Will (Book 2)

by S. F. Burgess

  Looking down the valley wall, Will could see them coming closer. Eleanor arrived back far quicker than Will wanted, Conlan following her onto the ledge. His body was stiff, his expression filled with apprehension as he sat across the fire from Will.

  “You want to speak to me?” he asked.

  Will nodded. Eleanor moved a little distance away, perching on the top of a flat boulder, her knees pulled in to her chest. Conlan flashed a glance at her and her body language made him frown.

  Not knowing where to start, Will began at the beginning.

  “I’ve always had problems with my energy, ever since I was first created. I didn’t realise at first because I had nothing to compare it to and I wasn’t really using it.” He looked at Eleanor for support. She smiled at him with eyes full of sorrow. “But I have been in Eleanor’s head,” Will continued, still watching the little pixie. “I know the simple, effective control she has over Earth. I’ve seen Freddie manipulate Fire and Amelia change the weather with a deftness I don’t even understand.” Will sighed, dropping his head. “But for me, my energy is a heavy burden, and I’m being crushed under it.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us?” Conlan asked.

  Will blew out a breath. “What good would it have done?”

  “We could have helped you,” Conlan said.

  “My love, there’s more,” Eleanor said in a pained whisper. “Let Will finish.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence. Taking hold of his courage, but still not able to lift his head, Will said the words that would change everything, the words that would destroy so much.

  “I’m dying. My energy is moving out of my control. I don’t have very much longer,” he said, his tone unwavering. “I knew there was a problem, but once Eleanor arrived and we started using our energy as we were meant to, I realised just how much of a problem it really was,” Will continued. “And then, when I talked to the dragon in Eleanor’s head, he told me my future. Told me how I would die…”

  “You’ve known about this… about dying… for years…?” Conlan asked, horrified.

  “Yes.”

  Conlan stared at him. “How are you being so calm about it?”

  “I’ve had a lot of time to get used to the idea,” Will said with a sigh, glancing up and then quickly down again before the grief in Conlan’s eyes destroyed his resolve. He imagined he could see that tiny spark of innocence being slowly extinguished.

  “For a long time I refused to believe the dragon. I struggled to get my head around it. I didn’t want to die, so mostly I did my best to ignore it. Then when we found the chalice, the Kluthta priestess confirmed a lot of what the dragon said, without the nasty details of my death.”

  You are unstable, Avatar of Water. Your energy is tearing you apart. One day it will consume you.

  Will shied away from the memory of her words and the anger and desolation they had brought him.

  “How long do you have?” Conlan asked.

  Will shrugged. “My control is disintegrating at an ever-increasing rate. If Eleanor continues to keep my energy low and I don’t use it…? A couple of months, perhaps.”

  “We can get you to the Shamans in that time if we use the balloons,” Conlan said, getting to his feet. “Why are you just giving up?”

  Is there no hope? Will’s desperate words surfaced through his memory.

  You were created imperfectly, by someone who lacked the skills, the Kluthta priestess had replied. There is nothing that can be done.

  Shaking his head, trying to free it of that dark memory, his voice soft, Will tried to let Conlan down gently.

  “They’re not going to be able to fix this. I’m going to die.”

  “You don’t know that,” Conlan snapped.

  “Yes, I do,” Will replied firmly. “My energy has slipped too far. If we attack quickly, I might be of some use when you take the East Tower, but after that you’re going to need a new Avatar of Water.”

  Conlan stood in rigid silence, his hands clenched at his sides. He was staring down at Will, his face ravaged by grief and loss. His green eyes were dulled with anguish. Eventually his heart understood what Will was telling him.

  “How am I meant to go on without you?” Conlan whispered as his bewildered desolation tore through them all like wildfire.

  A sharp gasp caught in his throat as Will felt his emotions harden into a lump of stiff tension in his chest. Squeezing herself into a tighter ball of misery, Eleanor dropped her head and sobbed softly.

  “You’ll find a way, Conlan. I’ve got the utmost faith in you,” he said, quiet conviction in every word he forced around the lump in his throat. He wanted to say more, but knowing he would never be able to get the feelings out without breaking down, he stopped.

  Eleanor slowly unfurled her tiny, delicate little body and walked over to where Will still sat. Not able to look at him, she dropped to her knees, wrapped her arms around him and buried her head in his neck, her body trembling as her tears trickled down his skin. Will sighed and hugged her close, feeling guilty. There was another long pause. When Conlan spoke again his voice was as expressionless as his face.

  “That’s why you took the mission,” Conlan surmised. “Suicide by Protector.”

  “I didn’t want you to have to watch me die. I didn’t want Amelia or the children to have to watch it,” Will said.

  Conlan folded gracelessly to his knees, his expression still empty.

  “Eleanor… why didn’t you tell me?” he moaned, the pain of betrayal in his words.

  Will felt the trembling tension in Eleanor’s body as she pulled away from him and stood. She moved to Conlan’s side and gently ran a hand over his head.

  “I didn’t know the truth until he came back. He lied to me too,” Eleanor said. Conlan raised his head and looked into her eyes. Whatever he saw there satisfied him and he swept his gaze back to Will, who dropped his head again to escape its intensity.

  “I’m grateful for the love and friendship you’ve given me, Conlan,” Will said. “I’m grateful for the time I’ve had with Amelia and my children. You’ll go on without me, and hopefully some of the things I tried to teach you will help you on your path. No father has ever been prouder of his son than I am of you. The king you’re going to become will change this world for the better, for generations to come, and I give my life gladly to your dream. If I could do it all again and face exactly the same result, I wouldn’t hesitate. But I’ve given all I can; there’s no more left. I’m tired, Conlan, and very soon now I’ll be bidding you farewell.”

  The fire crackled and spat with a strong gust of wind that swirled around the ledge.

  “Jonas is right, Will,” Eleanor murmured. “You have a penchant for the melodramatic.”

  Will raised his head to the sad, affectionate, bemused smile on the little pixie’s face and smiled back, grateful for Eleanor’s attempt to lift the mood. She’s like karaoke for the terminally ill, Will thought, his smile getting wider. It was a phrase his mother had used when she was dying and his brother had come to play his guitar for her. They had spent hours together, singing along to all her favourite songs. Invariably her mood always lightened after Stephen had been over for a sing-along session.

  “When are you going to tell Amelia?” Conlan asked, wiping the smile off Will’s face and dropping him back into the black abyss out of which he had been attempting to crawl.

  A meaning-laden silence fell over the group, thick and heavy with foreboding. Will had known this conversation would happen, but just the thought of telling Amelia caused pain to thrum through his whole body. If Amelia knew, she would treat him differently, and then… then it would all be real in a way he could not ignore or pretend his way around. From the moment Amelia found out, Death would be ever walking beside him. This was the truth he had denied to himself: that it was not for Amelia’s sake that he had shied away from telling her, but for his own.

  Eleanor gasped. “You don’t intend to tell her…”

  “No, W
ill. No! I won’t let you do that, to her or us,” Conlan snapped. “You owe her the truth.”

  “And what good will it do?” Will asked with quiet intensity, holding Conlan’s angry look. “The knowledge is going to hurt her, torment her; why stir all that up, when she’s going to have to go through it all again after I’m dead?”

  Conlan flinched at the word ‘dead’, and his voice was hard when he spoke. “And how is she going to react when she discovers that Eleanor and I knew and yet you didn’t bother to tell her?” This was met with another silence, and Conlan pulled himself to his feet, standing over Will, disappointment and pain filling his eyes. “I won’t let you do that to her, Will,” he continued firmly, wrapping an arm around Eleanor for support. “If you’re determined to accept your fate and not fight for your life, then so be it. But you will tell Amelia the truth. I’ll give you two days. After that, I’ll tell her. Am I clear?”

  Will stared up at Conlan, anger and frustration trying to smother his fear. “This is not something you can just order, sire.”

  “Yes, Will, it is,” Conlan said, the grief heavy in his words. “I love you, but I love Amelia, too, and I can’t allow you to make me an accessory to this sort of betrayal. Please, don’t give Amelia any further reasons to hate me.”

  “Further reasons…?” Will asked, confused and a little hurt that Conlan seemed to have accepted his death so readily.

  “It’s my fault,” Conlan continued. “You didn’t say it, but I know it. You’re built wrong because I rushed into something. Trey didn’t know what he was doing. And that’s why you’re… damaged. I did this; I killed you. And I’ll have to find a way to live with that. Given my youth at the time, Amelia might, possibly, forgive me—eventually. But not if she also finds out I knew you were going to die and didn’t tell her.”

  Horrified, Will forced his tired body up and pulled Conlan into his arms. The man did not retreat, but his body was stiff, uncomfortable.

  “There’s no blame here, Conlan. There was never any blame. This isn’t your fault: it’s just life. Or, more accurately, death,” Will said softly. “Telling Amelia frightens me because it’s going to make the future real… but I know you’re right. She needs to know. And I’ll tell her, I promise.” Within Will’s embrace, Conlan’s body relaxed, and Will felt arms rise to hug him back.

  “I love you, Bapa,” Conlan whispered into Will’s right ear. “Thank you, for all you’ve…” The words failed, and Will felt the effort as Conlan forced down his emotions and pulled back abruptly. His cheeks were wet, his eyes to the ground as he wiped his face roughly with the back of his hand. Without another word, he turned and walked away, back down from the ledge.

  Eleanor’s anguished gaze flicked from Conlan’s disappearing figure, to Will, and back again.

  “Go with him, Eleanor,” Will urged. “He needs you.”

  Still she seemed torn. Will cupped her face and stooped to kiss her forehead.

  “Please, Eleanor, go. Be there for him,” he insisted.

  Her eyes brimming with tears, Eleanor nodded and followed Conlan. Will watched until they were out of sight and then returned to settle himself in front of the fire. He needed time to think.

  Two days. Two days to work up the courage to tear Amelia’s life down around her. Two days until he would find his future reduced to watching those he loved giving each other desperate looks of ‘when will it happen’? Two days.

  And how would he tell Amelia? What could he say that might make it easier for her? He had already caused her so much pain, so much grief. It did not help, of course, that she was still mad at him about Shyla. When he told her, she might feel she had to forgive him—which would prevent him from ever earning her true forgiveness, and would prevent her from ever truly, deeply letting go of her hurt and anger.

  Oh, Amelia, my love. I’m so sorry. Sorry about Shyla. Sorry for leaving you, for leaving the children. I regret every hurt I caused you, every moment I didn’t take you in my arms and tell you that I loved you. I’m sorry for everything.

  As the afternoon drifted into evening, and the air grew gloomy and damp, Will gazed down from the ledge and watched the flickering fires of their camp among the trees. Somewhere down there, Amelia was going about her duties. Somewhere, his children were laughing, growing, learning. Meals were being cooked, clothes were being mended, skills were being honed. Life went on.

  But Will no longer felt a part of it; his time was coming to an end. He took some comfort in the knowledge that he had done everything he could to help his friends succeed. He wanted that more than anything. He had made mistakes—so many of them—but he had done his part. He had supported his friends, loved his family, and contributed to a good and noble cause.

  All that was left for him now… was hope.

  Acknowledgments

  Writing a book is never, ever, a solo act of creativity. While my name might go down as the author, there are SO many other people who have supported, cajoled and assisted, that I almost feel like this book is as much theirs as it is mine.

  While this book is dedicated to my wonderful husband John, I also want to thank him; publicly. For putting up with the tears, the frustrations and the many, many hours alone while I worked and still being able to smile and be cheerful when he turned up with cup of tea. For making my life run so smoothly in the background so I could concentrate and for being the best tech support, emotional support and marketing man in the world. Thank you my beloved, like this book, I could not exist without you.

  To my dear friends Jon Smith and Laura Williams who gave nearly as much time as I did to my writing and never once complained, thank you. You have been my proof readers, my sounding boards, my ‘experts’ in a huge range of topics and my research assistants when none of us knew the answer. I look forward to returning the favour with your endeavours.

  Thank you to Conchi Diaz for the love, coffee and encouragement, but especially for seeing my characters as friends.

  The book owes its editing excellence to David Gatewood. Thank you so much for all your efforts, ideas and opinions; it’s been a wonderful experience. The wonderful cover art is the amazing work of Scarlett Rugers, as always a genius when it comes to interpreting my cryptic e-mails and designing something perfect, thank you.

  Sara Stiller, thank you for being a beta reader, for giving me your time and honest opinion, but mostly, thank you for your enthusiasm.

  Just as ‘Eleanor’ was written to a particular soundtrack, (Silent Force by Within Temptation) so too was ‘Will’. Through long hours of endless repetition, the album Brothers in Arms by Dire Straits has become a part of Will for me, you should give it a try if you haven’t already.

  Discover more about the world of Mydren at our website, www.Mydren.com, where you can sign-up for our Newsletter and find out about the third book in the series, ‘Amelia’.

  If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review at Amazon, even if it is only a line or two. Word of mouth is crucial for any author and it would be very much appreciated.

  About the Author

  Sara Burgess lives in Manchester with her long-suffering husband, her beloved bear-dog Sweep and three cats: Frodo, Gandalf and Gimli. She has lived in Florida, Spain and France and has at different times in her life been a video shop assistant, bank clerk, school teacher, supermarket till worker, hotel receptionist, bookshop assistant, archaeologist, software trainer and she currently works as an Intranet Evangelist to pay for her first love: writing. In her infrequent spare time she enjoys the movies, opera, bike-riding, reading and hanging out at DaVinci’s with the ‘crew’.

 

 

 
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