Page 37 of Aubade Rising
“Yes, I left nothing behind, like you said.”
“Good. Keep walking behind me and be ready to run.”
More running. My heart pounds and I double-check the straps on my rucksack, pulling it more securely round my shoulders.
Everything is calm and deserted until we pass the inn. The breeze, previously unobtrusive other than pushing the stench round the town, becomes stronger, gusting debris and rubbish along the road, trapping it in doorways. The further east through the town we head, the stronger it becomes. I struggle to hear anything other than the roaring as it becomes a strong gale. Eskar ploughs forward, not giving in to the temptation to see if we are being followed until we hit the town wall.
Two men appear from the stone archway protecting the town from the mists beyond. No uniform or insignia to indicate who they work for, but both are armed with long, shining silver daggers. From the scars littering their hands, I guess they are familiar with using them. I risk turning my head to see if less danger is behind us. Four people stride purposely towards us from that direction, drawing intricate movements with their hands. They are unencumbered by the gusts and are easily gaining ground. Zephyrs. Powerful ones with no regard for breaking the Difan. If this is the people of Tanwen caught unawares, then they’ve done a good job of springing a trap with no preparation. Eskar sees the threat from both directions.
“Run!”
The word rips sharply from his lips and hits me as fiercely as the wind. I ignore the madness of heading towards our potential attackers and break into a sprint. Legs pumping and arms pounding we charge towards the town wall, no weapons between us. We battle the wind, which feels like running through treacle.
With feet to spare, the smallest of hand gestures by Eskar, so minuscule and precise I nearly miss them, causes the two attackers to drop their knives. A moment later, they screech, falling to the ground, writhing in agony. My body runs cold as I absorb their screams, and I force my eyes open, my body to keep running, to remember I’m not back in the dungeons and the pain is not mine. There are no visible marks on their skin as we pass them by. Then their screams stop. No footsteps follow us.
We emerge through the gap in the wall and cross to a barren field where a dark grey mist hangs over the ground, obscuring it from view. We run until the damp air falls over us, cloaking us from the town, the rest of the world disappearing into nothing.
Slowing to a walk and coming to a stop before we get too disoriented in the thickening mists, we wait to see if we have been followed. My harsh, rasping breath rings through the air asI struggle to recover but we don’t hear another sound. Eskar’s breathing is shallow, his face white and taut with regret. Another part of him damaged at causing pain to others, even in our own defence.
Chapter 35
I raise my eyes to his, searching for a sign he’s okay. That he’s still in this with me.
“I don’t like using my attitude.” He spits the words out angrily, as if any confession of regret is a weakness but his hands tremble.
“So, you’re saying you’d feel this wretched if you attacked the people in Tanwen or the guards with a blade?” My tone is accusing but I don’t know how else to make him understand. Without his attitude, we’d be prisoners.
He starts, caught off guard.
“Well no. That would have been self-defence.”
“And using your attitude wasn’t?”
“It wasn’t a fair fight.”
I can’t help rolling my eyes at the ridiculous set of principles he’s determined to beat himself up with. “Ah, so it’s perfectly acceptable to skewer someone with a sword, provided they are precisely the same skill level, same ability and have the same experience as you then?”
“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”
“I know you’re being ridiculous. You saved our lives. What’s your problem?” I peer closely at him; his dark eyes are guarded and glint vulnerably. There’s something more, something else is going on.
Stepping closer, he steels himself for another verbal attack, holding his body rigid. What is driving him to abuse himself every time he uses his attitude? I think back to the segments of the book Haelyn gave me, and like a piece of a puzzle that’s finally spun round to fit in the right way, it clicks. “It feels good,doesn’t it?”
What little colour remained in his cheeks vanishes. He freezes and shame floods in as the moment passes and he sinks to his knees, face in his hands. I watch curiously, not alarmed at his silent admission. His hands scratch at his arms, leaving shallow red grooves. Avoiding my eyes, he looks listlessly at the smooth dirt floor.
I sit next to him, providing what little comfort I can, letting him know I’m not judging him. As the minutes trickle by, I separate my magic from the strand I took from him and pull it outside of my body and into my hands. It glows faintly, sputtering in the damp mists before extinguishing. “I’m grateful to your magic – it saved us.” I choke out those words, knowing it’s what he needs to hear but suppress the dread that rises when I think about what his magic did to me in the dungeons of Chi An Mor.
Sitting in the dirt, Eskar watches my display closely, chin resting on his hands, which lie on his knees. Rising and extending a hand to pull me up, I see he’s avoiding my gaze.
Pulling his face to mine, I feel the pressure of making sure my words come out right, to ease the pain and shame in his caramel eyes and try again.“It’s okay, it’s natural to enjoy using your attitude, to get satisfaction from how the magic sings. That doesn’t mean you enjoy the outcome or the pain.” I chew my lip. “Restraining yourself and then beating yourself up afterwards when you’re forced to use it for work clearly isn’t working anymore. Let me in so I can help you. Perhaps we can negotiate with the King when we’re back?”
“It’s no use – I’ve tried.”
“It’s a question of finding the right angle, the right leverage. The King boasts about not being a dictator – not being like his father – yet he forces this on you? He needs to face up to his hypocrisy.”
A fleck of light passes through his eyes, but his brows stay furrowed. Humouring me but not daring to hope? We will getthis fixed when we return. I can’t bear to see him broken again and again. “What would you do if you weren’t the King’s Verax? Who would you like to be?”
His answer is instant, as if he pictures the details of this dream often. “I’d return to Cathair, to be a teacher.” He looks off to where I imagine a window would be in the classroom he dreams of. “I’d live in my apartment, teach children at school. All children. I wouldn’t separate them because of their magic and I’d go fishing on my days off.” He huffs out a laugh, almost a chuckle, “I’d be a scandal among the Mordros.”
