Chapter 23: The End of Innocence
They were keeping an eye on him.
That much was patently obvious. With midnight now having approached, Dal began to realize that there was little chance of Lord Ashmere and Master Churbud both turning in at the same time. At the moment, the Paladin had gone inside his tent, and he could be heard snoring away. But Lord Ashmere? No, his eyes were still wide open, and they were trained solely on Dal—almost as though he knew that Dal was planning to escape. Hell, he probably did know.
But regardless, I am escaping tonight, he told himself. No matter what.
So far, Denin, the prince, Billee, and Raval had all gone off to sleep, but Jona was still awake, and so too was Rethi, though she was beginning to yawn continuously. It was as though she was fighting her own tiredness. Without a doubt, she would not make it another hour without passing out. And as for Jona, Dal had the impression that the boy was only up because Rethi was still awake. Perhaps, when she went to sleep, he would, too. And that would leave only Lord Ashmere to worry about.
And the familiar, he thought. Ravenia. But I doubt I'll have to worry about her.
It had now almost been twenty-four hours since Ravenia had last spoken to him, making it quite obvious that she was in one hell of a mood. Indeed, the black, skull-pendant-wearing familiar had spent most of the day flying around in the air, circling Dal and the others. Interestingly, she never strayed too far, always keeping Dal within her line of sight but seemingly unwilling to come any closer. Yet all that was irrelevant; the only thing that mattered was that she likely would not intervene if he tried to escape.
But she probably won't help me, either, he thought. She hates me for not being a Necromancer.
Dal turned his thoughts away from the familiar, as it was a waste of his energy and made him feel drowsy, which was the last thing he needed to be right now. Under no circumstance could he allow himself to doze off. He was relying upon his willpower to fight off his growing tiredness. Even still, a yawn managed to escape his lips, and with that, he took to rubbing his face in an attempt not to be lulled into sleep.
It was difficult.
The three equally spaced campfires crackled, and the light from them illuminated the area around their campsite. Up above, the stars taunted Dal with the idea of freedom and distance. He felt the ache for it in his heart: to be free, and to return to his nomadic travels. He needed to get out of here. He needed to leave Ostros. But he had to be smart about it. He also had to be careful, too.
And so, with Lord Ashmere on the opposite end of their humble and hastily erected campsite, Dal put his thoughts on contemplating his escape. But the more he considered his options, the more he realized how difficult this was going to be. And to be honest, he only really had two choices.
Option number one: make a break for it.
This was the least likely to succeed of the two possible options, because no matter how fast Dal ran, Lord Ashmere would be able to catch up to him in mere seconds, if even that long. And then Dal would find himself tackled, roughhoused, and he'd maybe even have his legs broken. Thus, that was just not a solution to this problem, leaving him with no other choice but to pursue the second option by default.
Option number two: wait for Lord Ashmere to fall asleep.
This was hardly any better than the aforementioned option, but it might just be the only thing Dal could do. Unfortunately, there was no guarantee Lord Ashmere would ever go to sleep, and in that event, Dal would be stuck waiting all night for a chance that did not materialize.
But in a way, that was okay, too, because Dal's entire life since turning fifteen had been a gamble. Again and again, a dice was rolled, and his fate was left to chance. In many regards, this was no different. Would Lord Ashmere sleep? Or wouldn't he? If not, Dal would end up eventually making a break for it. But for now, he would wait.
And so, he did. He waited—and he watched. Rethi was becoming very tired now. She was sitting on a large rock, and her head kept nodding forward. She wasn't going to last much longer: minutes, perhaps—or at least that would have been the case if she hadn't been roused to wakefulness by Master Churbud.
"DOLPHIN VAGINA!" his voice screamed in his sleep, loudly escaping his tent. Rethi's eyes popped open, and she looked around a moment as though confused. But soon after, she was back to slowly nodding off. Eventually, she shook her head, stood up, and actually glared at Dal.
"Fine, you win," she said. "I can't stay up any longer." And with that, she vanished inside her tent.
This left only two: Lord Ashmere and Jona. And Dal fully expected Jona to turn in for the night now that he didn't have to worry about Dal doing something untoward with Rethi, which he had never had any intention of doing in the first place. Thus, he was not surprised to see Jona get up from a similarly shaped rock he'd been sitting on and begin to walk.
What did surprise Dal was that Jona was heading his way.
Is he coming towards me?
He was.
With Rethi having gone to sleep, Jona made his way over to Dal, and the boy, turning around, took a seat on the grass right next to him, saying nothing for the moment. He merely stared at the fire as though content to listen to the sound of it, and for nearly five minutes, the two of them sat together in silence until, finally, nodding to himself, Jona said, "Should be about time enough."
"Time enough?" Dal asked him.
Jona locked eyes with him. "I realized something today, Dal."
"And what's that?"
Jona pointed at him. "You and I want the same thing."
Dal slightly turned his head sideways, confused. "We do?"
He nodded. "Yeah. We both want you gone. You want to leave, and I don't want you to stay. That's why, instead of being mad at you from here to Freewind, it makes sense I just help you get what you want—because that's what I want, too."
Now this was interesting. "And how do you plan to do that?" Dal asked him.
Jona grinned. "I already did." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "I put something relaxing and mild in Lord Ashmere's tea earlier. He might not look it, but he's struggling really badly right now to fight off sleep."
Dal tamped down on his emotions to suppress a gasp that might have roused Lord Ashmere. Could Jona be telling the truth? He took a moment to study the Dragon Knight's face. He certainly did not appear drowsy—or at least he didn't to Dal's eyes. Could this perhaps be some trick? Could the boy be telling the truth?
He probably isn't trying to trick me, Dal thought. He's fifteen and short-sighted. He's probably being honest.
If so, it was as of yet difficult to believe. Lord Ashmere looked many things, but tired was not one of them. His eyes, practically unblinking, had yet to gaze upon anything that wasn't Dal. Although…now that Dal thought about it, his lids did seem just the tiniest bit droopier than they'd been only a few moments ago, and he did appear to be straining somewhat.
"If you're telling me the truth," Dal whispered to Jona. "Then I truly appreciate this. And for what it's worth, I'm not interested in Rethi. You never had anything to worry about from me."
"Oh, bullshit," Jona said, using a word Dal strongly doubted he'd utter within earshot of Master Churbud. "Everyone's into Rethi. I mean, everyone who likes girls, anyway. I refuse to believe you're not."
Becoming confused for a moment, Dal repeated the boy's words in his head, and it was only after he churned them over a third time that he understood the root cause of the boy's misunderstanding.
"Jona," Dal began, "you're only a child. I might look like one, but as I'm sure you now know, I'm very far from it. And one of the things you learn as you age is that there's a difference between a crush and romance."
"What do you mean? I'm totally in love with Rethi. I've loved her since I turned twelve."
Dal chuckled. "No, you're not. You're not even old enough to understand what love is. No one is, actually—not until they've lost it." His words ended in a whisper, pain flaring in his chest as he tried to block out the typical patterns of thought that always tried to barge their way into his head.
The Red-Moon Massacre.
Guilt. There was so much guilt buried deeply within him, all of it locked in a cage he could never allow to be opened and released.
"Are you okay?" Jona asked him.
He nodded. "I'm fine." Smiling at the boy, he continued, "You're into Rethi because you're fifteen years old and she's extremely attractive. But at your age, that's all romance is. And the only reason you disagree with me is because you're not of an age where you can possibly know that you're wrong."
"Bullshit," he said again. "I know how I feel when I look at Rethi. It's love."
"Jona, you're not even far enough into your life to have the capacity for love. And that's not an insult: it's just a fact."
He twisted his lips sourly. "Oh yeah? So tell me, then: what's the difference, Dal?"
Dal lowered his voice and averted his eyes. "Love is when you care for a woman so deeply that you'd burn yourself alive if the flames consuming your body would warm her when she's cold." He lifted his head and stared directly into the campfire. He wasn't sure why he spoke or for whose benefit, but nevertheless, he continued on.
"When you lose the one you love, Jona, a piece of you always dies with her. And it's a piece you can never get back."
"Dal! Please! Don't!" a voice screamed inside his mind, a haunted voice from memories that he could never truly escape.
"You move on, of course, but you're never the same. You have to rebuild yourself. But you can never return to the person you were before. Because that person only existed in a world where she resided."
"Dal!" his father screamed, his mind conjuring the image of his father in the flames of the campfire as he continued to stare at them. "What have you done, my boy? Why? Why would you do this to her?"
"Love is the absence of selfishness," he explained, "but it's more than that, too. You could go your whole life and never truly understand it."
"He's cursed. I told you all!"
"We should've listened to you. We never should've let him come home. I should've known this day would come!"
"He's a monster. A monster!"
"He's a fiend!"
"A demon!"
"Get rid of him! Get rid of him before he kills us all! He is an abomination to God!"
Dal wiped his eyes, which had become damp, and then he regarded Jona. "So no, Jona. I don't love Rethi, a young woman I barely know. And you don't, either." He stood upright and dusted himself off. Lord Ashmere's head was now tilted backwards, his mouth was partially open, and he was snoring, loudly.
"I still think you're wrong," Jona said. "I know how I feel. But, uh…I appreciate the conversation. You're not such a bad guy, Dal. I'm actually glad we got to talk."
He smiled at the boy. "Thank you for setting me free, Jona."
"Heh! It's not a problem. Hey, I'll walk with you for a few minutes. In fact, I'll do you one better: I'll show you a shortcut up ahead through Aoroka Forest."
"You don't have to do that."
"It's fine. I feel like it, anyway."
And so, the two of them walked into the darkness undisturbed, using nothing but the moonlight to guide them. At first, Dal expected this to be some kind of sick joke. He expected the prince or Lord Ashmere to pop out and say he'd failed some kind of loyalty test or test of trust. He found it so hard to believe he could just waltz out of the camp. And yet, with Jona by his side, the two of them were able to do just that.
He was finally getting away.
Nevertheless, it would be another ten minutes before Dal allowed himself to believe he had truly escaped. And now, he felt a rush of relief as the two of them ventured far enough into the darkness that there was almost no chance they would be found.
"Where are we heading, anyway?" he asked.
"It's just this way," Jona said. Then he chuckled. "Actually, my brother and I used to play in these woods when we were—"
Those were the last words he ever spoke.
There was a whipping sound, and then a flail, wielded by someone cloaked in the darkness, ripped across the night air and bludgeoned the boy in the back of his head.
Standing so close to Dal, he could see the boy's eyes pop out of their sockets, where they dangled from two cords; he could also see the deformation of the boy's head in the moment it caved inward, as well as the brain matter that leaked out of his ears, as the sudden change in shape of his skull left it with nowhere to go but to spill outward.
He could also see the boy's last, terminal look, too: and it was not one of agony, but of confusion.
A confusion that Dal felt as well.
What…? But why? What just…?
An explosion of pain ripped through Dal. But also, one of immense fury, grief, and disbelief. And before Dal could process even the slightest bit of it, he found himself thrown to the ground with a hand clasping his mouth, preventing him from shouting. Rage burned inside of him. Sadness burned inside of him. Confusion burned inside of him.
Whoever had done this was going to die. This, he vowed to Esreus, the God above.
He struggled.