Will (Book 2)

by S. F. Burgess

  Conlan, I am here, Will murmured.

  With difficulty, an abyss of pain showing in his eyes but not his face, the child pulled himself up, wiping his tears on his sleeve, staring at Will as the crying came to a sniffling halt.

  Bapa? the boy whispered, red-rimmed eyes wide. The word was Dwarfish for ‘father’; not the formal word, but a term of love and respect. Unsure what aspect of Conlan’s mind the child represented, Will hesitated.

  I am not your father, Conlan. It is Will.

  The boy stared at him solemnly. Reaching forward, he raised tiny fingers to brush lightly across the frown on Will’s forehead.

  In all the ways that matter, you are my bapa. Do you not want to be?

  His green eyes held such desperation, vulnerability and fear that, giving no real thought to the implications of his decision beyond easing that distress, Will opened his arms. The child flew into the embrace, burying his head into Will’s neck. A little surprised by this response, especially when he considered Conlan’s normal emotional distance, Will wrapped his arms tightly round the slight, trembling body and comforted the boy through his sobs.

  For what felt like an age, Will held the child, stroking his head and back, telling him that it was alright, that he was no longer alone. Tears had soaked into the shoulder of his shirt before the boy’s crying subsided and he had relaxed enough to drift off to sleep. Will lifted the boy into his arms, cradling him protectively against his chest, and gazed down at the bruised, exhausted, innocent face, the scar a deep angry red line. Eleanor had told Will how Conlan had got the scar—he knew the details—and still he could not understand how any man could do that to a child. My son…? It was a difficult concept. Will had always wanted children; someone to support, protect, guide and love… Isn’t that what I’ve been doing for Conlan since the day I met him? He might not have consciously realised it, but looking back, Will could see that their relationship had never been as simple as commander and soldier, best friends, or even brothers. There had always been that level of complication, driven in part by Conlan’s obvious need for an approving father figure and in part by Will’s strong sense of responsibility. I’m an idiot! He had recognised his paternal feelings for Eleanor immediately; why had he not seen them for Conlan? Will felt his love for Conlan—which he had always kept in check in order to protect himself against rejection—swell now and break through all the restraints he had put on it. It grew with such speed that the emotion was frightening—but also exhilarating. My son! None of nature’s chance involved here, no happy coincidence of genes had made him father to this amazing man. He had been chosen, selected for the honour. It was a huge feeling, a proud feeling, and, needing to express it, Will pulled the small body closer and bent to tenderly kiss the child’s forehead. His joy soared as, even in his sleep, a faint smile played across the boy’s lips and a contented little sigh escaped him. What would a father do for his son in these circumstances?

  As Conlan slept, a deep, restful respite from the real world, Will thought about this. A father would protect his son. They needed to escape—but how? Neither he, Arran nor Conlan were in any fit state to fight their way out. The others had been told not to rescue them, and Will had to assume they would follow orders. We’re on our own.

  For a long time Will attempted to formulate a plan, but the hard fact of the matter was that they needed help, outside intervention. The captain? If not sympathetic, he was at least compassionate, but Will did not believe he could count on compassion in Conlan’s case. Besides, it was unlikely he would offer any help or assistance regardless of his views—certainly not with the elite Protectors present.

  His thoughts racing in pointless circles, Will recognised that he was heading, at an alarming speed, towards despair.

  Conlan!

  Eleanor’s horrified voice echoed around them. It was as if the room he and the boy occupied was a set on a theatre’s stage, and Eleanor had just yelled out from the audience. The child stirred, gasping at one pain or another as his eyes flickered open and he gave a wry smile far older than his years.

  She disobeyed me—Eleanor is here, the boy said, love, pride and relief jumping through the Dwarfish.

  Will…? Amelia’s voice also echoed around them. Will’s concern for their safety was balanced against his knowledge that they needed help. As the boy became more awake, the walls around them began to fade. Standing, the boy grasped Will’s face, a hand on each cheek, urgent intensity in his eyes, his high child’s voice insistent.

  Do not let me forget this. I need you, Bapa.

  Will nodded. You opened the door, Conlan. I will not let you close it.

  The boy smiled as he faded. I love you, Bapa.

  The whispered endearment remained in Will’s ears as the boy melted into nothing and Will found himself back in the grey-white place. Conlan—the man this time—lay a few paces in front of him, still chained on his side, and Amelia, Eleanor and Freddie knelt around him. None of them had yet noticed Will’s appearance.

  Hi.

  Will’s greeting made Amelia and Freddie jump. Freddie spun round, standing, ready to face any possible threat. Eleanor was oblivious, leant over Conlan, whispering softly in his ear, a hand gently stroking his face.

  Amelia looked up from where she knelt, most of the bleak fears in her eyes quickly alleviated by his presence. She got up and wrapped herself round Will, kissing his cheek. He gave her a peck and a reassuring smile in return.

  What’s going on? Freddie asked. Your head was empty, the lights were on, but no one was home. I thought you were brain damaged. Conlan doesn’t seem very with it either. What’s his talisman done to him?

  Will sighed. We were captured…

  Freddie snorted. We gathered that much.

  Too tired to even bother acknowledging Freddie’s rude interruption, Will continued. … and the Protectors decided to indulge in a little revenge by torturing their ‘traitor’. They jammed his crown on his head and it… did something. The runes on it were glowing earlier. I was in Conlan’s mind at the time—it wasn’t pleasant. I was trapped inside his head, and he wouldn’t let go…

  Will’s voice faltered as fatigue washed over him. Amelia hugged him, and taking comfort from the strength of her love, Will stood straighter. I don’t know what’s been going on outside of Conlan’s head, he added.

  I do, Freddie said, pity in his eyes. I came to reconnoitre earlier.

  You’re here! All of you? Will asked, immediately frightened for them.

  No, it’s just the three of us, Amelia said. We’re a couple of miles behind you, camped off the track.

  But you’ve been closer, Will said, giving Freddie a pointed look.

  Close enough to know that if we don’t rescue you soon, the three of you won’t live to see your executions, Freddie said, the grim, angry expression on his face so different from his normal nature that Will could only stare. I know where you, Conlan and Arran are, Freddie continued. Not that I was convinced any of you were still alive until a few moments ago, but I didn’t see Kip. Did he get away?

  The heavy grief that steamrollered through Will’s head must have been reflected in his expression, because Amelia raised her hands to cover her mouth, huge tears rolling down her pale face, and the dark anger in Freddie’s eyes congealed and shifted into something much more dangerous.

  Freddie’s face tightened, holding the emotions in check. There’s about an hour until dawn, he said, with hard efficiency. Now is the time to get you out of there. We’re going to sneak back, kill the guards, get you free and disappear.

  No! Conlan’s voice was weak and strained. Eleanor moved back a little, helping him to sit. Freddie, if you bring Eleanor or Amelia any closer to these men than they already are, I’m going to need a new Avatar of Fire!

  Brilliant! Freddie spat. Threaten the person who’s trying to rescue you—moron! Have you learnt nothing? In case you’ve been punched too many times to remember, they killed Kip. They are killing you, Will and Arran—slowly and
painfully, I imagine. Eleanor and Amelia are neither helpless nor defenceless, and the three of us are currently your best chance. I can’t do it on my own.

  Relieved to find Conlan awake, Will braced for his anger, but Conlan crumpled, the look on his face one of haunted misery. Taking deep shuddering breaths, he dropped his head, his fragile voice revealing the internal turmoil the crown’s control was hiding from them.

  Kip died trying to protect me. Arran is most likely dead by now too. Both gone because they trusted me… No more, Freddie. I can’t lose any more. Please, please don’t risk yourselves.

  Freddie’s eyes softened and he moved to kneel in front of Conlan, placing a hand on his shoulder. Conlan, if we do nothing, your chances are zero. Kip and Arran were our friends, too. Losing them hurts. Please don’t ask us to lose you and Will as well.

  His head still bowed, Conlan’s body shuddered, and Will felt the grip on his energy string tighten, pull closer. Freddie must have sensed it too, as suspicion narrowed his eyes. When Conlan raised his head, desperation, apprehension and fear were etched into lines around his eyes that Will could have sworn had not been there three days ago.

  Do you feel that, Freddie? Conlan whispered. The crown is a powerful tool that comes at a high price. I can feel you, all of you, truly, for the first time. I can feel the power that flows through the world from my connection to you. I can hold you here, stop you from doing anything rash…

  Freddie jumped to his feet. And leave our bodies unconscious and unprotected where we abandoned them!

  Wait… Eleanor said. Back up. Her confusion served to dissipate some of the vitriol in the standoff Freddie and Conlan were moving towards; both men turned to look at her. The crown enhances your control, over your mind and the connection? Eleanor asked Conlan.

  He nodded. I can feel it, feel you, feel the way you manipulate your energy. It’s the control I need, the piece of the puzzle I’ve been missing.

  Eleanor’s lips twisted into a vicious grin. Then we don’t need to get close; you have the ability to save yourself.

  Conlan’s slow smile met Eleanor’s as comprehension of the potential he now commanded danced through his eyes.

  The grey-white swirled around them, obscuring Will’s vision of the others. The feeling of standing disappeared—he was floating in a dense cloud of fog—yet as he closed his eyes he had never felt closer to those he loved, never felt more a part of them. The connection so strong it was as if they occupied one hive mind. Will felt energy being drawn from Eleanor first, then Amelia and Freddie. As Conlan gained their strength, he pushed some of it out to Will. Cringing at the sudden burden, breathing hard, Will struggled to shore up and even out his containment.

  Are you alright, Will? Was that too much? Conlan asked.

  I’m fine. It was just a little unexpected, Will replied, wondering if they had all felt his energy’s momentarily failing defences, and if that was going create questions later—questions he could not answer.

  I need more.

  Conlan’s demand was impossible to ignore, like they were the planets and he was the sun they revolved around, the gravity they must obey. With total trust, Eleanor pushed an open string into the ground, providing a direct conduit to the limitless force of Earth. Feeling what she was doing, Amelia and Freddie copied her, giving Conlan direct access to all the elemental powers at their disposal. He drew these energies to him as a man dying of thirst would drink from a full water pouch. With more energy, Will felt his own string reaching out, searching for a water source. No sooner had he found it than Conlan was drawing energy from it, right through Will.

  Now I know how the drinking straw feels! Freddie commented.

  Eleanor giggled and Will marvelled that he could actually see her amusement: a kaleidoscope of colourful vibrations through his mind.

  The massive reserve of energy Conlan was building was so big that Will pulled away, not wanting to be in its direct path, not wanting to risk his control. With care, Conlan pushed them all out of his mind, back into their own bodies, but the connection was still there, in the background, like their heartbeats were there somewhere, just on the edge of perception. Will winced as pain assaulted him from all sides. Thankfully, having more energy meant that he was far more able to deal with the damage he had sustained, even if it was difficult to manage. I’m really out of practice. Slowly building up his control, wishing he could just drop the burden, he struggled towards awareness.

  It appeared to have stopped raining, although his wet clothes still clung to him, sapping away his body heat. He peeled open eyes stuck like Velcro, then immediately had to close them again as bright shafts from the rising sun stabbed into his brain. Once the multi-coloured lines had faded from his retinas, Will split open his eyes, just narrow slits this time, allowing them to adjust.

  Several of the Protectors were awake, building up the fire and preparing breakfast. One of them, wearing the shorter coat of an elite Protector, noticed Will watching and sauntered over to the cart.

  “Thought you were dead,” he commented conversationally.

  “Not quite yet,” Will muttered, holding the man’s bloodshot gaze.

  “Good. You can get that crown off the traitor’s head then,” the Protector said. Stepping nearer, he leant over and sliced through the rope. Will dropped forward with a groan, face slapping into the mud, body stiff and aching. His eyes were in line with the Protector’s boots as he cut through the ropes at his ankles. Near the man’s foot, Will could see the red leather of the small pouch Conlan had lately been keeping around his neck. It must have come off when they ripped his shirt and jacket from him.

  “Why do you assume I can remove it?” Will asked, buying time as he tried to loosen up his cramping limbs and move himself casually towards the pouch.

  The Protector shrugged. “I do not, but I do not see Rudd coming up with any better ideas.”

  More control was coming back to his muscles, but faking another spasm, Will jerked again; the Protector jumped back as the movement splattered mud onto his boots and trousers.

  “Watch it!” the Protector snarled and lashed out, his foot catching Will in the ribs, driving the breath from him. It hurt, but it did not matter; the soft leather of Conlan’s pouch was safely in his hand that still tingled with pins and needles. As Will doubled over, sucking desperately at the air, he covertly tucked the pouch down into his boot.

  Monitoring Will’s reaction and waiting until his breathing was more normal, the Protector stooped, grabbed Will’s arm and half pulled, half helped him to his feet. His leg was tender, and limping on it was uncomfortable, but with energy flowing through him it was manageable, and Will was able to keep up with the Protector as he led him over to where they had left Conlan the night before.

  The injuries Conlan had recognised in his mind did nothing to prepare Will for the reality. Meeting the child Conlan had been, holding him, comforting him, had changed Will’s perception of his friend. He could now no longer separate that lonely, hurt, terrified little boy from the man before him, once more beaten and vulnerable. Is this the fate of all parents? To forever suffer with their child? He thought perhaps it was. The desire to defend Conlan was so strong that Will had to force his mind to calm assessment before he got carried away and did something stupid—like attack the Protector stood behind him.

  Conlan was lying on his side, facing away from Will, arms still pinned behind him. The fingers of his left hand were oddly bent, purple and swollen; they looked like they had been smashed with something heavy. From behind, Will could see other bruises and welts, many in the oblong shape that indicated the drunken Protectors had callously inflicted pain using the short, thick batons they all seemed to carry. The blood that had flowed from the head injury caused by his talisman had left him lying in red-tinged mud, his hair dark with it. For all the energy Conlan carried—and Will could feel it, even now—Will had to wonder if Conlan would have the strength to use it to any great effect.

  The Protector gave him
a little shove and Will knelt at Conlan’s side, reality melting and solidifying around him as hot needles stabbed sharply into his leg and ribs. With his eyes closed, he took a couple of slow, steadying breaths.

  “Here, unchain him while you are down there,” the Protector ordered, handing Will a small key for the padlock that held the chain together. Will unlocked it, careful not to bash Conlan’s damaged fingers as he removed the chain. Shuffling awkwardly closer, he inspected where the crown had fused with Conlan’s head. The wound was clean and appeared, despite the blood loss, to be almost healed. The crown itself was a half-inch-wide circlet, and on each edge Conlan’s skin had fused into the smooth rounded edge of the metal. The skin was a little red in places, but there did not seem to be any infection.

  As Will leant over Conlan’s prone body, Conlan opened glowing eyes that, while unfocused, burnt with such an intense emerald green that they looked like they could burst into flame at any moment.

  There was a storm coming—the likes of which these Protectors had never seen.

  “Samson! What are you doing, you drollup?”

  It was Rudd, and sobering up had done nothing to improve his temperament. He slapped the Protector watching Will several times around the head.