by Cathi Shaw
The Rift was far in the distance. As the desert approached it, the sand turned from pale brown to dark ebony. In fact, everything went black as it approached The Rift, as if that part of the earth was swallowing all light. Weylon looked into the distance and saw swirling darkness. It looked almost…alive.
A sudden eagerness he didn’t understand rose up in his chest. It was like…he paused in his thoughts as he realized what he felt was excitement.
Slightly troubled that The Rift would elicit such an emotion from him, Weylon stepped back from the edge of the rampart.
“They say that looking into The Rift is suicidal.”
He whirled and saw Nestariel watching him a few feet away. Her gaze was on him, but a shadow fell across her face so he couldn’t clearly read her expression. “What do you feel when you look at it, I wonder, Weylon Forborrow?”
He blinked and stepped toward her. He didn’t want to admit the keenness he’d felt in his breast.
“I feel nothing,” he lied smoothly.
Nestariel smiled at him knowingly. “And so it begins.”
Weylon watched her in confusion. But she didn’t elaborate on her words. Instead she said what he’d been waiting to hear.
“You are wanted. The Crown Prince has requested an audience.”
#
Suiadan, the reigning Crown Prince of the Elders was waiting for Weylon in the training ground. Weylon was surprised to see the Elder knights running through training exercises very similar to what he and the other Coimirceoirí students had done at Stone Mountain. The prince, himself, was not partaking in the training but observing it.
Weylon came before him and, not knowing what was expected, bowed slightly in deference.
Suiadan laughed. “You don’t need to rely on pleasantries. This is not what I would call a civilized place, Weylon Forborrow.”
Weylon raised his head and nodded. He liked this Crown Prince already.
“Come, we will walk.” Suiadan led him away from the training grounds and Weylon noted that three Elder guards trailed them. The Crown Prince either didn’t feel safe in Weylon’s presence or he didn’t feel safe at Tèarmann. Either way, Weylon respected him for taking precautions. A man in his position could never be too safe.
“You are probably wondering what your task will be, Coimirceoirí,” the Crown Prince said wryly. “Particularly when you know that we handpicked you from the rest of your year because of your fighting ability. But as you can see, I am well protected and I have a large group of warriors with me. So why would I want a male Coimirceoirí apprentice of your skill set?”
Suiadan was correct. Weylon had wondered about that, but he kept silent, waiting for the Crown Prince to continue.
“Your job is not to protect me. In fact, your job may not be fully revealed for years hence.” He paused as they approached the rampart Weylon had stood on earlier with Nestariel. Together they stood and looked out to The Rift. Once again Weylon felt a stirring deep in his chest as he gazed upon the swirling darkness in the distance. Unbidden excitement flared to life. Suiadan did not gaze into the darkness. Instead he studied Weylon.
“But a complication has arisen with you, Coimirceoirí. And the decision rests with me to determine your fate.”
Weylon looked at him in surprise. He knew of no complication that had changed his mission or his loyalty to the Elders. He looked back at the darkness in the distance.
“I have been told that you have been bitten by the Aptrgangr and yet you stand before me. You do realize that should not be possible.”
Weylon forced his gaze away from The Rift once more and looked at the Crown Prince beside him in confusion.
“Oh, you didn’t know of this.” A look of understanding dawned on Suiadan’s face. “A creature from The Rift is deadly to all mortals.” The prince paused and studied Weylon for a long moment. “And yet you are still alive. Or so it would seem.”
Weylon shook his head. “Are you suggesting I am dead?” His tone was terse.
The prince held his gaze for a long moment. “Not precisely. But you are not what you were before the attack, either. I think you know this, Weylon Forborrow.”
Weylon wondered if the Crown Prince of the Elders was crazed in his mind. What he said made no sense.
“You think I’m out of mind, and yet you are too smart to say so.” Suiadan laughed. “I like that.” He clapped Weylon on the shoulder but then his expression became somber.
“You will understand, Coimirceoirí, that this is a vulnerable time for my family. My wife carries a girl-child in her womb.”
Weylon sucked in his breath. A new ruler for the Elders. A true ruler for the first time in twelve generations.
“Yes, I see you know what that means. That is why we find ourselves in such an unpalatable place.” The prince looked out to the swirling darkness. “My wife is less than thrilled with our current living arrangements, but it is necessary to ensure the safe delivery of my daughter.”
Weylon could understand that.
“After she is born, however, the real work will begin. And that is where you will come in.” Suiadan paused. “Or at least that was the original plan. Now I’m not so sure it would be wise to entrust you with my daughter’s safety.”
Weylon opened his mouth to protest. He had pledged allegiance to the Elders. That wasn’t about to change.
But Suiadan held up his hand anticipating his protests and silencing him. “Your heart is strong, which is why your woman was able to bring you back from sure death. But what she has done is not natural.”
Weylon tried to ignore the fact that even the Crown Prince seemed to think that Brijit was his mate. Instead, he focused on the rest of Suiadan’s words.
“What do you mean?” Weylon asked bluntly.
“The poison from the Aptrgangr is still within you, Weylon. It is not strong enough to kill you or even affect you negatively for some time. Years, decades even.”
Weylon shook his head. He felt fine. In fact, he felt better than fine.
Suiadan watched him closely. “You feel good since you’ve recovered?” he asked, knowingly.
Weylon nodded.
“Better than good, in fact?”
Warily, Weylon nodded again.
“I’ll be willing to wager that you have never felt so alive.”
Weylon stepped away from the Crown Prince, feeling his throat closing just a little.
“You will continue to feel this alive for a very long time. But eventually the poison will ravage your brain, and you will not be yourself anymore.” The prince paused. “Your healer girl saved you only to destroy you.”
Weylon shook his head. Brijit would never do such a thing.
“She didn’t know what she was doing,” Suiadan told him, easily reading his thoughts. “She thought she was saving you. She is pure of heart and couldn’t have harmed you even if she tried. But what she has done remains for you to accept and learn to live with.”
Weylon swallowed, not wanting to believe what the Elder prince was telling him, but a sinking feeling deep inside told him that Suiadan had no reason to lie to him.
“You should also know that just any Coimirceoirí healer could not have done this. Only a Kurunii who uses magik could have saved you.” He paused, musing. “Or a Draíodóir, I suppose, but they are all male and your savior was decidedly female.”
Weylon stared at Suiadan in horror. He was saying Brijit was a practitioner of witchcraft.
“You will have to deal with what this means for you and Brijit as you move forward. But I have to consider larger things.” The prince paused. “Having you on my side could be useful.”
Weylon narrowed his eyes, wondering what the prince was getting at.
“I have no doubt that you will be loyal to the royal family for a very long time, Weylon Forborrow. And given your considerable skill set, I would be foolish not to use you,” he continued as if he were thinking aloud. In fact, it appeared that he had forgotten Weylon was even there. “St
ill the risk is high. My advisors have told me that it is not worth the risk. That I should have my guards kill you immediately. But I have chosen to ignore them for the present.”
Weylon’s chest loosened in relief. He had trained to be the royal family’s chosen Coimirceoirí for too long to have it all snuffed out before it even started. He was determined not to give the Crown Prince any reason to dismiss him from his position.
“You will be the protector of my daughter, Minathrial, her guardian until you are no long able to do so.”
Weylon was surprised. Elder tradition was such that a Coimirceoir would be assigned to any living princess. A Coimirceoir was different than the Coimirceoirí in that it was always a male Elder who was assigned to the heir of the throne upon her birth. Generally, one did not need both Coimirceoirí and a Coimirceoir.
It had been centuries since the Elders had had a queen on their throne, but Weylon did not think they would forget the role of the Coimirceoir. Suiadan’s next words answered his thoughts.
“She will, of course, be assigned a Coimirceoir; however, he is a boy of only one year right now. Until he is able to take up his duty, she will need you.”
The prince turned suddenly from the ramparts.
“There will be those who think I’ve lost my mind for trusting you, but something tells me that there is a reason you have made it this far, Weylon Forborrow. And that is good enough for me.”
Chapter Thirteen
Brijit knew she had to stop avoiding Weylon. It was true that she had been busy with Princess Neirdre, who was demanding in the extreme. But she was not so busy that she couldn’t see him at all. The truth was, Brijit was scared to see Weylon. She didn’t want to see what she had done to him.
Her nights had become plagued with dreams of Weylon. They started sweetly enough, but throughout the dream he would morph into a hideous extension of the creature that had attacked him in the dead forest. They always ended the same, his blackened body pierced by a hundred Elder arrows and his face turning to her ask, “Why did you do this to me? Why?”
Nestariel seemed to sense Brijit’s unease. The Elder urged her to see Weylon.
“What is done is done. I was angry with you in the beginning, but he is still more the man you know than anything else. You have to understand that the poison that is in his system will take a very long time to affect him.” Nestariel brushed a stray hair off Brijit’s forehead in a gesture so gentle it brought tears to Brijit’s eyes, before adding, “And I have need of Weylon’s company on a trip you and I will be taking. It would be better if you had talked to him before then.”
Brijit looked up in surprise. She hadn’t expected to leave the fortress before the birth of Princess Neirdre’s daughter. And her stomach dropped as she thought of spending all that time with Weylon.
“I’m not sure it’s wise to leave Princess Neirdre.”
“It is a short trip. We will be gone two days only, and the child will not come until the next moon at least.”
Brijit raised her eyebrows at this but Nestariel just laughed at her.
“You have birthed many children for one so young, but I have seen thousands of souls into this world. We will be back long before she will be born.”
Brijit knew arguing more with Nestariel was pointless. Resigned, she turned to go pack her things for the trip. But Nestariel’s next words had her stopping in her tracks.
“We are going to your grandmother’s home.”
Pain stabbed through her, and Brijit recoiled in shock. Her grandmother’s home? Why?
“I have need of what lies there,” Nestariel explained. And Brijit remembered the Elder’s keen interest when she’s mentioned her grandmother’s scrolls and books.
“I also think you would be more at ease if you knew whether or not your grandmother was alive.”
Brijit hesitated and then nodded. It was true. As much as she wanted to forget what had happened in her vision, she needed to know if Nestariel was correct in assuming that her grandmother was dead. In fact, she needed to know what exactly had happened to Grandmamma.
“When do we leave?”
#
Nestariel wasted no time in starting the journey to Brijit’s grandmother’s home. To Brijit’s surprise, Princess Neirdre, who had been demanding of late, didn’t protest.
“I must leave for a few days,” Brijit told her nervously, expecting Princess Neirdre to explode with outrage.
But she merely waved her hand in front of her face as she lounged with a book in her lap. “Go. She will not come before you return.”
She had taken to talking of her unborn child as if she knew everything there was to know about her baby. But Brijit wasn’t so certain that Princess Neirdre was as in touch with the infant as she wanted everyone to believe. She seemed more focused on what she was missing back in Séreméla than what was going on with her child. Neirdre never missed the chance to whine about the parties and events that were happening in her homeland without her. And the fact that she was forbidden to communicate with her friends in Séreméla only made her more self-pitying. But the Crown Prince had been adamant that they keep their location a secret. He had insisted upon it as a precaution for protecting their unborn child. Neirdre was smart enough to agree with her husband on that front.
Brijit stood in the doorway, watching the lounging princess for a few moments longer, wondering what kind of mother she would be and if she would even have to be a mother, given that she had others to fend for her every need. It seemed that Neirdre did very little of anything. She would read books about Elder fashion and simple history volumes about former princesses as if she were making sure that she was playing the role correctly. But as far as Brijit could tell, there wasn’t much she did beyond that.
Neirdre had not been royal by birth but had acquired her title through her husband. Although the way both she and her mother paraded around, one would think that she came from a royal line. From what Brijit understood, Neirdre and her mother were from a family of Elders who had strong ties with the council and were often in the company of Elder royalty. It had been decided from an early age that she would be suitable wife to the Crown Prince. But she showed little love or concern for her husband. She just acted as if their lives had unfolded the way they were meant to.
Brijit thought it was sad. She wasn’t so naïve as to believe that all marriages, particularly royal marriages, were based on love; however, the relationship between Neirdre and the Crown Prince seemed to be nothing more than a business deal. Neirdre was enjoying her end of the bargain and Brijit supposed the Crown Prince got his heirs from the deal. It still seemed like a sad arrangement to Brijit.
As Brijit left Neirdre’s chamber she wondered what the princess would do if the child she carried turned out to not be the girl-child the Elder healers had predicted. Brijit had no concrete reason to think this might be so, but she’d been having disturbing dreams of late.
As she made her way to the meeting point that Nestariel had arranged, Brijit was preoccupied by thoughts of a dream she’d had the previous night. In it Princess Neirdre had indeed given birth but not to the girl everyone was expecting. Instead she gave birth to a son. The royals were in an uproar about it, Neirdre most of all.
When Brijit awoke, she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was some truth in the dream vision. But Princess Neirdre had told her that the Elders’ most trusted wise people had predicted the birth of a girl. It didn’t make any sense. Surely the Elder healers knew more than any one. There was no reason for them to lie, was there?
Both Nestariel and Weylon were waiting in the stable when Brijit arrived. Thoughts of Princess Neirdre and her unborn child soon fled. She had her own problems to deal with. Foremost was Weylon.
Brijit felt guilty for having avoided him during his recovery. And now that she saw the hurt expression in his brown eyes, she felt a sharp prick of shame. He had done nothing to deserve this from her. Regardless of what the attack had done to him, it was not his fault. H
e had been innocent. He hadn’t even had a choice when she had healed him – that had been her own doing.
And that was more than half the problem. Guilt threatened to consume Brijit when she thought of Weylon. She had wanted to save him for selfish reasons: she couldn’t bear to lose him. The irony was that now she had ensured he would live she was scared to see what the poison would do to him.
Weylon moved to help her mount, but Brijit avoided his touch and instead pulled herself easily into her saddle. Fresh hurt flashed through his brown eyes, but Brijit pretended not to see it. She saw Nestariel press her lips together as she observed their interaction and was thankful when the old woman said nothing. As they left the fortress, Weylon brought his horse astride her own.
“I haven’t seen you in a few weeks, Brijit.”
She acknowledged his comment with a tilting of her head.
“Have you been ill?”
Brijit was surprised. She hadn’t considered that he might be worried about her. She looked at him then. He looked so healthy, even more fit than during their journey. Her heart squeezed and she realized she was happy to see him. She had missed him.
“I’ve been fine,” she answered. “Just busy with Princess Neirdre.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “I’ve heard that she is quite demanding.”
Why did he have to be so understanding? Surely he must know that she had been avoiding him. Brijit felt another stab of shame.
Turning to him she said, “How have you being keeping? Nestariel tells me you have recovered.”
“Yes, I was going mad being confined to bed when it wasn’t necessary.”
Brijit smiled. “I can imagine.” She couldn’t picture Weylon being kept in a bed for too long. He was far too active for that. Brijit relaxed a bit, but his next words had her tensing again.
“Listen, Brijit, we need to talk about what happened in Jirgen Forest.”
