“Birch,” Moreen whispered hoarsely, not daring to turn around.
“Hello, Mo,” the man repeated. He laid a hand on her elbow and gently turned her around to face him. His face and eyes were slightly downcast, as though he were reluctant to look at Moreen.
“Birch,” she said again. Moreen’s body trembled violently, and her jaw quivered. Then, with a cry, she fell forward and flung her arms around the strange man. She buried her face in his shoulder, tears streaming from her eyes.
“My God, Birch, you’re alive,” she sobbed, her voice muffled by his shoulder. “You’ve come back to me. You’re…” she stopped. Moreen leaned back and stared at him a moment, then drew back and slapped him.
“Where the Hell have you been?” she demanded. “You disappear and leave me for eleven years,” she punctuated her words by jabbing him in the shoulder with two fingers, “and then just walk in here and… and…” Moreen dissolved into tears again and collapsed against the man named Birch. He caught her gently and nodded at Alicia.
Alicia immediately pulled a chair from a nearby table and held it out for the sobbing woman, and Birch gently lowered her to the seat.
“There, there,” he murmured, his voice soothing. “Shhh, Mo. Yes, I’m back. I’d rise from my grave for you.”
Alicia blinked as she saw a reddish glow on the back of Moreen’s hair. She leaned closer, then jerked back as Birch raised his head and looked at her.
The depths of the man’s eyes were on fire!
Alicia stepped back and nearly fell to the floor. The young man darted forward and caught her, then helped her to a chair. Alicia glanced gratefully at him, then returned her gaze to the man still holding Moreen.
“What are you?” Alicia whispered.
Chapter 12
I have seen horrors from Man’s worst nightmares. I have endured the worst that Hell itself has to offer. What earthly terrors and tortures remain that can tremble my heart?
- Birch de’Valderat,
“Memoirs” (1013 AM)
Betrayal. Losing Moreen. Failure.
- (added in the margin)
- 1 -
Alicia trotted back toward the table of strangers, her apron strings trailing behind her as she hurriedly stripped the filthy smock from her body and dropped it on a table. The barroom was empty except for Moreen and the strangers; the rest of the staff were eating their late night meal in the back before heading to their homes for the evening.
Alicia paused briefly to glance in the mirror, and she sighed. Her shoulder-length, chestnut-brown hair was somewhat disheveled, and a few stains had slipped past the apron and marked her clothes. She pursed her lips in frustration. The tunic was second-hand, since Alicia didn't like to wear her good clothes while working, but the trousers were her current favorite because of the fit, and she liked to get as much wear out of them as possible before having to wash them. Washing and scrubbing invariable weakened the material, and sooner or later there would be holes and loosened seams, and then she'd have to replace them. Since most of the nearby tailors didn't think it proper for a woman to wear trousers, she had to go halfway across town to find a shopkeep who would cut them properly for her.
Suddenly self-conscious about her appearance, Alicia stepped closer to the mirror and did a quick check of her body and clothes.
Her skin was naturally darker than most people's, a legacy left to Alicia and her twin brother from parents they'd never met, along with their golden-brown eyes. Her figure was a bit more filled out than some of the other girls who worked at the inn, like Deeta, but Alicia was by no means fat. Most of her body was made of lithe muscle, built up from years of carrying heavy trays of food and drink and helping Brit to haul about crates of supplies. Had she the figure of Deeta, who was soft and gently curved where men always seemed to notice, she would have snapped in half while trying to help the dwarf.
Thinking about her appearance, Alicia spared a brief thought for her brother, who’d left her several years ago to seek his fortune doing San knew what. She hadn’t seen him in over a year since his last visit, and his last letter was on a shelf somewhere under about an inch of dust. Knowing him, he was probably reading a book on how to get into trouble.
With a shake of her head, Alicia remembered she still had a job to do and continued her walk toward the fireplace. The elf and the young man were talking quietly, their heads close together to avoid disturbing Moreen and the fire-eyed man.
Birch and Moreen seemed not to have moved an inch in the last hour since she’d fallen in his arms. The strange man still held her against his shoulder as she sat half-collapsed in the wooden chair. His crouched position was doubtlessly uncomfortable, but his face bore no sign of physical pain. Instead, emotional agony was etched in every line of a stone-carved face.
Alicia doubted any male would have been able to read the man’s expression, since they all tended to be oblivious to the visual nature of a person’s emotions. Come to think of it, most were oblivious to the verbal expression of emotion, too. But to a woman, his pain was as blatant as … as the fire in his eyes.
The mere thought of those eyes unsettled Alicia, and with good cause, she reasoned. She’d heard the expression of a person’s eyes blazing with passion, fury, and a dozen other intense emotions, but she’d never thought to actually see someone’s eyes afire. It certainly couldn’t be natural.
“I wonder what Mo will say about it,” Alicia murmured as she crossed the room. “Or maybe she already knows.”
Alicia shrugged, and then drew near the boy and the elf. The boy looked up and smiled softly at her, his eyes full of compassion for the older man.
Maybe not all men are oblivious, she wondered silently. Then she realized she was staring at him with a frankly appraising gaze, and Alicia shook her head.
“Can I get you anything to drink or eat before the kitchen shuts down?” she asked. “I can bring it out or…”
The elf waved a hand, but not in dismissal.
“We would greatly appreciate some food and drink,” he said softly; Alicia had to refrain from leaning closer to hear him better. “But I think we’ll give them some privacy and eat elsewhere. The kitchen perhaps?”
With Moreen in no condition to contradict her, Alicia barely paused before nodding.
“Don’t worry about your friend,” the elf said, correctly reading her hesitation. “I get the feeling she and Birch are well acquainted, and she’ll come to no harm. Of course, I’d expect nothing less from him, being a paladin.”
Alicia turned a speculative gaze on the middle-aged man. His eyes were closed again, and his lips were moving slightly as though he were talking only to himself. Or if he was a paladin, perhaps he was praying. Alicia nodded at the elf, and led him and the young man back towards the kitchen.
- 2 -
Birch listened to the sound of the kitchen door shutting and sighed softly. The moment he had both dreamed of and dreaded had finally come, and he didn’t feel strong enough to see it through. He murmured yet another prayer for strength, at least his tenth in the last hour since he’d seen Moreen.
With a heavy sigh to steel his confidence, Birch gripped her shoulders and pushed her gently back to her chair. Moreen reached a hand up to brush the hair away from her face, and she sniffed back her remaining tears. Birch caught her hand in his and folded her slender fingers in his rough, calloused hands. Reddened eyes stared at Birch’s hands in a terrible jumble of emotions, and he swallowed against the painful lump in his throat. Birch’s chest ached like never before, sapping his strength and sucking the breath from his body.
“Mo,” he said softly, then trailed off. He didn’t know what to say.
“Where have you been, Birch?” she whispered, her voice hoarse from crying. She didn’t look at him. Had she a mirror, Birch knew Moreen would have thought herself a frightful mess. But to him, and to the precious memories he cherished in his head, she looked lovelier than ever.
Birch opened his mouth to reply, but his vo
ice stopped. He tried clearing his throat, but the words wouldn’t come. As he saw her eyes lifting toward him, Birch half closed his eyes and stared at her soft hand.
“Birch,” she said softly.
“I… When I…” Birch stopped, then took a steadying breath. “Please, God,” he said beneath his breath.
“When I left you,” he said haltingly, “eleven years ago, I told you I felt there was something changing in me. There was something calling me anew in my faith, and I had to listen. I had to follow where it led me. I thought perhaps it was the Calling.”
He paused, and Moreen said softly, “I know, Birch. I’ve never forgotten that last day. God help me, I’ve tried, but I never forgot.”
Birch’s lips curved into a soft, pain-filled smile, even though Moreen couldn’t see the expression with his face turned down. But to look at her would mean staring at her with his Hell-filled vision, and Birch couldn’t do that. Not yet.
“There were times when I wished you would forget, too, Mo,” he said, his voice thick, “but not a moment went by when I wasn’t thinking about you, even when my life depended on keeping a clear head. The truth is, I think having you in my mind protected my soul on more than one account. I don’t think I could ever find a way to thank you for your unknowing protection.”
Moreen shook her head.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Birch,” she said. “But I can think of one way you can thank me…”
Birch squeezed her hand to stop her from saying more. He wasn’t sure he could have borne the pain if she’d finished that sentence.
“I know, Mo,” he murmured. “I know.”
A silence hung between them that was both heavy and weightless all at once; it prohibited speech even as it solicited the words Birch knew he should say but couldn’t. Then the moment passed, and Birch felt a tremendous sense of loss at the words he knew he might never say.
“Right after I left you,” he said, “I spent nearly a full day in a deep personal meditation, then fell into a dreamless sleep. When I awoke, I donned my cloak and it turned a pure, snowy white.”
Moreen hissed a breath, knowing full well the implications of what he’d said and no doubt confirming what she’d always suspected, but she said nothing. Birch was grateful for her silence.
“I made my way on Sultana to Nocka and crossed the Merging, and we began our journey into Hell. Even if I could, I wouldn’t tell you of the horrors I experienced there, and I can only say again how much my memories of you protected me. The mere thought of you anchored my soul as much as my faith in God ever could, and it sustained me when my faith had all but run its course.
“Somehow… somehow I knew I would survive, and all I could think of was making my way back to you,” Birch said, his voice nearly inaudible. “Time flows differently there, even though I didn’t age as I should have. You waited for me for more than ten years since that day, Moreen, but I … I spent more than two decades trying to get back to your side.”
Moreen’s silence told him nothing, and Birch was tempted to look at her just to see her face. The thought of her reaction to his eyes held him back.
“I don’t remember parts of those years, but I lost Sultana and my sword was shattered,” Birch continued, his voice trembling. “My armor was torn and shredded by demonic hands, my shield ripped from my grasp, my cloak destroyed. My soul was nearly torn from me, and my body was sundered in ways I’m terrified to remember. At any moment, I could have let myself fall to the ground and surrendered to the pain, and no one would have… no one could have blamed me. No man was made to endure a journey through Hell, no matter what level of faith he carries as protection.”
Birch paused, swallowing.
“But every time I fell, I thought of you,” he said, his voice nearly a whisper. “Every tortured moment I spent in that place … every time I even thought of giving up and letting them beat me … at every weakened moment there you were in my mind, sitting here before the fireplace. Waiting. I don’t know why, but I was certain each and every time that you were sitting here at our table, staring at these flames, thinking of me. I knew you would be waiting for me here, and I couldn’t let you do that.
“I couldn’t let you sit here alone for a moment longer than I had to, I had to get back to you, Mo,” he said, his voice ragged. “I had to…” Birch choked back a sob. He clenched his eyes shut, and his hands tightened around themselves. Mo’s hand had slipped unnoticed from his grasp, and Birch felt her cool fingers on the sides of his head.
“Birch,” she said softly, and he could no longer contain his pain. A wordless cry escaped his lips and now it was Moreen who cradled Birch against her shoulder.
“Oh, God help me, I couldn’t bear it, Mo,” he sobbed, tears careening down his face. His skin burned with an unnatural heat, but Birch was beyond feeling physical pain. His heart felt as though it was slowly being torn in half. His arms ached with a pain all their own as they slid around Moreen to where they had held her countless times before; his arms remembered the embrace as surely as did his heart. His entire body was sick with relief and agony at being with her again.
“Shhh, Birch,” she whispered, then repeated it. Then again. And again. And again, as Birch slowly spiraled into a pit of bittersweet pain.
- 3 -
Danner swallowed the last mouthful of stew, then dabbed his lips with a napkin. He felt self-conscious with the barmaid, Alicia, staring at him as though he weren’t human, but rather some curious creature in a cage. No, that wasn’t it. She looked at him as though he were a man, but still a curiosity. It was unnerving.
It wasn’t that Danner didn’t enjoy the attention of an attractive woman, and Alicia certainly was that. Chestnut hair hung in straight waves to her shoulders, framing a brown-skinned face Danner would have called delicate had it not been for a deep, underlying strength. That, and the frown that seemed to perpetually crease her lips. The studiously narrow slits of her eyes prevented him from seeing what color they were, but Danner could have sworn they were also brown.
Her figure was full without appearing fleshy, and she had well-toned muscles in all the right places. Danner flushed slightly when he found himself staring at her bosom, which possessed a certain roundness he found impossible to ignore. Danner cleared his throat needlessly and busied himself with mopping up the last of his stew with a crust of bread.
Across the table, with his back turned to Alicia, Maran was likewise finishing his stew. He drained the last of his wine, then nodded in appreciation to the heavy-set cook who hovered nearby.
“An excellent repast, madam,” he said politely, smiling. “I had not thought to find a meal of human food so pleasing to this elf’s palate.”
The stout woman flushed at Maran’s praise, then glowered at him to hide the expression.
“Elf’s palate, huh?” she said gruffly. “Humph.”
With a sweep of the cook’s arm, their dishes disappeared from the table, leaving only Maran’s empty wine glass and Danner’s half-full mug of cider. He was glad the elf hadn’t teased him about ordering such a soft drink, especially in front of a girl. Danner was past the age where he was considered old enough for a heavier drink, but alcohol had never quite agreed with him. He didn’t have anything against drinking, far from it – lifting purses from the heavily inebriated was one of his favorite pastimes.
“Who is he?”
Danner half-turned at the sound of Alicia’s voice. He caught Maran’s eye, and the elf turned smoothly in his chair to address the young barmaid.
“Forgive me for not properly introducing all of us at once,” he said pleasantly, a warm smile on his lips. “You are Alicia, yes? My name is El’Maran, and this is Danner,” he said, gesturing. “The fellow out there with, Mo was her name? Moreen? Yes? His name is Birch, as I’m sure you have by now ascertained.”
Alicia’s frown lessened slightly but did not disappear as Maran introduced them.
“I heard his name,” she said, her voice displayi
ng obvious frustration. “But who is he?” She paused, as though uncertain. Or afraid. “And what’s wrong with his eyes?”
Danner shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He was glad her stare was directed at Maran, who seemed entirely unaffected by the directness of the gaze.
“He hasn’t told us,” Danner said when he realized Maran wouldn’t speak. He remembered Maran had once told him that elves would not willingly discuss someone when the absent person had family present. Family was very important to the elves. Since Danner was there, it fell to him to speak.
Danner’s problem was that he didn’t know how much to say. He hardly thought his uncle wanted his experiences to become common gossip, and he didn’t know what kind of person Alicia was. In spite of that, he found himself telling her what they knew of Birch’s experiences.
Maran remained largely silent through the telling, offering only an occasional comment, usually as a subtle means of guiding Danner’s end of the conversation. Maran steered him away from mentioning personal details about Birch, and instead kept him focused on the bare facts that Danner’s uncle had told them. Just that explanation took some time, and by the end Alicia’s eyes were no longer narrowed in distrust, but rather wide in awe and surprise. Danner noted they were a pretty golden-brown color.
When he was finished, Danner sipped the last of his cider to wet his throat, then cocked his head to listen. He heard what, at first, seemed to be the sound of a man weeping. It was coming from the common room, which meant that it would have to be Birch crying. Danner found that a difficult thought to entertain.
He started out of his chair toward the door, but Maran placed a restraining hand on his arm and shook his head.
“No, Danner,” he said, his face unreadable. “Leave them be.”
- 4 -
The ache in Birch’s heart finally became dull enough to allow him to stem his tears, and his eyes slowly dried. He gripped Moreen tightly in thanks, then leaned back away from her. This time, however, he did not lower his eyes. Instead, he deliberately gazed at the center of her forehead.
Hunting The Three (The Barrier War) Page 14
