Kill... Take a life...
It was very late– probably very near midnight.
Kill... He wrapped his hand around Sonsedhor's hilt, could almost feel the bloody imprint warm against his hand. The whole sword was warm; it pulsed in his hand. Kill... Do it...
He opened the window of his room and dropped to the ground from the second floor.
Emery hadn't spent much of the afternoon with his usual companions. In fact, he'd spent most of it in his own room, alone. But toward evening, he wandered out into the hallway, looking around as if he was lost. Becca noticed him and kept her eyes on him as he meandered around the furniture and the other patients, tense as a guitar string. Before anyone could tell what he was doing, he had his hands around the throat of another patient, Kristen Censor. Kristen screamed and went into a seizure-like fit, crumpling to the ground and screaming rather than fighting or even struggling against Emery's grip. It took three nurses to pry him away from her and drag him, still fighting, back to his room. More than one of those nurses has bruises the next day.
Roark kept the murder of the woman in Dracmere secret from his companions. He tried to leave for the river before they woke, but Weslyn and Draegon were already up, having breakfast together and talking, when he entered the common room.
Four days' hard riding took them to the riverbank. Three nights passed, and on every one, the urge to do murder took him until he couldn't fight it anymore, snuck away, and killed whatever person happened across his path. Twice, he came upon the camps of Seekers and did his bloody deed, apologizing even as he thrust the blade between ribs or into a gut. The other night he happened on a trio of hunting Keidenelle and slaughtered all three before they could even think about defending themselves.
It was the after murdering the three Keidenelle that he realized, to his immense relief, that one death sated his bloodlust. Something had been done to him that made him kill every day. Every night...
The fourth day, they reached the bank of the Swen. He recognized the blackness that lay on the other bank. It was nearer than he remembered from Cheyne's dying day. Then, there had been some land on the other side of the river, a few feet of bank on the other side to stand on. Now the water went straight up to the edge... and stopped. But the river was still deep, still had a strong current. The water didn't run off the edge into the void. But there was no bank to contain it as there had been when he was Cheyne. He stared at the black. He had stood on the opposite bank with Senne and looked over the edge.
Senne. The memory rushed into his head like a charging bull and hit him with as much force. She had betrayed him, been directly responsible for his death, for him drowning.
One murder everyday. Staring into the black, he relived the four murders he had already done. He could feel the others nearby, Weslyn, Kemeny and Draegon.
I won't. Not to any of them. I'll kill myself first.
In the end, he doubted he could sink a blade into his own flesh. Part of him doubted that would do anyone any good. It had to be the sword's doing, Sonsedhor's doing. Somehow the sword had acquired its own will, and the will was evil. If he died, would it seek another owner? He couldn't risk sentencing someone else to that fate. This was his burden; he wouldn't try to escape.
But he could try to turn the sword's evil will to good. Killing innocents was unforgivable; he knew he was already damned for it. But there were plenty of wrongdoers, criminals in the world. If he sought the murderers, rapists, and thieves out instead...
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
The sound of water trickling in the stone fountain in the courtyard could be heard even in Emery's room, even through the barred window. He appeared calm, much calmer than the evening before, when he had tried to choke Kristen to death.
Becca managed to obtain permission to bring his friends by his room– with him under supervision, of course– and allow them to speak to each other through the little viewing window in his door.
Senne could only describe herself as emotionally drained. Guilt filled her, ate at her. Cheyne had been intertwined so much in her life, all her lives, and she had betrayed him to the Dark Father for no other reason than to earn her own immortality, an immortality she had anyway, through the memories of her lives. So selfish, so foolish.
She found herself nearing the river where she had committed her last transgression, but she wasn't alone at the river's edge. There were four others, and one of them......
She recognized Sonsedhor in his hand. As if sensing her presence, he turned and looked straight at her, sheathing the sword at his hip as he turned. She knew he recognized her.
Emery behaved for the entire morning, very calm and in control of himself. Under the watchful eyes of a half-dozen nurses, he was allowed to go out to the courtyard for some fresh air. But as soon as he reached the stone walkway, he saw Joanna in her wheelchair, and he went into a rage, throwing himself at her in a fierce attack.
"You sent me to hell," he said softly, his eyes burning. "Senne."
"Cheyne......"
"Cheyne is dead!" he bellowed, not moving a muscle. He didn't shake with the fury he must be feeling, didn't so much as twitch his cheek. Even his expression didn't waver. He could have been a statue for all his body gave away. But his voice... the strain, the rage in it... it was painful. "It's Roark now."
"Roark......" he didn't interrupt her this time, just stared at her with those hate-filled blue eyes. "I... I'm sorry..."
"Why? Why did you do this to me? Why did you murder me?"
She could feel the tears coming. She had told herself over and over again that it hadn't been murder. It wasn't murder... the water killed him; she just pushed him in... but she knew it for a lie. "It was... he wanted Sonsedhor."
"Who?"
The tears came in earnest, making her sob uncontrollably so she couldn't answer. Cheyne... Roark... had to demand an answer twice before she got control of herself. "The Dark One... the Dark Father."
Roark recoiled as if from a viper. "You sold yourself to him!"
"No, please, I' don't belong to him anymore!" She sank to her knees. "He dismissed me. I'm... I'm no use to him anymore."
His eyes narrowed. "Your master threw you away, so you come crawling back to me? I loved you once Senne– many, many lives ago– but I see what that meant to you."
"I was a fool, Roark! I'm sorry!"
"Apologies aren't enough."
"But he's still after you... the Dark Father... he still wants Sonsedhor. I can help you."
He took a few long steps toward her and grabbed her by the neckline of her dress, pulling her roughly to her feet. "Why does he want it so badly? It would do him no good. It's just a sword. Sonsedhor is nothing but a tool."
"It's a means to control you," she replied haltingly. "If he controls it, he controls you. You know you and Sonsedhor are tied together, but you were created by the Mother, her tool. Control of one is control of the other."
"I follow the Mother's will!"
She gasped for air, staring up at eyes that had went from molten flame to solid ice in half a heartbeat. His hand released her; her knees gave way and she crumpled to the ground, sucking in breath after sweet breath. "But Sonsedhor's his now, isn't it? He's tainted it. You did deliver it to him." She heard the soft rasp of steel on leather, saw the sword in his hand. "If I have to kill someone today, let it be you. You actually deserve it."
Still short of breath, she scrambled to her feet and ran. He didn't chase her.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Vale spent his day as usual, glaring at everyone around him, saying nothing, doing nothing.
Jaidyn first heard the rumors in a tiny village so small he didn't even bother asking the name. Cheyne Firdin was reborn! He had claimed Sonsedhor! He had already gone forward to fight the Dark Father. No, he was serving the Dark Father! Cheyne's rebirth was a servant of the Dark One. No, he had been born a Keidenelle. No, he had tamed a Keidenelle. There were dozens of rumors, and he would overheard one rumor from one man,
then a few minutes later, a different one completely contradicting the first one he told. But they all agreed on one thing: someone had claimed to be Cheyne reborn.
He kept silent about it. These fools actually believed this kind of rumor? Where was the proof? Where was this false hero? No rumor gave any hint of his whereabouts. Jaidyn simply chose to ignore the rumors.
The tiny village claimed only one tiny inn. He stopped walking right in front of it, when he realized Hoeth had fallen behind. When he turned, the younger man was looking at him accusingly, his chin thrust forward and his eyebrows pulled down angrily. "You duped me," he said. "You lied to me. You said you were Cheyne!"
"I am," he replied calmly. It was, after all, the truth. He was Cheyne. He was!
"I don't want to hear any more of your lies!" he yelled, drawing eyes to him. "No more of your stories! If you were, then why isn't this news about you? Why don't you have Sonsedhor yet? Why don't you ever give me a straight answer when I... Nevermind. I'm finished, Lord Huntley. I'm ridding myself of you." He took a few steps toward the inn's front door. Before he got halfway to the door, he spun and pointed a condemning finger at him. "You are not welcome under the same roof as me." Turning on his heel, he disappeared into the inn.
"Fine! But when the truth comes out, don't try to apologize, Karzark!" He stormed off, his ears straining– against his will– for more of the rumors. He heard a handful of rumors, then a dozen variations of them, then a dozen variations of them, until it was enough to make his head spin and made him desperately want a drink.
He finally found his drink, in the makeshift tavern some old lady ran. He didn't know how much he downed, but the lady didn't stop him so long as he paid the coin before she gave him each bottle. But the rumors followed him into the little one-room tavern, and even the wine he was trying to drown his thoughts in didn't make them go away. As the rumors grew more and more elaborate, even to the point of detailing his proclamation and triumphs he'd already had, Jaidyn's mood grew hotter and hotter. Finally, well past dark and furious enough to start spitting, he stumbled out of the tavern and headed to the inn.
He barged in, empty wine bottle in hand, and was on the point of shouting Hoeth's name when his eyes focused on his former friend and companion. The young lordling was laughing, sitting at a table with his arm around a pretty dark-haired woman who looked to be in her mid-twenties. As he stood there, watching, he saw Hoeth actually lean over and sneak a kiss.
It was only a few moments before Hoeth saw him. He leaned over to the woman and whispered something in her ear. She covered his mouth with her fingers, stifling a giggle. Then Hoeth leaned and whispered to a man at a nearby table. The whisper passed around the room, and a wave of laughter followed behind it, with a lot of pointing at Jaidyn. The laughter faded and was replaced by jeers. Apparently he'd told everyone about Jaidyn's "lies".
His anger reached the boiling point, and he stormed out of the inn and back into the street. There were still a surprising number of people out-of-doors, considering the time of night. He thought he heard whispers and felt fingers pointed at him as he passed. Gossip spread quickly in a small place like this. The story had already spread far beyond the walls of Hoeth's inn.
Try as he did, he couldn't even get a bed in the stable loft.
Something different came over Vale's eyes, but since he never really let anyone see them, no one noticed.
He curled up next to a half-rotted barrel that sat next to a house and tried to sleep. His fury had yet to really cool, and it kept him from keeping his eyes closed for more than a moment. He kept seeing faces: people laughing at him, some unidentified man holding Sonsedhor, Hoeth jeering and accusing...
There was someone looking down at him, someone with a face he invisible in the darkness.
"I know what they've done to you, the injustices, the mockery they make of your life," the man said in a cool voice.
Jaidyn jumped to his feet. "Who are you?"
"I am...... that is all. I am." He paused, as if to let those words sink in. "I have seen everything you have gone through, my son. And I can help you."
He furrowed his eyebrows. Someone had been watching him? Who?
"I see you are suspicious. That is healthy. But I know everything, can see everything, Jaidyn. I know the memories you have, that fight with you. Lexan's memories."
He hadn't told anyone about that. He backed up, but the wall of the building was at his back.
"You need not be afraid, my son. I am here to help you. Accept my pity, my reborn king."
Reborn king? I am Cheyne reborn! I knew it! "Mother? Are you The Mother?"
The man made no move, and Jaidyn still couldn't see his face, but he got the impression he smiled.
"I thought you were a woman."
"I take many forms," he replied. "You have respect for power, so you see me as a strong, hale man."
"Why can't I see your face... Mother?"
"It is not for mortals to see, no matter how highly esteemed I may hold them." There was that impression of smiling again. "Will you accept my help to right the injustices done to you, my son? To claim what is rightfully yours?"
"Yes! Yes!"
"Then go out into the open, where you are all alone. You must be unarmed. I have other followers, ones who will find you, but only if you are out in the open and without weapon. Will you do this?"
"Of course, Mother! Of course!"
"Then I will mark you as my own, so they will know you." With one last impression of a smile, the man disappeared in a flash that left blue and black and gold lights sparkling before his eyes. One of the black lights came to him and settled onto his forehead. There was a burning sensation for a split second, then nothing. He reached up to his forehead and felt where the black light had touched him. He felt nothing. Would these followers see it?
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Becca was not the first person to think of Dissociative Personality Disorder concerning the five Sunsetter patients– as they were commonly called now by everyone– but she was the first to speak to anyone else about it. Dr. Anderson appeared pleased with Becca's diagnosis, agreeing wholeheartedly that it was highly likely the case for all five patients. And from simply observing the behavior of the five, Becca had even come to a guess of how many personalities each had. Ryan, Emery, and Lydia she thought each only had one other personality– one other person with a whole other name and past. But Vale and Joanna, she thought, each had two...... maybe more.
But what still had both Becca and Dr. Anderson baffled was what had them connected so closely and why. As far as their files showed, none of the five of them had had any contact with the others before coming to Ighosia Falls. So why were they connected now? They had all arrived at the asylum at different times– in some cases, years apart. Was it because of their DPD? What exactly were the identities of their alternate personalities? Why was Emery suddenly getting so violent? And what had caused them all to split so suddenly? None of them had shown such tendencies towards alternate personalities until this whole mess began.
The Sunsetter mystery was the key, Becca was certain.
Weslyn knew better than to talk about what had happened at the river. For nearly ten days, she and the others had kept quiet about it; in fact, none of them had said much of anything at all since then. Draegon was now almost constantly riding and puffing away quietly on his flute– his way to deal with the silence. Kemeny kept quiet, except for occasional whispers of encouragement and affection to the horse she'd borrowed from Weslyn. Roark kept his eyes forward, locked on the ever-distant horizon. He hadn't so much as looked at any of them since he'd scared that Senne woman away.
It was because of his eyes, Weslyn knew. Roark didn't want any of them to see what was behind them. But she didn't have to see his eyes to know. He was struggling. She hadn't quite understood the last thing he said to the woman: "If I have to kill someone today, let it be you. You actually deserve it." but she could guess. Every night now, Roark disappeared for
an hour or more. There was something very wrong, and the only thing she could think to blame it on was the sword. The big soldier certainly wasn't offering any explanations, but she believed she had everything pretty much pieced together.
Lydia approached Joanna while she was alone in the courtyard. The wheelchair-bound woman was usually unresponsive unless she was with all the others, but for once, she actually acknowledged the other woman. The two talked softly until it grew dark and some staff members escorted them back inside.
Kemeny was on watch when Weslyn woke in the middle of the night. It had been twelve days since the events on the Swen's bank. It must have been either near midnight or early in the morning; Roark was asleep on the ground, his back to the fire and his companions. He must have already gone out to do his deed and returned.
For a long time, Weslyn wasn't certain Kemeny knew she was awake. The contortionist sat staring at the low, crackling flames as if nothing else existed in the world.
"He's going to try and chase us all away," Kemeny said suddenly.
Weslyn walked to Kemeny and sat down next to her. "You think so, too?"
"He's afraid of hurting us. He keeps coming back from... wherever he goes...... with this anxious, hunted look. But where's he going and why? I haven't figured that out yet."
Biting her lip, Weslyn looked at the sleeping reincarnation of the great hero. "I think he's killing people. At the river, he said Sonsedhor's tainted. I don't know exactly what kind of taint we're talking about, but... I think he's killing people, and for some reason, I don't think he has a choice but to do it. And he's going to try and chase us away so he doesn't hurt any of us." She paused. "I don't blame him. I would probably do the same thing."
"We can't just abandon him."
Weslyn nodded. "But I don't think we can all stay with him, either. As much as it hurts to say it, I think we are in real danger from him. If Roark has to kill...... what happens if there's no one else around for him to do in?"
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