by Aaron Bunce
“You said, ‘he is not what he seems’”, Dennah said, searching the small woman’s eyes, but the frightened, primal look was gone, replaced by a glassy, almost sleepy expression.
“Remember, dear. Keep your hands warm. I’ll leave this salve. Soak them in warm water. Not hot, but warm. Apply more of the salve, and keep them covered and warm,” Lucilla said, ignoring her. She then patted Dennah softly on the knee, hefted her bag with a grunt, and left the room.
Dennah stood and tread quietly to the door, watching through the crack between door and jamb. Lucilla ambled down the hallway, moving towards the tavern, her steps awkward and rigid. The floor creaked unexpectedly beneath Dennah as she shifted her weight. Lucilla stopped abruptly, her head snapping around towards the noise, her eyes wide and unblinking.
Dennah hovered there, trapped in the open doorway, and did the only thing she could think of. She waved. “Thanks again,” she said, gesturing to the bandages, while fighting the urge to slam the door shut and lock it.
Lucilla’s wide eyes bulged for a moment, and then her face relaxed. She smiled and turned to amble off down the hallway.
What in the hells was that? Dennah wondered, fidgeting with the bandages on her hands. Lucilla always seemed a bit quirky, but that seemed just odd?
Driven by curiosity, Dennah walked slowly down the hallway, careful to make sure Lucilla stayed well ahead. She drew near the tavern and stopped, holding her breath for a moment to listen. The door opened quietly, and slammed shut. She waited a few moments more. Save for the crackle of the fire, the room sounded empty, so Dennah crept out around the corner.
The tavern was anything but empty. The crowd that greeted them earlier was still there. Some sat on bar stools, while most stood motionless. They didn’t acknowledge one another or her, or speak. Dennah swallowed, but a hard lump formed in her throat.
When she was a girl, Dennah had snuck into the Yarborough commons, excited to get a peek at the festival decorations ahead of time, but became turned around in the dark. She had pushed through doors until coming to a dark room. Shadowy forms had loomed all around her, like monsters creeping forth from the shadows. She remembered the terror that drove her to hide, and only after an interminable time, mustered the courage to creep forth and find the window. Dennah remembered flinging open the curtains, the cool moonlight flooding in to reveal mannequins all around her, covered in seasonal dresses and costumes.
She felt like that little girl again, stuck where she didn’t belong. Only these weren’t mannequins. Dennah took a step back, the floor groaning under her weight. Every face in the room turned her way, glassy eyes rolling before focusing on her.
Her hand dropped instinctively to her hip, but her sword was gone. She didn’t remember taking it off. Had Roman? When she fell asleep?
“Hello,” she said, smiling sheepishly, and moved to take another step back, just as the quiet in the room shattered. Every person in the tavern started moving or talking at the same time. Those at the bar turned to one another and instantly fell into conversation, while those closest to her walked quickly over and pulled her into the room.
“Did you rest? Did you rest well?” one man asked.
“Food? Drink?” another cut in right after, his arm falling over her shoulder.
“I did, and no thank you,” she sputtered, ducking out from under the man’s attempt to pull her close. “I’m just looking for Roman. Have you seen him?”
“Oh, yes, we have,” the first man said, more of the crowd pressing in around them. The room suddenly felt much smaller.
“We have. Such a good lad! He is one of the good ones,” a woman added, patting Dennah on the back.
“Where is he?”
“We’re so glad ye made it back to us. Safe from the wilderness,” someone said.
Dennah pushed through the group, throwing an elbow into one man as he smiled and moved to hug her. He grunted, but his smile did not waver, and came forward again. She pulled another man in front of her to block him, and made for the door. The crowd flowed in, massing around the door.
“I just want to go outside for a walk. I want to find Roman,” she said, and moved to push through the crowd again, until a small figure stepped clear of the throng, blocking her path.
Bale smiled widely, his dimpled cheeks rosy.
“Bale, I’m looking for Roman. Have you seen him?” she said, moving sideways.
Marna’s son moved to match her. “Yes. I’m so glad you made it back to us,” he said.
“Bale, do you know where he is?”
“Roman is safe. You are safe!”
Dennah’s chest tightened, her hands balling up into fists, the tight skin pulling painfully. Barely stifling the urge to fight, she moved to push around Bale and slip through the door behind him. The young man twitched, his arms latching onto her faster than she thought possible.
“You don’t need to go back out there into the cold. It is too dangerous. Stay here, where you are safe,” Bale said, hugging her. He squeezed her close, her body pressed uncomfortably against his. But there was nothing affectionate about the embrace.
“Let me go!” Dennah grunted. When he didn’t let go, she wiggled her right arm free, wrenched her left arm up, and successfully torqued free of his hold. He held his arms up and came back in, but her instincts kicked in. She swatted his arms aside and kicked his lead foot, tangling his legs and sending him sprawling into the crowd.
“Stop!” she yelled, shouldering through two men and just managed to break free of the crowd.
Bale stood, straightened his shirt, and smiled – that wide, eerie smile.
“You are safe here,” he said, and the crowd nodded in unison.
Dennah turned and ran, knocking over a chair in the process. She bounced off the wall and hurtled down the hallway, before slamming their door shut and bolting it.
She wrenched the blankets and furs off the bed, her sword clattering to the floor. Hefting it off the ground, she threw her weight against the door and pulled the blade free of its scabbard. Heart hammering in her chest, Dennah fought to slow her breathing and pressed an ear to the door. The hallway beyond was quiet, but she didn’t that fool her.
Something felt very wrong in Bardstown.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Breaking Point
Luca followed Juna through the gated portcullis of her home, the woman sweeping across the bark-like cobblestones so elegantly she almost appeared to float. Emma followed a little behind, while Poe walked behind them, his snorts and growls periodically breaking the silence.
Juna’s home was a magnificent castle-like structure set back in a grove of tall, pale trees. The building rose from the ground, its seamless white stone curving into numerous arches and pillars. A sprawling trunk sprouted from inside the structure, the stone merging with wood and forming a series of branching turrets and remarkable gables high overhead. Ivy crawled over the bulk of the structure, its leaves glimmering green to silver in the island wind.
“Welcome to my home, guests,” the matrona said, turning and opening her arms graciously.
Luca tried to smile, but struggled, the Matron Assembly’s words tumbling around in his head, mixing with the smug expression on Altair’s face. He turned, catching sight of the man, standing between two dalan soldiers, just beyond the gated entrance. He didn’t understand any of it, his confusion just adding to his frustration.
“I am most pleased to accept you into my home. Our ways may appear strange to you at first, our traditions backwards compared to what you are used to, but I assure you, in time our people will come to accept you, and you them,” Juna said, her large, colorless eyes sweeping between Emma and Luca.
He nodded, fiddling subconsciously with the necklet. The smooth charm shifted, a small piece of metal breaking off in his fingers. He turned to Emma, the silver metal still clamped between his fingers. She met his gaze, her eyes large and rimmed with tears. He nodded towards her necklet, her eyes dropping in response. As she did,
a single, glassine tear ran down her cheek.
Can she feel it, too? he wondered, the subtle ache starting to work its way back into his body. Emma took a breath to speak, but couldn’t seem to find words. He reached out to take her hand, but she pulled away.
“Please, take food with us. You must be hungry,” Juna said, before turning and sweeping into the building.
Luca followed, stealing another quick glance back through the gate. Altair and his men hadn’t moved, their pale eyes unreadable and hooded.
“I don’t understand,” he blurted suddenly, as Poe moved behind him. “I want to go home. I don’t want to stay here! I don’t care if I get healed anymore. Honest. Why won’t they just let me go home?”
Poe’s strangely dog-like face scrunched up and he placed a pale hand on Luca’s shoulder. “Take food. Eat,” he said, nodding his head and gesturing forward. “Eat…food,” Poe reiterated, gently guiding Luca when he resisted.
Luca hissed in frustration, but bent and walked. They passed through an open courtyard, the strange ivy crawling down one wall and onto the ground like a shimmering blanket. Large lanterns hung in the arches, glowing with a piercing, orange light.
They moved into the building, passing through a pair of ornate glass doors. Beautiful, scrolling patterns of gold and silver filigree decorated the glass, including what looked like fish, birds, and other animals.
Juna led them into a well-lit hall, a number of long, bleached wood tables dominating the space. Luca sat at the end of a table, while Emma settled on the other end and refused to look his way. She was still angry with him. She will never forgive me, Luca thought, dejectedly.
Poe settled into the seat opposite him, his large colorless eyes searching his face, almost as if he could read Luca’s shame. He dropped his gaze to the table, uncomfortable under the dalan’s scrutiny.
Luca looked up again to find a silver platter, covered with nuts, cheese, a leafy vegetable, and a small loaf of dark bread, sitting before him on the table. He startled and looked down the table to Emma, but she looked just as confused, lifting the plate carefully to look beneath it, then picking a large chunk of cheese from the platter and taking an exploratory bite.
“Eat…for strength,” Poe grunted, already chewing through a mouthful of food.
Luca snapped back around, dropping his eyes to his lap. He sat quietly while the others ate, occasionally picking food from his plate and stuffing it into his mouth. Nothing was it at should be. And Luca struggled to not blame himself.
After eating, Juna led Luca and Emma up to their rooms. They climbed a magnificent, wide stair, the staircase curving upward around the central tree trunk. They stopped at Emma’s room first, the two females disappearing into the room, leaving Luca in the hall. He limped up and down the space, inspecting the many artifacts and decorations as he waited.
Luca walked up to a dagger presented proudly on a pedestal, the blade made from an odd, chipped stone. The grip was wrapped in dark leather. Next he found a peculiar construct hanging on the wall. It was a square made of narrow pieces of wood, a sinewy-looking string woven over it, looping together to form a pattern not unlike a spider’s web. Colorful animal feathers hung from a braid in each corner.
“These are tokens, reminders really, of who we used to be,” Juna said behind him.
Luca jumped, surprised by her sudden appearance. He hadn’t even heard her approach.
“Tokens?” Luca repeated the unfamiliar word.
“I know we look, act, and even speak strangely to you, Luca. But we were not so dissimilar to you at one time. The dalan clans lived, hunted, cultivated crops, and raised our children all across Denoril. We mapped flint, hunted, and shared traditions. The dwarves arrived in the southlands, building their tunnels and expanding their kingdom. We thought they were monsters at first, and for a time, we fought them. Eventually, our two peoples found peace, and learned that we could learn from one another, and more importantly, trade. The dalan and dwarves lived in harmony for many generations. We traded and taught them how to better cultivate from the land and hunt, and they introduced us to metalworking and taught us how to mold stone,” Juna said, picking up the flint knife from the pedestal.
“So, what happened?” Luca asked.
Juna set the knife down carefully, and turned down the hall. She began again as Luca limped up next to her.
“We call them the ‘Nym’. A spring mist rolled out of the mountains, and the Nym came with it. They destroyed our villages, one by one, killing any that stood against them. The dwarves came to our aid, and for a time, we held them off, but it was not to last. The Nym broke my people and forced the dwarves back into their tunnels. They enslaved those they didn’t kill, and stole the young to mold and grow as they saw fit,” the matrona continued, her story captivating and voice melodic.
“…and they made you, like you are?”
Juna nodded, turning her colorless eyes towards Luca. He shifted uncomfortably under her stare as they stopped before a room, the door half-open.
“They changed us, Luca, molding us to be like them. But we managed to retain a sliver of who we were…deep down inside,” she said, tapping her long, elegant fingers against her chest, just over her heart.
Luca nodded, holding her gaze even when he desperately wanted to look away. Her story was fascinating, but terrifying at the same time. These creatures…these Nym that Juna spoke of were the same monsters that Cassendyra had spoken of. They had killed off almost all of Juna’s people. Would the same happen again? Luca didn’t even know what the Nym looked like, but they scared him nonetheless.
“Cassendyra says they are back. What does that mean? And what is going to happen to me? Cassendyra lied to me. She said she could fix me, make me whole again, but I don’t care anymore. I just want to go home. I want to go home,” he said, the questions spilling out once he found the strength to ask, tears quickly following.
Juna gave Luca a smile, bending down to his height and squeezing his shoulder affectionately.
“You have been told many things today, Luca – many things you don’t understand, that all look and feel scary. This place and my people feel strange,” Juna said, her voice soothing, “but you must trust me. You are safe here. I will not let anyone, or thing, harm you. I promise that I will do everything in my power to help you.”
Luca swiped at his face with his smelly shirt, clearing away the tears, but now that they had started he found that he couldn’t stop them. Since waking on up Captain Tovy’s boat, all he wanted was to remember who he was, and if there were people out there who cared about him. But now that he knew, now that the pain had brought some if it back, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He wanted to see, feel, or hold something familiar, to jump on his bed or dive into his pillow. He wanted to see Hunter and Eisa, even if they were fighting like usual. But mostly, he wanted his mother, to hug her and bury his face in her apron, to breathe her in and smell the flour and spices always dusting her clothes.
Luca collapsed to his knees, his sobs flowing freely now, his legs no longer able to support him. He felt like he was breaking, inside and out, and there was nothing he could do to stop it – just a boy, falling apart and so very far from home.
Juna scooped him up in her arms, enveloping him in the first loving embrace he’d felt in a long time. He buried his face in her neck, his tears running down onto her shoulder and gown, but she didn’t seem to care.
“I just want to go home. Please, let me go home,” he sobbed, not caring how he cried, or why. He sobbed harder and harder, his shoulders shaking and his eyes burning.
Juna ran a hand over his hair, her voice soft and soothing in his ear. She whispered, speaking in a tongue beyond his understanding, the words washing over him like a warm, soothing rain.
Luca hung there, cradled in her arms for a long time, his tears flowing and Juna soothing. Finally, when his well of tears had dried up, he wiped his nose on a sleeve and pulled away. His eyes were puffy and his face wet, his ins
ides abruptly empty, like he’d pushed out all the sadness and tears, leaving nothing else behind.
Juna smiled, reaching out and wiping some tears away with her hand. Her cheeks flushed, her eyes filling with rich, brown color. A solitary tear broke from her eye, rolling down her flawless cheek, and then another. The color deepened in her eyes and more tears flowed.
“I am so…very sorry, Luca. You have been touched by so much pain and loss. We dalan have shut ourselves away from everything for so long…from death and pain, loss and love, frailty and infirmity, that we have forgotten how to feel. We believe that we have grown, elevating ourselves above all of our former weaknesses, but we haven’t. I feel your pain…I feel it all as keenly as if it were my own.”
Luca nodded, his emotions still too raw and close to the surface for him to trust his voice. He wiped his face on his shirt again, the fabric beyond dirty. It smelled sour.
“And now I believe you should rest. Come,” she said, and led him into the room.
The chamber was large and well appointed, one wall covered in dark bookshelves, leather-bound tomes covering the shelves. Arched windows covered the outside wall, several tilted open, allowing a cool breeze to blow through. A large bed stood in the room’s center, the four posts growing up like spindly trees, only to branch overhead, creating a canopy of interlocking branches.
“There is a bath for you to wash,” Juna said, motioning to a large, strangely shaped tub, “and I believe these clothes will fit you. They are Poe’s, but he is quite small and finicky about cleanliness. Sound the chimes by the door if you need anything. Rest well, Luca, and I will see you in the morning.”
Luca nodded his understanding, and managed a smile. Juna swept from the chamber, but turned at the door. Her eyes were still brown, the flush that had taken to her cheeks having spread to the rest of her face. She looked less dalan in that moment, more like someone his mother would invite over for tea.
