Echoes of Ashener

by David Partelow

  For a long moment, Serra and the others stared at Voltaire. Even Esmie of the Ryndragus, long-time friend of Voltaire, had never seen that side of him before. She continued to gaze in trembling disbelief, hesitating once before finally going to Voltaire. As she tried to help him up, Serra caught on joined her. Jozlyn remained where she stood, obviously thrown off by the monster Voltaire hid within.

  Rynsik motioned to Kylynne and Willem. “Cut their bindings and see to them.” As they followed orders, Rynsik pointed the end the staff at the crowd. His voice was delicately fierce as it met the ears of a bewildered crowd. “Remember this day always. Remember the day that you lost your reason and became no better than the monsters that we face.” He let those words sink in before continuing. “You see to these men as the human beings that they are and give them the treatment befitting Vallance prisoners of war. And never again forget the one thing we must never lose from our sight; our humanity. You shamed your country in this moment. See that you never do it again.” Rynsik then jumped down from the stage and said no more.

  At the end of the day, Serra and the others left the town quietly, leaving the people of Menkor with a hard-earned lesson and shame to bear. All four prisoners survived. As a precautionary measure, Rynsik had opted to have Kylynne and Willem remain in town until they were relieved by the next Axiter party to come through. Those that remained returned to the road. They traveled long hours into the night with little ever being said but many thoughts heavy upon their minds.

  And somehow, without knowing how, Serra knew that she was close to her destination.

  Very close indeed.

  -29-

  “Sir, I have a message for the Regent.”

  Dendral Winters looked first at the Ro’Nihn and then at the parchment in his possession. If his memory served him correctly this man was a scout for the V.F.U. A ripple of excitement rose within him, yet he exerted strength to subdue it. “Lady Denore is resting at the moment, young warrior. I am authorized to receive parchments in her stead.”

  The Ro’Nihn tensed a moment, uncertain. “I have been informed that the contents are for Lady Denore’s eyes only, sir.”

  Dendral waved off the Ro’Nihn’s worries. “Fear not, Ro’Nihn. I will make sure that it is received by Esaundra Denore personally. Of that you have my word.”

  The courier hesitated, before at last consenting. “Very well, sir.” He handed Dendral the parchment before saluting.

  Dendral took the message, before returning the salute. “Stay close though. I will confer with the Regent and summon for you again.”

  “As ordered.” Swiftly and silently the Ro’Nihn left the room.

  Dendral rushed to the nearest table. With growing excitement, he opened the correspondence with shaky hands. As the contents were revealed his eyes widened. This is it! This is what I’ve been waiting for! Thank you, god at last!

  Inside the parchment were various notes and papers, but among it was a courier tube to be passed on to Wyndall of the Jacoi. Inside it were harmless messages to Axiter’s leader, but Dendral was privy to the secrets of these communications. Twisting the end of the tube in the pattern he had learned the bottom came off and a blank piece of leathery paper fell to the table.

  Rising, Dendral ran to his desk, acquiring a little kit he had procured for such an instance. Using a fine painting brush, he coated the paper with translucent liquid mixture for such occasions. In seconds the paper came to life, filling with the true meaning of the tube. These are reports from the V.F.U. with the latest scout reports of the region. We have them now!

  Dendral set about to work. Seeking out his own paper, he studied the contents for a few moments. Finally, all the months of practicing the combined leaders of Vallance’s handwritings was going to ultimately pay off. Scribbling furiously, he created an urgent message to the V.F.U., indicating that their presence was required at Rahn immediately. Signing it as Wyndall, he sealed it in a parchment tube before sealing it with the crest of Axiter.

  Thus satisfied, he summoned for the Ro’Nihn courier. “Get this to your superiors with haste! Time is of the essence!”

  “It will be done.” The Ro’Nihn took the parchment tube and was gone.

  Dendral watched the Ro’Nihn depart with practiced detachment. Again, he went to his desk, opening the lowest drawer on the right. Pulling out the drawer, he reached inside the hole, straining. At last he pulled out a small object wrapped in cloth. Removing the cloth uncovered a small transponder.

  Joy and anticipation swelled within him. Taking a breath, Dendral hit the button. For a brief second, the device sparked to life, devoting all the energy of its small battery to send a message across miles of terrain. And as quickly as it had worked, the device died again. Destroying it, Dendral recovered the pieces, returning it from where he had procured it.

  Biting his lip, Dendral resigned himself to hold out a few more days. At last the signal was activated. At last all the pieces were in place. At last the final battle would ensue. At last an end to this war would come and he would go home a hero.

  At last.

  -30-

  Relieved to be some miles away from Menkor, Serra and her friends had found a suitable spot to settle for the night. Despite the turn of events, none of them had the stomach or desire to rest within the town. Between Menkor’s lapse in judgment and Voltaire’s unleashed fury, it was decided best to place some distance between the group and any possibility of retribution. Threlling would be bed-ridden for days, but Serra knew a man of such stature and temperament was not without resources or a penchant for revenge.

  The hour was painfully late, and camp had been set up hastily. And while everyone was tired, none could sleep. Somehow the remainder of the group had separated into mixed company. Serra looked on the camp from a distance, wrapping her arms around her waist. Fahn and Esmie were trying to talk to Weiss of the Fellane who had succeeded in keeping everyone shut out so far. Esmie had mentioned a little about his situation five years ago and the loss of Reyna of the Hailborne in the fall of Bannar. It was Serra’s hope that they could eventually reach the Ro’Nihn through his grief.

  Serra watched as Jozlyn worked her way over to Voltaire with supplies gathered from Esmie. Voltaire had been withdrawn since leaving Menkor and had shied away from the others. Saying nothing, Jozlyn looked upon Voltaire as he reluctantly looked up at her. Taking his head in her hands, Jozlyn set about to work. She didn’t ask, and while Voltaire stiffened in protest, he finally relaxed and let Jozlyn clean his self-inflicted head wound.

  Jozlyn and Voltaire were the closest to Serra. And despite her desire to give them privacy, Serra could not help but listen in. She caught their conversation easily, easier than she had hoped for. In her mind she blamed Esmie for her recent fascination with eavesdropping. She hated to admit it, but there it was.

  Jozlyn broke the stern silence between her and Voltaire. “I never would have expected that from you,” she said.

  Voltaire winced as Jozlyn cleaned his wound. “That makes two of us,” he replied. The disgust in his voice was ample.

  “And what do you mean by that?” she asked him.

  Voltaire’s voice rose a bit, though he tried to keep his voice low. “Well you saw it today, didn’t you? You saw the monster that I am, that I become because I hate violence and despise hurting people. I’m no warrior and yet here I am trying to help somehow. I don’t even know where he comes from, but he’s there, very much a part of me no matter what. When I need him, each and every time I put on this mask, he’s there.” Voltaire pointed at the mask lying next to him bitterly. “How do I justify that? How do I explain such madness? How am I supposed to live with a side of me that I hate and fear?”

  Jozlyn silenced him by clasping her hand around his cheeks, forcing him to see and hear her well. “You will listen now, for I’m tired of hearing this nonsense. You did nothing more back there than what you had to in order to survive. And in that process, you saved the lives of those around you. This is w
ar, Voltaire and each of us sadly must make peace with that so that we can somehow dig our sanity out of this in the end. We all have our demons and we choose when and where to embrace them. You do what you must do so that you can live another day, and so that what is important to you can do the same. Don’t second guess that. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever,” she said. Jozlyn then grew silent once again and finished her work.

  Voltaire said nothing as he looked up at Jozlyn. Wordlessly, he reached up and patted the wrist of one of the hands that tended to him. His shy fingers met Jozlyn’s skin and quickly he moved them away, nervous that he might offend her. Jozlyn finished her work before bending down and kissing Voltaire on the cheek.

  Jozlyn nodded to the Ro’Nihn. “Thanks again for saving us today. Now get some sleep.” She turned and walked away, saying nothing else. Voltaire watched her go, touching his face where the gunslinger had just kissed him. Serra could see that a million emotions were coursing through his brain. Voltaire watched Jozlyn as she turned in for the night. Finally, he looked at the mask that sat next to him before reluctantly laying down to rest.

  Serra jumped inside, truly happy at what she had witnessed. Biting her lip and smiling, Serra did her best to keep it to herself. Then and there she made a personal promise not to tell Esmie. Had Serra divulged such information, neither Jozlyn nor Voltaire would hear the end of it. What Serra wanted most was a chance for her two friends to make things work, regardless of the odds.

  Despite herself, despite her own inner protest, Serra found herself looking for Rynsik, wondering how he was doing and what he was thinking. Once again, as always, he proved to have the answers, despite the fact of keeping them ever and always, hidden from others. Rynsik proved to be a reluctant, confounding enigma and to Serra he was equally alluring and frustrating. Serra could not place her finger upon it, but she knew without a doubt that there was more to Wyndall’s son than even Rynsik could see.

  Serra found it somehow impossible to stay angry with him, despite her inclinations. Any anger she bore at him was time and time again melted away at the knowledge that underneath his frigid demeanor was a heart loyal to his friends and country. Rynsik chose to not be a hero, but his actions inadvertently made him one. But what scared Serra the most was a single, startling revelation that rocked her to her core.

  For as much as Rynsik differed, for as much as his own choosing pulled Rynsik away from the fact, Rynsik of the Jacoi was more so like Norryn Ashener than any of them. While his words and his attitude were oftentimes disheartening, his actions spoke volumes on more than one occasion. Rynsik was the loner and wished to be the outsider, but somewhere within him beat the heart of nobility and for that Serra was drawn to him more than she cared to admit. She knew somehow, beyond the scars, beyond the cynicism was perhaps a man that could love and be loved.

  The last thought sent another chill up her spine.

  “You’re falling in love with him. I can see it,” whispered a voice from behind her. Serra was instantly pulled from her reverie as she turned to face him.

  “Vonack, you nearly scared me out of my wits! What are you going on about?” snapped Serra as she caught her breath.

  Vonack sneered matter-of-factly. “I’ve known you long enough to know things about you. I’ve seen how you look at him. I don’t understand why you would, but it’s there.”

  Serra moved a lock of hair from her face as she shrugged Vonack off. “You’re imagining things.”

  Vonack emitted a harsh grunt as he pointed in Rynsik’s direction. “Am I? You know, Norryn Ashener I can understand, but the fact that you would pick him over me sickens me completely.”

  Serra glared at him as she tried to keep her voice low enough as to not disturb the others. “Vonack Falshore, that’s enough from you. I am in no mood to deal with this right now. Go to sleep.”

  “Sometimes I think you do it out of spite.”

  “I said stop it, Vonack.”

  Vonack pressed on. “I know you know how I feel about you, how I have always felt about you. And I know you cling to the hope that Norryn is out there somewhere waiting for you. I wanted to be there when you were wrong, to just be there for you, hoping that you would someday see me standing right here…waiting for you.”

  Serra bit her lip as she looked at him. He had said something almost sweet in his bitterness. Serra had come to accept that many of the things Vonack said were shrouded in bitterness. But before she could sympathize, he continued and destroyed any semblance of care in her eyes.

  “And yet you would outweigh my feelings to that of a ghost of a man and the husk of another.”

  Serra had not planned it, nor was she able to stop it either. Her hand met Vonack’s face, connecting with swift anger as color filled her own cheeks. Vonack winced for a moment before looking at her gravely. “Damns to you, Vonack. Damns to you, I say. You never got it, did you? You never understood me or what love really means. I thought even you were above saying such things now. How you strive to hurt when you are hurt, it’s a circle you have never broken. How could you say those things to me, like I hold a choice in such affairs? Damns to you again.”

  Unconsciously she went to hit him again, but this time Vonack caught her wrist and held it firmly. He stared at her for a moment, holding tightly to the wrist in his hand. Finally, he drew her hand closer, placing it upon his face. He continued to look at her as he ran her open hand down his cheek, staring at her as she pulled her hand free finally. “What I would give to have you,” he breathed, looking at her with a deep, naked longing.

  Both Serra and Vonack stared at the other, seething to cross the line and dissolve any remaining formality. It was then that the two heard a noise. Serra turned her head toward the camp. It was Rynsik, come to check on the fire and camp. In that instant Serra’s anger bled away. She turned again to Vonack who still wrestled with his own furies.

  Finally, a sick smile peppered Vonack’s face. “Go to him then,” he said, “for that’s what you want to do.” He then turned and disappeared into the night.

  Serra watched him go briefly, saw him fume as he departed into the darkness. She knew what he needed was time, time to let his fires vent. He never was one for expressing feeling, and when feeling did emerge, it was far too late for anything but anger. Serra cared for him, yes, and felt bad for his present longing. But she could only take his selfish rage for so long.

  Serra at last turned her thoughts again to Rynsik. It was no surprise really that she felt she had no real control in the matter. Unspeakably she was drawn to him, still convinced of the goodness that must hide within his walls. Somehow through his darkness, somehow through the mask that hid more than his physical scars slept a golden light, of that Serra was certain.

  Feeling warmth again rise to her cheeks, Serra took a long, nervous breath before approaching Rynsik. His back was to her, though he had to know she was there. Her legs resisted, but finally she urged them forward as she tiptoed back into the camp. Luckily for Serra, even Esmie lay sleeping, unable to add any quips or ammunition for her gossiping call. The less Esmie knew of Serra’s true feelings the better.

  Rynsik was knelt by the fire, adding the fuel of wood to it. And though his back was to her, instantly her presence drew his attention. Rysik stood slowly, wiping his hands off on his pants. And though he did not turn to face her, his head slanted slightly to acknowledge the fact that she was there. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” he asked.

  Serra huffed a single chuckle. “I would ask you the very same thing, though I’ve never seen you sleep.” Serra came closer to him and the fire. Finally, his eyes met hers and again that connection was felt like a ripple starting at her lips and surging down her spine to her legs and toes. Serra turned and faced the fire as casually as she could before sitting down to warm herself.

  Rynsik shrugged his shoulders, not taking his eyes off the fire himself. “Sleep is often sought and seldom found,” he replied distantly.

  “Have you even tried yet tonight?�
� she asked.

  Rynsik shrugged his shoulders slightly before kneeling again by the fire. His long, black hair and mask easily veiled his face. “Some things you just know beforehand. I’d rather not waste my time. I hate lying there waiting for nothing to happen if you know what I mean.”

  “I think I do.” With shaky legs, Serra was finally able to walk up next to Rynsik. Taking a careful, yet deep breath, she finally gathered herself again and sat next to him. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye but said nothing, so she pressed on. “Sometimes I wish I could sleep like I used to, when I didn’t have a care in the world. Just once I would very much love to sleep a sleep of sleeps and be reminded of what my life was like when I was 12.”

  Rynsik turned his head from her, looking off into the night. “I wouldn’t,” he said.

  Serra bit her lip. She had not meant to bring up bad memories for him. Serra had almost forgotten what that age must have been like for him. “I am sorry, Rynsik. I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant I wish things could go back to the way they were before any of us had the cares that we do now.”

  “Yeah,” he said. Rynsik’s voice was again distant and dreamy.

  Serra discovered it was exceedingly difficult to talk to Rynsik, but she pressed forward. She knew that an extremely gifted individual sat next to her, whether he chose to see that or not. And somehow Serra thought, no she knew, that underneath the mask, underneath the pain was someone worth searching for. “Rynsik, I need . . . I mean. . .” She trailed off as she extended her arm toward him. She had meant to pat his arm in hopes to break down some of the barriers between them. She was even more so surprised to find her hand squeezing his hand. Once again, uncontrollably, without warning, the fire returned.

  Rynsik looked down at their hands. Just as quickly his eyes turned and met Serra’s. Serra found herself lost in that moment, lost within the haunted depths and beauty held in his gaze. She found herself looking within a vast enigma and found it difficult to break away. His hand tensed beneath hers, but Serra thought that she felt something else in that moment, something that she had not suspected to feel.