Sunrise

Chapter Seven: Aftermath

He was a fast runner, faster than she, encumbered by the large sword and exhausted besides, so after a brief trot she gave it up and slowed to a walk...it wasn't as though she didn't know where to find them, and meanwhile she was dubiously mulling over Taran's blurting out of the name Gwydion. What did he mean? What was...?

Hoarse cries and sounds of a scuffle interrupted her thoughts, and she rounded a pile of boulders and gaped aghast at the sight before her: Taran, his sword drawn, wildly slashing at the foliage and underbrush. From somewhere behind the leaves, the plaintive and indignant shouts of Fflewddur Fflam were begging him to leave off. Had he gone mad?

She rushed forward, narrowly escaping a backswing off the sword, and grabbed Taran by the wrist and shoulder, throwing off his balance. "Stop it!"she shouted, shaking him frantically. "What's the matter with you? That's no way to treat him — after I went through all the trouble of rescuing him!"

He rounded on her so wildly that she fell back, in real terror for a moment. He was flushed from his exertions, but beneath the unnatural darkness of his face he was horror-stricken, his features contorted with shock and grief. "What treachery is this?"he flung back, his voice shattering like crystal hurled against a wall. "You...you left my companion to die!"

Her mind blanked, automatically, behind a wave of defensive instinct; she scrambled backwards, gasping for breath, grasping for an explanation, but no words came, and he advanced on her like a thunderstorm. "I should have known! You've been in league with Achren all the time. You're...you're no better than she is!"

They were words like axe blows, and her heart was battered by the onslaught; she barely registered that he raised his sword arm toward her; she was already shoving past him, as a deluge might crash into a boulder and tumble it violently away, a mindless destruction bent on nothing more than escaping down the path of least pain. Before she knew she had run, she was gone, out of earshot of his cries, but her own anguish chased her, in a blazing fury, and she did not know that the leaves sizzled as she swept past, wisps of smoke curling from their shriveling tips.

She ran until she had no breath, and dropped to the ground, gasping, fingers clawing painfully into the damp turf and tearing up chunks until the smell of earth and bruised moss welled into her nose and throat and choked out the flames of the fury that filled her up, snuffed it into a smoldering heat, simmering just under her control, and the mind that had been left behind in the blaze came running to catch up.

Animals. Animals. Not to be trusted.

Ordinary people do not understand us. They will betray you. Hurt you.

Your books may speak of love. Of friendship. They are weak substitutes for power, the grasping of mortals for that which they cannot have.

She sobbed, gulped, pressed her hands over her ears, but the voice came from within. Even buried under a castle's worth of stone, Achren would haunt her, that relentless voice speaking lies.

Were they lies? She wanted them to be lies. But...

Eilonwy clawed at the ground, angrily ripping up chunks of moss and throwing them as hard as she could at a nearby boulder, watching them leave dirty streaks, like blood, down the rough surface. If that...that assistant pig-keeper were here wouldn't she love to smash some in his face. He was horrible, unspeakable; he'd actually raised his sword against her and she would never forgive him for it, never, not even if he begged.

It was her own fault. She'd let her guard down, trusted him, even, made herself vulnerable. Trust is a chink in your armor, Achren whispered, from far away; she saw those white teeth and red lips in her mind and rose, growling out loud. If you don't care, no one can hurt you.