by T. C. Rypel
But it didn’t revert. And so instead, he set the carcass ablaze, his thews a-quiver with roiling emotion.
“Balaerik!” Goni roared, at last, into the sky. “If you can hear me, Balaerik, then listen well—I know you fear me. You don’t dare face me yourself, do you? But that’s good. Because I’m enjoying frustrating your feeble efforts. I will destroy whatever fiend or monster or twisted thing you throw across my path. And then I will come for you, Balaerik. Wherever you hide—if it be Hell itself!—I will find you, and I will have your evil heart at the end of my sword. And they’ll say that when the time came, no one ever screamed louder than you!”
* * * *
The exhausted samurai rode back into town, towing the horse bearing Michael’s corpse, even as he had with the councilman’s young brother, a few years before. Aldo Monetto was there to greet him, along with his wife, Sylva, and their children, who were unharmed.
Wilfred and Genya stood by, as well, tearfully reuniting with him—seized by mixed emotions of joy and sorrow. Wilf clutched his infant son eagerly to his breast, seeming awed at the evidence of his new fatherhood.
Genya came up to Gonji and embraced him warmly, kissed him. He found great comfort in her vivaciousness and sincere gratitude. But it was fleeting.
His soul was swamped by anguish.
Genya drew him aside. “Oh, Gonji—I don’t know what more to say. I’m so happy. We’ll be able to name him now. I hate to say this—I love you so, for everything you’ve done—but I hope Wilf doesn’t insist on naming him Gonji.” She smiled, her deep brown eyes tear-filled as she took his hands. “No offense?”
Gonji exhaled sonorously. “It would be a very poor mix, I think. Unpoetic.”
Genya laughed breathily, then grew somber. “Listen…I know what you feel for Lydia, so I’m going to break a trust. She went away with her daughter, Miriam. Anton the Gray Knight went with them as their bodyguard, two nights ago—”
“Where?” he asked, his vaunted self-control abruptly dashed.
“No one knows where. Michael told Lydia to make her own way and tell no one of her destination. I’m sure he knew, but he instructed her not to say. That’s all she would tell me. He said—” Her dark, liquid eyes brimmed with tears again to see his eager expression.
“Hai?”
“—he said that that’s the way Gonji would do it. For security, to avoid detection. That no one must know where they were going…”
Gonji swallowed and pulled away from her.
“Gonji,” Wilf said, striding up to him, holding his son. “Look at him, Gonji. Can you believe I have a son?”
“Ja, mein Freund—a fine, strong son…”
Gonji brushed the sleeping child’s cheek gently. “You are very fortunate indeed.”
His smile remained on his lips long after its spirit had withered in his heart.
