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Chapter 42. Invisible Son |
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abane awakened abruptly to something stirring in the drawing room. His sheets clung to his clammy flesh despite the chill salty breeze flowing through his open window. His mother or one of the servants must have opened it soon after he nodded off for he always made sure they were closed and latched before he went to sleep. It was part of his bedtime ritual. He ran his thumb over the glowing golden ring still clenched over the middle finger of his right hand, then felt beneath his pillow for the battered rapier still resting in its scabbard. He lay still, listening intently as his racing heart slowed upon realizing there was no danger. Women’s voices carried softly though his now closed door. They no doubt assumed he would remain asleep and did not wish to wake him. Moving slowly, he eased his feet over the side of the bed and padded silently toward the door to listen. He had rehearsed this move hundreds of times as the terrible nightmare revisited his dreams. “Do you have news?” came his mother’s broken voice. Her frail composure had collapsed under the strain of Morisedd’s arrival. Although no one would tell Mabane precisely what had happened, he knew enough from overheard conversations to confirm his darkest theories about his uncle’s crime. “I questioned Morisedd and performed several finding rituals,” said the other woman whose identity eluded him. Her rich tones were almost musical, but deep and strong. Her mind was sealed to him, however, and he could detect no more than an abiding calm. “Please find Pen,” Teleri wept, “I can’t go on like this. Please tell me you found him.” There was a long uncomfortable pause. “Please, sit down, and then I will tell you what I learned.” “Morisedd knows where he is,” Teleri protested, but her voice trailed off and Mabane heard the sound of her body falling back into the soft cushions of the couch. The other woman’s feet scuffed softly over the wooden floor as she also moved and possibly sat down. “I will not lie to you. Understand, for my own reasons I wish the news I had for you was different. Your husband’s fate is tied to that of my husband. I would do everything in my power to recover Pendaran for he could help me find Zhou. I have failed.” “He’s dead,” Teleri sobbed, “You don’t want to tell me that, but I can see it in your eyes.” There was a long silence punctuated only by the painful grieving of his mother. Her soul was as a vivid scar, a pulsing mass of black pain that made Mabane sick to his stomach. Hot tears burned from his own eyes as a mixture of rage and despair bubbled up within him. “Teleri, I’m sorry,” said Shikai, “I have done everything I can.” A horrible howling sound erupted from the depths of Teleri’s soul, so forlorn and broken Mabane reeled and dropped to his knees. “Morisedd is dead to me,” she cried, “You tell him I will never speak to him again. He is a murderer and he has turned my heart to ashes. He has destroyed me. He has destroyed the happiness of my children.” If Shikai responded, Mabane did not hear it. He heard nothing else above his own crushing grief. He crawled back into his bed and curled up in a ball, rocking himself slowly as wave after wave of sorrow crashed through his psyche. Now he understood what it meant to hurt so bad inside that death seemed a comfort. Pendaran gone from the world was unbearable. All of his dreams for the future were shattered and meaningless. Hours might have passed as he lay there weeping, his pillow drenched with tears and his throat aching from silencing his cries. The door creaked open and someone came to his bedside to check on him. He laid still, his face buried in his blankets and pillow so that no one could see his pain. Mabane did not want comforting, he wanted to be alone. Alone where no one would ever hurt him again. He smelled the faint resinous odor of cedar and sandalwood smells he associated with Shikai and Zhou. They had failed Pendaran. He hated her for it. He hated Zhou for leading Pendaran into danger. “Your son is asleep. We can tell him in the morning,” said Shikai gently, “You should sleep, too. Would you like me to stay?” “No,” Teleri croaked, the weeping replaced now by dazed emptiness, “I need to be alone now.” “I will send one of the servants to stay with you,” Shikai said gently as she departed from Mabane’s bedside and re-entered the sitting room. “No, that won’t be necessary.” “I find it is better not to face sorrow alone,” Shikai replied tenderly. “You are not me,” Teleri said and there was an uncharacteristic coldness in her voice, the faintest hint that she felt betrayed as Mabane did. “Very well,” Shikai said sadly, “I hope you will sleep. Dawn comes in a few hours.” “Leave me, now.” Mabane bit his lower lip to fight back a whimper of pain at the void of despair that had replaced the warmth of Teleri’s love for him. It was as if she had died, as well, and he feared for her. “Mama, don’t leave me. I need you,” he pleaded silently, feeling her withdraw even as he mentally sought for her. She was in her bedroom now. He heard the familiar creek of the bed she had once shared with Pendaran. He longed for the playful murmur of their voices, of the warm waves of their mutual joy and contentment that soothed away his fears in the small hours of the night. He lay there awake and shuddering, staring into the darkness and listening to the dull pounding of his heart. Mabane lifted his head as he heard Teleri stir when Sabina began to cry. His little sister would not be consoled. Small as she was, she sensed the emptiness of her mother, the impenetrable grief that ringed her heart like cold gray stone. Sabina’s misery seared Mabane’s senses, making him weep anew and plead that she could reach across the chasm of sorrow to their mother. The door closed and Mabane realized he was alone in the apartment with his sister, the two of them abandoned. He lay there incapacitated with exhaustion and anguish, a part of him wishing his heart would simply break and release him from his misery. And then he heard the grinding of the window sash being pushed upward and the dull thud of something hitting the floor. The nightmare. The terrible nightmare. He could not let it happen. He had to save Sabina. Trembling, he rose from his bed and drew the sword, his heart thundering in his breast and hopelessness rooting him to the spot as he heard the shadowy figure stalk toward his helplessly squalling sister. He had to save her. Pushing through the door, he uttered the incantation, his fear channeled at last into frigid, unstoppable rage. Chaos energies curled over his body and burned magenta over the length of the slim blade as it swept back. The shadowy figure loomed over the basinet and turned to face him, shocked to see someone was there. “Well, if it isn’t the baby cockerel himself,” the man rumbled with an oily laugh, “Put down the sword, boy, before you hurt yourself.” Mabane knew then what his father must have felt in the moments before killing. As if driven by a force outside of himself, he leaped forward, the agonized cry of the villain telling him he had struck true as he brandished the blade before him. Now he was between the dark figure and his baby sister. His palm blistered as the enchantment faltered, the pattern of the spell unreeling like frayed cloth. He could not contain the energies of the mighty spell. “Pathetic cub,” the man roared, “Nice little trick your master taught you. What else did you learn?” Mabane shuddered as the shadowy figure chanted cruelly. His flesh prickled and his spine tensed. As he stood there focusing with the sword blazing and outstretched before him, it seemed he was poised over a trap. The slightest movement might lead to his doom. “Did your master teach you about hexes, boy?” the tall figure sneered, “So much hatred. You really would kill me if you weren’t so pathetic.” “You killed my father,” Mabane croaked, the gloating voice of Belenus destroying all restraint and driving him into a killing fury. The enchantment faded as he swept forward with the blade. Belenus laughed, mocking him as he easily avoided Mabane’s clumsy swings. “Come on, boy, show me what your dead master taught you.” Mabane swept the blade back, chanting fiercely as the pattern of the spell rose once more into his mind. And then everything turned white as pain seared through the inside of his skull. A scream erupted from his throat and he staggered, his heart beating a tremulous staccato in his breast. Belenus’ cruel laughter surrounded him. “Apparently he did not teach you much. Here, I’ll give you a quick death and you can rejoin your precious daddy.” Hatred drove Mabane back from the welcome abyss of nothingness. He had to protect Sabina. Let Balthazar guide his hand, let Grenth give him justice. The sword blazed white hot, his hand a searing mass of agony as he drove upward. Time slowed and he saw the tip of the rapier press up into Belenus’ belly as if his flesh was little more than empty air. Upward he thrust through the man’s liver, up under his ribs and straight through lungs and finally the vile knot of blackness that was his heart. The blade steamed as it emerged through his back and Belenus stood there, shocked and horrified as the knowledge of his impending death entered his mind. Mabane released the sword, the smell of his own roasting flesh permeating the room as he tore loose of the handle and scrambled away moments before Belenus’ dropped with a gasp to his knees and fell face down. The white flare of the sword blazed and faded, still steaming here it emerged accusingly from his back. All Mabane could do was stare at the body. The hex faded, but the damage was already done. He bled from within, his mind shattered and consciousness slipping away. What did it matter? Death could be no worse than the pain he felt inside. He barely heard the door slam open or the frantic cries of his mother and the servants. Someone lifted him up, but the world was fading now, pouring away into nothingness. “I’m coming, father,” he whispered, “I’m coming, Master.” |
