Souls of Aredyrah 3 - The Taking of the Dawn

by Tracy A. Akers

  “Dayn’s not lying!” Falyn shouted. She tried to release her arm from the man who had pulled her from Dayn’s side, but his hands gripped her like a vise.

  Lorcan stepped toward Falyn. She stopped her struggles, but did not quail. She lifted her chin defiantly. “It is you who is the liar, Father.”

  Lorcan ran his fingers lightly down her cheek. “My poor dear girl,” he said sympathetically. “But do not worry. You are safe now.”

  Falyn jerked from his touch. “I will never be safe as long as I’m with you,” she spat.

  Her father sighed. “I forgive you, child. After all, none of this was your doing. You have clearly been ensorcelled, but we will soon see you purged of the demon. Once the fires consume him, you will be free of his taint, as will the rest of us.”

  “No!” Falyn screamed. She turned her eyes to the Vestry. “My brother is down there!” Suddenly Sheireadan emerged from the crowd.

  “You’re—you’re all right?” Falyn cried. Her eyes darted to her father, then back to her brother. “Tell them, Sheireadan! Tell them what happened.”

  Sheireadan tightened his jaw and said not a word.

  Dayn strained against the arms still holding him. “Sheireadan, tell them!” he said.

  Sheireadan glanced at his father, then back to Dayn. “I fell from my horse because of the spell you conjured to keep me from protecting my sister.”

  “What?” Dayn couldn’t believe his ears. Was Sheireadan actually throwing him to the wolves? But then Dayn realized it should have come as no surprise. The boy had hated him for as long as he could remember. Why should it be any different now?

  “Take him to Vestry Hall,” Lorcan instructed the men surrounding Dayn. “He must be tried before he can work any more mischief.”

  “Tried?” Dayn shouted. “For what?”

  “For black magic, of course,” Lorcan said.

  “No!” Falyn screamed, writhing to escape the man still holding her.

  Lorcan snapped his fingers, and a second man went to the other’s aid. “Escort her home,” Lorcan ordered them. “And lock her in the cellar until I arrive.” The men grinned as they dragged Falyn, kicking and screaming, away from the crowd.

  Dayn was yanked off his feet and half carried, half shoved through the throng. Shouts of “demon” and threats of execution sounded in his ears. He searched the faces that surrounded him—surely there was someone who didn’t believe him a demon! Then his eyes met Sheireadan’s, and he realized the earlier hostility in the boy’s expression had somehow melted away. Instead of hatred, there was shock, but there was also something else: fear.

  Dayn scrabbled for the right words to say in his own defense. Perhaps there was still time to persuade Sheireadan to tell the truth about Lorcan. As Dayn was dragged past him, he twisted his head, desperate to keep Sheireadan in his sights for a moment longer. But all he could say was, “Don’t let him hurt her, Sheireadan. Please.”

  Sheireadan held Dayn in his stare until the mob folded around him. Then he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

  Back to ToC

  Chapter 35: Across the Divide

  It had been seven days since Reiv had left the valley, and he was beginning to doubt his ability to find that which he was seeking: a cure for Brina. He had yet to come across a single Frusensia. Chances were, they did not grow on this side of the mountains. But Alicine had mentioned a similar herb that thrived in the higher meadows of Kirador, so he hoped to at least find some of those. Of course, that still did not solve the problem of how to concoct the remedy. For that he would need Alicine.

  He glanced at the sky. Dark clouds had rolled in from the northwest, threatening to cut his day’s travel short. “Just what I need,” he grumbled.

  He wrapped his fox cape more securely around him. The fur was soft and warm, but the leather was stiff and cold. It had not been treated well enough to be pliant, but no matter; at least he had a cloak around his shoulders, boots on his feet, and pants on his legs, thanks to the generosity of the Jecta. Reiv squirmed in the saddle, a necessity for such a long ride. He was not used to having so much material pressed against his skin, but neither was he used to being so cold. In hindsight, he couldn’t even remember the last time he had been warm. Perhaps it had been in The Black, but then he realized, no; it had been that night with Jensa. He sighed, resolved to the fact that he would just have to endure until he was in her arms again.

  The wind picked up, followed by the plop plop of raindrops falling on the forest's leafy canopy. Reiv scrutinized the surrounding landscape, searching for any sign of shelter, but all he saw was a shallow overhang of rock fronted by a few scruffy cedars. He steered Gitta toward it, then dismounted, grabbing his bedroll and satchel from her back. He tossed his belongings beneath the overhang, then tied the horse’s reins to the nearest tree.

  “Sorry, girl,” he said. “But I do not think you will fit.”

  He turned and climbed beneath the overhang and sat, instantly banging his head against the rock. “Gods,” he groused, rubbing his skull. He rolled out the bedroll and lay upon it, curling himself beneath the cloak.

  Reiv stared out at the soggy landscape, his teeth chattering. A fire would be nice, but considering the deluge, and the shallowness of his shelter, it wasn’t possible. He closed his eyes, listening to the pounding of the rain, and turned his thoughts to Dayn and Alicine. The moment could not come soon enough when he would see their smiling faces again.

  Back to ToC

  Chapter 36: Trials and Tribulations

  Dayn’s trial was swift. Lorcan had seen to it. Time was of the essence, he’d insisted; they could not risk the demon working any more mischief. Lorcan had ordered that Dayn be locked in a storage room during the proceedings. The Vestry had to be protected from the threat of any spell work. Some members suggested that normal protocol should be followed, at least somewhat. Could the demon not have some semblance of a say in his own behalf? But Lorcan was swift in his rebuttal: “Have not enough wells dried up and crops withered? Have not enough innocent children died from the poisons hanging in the air?” With those words, most readily agreed to Dayn’s absence. As for the rest, Lorcan snuffed any remaining doubts by reminding them that Dayn had tried to spirit Falyn into the fiery depths—and every man there had been a witness to it.

  The mock trial proceeded with the only witnesses to Dayn’s crimes the Vestry itself, and of course Sheireadan, who had been forced by his father to speak against the defendant. The trial was over in less than a heartbeat, at least that was how it seemed to Sheireadan. What the Vestry was doing was unjust, even he knew that, and though he’d been raised to hate Dayn with every fiber of his being, for some reason this felt…wrong. Without thinking, Sheireadan had risen from his seat when the verdict was reached—guilty. But he had very nearly fallen back into it when the punishment was read—death. At that moment, his stomach had felt as though it was being swept into a whirlpool, but when his father announced, “Death by fire…at high sun…with all the eyes of Kiradyn as witness…,” it was as if his soul had been swept in with it.

  Sheireadan staggered out the door of the Hall and into the cold evening air. His body felt feverish but at the same time bathed in chills. He swallowed in an attempt to calm his churning insides. If he hadn’t left the room as quickly as he had, he was sure he would have vomited the contents of his stomach onto his boots. He leaned his forehead against the side of the building, beads of sweat trickling down his neck. Death by fire, an agonizing way to die, even for a demon. But was that was Dayn was, a demon? Though Sheireadan had always believed it, a nagging voice in the back of his head insisted that Dayn was innocent, and that nagging voice was Falyn.

  Sheireadan stared blindly at his feet. How am I going to tell her? When she learns I spoke against Dayn. He groaned and closed his eyes, replaying his father’s lies as well as his own, and the verdict that had resulted because of them. Falyn would never forgive him, of that he was certain. But what could he do? There was no
way to challenge the verdict now; were he to retract his words, he might very well find himself on the pyre next to Dayn. As for the punishment, the Vestry had no choice. Fire was the only way to purge evil. The Written Word said so.

  Sheireadan shook his head. If only he and Falyn had left before their father had come home, where might they be now? In those dreadful clan lands, no doubt, but at least there they would be safe. If Lorcan had gone after them, he wouldn’t have stood a chance against the clansmen. Sheireadan straightened his back. The clansmen! If he could get word to Dayn’s family…to the clans! He spun from the wall and ran full speed down the road that led home, his mind racing with a plan. Falyn knew the way to Haskel’s homestead; Dayn had drawn her a map. She was a swift rider and…

  The house came into view; Sheireadan slowed his pace. Falyn would be in the cellar around back, and probably well-guarded by his father’s men. He stopped at the side of the house, gulping to catch his breath, then peeked around the corner. As predicted, two men were lingering near the cellar door.

  Sheireadan pulled in a steadying breath and strode toward them. “Gentlemen,” he said casually.

  “Ah…Lorcan’s boy,” the two said in greeting. “How fares the meeting?”

  “Well. But slow.” Sheireadan nodded toward the cellar. “Has my sister given you any trouble?”

  One of the men chuckled. “Just entertainment.”

  Sheireadan felt fury bubble in his throat. “What do you mean entertainment?” he demanded.

  The man stammered, “I—I—nothing…I mean, she had a slew of words for us, is all.”

  The other guard’s head bobbed in agreement. “Just words. She has a temper, that one.”

  Sheireadan eyed them threateningly. “Indeed she does. But my father’s is far worse.”

  The men’s faces blanched.

  “Well,” Sheireadan said. “You’ll not have to listen to my sister’s temper any more tonight. My father has sent me to escort her to her room.”

  The men hesitated. “We were given orders to keep her confined until your pa came back.”

  “And I was given orders to get her to her bed.” Sheireadan folded his arms across his chest. “I left the Hall but moments ago, gentlemen. The sentence has been announced, no surprise there, but my father now must oversee the construction of the pyre and—”

  The men snorted. “Bout time we had a real demon at the roast,” one of them said.

  “At any rate,” Sheireadan said with forced control, “my father does not wish his daughter to sleep in a cold damp hole when a nice warm bed is but steps away.”

  The men shifted their stance. “Well, I dunno,” one said.

  Sheireadan curled his lip. “You doubt me? Very well. Whose name shall I give my father when I tell him you denied my sister her bed and risked her health over it?”

  The men glanced at each other. “Risk her health… but… we mean…all right,” one of them grumbled at last. “We don’t want the girl gettin’ sick, after all.”

  “But you’d best be tellin’ your father that, ye hear?” the other added. He scowled, then nudged the other man to follow him to the road.

  Sheireadan waited until he was sure the men were gone. He slid out the board securing the cellar door and tossed it to the ground, then lifted it open with a creak.

  In the farthest reaches of the cellar an oil lamp flickered. Sheireadan made his way down the steps toward it, taking them slowly and cautiously. His feet were big, and the stones were narrow and slick, but that wasn’t the reason he descended with trepidation. He paused, attempting to gather his wits, and wiped his clammy hands down his pants. The musty smell of the cellar always filled him with fear and loathing.

  “Falyn,” he said shakily. If only he could get her to come up the steps, rather than him having to go down them. “Falyn.” But there was no response.

  Sheireadan forced his feet downward until at last he reached the bottom. He shivered and wrapped his arms around himself. The walls felt as though they were closing in around him. The cellar was a dismal space, he thought, with its cobwebs and slimy walls, and the horrific memories it always brought him. For some reason, Lorcan had always gravitated to placing his children in dark holes when punishing them. Maybe someday someone would place him in a hole.

  Sheireadan surveyed the shadowy recesses, noting the familiar shelves lined with canned goods and the wooden barrels filled with grain and assorted sundries. But he saw no sign of Falyn. He stepped toward a stack of crates in the far corner. The lantern was sitting atop them; perhaps that was where he would find her. Leaning around the crates, he was relieved, but saddened, to see his sister curled up on a pile of burlap bags. It had once been Sheireadan’s own corner of solitude, if you could call it that, offering him a place to hide from the monsters in the cellar, and the real-life one that lived in the house above.

  He stepped around and squatted next to Falyn. The lantern threw flickering patterns upon her face, revealing the traces of tears that had no doubt lulled her to sleep. He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Falyn,” he said. “Wake up.”

  Her eyes shot open, and she blinked them into focus.

  “It’s all right. I’ve come to take you out.”

  Falyn sat up with a start. “What happened to Dayn?” she asked anxiously. Then her eyes grew stormy. “How could you have lied about him like that!”

  “Later. Let’s get out of here first,” Sheireadan said, guiding her up by an arm.

  He grabbed up the lantern and helped her navigate the steps, then closed the door quietly behind them. Snuffing the light, he directed his eyes to the house. The windows were dark, a good sign their father was not yet home.

  Sheireadan motioned for Falyn to follow him.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  Sheireadan lifted a finger to his lips. “Sshhh,” he whispered. “The barn.” Falyn looked puzzled, but followed as instructed.

  When they reached the barn, Sheireadan glanced back at the house, then eased open the barn door just wide enough for the two of them to enter.

  All of the horses were in their stalls, except for the one Falyn had taken earlier and that Lorcan had ridden to Vestry Hall. Sheireadan set the lantern down, then grabbed a blanket and a saddle and threw them on the back of the nearest horse. He secured the straps beneath its belly, then attached the bridle and reins.

  He lifted a riding cape from a nail by the door, then took Falyn by the arm and pulled her toward the horse. “Get on,” he ordered.

  “What? Why?” Falyn asked. “Where am I going?”

  Sheireadan threw the cape around her shoulders and fastened it beneath her chin. Then he lifted her onto the horse. “Do you remember the directions Dayn gave you to his uncle’s place?”

  “Of course, but—”

  “That’s where you’re going.” Sheireadan picked up the lantern and hooked it onto the pommel of the saddle, then tossed a saddlebag next to it.

  “But what about Dayn?”

  “He’s to be executed in the morning.”

  Falyn raised a hand to her throat, her eyes wide with terror.

  Sheireadan snatched some fire sticks from a nearby box and shoved them into the saddlebag. “You have to get help, Falyn. You’re the only one who can do it. The clans won’t let the Vestry get away with this. The minute they hear of it, they’ll ride in to save him.”

  “What if there’s not enough time?” Falyn asked desperately. “What if—”

  “There won’t be if you don’t leave now.” Sheireadan led the horse to the barn door. He peeked out, then pushed it open.

  “It’ll be dark before you reach the clan lands,” he said. “But you’ve got the lantern.”

  A cold breeze ruffled Sheireadan’s hair, sending a chill down his spine. Falyn reached out a hand to him. “When Father learns you let me out of the cellar—”

  Sheireadan took her hand in his and forced a smile. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. You just save Dayn, all right?”<
br />
  Falyn nodded, and Sheireadan slapped the horse’s flank, launching the animal and its rider off into the night.

  Back to ToC

  Chapter 37: Dangers in the Night

  The sound of horse’s hooves thundered down the road, sending mud flying and the sound of urgency raging through the forest. The sky was still heavy with clouds, obliterating a full moon that should have been bathing the landscape in silvery light. Falyn glanced at the darkening trees on either side of her. Their distorted shapes looked like charred skeletons, she thought, reminding her of those that had littered the pyres. She kicked in her heels. “Hyah!” she screamed, spurring the horse on faster.

  The tree line to her right was a dizzying blur, but she kept her eyes trained on it nonetheless. It was there, somewhere, that she would find the road leading to Haskel’s place, that is if she hadn’t already passed it. Dayn had told her it would be an easy miss; it was far less traveled than the main road she was currently on. So far, she had seen nothing even resembling a fork, and though speed was of the essence, she realized she might miss it altogether if she didn’t slow down. She tightened her hold on the reins, forcing the horse to ease its pace.

  Falyn scanned the forest, searching for even the slightest break in the trees, but all she saw was an endless maze of vines and foliage. Something caught her eye, adding more worry to her already pounding heart. A thick fog was creeping along the forest floor, blanketing everything it touched.

  Her surroundings soon became cloaked in gray, reducing Falyn’s range of vision to nearly nothing. She brought the horse to a stop and dismounted. Mist swirled at her ankles as her boots hit the dirt. Tugging the reins, she slowly walked, fanning her skirt as she coaxed the fog from her path. She had not gone far when she halted and unhooked the lantern to light it. Disturbing noises were beginning to sound in the woods around her, no doubt creatures of the night rousing for the hunt.