“Conlan, son of Lord Daratus and Helena Baydon, you are accused of practicing magic. You will come with us!” he snapped.
No!
The child thought stubbornly, fear pulsing in his veins. With all his might he kicked the man, who let go of his arm, yelping in surprise. He may have only been a child, but Conlan had been trained in the best places to apply his strength. He punched and kicked with all the force of his fear, but the man was stronger and slammed a meaty fist into the side of Conlan’s face, lifting him off his feet. He landed, stunned, the force knocking the wind from him. His mother ran forward, holding a tiny, delicate hand out, as if this would fend them off.
“It is not Conlan you want, it is me,” she insisted. Her admission of guilt hung in the air and a slow smile spread across the Protector’s face.
Eleanor gasped
. They knew already.
They just needed her to admit it.
Heavy, brutal hands grabbed at her. Conlan tried to stop them and they knocked him roughly back down, trampling him in their rush to get to his mother. The Protector Conlan had attacked walked towards him, rubbing at the bruises the child’s small fists had inflicted. He grabbed Conlan by the neck and lifted him up so they were face to face, blowing rancid, alcohol-coated breath at him. The Protector drew his knife and waved its glittering sharpness in front of the child’s terrified eyes as he kicked with desperate futility at the air and tore, with ineffectual fingers, at the bear-like hand squeezing his throat.
“Something to remember me by, boy,” the Protector sneered, cutting deeply into Conlan’s face and dragging the blade down.
The child jerked, letting loose an agonised, breathless scream. Shame crashed over him on hearing his mother’s sobbing distress in the background, hating himself for not being able to take the pain like a man, for not being able to protect her, for putting her in the position of having to protect him in the first place. He was flung back to the floor and watched numbly from barely open eyes as his mother was manacled and gagged. A well-aimed punch to the head rendered her senseless; a hammer-blow to the boy’s heart, smashing it to pieces, the fragments tearing through his soul. They dragged her through the broken remains of the door, the last sight he had of her blurred by his tears. Silence and cold, shadowy darkness, watching his blood pooling on the carpet with disinterest.
Eleanor dragged herself away and pulled out from behind the child’s eyes. The scene dissolved, colours running, draining away, leaving only darkness. The boy, still lying on the floor sobbing softly, was enclosed in a circle of light from somewhere unseen above. This was no longer a memory.
Conlan
, Eleanor whispered. The boy whimpered, pulling himself into a tighter ball. Desperate to comfort the grieving child and wanting nothing more than to put her arms around him and tell him it would all be OK, Eleanor moved forward. As she reached for him, the strength of her need to help him surged through her and she discovered she had arms, a body. She knelt next to him and ran a loving hand over his head. He lifted himself up, wiping tears with the back of his hand, smearing blood from the knife wound.
What are you doing here?
The words were spoken by the boy, but the anger underneath them belonged to the man.
I want to help you
, Eleanor replied simply.
You cannot, she is dead and it is my fault.
As he spoke the words the blood ran more freely down his face and the bruises became more pronounced. Horrified, Eleanor shook her head.
Conlan, what happened to your mother was not your fault. Play your memory back again, slowly, and look at the faces of the Protectors when your mother says that she is the one they want. They knew, Conlan, they knew. They just needed her to admit it, and like cowards they threatened her child so that she would confess. They brought manacles with them that would never have fitted a small boy. Why? Because they knew they would not be leaving with you.
The darkness shifted around them and once again the memory played out, the focus and clarity shifting from Conlan’s mother to the men around her. Eleanor watched from the shadows. The memory came to an end. The child pulled himself up from the floor and stood up, eyes wide, comprehension dawning.
I never noticed.
Eleanor opened her arms and the boy ran into them, hugging her tightly, his body trembling as the darkness became brilliant shining light.
It was not your fault
, she whispered over and over again.
Eleanor felt herself leave Conlan’s mind, but she was unsure if she had elected to leave or had been pushed out. She opened her eyes; his were still filled with fear and pain. Whatever had just happened in his head did not appear to have reached his conscious mind.
“Your shield’s gone, Conlan,” Eleanor murmured.
His confusion tore at her, and the unrelenting hideousness of what she had just done to the man she loved ripped through her. She had made him beg for her to kill him.
What kind of a monster am I?
She moved her hand from him so quickly that he flinched.
What have I done?
Unable to stand her own guilt and his pain any longer, she curled herself into a ball, shaking, broken sobs tearing through her until the exhaustion swept her away from the nightmare of her own creation.
Eleanor felt her energy twitching, pulling her from the blackness. It was attempting to pull energy from the earth to replace what she had lost. She tried to concentrate, to speed the process up, but she lacked the strength and the effort was pushing her back towards unconsciousness. There were whispered voices, too low to make out the words. Her head was resting on something comfortable and warm, while her back lay on cold stone. A warm hand gently brushed her hair off her face.
Freddie.
She opened her eyes. She was on the far side of the cell to Conlan and Will. They were sat next to each other, talking in soft voices. Amelia slept at Will’s side, her head resting on his outstretched legs in the same way as she was lying on Freddie’s. Seeing Conlan slammed remorse painfully into her, but she pushed it back.
Not now, I can’t give in to this now, we need to get out of here.
She pulled herself up.
Freddie smiled at her. “Are you OK?” he whispered.
Eleanor shook her head. “I don’t deserve to be. Why are we over here?”
Freddie’s smile faded. “Will suggested it might be an idea to get you out of Conlan’s range for a while.” Eleanor felt guilt grind into her, twisting her stomach and making her head throb; she looked into Freddie’s eyes. Something had changed – there was distance, a new and uneasy wariness.
“I had to do it, Freddie.”
He nodded slowly. “I know you did, but I never thought you could be that cruel, that brutal. That had to come from somewhere.” Shame burning in the pit of her stomach, Eleanor dropped her head. There was darkness inside of her that she had never really acknowledged before, and she had let that loose on Conlan.
I never even wondered if he would be strong enough to take it.
On shaking legs she stood up and walked hesitantly to the other side of the cell, dropping to sit on the floor in front of Conlan. He and Will stopped talking and both turned their heads to look at her. Will gave her a long appraising look. Conlan stared at her, green eyes cold as stone.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I had to do it, had to say those things. I didn’t mean a single word of it.”
“You were very convincing.”
Four words, but they carried so much anger, so much bitter menace, that for the first time in a very long time Eleanor felt fear as she looked into Conlan’s eyes. Trying not to tremble, she nodded.
“I had to be, it wouldn’t have worked if you had suspected anything.” Tears falling, her eyes dropping, she did the only thing she could think to do. “Please, Conlan, I’m sorry. Please, I had to do it.” There was silence. She raised her head slightly to view his face. It was a mistake. The look he gave her froze the blood in her veins and made her energy twitch with fear and shame.
“How am I supposed to trust this plea for forgiveness? You seem very good at manipulating me,” Conlan said, his words poisoned-filled barbs. Eleanor stared at him. She had no answer. She had betrayed his trust.
“I can show you the truth, if you really want to know,” Will said.
Conlan turned to look at him. “How?”
“You don’t have a shield anymore, so I can show you the inside of her head, show you all her motivations, every thought, every fear, every hope and dream. I can show you her soul,” Will said solemnly. Eleanor’s heart rate doubled, her breath painful as she panted her terror; he would find out, he would learn the dirty, evil secret she carried. It would destroy everything. She moaned as Conlan nodded his agreement.
“Will, no… please, no,” she whispered, flinching away from him.
Will glared at her.
“I won’t let you, I’ll keep you out,” Eleanor said, a measure of strength returning to her voice with her sudden anger. Will laughed, a vicious sound that sent a shiver up her spine.
“If I want to get into your head, you won’t stop me. If this is what Conlan needs, he can have it. I suggest you submit.”
Before Eleanor could answer, Will’s energy slammed into her head, physically knocking her over. Her mind filled with pain, a more intense version of the pain Arran had inflicted on her. Wave after wave of agony, like being dropped into a vat of acid, every nerve ending screaming. It made her body and mind shudder, writhe and jerk. A harsh breathless sobbing escaped her gritted teeth. How was he doing this? She knew Will’s energy levels were as low as hers, so the only conclusion was that it was part of his ‘mind-meld’ abilities that were not affected by his lack energy. She had no hope of being able to push Will out, but as the pain stopped, allowing some coherent thought, she realised he had not tried to push past her defences.
“She’s putting up strong resistance. This could take a while,” Will said, staring at her coldly.
I’m not putting up any resistance.
Her thoughts cut off as the pain came again, this time with a greater intensity. It was too much for her exhausted body and her movements became sluggish.
“No, Will, enough!” Conlan said, anguish in his voice. The pain left and she lay still, eyes closed, fighting the need to pass out.
Will huffed in frustration. “Do you want to know or not?”
“Not like this, I can’t do this,” Conlan whispered.
Eleanor felt a gentle hand on her face searching her neck for a pulse.
“Eleanor? Can you hear me?”
She once again forced her eyes to open, to find Freddie leaning over her. He smiled but Eleanor could still see the fear in his eyes.
He’s afraid of me.
Tears rose in response to the hurt this thought caused. She had done as Conlan wanted, so why did nobody understand? Freddie helped her to sit up, allowing her to rest against him, supporting her. Conlan stared at her, his eyes still hard. Eleanor could not bring herself to look at Will.
“What you did was horrific,” Conlan whispered. Sighing, he dropped his gaze. “But I can’t hate you for it. You knew exactly what to say, you knew about my mother. How?”
Eleanor tensed in anticipation of a surge of emotional torment from him, but none came. He looked confused, as if he too had expected pain that had failed to materialise.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Eleanor whispered. Conlan gave her a sharp, suspicious look. In a stronger voice she answered his question, wondering what he was thinking. “I knew about your mother because Jarrick and Merl mentioned her. The rest of it... I know you. I took the solid core of your being, your strength, your courage, your desire to do the right thing, your responsibility to the people of Mydren, the care you have for us, and I turned it into something sick and twisted.” Her voice dropped back to a whisper and she hung her head. “I’m not proud of myself, Conlan.”
“Was there no other way?”
Eleanor could not look at him as she answered. “The only other way was to cause you such physical injury that you would believe yourself to be dying.”
“That would have been kinder,” Conlan muttered.
Eleanor nodded. “Yes it would, but there’d have been no guarantee you’d have survived, and even if you had, you’d have been in no fit state to get out of here.” Eleanor could feel him staring at her, but she could not raise her head. When he spoke, he sounded resigned.
“I suppose I deserve it for breaking your heart.”
Eleanor gasped in shock.
Is that what he thinks? That I considered it payback?
She shook her head, her eyes meeting his. “No, Conlan, don’t think that. You didn’t deserve what I just did to you. I wasn’t acting out of revenge. I don’t want to hurt you. I’m sorry... please.” The tears were falling again, but she brushed them away, angry at herself for being pathetic.
No time to fall apart now.
Again she tried to push the guilt back, but it was side-stepping her attempts and hitting her with iron fists whenever it got within range.
“A lot of people have tried to break me. My father would be amused to know that all it took was a tiny girl with a few well-chosen words,” he whispered bitterly. Eleanor felt the extent of the damage she had caused as his hurt tore through her. There was no time. The more urgent problem of escape was what mattered.
Taking a deep breath, Eleanor accepted what the pain in his eyes and the hurt that was crashing over her were saying.
“You can’t forgive me, I understand that, but since this isn’t going to get resolved right now, please can we focus on the matter in hand.”