They struggled through the now-open gates of Merckley, water still draining out around their ankles. It appeared that a large number of the townspeople had survived, and they now stood, wet and dishevelled, around the gate, having serious, hushed conversations and tending to the injured. Upon seeing them, the woman slipped out from under Will’s arm. Without a word, she took the child’s hand from Eleanor and, pulling her wet scarf over her head, disappeared into the crowd. Will did not blame her.
The movement of the woman leaving drew attention to them. The area surrounding the gate was soon populated with many hundreds of people who stared at Eleanor, Davlin and Will with expressions that ranged from fear to rage.
“It was them!” somebody yelled.
“I saw him rescue the Avatars!” hollered another voice, quick to condemn.
“The Avatars did this to us, and they helped!” screamed a voice filled with hatred.
“No, we—” Eleanor started, but yells and screams filled with malice quickly drowned her out.
“Do not waste your breath,” Davlin said, a blade appearing in his hand as the crowd began to close in, wary but angry. His voice dropped to a whisper. “You have Avatar magic; can you not stop them?”
“I have nothing left. I can barely stand,” Will whispered. Davlin nodded, leaning forward slightly, and gave Eleanor a questioning look.
She shrugged, her attention mostly on the crowd. “I am still standing only because I am stubborn. I have no energy to speak of.”
“I have no idea why the Lords fear you so much!” Davlin muttered.
Eleanor smiled, her eyes glazed, her voice a whisper just for them. “The Lords do not fear us; we are just tools. It is Conlan they fear, because he will be the one to take their power from them. They are here, by the way. Freddie wants to know if we would like rescuing.”
“Rescue would be good, but they are rather outnumbered,” Davlin said, looking for the cart in the distance. Will spotted only one and wondered where the other one was. He desperately hoped that it was far away and that Amelia was in it.
“Freddie says leave it to him,” Eleanor said, unable to keep her doubt out of the Dwarfish.
How was rescue possible? The crowd were getting nasty. Hurling insults, they would push each other until one of them made the first attack and discovered their enemies were almost defenceless.
Wanting to look stronger than he felt, Will forced his body to stand without assistance. His bravado did not last long. A rock was hurled; it caught him in the shoulder, knocking him to the ground, sharp pain spreading through his arm. Cheering filled his ears, hysterical and desperate. Human beings with a mob mentality; there were few things more dangerous. Their individual capacity for compassion and rationality were suppressed beneath the fear and an overwhelming desire to conform, lest the mob should find them a target.
Davlin offered Will his hand, helping him stand, batting away a stone that was flung at his head.
“Should we take cover back in the town?” Eleanor asked, clumsily dodging a rock that was aimed at her.
Before Davlin or Will could answer, they heard music, loud and cheerful, accompanied by equally raucous singing as Freddie, Elroy, Teris and Moylan gave it their all. The crowd soon noticed and turned, surprise and confusion breaking the spell that imminent group violence had cast over them. Will recognised the song as a humorous, and rather smutty, drinking song about an innkeeper’s daughter. He saw Davlin’s smile and knew exactly where Freddie had picked it up. As the cart came closer, the curious crowd parted, allowing them through. Teris was driving, and Moylan sat next to him, hammering out the tune on their accordion. Walking in front, Freddie was banging a tambourine along with the beat, and Elroy was hitting a small drum.
As they reached the middle of the crowd, Moylan stopped playing and the song petered out, apart from the melodious but remarkably out-of-tune singing that seemed to come from the top of the cart. Looking up, Will could see Conlan in the full regalia of the Idiot, perched on his usual roof beam.
“Enough, Idiot!” Freddie bellowed at him, turning back to face the people around them.
Conlan stopped singing, but twisted and gyrated his multi-coloured rear in Freddie’s direction. Despite the horrors they had just witnessed, or perhaps because of it, there was sniggering among the crowd, which drained some of the tension out of the air. Eleanor giggled, a big grin on her tired face.
“We are the ‘Kinngsmenn Players’,” Freddie said loudly, so the crowd could hear him. “I believe our Troupe Master, Colltim, arrived here earlier today to inform you we were coming, although I confess I was not expecting such a welcome.” Freddie’s Dwarfish is really getting good. A large man stepped forward, his leather apron scorched in places, identifying him as a blacksmith.
“Use your eyes,” he snapped. “Do you not see? We have had a disaster here today! The dam burst and the reservoir flooded our town. We have dead to mourn, injured to see to and a town to rebuild. We do not need entertainment.”
Freddie looked around the crowd as if looking at them for the first time, his expression becoming serious. “I am sorry to hear of your trouble. Is there anything we can do to help?”
The blacksmith snarled. “No—just leave!”
Freddie nodded at Teris, who began turning the cart around. Freddie turned back to the man. “As you wish, sir. Perhaps when we travel back through here next year we will find you in better circumstances. Colltim and his two companions, were they in your town when the reservoir burst? Should we be looking for their bodies, too?”
“We are here,” Will yelled, the crowd silently parting to reveal them. Expecting a rock to strike the back of his head at any moment, Will walked with as much confidence and dignity as he could towards the cart, Davlin and Eleanor following him. The hatred from before was gone, although suspicion sat firmly on many faces. Still, no one attempted to stop them.
“It is good to see you, Colltim, given the circumstances,” Freddie said gravely.
Will nodded, turning to the blacksmith. “It has been a tragic day for your town. You have our sympathies.”
The blacksmith grunted and turned his back on them, moving away into the crowd. This seemed to be the signal to the others, as they also moved back to whatever they were doing.
Will climbed into the back of the cart, followed by Davlin, Eleanor and Elroy. His men’s cart was tidier than the last time he had seen it, the hammocks strung from the ceiling, hooked up out of the way for day use. Elroy found them each a towel—Will smiled as he took his; Eleanor’s teeth were already chattering despite the warm summer’s day.
As the cart set off down the track, Will sat at the table, Davlin and Eleanor on the other side. Elroy reassured Will that Amelia was with Mickle, Kip and Arran and was indeed far away and safe: Conlan had sent them on to the next town to scout it out, saving time—and, Elroy suspected, to act as emergency assistance if their rescue mission did not go as planned. Having explained that they would join up with them the following morning, Elroy busied himself trying to make them tea in a moving cart.
With adrenaline no longer flooding his veins, the headache Will had been expecting now began pulsing behind his eyes. Eleanor’s grim stare was making him feel more uncomfortable by the moment, so Will dropped his head into his arms on the table and closed his eyes. Tentatively he checked his energy: the tiny spark that remained thrummed with his heartbeat, out of his control. If he left it like this he would have to deal with the headaches and the exhaustion for a lot longer, but if he built the level up to what the others considered ‘normal’ he would have to find the strength and concentration to control it, to pick up that heavy weight under which he was slowly being ground to dust. A weight that he could never put down, that stopped him sleeping properly, that occupied every moment of his day, making him feel disconnected from his life and friends. Had it been a true choice, Will would have left well enough alone; but if he did that it would raise suspicion, and Eleanor, or perhaps Amelia, would noti
ce and raise it for him in a rush of energy not his own, and that would require even more effort to control. No, it was better to do it himself.
With heavy reluctance, Will extended an energy string out into his surroundings, feeling the water that flooded the land around Merckley’s gate. Pulling small amounts, all he had the strength to pull—then pausing until he could control it before pulling more—Will gradually built up his energy to what the others considered normal. Each jump settled onto him as, like Atlas, he gradually hefted the world onto his shoulders. With his control in place, Will allowed himself to drift, blocking out reality around him, focusing on his breathing, calming himself. It would be the closest he could get to truly restful sleep until he got used to maintaining control again after the explosion of energy he had felt when he had merged with Water.
It was Eleanor speaking in English that shattered Will’s peace.
“My plan was working! There was no need for what he did, and he destroyed a town doing it!” She spat the words out, sounding angry and upset.
Hypocrite! There was more low, muttered conversation. Will pulled himself up. The cart was no longer moving and he was alone. His clothes had almost dried from the heat in the caravan, and his blue robe had been dumped on the table next to him. They must have gone back for Meran. Dropping the towel, he shuffled stiffly to the door, feeling all his aches and pains, his headache banging mercilessly, stomach roiling at the movement. As he came down the caravan steps he discovered it was dark. How long was I resting?
“I’m telling you Conlan, something’s up with him.”
Eleanor’s voice again. Fear squeezing his heart, Will looked around, spotting them stood in the shadow behind the caravan, far away from the figures he could see sat by the communal campfire. More low conversation, then Eleanor spoke again, fighting back tears, her voice catching.
“They were so close to moving away from their fear and doing what was right and now they’re convinced that Avatars should be feared, that burning us alive is justified.”
They heard Will approaching and both Eleanor and Conlan turned. Will could not see their faces but he could feel the tension.
“Could we sit inside and discuss this?” Will asked, turning to walk back to the cart, not checking to see if they were following him. He felt the steps move as they came up behind him. He sat at the table, and Eleanor and Conlan sat together on the other side.
“Can I explain?” Will asked.
“What could you…!” Eleanor’s angry retort was stopped by Conlan’s hand on her arm.
Conlan’s voice was calm. “Enough, Eleanor, please. I’ve heard your views; now it’s Will’s turn. If you can’t be civil, then leave.”
Eleanor gave a Dwarfish growl of disgust, but held her tongue. Will took a couple of deep breaths and stared at his hands on the table in front of him. Murderer, the voice in his head spat. Liar! What story are you going to spin now? How much deeper into falsehood are you going to get? Unable to look Conlan in the eye, Will dropped his head into his hands.
“I’m sorry. It was an accident.”
“The plan was working,” Eleanor snapped. “But you had to go and prove them right about every Avatar fear they have!”
Will’s misery and guilt turned into hard, cold anger and a strong desire to defend himself, to remove the judgement and disgust from the little pixie’s eyes. Raising his head, he glared at her.
“Yes, but I reckon I killed fewer than you did when you destroyed Nethrus,” he snapped. “At least Merckley still had its walls standing when I left!”
Eleanor gasped, tears filling her eyes, her face draining of blood. She stared at him, her hands clutched over her heart, her guilt and agony displayed naked and vulnerable before him. As the tears began to fall she pulled herself up from the table and fled.
Conlan watched the caravan door slam closed. He looked torn, half-standing.
“Go after her if you want,” Will said, disliking how cold his voice sounded. “I could do with a bit more sleep anyway.”
Taking a breath, Conlan forced himself to sit, his body tense. From across the table he stared at Will as if he had never seen him before. Green eyes scrutinised, analysed. Will felt his anger pulsing through him. Could the anger hide the secret?
Conlan held his gaze. “What happened?” It was a simple request for information, spoken calmly and softly in English, information that would help the analysis. All the better to judge me with. Will sighed.
“Eleanor’s plan was working, but I wanted to be sure they couldn’t light the wood, so I was pulling water out of the well across the market square to douse the bonfire. Unfortunately, the well was fed by the town’s reservoir, and I got lost in it, forgot myself, caught in the feel of my energy. But my need to soak the wood remained and my awareness became that of Water, and it escaped.”
Will delivered the words in a blank monotone and silently begged Conlan not to push, to leave the explanation he had given untested with logic. For several moments, there was silence. Then Conlan spoke.
“I have seen you swim in larger bodies of water than a reservoir without ‘losing yourself’. I don’t understand.”
There it was, the truth he had been trying so hard to avoid: that he was changing, and not for the better. Now the lying starts. How do I explain this?
Will nodded, raising his head, looking Conlan in the eyes—his lies would be more believable that way. He was grateful Eleanor had left; for some reason lying was always harder in front of her.
“I’m changing, growing, we all are. Have you seen the way Freddie can manipulate fire now? I think it’s because of the efforts we’re putting into the connection, balancing the elements and using our talismans, working together. For me, part of this change has made me more sensitive to Water. I didn’t realise how sensitive because I’ve not encountered really large amounts recently.” Will dropped his head, making himself seem smaller, more contrite. “I’m sorry, truly, it was an accident. I was trying to help. It won’t happen again.”
Conlan stared at him, still analysing and Will presented a guilty, distressed, guileless look in return.
“Are you certain it won’t happen again?” Conlan asked.
“Yes. I’ll know how to handle it.” By staying as far away from large amounts of water as possible!
Conlan stared at him for a moment longer then nodded and stood, heading for the door. As he opened it, he turned back, his eyes hard.
“What you just said to Eleanor was cruel. I never took you for a cruel man. Make sure you apologise to her.”
It was not an order, nor was it a casual request. Conlan left, not waiting to see if Will agreed to do as he had asked.
A vague, unpalatable sense of abandonment and rejection settled in Will’s heart, closely followed by a guilty self-hatred that was strong enough to make him shake. He pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes, determined to force the tears he wanted to cry back into his head. This was for their own good. They could not know, it would destroy everything he loved… everyone he loved. A harsh sob burst out from between his lips. He clamped his teeth together to hold in the rest and tried to float above the wave after wave of anger, misery and desperation that crashed over him. The effort he had put into forgetting, into pushing these thoughts, these feelings, deep inside him where they could not hurt anyone… Wasted time. All he had done was poison himself, forcing himself to lie and conceal his feelings, which had made him defensive and angry. What if I tell them? Would it be so bad? It was a stupid question; he knew how that would go. He would be risking Conlan’s mission and Amelia’s sanity. Can’t tell them. The look on Eleanor’s face as she fled the caravan swam up from his memory. I did that. I hurt her, tore into her, because of all of them, she is the most likely to figure it out. Another sob escaped him. Was the pain he was inflicting by lying to them less than the pain he would inflict if he told them the truth?
The spinning agony in his chest and the pounding drumbeat of pain in his head was too much.
He was going to explode.
Pushing up from the table, Will fled the caravan, out into the trees that surrounded them, running blindly in the moon-silvered dark, branches slapping against him and roots trying to trip him. The direction did not matter; away, that was all he cared about. The maelstrom of dark, twisted emotions deep inside him slammed around, bruising him on the inside, where no one could see, but where healing took so much longer. Water energy shot through him, almost painful in its intensity. I’m losing control. Struggling under the emotional battering, Will felt his control slip further and further. Need… to… calm… down…
Knowing and doing, always so far apart, Will thought bitterly as he burst through dense foliage into a large clearing. Physical exhaustion hit and he staggered to a halt, dropping heavily to his knees. His energy pulsed out from him, over and over, blue and purple sparks radiating out around him, hitting the plants and trees on the edges of the clearing, then dissipating, leaving the metallic smell of electrical discharge in the air. Throwing his head back, Will screamed. Roared his anger, his fear, his pain, out into the night, yelled until he was hoarse, shrieked up into the endless black above him until the tears came, streaming down his face. I can’t bear it. It’s too much. Please, please make it stop. Collapsing into a ball on his side, wrapping his arms around his knees, pulling his legs into his chest, most of his energy now spent, Will was finally able to let go.
The earth dropped away from him, and he fell into a deep sleep.
Millennia later he came back to himself, waking slowly. His energy was still barely present. There was damp grass tickling his face, the sky was a predawn grey and a soft hand was absently stroking his hair.
Will (Book 2) Page 29