Chapter 63. The Key

abane felt invisible.  Sometimes he could stand in the entrance to his mother’s tent for a full twenty breaths before she even noticed he was there.  Worse, sometimes when she did see him, it was only to nod and go back to sleep or whatever chore she had assigned herself to avoid grief and remorse.  Uncle Murdi was often with her, sworn to silence and sullen.  Mabane was glad he did not have to talk to him any more. 

The truth was, Mabane felt as if the only person who cared about him was Pendaran.  Every moment his master was gone filled him with despair.  Now he did dare to reach out to his master, though his dreams were filled with dreadful images because of it.  Pendaran was in peril and no one was treating his rescue with what Mabane considered to be an adequate level of urgency.

Only Ebony, Mog and Lemony were able to console him now.  He had initially delighted in Brigit’s return but she was preoccupied with Armand.  Blushing, he glimpsed the two of them at the edge of the garden kissing and heard their occasional laughter.  How could anyone laugh at a time like this? Mabane scowled. Besides, this was his retreat.  Until those two had showed up, the overgrown domain had been his hiding place alone.

He no longer enjoyed the company of other children.  Their games felt too foolish and their laughter jarred his nerves.  Solitude was his preference.  He poked around in the thick leaf litter until he found five large chestnuts that were growing spongy with rot.  A cruel grin turned his lips as he lobbed them in quick succession at Brigit and Armand.  The first struck true, catching the golden-haired mesmer cleanly upon the nape and bringing his lovemaking to an abrupt halt.  The second bounced off of Brigit’s forehead, eliciting a startled cry of surprise.  The last three were plucked gracefully out of the air by Armand who had turned to face him, a bemused look upon his fair face.

“Mabane! What in the name of the Five has gotten into you?” Brigit snapped, almost perfectly echoing his mother and causing him to blush.

“I want to be alone,” Mabane replied, his voice cracking and betraying his fear and disgust.

“Come here, please,” Armand said calmly, much to Brigit’s chagrin.  Mabane could sense her jealous impatience and it hurt to realize she did not want him there.  Where was he supposed to go?  He was not old enough to be privy to adult confidences and yet he found no pleasure among his peers.  It was grossly unfair.

“Don’t encourage the little brat,” Brigit grumbled, rubbing the welt on her forehead.  Armand frowned as  Mabane winced at her words.  She had never called him that before.  He glared at the two of them and stormed away.  If either of them followed, he did not hear them and he was not about to stop.  He was sick of everyone pretending everything was fine.  Someone had to save his master now.

On the verge of tears, he stormed through the yard and past the gate that overlooked the long curl of the stairs that led down to the sea.  A long barge was tied up to the pier and a cluster of workers were unloading blocks of cut stone onto a sledge that had been built to convey heavy items up the slope.  There were rumors that parts of the great hall would be ready for habitation within the week and new furniture had been ordered for that fortunate day.  Mabane paused to watch them for a moment, deciding to leave the stairs and head down the forested slope away from the sounds of industrious hauling and building.

Within the shady coolness of the forest, he let down his guard and wept.  He could not bear the thought of anyone seeing him cry, least of all his mother.  He hated the way she fussed over him.  Sometimes his feelings were about something more than the loss of his father but he could not tell her that.  Pendaran understood, and even if he did not, he made no presumptions.  There was no one else who put him at ease, who made it known to him that no matter what, Mabane was acceptable.

He arrived at last at the shore and dropped down onto the smooth golden sand as wavelets lapped softly near his feet.  Assured that no one could hear him, he let go and sobbed miserably, longing for a time before loss and exile.  He missed the early days of his childhood when his mother had been happy and his father had played with him in the garden.  He did miss Rhys and the man was forever enshrined in his memory as a big loveable playmate whose embrace meant safety. 

“Why are you so sad?”

Mabane caught his breath and wiped the tears from his eyes.  A young girl sat beside him on the sand and he had no idea how she had sneaked up on him like that.  Nor did he have any memory of her.  She was pale as sea foam, her Canthan face framed by curls of silvery hair.  She gazed upon him with sea green eyes and a smile curled her pretty lips.  Clad in turquoise silk, her simple gown was trimmed with seed pearls and had buttons of mother of pearl.

“Who are you?” he croaked.

“Aramathxes,” she sighed, “Do you miss Pendaran?  Is that who you were crying for?”

“Yes… sort of.”

The little girl lifted a golden key strung on a fine necklace from around her throat.  It was embellished with deep golden green peridot that flashed in the sunlight as she offered it to him.

“This belongs to Pendaran.  You can find him with it.”

Mabane took it from her, surprised that it was cold after dwelling against her breast.  He clutched it possessively in his hands, trying to imagine how he might use it as she suggested.

“You will not find him here,” the strange girl said, “He is in the Realm of Torment where no mortal should long dwell.  I am soon to open the way to him.  I will hold the door open long enough for you to follow.”

Mabane stared at her, entranced as he realized that she was not human.  She was a creature from one of the books that Pendaran had read to him, a creature of magic with a human guise.