The Fickle Winds of Autumn

70. A Troubling Voice

Ellis tried to relax into the familiar shape of the chair, safe in the evening sanctuary of Aldwyn's chambers. Its smooth, worn frame held him comfortably at the table as before, but the cheery crackle of the fire seemed distant and cold; it receded into a vague and distant past, as the goose-bumps crawled nervously along his arms.

Perhaps the stress and shock of the fight for the Quillon was now finally seeping out through his distraught memories into his skin?

Or perhaps the days of hard travel and damp coldness had taken their toll?

The unsettled seasons were changing - the grey autumn skies had already begun to look south for their winter home.

Certainly the journey had not been an easy experience - pursued at first by the Reever scouts, and then by a guilty friction of dissonance for the deaths they had caused.

But they had captured the Quillon successfully - Aldwyn should be able to use it and help the world - to save it from the witches.

But this victory did not seem to have pleased his old master - indeed, his actions had become even more peculiar and eccentric since they had fled the Reevers and the marshlands.

Perhaps the burden of the Quillon was beginning to take its toll on him? Or even a worsening of his star-taint, brought on by the exertions of the journey and the fight?

It was difficult to know these days - he had become so distant and withdrawn since their arrival at the Cathedral.

Perhaps his old memories of expulsion still wounded him?

Or the clandestine nature of the stones which built its sacred walls forced him to secrecy?

The previous closeness of their friendship seemed as nothing to him now.

Even Kira had been quiet on the way back. Through the bleak autumn daytime, her skin was pale and wan; and she kept rubbing her shoulder and hand when she thought he wasn't looking.

But the fearful stillness of the sleepless nights had also brought dark, stalking worries about his own condition.

That strange ringing in his ears was still there - an unwanted companion since his head struck the ground in the fight with the Reevers. Probably it was a simple concussion - but it shouldn't have lasted so long - and he was almost sure, as he lay helpless on the ground, counting the hollow heartbeats until his death, that the ringing buzz had called out his name, in a breathy, metallic tone.

That cold, eerie voice still haunted his wandering, fitful dreams - a voice that had distracted him from the brutal heat of the lava and the perilous reality of the fight.

He thought about mentioning it to Aldwyn on the journey back - but the deep fingers of fear had gripped him and bound him fast - perhaps this might be the sad beginnings of his own youthful star-taint?

Was this how it started - with strange voices in his head?

Besides, Aldwyn had more pressing matters, and needed all his energy to shield them at nights - there was no need to bother him with such a minor complaint - or such a tragic one.

And if Kira should hear them discussing it?

What would she think?

How would she react to such a weakness in him?

Would she still want to be with him - knowing he had such a terrible affliction?

Knowing his life would inevitably change and end?

The fraught worries shivered down his back; his skin alert to the possibility of some awful new reality.

Aldwyn took the Quillon from the depths of his robe and placed it carefully on the table.