By Moonlight Wrought (Bt Moonlight Wrought) (49 page)

         The Fiend watched Dirk come out and pass
away into the darkness.   It was tempted to follow and slay him, alone in the snow,
but believed that the longer It waited and hid, the more frustrated and
desperate the brave heroes would become; anxious for revenge.  Then, they would
easily fall into the traps It had planned for them, with their frustrated
desires to slay the murderer of their protected one.  Killing them all in one
night would be too easy.  Besides, the Fiend had all winter to amuse Itself.

         It stayed outside Cinder’s room only to
feel their horror and sadness.  The Fiend enjoyed it, immensely.  “They’ll pay
for their bravery and interference, just as all the others who stood against me
have,” It growled confidently.

         When the last three walked away, the
Fiend saw that they had left the body of Cinder behind, unguarded.  Eager to
gloat over Its victory, the Fiend picked the lock, opened the door and stole
inside.  Cinder lay in endless sleep, incredibly beautiful in her contentment. 
The Fiend drew back; her beauty even in death unnerving It.  It had never seen
any of Its victims so alluring after Its tortures.  She should have been ugly,
deformed from Its pleasures.  The Fiend approached, drawing the scimitar to
hack her beauty away, but It could not near the body.  Confused at the
inexplicable feeling inside, the inability to close in, the Fiend turned and
fled, leaving Cinder in peace.  Far away, in the depths of Darkwood, a mother
rested and mourned the death of her only child, her tears filling the basin
through which she viewed the devastating scene.

         Dirk climbed the ladder.  The lantern was
still lit and on the table where Dirk had left it, to him what seemed days
ago.  He had never felt so weak, his will drained, his body seeming too heavy
to move.  He was cold, having gone to Cinder’s and back uncloaked, so he knelt
and started a fire in his stove.  The flames leapt to life and in fifteen
minutes, his room would be toasty warm.  He knew, however, he would still be
cold.

         Dirk stood and walked out onto the
overlook.  He pulled, with great effort, the dagger from the door and took it,
and the attached note, inside then locked and bolted the door once more.  He
threw the note into the fire and slammed the stove door shut, took a rag from a
nearby table and began wiping the blood, Cinder’s blood, from the blade.  Tears
rolled down his face and he openly wept, as he wiped her life’s fluid from the
wickedly curved weapon.  He remembered the night in the falling snow, her cold
tongue, her warm, ever-playful smile.  Aside from the deep sadness he felt for
her to have suffered, Dirk missed her already and he longed to see her, to
speak with her, to feel her on his arm.  He cried to be with her, to hold her,
to hear her laugh, to kiss her soft lips once more.  He felt alone and empty,
but he could not see her the way she was; it was unbearable for him.  The world
no longer mattered.  He, like Selric, had promised to protect her, but Dirk had
been there.  If he had stayed, he could have fought the Fiend.  Cinder could
have escaped.  “Why did I have to come home!” he cried aloud.  “Why am I so
stubborn?”

         Slamming the clean knife into the table
top, Dirk rose and threw the bloody cloth into the stove as well, where the
note had already been consumed.  He wiped away his tears and, indeed, never
wept so unabated again.  A few occasions would later bring tears to his eyes, a
sniffle or occasional sob, and he might even cry with joy, but Dirk would never
feel such staunch, bitter, painful loss again.  As Dirk sat upon his bed,
honing his sword to a razor’s sharpness, he heard the handle to the outside
door jiggle.  He ran over, screaming, kicking the bolt free, turning the key
and throwing the door open, sword raised.  The blonde stranger stood there, a
befuddled look on his stern face, but he did not flinch.  Dirk lowered his
sword and walked, slump-shouldered, back to his seat on the bed.

         “What’s the matter?” the stranger asked. 
Dirk heard genuine concern in his voice, but it did not matter. 

         “It’s too late,” Dirk kept saying out
loud to himself.  Then his mind flared.  “Why weren’t you there?” he yelled,
standing menacingly.  “You always followed her before, why not tonight?”

         “Who?” the stranger asked.  “What are you
talking about?”

         “Cinder, that’s who.  Why didn’t you help
her?” he asked, trying to shed his feelings of guilt, wanting to blame
everyone, especially Cinder.  “I warned her,” he said.  “But if you had been
there, she’d be alive.”  Tears filled his eyes and he struggled to keep from
crying.  The stranger stood motionless as if he was trying to piece Dirk’s
ramblings together.  “She’s dead!” Dirk finally screamed.  “Cinder’s dead.”  He
fell onto his bed, rolling over to stare at the ceiling.

         “Do you know who did it?” the stranger
asked.

         “Yeah,” Dirk said more calmly.  “That
Fiend, or whatever.  Olaf Svenson.”  After no reply, Dirk sat up:  the stranger
was gone.

         On the second day since finding Cinder’s
murdered body, the four companions stood in silence as the priests slid the
exquisite coffin into its niche.  They sealed the stone with a final-sounding
boom that echoed throughout the vast tomb.  They stood in a row:  Selric,
Fiona, Melissa, then Dirk, all holding hands.  With Cinder gone for good, Fiona
turned and hugged Selric.  They were all sad, but their tears had already been
shed.  Dirk stood coldly by, a look of unrelenting anger on his face.  When the
clerk from the Office of Court Records approached, Dirk walked away.  Melissa
looked at Dirk, then Fiona, then back to Dirk, finally following him out and
leaving the others to take care of business.  The priests shuffled out in order
behind her.

         “Hello,” the official said, shaking
Selric’s hand.  “I’m Jan Dalrimple, Office of Births and Deaths.  We met
yesterday.  I’m sorry about Miss Starshine.  Now, I’m here to verify and
finalize the papers.”  He adjusted his spectacles and opened a scroll. “She
does have living relatives?”

         “I believe so,” Selric said.  “Her father
left last summer.  But I don’t know where he is, and she never told us his
name, but it was
not
Starshine.  Her mother lives in the Darkwood. 
That’s all I know, as I told you yesterday.”  The clerk double-checked his
scroll and nodded.

         “Now the possessions.”

         “She didn’t own much,” Fiona said.  She
looked at Selric questioningly.

         “Store it all,” Selric said, “or sell
it.  She owed no debts, and she’s got no relative in town who can claim it.” 
Selric and the others had already taken any mementos of Cinder that they
wanted, amounting to most of her belongings.

         “Very well,” the official said, taking a
deep breath.  “Cindelaria Starshine, murdered Deepmonth 8, the year 672,” he
read from the scroll.

         “That’s right,” Selric said coolly.

         “That should be all I need, Master
Stormweather:  all is in order.  I just needed to witness the internment.  If
we need anything we know, of course, where to find
you
.  Thank you.”  He
turned and walked out briskly, humming a tune.  Fiona took Selric’s arm and he
led her out to where Dirk and Melissa stood silently outside the gigantic
mausoleum, affording them a strangely lofty view of the city in the distance
across the massive square before the building.  All four waited in the gently
falling snow, none wanting to leave Cinder alone.  It was not for several
minutes that someone spoke. 

         “What good will revenge do?  Sure, we’ll
stop him from doing it to anyone else, and make him pay for what he’s done
already, but it won’t bring
her
back,” said Selric.  “It won’t bring any
of them back.”

         “There goes a calm fellow,” Dirk said, as
he watched Jan Dalrimple shuffle off in the distance, passing through the snowy
silence.  The sky was gray, the day soft and somber.  The city seemed dead as
well, and why not, there was little to be accomplished in the heart of winter. 
Most citizens stayed home before their hearths, waiting for the spring thaw to
return life to Andrelia.

         “That’s his job,” Melissa said, wrapping
her cloak tightly around herself.

         “Did you ever wonder if the absence of
anyone or anything you ever killed brought as much sorrow to others as we’re
feeling right now?” asked Selric, looking around as if waiting, or maybe
searching for something.

         Fiona was quiet; she never regretted
killing anyone, and still did not.  But she thought, for a brief instant, maybe
she wished she were the one who had died, rather than Cinder.  The thought
quickly passed.  All of them, at one time or another over the past two days had
wondered why it had not been them; why it had to be the only one of them who
never had, and never would, bring hurt on another person.

         Twenty more minutes passed silently before
someone’s voice again broke the eerie silence.  This time it was Melissa.  “Well,”
she said hesitantly, “let’s go.  We have to leave sometime.  Come on.”  No one
moved.  “Dirk?” she asked.  “Do you want to come?  I’ll buy you a beer,” she
said, trying to sound cheerful and tugging on his sleeve.  He shook his head
“no,” glancing back longingly at the mausoleum and taking a hesitant step
toward the open archway, but stopping himself.  As if fighting for control of
his body with another force, Dirk slowly turned away and, grabbing Melissa’s
hand, walked forcefully down the tremendous steps.

         Fiona looked at Selric, waiting.  “Go
on,” he said.  “I’ll be along.  I’ve got a few things to do, but I’ll meet you
at
The Run
.”  Fiona, though also wanting to stay, kissed Selric and
forced herself away as Dirk had, running to catch her two friends, running
and—as brightly as she could—leaping between them and throwing an arm around
each of their necks so that she was carried along between them, kicking her
legs.  Selric walked the other direction around the mausoleum and after his
friends had gone, he returned, went inside, and sat down at the foot of
Cinder’s tomb.  He held his head in his hands and soon, silently, a small pool
of tears lay between his drawn up knees and an emptiness never before known to
Selric Stormweather crept hauntingly over him.  For the first time in his life,
Selric felt lost.  It was as if half of himself had been cut away.

         Tallow was pleasantly surprised when she
opened the door and found Dirk standing there.  “I didn’t know you were coming
tonight,” she said, fluffing her hair.  “I haven’t seen you in days!”  She took
his hand and led him over to the couch.  “Vanna’s with someone.  We’ll talk
here then go up when they’re done.”  Tallow sat on his lap, straddling Dirk’s
knees, leaning forward and hugging him, but he quickly and gently set her down
next to him.  Tallow then noticed that he wasn’t smiling and did not seem well
at all.  “What?” she asked kindly.

         “A friend of mine,” Dirk said, “is...is
dead.  She was killed by this sadistic brute who’s been killing people for
months.  I left her in bed that night and found her there later, murdered.  I
should have stayed with her,” Dirk said, his eyes locked on the floor, his face
empty of any other thoughts or emotions. 

         Tallow gazed sadly at Dirk then kissed
his cheek in an effort to comfort him.  “It isn’t your fault,” she said, then
continued after a brief pause, “It wasn’t one of the two I knew, was it?”  Dirk
wondered who it was Tallow knew then he remembered the night in the tavern that
they had seen Melissa and Fiona.

         “No,” he said, shaking his head slowly,
“her name,” he hesitated, “was Cinder.  She was like you:  sweet, kind,
pretty...” he stopped in mid-word, then turned toward her and, for the first
time in days, became highly animated, taking Tallow’s hands roughly into his
and staring deeply into her eyes while sitting up straight.  “You have to
stop...” he searched for the right word, “...working.  This guy is out there,
and if he’s seen you with me, he might try to kill you.” 

         Tallow gasped in fear.  “What can I do?”
she asked timidly.

         “I’ll give you a job, and I want you to
stay at Bessemer’s with me.”  She didn’t smile, but inside was beaming.  Tallow
nodded her head slowly, trying not to let her excitement about going to live
with her love show on her face.  “I care about you too much to let you stay
here.  I want you where I can keep an eye on you.  We have dogs and
guards...let’s pack your stuff and go right now.”

         “What about the girls?  I should give
them time to find someone else.   I can’t just move out.”

         “Haven’t you paid the rent this month?”

         “Yes.”

         “Well?” he asked.  “If they need anything
from you, you can pay it, or I will.  I want you out.  Now go and pack and I’ll
carry it.”  Tallow blushed, her face aglow:  her prince had truly come!

         “I have alot of clothing,” she said.

         “I’m strong.”

         “Dirk,” she said politely, “my appearance
is, or
was
, my business.  I have a
lot
of clothes.”

         “Leave them.  You’re not doing it
anymore.  Right?”