102 - "No Forgiveness" - DeFrantis

DeFrantis felt sick.

Her head throbbed and her arms ached. With an unsteady stumble, she made her way down the corridor. It was dark and empty. It was not the kind of welcoming darkness that she always found underneath her blankets as she slept, but a cold and haunting void that made it hard to see more than a few steps in front of her.

She leaned against the wall, steadying herself. There was a light ahead. She tried to focus her eyes to see what it was. It came into clarity gradually. It was a door, with bright lights shining out from underneath, through the cracks in the doorway. There. I'll go there! It's not far. Then I'll lie down and rest.

DeFrantis looked at the floor in front of the door. She leaned forward and took a step, still touching the wall for support. She stepped again. As she walked, she saw that the door didn't seem to be getting any closer. Confused, she walked faster, trying to maintain her balance.

She stopped. What's wrong with the floor? It was fluid and flexible, not firm like it had been moments before. It rippled and stretched below her. She felt the hair on her arms and neck get tense as a coldness blew down the corridor. What's happening? What's going on?

DeFrantis broke into a run, trying to reach the door. She only took a few steps before she fell. Her knees and hands took the brunt of the impact, shooting pain through to her spine. She tried to stand, but her hands were slippery. Her head drooped, as she gasped for breath. Wait, what's this in my hands?

She looked. Her hands were coated in blood, and one of them held a small, thin, silver dagger. Blood soaked the floor before her, and it was splattered all over her sleeping gown. She screamed and dropped the dagger.

But it didn't drop. She still held it in her shaking hands, unable to open her fingers.

She heard a distant cry. A child's voice. A little girl. Where is she? Where is that cry coming from? She scrambled to her feet and lunged for the door, flinging it open.

The blinding light hurt her head. She shielded her eyes. A man stood silhouetted in the doorway, towering over her. She screamed again and stumbled back. He raised his hand and pointed at her.

"You."

"No!" Her eyes adjusted and she saw the chest of his shirt was drenched in red. She looked in his eyes and recognized him. He had been one of the soldiers in the manor house. She screamed again, "NO!"

"It was you!" He leaned forward, but rather than stepping, he fell. DeFrantis jumped back, slipped and landed on the floor as he crumbled, chest down, before her.

DeFrantis heard the child's cry again. "I'm coming! I'll save you!"

Another figure stepped up behind where the man had stood. She was not as tall, and not as broad, but somehow, just as formidable. She was wearing the dress of an older peasant woman, ragged and stained. "You killed him!"

DeFrantis shook her head, but she couldn't speak. She looked at her bloody hands, and the bloody dagger. She opened her mouth to explain, but said nothing. She couldn't deny it.

"You killed MY SON!"

"I... I didn't want to!" DeFrantis stammered, "He was... The children were..."

"What do YOU know of children!" The woman shouted. She grew taller, stretching and warping her neck and forearms, her hands reaching out toward DeFrantis. "YOU KILLED MY CHILD!" Her arms and body twisted and snaked toward DeFrantis like thick leather whips, snapping tight. Her hands grabbed DeFrantis' face and pulled her forward, drawing her nearer. The woman's distorted face screamed again, "YOU KILLED MY CHILD!" Her fanged mouth opened wide to bite into DeFrantis and tear her apart.

DeFrantis' body shook with jolts of fear and pain. She twisted, trying to free herself from the grip of the madwoman's hands. She tossed her shoulders and turned her hips, finally shaking her blanket free. She opened her eyes, gasping for breath. She felt the cool summer air from the dark, open window flowing lightly across her sweaty shoulders and nightgown. Gentle moonlight also streamed in through the window, falling across her legs, and reflecting dimly onto the familiar walls and ceiling of her small chamber. She frantically grabbed the folds of her nightgown and held them up. The cloth was white. Her hands were clean. There was no dagger. No blood. No screaming mother.

She wiped her hand across her forehead, then over her head, pulling her hair away from her face. Her breathing slowed, eased, and she rested her limbs into her thin and bumpy mattress. She passed her hand over it, then gripped it, tentatively, feeling its reality.

She looked to her left, along the chamber's wall, and saw other mattresses and blankets, and the peacefully sleeping forms of Karendle and Thissraelle. She could hear Karendle snoring softly.

From down the hallway, DeFrantis noticed a child was crying.

103 - "The Soothing Darkness" - DeFrantis

DeFrantis hurried down the hallway toward the child's voice, shaking the sleep from her head. The lantern she held wobbled back and forth, making shifting shadows before her. She reached out to steady herself on the wooden wall, and half-wondered why the corridor's floor wasn't undulating or stretching. She paused for a moment, squeezed her eyes shut, then looked again, seeing more clearly.

OK. The dream's done, isn't it? This is real, right? Marisee is still crying. DeFrantis lurched ahead, her walk getting more stable as she awakened. She must've had another nightmare, too. When will this be over?

It didn't take DeFrantis long to reach the hallway of the orphanage wing. The first two doors were the dormitories. Boys on the left, girls on the right. She hurried to the right. The room was long and high, with about a half dozen small beds all along one side. Each was little more than a billowy blanket stuffed with straw spread on the floor, with pillows and blankets above. Wrapped into each one was a young girl. In one, halfway into the room, Marisee was sitting up, crying out. As soon as she saw DeFrantis' face in the lantern light, she stopped sobbing and began simply sniffling, wiping her face with the loose folds of her oversized sleeve.

DeFrantis rushed to her bedside and reached over to hug and soothe Marisee. The girl was small, and frail, probably no older than seven winters. Her nightdress was someone else's larger shirt. "Did you have a nightmare?" DeFrantis felt the girl's head nod against her shoulder and felt her labored breathing. "It's okay. I did, too."

"It was h--horrible! It was a h--huge dragon, like that m--man said! It was going to eat--eat me up in one bite!" her voice trailed off into crying again.

DeFrantis held her close and stroked her hair. "It's OK. You're safe now. You're safe." Memories passed through her thoughts. Back in Twynne Rivers, there were many nights of frightening dreams. Childhood is full of them. She used to calm the children and promise that she would always protect them. I can't say that any more. I can't always keep that promise. Tears swelled up in her own eyes. I can only promise to fight for you. She couldn't say anything. For the moment, all she could do was to make a sweet shushing sound as she hugged and rocked the girl back and forth.

In between sobs, Marisee begged, "Can you make it dark?" This simple plea took DeFrantis back too those long nights of fear and sleeplessness in the city. They were usually when the storms would rage around whatever flimsy shelter they had found. Once they had settled into the old chapel, those nights had become less frequent. Maybe it was because it was strong and stable, or maybe because it was a chapel, but it was much easier for the children to sleep there. Still, there was one thing DeFrantis could do when the fright would not go away.

DeFrantis raised her head, closed her eyes, and focused her will. Slowly, the shadows along the wall, under the beds, and down the hall began to swirl and flow toward her. They gathered around the bed, coalescing on the child in her arms. She was quickly engulfed in shadow and darkness, a darkness DeFrantis knew well. She felt the shadow begin to absorb all of the fear, tension, and uncertainty from her, draining them all away. Marisee also relaxed in her arms and stopped crying as the cooling dark swept away her fears.

Within moments, DeFrantis felt the child's breathing slow to an easy rate and she knew Marisee was sleeping again. DeFrantis released the shadow, letting it subside, and the room was dim once more, dark, but lit only by the lantern at the bedside.

She eased the girl back into the bed, drew up the blankets, and gently stroked her hair away from her eyes. Smiling, DeFrantis stood, and picked up the lantern. She walked through the room once, quickly checked on the others, who slept soundly. Then, she returned to the hallway, lingering for only one last checkover at the doorway.

104 - "The Welcoming Dawn" - Antonerri

The morning sunlight from the small window reached across Antonerri's chamber and slowly drifted down the wall and onto his shoulders. It didn't take long for it to warm his face and cross the threshold of his closed eyelids. He rolled over, yawned, and stretched before he sat up and raked his fingers back and forth through his hair.

He tossed off his blankets and stood, then sauntered over to the small table with the washbowl. He lifted the pitcher and filled the bowl. As it settled, he could see his reflection in the water. He rubbed his beard. It was coming in quite full. He turned his head from side to side, admiring it. Should I shave?

He wet and soaped a rag from the table and rubbed it all over his cheeks and chin, then picked up the razor next to the bowl, opened it and wet the blade. As the water settled again, he looked at himself. I don't know. DeFrantis says she likes it, but it itches, and it's hot in the summer...

He raised the sharp and dripping blade up to his neck, stretching his chin out. After a moment to consider, he closed the razor and dropped it on the table. He used the rag to wipe his face and rinse out his beard. Then, he cleaned himself off, and dressed.

He eased down the stairs into the galley, and nodded to the trio of monks who were starting to prepare the mushy grains that would become everyone's breakfast. Antonerri was not fond of it, but it did help him start the day with a full belly and enough energy to get things done. Around their feet were buckets of fresh milk and baskets of eggs full from the early morning chores. He stepped toward the tables at the other end of the room, then stopped.

DeFrantis was there, sitting, with her head leaning into one hand, propped up by her elbow on the table. She was hunched over a pottery cup with dark brew steaming up into her face. Her hair was strewn messily around her face and her eyes stared vacantly into the cup. Her shoulders hung low and her shirt was skewed, like she had not paid attention to how she had put it on.

Oh. She doesn't look well. This was not how she normally looked at the table each morning. Antonerri was usually there first, able to get the brew started and have her cup waiting for her. I'll have to handle this delicately.

She didn't move, didn't seem to even notice as he approached and stepped behind her. He put his hands gently on her shoulders and leaned forward to kiss the top of her head. She stirred, raising her head and leaning back into him. He smiled, "Good morning, beautiful."

DeFrantis groaned and sank back down. He kneaded the muscles in her shoulders for a second then turned to the pot to get his own cup of brew. He walked around, sat across from her, and took a tentative sip from his hot cup. "You don't look like you slept well."

"I thought you said I was beautiful."

"Always."

"I'm not feeling so beautiful today." She took a longer sip. "You're right. I didn't sleep well."

"Another nightmare?"

DeFrantis nodded. "And Marisee also. The poor girl. She asked me to use the shadow. That got her back to sleep. But I remained awake."

"Can't you do that magic for yourself?"

DeFrantis sighed, "Yeah, and I have before. It's very soothing in the moment, but it doesn't last." She sipped again, slurping. "In the end, it's just easier to roll back over and try to sleep."

Antonerri looked at her sad and exhausted face. His face of hope. The face that had saved him from himself. He smiled, in spite of the situation, and reached across the table to cover her hand in his.

She looked up at him, her eyes dripping. "Antonerri, you were a soldier. How do you do it?"

His brow tightened. "How do I do what?"

"How do you press on, live?" she sniffed. His look was still confused. She went on in a whisper full of shame, "I killed someone! I had a blade in my hand and I used it. I killed! Not just the one. There are others who are dead because of me! How do you ever get over that?"

He set down his cup and took her other hand in his, and looked deep into her pleading eyes. I can't count how many times I've asked myself these same questions. "I wish I could tell you. I could say that I was just following the orders of my officers. I could remind you that you were fighting for the lives of frightened, helpless children. I could remind you that the slavers and guards and wizards would have eagerly killed you, and almost did. I could tell you how wonderful it is that you can now be here, alive, with me, and be able to comfort a crying child in the night..."

He leaned in close. "But none of that really answers the question, does it?" She sighed and shook her head.

Antonerri continued, "I just carry on. I just keep going. The Creator hasn't ended me yet, despite my best efforts, so there must be some reason. Maybe you're that reason for me."

She allowed herself a smile, then leaned into him for a kiss. She slowly stood, picked up her cup, and held out her hand for him before they walked back to the orphanage rooms.