In Darkness We Must Abide: The Complete Third Season

by Frater, Rhiannon

  Vanora immediately searched for Aeron. He was nearby, fighting energetically though he lacked the skill of his father. His white hair was pink with blood, and his skin was covered in shallow cuts. He was obviously fighting his way to his father’s side. It was in Aeron’s face that she witnessed the moment of his father’s death. The horror, agony, despair and rage that filled his young face were the same emotions she’d experience when Roman had died. Twisting about, Vanora saw Aeron’s father’s body strike the ground. His opponent moved in to strike off his head, but Aeron charged him.

  It was in that second that Vanora realized that Aeron and she had more in common than she’d ever imagined.

  Golden light raced through his veins beneath his ivory skin and illuminated his stained white hair.

  With strength that was beyond that of a mere mortal, Aeron struck off the head of his father’s killer.

  It was a blow that not only defeated the leader of the other tribe, but finished the battle. As the warriors of Aeron’s tribe gathered about him, the attacking one retreated into the woods.

  The world blurred around her, and Vanora found herself standing beside Aeron’s home. The procession of the victorious warriors was nearing the doorstep where Aeron’s mother waited with tears in her eyes, but her head held high. Aeron walked alongside the cart bearing his father’s body, his face sterner than it had been when he’d wept before the full moon. The head of his father’s killer dangled from his grip, a grim trophy. When he finally reached his mother, he lifted the decapitated head high for all to see. Shouts of triumph greeted this gesture. Lips pressed into a taunt line, Aeron fastened the head onto a hook near the doorway.

  “Did you know Father would die today?” he asked his mother in a terse voice when the morose task was finished.

  The older woman’s eyes closed, then she gave a brief nod.

  “Never keep any of your visions from me again,” Aeron commanded, no longer sounding like a child.

  “You couldn’t have changed his fate,” his mother whispered.

  “Maybe I could have,” Aeron retorted, then turned away. “But now we will never know.”

  Overwhelmed, Vanora clutched her hands to her chest. How eerily similar their lives were. She didn’t want to feel sorrow for Aeron’s loss or sympathy, yet she did. The pain etched into his face and the slope of his shoulders was reminiscent of her own devastation in the aftermath of Roman’s death. The need to wrap her arms around the blood-covered teenager and comfort him was immense.

  Was this what she’d been warned about?

  Her connection to Aeron?

  Despite her anger at him, it was difficult not to witness his past and not sympathize with his anguish. She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes and forced herself to remember that she was only observing the past to learn what had been done to manipulate her fate. She would overcome her destiny.

  Lifting her head, she found herself seated in the hut. An older teenage version of Aeron rested on his bed, staring up into the rafters. No one else was within the structure. The atmosphere was strangely intimate, and Vanora had the distinct impression that Aeron had been waiting for her. Drawing her knees to her chest, she draped her arms around them and waited to see what this moment would reveal. Already, she was beginning to wonder if she’d been wise in choosing to witness the past. The emotions the revelations were stirring within her were unsettling and frightening.

  “You’re here,” Aeron said in a voice much deeper than before. He was maybe seventeen or eighteen now. “Sometimes I speak to you and I doubt you’re near, but tonight I know you’re right there.” Aeron pointed to the spot where she was sitting. “I can almost see you. Almost...You’re a woman…”

  Vanora raised her eyes to gaze at the young man.

  “Somehow I knew you were,” he continued. “I sometimes dream of you. That you look like me…with white hair, lavender eyes…”

  Vanora shivered.

  Sitting up, he rested his elegant hands on his knees while his long hair fell over one shoulder. He was naked and stunningly beautiful. It was difficult to gaze at him and not understand why people followed him so devotedly. Aeron’s lavender eyes scrutinized where she sat, and the faint golden whisper of his power flowed beneath his ivory skin.

  “Who are you? My mother calls you my guardian, but are you?”

  “No,” Vanora whispered, shaking her head miserably.

  “You’re more than just a guardian, aren’t you?” Aeron tilted his head in such a manner, she had the impression he might have heard her.

  Vanora pressed her lips together, struggling not to answer.

  “You’re important, aren’t you? Somehow? I feel it.”

  Inhaling sharply, Vanora didn’t answer.

  “I need your comfort, spirit.”

  Rising, he came to where she was perched and kneeled before her. Uneasy, she curled in tighter upon herself. She couldn’t change the past according to the Oracle, but she was tempted to try.

  “My tribe desires that I lead them,” Aeron said in a low voice that rumbled through her. “I am a renowned warrior. I have many women asking to be my wife. I could step into my father’s role and claim victories in his memory.”

  Vanora could feel the warmth of his hands that rested close to her feet. She was tempted to try to touch him, but instead curled her hands into balls.

  “But my mother has told me that my destiny lies elsewhere. My mother says that I am not meant to be a chieftain and have many children. Instead, she says I have a greater purpose and destiny. It will be a long journey to find the goddess who can grant me the immortality that is my birthright. My mother warns it will be difficult and dangerous, but should I succeed, I will become greater than my father. Greater than this tribe.”

  “Do you want that?” Vanora whispered.

  “Yes,” Aeron answered, surprising her. “Because in these last few years all there has been is blood. Battle after battle. Death and destruction. There is no order to it. We fight for the pleasure of it. So many die, just like my father. Though the priests say my father will be reborn, what comfort is that to me? This world is full of pain and suffering. There is no point to what I see around me. If I become the chieftain of my tribe, all I will do is fulfill their designs on my fate. I would continue on in the same manner my father did and all those before him. But if I were to become powerful, like a god, I could change all of this. I can bring order to the world.”

  Was this how it all started? A teenage boy angry at the needless death of his father swearing to fix the wrongs of the world? How could it be? Vanora blinked tears from her eyes. This was her same quest. She wanted to stop Aeron and bring order back to her world. The same way he was railing against the needless violence that had taken his father matched her declarations after Roman had died. Didn’t Aeron realize he’d become what he hated?

  “Don’t do this...” Vanora said, touching his hair. “Stop before it’s too late.”

  Aeron was very still. Could he hear her? Glancing toward the doorway, Aeron was silent.

  Vanora wound her fingers into his hair and pressed her lips to his ear. “Don’t do this. Stop it now before you become a monster. Please, Aeron. Stop now. Let the future change.”

  “I will change the future,” he said at last. “I will set what is wrong right once more. I will do whatever it takes. I will be what my mother foretold.”

  Withdrawing her hands, Vanora closed her eyes and whispered miserably, “Oh, Aeron...”

  * * *

  “She’s mad,” a powerful voice boomed, pulling Vanora’s attention upward.

  The words were familiar. They were ones often associated with Alisha’s power.

  “You weren’t raised by her. You don’t know what she’s capable of,” Aeron answered shortly. Crouched, he was packing a leather bag.

  The hut was filled with sunlight pouring through the open doorway. A huge man with red hair and green eyes glared at Aeron. At first Vanora thought it was Aeron’s fa
ther, then realized it must be his elder brother.

  “You should be the chieftain of this clan, not me,” his brother snapped.

  “You’re the eldest,” Aeron retorted. “Remember?” He irritably shoved more supplies into the bag.

  “But you’re the one who has fought for this clan while I lived with our uncle in his clan. You belong here more than I do.”

  “They’ve chosen you.” Aeron secured the straps and stood. His clothing was not the usual bright colors of his tribe, but muted. Vanora assumed it was because he would be passing through enemy territories and could not afford to draw attention to himself.

  “Because you are wandering off into the world to fulfill a mad woman’s prophecy.”

  “Don’t speak of our mother that way!”

  “Aeron, she’s kept you sheltered and deluded with her fantasies. Listen to the priests, not her. Even her own brother doubts that she truly has the powers she claims to have.”

  Aeron slung the bag over his broad shoulders and glared at his elder brother. The albino youth’s long hair and beard gave him the appearance of someone older. Vanora could see the hardness settling into his features, yet his eyes remained clear and filled with pain and longing. “You don’t know her. You haven’t seen the things I have seen.”

  “You’re a great warrior. A strong man. Despite your weakness in the sun, you’re strong, Aeron.”

  “But I can be stronger. I can set right what is wrong.” Aeron pressed past his brother to step out of the hut.

  Vanora slid off her perch to follow in the wake of the brothers.

  In the cool early morning of a spring day the hillfort was a bustle of activity. Many looked in Aeron’s direction, but none approached. A few pretty young women called out to him, but he brushed off the one that approached him. Vanora saw the hurt in the face of the maiden with golden hair and ascertained she must be one of the village women who wanted to marry him. From the dour looks of the men and older people, it was clear that Aeron’s journey was regarded with much disappointment and some hostility. As he trudged past totems hewn from wood, Aeron ignored all those around him and kept his eyes on the figure standing at the entrance of the hillfort. It was his mother, her dark hair threaded with white and her face older and sadder than when Vanora had last seen her.

  The witch’s eyes shifted from her son to Vanora and she smiled with pleasure. “Your journey will be protected. Your guardian walks at your side.”

  Aeron cast a look over his shoulder, and Vanora had the distinct impression that he could see her. A small smile crept onto his lips. “Yes, she is.”

  When he reached his mother, he bent over to hug her warmly and kiss her cheek. The bond between mother and son was evident in their sorrowful smiles. She tenderly draped another bag, this one woven in earth colors, over his shoulder. “Food to start and some coins to pay your way.”

  “You’re the reason he’s being foolish,” Aeron’s brother grunted, shaking his head.

  “You’ll see what he will become, Dywel,” was their mother’s confident response, pride and love burning in her green eyes.

  It was an expression that Vanora had seen often in her sister’s. The thought of Alisha being lost to her filled Vanora with despair and she fought back tears. She’d left siblings to seek out another life only to return to blood and death. Would Aeron return home to find the same?

  Dywel gruffly embraced his brother. “Stay and be what you were born to be.”

  “I must go and become what I was born to be.”

  Aeron’s mother presented the last of the gifts for her son. Wrapped in a cloak were the shield and iron sword of her husband. “Your father would wish for you to take these with you. The cloak I infused with magic to keep you safe. Never part with it, my son. Keep it close always.”

  Purple eyes rimmed in tears, Aeron removed his own sword and shield and set them aside before taking up his father’s. Dywel watched somberly as Aeron’s mother fastened the cloak around Aeron’s neck. Vanora noticed blue lines of magic threaded through the fabric and the magic wrapped around Aeron like spider webs before sinking into his flesh. Aeron tugged the hood of his cloak over his head, shielding himself from the sun.

  “What if the goddess you seek rebuffs you?” Dywel asked worriedly.

  “She won’t,” Aeron answered confidently.

  “Why not?”

  “Because he is a child of the moon,” Aeron’s mother answered.

  Vanora tilted her head to gaze up at Dywel, from whom she was descended. She felt keenly attached to him all at once. The energy around him felt like that of a father, reminding her of Roman. For a brief second, she wanted to hug him, but decided not to. If he had inherited any abilities from his mother, he might feel her touch.

  Aeron kissed his mother’s brow, then left the safety of the hillfort.

  Vanora followed.

  The journey was fragmented.

  It was almost like the pages of a book being fanned by an invisible hand.

  With each blink of Vanora’s eyes, she caught glimpses of Aeron’s journey across Briton.

  There were visits with friendly tribes and extended family.

  There were close calls with enemy warriors.

  Days of sun.

  Days of rain.

  It was as if she was standing still and the world was rushing past her. Yet, she could always see Aeron close to her.

  Sometimes he sang in a deep voice, other times he seemed lost in thought.

  Sometimes he was hunting, other times sleeping.

  There were moments when the world would flash into clear focus and she thought he was staring at her.

  It was disorienting and unnerving.

  And then they came to the channel and the boats that carried the traders across the waters.

  Though he didn’t share a common language with the captain of one the merchant boats, somehow Aeron arranged passage, and he warily clambered onboard. His people were not seafaring folk and from the expression on his face, it was obvious the choppy water unnerved him.

  Vanora found herself squatting beside him in a narrow section of a hold that was nearly empty now that the wares had been off-loaded at port. Listening to the creak of the wood and the voices above, Vanora sighed. How much time was passing in her world as she traveled through the past? What was happening to Armando and the others? The thought of Armando brought guilt. She hadn’t thought of him before this moment. It was disconcerting.

  There was a robust laugh, then the hatch to the hold slammed shut, sealing Aeron inside. Eyes narrowing, Aeron rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. At his side, Vanora waited anxiously, then realized Aeron would not be killed for he would live a long life and bring death to hers.

  Loud scraping sounds were followed by the sensation of movement. The boat was leaving shore. Vanora sighed with relief at the same moment Aeron did.

  “I am relieved you are journeying with me,” he whispered.

  Glancing at him sharply, again Vanora wondered how well he could see or hear her.

  “Do not leave my side, spirit. Please. Your presence gives me strength when I’m afraid. And right now I am very afraid.”

  Why couldn’t he remain this way? Why would he become the monster?

  Several sailors came down into the hold to stare at the albino man. Laughing and joking in another language, they gestured at Aeron’s white hair and skin. One tossed him a hunk of bread that had mold growing on the crust. Aeron tore off the mold and ate a few bites before storing the rest away in a small leather bag while continuing to watch the sailors warily. The men continued to make comments in their own language, egging each other on. It was obvious they were trying to get some sort of rise out of Aeron, but he wouldn’t allow them that triumph. He merely watched them while resting against the mildewed wood of the hold.

  After a while, the men grew bored and ignored him while returning to their work organizing barrels they were transporting across the channel. Vanora huddled closer to
Aeron, worried by the furtive glances one of the men kept casting his way. The man was deeply tanned from the sun, had thick wiry dark hair, and a heavily muscled body honed from hard labor. Scars decorated his flesh and there was an aura of violence around him. What he wanted with Aeron, Vanora didn’t dare imagine.

  Making a comment to his companions, the man let out a boisterous laugh then approached Aeron again. Crouching, the sailor studied Aeron’s face before pointing to the albino’s purple eyes. He made a comment to the other sailors and laughed again. Beneath Aeron’s cloak, Vanora saw his hand move as he prepared for an attack.

  With terrifying swiftness, the sailor drew a curved blade and gripped Aeron’s head with one hand and leveled his blade at Aeron’s eyes.

  It was then Vanora realized the man intended to pluck out Aeron’s amethyst eye. She knew that in the past people attacked and killed albinos for pieces of their body as good luck charms, spells, cures, and aphrodisiacs. Horrified, she lunged at the attacker, but her hands passed right through him. Recovering her balance, she saw Aeron’s blade glinting in the pale light coming through the open hatch as it rested against the sailor’s throat.

  Aeron grinned back at the man. “Who’s quicker? Me or you, old man?”

  The two men locked gazes and Vanora could clearly see the attacker assessing Aeron. Though Aeron was now in his late teens and still youthful in appearance, he was also powerful in his build and his purple eyes dangerously shimmered like jewels.

  Releasing Aeron, the sailor laughed, shrugged, and made a show of sheathing his weapon. Aeron finally withdrew his dagger with a small smile, but his gaze was hard. The attacker backed away, then returned to his companions who had barely paid attention to the drama. After a few minutes, they withdrew to the upper deck, leaving Aeron alone.