Of Truth and Beasts

With his back to her, he stopped a few paces down the keep’s left side and lowered his head. Whatever that leather object was in his hand, he appeared to be tucking it inside his hood. When he raised his head again, he didn’t turn to her. He just stood there with his hands limp at his sides.

“Ignite the crystal,” he said, his rasp sounding strangely muffled.

“What?” Wynn gasped, and then she had a notion of what he was up to.

From the gloves and scarf to the cloak, he’d planned this. What was he trying to prove?

“You don’t know if that’s enough protection,” she said. “And you’re too close.”

“Ignite it!”

“No.”

Chane held to his resolve. Reason had not been enough, as she would not listen. She had to see one thing, beyond a doubt.

“I’m not playing this game,” she said.

Chane heard her footfalls in the autumn leaves as she began walking away, and he reached for his sword’s hilt.

“This is not a game.”

In one motion, he ripped the blade from the sheath and turned with a level slash. The tip of mottled steel passed a hand’s length before Wynn’s throat as she lurched back. Her eyes widened in sudden fright, but Chane did not stop. As the beast rose within him, he lunged in, reversing his slash without a pause.

“Chane!” Wynn cried out.

He brought the blade tip back along the side of her head, so close that she could hear its passing in the air. Brittle aspen branches snapped as Wynn twisted away along the autumn trees. She lost her footing and toppled into the bailey wall.

Chane faltered for an instant, but he could leave her with only one choice, and he cocked the blade for a direct thrust.

“Mênajil il’Núr’u mên’Hkâ’ät!” Wynn shouted.

The world flashed blinding white in Chane’s eyes.

* * *

Wynn sucked in cold air that burned her lungs, as the lenses turned black against the glare.

This wasn’t some reckless test of Chane’s to withstand the crystal’s light. He’d been the one to demand Shade stay behind. Why had he turned on her after all the times he’d fought to keep her from harm?

The glasses’ lenses quickly adjusted, and Wynn shed no tears from the intense light. She gripped the staff with both hands as she saw Chane. At first he was little more than a black silhouette beyond the burning crystal.

He just stood there with his sword’s tip dangled against the hardened earth.

“Chane?” she whispered, and the sight of him grew more distinct.

Inside the cloak’s hood she saw the glint of round glasses with black lenses, the ones she’d exchanged with him. But she didn’t see his pale features around them.

She saw only pure black, like when she’d stared into the cowl of Sau’ilahk’s black robe. There was no Chane, just a featureless darkness broken only by those round, pewter rims that focused on her.

Why had he attacked her? And why did he now just stand there?

“Look at me!” he rasped. “Do you understand what this means?”

Wynn didn’t answer, for she didn’t understand. She finally shook her head, holding on to the staff so tightly that her hands began to ache.

Chane lunged at her.

Wynn tried to swing the crystal into his missing face. He grabbed the staff above her hands and turned it aside. She tried to pull it free, but her effort was futile, and she knew it.

He didn’t take the staff from her. He just stood there, gripping it, his missing face much closer now.

A leather mask completely covered his features.

The look of it made Wynn cringe. Then she felt something else. The staff was shuddering in her hands. She glanced only once, fearful of changing her focus too long.

Chane’s arm was shuddering, the tremor spreading into her staff. She spotted the quiver of his hood’s edge. He was beginning to shake all over.

“Look at me,” he said. “If I can stand in the sun crystal’s light ... if I can resist it with so little preparation ... how could you know Sau’ilahk is gone?”

All her terror and anger at his seeming betrayal twisted in her throat.

“The wraith ... cannot ... not ... that easily,” Chane whispered, and the shudders were now in his voice. “You only believe ... wish it so.”

Wynn felt something fracture inside of her. Her worst swallowed fear, the one she’d pushed down so hard, leaked from that crack. She shoved at Chane.

“No!”

Chane stumbled back as he released Wynn’s staff, though her little force would have done nothing to him. He lowered his head, turning from the searing light ... and from the agony on her face.

All of his skin prickled and stung, like the memory of a blistering sunburn in the youth of his lost life. It sank deeper and deeper with each moment, eating away his strength, but he was not burning ... yet.

If he had to, he could now withstand the crystal’s light for a while. But he could not bear to look into her eyes. He heard her breaths come in shudders, perhaps sobs, but she still said nothing more.

If he had to burn for her to make her face the truth, then he would.