Dayn’s hopes fell as he, along with everyone else, turned to the face behind the voice: Lorcan. The man was standing like a god on the viewing platform, his hands raised.
“My friends. Hear me,” he shouted.
The hysteria of the crowd began to subside, but waves of anxious voices still rolled throughout.
“Do you not see?” he said. “It is but a scare tactic, a last-minute attempt by the demon to escape his fate!”
Attentions shot from Lorcan to Dayn, who was now standing, unprotected, in their midst. Voices rose around him. “Yes, he’s the cause of this! Quick! Get him to the fire!”
Dayn felt himself being grabbed from all sides and shoved toward the pyre, but this time he had no intention of going without a fight. He kicked his feet and swung his fists. He cursed and dug in his heels. But it did no good. A sudden blow to his gut sent him doubled over and plummeting to the ground. Before he could think, what felt like a hundred arms lifted him up and passed him over the heads of the crowd toward the pyre.
“Burn him…burn him…burn him!” people chanted. “Destroy the demon!” others cried.
Dayn was dragged up a scaffold of steps and down a short boardwalk leading to the pyre. He tried to twist away, but his back was quickly slammed against the stake. Ropes were tied to his wrists and bound behind him. He jerked and yanked, but more ropes were brought, binding him at the ankles, waist, and neck. Before long, he could barely move at all.
Dayn’s eyes darted toward the wood piled beneath his feet, then at the mountain smoking in the distance. “I haven’t done anything!” he screamed. “Listen to me! The mountain is going to erupt whether I’m dead or not.” But no one was of a mind to listen; they were too busy chanting his death.
“Executioner, bring the torch,” Lorcan commanded above the roar.
Dayn strained in an attempt to see Lorcan, but the ropes at his neck made it impossible.
The executioner, cloaked and hooded in black, stepped between the pyre and the crowd. A flaming torch was in his hand. He held it high for all to see. But then the earth rumbled again, sending chunks of buildings tumbling to the cobbled streets below. Screams resonated throughout the square. A few people grabbed their children and began shoving their way toward the exits, but the majority pressed closer in a heightened state of hysteria.
“Do it now!” Lorcan shouted at the executioner. “Before it’s too late!”
The man in black plunged the fiery torch into the base of the pyre. The wood began to smoke and crackle. Several people rushed forward and grabbed sticks from the pile, touching them to the flames and flinging them at Dayn.
Jorge broke through the mob, shoving and swinging his fists at those closest to the pyre.
“Jorge, no!” Dayn shouted. “You have to get out of here!”
Jorge hesitated and looked up at Dayn, but a blow to the smith’s face sent him spinning in the other direction.
Dayn stared at the flames now rising. Waves of heat were beginning to bake his face and clothes. Smoke spiraled around him, its sting blinding him to the chaos below. “Jorge,” he screamed. “If you can hear me, get out! Go north, then east past the mountains. You have to get out of Kiradyn.”
The wind picked up, fanning the flames. The smoke parted for a moment, just long enough for Dayn to see Jorge’s bloodied face staring up at him from the base of the pyre. An explosion of fire leaped between them, sending Dayn a burst of indescribable heat. He writhed and yanked at the ropes, coughing and rasping for air. This can’t be happening…this can’t be happening…
A dizzying whirlwind of images churned in his skull: friends… enemies…good times…bad. Some he knew to be memories, but others he did not recognize at all. It was all so confusing. Why was he seeing them now? But then Falyn’s face swam into view, and everything became clear. She would never be his wife; they would never have children or grow old together. But she loved him, and not even the fire could take that away from him.
The flames crept closer, the heat and smoke unbearable. Dayn clenched his teeth to keep from screaming. Control your mind! Control your fear! he told himself. But then the fire reached his boots, and unfathomable pain consumed his feet. Don’t scream…don’t scream…don’t scream…don’t scream—
Dayn screamed. And all went black.
* * * *
The posse of clansmen burst into the square with a vengeance that rivaled that of the mountain itself. Spectators scattered from their path. Those who hesitated were trampled beneath a brutal battering of hooves. Screams shattered the air as the clansmen slashed their way toward the pyre, their weapons leaving a swath of blood and dismemberment in their wake.
Haskel charged his horse toward the pyre and leaped onto the scaffold leading to it. In an instant he reached the stake. Flames were all around it but had not yet risen beyond Dayn’s feet. Haskel grabbed a branch that was untouched by flames and shoved the burning wood as far from Dayn as he could. He yanked his knife from his waistband and reached down to cut the ropes.
A shout of warning redirected his attention. “Haskel,” Alicine screamed. “Behind you!”
Haskel turned to see Lorcan rushing toward him, a flashing blade in his hand.
Alicine gripped the reins as she struggled to control Haskel’s frenzied horse, but then she felt an unexpected yank on the bridle. She looked down to see Sheireadan commanding the animal to calm, but his eyes were not on the horse, they were on the scaffold leading to the pyre. Alicine followed his gaze to Haskel and Lorcan who were now battling on the boardwalk.
She leapt off the horse, intent on sprinting to the pyre to pull Dayn from it, but Sheireadan grabbed hold of her and jerked her to a halt.
“Let go of me!” she cried. “I have to save Dayn!”
“I’ll get him,” Sheireadan said.
Alicine shoved him away and staggered back. “I don’t believe you!” But Sheireadan grabbed her again.
“I said I’ll get him,” he said between clenched teeth. “You can’t carry him. I can.”
Alicine turned her eyes frantically toward the fire that was burning its way toward Dayn, then to Haskel and Lorcan still fighting on the platform. Past them, all around the pyre and throughout the square, the other clansmen were beyond her reach, caught up in clashes of their own.
Alicine grabbed Sheireadan’s tunic in her fist. “I swear if you’re lying, I’ll kill you.”
The muscles in Sheireadan’s jaw tightened. “I’m not lying,” he said. “Not this time.” He pulled away and spun toward the steps, taking them three at a time as he dashed onto the narrow boardwalk leading to the pyre. Lorcan and Haskel were in his path, still battling it out, but Sheireadan sprinted past them. He leapt toward Dayn, then pulled out his pocketknife to release the ropes. Dayn slumped forward as the last bond was cut, but Sheireadan was ready for it and quickly rounded the stake to grab him.
Alicine watched breathlessly as Sheireadan clambered with Dayn in tow over the pyre and toward the platform. Just then, Haskel threw Lorcan a punch that sent him sprawling. Momentarily free, Haskel rushed to help Sheireadan. The instant Sheireadan’s feet hit the boards, Haskel lifted Dayn into his arms. “It’s all right, son,” he said. “You’re safe now.”
Alicine breathed a sigh of relief, but then something happened that seemed to play in slow motion. Lorcan unfolded from his stupor, rising like a viper to his feet. With an echoing scream, he moved toward Haskel. But Haskel could only stare as if frozen at the crazed man now moving in his direction. It was then that Sheireadan stepped out to meet his father, and with a great lift of his arms, Sheireadan had Lorcan flying through the air and straight toward the pyre. The man hit the post and crumpled beneath it.
A great wind suddenly swept the courtyard, speeding up time as it sent a funnel of flames spiraling up the pyre and around the writhing form of Lorcan. Alicine threw a hand over her mouth to stifle her scream, then turned with a start as a loud clattering of hooves stopped at her back.
Peadar leap
t from his horse. “Get to my horse, girl,” he said. “Your uncle’s goin’ to need room for your brother.”
Haskel lumbered down the steps of the scaffold and toward the waiting horse. With assistance from Peadar, he got Dayn into the saddle, then settled in behind him. He grabbed up the reins and turned his attention to the burning stake. Sheireadan was still standing on the platform next to it, watching as the flames consumed his father.
The mountain rumbled more violently than before, sending people scurrying in every direction. With the mob momentarily distracted, the clansmen hastened in the direction of Haskel and Peadar.
“We’ve got what we came for,” Peadar called to the men. “Time to head out.”
“Wha’ about him,” Brenainn said, lifting his chin toward Sheireadan.
“What about him?” Peadar asked impatiently.
“Well, it seems to me tha’ since he cut Dayn’s ropes and took care o’ a certain fella fer us, we might be wantin’ to take ‘em with us.”
Peadar looked at the boy still staring motionless into the fire. “Ye do realize that’s Lorcan’s son, don’t ye?”
“Aye. All the more reason. Poor lad.”
Peadar snorted. “Very well, but be quick about it. And you’re responsible for him, ye hear?”
Brenainn scowled. “I din say I wanted to adopt him,” he muttered. Then he dismounted his horse and thundered up the steps and onto the platform.
“Boy,” Brenainn said when he reached Sheireadan. “Come away now.”
Sheireadan turned slowly toward him. Tears were streaming down his face.
“I know it’s a loss to ye,” Brenainn said gently. “But yer welcome to come with us if ye want.”
Sheireadan looked surprised by the invitation, but then he gazed into the crowd, worry clouding his expression.
“Nothin’ ye can do fer ‘em,” Brenainn said. He glanced toward the mountain. “Well, if yer comin’ ye’d better get on with it. The mountain’s got no patience for them who wait.” The Chieftain turned and Sheireadan followed, but his eyes continued to scan the crowd.
Brenainn reached his horse and mounted it. He held out his hand to Sheireadan. “Ye’ll have to ride with me. Not much room, but we’ll manage.”
“I have a friend,” Sheireadan said. “If I find him, can he come, too?”
“No time,” Brenainn said. “We have t’ go.”
“But—” Sheireadan looked around frantically.
“Let’s go men,” Peadar ordered, and spurred his horse northward. The clansmen followed.
Brenainn lingered a moment more, his hand still extended. “This is yer crossroad, boy. Which road ye gonna take?”
“I—I don’t know.”
“Seems to me ye do. Ye saved an innocent boy’s life today, din ye?”
Sheireadan looked one last time at the tumult of people in the courtyard, then he grabbed Brenainn’s hand and swung into the saddle behind him.
****
Reiv exploded into the square and barreled through the crowd. Eyes widened and voices shrieked at the sight of the fiery-haired creature now charging into their midst. Threats sounded, but Reiv paid them no heed. His only thoughts were on the billowing smoke and flaming pyre across the way.
He galloped full speed toward it, then reined his horse to a staggering halt. A charred corpse could be seen crumpled amongst the flames, and for a moment Reiv could only stare in disbelief. Pain built in his chest, clenching his heart like a brutal fist. Had he arrived too late? No—he refused to believe it. That could not possibly be Dayn. But then he realized: it could be no one else.
A scream of anguish tore from Reiv’s lungs. He reeled toward the maddening crowd, a reckless rage coursing through him. Hatred flashed in his eyes. His hair whipped around his head like a fire storm. If ever there was a demon, these monsters were about to meet one!
Reiv slid his dirk from his waistband, and with a cry of fury lifted it into the air. People cowered, then began to back away. “Butchers!” he screamed. “Murderers—all of you!” He kicked in his heels and charged into the mob, his blade swinging.
Reiv’s anger blazed white hot. No one was safe from his blade or his wrath. He hacked his way through, regardless of who or what was in his path. Blood spilled; bodies fell. But Reiv was aware of only one thing: They would pay for what they had done. They would pay!
Another explosion sounded from the mountain, sending brick and mortar raining into the streets. Some members of the crowd scattered, but others froze in their tracks, watching as a massive cloud imploded down the mountainside.
Reiv reined his horse to a halt and stared at the thunderous plume descending upon them. His instincts told him to flee, but for some reason he did not have the will to do it. It was then that he realized his arm was still suspended, his bloody weapon clenched in his fist. He tore his eyes from the dirk and scanned the courtyard around him. Bodies lay everywhere—men, women, even children!
"Gods, what have I done," he whispered.
A chill stole over him. His heart filled with despair. He was no better than the rest of them! His eyes shot toward the avalanche of hot gasses speeding toward the city, then to the confusion of people stumbling around him. They were all going to die, every one of them. And he was going to die with them.
Reiv closed his eyes as the roar of the monstrous cloud drew nearer. But then the courtyard became strangely quiet. He opened his eyes and realized everyone had gone. No, not everyone, he reminded himself. He steered his horse around the bodies and worked his way toward the pyre. Sorrow mushroomed in his throat; tears stung his eyes. How poor Dayn must have suffered. Did he himself deserve to suffer any less?
Cobblestones began to dance at his feet. The horse skittered nervously. Reiv glanced at the approaching cloud at his back, then toward the exit at the opposite side of the courtyard. Should he stay or should he go? To stay meant instant death. To leave meant years of guilt and restitution. He stared at the body one last time. “Forgive me, Dayn,” Reiv said, then he kicked in his heels and galloped out of the courtyard.
Back to ToC
Chapter 42: Lost
Dayn was jostled awake by searing pain in his feet. He moaned, fighting to lift his head, but an arm tightened around him. “I’ve got ye,” Haskel said. “Be still now.”
Dayn blinked open his eyes. Scenery swam past in a blur of trees. “Where are we?” he croaked.
“Headin' north,” Haskel said. “The mountain erupted. Couldn’t go back the way we came.”
Dayn coughed, the taste of smoke lingering in his mouth. “What…about Kiradyn?” he managed.
“Gone.”
The pain in Dayn’s feet intensified. He grimaced and tried to reach for them, but Haskel tightened his grip.
“Stop,” Dayn said. “Please. Can we stop?”
Haskel slowed the horse, and the clansmen at his back did the same.
“The boy needs to rest,” Haskel called to them. “I think we’re far enough out that we can stop for a bit.”
Dayn held onto the pommel as Haskel dismounted. His head felt groggy. What had happened? Why was he here? Then he remembered—the pyre. He turned his eyes toward the men now milling about and realized their clothes were splattered with blood.
“Uncle, what—” he asked with alarm.
“Let’s get ye down first,” Haskel said.
Haskel helped Dayn from the horse and laid him on a nearby grassy patch. Alicine approached with a water skin.
Dayn gasped at the sight of her. “What are you doing here?”
She knelt down beside him. “You didn’t think I’d let them go without me, did you?”
“But how did you know where I was?”
“Falyn told us.”
Dayn attempted to sit up. “Falyn? She’s safe?”
“Yes,” Alicine said, pressing him back down. “Now, enough talk. We need to get these off.” She looked at his boots and furrowed her brow.
Haskel knelt on the other side of Dayn. He
pulled a flask from his jacket and held it to Dayn’s lips. “Here, drink,” he said. “It’ll help ease the pain.”
Dayn did not bother to ask what the flask contained. He took it in his shaking hand and gulped the contents down.
He handed the flask back to Haskel. Haskel eyed its empty contents. “Well, that should do it,” he said with amusement.
The alcohol immediately warmed Dayn’s veins. His limbs began to relax. “Might as well get on with it,” he said to Alicine.
Alicine began to gently work a boot from his foot. Dayn cried out, then coughed violently. “W—wait!” he said. He gripped the grass, panting with distress. “Just—just give me a minute.”
“I think we’ll need to cut the boots off,” Alicine said.
Haskel pulled out his knife. “I’ll do it. Just hold him still.” He grasped the top of Dayn’s boot, then slowly worked the blade of his knife down it. After a few inches, he gently peeled back the leather, but stopped when he realized Dayn’s blistered skin was adhered to it. He shook his head. “This is goin’ to take more skill than we can offer here.”
Alicine bit her lip. “He’s going to need treatment soon if we’re to avoid infection.”
Dayn struggled to his elbows. “Let’s go, then,” he said, but then his eyes fell on Sheireadan standing a short distance away. Dayn scowled. He could not help but feel resentment toward the boy whose lies had helped send him to the stake. “What’s he doing here?” he grumbled.
Haskel glanced at Sheireadan, who turned his eyes away. No doubt he could feel the sting of Dayn’s glare.
“He was invited,” Haskel said.
“Invited?”
“Yes,” Alicine replied. “He saved your life.”
“What?”
Brenainn stepped up beside them. “How’s the lad doin’?” he asked, staring down at Dayn. He winced at the boots. “Gor, that’s gotta hurt.”
Haskel rose. “We can’t do anythin’ for him here. We’ll have to wait until we can get him to Eileis.”
“Hopefully tha’ won’t take long,” Brenainn said.
Souls of Aredyrah 3 - The Taking of the Dawn Page 38