So a bit of a shorter chapter, but hey, it's a chapter nonetheless. Besides, shorter chapters make the story move faster, right? Maybe not. I don't know. I'll let you be the judges of that as my readers.
Chapter Eighteen
Skandar bounced on his toes in the
stable yard the next morning. His sore jaw opened wide as he yawned, and
blinked his swollen, puffy eyes. A result of his broken nose, Catrain had said.
His dreams that night he wished to blame on pain.
In them, mist shrouded him, except
that this time it swirled around in a cyclone, Skandar trapped in its center. Panic
rising, he frantically scoured the whirling surface of his prison for a way
out. There was none. The water vapors stung any bit of exposed skin they
contacted. Skandar threw his arms over his eyes, shielding them from the raging
torrent. Blindly, he stumbled around, the wind and mist driving him in a single
direction. Alone and powerless to fight any longer, Skandar felt emptiness
beneath his boots as his toes reached the edge of a chasm. Skandar removed his
arm in time to catch a fleeting glimpse of what lay beyond the mist. Immediately
the wind died, and the mist settled, falling to drift around his legs. It
rolled over the edge of the chasm, which spanned the endless space before him. Behind
him, a distant roar sounded. Paralyzed with fear, Skandar’s legs refused to
budge away from the cliff. Too late, he recognized the roar. Wet, powerful, and
dangerous. A tidal wave of water.
Skandar panicked again, his wobbly
knees yielding to terror. They folded beneath him, and he plummeted headlong
into the chasm.
Shuddering, he awoke himself from
the memory. There had been no taunting whispers in the darkness. No alluring
summons. Only his fear behind him, the unknown before him, and he teetering on
the edge of uncertainty. He knew not what it meant. It played over and over in
his mind, different than the previous dreams, more ominous. Trepidation
lingered in his thoughts and heart.
In the time it took them to collect
the fresh horses, Skandar spoke nary a word. Not until Carn was a mere speck in
the distance did he relax. For the present time, Muriel, Aidan, and Eoin occupied
Oliver with merry chatter. Oliver’s constantly cheery disposition was, at
times, helpful and appreciated, but grew tiring and exhausting to Skandar. He
wished to be left alone, a request his companions appeared happy to grant.
Just before he fell into the chasm,
he had looked up and seen…what? What did
I see? Skandar shouted in his mind. Growling with frustration, he smacked
his hand flat against his thigh. The horse startled and lunged forward, but
calmed when Skandar stroked the young stallion’s neck in a gentle apology.
“Does something trouble you?” Catrain’s
voice broke through his chaotic thoughts.
“No,” Skandar lied, wincing as the
princess stared holes through his feeble falsehood.
“Are you certain? Your horse senses
your distress. That is why he is so jumpy.”
Skandar stared at the back of his
horse’s head, avoiding her analytical eyes. When still he refused to provide
her with an explanation, she rode ahead and began conversing with Muriel. Guilt
riddled him. He thought of Catrain as a sister and loathed lying to her.
I
cannot share with anyone my dreams, at least not yet. Not until I myself am
certain of their meaning. They must be associated in some way with Bródúil.
Finding it means their end. I can do this on my own. I can.
The next morning he found himself
sandwiched between Aidan and Eoin, laughing heartily at their ceaseless jovial
banter. Out of the two, Eoin was quicker and possessed a sharper, if more
abstract wit than his brother, but he lacked the direct, deep focus of Aidan,
which the older boy used often to stump Skandar with riddles.
“When you see him, what will you
say?” asked Aidan during a lull.
“What?”
“Your father. What will you say?”
It was a question Skandar had
pondered often working long hours in Peter’s fields. “That depends on the
circumstances of our meeting, I assume. After years of rehearsing various
scenarios in my head of what I would say or what I will do, I am still uncertain.
Of course, none of that matters if he is dead.”
“We understand,” Aidan offered, his
brother unusually quiet. “Ages have passed since we last saw our Ma and Da.”
“We do not even know if they still
live or if the plague stole them away after we left Talahm Glas.”
“I forgot about that,” Skandar hung
his head. “I have been selfish and never once did I stop to consider another’s
troubles. Your troubles.”
“In this world, ‘tis easy to do, I’m
afraid.”
Skandar frowned. “What do you mean,
‘this world’?”
“I mean now. It’s human nature, the
desire to satisfy our desires, to focus on our needs. I am thankful the True
King does not, otherwise we would all be dead and in a place worse than death.”
Skandar recalled his mother saying
something similar when he was a child, barely waist-high. He remembered the
calm serenity that washed over her face the night she died, even after years of
constant worry and suffering. In the end, her tears were gone and she had known
peace. Is it possible? Is it possible for
someone, the True King, to bring about such peace in a world as ours?
“Skandar, are you alright?”
Skandar cleared his throat and
dodged the query, “What happens when we reach Loryl?”
“Same as in Carn, I imagine,” Eoin
answered in a bored manner.
Skandar winced, his face swollen and
sore. “Hopefully not the exact same.”
“Right,” Eoin grinned and lightly
tapped the side of his own nose. “After Loryl, the real adventure begins.”
Skandar caught himself looking over
his shoulder more and more often. In Loryl, an unimpressive village serving as
the final official Corrthainian town before the border with Tir O Niwl, he
spied both of the hunting parties they had unpleasantly encountered in Carn. They
seemed to have settled their dispute and grouped together outside a tavern.
The other members in Skandar’s
company dismissed it as a mere coincidence, assuming they traveled for spring
hunting in Tir O Niwl. Skandar found their presence odd and unsettling. Flynn
alone shared his concerns, which irritated Skandar. My friends should support me, not my enemy. Even still, they
collectively agreed to depart Loryl immediately.
As dusk fell across the sky, Flynn
brought his mount around behind Skandar’s. Skandar’s fingers twitched. He
released the reigns, gripping the horse’s sides with his legs, and reached
across his body for his sword.
“At ease,” Flynn ordered. “I will not harm you
here. Not now.”
Skandar paused with his fingers curled around the
hilt of his sword and pulled it partially out of the sheath. Pale moonlight
reflected off the flawless blade.
Flynn’s mouth curled at one corner. “I advise you
to put the sword back before you sever a finger. That is not a training sword,
remember. The blade is sharp.”
Skandar shoved the weapon back in the sheath with
a sharp scraping sound.
“I came to inform you that you and I will take the
first watch tonight.”
“I refuse.”
“Tell that to Oliver or Aidan who have so
graciously taken your watch for the past week, denying themselves rest so you
could.”
“With the others asleep, and the two of us awake
and alone, what is to reassure me that I won’t drift off to sleep and then
awaken to the bite of your blade between my shoulders?” Skandar spat the acidic
words at Flynn’s snide face.
At last, Flynn replied hollowly, “Nothing. None of
us know if we will wake up tomorrow the same people as those who fell asleep.
But if you refuse to sleep while I remain awake, then I suggest you rest during
the day. Or prepare yourself for a long night.”
“There’s a clearing up ahead,” Oliver called to
them from the front.
“Good,” Flynn barked. “Send Muriel and the
Princess to gather firewood, and the brothers to catch something to eat. A
bird, rodent, whatever you manage to kill, I care not as long as it is fresh
meat. No! On second thought, scrape together what food you find from Loryl. There
will be no fire. Not tonight,” he cast his gaze skyward, where wisps of clouds gathered,
blowing in from the north. On the tops of the trees, they piled atop one
another, creating towering, billowing clouds, moving with the damp, earthy
wind. “There will be rain tonight.”
Nearly two hours into Skandar’s watch, when everyone
else lay deep in slumber, the clouds loosed their cargo, dousing the forest
with a deluge. The rain began, gentle at first, a pitter patter in the leaves
of the trees and dripping to plop on Skandar. Then all of a sudden, the sky
released, and water poured from the heavens. Skandar pulled his soaked cloak
tighter around himself, the cloth heavy and doing little to dry him. He settled
against the rough base of a gnarled tree, its canopy providing Skandar with some
coverage and protection. Across the small clearing, Flynn paced, the folds of
his black cloak billowing behind him. Skandar’s other companions tossed and
turned, moaning and groaning in their sleep from beneath the trees as the
intrusive rain stirred them.
Skandar arose, his legs and back stiff, and
stretched them gently. The rain slowed to a drizzle, ebbing from the downpour. The
air hung heavy with the earthy smell of damp soil and leaves.
“How long are the watches?” Skandar yawned.
“Three hours,” Flynn replied. Stroking the long
nose of his horse, he uttered a clicking sound that turned the creature’s ears.
Sighing, Skandar turned and began to pace. Having
nothing else to occupy himself with, he counted his steps. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven…Twenty-six. Twenty-seven.
Twenty-eight. He reached the edge of the trees. Turn. Over and over, back and forth, edge to edge until the final
hour passed. With each second that ticked by, Skandar’s legs became heavier
until he dragged them across the mud, unable to lift them any longer.
Gratefulness surged through him when the hour ended and Oliver was woken to
replace him. Skandar shuffled to his damp blanket laid out on the ground
beneath a tree. His knees finally buckled, and he collapsed, barely managing to
unbuckle his cloak with fumbling fingers.
His final thought was of the water. Not the rain,
but the wave washing over him, engulfing him. Before panic overcame him, sleep
did.
This month, very soon actually, I have the opportunity to go on a mission trip with my church. I like to ask you to please pray for safety and health for all of us going, for strength to spread the Word of God, for courage when mocked, for compassion toward the people we are witnessing to and toward each other, and finally for hearts. That our hearts will be right with God so He is able to shine through us and work through us, and also for the hearts of those we are going to witness to, that they will soften to His Will and be receptive and open.
I also have a personal request that my anxiety will not be a problem, and that God will remind me that He is in control and that His plan is perfect, I need only to trust Him. As a control freak, it is difficult for me to remember that. Thank you!
Where God opens doors, His work will be done. We are the tools, He is the Builder.
He is the True King. I believe that. Do you?
~Abbie~
