Sunder (3 page)

Briton

Normally, he could have driven for days and not even flinched at it. But something was different about that drive. He hadn’t felt anything in so long, that he forgot how it felt to have dread lay its great weight upon his chest.

But it wasn’t just dread. There was something else in there, mixing him up.

On some level, deep inside of himself, Briton seemed to be able to feel the end of his journey nearing. It was as if he was exhausted in his soul. He had felt that way from the moment he had decided to go back to the US—the last home he had shared with his family.

Home.

What a strange sensation to have a home suddenly.
Especially after so long on the open road.

He smiled at his thought, maybe not open road.

More like villas, chalets, and condos in cities he never let himself get attached to. They had been on the run for over a hundred and fifty years.

It was almost exciting to go home, in a way. It brought back feelings—feelings he hadn’t felt in so long. But being there on the road that he last traveled as a broken-hearted man brought back everything. The feelings he had pushed away and closed off felt like they were doubled. But he realized he was no longer broken hearted, just broken.

The feeling of excitement was replaced with nerves as they crossed over the Maine border, bringing him one more step closer than he had been in over a century.

He glanced at Miles in the rearview mirror; it was the first time Briton had driven while Miles slept in the back. Normally if Briton drove, Miles drove him insane with backseat driving. But now the older man’s breathing had grown more distressed and laborious when he slept, and he wasn’t in control or trying to hide it. It revealed how bad he really was. That made Briton’s stomach twinge. The old man was it, the last of his family.

Anger replaced the heavy feeling of fear as he thought about his family.

He hoped one day to get the revenge they so desperately sought.
Revenge for himself and for Miles, who lost his wife in the town’s troubles.
He considered her to be part of the family they had lost.

Briton had rarely allowed himself attachments and certainly none of his father’s crusty old friends. But Miles had always been different. After Briton’s father’s death, the old man had grown on him and eventually stepped up to the task of being his mentor in a lot of things. But regular humans had such short lives that they seemed to grow wise at a rate far faster than any other creature he had ever seen. Miles was his superior in everything, regardless of being only two centuries old. Not that he was a regular human.

Briton hadn’t needed a mentor, but the company had become something he enjoyed. It was more like having a father again and the losses they had shared tied them together. He knew Miles had made him a better man, just by being there.

He heard a slight noise and looked into the back seat again, seeing the old man grimace slightly in his sleep. It was as if he was momentarily pained, and then he fell back into a motionless state. He had gotten worse progressively, so much so that even his magical elixirs weren’t helping him for very long once he’d taken them. He was an odd old man, with his elixirs and strange ways. He suited Briton’s company perfectly, though Briton didn’t age a day from his eighteenth birthday onward, and Miles has slowly aged into the man he was now.

But nothing about either of them was what you expected when you saw them.

Briton, distracted by the feelings he had been certain he had blocked off, nearly missed the large sign beside a huge apple orchard. When he caught ‘Welcome to Wolfville, Maine’ in his peripheral, he took a deep breath.

A lump grew in his throat, the kind he wished he could blame on hunger, but he knew better than that. He was home. There was no denying the feelings that were there, particularly not the merciless feelings for bloodthirsty revenge. He was owed a debt; he just didn’t know who was collecting the bill.

Who was left of the Michaels clan?

Would they remember they owed him?

If not, he could take the town from them by force. Something he preferred not to do now that so many humans lived there. He missed the haven it had once been. He wished to peacefully restore it, but he needed help with that task.

He smiled, recalling the number he had seen fleetingly on the sign, ‘Population 6,411, est. 1634’. The town had grown signifi
cant
ly since his last visit. Or rather, the last time he was there, fleeing for his life. The smile faded as quickly as it came as he was flooded by memories of the events that had transpired there in that small town all of those years before.

He hoped silently that the hunters and the pain would be avoided this time, knowing full well this was the last place on earth he should be. Unfortunately, it was the only place he could turn to. He slowed the SUV, allowing the scenery to warm him, even if it was only a minuscule amount.

The view from the highway was full of orchards bright with apples and small farmhouses. All of it was set back from the highway. He loved the tiny old houses with huge yards, and leaves just about to turn or already there. The air in the car filled with the sweet smell of the apples riding on the breeze.

“Nicolai, I need something to drink, son.” Miles coughed a few times and continued in his rough voice, “I think we have gone far enough for one day, my boy. Unlike yours, my back aches.” Miles laughed weakly, making a slight wheezing noise.

“Briton, not Nicolai. It’s been over a hundred and sixty years. You must remember to call me that.
Especially here.
And yes, we have gone far enough. We’re here, Miles.” Briton looked in the mirror at the old man’s worried face and spoke, “We’re in Wolfville.”

Miles sat up and looked out the window. “What? Why would we come here? Where will we stay, Briton? Your father’s estate sold the house here. No one will let us stay, not the way you are. People here have memories as old as Methuselah’s goat. And all it takes is one person to remember you. The Michaels will no doubt remember you.”

“I’m counting on them remembering me. They owe me.” Briton frowned. “You don’t sound like you want to be back. This is home for us. You were born here, old man.”

Miles laughed when he spoke, “Yes, and as I recall, we fled in the night, barely escaping the hunters. I don’t want to be back. This is not our home anymore. I was born here a very long time ago, and I have not missed it all these years we have been gone. Now answer my question, young man, and allow an old man his reservations. We’ll have nowhere safe to stay. Have you thought of that? These tiny towns don’t have regular hotels.” He coughed and shifted in his seat, looking pained. “I recall your father’s estate selling the property. Besides, I have never liked small towns, particularly this one. You stand out in a place like this one. And we probably won’t be able to get any of those spicy drinks we get at those franchise places. You know, the kai drink that I like so much. You know I have to have one a day. It keeps me young.”

Briton scoffed. “That’s chai, Miles. And yes, Father’s estate sold the house, but it was only to me. I own it. I have it taken care of by a lady from that family that Father was so fond of. She has run it as a bed and breakfast all these years, passing the deed down to my sons—who, coincidentally, were also me. We WILL have somewhere to stay, and I am sure we can learn how to make a chai. I have slain kings with my bare hands, by the gods I will make you a spicy tea.” He laughed and drummed his fingers along the steering wheel. “And it’s not so small here anymore. The town has developed a lot.”

Miles sighed. “This is a terrible idea. Did you knock me out on purpose so you might slip past the border of this dreadful state?”

“No. You don’t need knocking out these days. At any rate, I’ve informed the housekeeper we are staying on for a while and she is not to take any reservations. We will be safe. We were safe here once a very long time ago, and we will be again.”

“You never told me you bought the old place.”

Briton’s eyes lit up. “You would have talked me out of it.”

“I wish you had given me the chance to. We should have cut our ties from here. This is the place it started, and I fear this is the place it will end.” Miles shook his head. “You’re asking for trouble coming back here. It’s too soon. The scars here are older than anywhere else.” His dark-brown eyes glassed over for a second with severity. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Briton nodded hesitantly. In truth, he didn’t know what he was doing, but he had always been a fan of the ‘fake it till you make it’ sort of attitude.

He turned the huge black SUV onto Willow Street, the road home. He felt less confident the farther into town he got, but he knew the Michaels were an honorable family who would remember the debt they owed him. He just wished things could be the way they had been, if only his brother had been able to control his urges. He shook his head, trying not to think about it.

No good came from memories. Remembering and feeling, weaknesses he couldn’t afford, and yet struggled to fight.

His stomach gave a twinge as he saw the huge white mansion at the end of the road. It was as pristine as the day his father had built it. He parked in the driveway and turned the SUV off, but instead of climbing out, he sat and reminisced. No matter how hard he tried not to let them, the memories flooded his mind. Even if no good came from them, it was wonderful to remember his family.

He recalled so many things at once. He was barely hanging on as they came with all the feelings he didn’t want. Big things, like his father teaching them to be regular men and his mother teaching them to be gentle whilst doing it. Little things, such as the huge white gate at the corner of the house that they had all built together, his brothers and father. His mother coming out to bring drinks with the maid, and of course, one of the neighbor girls she felt was suitable for his eldest brother. He laughed softly, remembering the cloud that passed over his brother’s face when he realized he was being matched with a girl he neither liked nor wanted. Their mother insisted it was a way to blend into society with the others.

Everyone in the family had laughed at his brother all night at the Harvest Ball as he had been forced to dance with his newly betrothed.

Suddenly, coming back to reality, he looked sharply at Miles. “What day is it?”

Miles shook his head. “Perhaps the twenty-first.”

Briton felt his eyes light up. “Of October?”

Miles nodded, opening the door. He looked tired of sitting in the car when a comfortable bed was calling his name inside. Briton smiled, certain the old man would be in a tub in no time.

When he looked up at the front door that his mother had answered so many times, he frowned to see an older woman in her place. He barely recognized her, but if he looked hard enough, he could see the family traits. He remembered her family well. Their families had always been close.

His father had told him to always get someone from her family to watch over the family home. She was the last of her line in the family, no children. But her sister had a daughter, if he recalled correctly.

He missed his family for one more second and then climbed out of the car to see the sun setting off in the distance. The air smelled the same and held the same crisp feeling.

“Why, young man, you look a spitting image of your great-grandfather at this age. I have seen pictures and you are identical. It’s a very odd resemblance.” Her voice was soft, “Uncanny.”

“Ms. Whitburn, how are you?” Briton smiled at her as she held her arms open for a hug.

He hugged her, desperate to absorb the sweet smell of homemade bread and jam that she had no doubt just finished making.

“Your father, Nicolai, was my grandmother’s favorite of all of the boys. She always told us about your family, when I was a girl. You were named for him, if I’m not mistaken. You are also Nicolai. I saw your name on the deed to the house when I had to renew the insurance.” She let him go and put her hands on her hips and looked him over.