AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I liked to hope it was one of the first two.
When Enid died giving birth to Kaye, my father was grief stricken, yes. But also furious.
Like a particular brand of men all too often do, he turned that fury onto his children.
We wanted his love. He gave it in sparse helpings, preferring to dole out larger quantities of punishments instead.
Eventually he became excessive. There came a day when I feared he would actually kill Arthur.
He had beaten my brother so badly that he could hardly open his eyes.
Even now, I could hardly bring myself to recall it.
Arthur, lying there on the ground, bleeding, his eyes staring up at me dully while I cowered and cried by the wall, pleading with my father to stop. I could see he had already given up and resigned himself to death.
I could have let him die that day. Perhaps most other children would have.
But instead, I rose to my feet and threw myself at my father–something I had never dared to do before. I had always been too frightened to ever try to strike back as he struck us.
But on this day, I threw my small body against his vast one, pummeling my fists on his back as he kicked his booted foot into Arthur’s belly again and again.
Arthur’s eyes had closed. I remembered screaming, “You’ve killed him.”
My father pushed me off him, throwing me to the ground as if I were nothing more than a piece of fluff.
That was one of the last things I remembered.
Now Arthur had become a living embodiment of my father.
And now the fear that Kaye would be next, that something terrible would befall him while I was away from Pendrath, was so great that I lay on my back at night feeling as if I were smothering.
The next day we cameacross our first arch.
Standing several stories tall, the massive archway must have been at least fifty feet high and spanned the entire width of the ancient roadway on which we traveled. The pure white marble from which it had been constructed was crumbling in spots and mossy in others. Yet some of the carved reliefs which covered it could still be picked out.
I stared up, my head tilted back as our horses passed beneath, transfixed by scenes which depicted the fae in all their former glory. One of them showed a great battle, with the fae fighting against hordes of dark and monstrous creatures. Although everything was carved in white stone, the fae figures I could see resembled the ones on the left side of the temple mosaics–tall and proud, beautiful with fine features and sharply pointed ears. No fangs, feathers, or fur to be seen here.
I wondered when the creatures the fae were shown fighting had lived. Then I wondered how old the archway actually was. Five hundred years? A thousand? Longer?
Another relief depicted a celebratory scene after the triumphant battle. A great feast, with music and dancing, with the fae reveling in joy and mirth.
Whitehorn scowled his displeasure at being so close to a fae-made ruin, but I couldn't help but feel a sense of awe and wonder as I gazed upon the arch.
It was a glimpse into another world, one which had long since passed. A world where magic and wonder were part of everyday life. A world with a beauty and allure all of its own. One which I could not imagine being a part of. Or ever belonging to.
When we stopped that night, the inevitable at last occurred.
I fell from my horse. And when I landed, I could not seem to make myself get up.
My head spun. My body was weak. I could not lift my arms or get my bearings. I was reminded of the effects of the drugs Florian had poisoned me with, but this was worse.
Because I had done it to myself.
The two men had led their own horses a little ways ahead to tether. Whitehorn was the first to notice me. He cursed and came to stand above me, his arms folded over his chest.
He looked down at where I lay, my eyes half open, my vision hazy. I felt as if I were a sack of rotting supplies. One he was not sure he wanted any longer.
I closed my eyes. Perhaps I could just sleep where I lay in the muck. I could feel the dampness seeping into my clothes. I started to shiver.
