Forbidden Lineage

Chapter 15

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Locke:

“Damian?”

“Damien!” He rapped on the door again, this time impatiently.  “I know you’re there!”

The door swung open slowly and a tall, lean figure stepped aside to let him in.  “Sorry it took so long.  I didn’t hear you.”  Damien ran his hands over his smooth bald head and waited for him to enter.  

“That’s weird.  I thought your hearing was…”

“I was busy in my workshop out back.”  He cut in.

“Right.  I thought we could talk for a while, catch up on old times.”  Locke smiled.

“Hugo was here last night, so save the games.”  He turned tiredly and waked into the kitchen.  “Come on in.”

“I didn’t come to play.”  He muttered, stepping inside and closing the door.  He looked around the dimly lit space, never having been inside the man’s home before, as he followed him past the kitchen and into the sitting room.  Everyone knew that Damien was one of the best carpenters around, his pieces decorated many of their homes, but the workmanship of the furniture in here was clearly done with years of practice, patience and love.  Arrays of carved animals were displayed around the room.  Some were life sized, like the larger birds and critters that were familiar around these parts, but others were small enough to be regarded as toys, though just as splendid.  He stopped and picked up a little wolf, the details so vivid and eye catching, he could almost see her in all her glory.  Damien cleared his throat and held out a glass of water and a plate of oat biscuits.  He’d been so caught up admiring the place that he didn’t notice him leave and return.

“Sorry, I don’t have much in the way of food or drinks.”  He dropped the blinds, and switched on the lamps.

Locke had never known the man to be poor, but then again, he’d just found out that he’d never really known the man to begin with.’

“Thanks.”  He took the glass from him and put the little animal back on the ledge he picked it up from.  “You make these too?”  He asked, taking a bite of the biscuit and munching away obligingly.

“Yes.”  Damien went to sit on one of the wooden chairs and left the plate beside him.  He waited for him to take the other.  “You’re not here to buy furniture, so what do you want?”

Little drops of condensation formed along the outside of the glass, slowly coming together before racing downwards.  Locke caught the first drip on the knee of his jeans and watched it soak through.  He put the glass down on a coaster, careful not to mess the shiny ebony tabletop, then dusted off his mouth and steepled his fingers, taking note of the sickly pallor on Damien’s face even in the poor lighting.  He took his time before speaking. 

“We’ve known each other for centuries.  When you came to us for help, we let you in, even though our kinds are poles apart.  Your people and mine are old foes, and still we treated you as one of our own.  We let you live among us, gave you a home, allowed you free reign of the forests, knowing full well what you fed on, yet you kept all this from us and put our families, our loved ones in danger.”  He paused thoughtfully.  “What I want from you is the truth.  Nothing more, nothing less.”