by Lisa Rector
Einion wrapped his arms around Rhianu and pulled her close. He was too overjoyed to be timid. His feet could have melted into the dance floor. Movement had heated Rhianu’s body, hot like a fiery emrys. Everywhere her fingers touched, his skin drank her energy into his body. She didn’t realize she was doing energy transference. She had no control over her light. Her inexperience because of her memory loss amused Einion, and he suppressed his laugh. He knew things were difficult for her. “Are you all right, Rhianu? I wanted to thank you for your friendship. I know your memory loss must vex you.”
“I’m as well as one could expect. I have a slight headache. It could be the wine.” She touched the back of her head. “This week was a delight. I believe Aerona enjoyed it too.”
“Would you like a healer to look at you?” His fingers slipped against the base of her skull, and he gently probed where she touched.
“That’s sweet, Einion. But it will pass.”
A quizzical expression left his face, and his hand returned to hers so he could twirl her. “Where’s Aerona?”
“She slipped away, muttering about Trahaearn pestering her. Honestly, I don’t think she’s fond of him.” Rhianu frowned. “I’m really sorry, Einion.”
“Hey, Aerona can be fond of who she wants. I know exactly how Trahaearn is. He’s a big goofy softy. Sometimes I think I should take my dragon stone off so he matures quicker.”
“Is that how it works?”
“They still mature, but at a slower rate. The dragon stone delays their aging. This is why a dragon waits to pick his rider until he’s older.”
Einion pumped his sweaty hand over hers as he worked up the nerve to ask Rhianu about the first blessing. He wanted to make sure the moment didn’t have more meaning than he understood.
A low rumble rippled through him, interrupting his intention. Einion laughed, putting his hand over his stomach. “I can’t believe I’m still hungry after this week.”
Rhianu’s eyes grew large. “No, Einion. I feel it too. That’s not your stomach.”
People spun around them while the fluting music played in a continuous stream. Rhianu and Einion paused, their heads cocked, listening. Other emrys, their senses keener than the mortals, stopped as well.
Einion! Trahaearn and the other dragons took to the skies. Einion! Move!
A flock of birds on a distant hillside rose to the air, cawing loudly. That’s when herds of animals rushed through the crowd. The dancers froze mid-step. Deer, squirrels, chipmunks, mice, every creeping thing ran right through their midst, unafraid of the humans, but terrified of something else entirely. People screamed into motion when a bear and her cubs lumbered through.
The music stopped and chaos broke loose, commotion becoming the new dance. Couples scattered in every direction. Children cried as they were separated from parents, unable to push their way through the mass to them.
The earth trembled. The rumble crescendoed, drowning out the yelling. A gush of wind swept over them.
“By Deian’s Light,” Einion whispered.
Rhianu grabbed his hand. The intensity of her grip and her alarm sent a shiver up his spine.
Sending out a mournful groan, a thick waterfall of mud sloughed whole pieces of rock from the hillside’s peak. Einion watched, tense, as it grew in speed, ripping whole trees out of the ground. The surge roiled over the rocks, pulling everything in a lake’s worth of brown water.
Einion muttered, too paralyzed to believe his eyes, “The mountain’s springs… they’ve overflowed from the rainstorms…”
They had minutes to react. The whole village would be buried in the mudslide’s ever-widening path.
Trahaearn and the other dragons had already taken action, ushering people up the closest hillside, flying those lagging behind. The dozen emrys in the gathering ran toward the river of mud ransacking the environment.
Einion snapped out of his stupor. “Run, Rhianu!” He pushed her away and sprinted off with the other emrys, who spread out in a line at the base of the hill. Einion braced himself. He knew what they were going to attempt. Fleeing from the far end of the dance floor, many people were yet in danger. They had to hold the wall of water off long enough for stragglers to climb to safety.
Emrys shouted as they lifted their arms to take action. “Prepare yourselves! Ready… hold…”
Einion pulled his light up from his core and threw it out in front of himself. His light spread and bled into the shield the emrys ten feet away had pushed out. How are we going to control this?
Rhianu was too far from high ground—she and a few others.
His head guard, Llew, shouted, but the roar of the water broke apart his words. “Hold—long enough—divert around—village.”
In two breaths, the raging wall would hit them.
Einion dug his feet in as the avalanche slammed into him. The massive wall of brown sludge pushed against the light’s barrier, growing in height until it spouted over the top. The emrys urged their light higher and held the water at bay, confined.
Sweat poured from Einion’s face, burning his eyes. The weight of the water tested his strength to the maximum, quivering his muscles. Never had he exerted himself in such a manner. Build, fortify, protect. Push the water away. He ordered the light to comply, but he could only hold the water back. His power was too feeble to push off the crushing water. As it was, streams broke through around his ankles, and his feet sank into the mud. No! Hold it. You are strong. Einion flexed his shield and fortified it. His arms strained against the fabric of his surcoat, threatening to rip the sleeves wide open. Deian, lend me your light!
The emrys had to hold the impassable wall of ruination only long enough for people to reach the hill. But the torrent was too extreme to divert. The village would be lost once the emrys dropped their shields. They needed a way to siphon the water away and around the village.
His legs spasmed. Hold it!
Einion, you have to get out of there, Trahaearn yelled. I’m coming for you!
No! Are they all safe? Einion couldn’t spare a cursory glance.
Almost. The emrys at the end of the line will funnel the water through their shields and around the village. The water will recede shortly. Hold on.
The pressure intensified when a tree stewing in the mix pounded against his energy. Einion groaned. His knees buckled. It’s too strong!
Einion sank farther into the muck. It’s heavy—too heavy. He was failing. His hold slackened. He was not strong enough to win, not against a force of nature this powerful. I’m too weak. I’ll never prevail. I’m going to be crushed under the weight.
“No!” Einion had to fight the negative and build his light, but darkness grabbed at him, forcing him down into the earth, tamping his heart with lead.
Einion, you have this. Push! Trahaearn yelled. I’m coming for you.
If I fail, someone will die. It will be my fault. I could have never hoped to save them all. I’m the weakest link in this chain—the one half-emrys.
Einion’s concentration shattered. His shield splintered open on the right side, and the water broke through. A mammoth tree vaulted in the water’s wrath across the field. Trahaearn swooped down and scooped Einion up before the water swept him away as the rest of his shield crumbled.
As the destruction unfolded, Einion saw its fated course. Rhianu dove at a little girl three feet in front of her as the water fell over them. They were two feet from safety. Two feet.
“No!” Einion screamed. Drop me, Trahaearn. Drop me! I must get to them.
I have to keep you safe.
Let me down! Einion pleaded, prying at his dragon’s claws. Trahaearn had an impossibly tight hold. They’re gone. Where are they? Where are they?
Helpless, Einion watched as Trahaearn circled in the sky before coming to land. The torrent from Einion’s broken shield fizzled out as the emrys pulled the water away. They saved over half the village.
Einion searched the devastation. She has to be here. The villagers ran down the
hillside to help. They picked through the muck for five minutes, becoming coated up to their knees and elbows. Lumps of trees and rocks caked with mud were indistinguishable from two bodies. Einion looked for the burning, inner light of Rhianu. He sensed nothing. Fear gripped him. No light meant either dead or unconscious.
“Here!” someone shouted. “Here!”
A brown heap, Rhianu had slumped against a giant tree, clutching a muddy form. Einion touched her, and she jerked awake with a gasp, sludge spewing from her mouth. Einion could make out only the whites of her eyes as she looked hysterically at him. He tried to take the mass from her arms.
“No!” Rhianu screamed. “No!”
Einion crouched in front of her and tenderly wiped the grime off her face, desperately trying to unveil her smooth skin and reassure her with his touch. “Let her go. Rhianu. Let them see if they can help her.”
“It’s too late. She’s dead.” Rhianu squeezed the child. “The tree—it should have hit me. I dove at her. Tried to roll her away from it. I failed. Her neck…”
That’s when Einion noticed her tiny head hanging oddly to the side. He bit his lip. His stomach turned as he pried Rhianu’s arms off the little girl. It wasn’t Rhianu’s fault. He had faltered. His shield broke. It was an accident. It could have happened to anyone. But he had lost control. This girl was dead because of him.
Einion lifted the child into his arms and carried her to an open space so the emryn healers could look at her. They knelt and placed their hands on her tiny body. The villagers pressed in around them, wringing nervous hands until the emrys pulled away, one of them shaking his head. The child’s mother wailed as she pushed through the multitude and collapsed on the girl.
Einion’s chest split in two. His head spun. What in all of Terrin happened? Everyone had been happy. He made it through the week. How could disaster strike without warning and leave such a dreadful mark?
PART II
GUILT
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
AFTERMATH
Hauling mud to the edge of the village was a weary business, but the villagers trudged on, clearing foundations for new homes to be built. Einion stayed for a week, shoveling mud and wielding a hammer where necessary. The blisters on his hands came and went as his light healed them over at night only to have them break open in the morning with more labor. Rhianu limped about, disheartened, but helping where she could by lugging water and preparing meals.
Einion allowed the thick mud to smear over his spirit and cake his soul as he dug into the work, doing all he could to hold on to his composure. The pain and the exhaustion hid his anguish. Everyone looked the same, set to accomplish a grim undertaking, so no one, except Trahaearn, knew how guilty Einion felt.
What was worse, no one blamed Einion, even though it had been his shield that dropped. The villagers said the catastrophe was a freak accident of nature and called the emrys heroes for intervening and saving what they could. The majority of homes had been spared with only the one fatality, but it froze Einion’s heart as if the darkness had settled in for a dreary winter.
Trahaearn remained silent during the six-hour flight to Terrin. His dragon brother didn’t know what to say, and for that, Einion was glad. He didn’t want anyone to console him. He wanted to feel the pain. The blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl, Gwenna, was only six years old. He had seen her happily laughing and dancing. Now she would never dance again.
After landing in the courtyard, Einion crossed the empty square, leaving his guard and Rhianu behind. His heavy legs climbed the steps to the palace doors, and he pushed them open, heading to his father’s study, where Einion sought solitude.
He stared at the piles on his desk, at the books and parchments he had a duty to look over. Einion touched a piece of vellum scrawled with his signature. The negligent attendant had yet to pick it up. His handwriting curled in slanted strokes—weak, feeble strokes—the strokes of an uncertain king.
A king with darkness inside.
Fervid loathing rushed over his body. Rage seethed behind his temples. His fingers crushed the vellum. Einion screamed and pushed all the documents off his desk, watching as ink spilled across the floor. He lifted his desk and overturned it. This yielded a somewhat satisfying crash and splintering of wood. Whipping a candleholder across the room, Einion watched the wax splatter on the wall. He heaved candle after candle until the room was plunged into darkness. Sobbing, Einion dropped to his knees amidst the mess and dug his fingers into the woolen rug.
Einion… Trahaearn whispered.
Don’t say anything.
Very well, I won’t. But I’m here.
Einion didn’t reply.
Trahaearn tried again. It wasn’t your fault.
Don’t tell me that.
Your concentration broke. I heard your thoughts.
Leave me alone, please, Einion begged.
The door to the study creaked open. Oh, not now. He didn’t want to talk to her.
Rhianu’s silent steps crept across the room in the dark. She knelt beside him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She didn’t say a word, but only tucked her chin onto his shoulder, sitting in the ever-expanding quiet.
Her feelings soaked through him. Einion didn’t think it was intentional, but her light breached the void between them. And he felt it all—no holding back. Rhianu must have chosen to relive the terror, now that she had a shoulder to support her. Maybe this was retribution for whatever happened during the first blessing that sent her running off through the dancers. But he deserved it. He deserved to feel the misery all over again.
At first, the painful onslaught of her emotions swept over him. Einion had been assaulted with the same feelings during the mudslide and the aftermath, and he knew them well for they had been stamped onto his heart. Rhianu’s feelings changed to different emotions that Einion had yet to sort through. She had been in shock—numb. Gradually her feelings moved to relief and acceptance. She had done what she could. Rhianu was alive and had tried to save Gwenna. She had done her best.
His heart stilled. Could he come to accept the same feelings? Had he done his best? His shield shouldn’t have faltered. Though he had tried, he ultimately failed, and his failure had cost a life.
If the emrys hadn’t been there at all, the whole village would have been lost and every single occupant, Trahaearn said. You saved so many lives. Think about that.
I know, Trahaearn. That I do know.
Then you must forgive yourself.
Einion pinched his eyes tight. Forgiving himself would not be easy. The darkness in his heart had roots that reached deep. He would have to hack his way through them to find peace.
***
Einion sifted through the mess he had made, telling the housekeeper he would see to repairing the room. He didn’t want someone else to labor over a disaster he had caused. He toed at the papers on the floor around his desk. Most of the drawers underneath the desk had tumbled out, and one lay splintered on the floor. Einion picked up its remains, turning them over in his hands. Sunlight streaming through an open curtain caught his eye as it fell upon a leather-bound book, which had been hidden underneath the broken drawer. Einion retrieved it and worked to untie the bindings.
He flipped to a random page with a dated journal entry scribbled in the top corner. Einion scanned the page before reading deeper. The writing was not unlike his own.
Now I know how powerless a ruler is. I shall never call myself king. A king doesn’t have power over the elements. A king cannot control a plague or prevent one. A king is useless to save life.
A fever epidemic has broken out in the city. Mother won’t let me go anywhere beyond the palace walls. I am under quarantine. As future ruler, I can’t jeopardize my life, but people are dying. The bodies are being burned. I know because the air reeks.
What can I do?
The entry stopped before beginning again a week later.
Mother was furious with me. I snuck out, bribing the guards. I went into the cit
y and helped in the sick house, sitting for hours, mopping the head of a young mother while her two-year-old daughter, Alice, cried at her feet. The mother died. The child has no one left in this world.
I caught the fever. I am only now catching up in my entries. I lay ill for a week. By Deian’s grace, I survived. Through my delirious stupor, an idea came to me. I could not prevent those who lay sick from passing into the beyond, but those left behind will have a place to stay. An orphanage. Mother liked the idea. Construction is underway. She says my ambition shows good promise as a ruler that I take care of my subjects after such a tragedy.
I don’t look at it that way. I am only a man. My hands can only do what imperfect hands can do. I am not Deian, but I can work through him.
Einion stared wide-eyed at the pages. This was Brenin’s journal. This was his father’s journal! How had Einion never come across this? He examined the bottom of the desk. The broken drawer had been tucked underneath. Unless someone told him the journal was there, Einion would have never seen it.
He thumbed through the pages again. This was written almost three years before he was born, when Brenin was a youth of only eighteen. He had yet to be crowned. The entry explained why he never was. His subjects had known him only as Lord Brenin. He never wanted to be king after the epidemic.
Trahaearn, did you pay attention to what I read?
Yes. You’re not alone with your insecurities. See, every ruler has struggles. He tried his best, just as you did.
I know. I need to grieve. I know I did everything I could.
Good. I don’t like feeling you this way.
It will still take some time…
I understand. But uh… I wanted to talk to you about something else.
