IMMORTAL SECRETS: THE SACRIFICIAL LAMB

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR - ACCALIA

How did Solom find me in my dreams?

Finally alone in the cottage to live destructively in my thoughts, I can't help but see Solom vigorously searching for answers about Chandresh, and then, when his identity is learned, hunting him down. The horror replays itself, each time, after my Night Monster's blood is covering Solom hands. So I'm relieved, when I spot a small boy, maybe eight, standing next to the front door. The simple clothes and coat over him tell me he's poor; he's pulling the coat tighter to his body like he's cold. I glance to the many windows in this cabin, ice spidering across each, and realize my winter Nisse magic again is freezing my room. I concentrate on the small boy, instead of on Solom and Chandresh, so it'll settle.

The small boy holds folded fabrics and something furry, a coat no doubt considering the bite in the air outside. The smile curving his lips says this boy is friendly, but the raise of his eyebrows says he's unsure of me.

"Here's some clean clothes and a coat," he squeaks shyly, "in case you want to shower and change." He's holding them out to me.

I say nothing and make no attempt to move. The depression binding me to the bed is squeezing my insides. The sourness of my stomach bubbles. I breathe through the nausea but never take my eyes off the little boy.

"Do you want the clothes?" he asks.

Again, no answer from me. The funny thing with depression, it selfishly locks you inside yourself to relive the traumatic events you can't control and to obsess over your unsure future. There's no screaming for help, depression is smart, it takes away your voice.

After some time, the small boy's smile falls. He walks to the bed, places the new clothes at my feet, looks at me with hopeful eyes, once more, and then sadly walks back to the front door, opening it to leave. I hear talking outside. Words are indecipherable, though, and then they're gone with the shutting of the door.

The front door opens. Glancing up is involuntary and so are the rude thoughts towards my unwelcome guest.

I notice, through the half-braided midnight hair touching his waist, the air-swirled marks etched across his bare back. After closing the door, he faces me. His hands are scarred from fire. Wind marks swirl up his arms. Lash scars on his chest, from Solom, amongst his scars from fire. Gray circles his brown, mourning eyes. Even though he ran away with me, he remains wearing the leather and feathered pants made at Solom's castle. A simple coat warms him. One would think he'd change by now, not wanting anything left of Solom. Maybe he's waiting until his daughters are also free. His slumped posture and the way he's cradling his stomach says he's in the same dark place as me but faring a bit better.

Go away, Bali, is what I want to say. What I say is nothing.

Bali walks to the bed, while rubbing his scarred neck, and sits next to me. His hands are now folded in his lap and his head cast down. He stares at his boots. Minutes pass, before he lifts his head to look at me. With glassy eyes and a red nose, he opens his mouth to speak. He quickly shuts it and gazes down again, concentrating on his breathing. His eyes lift to me, when he says, "I hope one day you forgive me." On the last word, tears begin streaming down his cheeks.

I was expecting a mention of Lucky and Lyn. Maybe blame me for Solom recapturing them the way I blame myself. This is unexpected.

"Your father," Bali breathes, "I grew up with him. Your birth father, I mean." Bali chokes on his words. His crying is subtle. "He was my best friend. Your father Azaz, Chetan, Lucas – Chandresh's father – and I had been inseparable since we were five."

Thinking of the past, Bali begins laughing through his tears, "We used to sneak out our bedroom windows at midnight to meet up and play in a neighbor's sandbox. This neighbor would never let us play during the day." He falls silent to picture innocent times, lost there for several heartbeats, wiping the tears that keep falling. "When we were home alone every summer," he continues, flipping through his life like a book, "we'd go to your father's house to ride down his stairs in boxes, on blankets, and we ruined his mattress." More laughter through tears. "It looked like a sleigh, curling up on one end when we were through with it." Bali laughs are genuine. "Your father, Azaz, lied to his mother saying humidity was to blame. She believed it, since the summer was unusually hot."