There was no-one she knew at the village with more common-sense than Serbell, anyway. Plus, at present, she added to herself with a malicious smirk, no-one had a better, more satisfied vibe than that young woman. She could definitely draw on that to appease Michael.
She had fully expected to have her request for help turned down. After all, Serbell already had her work cut out fulfilling both their settlement and the village's joint agricultural requirements, but the girl had not hesitated for a moment, and had thrown herself wholeheartedly into the project. She had proved herself as invaluable as Yeshra had expected.
With the other woman's support, slowly, very slowly Michael seemed to be progressing. Just yesterday she had actually been able to brush his matted hair with her finger-tips. Focusing on Serbell's up-beat positive life-force, (wasn't love just magical? she thought wickedly) Yeshra had been able to ignore the panicky voice in her head babbling on about the probability of getting her fingers snapped off with a vicious bite any.... moment.... now!
But no. The man had shuddered violently and closing his wild black eyes had cowered deeper into the clean blankets of the cot he had allowed them to fashion for him earlier, but he hadn't attacked, physically or otherwise. His shield had been down for a couple of days now, allowing Serbell and her to approach him unhindered.
Yeshra sighed.
Baby steps.
Catching sight of Serbell coming up the street hand in hand with Benton she smiled softly to herself, revelling in the strong vibrating hum of their emotion, then smothered a small startled cry as she heard Sri chuckle beside her, surprising her with his sudden appearance.
¨Watch out, Yeshra,¨ he smiled, squinting his blue eyes in the morning sun, ¨Those two are almost addictive to be around right now, with all their good vibes and stuff…It's almost overwhelming. You can get hooked on that shit.¨ he said.
So much for guarding her thoughts, she mused wryly.
Frankly irritated at having been caught ogling the two love-birds by the one person who could read her mind (what was the man implying, that she could become some kind of good-vibe vampire?), it took her a minute to notice the short-haired gangly young red-head standing nervously beside the tall blond doctor.
Yeshra recognised her as one of his many helpers, but she couldn't remember her name. Though Sri wasn't her type, she could see where the attraction lay, and there was no lack of volunteers around the doctor. At her questioning look, he motioned the girl to step up, ¨I think you know Lee. She'll be coming with us today.¨
Sensing the young woman's insecure energy, Yeshra smiled at her encouragingly, but shot Sri a confused look, unsure of the wisdom of this move. The doctor started saying something about Michael's great progress, but was cut short by Serbell and Benton's arrival.
Sri noticed with amusement that the intensity in those two hadn't worn off one whit, even though they had been together now officially for a good three weeks. They were obviously having problems keeping their attention focused on anything other than each other, and though he had enough control to make sure he didn't eavesdrop into their minds, Yeshra was blushing like a school-girl.
Yes. This new reality they were hatching between all of them was nothing if not entertaining...they were all going to have to resolve some major control issues in the face of this kind of transparency.
Dealing with each others' thoughts, each others' vibes…This was one of the reasons he had brought Lee along today. Isolation had done Michael no good, and he thought the man might have progressed enough to accept another person's emotional burden by now.
Besides, he hadn't been able to detect any negative stuff in this girl's thoughts, which in itself was amazing. The girl was sweet. She was also crushing hopelessly on him, but she'd grow out of that. She was gentle and caring, that's what mattered when it came to Michael.
He knew by now Benton would accompany them until they reached the fork in the road leading to Michael's house, and then wait for them discreetly, at a safe distance so as not to set the man off. He was not about to let the woman he loved walk into danger unguarded and, regardless how much she scoffed and called it archaic chivalrous behaviour, Serbell really didn't want to be parted from his side either. So that was that. Sri wondered how they managed to get any work done, joined at the hip as they were, but with Garand's support they had effectively remodelled both the security and agricultural systems, making life in the village easier and much more efficient. They made a good team.
Even before they hit the little dirt track the air shimmered in front of her and Yeshra knew something was seriously wrong. Every molecule of every living entity around her vibrated with an echo of such pain and violence that she couldn't help but stumble, and was only prevented from falling to her knees by Sri's strong hand at her elbow. They crowded around her, worry etched on their faces, seeking for an explanation she didn't have.
¨Michael!¨ a strangled gasp was all she could give them, as she flung herself forward toward the vortex only her senses could detect, dragging all of them in her wake, sucked in by her intensity in a headlong rush toward the small cottage visible at the end of the lane.
There was a deathly silence at the house, overladen by an almost tactile feeling of despair like a slick layer of oily slime over still water. Nobody needed to be gifted to feel it, this was obviously the empath's projection. He wasn't there, though the pallet with its tumbled blankets was visible in its corner. It was the only sign the house was not totally deserted, that another living being had indeed been here at some time.
But Yeshra knew where to go.
Heading toward the back of the house, they crossed the kitchen at a run, Sri and Benton barely keeping up with her, vainly trying to rein her in. In a distant corner of her mind she was aware that now Benton was holding a sharp double-edged dagger she had never noticed on him before. She knew it would be useless, but the man was a warrior, after all.
Something told her it was imperative she was the first one out the back door, the first one Michael saw, so picking up speed she tore herself from the group and skidded to a halt just outside the back door, stopping herself from tumbling down the steps leading to the garden by a hair's breadth.
She saw him then, and his anguished eyes held hers for a full minute before a high keening sound, a shrill wail of despair no human being should be able to emit left his chapped lips, shaking all of them to the core. Jostling her out of the way the two men stepped forward through the door, and then stopped in their tracks to survey the scene.
It seemed to her there was blood everywhere including, she realised with a shudder, the very steps she was now standing on. The poor wretch now sobbing while he rocked his body to and fro holding his knees in a fetal position was painted red too, tendrils of his long hair wrapped stickily around him, drenched in the stuff. The place stank like an abattoir, and Yeshra felt her knees go weak and bile rise in her throat as it hit her that whatever was left of the source of all that gore was scattered in bits and pieces around the garden.
And the remains were unmistakably human.
She heard someone retching violently behind her and was just in time to catch sight of Serbell as she stumbled over to the stair-rail and vomited her morning meal over the side. Sri's young helper, Lee, seemed frozen to the spot just inside the door-frame, eyes as big as a frightened rabbit's.
No help there.
She would have to draw on her own strength of will and determination to see this through, she thought. Feeling strangely detached as she started down the viscous, slippery steps, she tried not to wonder who the unfortunate human being had been, paying no heed to Benton's warning voice, Sri's restraining hand on her arm, or the sickening squelching noise her leather footwear made as she descended.
Something had changed.
She couldn't feel the usual savage turmoil emanating from the blood-soaked creature in front of her, and that made no sense....
Michael had cracked, he had attacked, as some in the village had predic
ted he would, but...
What was in front of her was no mindless, crazed killer. It was a man, broken, maybe irreversibly, but a man.
Michael was back.
He lifted up his head then, halting his rocking motion. Staring into her eyes, he was overcome by shuddering spasms, as twin tears etched an uneven path down his filthy blood-caked face. He did not seem to be aware of her companions, or if he was, he did not show it.
¨Why?¨ His voice, whether from his earlier howls or because he hadn't used it in so long, was low and raspy, barely intelligible, but the pain behind the monosyllable was evident.
Slowly she drew closer, and forced herself to look back into the pits of doom that were this man's eyes...so different from the feral gaze of the creature she had been visiting. Time seemed to slow down, and Yeshra was intensely aware of her surroundings, the cool trickle of sweat running down her cleavage, the shattered man in front of her. Did he know her? Could he recognise a friend in her?
¨What happened here, Michael?¨ she whispered softly, ¨Do you know?¨
The man in front of her looked around, taking in the horrific scene before him.
The air around them seemed to solidify and thicken into a heavy gel of sadness and despair. His strong bloodied fingers grasped the tufts of grass at his feet as if for support, tearing some out by the roots.
¨He came here...his rage, his hate...it burnt. But why? …. He said...¨
The man's breath hitched and he clutched his arms around his chest, adding dirt and grass to the sticky, congealing mess on his torso. ¨He said...he said Sue was dead...¨ His voice dropped even lower so Yeshra had to strain to catch the words, ¨That filthy whore is dead and you should be, too.¨
Without a thought for her safety Yeshra knelt by his side and, ignoring the bloody mess covering him, enveloped his broad quivering shoulders with her own slim arms, at a loss for words. She sensed more than felt Sri standing close by, and looked up at him for guidance. The tall blond man squatted by her side and silently waited until Michael's dark heart-breaking gaze focused on his own, calm and cool as a blue topaz lake on a warm day.
¨Sri? What...where is Sue?¨ the man in her arms choked out, and Yeshra felt him shaking like a leaf. In spite of herself she released him, feeling defeated. There was no way she could encompass so much pain.
¨There is much to discuss Michael, but right now all you need to be aware of is this...you can feel us, can't you? Our feelings?¨ The man in front of them nodded, his gaze going from one to the other wonderingly. Yeshra caught herself trying to channel peace, calm, ...a tranquil river in a quiet forest...anything other than the horror that surrounded them. Sri glanced at her and nodded approvingly, before turning to face the bloodied devastated man sitting on the grass in front of them.
¨You're an empath. And me, well...I can read minds.¨ He hurried on before Michael could voice the objections evident in his expression. ¨Up till now I was unable to read you, man. It was like the connection was scrambled, like a messed-up radio...All I got was what you chose to slam us with.¨ Sri pinched the bridge of his nose wearily. ¨Now, though...yeah,¨ he sighed, ¨I can see.¨
Yeshra looked up to see Benton and Serbell approaching them warily, horror and strain evident in their expressions. They had obviously been inspecting the surroundings. Lee was no-where in sight and Yeshra guessed Sri must have sent her back to the village a while back to get help. Good. This was no place for the girl.
She shook her head warningly, noticing Benton was still flashing his dagger. She snorted. Serbell was holding, of all things, what seemed to be a throwing knife. And that thick-headed man thought she needed protection...the girl was a tough cookie, in spite of her weak stomach.
¨It was Quentin.¨ Benton's tone was hushed, but still seemed to ring out across the small garden plot. Sri nodded, unsurprised.
Nobody was going to be surprised, really, thought Benton...shocked, revolted by the scene, yes. But if he'd had to lay a bet on whose remains those were, his money would have been on that skinny-ass trouble-maker. He'd run across his share of unsavoury characters, and Quentin was of the worse kind, a stupid one. Only a fool would have come down here on his own, with the obvious intent of starting trouble, knowing how unbalanced Michael was. His nose wrinkled in disgust at the scene before them.
Yes, a damn fool.
And now there would be hell to pay.
He looked at the shivering man being held up between Yeshra and the doctor with commiseration. Serbell had told him his story, and though the man had obviously been unstable, in her opinion he was not aggressive. He trusted her instinct. Looking him over with a practised eye, Benton decided that he seemed a gentle man; in fact, were he not covered in blood he could be confused with the victim of the aggression. Poor devil. He could hardly imagine what would drive someone to such an inhuman rage as to tear another human being apart with bare hands, but whatever it was, Quentin had dished it out.
Wiping the sweat from his brow he looked down at Serbell, wondering how she was holding up. Though she still looked a bit pale she was standing strong and straight by his side, and he felt a rush of pride tinged with amusement. The woman never ceased to surprise him. Hiding knives in her waist-band! His full lips quirked upwards slightly. Now was not the time, but he was going to have fun finding out if she had been hiding anything else from him. Before he could take that train of thought any further he looked up to find Yeshra shaking her head at him reproachfully, and ducked his head in embarrassment.
Between the mind-reader and that woman there was no privacy to be had in this damned place.
Not that Michael seemed to notice. His gaze was now lost in the tree line. Probably shock...months' worth of shock, thought Sri. His own thoughts followed a similar trend to Benton's. It seemed impossible the savagery around them could have been perpetrated by the man in front of them, covered in blood as he was. Except that he had seen it in that man's mind. Still could see it, in a continuous loop now shoved to the side somewhere in a dark corner of Michael's mind. From there, for the rest of his life, however short or long that might turn out to be, it would doubtless pounce on him from time to time when his guard was down.
Because Michael was no killer.
But he had killed, and he had done so savagely, ripping his would-be torturer into bloody shreds which now dripped glistening before them in the mid-morning sun.
From her position against the wall enclosing the green Leiren watched the noisy gathering with a jaundiced eye.
She had always thought this was an unruly lot, and today they were predictably out of control. They had been at it now for hours, ever since word of Quentin's death had gotten around. Afternoon had turned into evening and here they still were.
Leiren fully expected them to turn into a lynching-mob at any moment now. Sri and Garand had arrived a short while ago, which had restrained the villagers a bit, but she didn't think it would be long before the pitchforks came out again, metaphorically speaking. Or not.
Michael had been washed and fed, and was now probably being tucked in like a baby by Yeshra. It seemed the woman could make herself useful when she put her mind to it, and the doctor and she appeared to be getting on famously. Back here at the assembly things weren't as friendly, however, and some of the villagers spewing out their hatred around her wanted blood.
The usual suspects, of course, the trouble-makers, the layabouts...but the fact remained a man had been brutally killed, and something had to be done about it. Even the meekest, most level-headed of those present today agreed on that.
Good thing it was not her responsibility, not her village.
There was no Council here so, as far as she was concerned, it was more difficult to control the situation. Everyone looked at Sri and Garand but, she observed sardonically, that didn't mean they respected their opinions, which of course meant they had no way to impose their decisions. This, she thought grimly, sinking back into a wall as the noise level rose, ought to be interesting.
Sri was looking fairly calm, all things considered. Blue eyes looking on patiently at the heated villagers before him, he settled his blond head on the tall back of his chair and waited. Garand, on the other hand, was turning redder and redder, as he tried to interject a comment here and there and failed repeatedly. The heat wasn't helping, either. It hadn't even cooled off in the evening, and the poor man looked hot, sweaty, and ready to blow a fuse.
As the minutes ticked by she wondered cynically what Sri's strategy was, waiting them out?
In fact, that turned out to be exactly it.
The man even had the gall to close his eyes a couple of times, looking totally relaxed. Leiren had to hand it to him...she would have been completely unable to do that.
And it seemed to work. The Healer watched incredulously as one by one the villagers quieted down until an uncomfortable silence reigned over the village green. Then, and only then did the infuriating man allow a semblance of attentiveness to gradually overcome the lethargic peace of his expression. By the time he seemed ready to speak even Garand was twitching around nervously.
¨Well?¨ He looked around him candidly, eyebrows arched questioningly. ¨Have you reached any conclusions?¨
Of course they had not, scoffed Leiren to herself, no such rabble could do that without strong leadership. Since they all knew he could read their minds, it was a rhetorical question, anyway. But a smart one, concluded Leiren grudgingly. She noticed how they looked at him, then at each other and then stared at their shuffling feet. It made it obvious they needed guidance, and also let them know that he wasn't forcing them to accept his decisions.
He waited a few more minutes for the idea to sink in, and then started talking in that velvety, smooth as butter voice which now effortlessly held the crowd's attention.
Leiren watched him from her corner, as he talked them through what had happened at the cottage that day, and what had brought it on. He was always open to questions, his opinion always open to debate, veering them to what was in his view the most humane decision, yet always respecting their point of view. Being a telepath he had an unfair advantage of course but, to Leiren's amazement, these people seemed to trust him implicitly with their innermost thoughts.
Aftermath Page 16
