Chapter 71. Lyssa's Aura

rmand pretended to be dozing beside Brigit when Morisedd stalked past him with Ebony in tow.  At the best of times, Armand did not trust people, but he was really beginning to dislike the lean ranger.  The man’s emotional state was grating on him, not to mention the way he treated little Mabane.  The kid was scared of the man, his own uncle, and he needed comforting badly.

“We take him home now,” Morisedd told the necromancer, keeping his voice low with the intention that Mabane would not overhear him. The boy was pressed against Lemony, his eyes clenched shut and his jaws taut as if he were in pain.

“It is not that simple.  He has a strong attachment to Pendaran, both as a surrogate father and as his master.  Mabane can sense Pendaran’s fear and suffering.  Do you understand what that means if we abandon Pen?”

“It means the boy will eventually get over the scoundrel and get on with a normal life.”

“No, it means that two important men in his life have abandoned him in death, one of whom he thought he could save.  Children blame themselves.  It is how they tell themselves they had control over a situation in which they were helpless. He will blame himself for Pendaran’s horrible end. Is that what you want?”

Morisedd shoved past Ebony, storming back to Uriel to stay at her side.  The elementalist shifted slightly to make room for him but would not look at the man nor speak to him.  Armand could sense her disdain and anger.  Brigit sighed and drew him against her armor plated breast, embracing him gently and kissing his cheek.

“Did you get any sleep?”

“Not really. Did you?” Armand replied, keeping his voice low for Mog appeared to have succeeded where he had failed.  The big mesmer was sprawled nearby, his pack wedged beneath his head and a blanket half covering him.  In the shade of the gully beyond the reach of the bloated sun it was chilly.  Soft snores issued from his parted lips.

“A little,” she yawned, squeezing him playfully as she stretched, “What’s troubling you, Love?”

He hesitated, not accustomed to sharing such things with another human being and yet finding he wanted to with Brigit.  She would understand and that would lighten the burden of his heart.

“Something is wrong with Mabane and I’m afraid to say anything in case it makes his uncle behave like an even bigger jerk.”

He felt Brigit tense but his worries were allayed when she kissed his temple.

“Do you know what’s wrong?”

“Lyssa’s Aura is upon him and he’s too young for it.  Something must have triggered it and the poor kid is overwhelmed.”

Brigit considered this for a moment.

“Should we tell Ebony or Lemony? Maybe they would know what to do.”

“Do?  There isn’t anything they can do.  It passes eventually, it’s just really frightening and painful and this is about the worst place to experience it.  I’m worried for his mind and that it will scar him for life.”

Mog stirred and sat up stiffly.

“Aye, ye sensed it to?” he whispered groggily.  Armand frowned, annoyed that he had been overheard and yet relieved he had another mesmer to back him up, “Maybe ye had no help wit’ yer aura, Army, but mos’ of us do.”

Armand nodded.  That was the truth.  He had been forced to cope with it alone because he had no family to turn to and no other mesmers were around.  It had only been years later that he had realized what had happened to him during that frightening stage of his life.

“Rightfully ‘is master would be helpin’ the lad,” Mog said, “so now it falls t’ us.”

“Help?  How do you help that?  It just happens,” Armand protested.

Mog chuckled softly but sadness flickered in his blue eyes.

“Must ‘ta been a right fearful ride for ye, Army, if no one was there. Ye contain the lad, ye help ‘im guide his energies and tell him what’s going on and that it won’t last forever.”

Mog rose with a grunt to his feet, dusting himself off and straightening his clothes before going to Lemony.  The two conversed softly and the man stroked Mabane’s shoulder gently.  A moment later the boy was clinging to him, his face pressed to the man’s breast as if he wanted to hide from the world.  Armand did not blame him one bit. He remembered the wild visions and sensations and how terrifying they had been with no one there to explain that he was not going crazy, merely opening to Lyssa’s art.  Puberty was harsh enough for most young men, but to endure that on top of it had seemed cruel.

Mog carried the boy back to where they had been sitting and Lemony rose and stretched, following sleepily.  Armand’s stomach clenched when he saw Morisedd watching them with a mixture of rage and distrust on his craggy face.  Now he knew something was amiss.

“Here, Army, help me comfort the lad,” said Mog as he sat down beside Armand.  He froze as Mabane detached from Mog and latched onto his breast, his narrow arms clenching like a vise.  Brigit giggled softly and stroked Mabane’s black locks.  Mog, for his part, still had Mabane’s legs curled on his lap and clasped one of the boy’s hands.

The boy relaxed, finding comfort in whatever he perceived in Armand, which should have been nothing since he was careful to contain his thoughts and emotions.  He did not want just anyone barging in on him and he was paranoid enough to think someone might do so at any time, although currently the only one who was capable of it was Mog.  He smiled to himself at that thought.

“Did Mog tell you what is happening?” he asked Mabane.  The boy nodded, swallowing with effort.  Without thinking, he brushed the boy’s forehead and temple with his fingers and was alarmed when the child began to sob.  Oh gods, what had he done in his ignorance?  And what had Mog gotten him into?  He had no clue how to deal with this kind of thing.  Come to think of it, was the kid insane?  Why had he chosen Armand of all people when Mog was right there?

“I’m sorry,” he told the boy, “You really should let Mog take care of you.”

Mog chuckled as the boy shook his head vigorously, still weeping.

“Yer shut down an’ contained so well, e’s gettin’ relief by baskin’ in it,” Mog explained, “Yer a big old stubborn oak and he needs yer shade.”

Mabane nodded and Armand realized the boys tears were of relief, not suffering.  He had been too long alone and was now overcome with gratitude that he had found peace and calm in the midst of the aura’s storm.

“So shut down ye couldn’ see that,” Mog teased.

“I’d clearly make a lousy father,” Armand grumbled as he stroked Mabane’s back.  The boy giggled through his tears and squeezed him fondly.  It was almost too much for Armand and he felt a hairline fracturing of his own composure when he remembered the little boy he had been with no one to turn to.