Across the ocean Book 1: On the run

Chapter Nine : The Nightmare

The stench of puckergrape vinegar was not pleasant, but better suffering it than the buzzing of mosquitoes in your ears. Mayen hated those bugs. Looking at his sleeping father in the dim light, which the fireplace provided along with the comforting noise of wood cracking, he felt like he could have some time with his steelaïn dagger. It was strange to feel like he needed to wait to be alone when the only other person in the room had been aware of it since the very day he had received it. Looking at the blade, it felt like any other blade made of metal: no blueish-grey light emanated. He longed for going outside and let the moonlight touch the thin surface and see the steelaïn react.

Nothing prevented him from opening the door and taking a walk outside, yet he felt so good in cozy sitting next to the fire. He would eventually go out when his need to relieve himself would demand it. For now, he simply enjoyed watching those red flames which some described as tongues of fire, but for him seemed more like blades of grass moved by some wind despite there being none.

Thoughts came to his mind, some of bravery and exploits which a future him would enact with the imperial emblem at his side. He prayed in a soft murmur.

-"God of our Ancestors, if it pleases you, please... Please grant me my wish to serve you and defend your causes. To be a shield for the orphan and a sword against the darkness."

Expressing his desire felt like eating honey, except words were coming out instead of sweets inside. How he reminded fondly the Tuskiol which had carried Commendar Spencer. Those eyes of intelligence looking at him. Mayen wondered how smart they were compared to horses. He closed his eyes while running his fingers in a caressing fashion on the dagger. Despite the sharp edges, he knew he would not cut himself because he had touched it so many times in the same way before as to know every bit of it by heart.

-"I swear... I mean... My intentions are without sin, is all I want to say. This is not for adventure or self-accomplishment; this is for you oh Lord our God." He sighed uncomfortably, fearing he would be denied for what he was about to ask. "Your servants have in the past asked for signs, others have received a message from one of your angels... I... Please forgive my foolishness in asking such a foolish thing but... If it is your will, oh God, please..."

Unease flowed in him, something similar to guilt but in same time closer to intruding or disturbing maybe. Opening his eyes, he ended his prayer by cutting off his request and simply begging for forgiveness and leniency. How could he dare ask of the God of Creation a sign for a foolish dream of his when already he had been granted indirectly a vision? Heat came over him, not because of the fire though he did move back a little, but from the rushing of a deep fear within him. Who was he to tempt a God, the only true God? Had he asked in the past to be part of his majestic plans? No he had not done so, ever. Yet here he was, with a dagger with his own name on it, and with the knowledge he would have a role to play for the future of the Empire. Was it not enough? How greedy could he be? A shiver came up and down, a tremor in his soul at the realization of how sacrilegious he had been to use prayer as a mean to further his own ambitions and dreams. Self-accusations swam in him with a weight which would crush him.

In same time, an invisible hand touched his heart and calmed the overwhelming guilt. The fluttering which plagued both the heart and the stomach, to the point it did hurt as if someone was stabbing him, melted away like snow in the spring. Mayen could not notice the hand, although he did feel better for it: it took away almost all the dread, though what was left was so little that it faded into a discomfort.

There had been no sin in the prayer, but it had indeed been stopped intentionally by someone the boy had yet to learn to trust. Like any other boy, he had dreams, and as countless others he had voiced them in a prayer. This time was not different, though it was on a different level, to those prayers he had also done every night when begging to become a knight in the future. What had been different was the demanding of a sign, of a miracle. Such requests were not wrong nor bad but were to be taken most seriously. Now was not the time for whoever was calming Mayen's shame to explain, simply to show a loving care which only grace and mercy could afford.