“Anyway,” Coren leisured, “if you ever feel like talking to someone about those years, I’m here. It’s not like you can talk about them with anyone else. Nothing you’re going to say is going to shock me. This city was spawned of the Darkness, and he’s got people here just as evil as in Tertorem.” He leaned closer. “And I am an elf of Aselvia, I am one of your people, like it or not.”
No response.
With a yawn, Coren scooted backwards and reached for the roof hatch when Errance spoke.
“Do you really want to know?”
A fatal challenge could not have been spoken with more peril. Cold, laced with mocking and contempt. An uninvited chill crawled down Coren’s spine, and he stilled, hand tightening on the latch. His elven prince would speak, not to unburden the sorrows of his soul, but to test Coren’s mettle. And if the taunting lilt of his tone meant anything, he did not believe Coren could truly take it.
For a moment, Coren wondered if he dared to hear, wondered if he should have been so bold to claim knowledge in all the dark ways. He wondered if he should perhaps invite Errance to come talk up on the roof, away from young ears. But he could hear the light snores of the children and knew they must be deep in sleep after such an exhausting day. And Errance would not speak again if delay came now.
He came back near and settled himself to wait, not prompting any beginning, for he knew Errance would start when he wanted to and not before.
No matter the heat still baked into the stones, the aura around Errance was cold, and when he spoke his voice was colder still. A hard, uncaring sound, devoid of emotion. A common ear might have thought it the voice of one who had never loved in its life. Coren recognized it was the voice of one who had loved too much.
“They all died that night,” Errance began. “Every elf with me. Lord Reyin was last, killed before my eyes. My clothes and belongings were left scattered in the gore of my companions, and I was taken to Tertorem. I was told the conditions of my captivity from the start. The moment I submitted myself to their service, agreed to read and reveal the secrets of the Moonscript, the torture would end, and I would be set free. Lies, of course, and young fool though I was, I saw them as such. So I was given over to the Darkness’s commander of war and pain, Lord Raduer. And from then on life smeared into one red blur of endless agony. Perhaps they meant to break me in one fell snap. But I did not break. Because there was no choice for me. At that time, I was still naïve and innocent enough to think that even if I had wanted to obey, I wouldn’t be able to read the Moonscript because Father would not allow it.”
The bitterness in the last lashed out like a whip, but Coren did not flinch under its sting. Steadily, he kept his gaze locked with Errance. It was not so much a struggle for him, he kept his spirit calm and cool, but he could see fire and smoke ever building inside his companion’s soul.
“I survived the first decade. But that did not faze His Darkness, for he had constructed a three-part plan to break me, and without delay he set upon me a new master, the lord of slavery and shame, the one they call Ajahleish. There I was taken from mindless torture to humiliation. After that, an ever enduring torment of pointless work, hot and dry, surrounded by other slaves and lurking taskmasters. No shred of righteousness was left in any prisoner, eventually all turned on me, and we were enemies surrounded by our enemies. It was in that time I discovered the true power in my celestial blood. Instead of breaking down like all the men around me, I grew stronger. I healed from each wound given me, and though there was always new pain to cripple me, yet I hardened and grew. I started to think of myself as a hero, wondered if I might escape. But there is no place for heroes there, and no strength that matters against the will of—”
His voice suddenly broke. So cut of stones his words had been, and now they cracked. Alarm and confusion blazed into his eyes, and his jaw tightened to hold in any other unexpected weakness.
Coren did not blink. He simply watched. But inside, his heart lurched against his chest. So, he thought. You thought to disturb me with your tale, you thought I would flee from it, or else show a hidden delight that would prove me evil. But you do not know what to do with a steadfast heart. You sense my compassion, you sense that I care. But you do not know what to make of it, and your heart has responded when you thought it so hard. Oh, Errance. Do you not even remember what it is like to be loved?
Errance no longer returned his gaze, instead staring down into the dark corner of the room, his face withdrawn to hide in shadows. But the hand holding the knife could still be seen by a little light and it quivered.
When he spoke again, his voice was husky. Halting. Walking warily upon thin ice. “Having broken me with pain and shame, His Darkness then sought the crippling stroke. To seduce me in my weariness, in my weakness. Tertorem changed. It took on a glamour of intoxicating beauty, a world boasting wonders rivaling even Aselvia. All pain before had been for their pleasure, and it would be no different here. But she who is known as Etiserdis…has power to corrupt the mind, to make you believe enslavement is what you desire. But I fought. I clung to what good I knew, and would not yield to what lies their forked tongues hissed. So they took all that was pure and lovely and made it sordid. The truths I’d been taught were twisted till every dream I’d once had lay ruined. They set me at war within myself, my mind against my body, and when they started meddling with my mind, it was my heart against everything else, and that shriveled day by day.”
He was gone now, lost in the memory of his torment, and perhaps he no longer realized he spoke aloud to someone, for he no longer tried to conceal the shaking of his voice, the suffering within it.
Coren sat still, his fingers curled hard into fists till the nails were digging into skin.
“I at last understood there would be no rescue,” Errance whispered. “That I was doomed to suffer as by their will, and that I could not escape, not even…not even through death.” His breath caught, then released in a rattling swell. “I…I was devastated. I did not care about anything anymore, and though I still did not fully submit, I gave up fighting back. Then I knew Prince Errance had failed indeed, and that the secrets of the Moonscript and my people were in mortal danger.”
A spasm of pain contracted Coren’s face, and he finally dared to exhale. Throughout his conquests he had seen many shattered spirits. He did not see or sense anything in Errance that he had not seen or sensed before. But never, never had he ever met a soul with so much pain in it, so high a score of defeat. Yet still he knew they had not reached the true core of his broken heart.
“How did you regain your strength?” he asked.
Suddenly snapped back into reality, Errance laughed, short and sharp. “I didn’t,” he said. “I died.”
“Except,” Coren said, brow wrinkling, “not really.”
Errance’s eyes blazed in the darkness. “No, I died. That boy, the tattered remains of the Prince you saw painted on walls—he—died. When I could not sever my spirit from my body, I suffocated it, buried it with despair beyond any equal before or since. I do not remember the next decade of seclusion they say I spent. Perhaps they thought my subconscious would writhe in solitude, but they were wrong; there was nothing.”
After a few more moments, the prince continued, voice steady again, though still teaming with an underlying fire. “And then someone else awoke. It awoke in the mines, and there was pain, and there was rage, and there was meaning. I killed two hundred and thirty-seven men that first year and lost count after. I was a mountain of fire come to life from dormancy. They locked me in seclusion again, this time with a demon outside to speak lies and pervert my mind, but I withdrew again, though not so deep as before. There I regained self-control and a strange sense of pride. They had done their worst—but I had been reborn stronger than before. What could they do to me that they hadn’t done already? In a way, I was above them. I wouldn’t give in; I couldn’t die…what was left?”
With a swift shake, he straightened and his voice became brisk, unfee
ling. “Whatever strategy they’d had was now in shambles. I suppose they were thoroughly tired of me, because the next warden set in charge of Tertorem was a mere mortal man who only thought himself dangerous. I soon taught him otherwise. At the end of his ten year reign, Tellie and Kelm arrived as neighbors to my cell, and the Voice returned to Tertorem.”
“The Voice,” Coren interrupted, “Wait, who’s that?”
Errance stared at him as if he had grown a second head. “What do you mean who’s the Voice? He is the most powerful and revered of all the demons of His Darkness.”
“Never heard of him.”
Errance’s brow furrowed incredulously. “Strange,” he murmured. “He is the one held in most dread.”
“Not the Darkness?”
A slight scoff caught in Errance’s throat. “You never see the Darkness. According to rumor, he dwells in a black sphere called the Nyght that floats over Tertorem. The Voice is his mouth, his eyes, his ears, and his actions. It’s the Voice that reports to him and who receives orders. He is…the worst of them all. Every turn of the decade he would come to see how I fared and turn me over to my next master. But this time…this time, he declared himself the new warden. But we…escaped. The children and I.”
“You never see the Darkness?” Coren repeated, his tone disbelieving.
“No.”
“Are you certain? They say he takes the form of a wind black as death—
“I’ve never seen him,” Errance said, but the firmness to his voice sounded queer, and Coren was sure he saw a flicker of…uncertainty?
Nothing more was spoken for a long while after. They simply sat there in the dark, light fading in and out between the wooden slats as somewhere far above clouds passed over the moon and stars. But in that stillness hung expectation. An emptiness of words unsaid. For Errance was not finished, Coren knew, but he dared not encourage him to continue, for any encouragement would surely be taken as pressure.
“I don’t know how I didn’t give in.” The words were whispered. A secret shameful confession. His hand slowly uncurled from the knife and rose to wrap around his other arm. “Perhaps if I had known in the beginning how long or hard it would be. It was a strange duty…to protect people I had never met. Sometimes…sometimes I am angry they still live perfect lives free of Darkness while I suffered to preserve that perfection. But maybe I was never protecting them. Maybe I was only protecting my own pride.”
The air around them inhaled, even it understanding how hard it was for the prince to speak those thoughts. Swallowing, Coren looked to the floor, unable to see how very still Errance’s face remained. Those words he had spoken—who knew how many countless times they’d tangled in his mind, and yet he refused to show any relief that he had at last voiced them.
So much said, so much revealed. But it was only a scratch on the surface after all, only the smallest of leaks in the pain pressured within him. Who would be able to stand firm if the dam he’d built ever broke?
Errance’s eyes hardened again, the look of loss retreating to hide behind his walls. He made a small, scornful sound to mock the vulnerability that had slipped free. “Any questions?” he said, sardonic to perfection.
“Just one. What about Ayeshune?”
The look that flashed through Errance’s eyes was as brief and as violent as a strike of lightening. It told Coren everything he needed to know.
“That’s all, Errance,” he said quietly. “Thanks for talking.”
He rose and reached for to the hatch, climbing out of the dark, cramped room and onto the roof, the vast night overhead. A cool ocean breeze swept across the roofs of Oolum, and he turned his sweaty face into its path. Every muscle in his body trembled, trembled with an anger as red as his hair and blood. But he took breath after deep breath, willing the liquid fury to sink down and wait. Righteous wrath was all well and good, but there was no righteous outlet at hand.
Instead, he looked up into the sky and the stars sparkling brighter than the purest diamonds. The west wind bore aloft the scent of sea salt, a more welcome perfume to him than any expensive oil.
He noticed then that he was not alone. A small silhouette sat on the edge of the roof, moonlight illuminating blowing hair. He went and sat beside the figure. He did not speak, but he looked so he could see those dark eyes bright with reflections of starlight floating deep inside. Zizain was a beautiful woman, but more beautiful at night for of those hours she was queen. He looked away before she could feel his gaze upon her.
Zizain spoke, barely moving her lips. “You spoke with the prince, yes?”
“Yes,” he answered, pulling one knee up so that he could rest his chin on it.
Then a growl rumbled out of his throat. “He was long gone by the time I was born, Zi. But oh, the stories told of him. Stories of a bright, adventurous youth with a laugh that could warm the coldest hearts and a smile anyone could trust. A boy with a spirit brave and bold that strove hard to learn every skill of art and battle, but whose heart still remained kind and pure. Not a perfect boy, even the stories admitted he had a streak of rebellion and other normal faults. But a boy better than most. When I’d see the paintings of him, I knew that all those stories were true. And that that bright young boy should be that mutilated man down below us…”
Coren clenched his jaw, but breath hissed out between his teeth. Until that moment, he’d prided himself for control. But by the stars, Errance! His prince, his king! Tears began to thicken his throat, and he could barely speak.
“And yet when I heard what he just told me…I realize we should have nothing at all. He should be a raving monster, devoid of any mind. He says his former self died, and perhaps it did, perhaps for a time he was nothing but a monster. And yet nobility and some memory returned, no matter how he might deny it. That streak of rebellion could not have been able to take him this far.”
“Then what did?” Zizain asked.
Crossing his arms, he craned his neck back till he stared straight up at the stars. “The celestial elves have a powerful light dwelling within them. They can pull it out to craft, strengthen, and heal. Since Errance is only half celestial, he doesn’t have the power to pull his light out, but it is inside him. I can only guess it sustained him throughout all those years, healing his body and stabilizing his mind. But other than that…he’s empty. He doesn’t have anything else. If that fails him one day…” His voice trailed away, and he stared off into the distance where silver caps of waves ribboned the midnight sea.
Zizain gave his hand a soft squeeze. “If he’s the prince, doesn’t that make him your cousin?”
“Yes,” Coren said shortly. “But don’t tell him. Somehow I doubt he wants to know.”
20
oOo
For a small breath of time, the burdens on my soul eased as I let them down, spoke them aloud, pried their grip from my throat. But I could not loose it all for though his eyes are seasoned beyond his years, the truths hidden in darkness would snuff any light, and I do not want the bright spark in his eye to go out. He does not need to know the power of Darkness.
“Tellie. Tellie, it is time.”
She shifted, trying to squirm deeper into sleep and let the voice fade away. Was that Mister Norne—no, no, of course not, that was a very handsome voice. Errance or maybe Coren? No, not them either. That’s right, it was Rendar, the elven King Ren—
She bolted upright, blanket flying.
There he knelt across the room. As he came towards her, she shrank back.
He halted, surprised. “Are you afraid of me?”
Coloring, she cleared her dry throat and peeled her tongue away from the roof her mouth. “No! No. It’s just…it’s just one usually doesn’t dream when they’re so tired.”
With a quiet chuckle, he said, “Have I not told you that this is no dream?”
“Yes, well…” She trailed off unhappily. The last time Rendar had appeared could certainly be explained as a dream. Maybe even this time she could excuse it as a dream. But
that experience she’d shared with Errance in the streets of Oolum could not be denied. “Well. Well, then what is this, Rendar! What’s happening and why is it happening to me?”
Sympathy filled his eyes and he reached out his hand. “I’m sorry, I did not explain well enough last time. Or perhaps you were not ready to understand. But come with me now and your sight shall grow.”
All at once every exquisite detail of their previous time together rushed back into Tellie’s mind. The terror of the darkness, the thrill of the singing, then the exhaustion and collapse. After all the activity of the day, she doubted she could muster the strength for another battle.
“Do you want me to help Errance?” she asked weakly.
He shook his head. “Coren is helping him tonight.”
“Coren!”
“Indeed. A noble elf, though very different from the rest of us. Tonight, he is helping Errance release a little of the pain rotting inside.”
“Errance is confiding in Coren?” Tellie said, shocked more than ever. She’d thought Errance wouldn’t trust Coren ten leagues away.
“Do not think Errance desires isolation, even if he believes it himself. He is starved for friendship, and no matter what his mind may deny, his heart recognizes Coren as kindred,” Rendar said. He stood, and Tellie’s stomach turned as she saw he could rise to his full and terrible height in the low-roofed attic without changing size. She really shouldn’t be allowed to dream such impossible things.
When he took her hand, she felt a slight change, as if the morning sun was just beginning to rise. She glanced around the room and she saw the figures of her friends just like she might have normally, except…except not. There was more. She could see further in. Beyond the first layer of their bodies and into the glowing core of their spirit. It wasn’t noticeable at first, only when she really looked for it. And there was something more about them, but it was utterly different to her mind, so she shook it off.
Moonscript (Kings of Aselvia Book 1) Page 24