“No,” she answered calmly.
Her resolve almost stopped him. There was confidence in her voice and strength in her hold on his shirt, but when he turned to face her, she flinched and he saw the white flash of fear in her aura. She thought I was going to hit her. That knowledge hurt him more than anything, and it made him angrier.
Gripping her wrist in his hand, he ripped his shirt free. She gasped in pain at the tight hold on her arm, but she glared defiantly back into his eyes. “You think I’m afraid of you Daniel? That’s what you want isn’t it?” she accused. “Don’t waste your time!”
“You put up a brave front, but I can see the fear in your heart, Kate.” Pushing her away he raised a shield between them to prevent her from getting close again. “You’re right to be afraid.”
Helen had listened to enough, “Daniel, don’t you dare talk like that!” She came up abruptly when she reached the barrier that separated him from the rest of the room. “What’s this?”
“I’m leaving,” he told them. “They will be delivering new lumber in the morning, and I plan on using it to finish what I started. Leave my breakfast outside the barn.”
“Aren’t you going to sleep in your room?”
Tyrion answered by closing the door on her question. Inside, silence reigned, and he could see them glancing at one another, unsure what to say. Walking down the path, he moved toward the trees that covered that side of the trail. Sleeping in the rough wouldn’t be difficult for him.
***
The next morning he found a cold plate of eggs and sausage outside the barn when he arrived. He could feel two people in his parent’s house, but one of them was new, Haley Banks. She must have come home with his mother. Alan Tennick wasn’t present. He probably won’t be fit to come home for at least another day or two.
He waited, sitting on the far side of the barn until mid-morning when two wagons from Colne appeared. They were driven by Tom Hayes and his son, Aston, and each was heavily burdened with lumber. He walked out to meet them when they drew up in the yard.
“Daniel,” said Mr. Hayes, tipping his hat and nodding timidly. Both he and his son looked like they would rather be anywhere else in the world just then.
He stared coldly back at them, “Call me Tyrion.”
“Forgive me, Tyrion,” answered the older man nervously, executing a half bow. “Where would you like us to unload the wagons?”
“Just move out of the way,” he told them. Focusing his mind, he created a shield beneath the wood stacked in each wagon and used it to lift the entire load at once. Both wagons were empty in less than half a minute, and their contents were now on the ground beside the barn.
Aston watched him fearfully, with eyes that reminded Tyrion of a dog that had just been whipped. Did I look like that after Thillmarius treated me to his educational punishments? He decided that he probably had.
“You can go now,” he said dismissively. “Just remember what I said yesterday.”
They left as quickly as two men could, without running or trying to whip their teams into a frenzy. Tyrion watched them go before switching his attention to the supplies that they had brought. There was far more than he needed, but he had expected that.
I’ll finish the new pen, add a couple of stalls and leave the rest. That way he won’t have to worry about going into town for more later.
He worked for a few hours until the sun was high overhead. Helen had finished lunch and was approaching from the other side of the barn. Tyrion created another shield, this one large enough to keep her at least twenty feet away. He added a faint shimmer so that she wouldn’t run into it without warning.
“Daniel? Are you hungry?” she asked, stopping at the edge of his boundary. The sympathy in her eyes burned his conscience like acid.
Gritting his teeth he answered, “Leave it where you left breakfast.” He kept his eyes on his work, refusing to meet her gaze.
Helen didn’t leave, though. She remained, watching him quietly for several minutes, trying to find the right words. “No matter how bad it is, or what you’ve done, you are still my son,” she stated. “At least if you talk to me, I can understand better what’s happened.”
Silence was his only reply.
“I know you may feel bad, or guilty. People do terrible things when they’re angry…”
“I don’t feel guilty,” he responded tonelessly. “I did exactly what I wanted.”
“Daniel…”
He turned his burning gaze on her then, “Daniel isn’t my name any more. Daniel might have felt bad, or remorseful, but that isn’t me—not anymore.”
Helen refused to give in, “You can’t hide from your feelings son. If you…”
A sudden wind blew in, throwing sand into the air and forcing his mother to take a step back. “I don’t think you understand. What happened yesterday, that was nothing. I’ve done far worse. That was the closest thing to what you would consider mercy that I have left in me.”
Tyrion used his aythar to still the wind. He hadn’t intended to let his emotions get the better of him. It felt as if the air was responding to him without the need for him to use his power, but he knew that couldn’t be right. His feelings were clouding his judgment.
“We are not done talking about this!” shouted Helen, trying to make herself heard over the roaring wind that vanished in the middle of her sentence.
Smoothing his face Tyrion turned, “You’re right. We can talk later, but not now. Let me think, give me time.”
She accepted that as a small victory and left him alone.
***
He finished the work he had planned, but he didn’t go into the house, choosing to sleep outdoors again. The next day he took the flock out. They’d been penned the day before, forced to subsist on hay while he worked on the new stalls. They seemed eager to get to the pastures now, and Lacy was certainly happy to go.
Tyrion was the only one in a dark mood, although even that was lightening. It was impossible to stay grim in the face of so much sunshine and good weather. The air was cool enough to balance the heat of the summer sun, and there were just enough clouds to give the fields a speckled appearance.
I’m going back tomorrow, he thought. Back home.
It no longer felt strange to think of his place with Lyralliantha as ‘home’. Four and a half years in Ellentrea had reshaped his sense of self, remaking him into the man he was now. Living with Lyralliantha had seemed soft, comfortable in comparison to his previous isolation. He had dreamed of returning to his family, but now that he had, he realized he no longer fit.
His family, Seth and Kate, even the people of Colne, they were different. Despite what they had done to his father, they understood nothing of violence, pain, or cruelty. He had given them a small taste, but ruining the last free people in the world wasn’t his goal.
I have to protect them from ‘me’, from the She’Har, from becoming like the people of Ellentrea.
That made him grumble to himself, “I can’t protect anyone, even my family.” Once he returned, his life was guaranteed to be spectacularly short.
A man was approaching, too far to see yet, but he could identify him by his aura. Alan Tennick was limping along, using a staff to assist himself.
What’s he thinking? He should be recuperating.
Tyrion went to meet his father, offering him his shoulder when they came together. Neither of them spoke, which suited him just fine. They returned, more slowly now, to the spot where he had been watching the flock.
Sitting a few feet apart a half an hour passed before Tyrion broke the silence, “You shouldn’t be walking around yet.”
Alan shrugged, looking down at his leg, “It’s sore as hell, but you fixed the bone up good. Might as well start stretching it out a little.”
“Your ribs were pretty bad too, and I don’t know what’s going to happen with that lung.”
“They’ll get better or they won’t,” said his father, before lapsing again into silence.
Another hour passed, and finally Tyrion spoke again, “You’re a lot easier to not talk to than Mom.”
His father laughed, “Sometimes silence says more than words, no one knows that better than a shepherd.”
“Yeah.”
“You did a good job with the pen, and I didn’t expect you to build extra stalls.”
He glanced at his father, “I won’t be coming back again, so I wanted to do as much as I could.”
“I gathered as much from Kate and your mother,” returned Alan.
“You don’t have anything to tell me? No admonishments or reproach?” asked Tyrion.
His father shook his head, “Nope.”
They sat still for a while before he finally replied, “That’s refreshing.”
Alan Tennick reached out casually and put his hand on his son’s shoulder, but he only left it there for a few seconds before removing it. “You are what you are, son. Your mother and I had something to do with it, but life has its way of shaping each of us regardless of what others may want or expect. You’ve made mistakes, and there isn’t a damn thing I can do about them, but I certainly can’t judge you.”
Tyrion clenched his jaw, feeling his anger and frustration rise again. “I hate them all.”
“The townsfolk?”
He nodded, “A bit, but mostly I mean the She’Har, and the people they’re keeping. They’ve made me like them. I don’t belong here anymore.”
“I can’t imagine what you’ve been through,” said Alan. “But I do know something about ‘becoming’ and hatred. Whatever else happens, don’t ever believe you have to ‘become’ anything. You do what you want to do. Make your own choices.”
“I’m a slave,” reminded Tyrion. “I don’t get choices, that’s what it means.”
“You still get choices. You choose what you do, and you choose how you feel. They might determine how long you get to make those choices, but you aren’t truly a slave until you decide you are.”
He looked at his father, unsure of himself again. “What are you telling me? Do you know what I should do?”
“I have no idea. Just don’t let fear make your decisions.” Alan struggled to get back to his feet, and Tyrion leapt up to give him a hand.
“Do you need me to help you?”
His father waved him away, “I’ll make it back on my own. Just be sure you don’t miss dinner.”
Chapter 42
Tyrion ate in the house that evening, much to Helen’s relief. He even managed an apology, but he didn’t talk much aside from that. His mother wasn’t satisfied with that, but his father stopped her with a touch.
“It’s enough, Helen,” he told her. “Let him be.”
There was a new face at the table that night, Haley Banks. The girl sat close beside Helen, as if hoping she might protect her from the devil that sat just a few feet away. Tyrion didn’t bother trying to win her over. Whatever the little girl thought about him was entirely deserved.
The next morning was harder. He had slept in his old room again, and now he had to face his parents before leaving. Breakfast was filled with awkward silences.
“Do you really have to go, Daniel?” asked his mother.
He nodded.
“Let me trim your hair again at least. If you have to go back, I’d rather you look like a man rather than some scruffy vagabond,” she suggested.
He started to refuse, but he caught the look on his father’s face. The message was clear, let her have this. “That would be nice, Mom. Thank you.”
That earned him a smile.
When the clipping and trimming was done, he had to admit he looked much more civilized. His beard was short and neat, and the rat’s nest that had been on top of his head was now gone, replaced by a modest and respectable cut. Lyralliantha’s not going to recognize me, he thought, as he examined his reflection.
They watched him pack his meager belongings and supplies on his horse after that. Haley hid behind Helen’s skirt the entire time, but her eyes never left him. When Daniel had finished he gave his father a hug and did the same for his mother.
Haley let out a squeak of dismay when he approached Helen and ducked back inside the house.
“What are you planning to do with her?” he asked his parents.
“If she’s agreeable,” said his mother, “She can live with us. If not, she can live with Kate and Seth, or even with Owen and Brenda.”
For a second Tyrion thought about protesting the last option, but it wasn’t his place. “You won’t let Larry have her back. Promise me that,” he demanded.
“No,” said Helen with a sigh. “We heard what you said about him. I’ll make sure he never comes near her.” There was steel in her voice.
He nodded and mounted the horse, flicking the reins and causing it to turn away, back toward the trail that would lead him out of the hills.
“Daniel…” called his mother.
“It’s Tyrion now,” he told her again. “I don’t want to associate what I am now with the man that you raised me to be.”
She looked unhappy, and her husband frowned but she went on, “We love you, whatever you want to call yourself. Remember that.”
Alan nodded in agreement. “Make your own choices, son. Remember.”
Tyrion dipped his head in acknowledgement and urged the horse onward. Another minute and they’d be watching him cry. That wasn’t what he wanted them to remember.
Instead they’ll remember you as the violent psychopath who threatened the entire town and tortured several people. Not crying in front of them will definitely improve that impression.
“Shut up,” he told himself when he had gotten out of earshot.
He followed the path that passed for a road from the Tennick household to town. It was barely more than a couple of worn dirt ruts. It wound through the sloping field that led down toward the river where it crossed between their place and Kate’s house. He would turn off when he reached the river, following the smaller game trails that led alongside it toward the flatter lands where the deep woods began. A woman waited for him at his turning point.
I should have known she’d want a final word.
His magesight warned him of her presence long before he was within sight of her, and he contemplated taking a detour. It would be inconvenient and would slow him down, but if he decided to bypass that area, she would never know, at least not until it was far too late.
Tyrion would slip past and avoid an emotional goodbye, he told himself.
The horse continued to walk placidly along while he fought a fierce internal battle. It didn’t help that she was alone. He was still arguing with himself when she came into view.
“I had a feeling you’d try to leave without a farewell,” said Catherine Sayer, stepping out to block the horse’s path. She had left her hair unbound, and it floated around her now, caught up in the breeze and highlighted by the sun. It enveloped her like a living flame, beautiful and ever moving.
She did that on purpose, he noted. She has been keeping it braided. Trust Kate to fight dirty. “You guessed correctly,” he said.
Moving around to the horse’s left side she stood by the stirrup. “So you’re off to die, and you honestly thought it would be better to avoid seeing me one last time?”
There was the hint of incipient violence in her aura, but Daniel had long ago taken up the habit of shielding himself, even when it wasn’t necessary. On the off chance that she decided to brain him with a rock or some such, he figured he would probably survive. “I’ve never given you a moment’s joy, Cat,” he answered. “Hard as it is, the best thing I can do is avoid making anything worse for you.”
“Daniel…” she began.
“Tyrion now,” he corrected.
Her eyes narrowed, “Like hell! If you’re going to call me ‘Cat’, then I’ll damn well call you by the name you grew up with, Daniel Tennick!” She put extra emphasis on his name, and as she did, she slapped his foot from the stirrup with one hand and jumped up
ward, giving him a hard shove. Daniel found himself falling, and he struck the ground hard on the other side of the horse. She caught the reins as it started to bolt.
“What the hell was that for?!” he snapped at her from the ground.
She led the horse away and tied it to a tree not far from where he had fallen. Smirking at him, she replied, “That was so we could have a nice talk before you run off again.”
In point of fact he had just considered spurring the horse on to avoid that very thing. He grinned before he could stop himself. “You are the most stubborn woman I have ever known.”
“The feeling is mutual, jackass,” she said dryly, leaning over him.
He reached up, thinking she might take his hand and help him up, but she shoved it aside and instead sat down on him.
“Ummm, Cat…?” he said questioningly. Their position was problematic, and she was sitting unabashedly atop what would be his lap if she allowed him to sit up. He released the shield around himself without a second thought.
“Shhh,” she said, putting a finger to his lips. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to rape you.”
He almost started laughing then. I was beginning to think she was like her mother, he thought, but kept it to himself. He knew she wouldn’t find any humor in the remark. Her lips stole his thoughts before he could come up with a reply. She was holding his shirt and kissing him as though she might devour him entirely. There was nothing chaste in it.
Heart pounding, he couldn’t close his eyes. He wanted to see her face; he wanted to know it was her and no one else. Seconds later her own lids opened, and he fell into an emerald sea, drowning in the intensity of her gaze. The moment stretched out, becoming minutes, and he felt the unquenchable thirst in his heart rise up like some terrible beast while his body responded in its own predictably male fashion. Tears began to run from the corners of his eyes.
Kate pulled away, breathless, “Why are you crying?” She was blurry in his vision.
“I don’t know,” he answered, unable to describe the emotions coursing through him.
The Mountains Rise Page 33