearly in a neat script, and various other implements and supplies that might be needed in the healing trade. It was then that the argument began, and not long after, Alberich had let himself in.
But with that last statement by the un-Herald, Kyn couldn't help half turning, anger, resentment, and a sort of almost-annoyance roiling deep within. Was that why Master had not stayed, if he had come at all? Because Kyn had been followed? Recent events had taken such a disastrous turn because tonight, of all nights, the un-Herald had decided he needed to be followed?
"Don't healers have to take some sort of oath or something? To help whoever needs them? Nadia, please!"
"Don't believe everything you read. Especially in those chapter-books you keep buying, they're more romantic than realistic - and don't you look so innocently at me! I've seen them sticking out of your book bag!"
Kyn reluctantly stirred, approached the ice once more though he didn't move to touch it, still debating with himself. The healer would be approaching soon; he had heard it in the token grumble she had produced for Brin, already resigning herself to the task. She had always asked Kyn to drop his shields before - a mere formality and exercise, since he had yet to build anything strong enough to do more than keep his Mindspeeches private - but he wasn't ready to drop this one yet. How it would affect her, this new shield that could keep out Se'Fannouel's invasive touch?
"What is it, Healer?"
"I...hold on, give me a moment."
She had slipped into his dreams before. Would she manage to get through where the duke hadn't? But Kyn had been unaware, then, and ignorant - he started when there was a flicker of shadow beyond the sheet of ice, a dim flutter like a magpie hovering over its nest, darting about at some imagined threat but never straying far. Nadia was there, on the other side, and it seemed that shield or no shield, she was able to ply her art...
"He's weak. The cut is healed, but I can't replace all of the blood he's lost; he'll have to do that on his own."
"What else? Your expression tells me there's more."
"I...wasn't able to reach him. I healed the physical hurts, but...there's something else that's off-balance. And I can't perform a deeper scan unless he lets me in."
He relaxed minutely. So, what she had told had been a half truth, or perhaps a whole truth, if viewed from a certain angle. A limited healing with shields, but perhaps she preferred something a little more thorough, which would require the dropping of them. Relieved in knowing he was safe from all pryings, he let himself drift once again, keeping one ear pricked for the un-Herald's voice, waiting for anything else the man might accidentally reveal before a seemingly catatonic patient.
"What's so funny!"
"Your pardon, Healer, my amusement had not been directed at you. Merely that he could not seem to learn to center and shield himself properly, even after an unprecedented amount of time beneath Corian's tutelage, and here has managed to not only ground, but hide himself away completely, all in one night. Perhaps we had never presented him with enough of a challenge."
"Uhm...I'm sorry to interrupt, Sir, Madam, but...why isn't he waking up?"
Because I don't feel like it, Kyn responded internally with a reflexive scowl. During Nadia and Alberich's conversation, Brin had called softly to Kyn, and gone so far as to pat his cheek lightly in the hopes of eliciting a response. Now go away so that I can eavesdrop without you interrupting them every three sentences.
"Brin, I'm not sure he's going to be waking up for the next day or two. You have to give it some time."
"I understand that, but Raolian says Sianni says she can't 'reach him'. I'm...not sure I understand all the details."
"What?"
Havens. Brin just didn't know when to keep his mouth shut, did he? Kyn grumbled quietly to himself as he saw the shadow-flutter of the healer above, shuddered as he was briefly reminded of his dreams, and deliberately turned his back on the ice, waiting for their interests to wane so that he could be left alone. He wasn't even interested in listening in on what Alberich had to say anymore; he just wanted some privacy and quiet to sulk in for a while before thinking about reemerging from his haven again.
"Well?"
"You're certainly an impatient lot! This isn't as easy as I make it look."
"Admit that you should not."
"Yes, well, you're not supposed to keep dragging me out of bed in the middle of the night either. I'm allowed to be a little off. Anyway, it's most impressive what he's managed to accomplish in 'one night' if you're not exaggerating. The shield is quite solid - feels almost like shaded stone, or ice. It would take you quite a bit of time and effort to chip it away."
"And if Melidee was to work at him? How long would it be?"
"I don't know. Depends on how persuasive she can be. She could do a lot of damage, certainly, but in the interests of keeping him whole and mostly hale, she'll have to get him to bring it down on his own."
"Tomorrow morn you can expect her. Anything else?"
"You...mentioned something about tipping your hand tonight."
"Your concern I do not see that it should be."
"It is if you caught what this master of his is giving him. Do you know if it was inhaled or ingested? Was there only a pre-mixed amount, or were there several doses?"
Kyn abruptly held his metaphorical breath, illogically afraid that any distraction would keep him from hearing Alberich's next words after the ominous pause that followed Nadia's innocent revelation.
"He is still taking a dosage?"
Kyn noted the active-voice structure of the un-Herald's soft question uneasily, turning his back on the ice and poised to go where even their voices couldn't follow. Shield or no shield, he didn't want to stick around to see what an irate weaponsmaster was likely to try in order to get a hold of the source of his frustration.
"You're more naive than I thought if you think I can just wave my hands and 'cure' him. And his master didn't make an appearance tonight? How did he receive his dosage then? I haven't sensed the need in him, as if he'd only just taken - "
"Questions to be saved for later. Melidee will arrive now instead of in the morn. Brin, please return to your room. Tomorrow I wish to speak with you. Healer, if you wish sleep tonight, allow me to suggest that you depart now as well."
At those ominous words, Kyn immediately dove as deeply and quickly as he could possibly manage, vowing not to emerge again until at least two weeks have passed and he could try and sneak out to find Master again.
Q Jackson - Thank you for the compliment, and yes, it is my story, but I'm also looking to improve my writing. =) So, if you've got a concern, by all means air it, and I'll see if I at least intended that effect, even if our opinions differ on how things should go. If Kyn's going to be seen as a bastard, it has to be because I wrote him that way on purpose, rather than it being an accident. ;) Anyway, in reply to your specific notes, right now I'm keeping in mind that Kyn is not a Herald. At least, not yet. He is one that is in training, and to me, this means that he is on something like a probationary status, even if Sianni is basically vouching for his character and/or potential. Things can happen in between Choosing and 'graduation' that would keep him from becoming a Herald (a 100% graduation rate seems highly unlikely to me, even with mystical god-gifted animals thrown into the mix). As for his being unemotional...I'm afraid (please forgive me! It's almost 3 am and I've been working between 12 and 17 hours a day for the last week, including the weekends) I'll have to be lazy and point you to M'cha's reviews for April 25th. She did an absolutely beautiful job of explaining exactly what I'm doing with Kyn.
M'cha - Ooooh, I feel your pain. Truly. Computers and the internet are alternately the next best thing since sliced bread and the next worst thing since Jar Jar Bink's conception. toasts three years' worth of part-time tech support Hee, and I can sympathize as well with late-night reading. As of recently, all my reading has been, perforce, late at night. ;) Thank you for the thorough explanation, and I did, in fact, manage to sit down in a bookstore for two hours and browse through the Valdemar's Companion and take a few notes. Unfortunately, the book summaries were still a little sparse on details such as the one I wanted. =( Oh well, it was nevertheless a good resource, and if I had my own credit card right now or could justify to myself its purchase using my parents' money... sigh I really wish I could demand a salary in a family business. applauds while cheering madly Thank you for that wonderful review on Kyn's character. Not only was it a major ego booster, but you have just reassured me that, despite my clumsy handling of his confusion, I am managing to do something half-right if I managed to get that concept across. (Though, I think I have more your perceptiveness to thank for that than my own writing skills.) nods sagely Yes, it is indeed an evil thing for a body to be forced out of bed to catch the bus at 6:40 in the morning (especially if it's interrupting a review that is being written =P). What is the world coming to? And I hope this chapter managed to explain why Kyn feels the duke's death is necessary a little more clearly. =P