Shatter (The Children of Man)

by Elizabeth C. Mock

  The music carried her thoughts back in time.

  The fire burned in the hearth warming Eve as she sat on the cool, slatted wood floor. A young man leaned against her knees, plucking a playful tune from his lyre. The melody rose and fell with the rhythm of the blaze. She gazed quietly into the fire, watching the flames dance.

  As the speed of his playing increased so did her dancing. Her joy in the dance overflowed into laughter. The patrons clapped in time with the music, urging Eve to surrender to the dance. The whirling movements swept her back to a different time and place.

  Eve walked next to a young man with auburn hair, their shoulders barely brushing. Strands of hair escaped from the ponytail low on his neck and fell in front of his eyes. He looked over at her and smiled. His green eyes were the color of a mist-covered moor splashed with the purest golden sunshine. They sparkled with a laughter that bubbled from deep within. With an absent-minded, but futile, gesture he brushed his hair out of his face. Grinning, she reached out and tucked the stray pieces behind his ear.

  The interplay between her memories and the music enveloped her within their beauty. All thoughts were gone. All that remained was the rhythm, the cheering, the movement, the dance.

  Abruptly, another memory overtook her senses.

  Sunlight spilled through a high window and pooled around the wheat-colored hair on the pillow. The young woman’s face looked pale like a porcelain doll. Her delicate hands lay folded on her chest. The absolute stillness of that chest was the only indication that she would never wake.

  Jarring herself out of a spin, she froze and stared blankly above the hearth. “Nessa.”

  The music faltered then died. The patrons fell silent, waiting for more. When neither the dancer nor the musician continued, chairs scraped the floor and excited voices filled the room about the performance and each performer.

  The musician stared out from under his hood at Eve, and placed his lyre on the floor against the wall with deliberate care. She stood, her hand grasping her upper arm, chin raised as she fixed her eyes on a knothole in the wall. Dragging his hand along his jaw, he then wiped his hands on the front of his legs and rose from the stool.

  With a shake of his head, he strode toward the open area where the dancer stood.

  “Outside,” she said, her eyes never leaving the knothole. Without waiting to see his response, she turned her back to him and walked to the bar.

  As he watched the lithe woman retrieve her jacket, he shifted his weight. Before he could begin processing what had happened, several patrons slapped him on the back to congratulate him on winning the impromptu competition. He thanked them and moved toward the door. Throwing one more glance at the woman at the bar, he walked out of the tavern.

  Eve attempted to focus her scattered thoughts, as she traced a never-ending circle with a single finger on the worn, sleek wooden counter.

  “What can I get you, Sister?” an adolescent boy behind the bar asked. “No charge. You earned it.”

  As she pulled her arm through her coat’s sleeve, a hard smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Double shot of whiskey.”

  The lad nodded appreciatively as he turned to pour the drink.

  He won’t be there, when I get outside, she thought, trying to console herself. If he is, I’ll have no choice.

  The boy set the glass in front of her and nodded once as he moved on to the next costumer. She inclined her chin in response and pulled the glass closer.

  Staring into the amber liquid, she thought, Quick and painless as possible.

  She tossed the glass back, the whiskey pleasantly burning the back of her throat. Setting down the now empty glass, she moved away from the bar and toward the exit. She rested her hand on the hilt of her curved, long knife to keep it from trembling.

  Stepping out of the tavern, she cast a quick glance for the musician. When she failed to see him, she let out the breath she had unconsciously held. A breeze clinging to the last fading scent of summer swept the tufts of Eve’s hair into an invisible dance. Kimiko trotted over and whuffled into her shoulder. Her breath was warm and sweet. Eve caressed her brow as she let her thoughts drift away with the current of the river tumbling nearby.

  Several lengths from the horse, the musician leaned against the wall of the inn. “You cut your hair.”

  At the sound of his voice, her heart dropped to her stomach. You idiot, why didn’t you run? Keeping her tone level, she replied, “Yes, I did.” But did not complete the thought aloud. After you left.

  “What happened in there?”

  “I forgot myself for a moment.” Eve readjusted Kimiko’s cinch. “That’s all.”

  “You’re tracking someone,” the musician stated, rather than asked.

  The muscles in her back tensed at the accuracy with which he still read her. She had forgotten how well he knew her.

  “Yes.”

  “Personal or professional?”

  Eve said nothing as she continued to inspect Kimiko’s gear.

  “I’m shocked. The righteous hand of justice, Evelyn Reid, is letting personal feelings influence her. To my knowledge, that has only happened once before.”

  “Stop it, Lucien.”

  “Why? Because I’m right?”

  “Because you haven’t the right.”

  Lucien’s mouth twisted into a mocking smile. “You gave me that right long ago, Eve. Or have you conveniently forgotten that as well?”

  “I forget nothing.”

  Lucien took a step toward her and Kimiko bucked, shying away from his advance. Eve looked from Kimiko and back to Lucien, her eyes narrowing.

  “Why did I let you go?” she whispered. “Why didn’t I turn you in?”

  Lucien sighed. “I thought it was because you had faith in me. What happened to that faith, Eve?”

  She loosened her knife from its sheath and twirled it, finding its balance. “I have to kill you now, Lucien. You know that.”

  Taking another step toward her, he paused for a moment then pulled back his hood, revealing a young face framed with strands of long auburn hair that fell out of a loose ponytail at the base of his neck, just as she remembered. Silver eyes stared back at her.

  “Now do you understand?”

  “You’re Gray.” Her voice had fallen to a whisper. The blade she had been clutching in her hand fell as her thoughts scattered. This changes everything.

  “Because of the faith I thought you had, I…” He faltered, unable to look away from her. “I took this step.”

  “I don’t know what you want from me, but I know that I can’t give it to you.” Dropping to a knee, her hand lingered, hovering above the knife for a moment. Hardening her resolve, she sheathed it and rotated away from Lucien in one fluid motion. “I’m sorry. I have to go. Don’t follow.”

  “I can’t let you. I’ve been waiting for years, hoping. Not even sure if I would have the courage to tell you when the time came. You can’t just leave.”

  Unable to speak, Eve leaned against Kimiko, gaining more than just physical support from the contact.

  “I’ve been waiting, Eve, all this time. Waiting to find the courage to face you as I am.”

  “It’s a little late for vapid sentimentality,” she said, with a jaded sneer, “don’t you think?” Her rigid stance radiated an icy lack of emotion, as if the warm fire that burned within Eve had been extinguished. All that remained was an empty detached shell.

  “I had hoped that at least you, of all people, would understand.”

  “Understand? Lucien, I am a Daniyelan. Why would you think I could have ever understood?”

  “Because,” he said, his quiet voice nearly masked by the rumble of the water as he took another step toward her, “you were the only one who ever did.”

  Kimiko bucked her head in agitation and backed further away from the approaching Gray. Eve took her mount’s face in her hands forcing Kimiko to look at her and spoke in soft tones. She turned to Lucien. “Maybe once, but that was long ago in a di
fferent time, a different life.”

  “You’re still that woman, Eve.”

  “You are hardly still that man, Lucien.”

  “That may be.” He raised his eyes above her head, searching the clouds. “But you’ll never know if you leave now. Can you live with that?”

  “I’ve had to live with many unpleasant things.” Her eyes were as frosty as her tone. Unable to say more, she stepped away from Lucien and began leading Kimiko back onto the road.

  “So, that’s it. You’re walking away.”

  Eve said nothing as she continued her slow pace.

  Cursing, Lucien closed the increasing gap between them and grabbed her arm. “Wait,” he commanded.

  Spinning out of his grasp, she used his momentum to hurl him to the ground with a thud. Her knee wedged between his shoulder blades, she twisted his arm at an unnatural angle behind his back. Lucien made no attempt to resist.

  Whispering into his upturned ear, Eve seethed. “Never – never touch me without my permission.”

  “Moment of weakness?”

  She released her hold and shoved him away hard as she rolled back onto her feet.

  As she walked away, Lucien asked, “Let me come with you.”

  “You’re supposed to be dead.”

  Lucien stood, silent.

  “Sheridan will be joining me soon.”

  “She doesn’t know?”

  “No one knows.” The agony in her eyes flashed and faded.

  “Then don’t tell her.”

  Eve turned toward him, an eyebrow arched skeptically.

  “She won’t be expecting to see me, if she thinks I’m dead.”

  “You should be.”

  Lucien sighed. “Then I won’t come.”

  Her heart paused at his words, but she revealed nothing as she waited for his explanation.

  “Lucien has been dead for three years,” he said with regret. “Since you can’t bring a dead man, how about letting a penniless Lusican come with you?”

  “What are you suggesting?” She rubbed a palm on the side of her leg and cursed the hope rising unbidden within her.

  Bowing with a flourish of his cloak, Lucien raised his eyes and when he did he had transformed with a shimmer of gold light. His dark auburn hair lightened and shortened to look like a pile of thatch on his head. His nose bent crookedly and his pale skin gained a golden tan. “The name’s Haley, m’lady. It’s a right honor to meet you. I’m just a poor Lusican trying to get by and I’m heading to Finalaran. Would you mind if a ruffian, such as myself, tagged along on your circuit? Safety in numbers, yeah?”

  Eve barely managed to mask the smile created by the performance.

  Lucien grinned, his silver eyes shimmering like starlight. “You have a notorious soft spot for minstrels, Evie.”

  “Put that smirk away,” she chided, her resolve crumbling under the influence of Lucien’s charisma. “You could convince me of almost anything, when you smiled like that.”

  Lucien’s smile widened. “You won’t regret this.”

  “I already do.”

  *****

  Chapter Ten

  Faela’s thumbs hooked into the back pockets of her trousers as she walked down the dirt road that led out of Oakdarrow. Swirling the dust on the avenue, the wind caught the wide brim of her hat lifting it back from her face. She uttered a curse and tugged it into place. Further ahead two men stood loitering in front of the blacksmith’s yard. Kade leaned against the low wall that enclosed the forge area, while Jair paced, unable to dispel his nervous energy. Aware of Faela’s approach, Kade kicked a stone at Jair.

  “Ow, what was that for?” Searching for the reason for the projectile, Jair noticed Faela. “Well, was he here?”

  “He was,” Faela answered, a small smile played on her lips, “four days ago.”

  “Did he leave any indication of where he was heading next?” As he waited for Faela's response, Kade’s hand searched for the bundle that lay at his feet.

  “Were you able to get the herbs I requested?” Faela asked instead as the three moved back to the road.

  At the edge of the village, a Merchant caravan kicked up clouds of dust as its wagons lurched buried under a mound of stacked goods lashed in place. Men garbed similarly to the traders rode at its perimeter, but the alertness in their eyes and the coiled relaxation of their posture suggested something else. Faela would have recognized mercenaries in any attire. Most bandits avoided attacking any Merchant House caravans for fear of retribution from the Houses, who had never been known for their mercy toward thieves. That Merchant traders had to hire mercenaries to travel to a town like Oakdarrow concerned her.

  Drawing a pale green, cloth package out of the bundle, Kade tossed it at Faela. With his longer reach, Jair caught it and handed it to her. Loosening the knot, she peered at its contents and smiled. Several of these herbs would ease Kade’s and her continued recovery, but the others were cooking spices that she preferred to not have to live without.

  “I answered your question,” Kade said looking up at her from under the veil of his eyelashes.

  “That you did.” Faela tucked the packet into one of the many pockets scattered on her bag’s exterior. “From what I was able to gather, his next most likely destination where we could catch him would be Kelso about three days from here heading—”

  “North!” Jair declared with vigor.

  “Actually, no.” Faela chuckled. “He's heading further east now, but then, yes, north.”

  As a trader in tailored riding clothes gave instructions to the caravan's manager, he paused next to the three. Something tickled Faela’s nose and she sneezed. The scent of sandalwood and myrrh drifted on the breeze. Jair's complaints faded away muffled as though she heard them from underwater. Along with the aroma came a barrage of memories and emotions, which overwhelmed Faela’s mind.

  The smell of sandalwood and myrrh floated from behind her as Nikolais’ hands slipped across her stomach. He pulled her back against him and put his mouth to her ear. “I love you, Faela, more than anything in this world.”

  Her heart beat faster.

  Nikolais’ hand cupped her cheek as he traced her jaw with his nose. “Just this once, influence your father’s feelings in favor of the Nightmist House representatives. You’d be helping him see past the Houses' silly prejudices and feuding.”

  It was becoming hard to remember to breathe.

  Kneeling in front of her, Nikolais grasped both her hands as he looked into her eyes. “You know he’ll never consent. I provide no advantageous alliance for the House. It won’t matter to him that I’m the father of his grandchild, Faela. All he’ll see is that I’ve disgraced his eldest daughter and heir.”

  Her fingertips were numb.

  She knelt, the wool rug biting into her bare skin. Her hands were covered in blood as she wrapped the wounds with pieces of her skirt, but the blood wouldn’t stop. No matter what she did, the blood wouldn’t stop. She could feel the panic rising in her throat.

  Faela could no longer feel her body.

  As they passed the Merchant caravan, Faela had stopped.

  “Faela?” Jair asked, but her eyes stared unfocused, seeing nothing. Kade arched an eyebrow at Jair. She trembled. Jair reached out to touch her elbow to steady her, but before he could lay hold of her, her knees buckled and she crumpled like a paper doll. Her eyes were open, but glassy and vacant of anything that resembled Faela. Kade dropped to a knee and felt for her pulse at her neck. Her heart raced erratically.

  Several people from the caravan looked over with curiosity.

  “Support her left side,” Kade directed as he put his shoulder under her arm and slipped his hand around her waist. Jair helped to lift her to her feet. Her head lolled to the side, but her lips moved without sound.

  “One too many pints for you, my friend.” Jair projected his voice so that those passing by could hear. He caught the gaze of one of the caravan’s wranglers. “Can’t hold her ale, poor thing. Now, let�
�s get you home, missy.”

  Kade and Jair kept Faela propped between them and continued down the road to leave town. Once they were out of earshot, Jair asked, “What’s wrong with her?”

  Kade stared ahead, his eyes hard. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like this.”

  Under an ancient oak tree, Mireya sat on a large root that seemed to jump out of the earth. Her legs dangled, swinging like a pendulum. His staff resting in the crook of his arm, Dathien leaned against the tree’s giant trunk. Before any sound heralded their arrival, Mireya’s head shot up and her eyes flashed a brilliant blue. Turning, she saw Kade and Jair approaching with the immobile and limp Faela. She hopped off her perch, hitched up her robes, and ran toward the men.

  “What did you do?” Mireya demanded hovering around them.

  “We were coming back from town and she collapsed but,” Jair hesitated, “she’s not actually unconscious.”

  Now that they were away from any onlookers, Jair picked up Faela and carried her toward the trunk of the massive oak. He set her nestled against a grouping of roots. Mireya followed and sat, her legs crossed, next to Faela. In order to look into her catatonic eyes, she reached out and held Faela’s face steady. They pulsed red in time with her fluttering heart. Faela’s lips moved, but produced no speech. Mireya took Faela’s hand in her own.

  “Can you hear me, Faela?” she asked quietly as she rubbed the woman’s drooping hand.

  Faela continued to stare through everything.

  “Oh bother,” Mireya said in a spurt of frustration. “Dathien, help me.”

  Dathien knelt behind his wife and laid his staff on the ground beside him. Placing his hands on her shoulders, his wrists burned with sapphire lines.

  “Faela.” Mireya called to the woman, her eyes blazing blue and the glowing lines traced their intricate knot work on the backs of her hands.