Chapter 56. The Key

ry grass and moss tickled his face and the smell of salty loam rose up to greet him as he inhaled.  The slap and sigh of the sea sang a lullaby for it was dark now in the hour after twilight and stars gazed down upon him from the breast of the sky.  That is what his father had said on those lazy summer evenings when whimsy stole over him and he gathered up his sons to sleep amid the ripening wheat fields of the Caradec estate.  With their father between them, the brothers had lain on their backs so that they could admire Lady Lyssa and her necklace of diamonds.  And as they had drowsed in their blankets, their father had woven tales, taught them songs and spoke of the magic of their matron goddess.

Pendaran realized his father had loved him in the limited and fallible way of which he was capable.  If he had been generous in his disappointment then it was merely because he had wanted better for a son who squandered his talent.  Owain had demonstrated the cost of being brilliant and Pendaran had learned that lesson early.  Better to be ordinary.  Better not to draw the eye of the King.

He had been sleeping, dreaming of Ascalon in the years before the Searing.  Golden haired Clarissa had danced softly upon delicate feet, spinning and weaving as he sang one of his father’s songs and tapped out its rhythm upon his folded lap.  They had made love beneath the open sky, abandoning their clothes in the starlight and laughing like children in their innocence and delight.  And then, wrapped in one another’s arms, she had touched his breast to feel the slow toll of his heart, her pale eyes wide with wonder and love for him.  Withdrawing her touch, she held a silvery key and hooked it to a fine chain around her throat.

“I will love you always,” she whispered quietly, “Just as you will always love me.”

He was awake now, naked upon the mossy earth.  The pain of his body was made conspicuous by its absence.  He ran his fingers over the place where the daggers had torn him asunder and found nothing but smooth flawless skin.  Instinctively he moved his right leg, finding it supple and strong, all sensation returned.  Pendaran jumped lightly to his feet, shocked to find his body restored to its youthful perfection.  Even the old scars on his back were gone.

Threnody was gone and he felt it as an ache in his breast.  Her promise to him had been made manifest but at what cost?  He scanned the dark horizon as he stood alone on a high stack of ancient basalt with its sere carpet of flora.  The becalmed sea spread out on every side except to the south where the distant hump of a cliff ringed island hunched.

“Threnody?” he called, longing for her as a child its mother.  The cold night wind flowed over his bare flesh without effect, and when he realized this, he grew concerned.  He did not recall eating since leaving Kaineng, yet he knew that several days, perhaps even a week, had passed.  He experienced neither hunger nor thirst.  What had she done to him?  Had he died?  Was he little more than a pale imitation of Ashekoroth now?

Something was terribly wrong but he could not place his finger upon it.  What had she done to him?

“Threnody!”

His voice trembled upon the empty air, stolen away by the breeze.