The Sword of Light - Chapter 8

The world faded in and out. Ferin felt himself wrapped in warmth and contentment, like a babe in a mother’s womb. He heard, only distantly, the lapping of water on rocks and birdsong borne on gentle winds. Sweet summer sun shone down to warm him and the bed of soft earth and rock where he lay. Even behind closed eyes, the light was blinding.

He mentally examined himself. He was sore, as though from exercise, but otherwise the only pain came from the sharp pounding of his head. His mouth felt dry and hot, his stomach sour and in want of foodthough the idea of eating nauseated him.

Blearily, he opened his eyes.

Ferin found himself on the lakeshore, barefoot and naked from the waist up. His breeches had been torn and frayed in several places as though cut by little knives. He examined the flesh of his arms, torso, and legs beneath the frayed breeches, but found no injuries apart from those he’d received from his fight with the bear the day before.

Something was in his hand.

He looked down to find a shard of iron in his right hand. It gleamed silver in the sunlight, and Ferin winced against the brightness. About two hands in length, it was smooth, shaped, and reminded him of the end of a sword. Cuneiform markings fell in two rows on each side of the blade, but Ferin could only guess at their meaning or purpose.

What is this thing? Ferin wondered distantly. Where did it come from, and why do I have it?

He tried to think back to the night before, but it was all a blur. He could recall nothing after Faolan had joined their reverie.

Groaning, Ferin rolled his neck and shoulders until he felt a satisfying pop that loosened his sore muscles. Groggily, he crept to the water’s edge and cupped handfuls of cool water to his parched mouth. The water soothed the dryness of his mouth and throat. Ferin welcomed the relief until his stomach cramped suddenly and painfully. He grit his teeth, trying to keep from retching. He groaned again as the cramp subsided, and he was left feeling worse than before.

Ferin got shakily to his feet. He took a moment to steady himself, head still pounding from drink. By the sun’s position, he judged it to be about midday.

Never again, he thought bitterlya false affirmation.

When he was confident he could walk, Ferin began making his way home, the shard of iron still in hand. The well-trodden roads and grasses made for a soft journey on his bare feet. He kept his head down as he made his way through the tath, partially from embarrassment, and partially because daggers of light and sounds stabbed at him wherever he went, forcing him to nearly double over.

At last, he was home. He stepped inside and welcomed the cool, quiet darkness within. Stripping out of his ruined breeches, he set the iron shard on a table in the corner, and briefly cleaned his balls and underarms in the wash bucket in another corner. He dried himself, and, naked, climbed into bed. The mattress of goose down and heather was blissfully soft. His eyes fluttered shut.

He would have to make his apologies to Ceridwyn later. He hadn’t meant to stay out the whole night and leave her alone and worried.

Ferin was just drifting off to a much desired sleep when the door coverings moved aside suddenly, flooding the roundhouse with light and sound. He groaned and pulled the blanket up over his head for protection. “It’s true” he heard Ceridwyn say from the doorway. There was something strange about her tone. Ferin lifted his head and turned to regard her.

She dropped the door covers and stormed over to the bed. Colour rose in her normally placid face, turning her cheeks and ears a deep crimson hue. Emotions played across her visage in rapid succession, as she seemed to search of which one best suited her at the moment. Relief, worry, anger, joy, apprehension. She settled on anger.

“Where have you been?” she demanded shrilly. Her eyes gleamed as though with fever, turning rheumy as they filled with white hot tears. She ignored them, letting them fall unabated as she chastised him.

“Ceri” Ferin grumbled. He ignored the complaint of his body as he moved into a sitting position.

“Do you know how long we looked for you?” she went on, ignoring him. “I’ve been sickcrying myself to sleep every night, wondering where you were; wondering if you yet lived. I had to find out from Pema that you were back. You couldn’t bother to come find me!”

“Ceri”

“And here I find you, sleeping as though nothing had happened! Ferin II” her voice broke with emotion. Her body visibly drooped as the anger fled. Her expression gave way to release and fatigue, and she all but collapsed onto the mattress beside him. “I should hate you,” she blubbered, “but I’m just so glad you’re back”

“Ceri” Ferin began trying to explain himself, but suddenly her mouth was on his. She showered him in wet, hurried kisses over his lips, cheeks, and brow. Her arms went around his chest, her face finding the hollow of his throat as she wept.

Ferin found himself at a loss. “Ceri,” he said, his voice thick with the aftereffect of the night, “don’t you think you’re over-reacting? It was just one night”

Ceridwyn froze suddenly. Sniffling, she detangled herself from him and met his gaze. Her brows knit together. She looked at him as though he had said something to terrify her. “Ferinyou’ve been gone for three days.”

“Three?” he echoed incredulously. She nodded. “That’s impossible” he said slowly. He felt distinctly uncomfortable. “I was out with the others only last night. We were on the lake, celebrating. Imust have had too much to drink so they took my shoes and tunic and left me by the lakeside as a joke.”

Ceridwyn shook her head, now looking worried. “Your friends have been scouring the lake for you. They” she paused to swallow, looking as though there was a bad taste in her mouth, “thought you’d fallen in and drowned. They thought you dead, but couldn’t find youryour body. Rowan has hardly said two words all this time.”

Ferin said nothing. Three days? he thought. How could I have been asleep for three days? How could no one have seen me in all that time? A sensation not unlike falling was beginning to churn his stomach. Uncertainty made him feel small, disconcerted, and keenly self-conscious. A peculiar and distinct fear tightened in his chest. He had never before been unable to rely on his own memory. It wasdisconcerting.

He frowned, trying to think back, but his mind was in a fog. He recalled the night with clarity. There had been dancing, singing, laughing. The drink had flowed freely, taking them all under its giddy influence. They had built a bonfire. Faolan had arrived with the oak crown. Then nothing.

There had to be moresomething that would explain what had happened. The tightness in his chest redoubled. His hands and legs began to itch. He was filled with a sudden need to do something. To act, to move, to flee form the unhappy feelings squalling inside him. Ceridwyn knew her husband better than he knew himself. She forced him to meet her gaze and gave him a significant look. “You should speak to Birg,” she told him.

“But”

“Whatever it is can wait,” she insisted. “Birg is both wise and powerful. If anyone will know how to find your answers, it will be her.”

Ferin bit his lower lip, contemplating her words. “You’re sure?”

“I am.”

He nodded, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He stood, legs still unsteady, and dressed quickly. Ceridwyn watched him with trepidation from the mattress, looking as though she wanted to say more, but uncertain of the words. Ferin wanted to ask her what she was thinking, but feared her answer. He frowned, biting his tongue as he donned breeches, tunic, socks, and boots. He needed answersneeded to make sense of what had happened to him.

Turning to Ceridwyn, he bent and possessed her mouth in a long kiss. His mind was racing and fearful, but whatever he was feeling for the moment, she had been living in anguish for three days. He wanted to offer her an apology for what had happenedan explanation. He had none. When he pulled away, she looked up at him with large, sorrowful eyes. Ceridwyn had always been beautiful. Seeing her now, tearful and hurting, he wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms and kiss her again and again, burning away her woe with passionate fire.

“I have to go,” he said, as much to himself as to her. “When I come back, I’ll have answers.”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Ferin kissed her again, briefly this time, and hurried out the door.