Eyes Closed to the Sun--An
Epilogue
Part 2
The smell of her perfume tickled the back of his nostrils. It was a sweet, delicate scent, like fresh pine after a spring rain. And when he breathed it in he felt that he had taken it into his very blood; it circulated within him. He could feel it travel through his heart and into his hands, and back into his senses once more. Such a beautiful fragrance.
Ashley opened his eyes, slowly, as the burning sunlight was anxious to invade upon his momentary reprieve. When the yellow orb spilled upon his senses in full it caused him to sneeze. Beside him, a young voice giggled, "Papa sneezed."
He smiled, allowing that voice to enter him. It belonged to the boy that sat next to him: a more beautiful and innocent being he had never seen. His brown hair was soft as a goose’s downy feathers, and his eyes the wide, eager beggars of a newborn pup. They were his father’s eyes, as he’d often been told.
"You’d best not doze off," Tia scolded. "The meal I prepared will not keep for long in this heat."
Ashley sat up with some effort, as the soft earth and warm sun were tempting him toward slumber. He gazed briefly about the open scenery he’d chosen for their afternoon outing: the plains seemed to stretch out forever. The sky gleamed a brilliant blue, and the wind swept lazily about them with no greater strength than a breath, barely stirring the palm-sized leaves which made a canopy over their heads. It was a warm, rich summer day: he could not have designed so splendid a backdrop himself.
Beside him, Marco suddenly took to his feet and began to run about, having spotted a curiously shaded butterfly nearby. Ashley smiled at him fondly, then turned to the second figure: Tia. She was reaching into the picnic basket they’d brought with them, removing a bottle of white wine purchased from Ashley’s recent increase in pay. She looked marvelous that afternoon, with her golden hair pulled away from her sleek and beautiful face. Without thinking he leaned over and kissed her briefly on the lips.
Tia stared at him, smiling with amusement. "And for what was that?" she asked.
"For your love, Madam," he replied simply, his eyes gleaming.
She sighed through her laughter as she poured the wine for them. "Ashley, you are constantly proving yourself to be a most interesting husband."
Ashley grinned, and had the impulse to kiss his wife once more, but then Marco trotted up to them. "Papa, a sip of water," he pleaded.
"Have a sip of Papa’s wine, Marco," Ashley offered, smirking subtly.
Tia glared at him briefly with admonishment. "Wait right there--I’ll fetch some water," she told her son. She climbed gracefully to her feet, and touched her son’s head briefly. She smiled down at Ashley. "Don’t you dare let Marco have any wine," she instructed firmly.
Wait. This isn’t right.
Ashley smirked again, and rose up on his knees, pulling his wife into a brief kiss. Her lips were cold.
No, not again. Spare me this pain.
He settled once more, watching as Tia moved away. She lifted a slender hand to shield her face from the unrelenting sun as she ventured out of the tree’s comforting shade. Marco smiled and seated himself at his father’s side. Ashley turned to look at him, and was startled to see that the boy’s skin was deathly pale, his wide eyes shielded by a layer of depthless glass.
God be merciful, make me not see it again.
Ashley rose to his feet, aware now that he had entered the dream plane. Though his instincts pleaded for him to do otherwise, he turned toward his wife. She was far away now, a spot of purest white against the flowing emerald hills. But he could already see a figure approaching, drawing a blade. He wanted to yell out, to scream, to sheath the blade in his own flesh if possible, but he couldn’t. When the assailant swung his arm he wanted to look away. But the horror held him transfixed, and he was forced to watch the metal piercing her perfect flesh.
Ashley stood rooted, his body frozen painfully, his eyes wide and burning. He barely saw the arrow that passed by him, nor heard the sickening impact of its shaft entering a human heart. His gaze was locked forward, on the form of the killer that even now stared back at him, dark eyes impassive and cold.
His own eyes.
Ashley awoke with a start, chest heaving in want of air, trembling on the cold, hardwood floor. His skin was damp with cold sweat. He was lying on the floor of the inn room, covered barely by the spare blanket--he’d thrown it aside as a result of his nightmares.
Yes, a nightmare. A nightmare….
Ashley sat up with a growl of frustration. "Why?" he hissed, covering his face with his hands, trying to scrub away the visions from his eyes. "Why must I…?" He forced himself silent, to endure, even as the haunting images would not fade from his restless mind. At last he pushed to his feet. He moved to the window and flung it open, feeling confined in the musty-smelling quarters. They’d arrived in the small town of Bevllou only to find a single room available: Sydney had been granted one bed, while Merlose and Joshua shared the next. Ashley was unaccustomed to sleeping in the presence of others; achieving even a precarious slumber had been an ordeal, given their shifting and sighing and the thick odor of Sydney’s blood in the room.
Even when I wake, the nightmare continues. I thought this cursed brand to be at least one form of salvation. He rotated his shoulders, feeling the dull sting of the marks in his flesh. Even now it burns, he thought sourly, wondering how it must have appeared to an observer. And why should it not? Sydney’s beloved Dark has always brought nothing but pain to those who would wield it.
Ashley glanced over his shoulder at the figure slumbering nearby, lying on his stomach amid many carefully arranged pillows. His color is worrisome. Were he not immortal, I’d say he had but a few hours of life left in him. He ground his teeth and turned away once more. But he will not die. As…I cannot die. He raised his hand before his face, watching the tendons in his wrist twitch as he moved his fingers. Is it true? Am I…an immortal? Does my power exceed even Sydney’s, as he so avidly believes? He frowned. But if that were so, would I not be able to reach the truth within my own mind? I have been forgiven--why must these doubts linger?
Ashley closed his eyes and took a deep breath. If Sydney can bear witness to the pasts of others, certainly I can scry upon my own. Though he had no idea what he was doing, he concentrated on the memories from his dream. He saw the rolling plains, the broad-leafed oak, the perfect sky--
"Ashley?"
He grimaced, losing his focus, as if a door had been shut the images fled from his mind. He sighed. "Aye?"
Agent Merlose was watching him from her bed--he didn’t turn, but he could feel her eyes lying heavily upon him. He wondered briefly why she too would be awake at this late hour. "Are you ill?" she asked quietly, moving to join him at the window.
"Nothing to concern you with," he replied. He didn’t glance in her direction, but continued to stare straight ahead, at the slumbering village.
Merlose pursed her lips, standing with one arm cradled loosely in the other. The night air prickled goosebumps along her flesh. She stared into the face of the man at her side--his eyes were focused and cold, like dark jade. But there was pain beneath that mask of indifference, as she felt it, inside herself. "Ashley, won’t you tell me what troubles you so?"
"It is not of your concern, Agent Merlose," he repeated solidly.
"You had better rest for tomorrow."
But she did not return to bed as he had suggested. Why won’t you let me help you? She lowered her head, wondering if he knew how deeply his anxiety was troubling her. She felt connected to him, somehow. All throughout Leá Monde her prayers had been on him, her only chance for escape. Countless times she’d jumped at the slightest noise that might indicate his presence. She’d even sensed him with her, if that were possible, sharing her eyes and ears; and, once, she’d unwillingly done the same. It was a brief incident--her sight had flooded with a vision that was not hers, of terrible beasts being slain at the end of a sword. And in that moment she had felt the resonance of the stab traveling up her arm, the terrifying thrill of murder. The memory was so clear to her that it might as well have been her own.
And then again, as the cursed Leá Monde sank into Hell, the walls crumbling--she had called to him. She wasn’t sure how she had done it, whether she would be able to do it ever again, but if for only that once, she touched his soul. She had never experienced such a thing, and the thought of so inadvertently intimate a contact intoxicated her. Surely they were connected.
Merlose reached out, her fingers trembling as they slid along the man’s set jaw. He started at the touch and stared at her sharply. He was unused to such contact--she was inexperienced. She was searching for the bond, the clarity that had for a moment been hers. Her fingertips drifted across his chin, as if to invite him closer.
Ashley didn’t move. He continued to stare at her, his eyes unchanged. "What are you doing?" he asked quietly.
"I…." She gulped, struggling between frustration and confusion. "I…do not know," she admitted, recoiling. "I thought…Ashley, you must have--"
"Stop addressing me in that way," he interrupted firmly. "We are not so familiar."
Merlose bit her lip, oddly upset by his characteristically insensitive words. She felt as if something inside her were shaking. "I…forgive me. I merely…." She broke off, at a loss for words. Why do my hands tremble so fiercely? What is this effect he has on me? She gulped. If only my Heart-Seeing remained, I would at least come to comprehend the eyes he lay on me. "I…want to express my gratitude."
Ashley turned his gaze once more to the window. "It was not I who rescued you."
"Truly so, but…." She shook her head. "I also want…to apologize. My irresponsibility placed you in a difficult situation. I had hoped to prove myself to you, somehow. And yet I failed even as their hostage…."
"Prove yourself? Wherefore?"
"Because…." Again Merlose failed to compile her turbulent thoughts into words. "I…know not why. I…." She clenched her fists and rallied her courage. "Agent Riot, tell me what transpired within the city," she demanded. "I have seen much--things I must report to my superiors. But if you can supply a reason not to, I…I shan’t return. I shall remain silent. But you must give me reason to."
"I have no such reason."
Merlose started, glaring at him in surprise. "But--"
Ashley lifted his chin in a gesture of subtle defiance. "Return. You are weak, Inquisitor. You could not hold your tongue before them, whether I persuaded you or not. Return to that path. It suits you." His eyes flickered briefly to her. "And for the present, do not concern yourself with me."
"I can do no such thing!" she cried, unaware of the sudden raising of her tone. She didn’t want him to reject her--she was shaking, seized by an emotion greatly resembling panic. "Why do you refuse to understand? I cannot let you be!"
"Our acquaintance is but two days old." His brow was knit in confusion. "What has come over you?"
Merlose shook her head fiercely, unable to explain. What has come over me? I feel like a frightened child. "Ashley--Agent Riot. You…you seem so cold, right now. More so than when we approached that damned city together but a day ago. It pains me to see a man so…so lifeless." She licked her lips, made nervous by his narrowing eyes. "As if I am seeing another of Müllenkamp’s demons reflected in your countenance."
"You have no right to pass judgments on me," he replied stiffly.
"And I claim no rights. I merely…wish to help you." She reached out again, not knowing what her intentions were, only knowing that she had to touch him. Had to somehow prove to herself that he was warm flesh, not the cold, pale leather of a corpse.
Her hand pressed lightly to his cheek once more, and she was relieved, feeling the movement of live muscles beneath her fingers. For a moment—albeit a brief one—the coal eyes regarding her seemed to soften. It was as if they had switched, for he now bore the face of a man who gazed upon a phantom; some long forgotten memory now pulled into half-life before him. It must have been some great span of time that he had been deprived of so simple a tenderness.
Merlose leaned forward, spurred on by the twisting restlessness in her gut. With the gentle innocence of a child she kissed him softly. For a brief moment she was filled with a feeling of comfort, as he did not recoil, allowing their lips to meet even as he did not return the gesture.
But before she had even the time to either pull back or deepen the kiss—whichever she decided upon—a sound of pain filled her ears, like a cry that was strangled in the throat. She felt its breath spill over her cheeks and chin. In the next instant Ashley snatched her arm and flung her away; her back struck the wall with a loud thud. Though the pain was only minimal, she felt his same grief welling in her throat, and unwillingly released a quiet sob. She steadied herself carefully against the wall, as her knees were suddenly of little stability. She lifted her gaze.
Ashley was still at the window, one hand clutching at its sill and the other covering his face. She could see nothing of his expression—only that the muscles along his neck were drawn tight. No—it was not my intention to hurt him. Her throat constricted painfully. "Ashley, I—"
"Go," he whispered hoarsely from beneath his palm. "Leave me be."
No, please do not reject me. Merlose held a hand against her trembling heart. "Please forgive me. I—I was only—"
Ashley’s hand fell from his face to join its kin on the windowsill. "Get out," he breathed, staring out into the darkness. His jaw was set, his eyes again as cold as ever she’d seen them. "Leave me, now."
"But I—"
"Get out."
Sydney watched the entire scene from his vantage point on the bed: Ashley’s shoulders hunched in pain, Merlose’s watering eyes as she fled from the room. He shook his head slowly. It was amazing to him how two experienced Heart-Seers, connected as they were, could so misinterpret each other so horribly. "You have much to learn, Ashley," he murmured to himself.
Quiet as he’d been, however, the Riskbreaker whirled on him. "Silence!" he barked, exchanging confusion and grief for anger. "I’ll have no more of your riddles, Sydney."
Sydney pushed himself up shakily into a sitting position. Though the brief rest had done him well, he was still in poor condition at the moment. "No riddles. Merely fact. Why do you refuse to use the wonderful power I have given you? The power—"
"For what purpose? To steel the Inquisitor’s very thoughts?" Ashley scowled in distaste. "The soul—a woman’s soul—is a thing I dare not take advantage of. Perhaps such injustices were without consequence within your damned city, but I am free of that now. I have my conscious to answer to."
"Do you mean to say that you have no interest in our companion’s most recent thoughts?" Sydney asked wryly.
At this Ashley paused; he’d been ready to retort that he needed no such knowledge, as was clear in his face, but then hesitated. His shoulders drooped, and he stood back. "I have no right to seek for such things," he murmured.
He smirked. "And so you will not pervade upon her mind, even as she pervades upon your body."
"Enough," Ashley snapped. He shifted restlessly beneath the man’s piercing eyes. "I am through with you, Losstarot—our hunt ended long ago." The courage began to boil in his eyes. "I’ve no care for Agent Merlose: tell me my truth."
I would that I were able. But this is a truth you must clasp from within yourself, for even I dare not enter the depths your soul has created. Sydney straightened carefully. "There are so many—"
"No--tell me plainly." He stalked forward, fists clenched and jaw tight. "Tia--was she real?"
Sydney couldn't help but lean back. Though Ashley was most likely unaware, he was radiating a strong aura of hostility, amplified by his Dark powers. Its potency was setting all of Sydney’s own defenses on edge. "I cannot answer plainly what I do not know," he replied in a calm, even tone. Though usually he would allow himself to speak with far less seriousness, he knew better than to provoke the man, given their relative states of temperament and health.
"I will not accept that. You plucked the memories from me twice before--you must know which is false."
"And yet I do not." My own excuses pain me, Ashley. I cannot give you peace.
Ashley glared at him, somewhat surprised by the man's admission of a weakness. "How can that be? You do not know?" His face twisted into a look of wrath. And suddenly his hand shot out, snatching Sydney's arm and pulling him until their foreheads almost collided. "You will answer!" he demanded.
"But I--" Sydney realized then that he was trembling; a strange, paralyzing fear had entered him. He could feel Ashley's Dark aura pressing upon his flesh like a layer of hot, suffocating sweat. The metal joints of his arm ground against each other, making soft squealing noises in the otherwise still room.
"I followed your trail into the city," Ashley continued, his voice low and growling. "I gave chase through your labyrinth, felled the beasts you summoned to test my strength." The corners of his eyes twisted. "I…I even trusted you, Sydney, when I had every cause to do otherwise. I abandoned my very faith to ponder the visions you called 'truth.' You swore to me--burned into my soul--those wretched tales. If they be false…." He trailed off, still holding Sydney's arm in a grip that would have easily bruised normal flesh, shaking in fury. "If you threatened my sanity on a whim, then I…."
Sydney inhaled slowly, then gasped. All about him were the images of Ashley's soul: the pale, cold phantoms that speak to the Heart-Seers. There were dozens of them, their eyes flashing, spilling forth accusations. He could not hear their words because of the sheer numbers of them. They were condemning, cursing him, as it had been his false promises that gave birth to so many conflicting voices. The man's anger, his injustice and uncertainty--it bore down on him, choking him.
No, this is not why I chose him. The fear was still within him as well, and only now did he realize its source. He had felt it on nights such as this, wrapped within nightmares. It was the dreaded failure that haunted his existence--the image of the tyrant whose rage would destroy their fragile world. It was the horror and shame that Guildenstern had carved into him, knowing that his savior was too late. The eyes that gazed at him were narrowed in hate, so much like Guildenstern’s, like Rosencrantz’s eyes….
No, I could not have chosen falsely. He--he is my savior, my Chosen One. He would not misuse the Dark. Even as he thought these things he felt the man's power burrowing deeper into his flesh. This cannot be. Ashley, you cannot be what I see in you now.
Sydney lashed out with his own power, weak as it was, hoping to drive the Riskbreaker back and dissolve this foolish rage. Ashley did recoil, surprised by the suddenness of the attack. But a moment later the face twisted in pain and betrayal. His hand lifted, and with a sweeping, almost careless-seeming manner he sent a nameless spell at the man. Sydney wasn't prepared to defend from such an attack. His body seemed to crumble, throwing him on his back--thankfully the bed was there to catch him. But even so his only crudely bandaged flesh cried in pain at the impact, and the scraping against the exposed nerve endings. His voice, threatening to rise from his throat in a sound of agony, was choked by a clot of blood. He gagged, trying to expel the warm, sticking mass.
Ashley…attacked me?
Ashley came to his senses a moment later. He stared down at the man he’d struck--or hadn’t struck, he couldn’t remember now which. There was only a hint of satisfaction upon seeing the man’s suffering. He should suffer, as payment for all that I endured at his hand.
A sigh escaped him; it sounded remorseful, and he wondered at its origin. And when he looked within himself he saw a truth he didn’t expect: he didn’t want to punish Sydney. There should not be any animosity between them anymore. They had left their grievances behind, in the crumbling city walls.
Ashley stepped forward, helping to roll Sydney on his side, so that he could more easily eject the blood obviously clogging his windpipe. He held the man steady as he trembled, and used the sheet corner to wipe his mouth of crimson. His body is frail after all. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, glancing away uncomfortably. He was ashamed--he’d attacked a wounded and unarmed man without even realizing. Is this the power Sydney was so eager to bestow on me? This thoughtless, instinctual aggression? For all his nobility and righteousness he still resorted to a coward’s tricks to snare me. Even I am an unworthy host for the Dark.
The Riskbreaker released another sigh, this one of his own accord. Perhaps…I can do something for him. He cleared his throat, and said, “Sydney.”
Sydney shuddered, though he was slowly regaining control of his body once more. He gulped down several deep breaths. “Don’t apologize,” he replied weakly. “You were just.”
Ashley frowned deeply. I might as well attempt. Though he had no idea what he was doing or how to do it, he focused his mind on the man below him. “The pain cannot be much,” he murmured, as if the words were a chant. He pressed them into the cultist, willing him to believe them, as he had been willed to believe in the past. “The hurt is already subsiding.”
Sydney’s shuddering gradually ceased. He licked the blood from his lips with a sour face. “Aye, so it does.” With a groan rolled onto his stomach once more; he gave no indication that he’d noticed Ashley’s subtle mind-willing. “Ashley, I admit that my methods were cruel,” he said quietly. There was a genuine regret in his fragile voice that the Riskbreaker did not expect, and was startled by. “The fault lies with me. But you must believe me when I claim to have no truth for you. It eludes us both.”
“Explain,” Ashley demanded eagerly.
“We share a rhythm, you and I,” Sydney began, his metal digits curling. “You were most likely unaware, as I guard my own mind well, but I felt the connection between us. I must confess that I took advantage of that thread, following it deep into your mind on many occasions.” He opened his eyes, though he would not look up at the man. Their gentle brown shade was covered by a layer of hidden emotion. “It was almost intoxicating; I have never heard a mind quite like yours--and I have heard many. The whispers within it never cease.”
“All well and fair--now go on,” the man prompted, anxiety making his words sharp.
Sydney did not raise his eyes, but continued to stare straight ahead. “I told you once that my knowledge of the past comes from voices, not visions,” he obliged. “I heard the voices from your history--a woman, a child, a man. But the more I listened I grew less certain. There were too many voices.” He sighed. “So many voices. Not even I could untangle their web, leaving the truth shrouded.”
“What spiders lay within my mind, that spin such deceptions?” Ashley murmured, his anger fading away into the uncertainty and confusion that had awoken him.
“I know not. However….” His tone lowered in remorse. “It was never my intention to cause you this agony, Ashley.”
Ashley nodded faintly. He turned his head away, again toward the starry canopy of night, hoping that the gentle darkness would calm him somewhat. He was a bit startled to find an apparition sitting upon the windowsill, one leg pressing against its edge to keep the body steady, while the other hung outside along the inn wall. It was Sydney, looking older than the boy image he’d seen the previous day, fully clothed in leather garb. He, too, was staring out into the heavens, like an angel that had been cast out of them.
Ashley licked his lips, waiting for the ghost to speak and grant him some insight. But it did not make a sound, did not twitch or strengthen or fade. It merely sat, gazing nostalgically at the distant forest. At last the Riskbreaker asked of the real Sydney, “Which voices ring most clear to you? What do you believe?” If he lies or evades, his soul shall tell me so.
Sydney shifted slightly on the bed. “I cannot say. They are mixed well, and sometimes I can’t tell them apart, let alone who speaks strongest.”
Ashley glanced at the apparition at the window. It was not alone: another image leaned against the wall nearby, arms crossed and head tilted upward. He was seeing his own misty shape now, and frowned, trying to understand the meaning of such an occurrence. Sydney’s apparition parted its lips to speak.
“So, you shall marry her.”
And to this Ashley’s image replied, “I shall.”
“You shall be happy, then.”
“Aye.”
Ashley frowned. What was this he saw, playing out a scene before him? It was no memory of his.
“But we shall still talk this way, shan’t we?” asked the window-perched phantom.
“Aye. That, my friend, shall never change.”
The players vanished, and Ashley inhaled sharply through his teeth. “What mockery is this?” he whispered. He was shaking slightly, yet from what he could not tell. He turned on Sydney. The blond man was watching him curiously, yet with similar eyes as those shared by the Heart-Image a moment before. There was a strange sorrow in those eyes, like those of a corpse filled with unanswered questions. It was an expression that touched him, deeply, and tainted him with fear that held no source. He didn’t want to be beneath those shining orbs.
Ashley shook his head fiercely, trying to drive the many images and voices from him. And without realizing it he exited the room--he did not retreat with long strides and half-choked sobs, as Merlose had done, but with slow, weary steps. He did not notice Sydney’s deep sigh, nor that Joshua was missing from the second bed. He only walked out, into the night, seeking solace.