Chapter Eight
718 Words
Chapter Eight
Guilty Conscience
Barlo watched his callused fingers work a whetstone against the blade of his ax. Iarion was curled up in his bedroll in the tall grass beside him. For once, the night was warm enough to go without the tent. His elf friend’s expression did not even relax in sleep. Iarion’s brow had furrowed into a permanent frown of lost confusion ever since their flight from Melaquenya.
Barlo knew it was all his fault.
He had tried to talk to Iarion about what had happened in the Glade of the Quenya. But every time he opened his mouth to utter the words, his body betrayed him.
Silvaranwyn died by my hand.
His mind had blocked out the actual moment of his weapon hitting home, but he knew it was true. Iarion knew it too. And now his friend was following him far away from Melaquenya in the vain hope of getting enough space to come up with some kind of solution.
As if there’s any way to bring Silvaranwyn back from the dead...
He knew Iarion was worried that Felara might come after them. Barlo had no such fears. He suspected that even in Iarion’s shocked stupor, the elf found Barlo’s lack of concern odd. And then there had been the mention of pie instead of cake...
He noticed. I’m sure of it.
Iarion had tried to brush the inconsistency aside, but Barlo had seen the faint flicker in the elf’s eyes. Barlo locked the observation deep inside himself. He had to be very careful.
As they always did when he was alone, his thoughts circled the events surrounding Silvaranwyn’s death. He tried once again to force the scattered pieces of his memory into some discernible pattern...
He entered the Glade of the Quenya with Golhura trailing behind him. The wildcat radiated tension, and seemed anxious to remain at his side. A crumpled, golden-skinned form lay at the base of the enormous tree that housed the Quenya. The entire glade was bathed in a flickering, violet light that reminded him of the tainted bit of power Saviadro had stolen long ago. The elf’s bloodstained features were barely recognizable, but her position at the base of the tree and her swollen belly identified her as Silvaranwyn.
Barlo shook his head in denial as he recognized her broken form, but his feet carried him closer, seemingly of their own accord.
Silvaranwyn’s golden eyes flew open as he approached. Tears streamed down her cheeks to mingle with trails of blood. Barlo heard a swift intake of breath and realized is was his own.
“Barlo?” Silvaranwyn frowned up at him in confusion.
He shook himself. Of course. Everyone still thinks I’m dead.
“Who did this to you?” He demanded. The words came out much flatter than he had intended. Part of him realized he had uttered them in Elvish. Golhura stood beside him, every muscle of her body taut.
“A strange Shadow Elf with violet eyes.” Silvaranwyn blinked in confusion. “How—?”
Her words meant little to Barlo. “Was there anyone else here?”
Silvaranwyn frowned. “What? No. Barlo...”
Barlo felt his expression turn grim. “Look, I’m really sorry.” His hands drew his ax from his belt. Golhura growled in warning, but seemed reluctant to act.
“Sorry?” Silvaranwyn echoed in confusion. “About what?”
“This.”
Her eyes widened as his arms raised the ax high above his head. His mind screamed in denial as the weapon came swinging down toward her skull.
Barlo shook himself. Even though his memory went blank after that moment, he could still feel the reverberation of the blow in his arms. Iarion had arrived moments later. Barlo found himself spinning a tale of Silvaranwyn attacking him first in her confusion over seeing him alive. Iarion had managed to fill in the rest of the blanks on his own.
No matter how hard he tried, Barlo couldn’t remember that fatal moment. The inconsistency gnawed at him like a canker. He had felt strange ever since he and Iarion had returned to Lasniniar from beyond the Void, but something had happened in the glade. Nothing had been the same since.
And Iarion had no idea.
The only creature who did know what had happened was Golhura. But the wildcat had disappeared. Barlo had told Iarion she had probably gone off to hunt, but the truth was, he had no idea where she had gone, or if she was coming back.
And he didn’t know whether to be worried or relieved.
- Writer
