The Reaping: Immortalibus Bella 2

by SL Figuhr

  “Donny was happy with our flirtation; he knew he had no chance with me. I think he stayed because he was concerned about you,” she quietly replied. “You were the first male who took an interest in him as a person, the only one who let him make his mistakes and yet still stood by and helped. He looked up to you, you were a hero to him. You were more than a friend, you were a father figure.”

  He stood there, listening to her, and began to sag.

  “I told him to get out, the same as you did. He mentioned his concern when you didn’t answer. I told him you were okay, you knew how to take care of yourself. It was more important he get out, we were all leaving.”

  Mica’s hands lowered and he staggered back and half-sat on the edge of her desk, facing her. “I never heard you say a word.”

  “The ear units’ ability to transmit had been compromised. I liked Donny, I wished him the best. He was certainly better than the ex-convict you tried to mentor.”

  Her words, while logical, did nothing to take the edge off his rage; he didn’t know anymore who was lying to him, and who wasn’t. “Oh, you mean the one you murdered?”

  “A simple ‘thank you’ would suffice. He was trying to blackmail you in the end, am I not remembering correctly?”

  He didn’t answer her; he was caught up in the past and what he had been told by his ex-friend. “Eron thinks Donny is still alive, suffering, buried under who knows how much dirt, rock, and rubble. He said he saw the explosion that took the kid out.”

  “If he was that close, he should have been trapped as well.”

  “He said he was in one of the control rooms, and saw it on a monitor before they were destroyed.”

  “I’m sorry about Donny, Mica, he was a good kid. I will help you lay him to rest if it is what you wish.” She looked at him a moment, came over and stood behind one of the chairs near her desk. “Eron has already castigated me over those events, explained what you and he never had the chance to do because of the curse. I am sorrier about Donny’s suffering then I can make you believe.”

  She paused, gently continuing, “What is really the problem? It’s more than who I choose for my lovers; how I live.” She waited, as she had always done when he felt a need to unburden himself.

  He had to stop and take a breath as the memories of the past crowded in, wanting to smother him.

  “I’m tired,” he whispered. “I don’t know who to believe anymore, who to trust.” He struggled for air. “Tired of all the games, all the lies, the need to hide who and what I am...was. I... I don’t know if I can live like this.”

  “Colin loves you, always has, always will. He will support you, but none of us can truly help you with your decision.”

  “I can’t...This place... I don’t...” Why could he not get air? Why was it hard to just say what he needed to? Why was he feeling so damn emotional all of a sudden?

  “I will see you are furnished with whatever you feel is needed for your life and whatever direction you feel you want to take. I hope you will be comfortable staying here until then? Or perhaps you would prefer a room at the Silver Thorn?”

  The now-mortal felt he couldn’t breathe. Her words didn’t want to make any sense to him, but he understood what she said.

  He could only make a few ridiculous sounds of disbelief. “You really think that’s going to make up for everything? I’m not one of your minions to be paid off to keep quiet.”

  “I am sorry this quest of yours didn’t turn out the way you planned, but don’t take it out on me. We’re all hurting from being cursed.”

  “Oh, I see how much you’re hurting.”

  She stopped, took a moment to control her rising temper. “I only lost memories of friends and lovers. You lost more than I. I repeat, I regret, bitterly, I didn’t understand the hell your protégé has been in all this time.”

  He snorted in contempt.

  “We were more than friends, for a night or two. I don’t know if you still want to be friends, but I will do this for you: give you what you need, because of what we once had, and because I do still care.”

  He just stared at her; his world had been shattered, he found upon awaking, and now it was shattering again. He felt each and every one of his several thousand years of life. Mica staggered to a chair and fell into it, sprawled in misery. The silence stretched out between them. He remembered the time they had spent in some Spanish-speaking country. He had been happy, carefree for once, not dreading the empty, long centuries before him. The man didn’t know who he despised the most at that moment: himself, or her. It was an effort to stand, an even greater one to walk to the door and open it. He paused in the doorway, wanting to say more, but decided against it and left, shutting it behind him.

  Chapter Twenty

  Mica found himself wandering aimlessly about the mansion, questions rattling around inside his head. What do I want? I have a chance to be mortal again, marry and raise a family, die with them. I can leave this all behind. But do I want to?

  Once more he found himself outside and wandering aimlessly around the gardens. It was full dark out, and the temperature had dropped significantly. A few flakes of snow drifted down and melted. Soon they would pile up, and the people would be huddled in what shelter they could find. Many would starve; he might even be one of them. Mica realized with shock, I’d be dead, no coming back. This disturbed him; he wasn’t sure if it was because he was so used to the advantages he had enjoyed being immortal, or if he had become that afraid of living since he could truly die now.

  He needed someone to talk to, but there was no one he felt he could trust, not even his brother. The man walked around the garden, toward the stables, and training grounds for the female army, out through the paddocks, up to the start of the mountains. He found a handy boulder, sat on it, thinking. He was oblivious to the cold, to the biting wind, to the fact he was shivering. Mica tucked his hands under his armpits and continued walking.

  He followed the line of rock until it dropped away to his left and a sheer wall of rock blocked his forward momentum. Below the river swirled, black and undoubtedly cold. He stood there, staring at it, almost hypnotized.

  What do I really want? he kept asking himself as he stared at the shadows. Do I want to live, grow old and die? Do I want to be immortal again?

  Mica turned to the mountain beside him. It was hard to see the path, if there was one. Not that way, That way is nothing.

  The man started the opposite direction, walking along the edge of the cliff which sloped down to the roadway and the bridge. The guards challenged him, and let him pass as he muttered some answer, his mind swirling. Mica walked, ignoring the chill which seeped into every pore.

  The ruined town was silent. Large areas had been cleared, a few new buildings had gone up, but for the most part the place was still a mess. Mica found himself heading toward the river, where a few ramshackle buildings, mostly ale houses, and a few places for the sailors to sleep had managed to escape the fire.

  He wasn’t even sure if he had coin on his person as he made his way into the press of men and half-clothed women. He groped in his money pouch and found a few lower-denomination coins. He sat on a rickety stool at the end of the bar, in the dark, and drank.

  The former immortal forgot humans could get drunk so quickly. He had been too used to his body throwing off the effects, so he had had to drink several bottles of the hard stuff to even begin to feel what was commonly called a buzz. Now, after only three mugs of the potent brew, he no longer cared about where he was, who he was, or the danger swirling around him. A muzzy smile tugged the corners of his lips up.

  “Hey sweetie, you lookin’ fer some companionship?” An arm draped around his shoulder, and strong B.O. assailed his nose.

  Mica turned his head to see a fairly clean woman by his side. In his hazy state, he thought she looked good. “Not really,” he said as polite as he could.

  She pouted, and rubbed a shoulder. “You look like you could use something, take the sadness outta yo
ur eyes,” the woman persisted.

  Mica gave a tight smile; he didn’t have enough coin, and wasn’t about to say so. Instead he lifted his mug. “I’m fine. Got my medicine right here.” He took another mouthful.

  The prostitute gave one last pout and let her arm slip off, “You change your mind, baby, you just ask for Mazie.” She turned to the man beside Mica and was already chatting him up as Mica sipped again..

  * * *

  His head hurt, as did various other parts of him, and he was fast clueing in to the fact he was cold and wet. Mica forced his eyes open, groaned and immediately shut them again. After the nausea subsided, he tried again. Daylight was harsh and pitiless. The sky overhead more white than blue, the clouds a steel gray. He couldn’t quite remember all of last night. Mica knew he had been drinking in some waterfront tavern, he had been propositioned... Then, nothing.

  He forced himself upright, and immediately wished he hadn’t as the world spun and his stomach heaved and he spewed up the contents. Mica felt a little better. Through streaming eyes, he saw he had been dumped in a stinking, filthy alley way. He was missing boots, shirt, pants, cloak, and money belt. The wind was like a knife against his naked body. He staggered up, wincing as his feet squished in the mud and who knew what else.

  Mica’s head still pounded, and he had a hard time breathing. When he swallowed, his throat burned and he was unsure if it was from the force of his vomiting or because he had caught cold from being dumped outside in the wet mud, naked.

  “Damn it!” he swore to himself. “I know better.”

  He picked his way out of the alley, headed toward the stone bridge and Illyria’s residence. He ignored the stares, laughter, and insults hurled after him. Mica was exhausted when he finally stumbled into the mansion, shivering violently. The first person he ran into was Colin.

  His brother gaped in shock, and blanched at the ripe smell emanating from his brother. “Are you...” he began but was ignored as Mica stumbled for his room.

  Colin wondered if his brother would answer any questions, but didn’t think so. He went in search of Eron, and found him in meetings with Her Grace’s men of business. His friend made a few moments of time for him.

  “Look, you know as well as I my brother doesn’t just go out and get drunk for no reason. At least, not since we had been mortal and young. He’s way past that stage.”

  “He’s had a big shock, Colin. I’d be drinking too much as well, if I was him.”

  “No, you wouldn’t. You’d probably plot how to get revenge, or what you planned on doing with your life.

  “Me, yes, your brother, no. Give him time. He’ll come around.”

  * * *

  Mica stood swaying in the doorway to his room. He couldn’t seem to stop the violent shivers wracking his body.

  “Pardon me, sir,” a male voice spoke. “Would you like the tub brought round so you may bathe?”

  The man half-turned to see the slave assigned to his room standing outside the door. The slave’s words barely penetrated the haze inside his head, and he stared idly around the room. Mica didn’t know how long he stood, lost in thought. The next thing he knew, slaves had entered his space. They set up the cured leather tub and filled it with hot water. Another slave had started a fire in the fireplace. He was gently led to the tub and helped in.

  The room was in darkness when next Mica floated up out of his stupor. His head ached and felt full of wool. His throat was on fire, and he kept alternating between being unbearably hot then cold. There was a cup of cool liquid next to him, and he picked it up in a shaking hand and tried to drink the contents. It soothed his throat somewhat, and he lay back down, drifting into sleep again.

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  Look for Book 3 of Immortalibus Bella

  Coming Summer 2014