Kilenya Series Books 1, 2, and 3
Page 90
Chapter 13. Take a Turn
Eachan leaned over the counter, squeezing his eyes shut. The thumping on the front door hadn’t stopped, and villagers now banged on the back door as well. Sanso had probably done something to the people. Hurt them, attacked them. Something. But he and the other Ember Gods had pressured the villagers before without this sort of a reaction. Why was this time different?
Duana and Aloren ignored it—they didn’t realize the ramifications of what was going on. Eachan turned from the counter. The girls were putting food together to pass to the villagers. He hadn’t seen Duana this happy for so long—years.
He swung around, grabbing a glass to wash. Another thump on the door, and he dropped the cup. It shattered on the floor.
“Father, are you all right?”
“I’m fine—just fine.” He stooped to pick up the large bits of glass while Duana retrieved a broom and swept up the rest.
“You’ve been very preoccupied lately. Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do to help?”
“No, nothing. I—I just need to work things through in my mind.”
As far as Duana was concerned, Aloren was there to stay permanently.
Hadn’t he chosen long ago what to do in situations like this? Anyone else, and it would’ve been as easy as throwing a rock. He’d turned people over to the Lorkon—again and again. The villagers hadn’t even realized who the traitor was at first.
Why was the soul of one young girl causing him so much trouble now? Was it because his own daughter had grown so close to her? Was it Aloren’s purity of heart? Her guilt-free conscience? Surely she didn’t have other people’s blood on her hands.
He sighed, returning to the dishes at the counter, pushing thoughts of her away, thinking back over his years of treachery. He hated having all this on his mind again, especially since it had been such a long time since he’d last considered the deal he’d made.
His main instructions had been to spy on the villagers and report anyone who turned their backs on the Lorkon. A swift and public execution would then be dealt out. This went very well for some time, but then the unexpected happened—everyone turned against the Lorkon, and Keitus stopped caring so much.
It had been years since Keitus, the Lorkon king, had checked on Eachan himself. Usually he sent his messengers: beetles—pets of the Turners—or the Turners themselves with the occasional bit of instruction. Eachan had known when the human boy was about to arrive—Keitus himself had come with special instructions: assist the boy with anything he needed. Help him feel welcome. Offer him food. Don’t stop him, don’t act suspicious of anything.
The village nearly fell apart when Jacob escaped because the Lorkon were so upset. Several villagers disappeared. The Lorkon, knowing about the girl, sent their messengers on a daily basis to “work” with Aloren. That had lasted nearly a week, and by then, the Lorkon had Turners guarding Maivoryl.
Maybe Keitus no longer trusted Eachan.
This thought caused Eachan’s heart to speed—what would happen if that were the case? His hands started shaking and he nearly dropped another dish. He had to regain the Lorkon’s confidence. Had to let them know, somehow, that he was just as reliable. Couldn’t let his daughter become like the people of the village. Couldn’t.
His breaths came in gasps and he forced himself to calm down—his heart had caused him great amounts of pain before. He knew it would probably kill him sometime. But not today—he wouldn’t allow it.
Eachan turned from the sink, dried his hands, and smiled at his daughter. She looked so much like him, but her smile was her mother’s—he encouraged her to use it often.
She did so now and he felt the warmth spread through his limbs, the pain in his chest nearly forgotten.
Duana motioned to her companion. “Aloren wants to take a turn at putting the food on the porch.”
Eachan frowned. “Are you sure, Aloren?”
She nodded. “Yes—I’ve watched you two do it enough. And it’s not fair that I’m here, eating your food and not doing anything to help.”
“Oh, but you are helping!” Duana said.
Aloren shook her head. “But not with the hardest job.”
Such a good girl. Such a pity. Eachan nodded. “Yes, if it pleases you, go ahead. Duana would appreciate it, I’m sure.”
Duana and Aloren set to work, the elder showing Aloren how to organize the plates and dishes just so, making it easier to put them on the porch more quickly and safely.
It didn’t take them long to get everything in place, and when they had, Duana brought Aloren up to the door.
“There will be one or two people watching and waiting—and they’re not stupid. Don’t do anything to startle them, don’t show your back to them. Don’t smile at them, don’t acknowledge them. They’re normal people, but diseased.”
Aloren’s face saddened. “What an awful situation to be in.”
Duana sighed. “Yes. But be sure not to show them pity.”
Aloren waited in front of the door, ready to open it, and Eachan moved forward to watch through the window.
The young girl took a deep breath, then cracked the door. Eachan parted the curtain—there were only two humans visible, and they didn’t pay any attention to the girl. She stepped onto the porch, carrying the first batch of plates loaded with food, which she then set down.
One of the villagers turned to the town hall. “Food!” he yelled.
Doors and windows opened along the road, and people poured onto the street. Aloren backed into the building, filled her arms with more dishes, and started putting them next to the others.
A large crowd gathered in front of Aloren.
Something wasn’t right.
Eachan squinted, trying to figure out what was different. Then he saw it and gasped. Every eye in the group was on Aloren. He watched as they all stopped advancing to the food. The air grew silent—Aloren hadn’t noticed yet. What were the people doing? He’d never seen them not go berserk when food was placed before them.
The villagers trembled, and Eachan yelled to Aloren. He ran to the door—she was putting the last dish on the porch. He grabbed her around the waist right as the entire group went into a frenzy, worse than he’d ever seen before. The taller, stronger humans plowed over the weaker in an attempt to get to the porch first, and the weaker villagers were just as desperate.
But not for the food—for Aloren.
Eachan saw the hatred in their eyes. Saw the clenched fists, the desire for destruction. He swung Aloren into the building and slammed the door shut right as a townsperson raised his fist to attack.