the
diary out, clutching it tight as if someone might try and take it
from me.
I couldn’t make myself look
at the others, but I knew what they’d be thinking. It was a few
minutes before I could focus well enough to read. I flipped through
the first pages: my mother as a child; her father’s
prize.
A tear tracked down my
cheek and I wiped at it absentmindedly. And then I felt their eyes
on me so I hardened, biting down, determined to keep another from
escaping.
I scanned back through,
searching for mention of him, but I kept getting caught in the
story. It was all so different now, now that it wasn’t a stranger.
It was my mother’s story, my story. And Asher’s?
Lord Asher.
Page after page I kept my
nose buried in the diary. No one asked me to move. But they kept
close. I could feel them watching, waiting. Eventually, exhaustion
won out and the dreams were back.
The next day, I was almost
certain the dreams were not just dreams, they were memories. And
Asher was Lord Asher. But what I could not reconcile was how he was alive,
how he could have met with Chevelle, and why.
My thoughts were clearer
now but that made them all the more distressing. I felt like
secrets were everywhere, swallowing me.
I recalled each time I had
seen him. I focused on the day we all had seen him in the tree
line: how they had reacted to his single nod. I could see his braid
swing behind him as he turned and disappeared into the brush. I
struggled to understand and I couldn’t help but remember what had
happened just before, a memory I’d not returned to willingly. I
could still hear the sickening thud as the council tracker’s head
landed on the ground. The sight of it rolling to a stop, the blood
on my blade.
Yet I could not
understand.
And so I forced myself to
stop thinking of it. It was the only way to put an end to the
screeching pain in my head. But when I finally calmed it to a dull
throb, I could begin to feel the ache in my chest. It was tough to
breathe. How could they… But I couldn’t even finish the thought before the
other pain returned.
It was some time later that
I broke, unable to stand the conflict in my own mind, the pain I
was causing myself. The pain they were causing me? No, I wouldn’t
think it. When I finally gave, I found solace in the mind of the
hawk as it hovered above us, floating on the current of the wind. I
stayed there, void of all other thoughts, until I surrendered and
returned to my own tortured body.
In time, I found a
compromise with myself. I would only allow a set amount of
concentration, a set amount of worry, each day to feed my concern
and distress. The rest would be devoted to the one thing I was
positive of: we… no, I needed to find council, to release my mind from the bonds that
felt like they were killing me.
I could only hope that it
would release the memories as well, remove all of the unanswered
questions, erase the doubt. Doubt that was even now creeping into
every thought I had. How could they? And always, why?
Finally, I was in control
of myself enough to continue. Our task was my first priority now.
Find council. I focused on my memories of them, the images of their
faces. It was all I had but at least it was something.
Ruby scrutinized me,
obviously concerned, as we rode through a field of tall grass. I
ignored her, pretending to watch my horse steal bites along the
way, struggling to keep a steady pace as his head bent sideways
securing generous mouthfuls.
She couldn’t stand it for
long. “Frey?”
I looked at her blankly.
Her eyes went wide. Well, I’d thought it was
blankly . I tried
to smooth out my face. “Hmm?”
She must not have planned
it out, because she apparently had nothing to say. Her face looked
slightly tortured. I wondered what she was reading on
mine.
She glanced forward, to the
backs of the others as they rode in front of us, and then again to
me. “Was there something specific you were looking for, in the
diary?”
It struck me
diary out, clutching it tight as if someone might try and take it
from me.
I couldn’t make myself look
at the others, but I knew what they’d be thinking. It was a few
minutes before I could focus well enough to read. I flipped through
the first pages: my mother as a child; her father’s
prize.
A tear tracked down my
cheek and I wiped at it absentmindedly. And then I felt their eyes
on me so I hardened, biting down, determined to keep another from
escaping.
I scanned back through,
searching for mention of him, but I kept getting caught in the
story. It was all so different now, now that it wasn’t a stranger.
It was my mother’s story, my story. And Asher’s?
Lord Asher.
Page after page I kept my
nose buried in the diary. No one asked me to move. But they kept
close. I could feel them watching, waiting. Eventually, exhaustion
won out and the dreams were back.
The next day, I was almost
certain the dreams were not just dreams, they were memories. And
Asher was Lord Asher. But what I could not reconcile was how he was alive,
how he could have met with Chevelle, and why.
My thoughts were clearer
now but that made them all the more distressing. I felt like
secrets were everywhere, swallowing me.
I recalled each time I had
seen him. I focused on the day we all had seen him in the tree
line: how they had reacted to his single nod. I could see his braid
swing behind him as he turned and disappeared into the brush. I
struggled to understand and I couldn’t help but remember what had
happened just before, a memory I’d not returned to willingly. I
could still hear the sickening thud as the council tracker’s head
landed on the ground. The sight of it rolling to a stop, the blood
on my blade.
Yet I could not
understand.
And so I forced myself to
stop thinking of it. It was the only way to put an end to the
screeching pain in my head. But when I finally calmed it to a dull
throb, I could begin to feel the ache in my chest. It was tough to
breathe. How could they… But I couldn’t even finish the thought before the
other pain returned.
It was some time later that
I broke, unable to stand the conflict in my own mind, the pain I
was causing myself. The pain they were causing me? No, I wouldn’t
think it. When I finally gave, I found solace in the mind of the
hawk as it hovered above us, floating on the current of the wind. I
stayed there, void of all other thoughts, until I surrendered and
returned to my own tortured body.
In time, I found a
compromise with myself. I would only allow a set amount of
concentration, a set amount of worry, each day to feed my concern
and distress. The rest would be devoted to the one thing I was
positive of: we… no, I needed to find council, to release my mind from the bonds that
felt like they were killing me.
I could only hope that it
would release the memories as well, remove all of the unanswered
questions, erase the doubt. Doubt that was even now creeping into
every thought I had. How could they? And always, why?
Finally, I was in control
of myself enough to continue. Our task was my first priority now.
Find council. I focused on my memories of them, the images of their
faces. It was all I had but at least it was something.
Ruby scrutinized me,
obviously concerned, as we rode through a field of tall grass. I
ignored her, pretending to watch my horse steal bites along the
way, struggling to keep a steady pace as his head bent sideways
securing generous mouthfuls.
She couldn’t stand it for
long. “Frey?”
I looked at her blankly.
Her eyes went wide. Well, I’d thought it was
blankly . I tried
to smooth out my face. “Hmm?”
She must not have planned
it out, because she apparently had nothing to say. Her face looked
slightly tortured. I wondered what she was reading on
mine.
She glanced forward, to the
backs of the others as they rode in front of us, and then again to
me. “Was there something specific you were looking for, in the
diary?”
It struck me
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