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By Michele aka Ygraul Verdemorte |
Chapter 39. Mabane |
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abane dutifully helped his uncle trim a pile of goose quills in preparation for arrow fletchings. They were sitting on a blanket outside their tent in the warm sunshine. The air was clean and cool, the only clue that it was still winter even in the balmy lands of Kryta. The prior evening’s rain shower was already gone without a trace. “I need to get you a new bow, eh?” He shrugged at Morisedd, bored by the prospect of standing for hours shooting at an archery butt. He thought about the other use for goose quills and the happy hours he had spent with Pendaran learning how to read and write. There were worlds inside of books he wanted to explore, things he never knew existed until his master had conjured them out of thin air with the magic of words on paper. He longed to be read to again, to hear his father’s voice, so clear and calm, describing exotic lands and creatures. “When was the last time you got to practice?” “I don’t know,” Mabane lied. He sensed Murdi would be angry if he knew he had not touched a bow since leaving Tyria and he had not missed it one bit. “How do you expect to be a ranger if you don’t practice?” “I’m a mesmer, Uncle. I don’t need a bow.” Silence, then. Murdi disapproved of mesmers, although he stopped short of slandering his fathers in front of Mabane. Of course, Mabane could detect Murdi’s hatred of Pendaran. Murdi was the primary reason why he was not allowed to visit his master even though he could feel his pain and anguish as clearly as if it were his own if he opened himself to their connection. It was difficult to shut Pendaran out. His tormented state was overwhelming to an untrained psyche. Mabane had only tried once to reach out to him and it had cost him a long sleepless evening of nightmares. He missed Pendaran dearly and longed for the time before Zhou’s death. Back then, even when they were apart, Mabane could seek him with his mind and tap into the gentle love that Pendaran had for him. He had never doubted that he was cherished by his master, or that Pendaran was proud of how smart and talented he was. Or that being a mesmer was the finest thing a young man could aspire to and no reason to be ashamed. “All the men of the Dunvael are rangers,” Murdi rumbled, “It’s ill luck to meddle with tradition.” “My father was not Dunvael,” Mabane replied quietly, lowering his eyes as he worked. Never before had he dared to contradict his uncle and yet he had tapped into a hitherto unknown well-spring of defiance. Anger and resentment burned within him as he felt Murdi’s contempt for what Mabane was. Morisedd stopped what he was doing and turned his grim gray eyes upon him. He put Mabane in mind of a wolf, all instinct and savagery. “You want to end up like Pendaran? Is that it? Half mad and half a man? I’ll not let you grow up to become a whimpering coward.” “I’d rather be a cowardly human than a heartless animal.” Mabane instantly regretted his words. Murdi reeled as if he had been struck, an expression of rage and pain etched upon his rugged face. “Is this what you have become under the tutelage of a scoundrel?” he snarled, “I’ll be damned if you spend another minute with that conniving scum and his poison words.” Mabane jumped to his feet, shaking with anger. “He is my master and you cannot break that bond!” he screamed, throwing the feathers into Murdi’s startled face, “He has never spoken ill of you in my presence but the gods only know why. You’re a miserable excuse for a human being and I hate you!” “Mabane!” Teleri shrieked, her stricken face emerging from the tent, “What in the name of the five gods has gotten into you. You apologize to your uncle this minute!” “No,” Mabane said coldly, turning his back to them both as he strode away. “Come back here, now, young man,” Teleri commanded, her voice shrill with anger. It was what Pendaran jokingly referred to as the Voice of Mother spell. Normally Mabane was powerless before it, but not today. Never again. He loved her and he hated her. She had abandoned him and his beloved master. She had no right to tell him what to do. He kept walking toward the ruined garden. It was the only place that he found solace now. Morisedd was following him. “You heard your mother! Come back this instant.” “Leave me alone! I hate you!” He winced away from Morisedd’s touch and tried to pull free when the tall ranger’s grasp tightened over his left arm and spun him around. “You want to be a mesmer? Fine. Let me show you what that looks like,” Morisedd roared, dragging him toward the tent where Pendaran now dwelt. Suddenly Mabane did not want to see his master and he backpedaled desperately. He was barely half the height of his uncle and lacking his powerful build. The boy floundered and pummeled Murdi’s arm ineffectually with is balled fist. Teleri emerged from the tent, her face an ugly shade of scarlet. “Murdi, no!” she cried at her brother, “That’s enough.” To Mabane’s horror, Morisedd would not relent and thrust aside the flap of Pendaran’s tent, ripping the pegs violently aside as he did so. “Is this what you want to become?” Morisedd shouted, shoving Mabane toward Pendaran. He crashed against his master’s breast and lay there, startled. Pendaran was sitting, propped up against the side of a heavy chest amid pillows and blankets. A startled sigh emerged from his throat but he said nothing and turned his face away in shame. Mabane realized Pendaran was bound when the man made no effort to push him away or touch him. His arms and hands were folded over his belly, bandaged in place so that he could not harm himself or lash out at others. His shins and ankles were wrapped in soft layers of silk so that he had no choice but to remain where his keepers had placed him. He was entirely at their mercy. “Master,” Mabane sighed, unwelcome tears clouding his vision.. The man looked down at him now, his haunted visage gaunt and sorrowful. His jaw was shadowed with an emerging beard and his once brilliant green eyes were dull and sunken beneath the shadows of his brow. He looked terrible. “What were you thinking?” Ebony shouted at Morisedd, “Get out of here. Now!” Mabane wrapped his arms around Pendaran and clung to him, determined never to let go. He thought of the father he had already lost and sobbed now, realizing he was about to lose another. “Don’t leave me, Papa, I need you.” “Oh Mabane,” Pendaran whispered, “I’m so sorry.” Morisedd left and Ebony swore as she sought to bind up the ruined door flap. She strode closer to Mabane and hesitated when he curled up like a barnacle against Pendaran’s side. “I suppose now that you’re here, you might as well stay a while,” she sighed, “I’m sorry you had to find him like this. That was a very unkind thing your uncle just did.” “I hate him,” Mabane choked, his emotions overflowing and the big balled up knot of pain in his chest making his small frame shudder like a leaf. “You love him, too,” Ebony said quietly, “He is a good man, but good men make bad decisions when they are wounded, don’t they, Pendaran?” He nodded sadly and kissed Mabane’s crown as the boy’s tears soaked the front of his shirt. “I’m sorry you had to see me like this,” he murmured. “I don’t want to lose my master, too,” Mabane whimpered, squeezing him tightly, “You won’t die, I won’t let you.” “I want to hold him,” Pendaran said quietly, his voice hoarse, “May I have my arms back for a little while?” Ebony nodded. Mabane sat up and leaned against Pendaran’s shoulder until he was free and then latched onto his breast the minute his arms parted to receive him. He wept with abandon now as Pendaran rocked him slowly in his embrace. “Don’t you love me enough to stay? Am I not talented enough or smart enough? I can work harder. I will be the best mesmer ever. I’ll make you proud.” To his dismay, Pendaran began to cry. He had not meant to hurt him. Ebony stroked Mabane’s back and squeezed Pendaran’s hand. “Tell him why you’re crying, Pen.” “I’m already proud of you,” he whispered into Mabane’s ear, “and I’d love you no matter what you chose to be. This isn’t your fault, my son. You deserve so much better than this. I should find you another teacher, one who could do your talents and brilliance justice.” “But I want you to teach me,” Mabane wept, “You’re my master and I love you.” “I love you, too, Mabane.” “Can I stay with you?” Pendaran squeezed him gently, then stroked the damp hair from Mabane’s face, smiling upon him. “For a little while,” Pendaran said softly, “You can visit me again tomorrow if Ebony and your mother allow it.” “I want to stay here,” Mabane insisted, afraid Teleri and Morisedd would refuse. “You’re a little boy, Mab,” Pendaran said gently, “Little boys are meant to play in the sunshine and not worry about things like this. Tomorrow, you can tell me what you did for fun. I expect a full report.” A smile rose to his lips and he giggled at the thought. As long as there was a tomorrow with Pendaran in it, everything would be alright. He lay there wrapped in the warmth of his master, the heat of the day making him feel sleepy and content. Soon, Pendaran’s breathing grew quiet and his grasp became slack. “I give him something to help him rest for a couple hours in the afternoon,” Ebony explained, “He’ll be asleep until suppertime. You should go play now like he asked you to.” “Will he be alright?” Mabane asked her, sensing she was an adult who would not lie to him. “I don’t know. He is hurting a great deal.” “He lost his master,” Mabane told her, trying to make her understand. “Yes, he did,” she replied, her worn hand squeezing his shoulder. He liked her and he was glad she was looking after Pendaran. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Will you tell your uncle and mother to come talk to me before you go play?” “Alright,” Mabane said dutifully. With a smile, he bounded out of the tent, glad for the feel of the sun upon his face.
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