Chapter 9 - Sight and Sound - Stephanie D. Shaver
“Wil?”
:Chosen?:
The Herald snapped out of his reverie, sitting up with a snort on the hard wooden chair. “Sorry,” he said to Kyril. “Must’ve been woolgathering. You were saying?”
“I was asking,” Kyril said, “about the circumstances that led to Herald Elene’s death.” His pen tip gleamed with ink, poised over the parchment.
“Right.” Wil rubbed his eyes. The burden of being awake put a strain on his ability to be tactful and thorough. She died, he wanted to say. I’m sorry. She went into a river and drowned and died.
But Kyril would pick every bone of the story until he got his damn details. No easy way out of this one.
“She went into the river at Callcreek to save a boy who’d been caught in a flash flood,” Wil said. “Bad situation, all around.”
“The boy—did she . . . ?”
“Yes,” Wil said softly. “She Fetched him to shore.”
Kyril nodded. “She is . . .was . . .terribly Gifted. Continue.”
“They started to pull her back in, and apparently a log—”
Blue flash of Foresight—
—in the water out of nowhere so dark and cold and ah gods mother so sorry Elene so sorry Alrek no Alrek—
It wasn’t a Foresight Vision—just the memory of one. It hit like an aftershock: not as bad as the original, but with enough intensity to stall his narrative.
Wil envied Heralds who only knew who had died when the Death Bell rang. He always knew who and where. Sometimes, for people like Elene, his Foresight showed him firsthand details leading up to the death. People he’d been close to—internees, instructors, year-mates . . .
Not that there are many of those left . . .dammit, focus! He grabbed hold of the disparate threads of his thoughts and forced himself to rattle off details, devoid of the panicked terror that his Foresight made him privy to.
According to the shore crew that had been on the other end of Herald Elene’s lead rope, a log had tangled in her lifeline and dragged her under. Some of the men swore the rope snapped, others suspected someone panicked and cut it. Elene’s Companion, Alrek, had ber-serked, run in mad circles, and then galloped off, the frayed bit of filthy rope trailing behind him.
“Did you question the locals about who might have cut the rope?” Kyril asked.
“I did, sir. Under Truth Spell,” Wil said. “No guilty parties. It sounds like the whole situation was a big, confused mess.”
“And Alrek?”
Wil shook his head. “Hasn’t been seen since the incident.”
Kyril nodded and picked up a clean page. “We’ll find his body. Sometimes they just show up in Companion’s Field. Was Elene recovered?”
“Yes, but . . . she’d been in the water awhile.” The villagers had done their best, given what time and the muddy waters had done to Elene. She’d been carefully wrapped in sackcloth and transported on a bed of sweet grasses and flowers.
“Her grave is by the Temple of Astera near Callcreek,” Wil finished.
Kyril made a note. “Anything else?”
Wil mulled the question. The Vision had been useful in caulking the gaps, giving him questions to ask the denizens of Callcreek. Wil felt that he’d gleaned all he could from it for Kyril’s report.
And yet . . .
“Sir, something is nagging at me,” he said at last.
“Oh?”
“But I can’t tell you.”
Kyril raised a brow.
“I mean I can’t tell you,” Wil clarified. “It’s my Gift, sir. My gut says there’s something, but not what.”
“Ah. The famously unreliable Foresight.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“Quite all right. I know better than to try to pry it from you. Just be sure to tell me when it surfaces.”
Wil nodded.
“Excellent. One last thing, then.” For the first time since they’d begun their dialogue, Kyril set his pen down, then sat straight up and folded his hands onto the desk.
“Elene had a family,” he said.
Wil felt his stomach twist.
“We have an obligation to them,” Kyril continued. “When possible we prefer to deliver the news in person. I understand you knew her personally.”
Wil nodded.
“What I’m about to ask of you isn’t for everyone,” Kyril said. “Honestly, it’s not for anyone. It’s a hard task, telling a mother her daughter is never coming home. Can you do this, Herald?”
:Wil, you’re exhausted,: Vehs said.:If you don’t want—:
“Yes,” Wil said. “I can.”
:Or you could ignore me completely.:
Kyril gave a small sigh. “The Queen and the Circle thank you. Come back tomorrow—we’ll talk about protocol for notifying the family.” He cocked his head. “Meanwhile, you look like you need sleep.”
“In buckets,” Wil admitted, laughing a little. “Thank you, sir.”
“Thank you, Herald,” Kyril replied.
Wil departed the Records Room to the rhythmic scratching of Kyril’s pen.
: . . . nightmares are getting worse. You need a Healer. Are you even listening?:
:No,: Wil replied honestly.
As usual, unseen someones had prepared his apartment for his return to Haven. There was fresh water in the ewers and seasoned firewood by the hearth.
He’d been focused on building the fire, not Vehs. Wil’s hands were callused and leathery from years on Circuit. He didn’t bother with gloves or pokers anymore, just shoved the lit wood around until the configuration pleased him, ignoring the sparks and splinters.
:Healers—: Vehs started.
:The Healers want me to drink sleep tinctures,: Wil shot back. :And not the cute stuff made with hops and shamile. The mean stuff you give to a bull when you need to geld him.:
:No one is gelding you, Chosen.:
Wil snorted.
But Vehs wouldn’t let it die. :If it’s what you need to sleep . . .:
What Vehs was nattering on about was that the Vision didn’t just intrude on his waking thoughts. It had become a recurring nightmare, one he couldn’t seem to shake. Wil hadn’t slept—really slept—in a week.
His sleep-debt had been growing even before Elene’s death, thanks to nights on the Karse Border. Now that debt was coming due, with interest. Hallucinations, jittery nerves, the acute, fleeting sense that he was being watched (when he wasn’t).
It was nothing he hadn’t dealt with before. The Vision would fade eventually. He’d endure until then.
:I’d rather deal with the nightmare.: Wil rolled his right shoulder, wincing. Spring had been damp and chilly, and his joints protested the chill. He shucked off his Whites, the cold air making his skin and scars prickle. Under the bedcovers it felt even colder.
Not for long, he thought, his eyes drifting shut. Warm . . . no time.
He slept. And in his dreams, Elene died again.
—in the water—
Freezing, all the way up to her neck. A hard shock of cold as she allowed the current and rope tied to Alrek carry her to the child clinging to an outcropping of rock. She practically blanketed him with her body, getting a good hold.
She turned to look back at the shore, Alrek’s white form blazing like a guiding star.
Then she reached, her Gift struggling with the child’s weight and mass, struggling with the distance, struggling as she struggled against the current.
The boy vanished beneath her. She saw a dark figure appear near Alrek, heard the shore crew cheer. For a moment, her heart soared—
The log came—
—out of nowhere—
—and dragged her down, her body pinned beneath the wooden anchor and the tangled lead rope. Everything became a confusion of sound and sensation, so dark and cold, and all she could think was, Ah, gods—mother, I’m so sorry.