by L. M. Roth
“Know what?” Antonius asked as he tried to fight down a rising sense of panic.
Decimus wavered for a moment, and glanced up at the window of his son’s bedchamber, where his son’s wife still lay asleep.
“I thought perhaps Felicia had told you, or her father,” he said, bewildered that this should not be so.
“No, I do not know what you are talking about, Father. I merely want to know what happened that you addressed Silvia the way you did. What loved one did she lose that you mentioned, and was sorry about?”
Decimus flung himself down on a bench and buried his face in his hands. He shook it back and forth and rocked his body in accompaniment. He remained in this manner for some time before Antonius dropped down on his knees before him and gently removed his father’s hands from his face.
“Tell me, Father? What is it that you think I know?”
Decimus slowly raised his head and looked into the eyes of his son. Antonius noted how green they were, with a brilliant glint of fire that could flash unexpectedly. Today they were dull and lifeless, as if their owner had suddenly lost his zest for life. His father continued to stare at him for several moments before he finally gestured to the bench.
“Sit down, Antonius, here next to me. I have something to tell you; something I hoped to never tell you. But now I must.”
Antonius stumbled up the stairs to his bedchamber. He opened the door not caring now whether he woke Felicia or not. He heaved himself down on the couch and lay face down, scarcely able to breath. He wished he could stop breathing, stop the pain that tore at his heart and stifled the breath in his lungs.
Felicia woke with a small yawn and sat up in the bed, stretching like a kitten that has just taken a nap and is ready for frolic. She saw her husband and smiled at him tenderly. She rose from the bed and sauntered over to where he lay on the couch. She put a hand on his shoulder.
“Antonius,” she purred gently. “Good morning, darling. You were up early today.”
He did not respond, but lay still. Bewildered at his inertia, she pulled on his shoulder and turned him over. The wide staring eyes that looked up at her frightened her, and she shook him. He suddenly sat up and shook himself, and she flung her arms around him in relief.
“Oh, Antonius! You worried me so; for a moment I thought you were dead, so white was your face and you stared at me as if you did not see me.”
Antonius moaned and buried his face on her shoulder. She cupped his head in her hands and raised his head, forcing him to look at her.
“What is it, Antonius? Something has happened. Tell me what it is that we may share it together.”
He stared at her with eyes so blank that she feared they would never reflect any feeling ever again. He moaned again.
“You know,” he muttered, “and you did not tell me. How could you not tell me?”
“Tell you what, Antonius?” she asked in confusion. “What did I not tell you?”
He looked at her again with those awful unseeing eyes, and she realized that he was in shock and suddenly knew what it was.
“About my father; about my father and the man he killed. That is what he referred to last night when he spoke to Silvia Lucius, and that is what you knew but did not tell me.”
“Oh, but Antonius, I did not know until I saw a vision of it in Kyrene’s eyes, when we met to take the pledge, and I asked your father about it. He admitted it, but he is not proud of what he did. Indeed, it has haunted him all these years, and he even said that he fears the day his punishment will catch up to him, a punishment he was never given because he was the Governor’s son.
“And I could not tell you, Antonius. Your father loves you so, and you love him: I could not tell you what happened. Indeed, it was not my secret to tell, but his alone. My own father felt that way and never told me, no! not even when he found out that we had married secretly. He did not tell me what your father did, and he could have done so in hopes that it might turn me against your father and then I would consent to a divorce. But there is too much honor in my father to shame another man, even at his own expense.”
And Felicia raised her chin slightly in her pride of Marcus Maximus. As her husband saw it, the gesture succeeded in loosing the floodgates that had held back his own anguish.
“Yes! He is honorable; and my father is not. And now I know it, and can never love him again. How can I after what he did?”
“But you must, Antonius! You can not hate your father. That is why my father never told me, why he never told you. You must honor your father and mother; you know this.”
Antonius gave a laugh that frightened her in its bitterness. Her gentle and innocent husband, forced to see the father he adored in a new and strange light that revealed all of the hidden darkness of his heart. How it wrung hers to see the breaking of his!
“Honor!” he exclaimed. “Honor! Where is there honor in this world? In Lycenium? No, for the son of the Governor long ago got away with murder. In Valerium? No, for the people endure the whims of a tyrant who murders those who disagree with him, and not one voice is raised in protest against him. In Potentus? No, for there the viper reigns who poisons the honor of Dominio, forcing all to bow to Him, whether they truly believe in Him or not, shaming His name, as all are deceived into thinking that He is as bloodthirsty as the Emperor.”
Antonius stared at Felicia with eyes that were now awake, yet wakened with a ferocious fury that sent alarm racing through her body.
“Well, I tell you this, Felicia: I will no longer tolerate dishonor. I shall expose it wherever I find it. I shall uproot it for the evil it is. And I shall go to Potentus, and begin with the master of dishonor, Emperor Iacomus.”
Chapter XXVII
A Family Reunion
On a day when the last of the azaleas had seen its bloom, and the wild roses first reared their ravishing heads, and the trees had burst into their full foliage, Dag Adalbart returned to Eirinia.
His family greeted him with fierce hugs and all but devoured his face with kisses, Maelys first, followed by Nolwenn, whose tears ran like a river as she saw her father for the first time in two years. Dirk attempted to greet his father like a man, simply extending his hand, before emotion overtook him and he whimpered like a small boy. Dag pulled him close and held him, rocking him gently in his arms as his own tears fell unhindered. For once, Dag did not care who saw him cry, so thankful was he to be reunited with his family.
At last Judoc gathered the family together and they retired to the family hut. Everyone burst into excited conversation as they rejoiced at their reunion. Dag simply beamed on all of them like the sun on a field of flowers, and Judoc kept kissing the cheek of Nolwenn who clung to her mother as if afraid she might slip away.
Kyrene and Lucius left them alone and retreated to Brit’s hut, where she too had felt the need for discretion and to leave the family in peace. The three of them spoke quietly and it was borne to Kyrene that she and Lucius could depart soon, as the return of Dag would release her to go. She voiced her thoughts and watched him anxiously for his response.
“Lucius, I just realized that we are free to go home. Dag is back and all will be well now that he has returned. He can stand with his family against the rebels, for even Nolwenn has turned back to Dominio. Together they will be an indomitable force against any who rise against them.”
Lucius cast a startled glance at her, and the expression of dismay was all that she needed to confirm her fear for his peace of mind.
“It is true,” she continued gently, “we do not belong to this land, you and I, and we must return home.”
But Lucius only stared at her blankly and said nothing.
Dag and Dirk strolled through the fields and looked at the sun overhead.
“A good day,” Dirk pronounced. “No clouds, should be fair and sunny.”
Dag nodded in agreement.
He paused to study his son, astonished at how the lad had grown in the two years since he had seen him last. There was no d
oubt that Dag Adalbart was his father, Dag thought; to look at his son was to look in a mirror and see his own reflection staring back at him. Dirk had now reached his full height and was as tall as his father.
Dag thought with a pang of his brothers Brenus and Cort. How he missed them! Even the passage of two years did not assuage his grief over Brenus. If someone had accompanied him that day in the woods would he have died? It was with relief, however, that he noted a lessening in Judoc’s grief. Since their return to Leith she had laughed as he had not seen her laugh in several years, joking with Maelys, sharing confidences with Kyrene and Brit, and most of all, delighting in Nolwenn’s return to the family prayer times.
It was Maelys who told him of the events leading up to her dramatic turnabout. Judoc had related to him the beating her older brother had administered to her, and Brand had chimed in.
“Aye, Father, it was a sight to see! Dirk fair had smoke coming out of his ears, so he did. And Nolwenn was wailing like a ghost looking for a place to haunt. You should have seen it, for a sight it was!”
Judoc frowned at her youngest son, but Dag chuckled in amusement. It was true that Judoc had been so immersed in her grief over losing her eldest son that she had paid little heed to the others, and so had missed what her other children had seen in Nolwenn. And his amusement over Dirk’s behavior turned to pride when Maelys told him the rest of the story.
“It was Dirk who held us all together, Father. Why he watched Nolwenn like a mother hen watching for the fox, guarding his one little chick, who stood no chance against him. He said he found her one night mooning over an amulet she was consulting, an amulet given to her in secret by Melisande, no less! And he destroyed it, and she acted peculiar, he said, saying the amulet was evil. And from that time there was a slight change in her. But it was when she finally saw the real Melisande that she was free of her spell. For that woman is evil; make no mistake about it Father. And our Dirk was going to make sure that his little sister was cut loose from her web.”
And Maelys related the account with visible pride in her brother, her chin lifted high as she stood erectly and her lips curved in a smile. And for a reason that he could not account for, Dag felt the sting of tears come to his eyes.
He remembered that conversation now as he stood with his son; his eldest son, as Cort reminded him before he left to seek his own place in the world. And for the first time, Dag wondered if Dirk had felt excluded from the circle of manhood that had been Dag, Cort, and Brenus.
“Son,” he said now.
Dirk turned to look at him.
“I am proud of you,” Dag said simply. “Proud of the way you kept the family together while I was gone. Proud of the way you protected your little sister. Proud to call you my son. And I want you to know it.”
He was amazed by the feel and look of the land. Dag shook his head, stunned even as Kyrene was by the browning of Eirinia. But even more alarming was the sense of evil rising around him, and taking its measure of the villagers, seeking prey and instruments through which it could operate.
He did not see much of Laig or Niamh. They had welcomed him back with smiles that appeared genuine, yet he was certain that Niamh was startled by his return. Had she thought he would never return? And where did she get such a notion?
Melisande kept to herself for the most part, staying in her hut and leaving the family alone. She knew she was not welcome after the altercation with Nolwenn at Spring Festival. But she startled him one day when they met by accident as both were walking on the green just before sunset. Both had set out for a walk, and when they ran into the other, he gestured for her to walk with him. She hesitated for a moment, and then fell into step beside him.
She had brought Gwenaelle with her, and he held out a large hand to the child. She laughed and grasped it, and he tickled her under her tiny chin. The exchange surprised Melisande and she turned to stare at her father-in-law.
“You like Gwenaelle?” she asked, as astonishment swamped her face.
“Of course I like her,” Dag chuckled. “She is a fine child; she has the look of her father. But I also see a look of…your mother.”
Melisande halted her steps completely. For a moment she stared straight ahead of her, and then slowly turned to face Dag. She lifted puzzled eyes to his.
“You know who I am,” she said simply. “Who told you? Cort?”
Dag nodded.
“Yes he did. Not long after he told you. He thought I should know.”
He paused for a moment and his face became touched by sorrow.
“I was sorry to hear of Fanchon’s death. I once cared about her very much. We almost wed.”
Melisande caught her breath and tears filled her eyes. She turned piercing eyes upon Dag and searched his for truth. She was amazed at what she saw.
“You mean that; you truly mean that,” she marveled. “If you cared, then why did you not marry her? Why did you abandon her?”
“I did not abandon her: it was she who abandoned Dominio. She made a vow to serve Him and broke it, and demanded that I break mine also to be with her. I could not do that. No man could do such a thing and still be a man. So I left my love behind in Gaudereaux. It almost killed me, but I did it. I wept inside and my days were dark, and it was not until I met Judoc that I knew joy again.”
So grave was his face as he related the tale of those long ago days, that in spite of her malice and her hatred of this man Melisande found herself strangely moved. Kyrene had told her something similar, but she had not known the depths of Dag’s love for her mother as he now shared it with her daughter. Now the pain of his silent suffering and the knowledge of it startled a confession from her that she had not intended to make.
“I tried to kill you, Dag,” she burst out. “It was I who doctored the potion that Nolwenn bought from Yuna. I wanted you to die, as she died, as my mother, that is…died. And I made trouble between Cort and Brenus to drive them apart. I did all of that, Dag. Because I wanted you to suffer, as my mother suffered.”
He gave her an impassive look that betrayed no hint of his feelings. She shook her head slowly as a strange expression came over her face.
“But now I see that you already have.”
She turned from him abruptly and walked quickly back to her hut, leaving Dag to enjoy the sunset alone.
Chapter XXVIII
Summer Festival
It was Dag who prevailed upon Kyrene to stay, as he did not feel equal to the sense of menace that he felt brooding over Leith. He did not have her gift to discern and to see what remained hidden to others, he explained, and he felt that he would need her before the end had come.
His invitation lightened the heart of Lucius, but weighed down the heart of his old friend. Kyrene wished to return to her own family, and her students in Solone. She had lingered in Eirinia for nearly two years now, and she feared that the time lost for her pupils was time wasted for the Kingdom. She fretted inwardly, reluctant to let Dag and Judoc see her frustration, and finally set it before Dominio.
Send word to Xanthe to take her place and train the others, was the word she received. She did not think she heard correctly at first, but as peace slowly spread within her spirit, she knew that she had indeed received the guidance that she sought.
Xanthe was faithful to Dominio, she knew, and had improved rapidly since the day she and Felicia had been students together. And quite suddenly, Kyrene realized that the desire of her heart had finally been granted. She had yearned to be released to set sail on the winds of adventure again, strangely enough a desire that had been sparked when the daughter of Marcus and Tullia Maximus had alighted on her doorstep like a wild bird that seeks to evade a gilded cage. And now, with the instruction to have Xanthe take her place, she was free! free to go wherever Dominio sent her, just as in the days of her youth.
It was with joy and peace that she sent the word to her young cousin to carry on until her return, whenever that day might happen to be.
Dag had not believed
the reports of the night creatures when first told of their return. He had never heard them, as Marcus had heard them during his wanderings through Eirinia on his way home from his captivity. He had never heard the trees whisper as his own daughter did on her travels through the land to find him. And so he was truly stunned when he heard them for the first time.
Dirk woke him late one night long after the family had retired to bed. His son put a finger to his lips and beckoned for him to follow where he led. Dag crept out of the hut as silently as possible and followed Dirk to where Kyrene stood waiting, just in front of the walled gate.
She looked at Dag with widened eyes and the stare he recalled, the stare she invariably shed on those around her when not truly aware of their presence because she had been called to some faraway place that only she could see. She was muttering under her breath, and occasionally closed her eyes. He stood before her and waited.
At last she returned to the world around her and spoke.
“Two of them,” she whispered, “like sentries on patrol, back and forth, back and forth. They are as vigilant as though the land was theirs and we the intruders. I sense plotting, a campaign of attack being carefully and precisely organized, with the purpose the destruction of Leith. Of Leith, and Annick also! For they have called on them in Annick, but they do not know what they have summoned. And it is coming to destroy them.”
Dirk looked first at Kyrene, and then at his father in alarm. He opened his mouth to question Dag, but he did not see it, and addressed the seer.
“How soon? When are they coming?” he asked her, never taking his eyes from her face.
Kyrene closed her eyes again, and resumed her muttering. Occasionally she paused and raised her head in a direction beyond the gate. Then she nodded.
“Quite soon,” she replied. “Summer Festival. We must be ready to meet them.”
The villagers were assembled on the green and the festival had begun. There was music and dancing among the young people, laughter and games among the children. But their elders separated into tight little circles, circles which Dag noted, consisted of all women or all men.