Displaced (Wingless: Book Two)

5. The Messenger

Tane

                I awoke to the sounds of shuffling feet against rock. Immediately, I shot up into a sitting position and whipped my hair out of my face with a flash of my hand. My eyes took no time to adjust to the faded light as my eyesight was not the best to start out with. The first thing I saw was him. Or, a silhouetted version of him. Azurael was no less formidable in the daytime. His shoulders blocked out most of the light, his hair catching the excess dulled-out daytime and holding it prisoner.

            "You wake like a Prestigious One!" He exclaimed it so suddenly that my heart nearly fell out of my mouth. He laughed and the sound put me more on edge; I was not used to laughter. I stood, grateful to notice my legs had refrained from shaking, before allowing the sight of him to focus and color—however slightly. "Well, don't just stare. Out with you!" There was a flurry of motions from his arms mostly, making me back up further and further until I was indeed standing outside of the cave. All the while, he never stopped talking. And, oddly enough, smiling. We were in Abannon! What was there to smile about?

            He bustled past me as if I had delayed his progress to somewhere important. Stunned, I whirled around, stumbling after him. He couldn't just leave me in the middle of the outlands. I willed my legs to cooperate with my brain and managed to keep pace with him. His stride was longer than mine, but his feet seemed to want to go in several directions at once. That particular gait made following him less strenuous.

            "Going home, little lamb. Only stop for tea," he rambled. I didn't know what tea was, but I hoped it meant either rest or sustenance. He wasn't making any sense, but I knew as much from rumors in Edent. To shut away the sharp pain of homesickness, I examined his frantic form. The bleak light highlighted his many scars. To decipher that he'd been in a war would have been an understatement. Before I could ask, his muddle-minded speech was directed at me. "No wars, silly lamb. There are no wars here yet. Training for the wars, now that is the game we play."

            The man spoke of war when obviously he was not in his right mind. He bounded over rocks and small ledges, never once looking back at me. From what I gathered, I could wager that his eyes, if not fixated on me were preoccupied with everything else. Even though his sporadic direction leveled the proverbial playing field, his gait wasn't one of a normal speed. First, he trotted in a zigzag pattern. Then, he strode briskly across the plains of Abannon as I remember Dethany did when she had to relieve her bladder.

            "War? What war are you training for?" I asked. My breath hitched at every leap I made in an effort to keep up with him.

            His voice was like a ripple, wavering out across the space between us and washing over me. "The one you started." For some reason, his actual accusation did not unnerve me as much as his distinct silent refusal to look at me did. Stunned, I halted my steps, not so sure I wanted to follow the legendary man any longer. But Azurael spared no thought to my shock and scrambled up and over a collection of forgotten boulders.

            The sudden disappearance of the only sign of life I'd seen in Abannon jolted me out of my still state, and I sprinted after him. As I did so, I couldn't help but think (for what must have been the hundredth time) that this ordeal would have been so much more bearable with Gaius by my side.

            "This war you speak of," I blurted, avoiding a tumble by pushing my arms out to steady myself. "Who is it between?"

            The exiled Prestigious One had gained considerable distance since our short break from each other, so I had to raise my voice. It couldn't have been any louder than a gentle call, but it was enough to stop him. Azurael seemed to breathe for many moments, as if measuring his thoughts. Finally, he turned to face me, the unruly hair on his head shadowing his eyes. He was, however insane, a formidable figure.