Chapter 13

Chapter 13: Cerin

He watched as she swung into her saddle. Her movements were practiced, but lifeless, as if all her fight and spirit had drained out of her. Remorse turned in his gut at the thought of how hard he’d slapped her. He hadn’t meant to hit her at all, but he also couldn’t have her asking any more questions. He could feel his tongue loosening over the past few days. The more time he spent with her the more he found himself wanting to talk to her. To tell her of her mother. To ask her where she had been all these years. To apologize for not being able to save her mother, and for being too cowardly to protect with her. 

Mind racing, Cerin cautiously secured her ropes to her saddle than his. After checking the cave once more, he mounted and gently nudged his horse toward Dalgerstane. A dark line of foliage edged the horizon, a welcome sight after days of nothing but sand. But not welcome enough. 

He glanced over his shoulder to find her hunched over her horse. Another pang of guilt shot under his skin and straight to his heart at the pitiful and broken sight of her. He should have been more careful to hide it from her. She wasn’t ready to hear the truth, and she certainly wouldn’t believe him even if he told her. She was as stubborn as a mule. 

A worried nicker from her horse drew him from his thoughts and he turned back again. Her cloak was billowing slowly around her. He drew his horse up and watched. Something was terribly wrong, he could feel it in the air. The air, it wasn’t moving. There was no wind, yet her cloak undulated, more fervently now. He guided his horse around, pulling up next to her. 

“Hey,” he started reaching for her. Suddenly the air became stiflingly hot. The temperature continued to rise as gripped her shoulder. “Hey!” he shouted. Her cloak whipped around him, thrashing his arm. His hood whisked off as his own garments began to whip. Her hair shifted from blonde to shades of red, orange, and gold. Light emanated from her skin growing brighter with each passing moment. He could feel the heat of her skin rising rapidly. Her head was still bowed, her profile blank. 

She was manifesting, her powers raging for freedom. He’d heard stories about untrained sun blessed manifesting. All ended in death, either of the child or the people around them. He must clam her, or they would both be in danger. 

All at once, her head snapped up and her hair ribbon burned away, leaving her hair roiling around her like flames. Her eyes had become miniature suns, unyieldingly beautiful and terrifying. 

“Snap out of it!” he yelled, gripping her with both hands now. She didn’t seem to hear him as she stared blankly through him. His horse danced under him, the heat too much for him to handle. Letting go of her, he urged his horse closer before swiftly swinging from his saddle to hers. Not knowing what else to do, he wrapped his arms around her tightly, cradling her to his chest. 

“Calm down!” he pleaded, but the heat only increased. Her horse was becoming too agitated, prancing and whinnying beneath them. “Please!” he tried one more time sending a prayer to Heavens.

Light and heat burst from her body violently and her horse reared up, sending them plummeting to the sand. Breathe fled from his lungs as they landed. Then she was straddling him, hands around his neck, squeezing the life out of him. Her face was contoured in pain and rage as she tightened her grip. He tore at her wrists in panic, trying to loosen her hold, trying to breathe. 

Enough! he screamed in his head. stars burst across his vision, followed by deepest night. Rapidly, memories foreign and familiar began flashing behind his eyes. His father gripping his shoulder tightly as a kingsman ran his mother clean through with a sword. A man on his knees, another sword protruding through his chest. Immeasurable grief pouring from the sky. That same man laughing, holding him high above his head and spinning them in circles. His mothers face, smiling sweetly as he held a flower out to her. His father yelling and beating him with a switch. Áine’s mother dangling by her neck, lifeless and limp. Her mother curling his fingers around the medallion, smiling solemnly.  His own face as he warmed Áine not to hurt herself in an effort to hurt him. The rapid skipping stopped as one memory focused.

An eerie scream filled his head and he cringed. Like the cries of an angry ghost… or the screams of those left behind. Cerin’s eyes snapped open, scanning the faces of the crowd. The people around him had frozen in their departure from the courtyard, openly staring at something off to his left. The moment hung teetering a fine edge as he turned to see what had everyone so captured. Before he could locate the source, the crowd began to panic scurrying wildly to the gates. Guards began shouting for order and movement drew Cerins eyes back to the gallows. The few kingsmen in the courtyard gathered like wraiths of death around the First as he swiftly dealt orders. 

Ignoring the chaos around him, he turned back to search the crowd again searching for the source of everyone’s panic. There, like a rock in the river, a single girl stood motionless as people flooded past her. Her eyes were dead, her face pale despite her golden skin. Suddenly she slipped out of sight, the crowd still parting around her the only indication of her presence. Out of the corner of his eye, the wraith kingsmen surged toward her. He had to get to her first.

The resemblance was unmistakable. The gold hair, the caramel skin, those big eyes. Just like the woman now hanging lifeless from the gallows. Cerin expertly wove through the crowd keeping his head down. And then he was there on his knees in front of her. She was crumpled in a heap her torso pinned to her thighs as if the weight of the world was crushing her. They didn’t have much time. The other kingsmen would be here in moments. 

Grabbing her shoulders he shook her, “Hey, we need to go. Can you walk?” Only silence greeted him as if she was dead to the world. Only her tremors informed him that she was still alive. Whipping his cloak off, he scooped her up like a kitten, wrapping her in his arms and seamlessly flowing back into the crowd. He hunched his back and ducked his head, trying to make himself inconspicuous. 

She couldn’t have been more than ninety pounds, so small. Glancing towards the gallows, he saw the hanging body of a beloved woman. 

“I promised and I plan to keep it,” he whispered as he maneuvered his way to the barracks. But how would he cross the open span between the river of townspeople and the barracks? Then a loud thud echoed through the courtyard, punctuated by shouts of protest. The guards had closed the gated. The First must have seen her and known just like him, that this was the girl the dead woman had so solidly protected, even when in the face of torture. First they would demand order; then they would funnel the people through a smaller door in the gates in order to get a good look at everyone leaving; and finally, when she wasn’t found, they would methodically search the entire grounds. But by then she would be long gone.

As the wave of people hit the gate they spread out, closing the gap to the barracks. Stealing the opportunity and thanking the Luna, he dashed forward. Within moments, he was inside and swiftly striding to his room. They were lucky his room was on the ground floor room next to the back exit. As he slipped into the room after checking the hall for onlookers. He closed the door and in three steps lowered her to the bed. He knelt on one knee and gently uncovered her head. A blast of light slammed into him and he skidded back, landing hard on his palms. Before she could blast him again he shot forward, pressing her palms together. She wouldn’t use that kind of force on herself. 

“Shite!” He cursed as the pain in his chest finally registered. “Could you not do that?” She stared at him, raw power curdling in her golden eyes, fueled by pain and rage. She snarled like a wildcat, struggling against his grip. 

“Let. Go,” she hissed. She pulled her head back and he raised their conjoined hands to block the oncoming blow. His shin screamed and he grunted. Man, she was clever, fainting a headbutt to kick him. 

“Was you mother this feisty at your age. Luna above,” he rasped. Suddenly she went limp on his bed and he jolted forward before catching himself. She was trembling again, and her eyes were going vacant. “Crap,” he whispered, carefully tucking her hands on top of her chest and rewrapping her in his cloak. 

“She’s gone. My mom. She’s… She’s…” she curled into a tight ball, her body heaving, tears streaming down her face, and her eyes lost in grief and disbelief. 

“Yes. She’s gone,” he whispered, a vise of guilt squeezing the life out of him. She didn’t respond and he stood cautiously, watching for her fire to return. But that burning hearth of power he’d seen was gone, a cold wind of devastation snuffing it out.

He blinked and the scene before him shifted, Áine’s tear-streaked countenance now sitting atop him. Her grip on his throat loosened and he inhaled deeply. He took several ragged breaths, studying her. Her eyes were clear, gold, and glassy with her tears. She stared at him, a volley of emotions passing over her features. 

“I loved her too,” he croaked out. He didn’t know why he was telling her this but he couldn’t stop himself. “She was like a second mother to me. I… I never…” he choked out, tears pooling in his own eyes. “I'm so sorry, Áine.”