Eve of Enlightenment

Chapter 46

"Well... half brother," the man counters when I insist that she is an only child. Somehow, the distinction doesn't make it any more believable.

"Listen, we should get to my cabin. It is getting dark. I can explain there."

I have less than no inclination to prolong the conversation, not when Mab might be in trouble, but neither can I charge into the situation without all of the facts. I don't even know why he is so strongly against her return. Surely I know more of the situation than he does. Still, I can't be certain.

We traipse through the valley, Braugh in the lead. Unanswered questions race through my mind as I attempt to count the days since she has left. Could I possibly intercept them with that lead? Would they listen, if I did? All thought of my own family has been tabled.

The cabin is a weathered, broken thing, though Braugh has done his best to mend it. He gestures for me to sit, and I do, though my patience is strained. When I am handed a warm mug, I drink it without asking. The liquid seeps into my stomach like fire, and I relax.

"Dager has connections all over this part of the world. Business partners, traders. He is a very rich man, and he has not gotten that way by being kind." I tip back my mug and listen with interest. "My mother was a renowned seamstress. People would come for miles to be fitted for the dresses she made. We weren't rich, she could never bring herself to charge much, but she was never short of customers."

"He came to her, wanting a large order to sell in his stores. When she refused, he grew violent." The memory clouds his expression, and he redirects.

"My mother, you see... She liked the personal touch of making something for someone. She like to see their light of surprise. To fit them as well as their personality. That was why she was so popular. She didn't want to make something generic. Nor did she have the time to fill such a magnificent order. It was just her. But he wouldn't listen. He said he wanted the very best, and she was the best, so he would have her."

"He stayed with her for months, driving out her customers. He took everything. And he left her... with me."

"I heard a lot over the years. That my father was a business man. That he was married somewhere with a beautiful, young daughter. Part of me hated that he could have such a life after what he did. That he could find happiness and love and a family. Because of him, we could have none of that."

"He would visit sometimes, treating my mother like an old flame instead of a victim. He told me once that he wished I was legitimate. He needed a son to help him with the business. Offered me a job, once." Braugh scoffs. "A job. He is my father. He should have offered me a life."

"When she went missing, he came here to look for her. I have never seen him so angry. He looked... inhuman. I was terrified. For myself. For her. But why would she come here? No one knew of us. Even my Enlightenment was performed in secret. Dager insisted on it. After everything, at least he gave me Jas."

"What do you think he would do?" I wonder in a hushed voice.

"I don't know, but I have seen what he can do, and there is no end to his violence. She disobeyed him. Made him into a fool. He will want revenge. Blood matters little to him. I alone am proof of that."

"He'd kill her to make a point?"

"He might. I wouldn't put it past him. He killed my mother."

"They have no idea," I say, half to myself. "I have to go! I have to stop them!"

"Best of luck to you. I am staying well away from it. Dager has taken enough from me."

Wart appears to sense my urgency as I slam the rickety cabin door behind me. His tail whips around me as he is energized by my passion. I scramble up the steeper slopes of the mountainside on hands and knees. My wrist is still stiff, having never healed correctly after the break, and it begins to ache from the exertion. My muscles sing with adrenaline.

Forgotten is the new moon along with all immediate hope of seeing my parents. They will be here. One day. Mab needs me now.

My parents' house is unlocked. There is no reason to bar it in this unfrequented section of mountainside. There is nothing to steal.

I don't even bother to bandage my bleeding scraped and bleeding hands. I throw my few possessions I have into a pack, don my climbing shoes, and close the final stretch to the peak.

The others have returned from the hunt, and the village is gathered in the Great Hall to revel in their accomplishments. At least I can say goodbye to all of them at once.

The chief is confused at the sudden need for departure, but I have no time to explain. I beg for one last favor. I need provisions.

They are not nearly so pleased to see me go, but they are generous nonetheless. I take as much as I can carry, I thank them, and then I have to go.

My completed sword is given to my last by the puffing blacksmith. He must have run all the way home to get it. I examine the pristine blade with awe. Its weight feels perfectly balanced in my hands. I am not yet worthy of it, but I hope to be.

Fastening a scabbard to my waist, I sheathe the weapon and embrace him. Will I ever see these people again? I feel as if I am going off to war, and, in a way, I am. My gratitude is effusive and insufficient. When I leave, I feel as if I am finally heading home.