Page 51 of Eldritch
Zevander wrenched himself from the old man’s grip and stepped back. The expression on his father’s face sobered, as if he were wounded by the gesture.
He ladled water into the tin cup. “Do not sacrifice yourself in order to spare me, Son,” the elder Lord Rydainn said, handing the cup to Zevander.
Zevander smirked and tipped back the contents, which sizzled down his parched throat, before tossing the cup back onto the cart with a clang. “I’ve gone years without your counsel, old man. I surely don’t require it now.”
“Please. I’m begging you.”
Zevander twisted back to his work, but stopped at a firm grip of his arm.
“My son…I have wronged you and your brother since your very birth. Let my death serve as atonement. Reparation for all the pain I’ve caused you.”
The sadness that twisted in Zevander’s gut dissolved into the rage he’d kept bottled for too long. Part of him wanted to turn around and throttle the old man with both hands.
“With all this uncertainty, I must tell you something…about the marking on your chest.” He leaned in, his body trembling with urgency. “It is the mark of your curse, but the source of great power.”
Zevander frowned. “You said it was thescarof sablefyre. Evil burrowed in my skin. Now it’sgreat power?”
“Sablefyreisgreat power, however dark it may be. The mark of an ancient god that lives within you.”
His words brought to mind a hazy memory—perhaps a dream, of a stranger in a hooded cloak, but the details blurred into his thoughts. He sneered back at the old man. “Starvation has muddled your mind, old man.” He fished the bread from his pocket and pushed it against his father’s chest. “Should I survive the evening, I’ll have more bread to share tomorrow.”
“Listen to me, boy. I speak the truth!”
“And what of it? If it’s truth, what am I to do with this knowledge?” He lifted his arm to show the tiny words and glyphs seared into his flesh that prevented all prisoners from using magic. “I’ll die like every other. Powerless.”
“Your power could destroy this prison, if you were not shackled by the confines of flesh and blood. But a god is not bound by the laws of man. Find a way. Free yourself.”
“Hey! Get a move on, now!” One of the guards barked.
“You once rose from the flames. You are forged by the ancients. You will not die, my son. It is not your fate.”
“And what was your fate, Father? To kill an innocent woman?”
Sadness wavered in his eyes. “Tell the guard that you need to relieve yourself, and I will find you there.” He hobbled away, and Zevander exhaled, shaking his head.
He waved back at Jagron, signaling his need to piss, to which the guard gave a nod, then he rounded the edge of a rock to thedesignated spot, where the stench of excrement damned near gagged him.
After relieving himself quickly, he felt the presence of another, and turned to find his father standing behind him.
“I will tell you this quickly, as I cannot have this die here in this place with me. And if there’s a chance you might see your mother again, it’s important that she know the truth.”
“What truth?”
“I did murder a woman. A mother. A wife. And I will spend the rest of my days seeking forgiveness from the gods. But I swear to you, had I known the truth, I would not have repeated my grave error.”
“Get to the point, old man. The guards only allow so much time to piss.”
“Well before you were born, I worked as a Hexman. And while I wasn’t always honest in my dealings, I was good at hunting demutomancers. I was tasked with turning them over to the king, where they would find themselves at his mercy.” He glanced over his shoulder and scanned their surroundings. “What I am about to tell you…I’ve not told a soul. Not even your mother. Had I known this would be our fate, I would’ve?—”
“Get on with it, then,” Zevander said impatiently, aware that Jagron would surely take notice of his absence.
His father gave a sharp nod. “The general of the Solassion army at the time sought me out to track down the wife of a shipping magnate. Lord Vanhelm, as you’ve been made aware by Lord Belthane.” At Zevander’s irritated nod, he kept on. “Vanhelm claimed his estranged wife, who’d fled their home, was a heretic that practiced dark magic and child sacrifice. I’d certainly accepted far worse tasks for the kind of coin Lord Belthane offered, so when they asked me to track her down, I didn’t hesitate to agree.”
“Lord Belthane called her an innocent woman. Which of you is lying?” Zevander was inclined to walk away, no longer interested, but his father rested his hand against his arm, and it was only then that he noticed not an inch of his skin hadn’t been mutilated, a distraction that nearly peeled his attention from what followed.
“Allow me to finish the story. I tracked the woman to a cabin deep in the woods of Susurria, charged to deliver her to the Solassion general and tellno oneof the task. But when I found two children hidden away in a pantry—a small boy and girl—their tongues enchanted not to speak, with unspeakable scars all over their bodies …” Brows pulled tight, he stared off, slowly shaking his head. “As a father, I was enraged. I lost my mind. And I …. I attacked her, thinking I had spared those children from a monster.” Lips flat, he ran a hand down his face, and Zevander caught the shine of tears in his eyes that dulled when he stared off. “I have heard all variety of screams in my life, but none so painful as children crying out for their dying mother.” He blinked hard, and even Zevander felt the pang of sadness bloom in his chest. “It was when they ran to embrace her, while she lay bleeding out, that I realized what I’d done. I couldn’t save her. I couldn’t stop the bleeding. And with her last dying breaths, she imparted that those children were the bastards of King Jeret, who had raped her multiple times. Her husband was apparently sterile, and he believed those children were the result of infidelity.”
His words struck Zevander like a blow to his chest, the way it always did at the thought of someone hurting a woman.
