Lord of the Night

Chapter 61: Prophecy

Kardki led me to a cavernous chamber filled with lanterns, tables, chairs, and mattresses. Wrinkled blankets draped each makeshift bed, and imprints marked pillows, but whoever had slept here had now vacated. Only two people remained: my father lay on a mattress, and Fraschkit crouched at his side.

I jogged over and dropped to my knees beside Fraschkit. My father's chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. Sagging skin carved deep creases around his mouth and eyes, and his shirt-pant set hung loose on his gaunt frame.

I swallowed hard. "Dad, it's me, Remgar. Are you ok?"

He showed no sign of having heard me, and I wasn't sure what else to say. After several seconds passed in silence, I turned to Fraschkit. Her black shirt-pant emphasized the fiery orange of her hair, but her face looked washed out, her usually golden skin faded to Demon-pale except for the dark bags beneath her eyes.

"Do you think he might have hit his head?" I asked.

She breathed a sigh. "The Sitaklasa doctor came by earlier, and she doesn't think he sustained any injuries."

"Maybe he needs water? Or... has he eaten recently?"

"Remgar... you won't be able to get him to take food or water right now."

"Right. Did anyone try putting a wet cloth on his forehead?"

"Yes, we tried that. We tried many things."

My shoulders sank with my shaky exhale. "Of course you did." They didn't come get me at the first sign of trouble—they came to me as a last resort. They doubted I'd be able to help perhaps as much as I had doubted it, and I was proving to be just as useless as I had feared I would be.

When Fraschkit sent me a sympathetic glance, I forced a grim smile. "Thanks for being here with him. It must be hard to take the time away from everything else you have to do."

"Your father helped us too. Without his visions, Borgal would have led us all into the barn by now." Then she checked her watch, and her brow furrowed.

"You need to be somewhere else?"

"Sorry? Oh—yes, I need to go meet with Bakvar and the other leaders of the Mantle, but that's not what I was looking at." She rubbed her palms across her eyes. "I was hoping for a report from the team we sent out to warn Borgal's followers, but it looks like the Mantle isn't connected to the Guardian's underground network."

Though this wasn't good news, it was easier to discuss this than to talk about my father. "How is that team doing? They gave you an update before we left Sitaklasa, didn't they?"

She nodded. "They visited Anyalasa yesterday, since it's close and low-risk. That went well. The mayor is skeptical of our news but equally skeptical of Borgal, so she promised to pass on the warning. But today's mission might be harder... there are more Guardians in Torglasa, and they rarely agree on anything."

"They are going to Torglasa today? Isn't your family still there?"

"Right."

I frowned. "But you're not going?"

"There's too much to do here." She eyed her watch again. "Hey, I really need to leave for that meeting. Can you look after Vosgar?"

"Of course. He's my—" My voice crackled, and I cleared my throat. "He's my dad."

I hadn't intended to make any great statement, yet my own words hit me hard. Had I really considered not even coming to see him? He was the only family I had left, and I could lose him at any moment.

Fraschkit punched my shoulder, too gently—more like a nudge. "I'm sorry, Remgar."

When she left, silence hung like a suffocating blanket. In a couple hesitant motions, I laid my hand over my father's hand. Once, his hand had encompassed mine so easily. Now our hands were the same size, but his felt so fragile. Bony, cold, dry.