He was right, and I’d spent the intervening years rewriting the story in my own head just so I could make it through each day. We’d both been victims, I’d fought heroically, and I left Arentia from my own deep-seated nobility, not… not my utter shame at the truth. This was the darkest thing in my soul, and this minute monster had just dragged it into the candlelight of his own little sanctuary.
“And you think solving this great crime will make it up to her brother, don’t you? That’s the whole reason you’ve done this.” He laughed. “And you called me a freak.”
I’d been prepared for anything, I thought, but not this. The room seemed impossibly small and hot now, and my breath came in shallow, rapid bursts. My chest tightened painfully, especially around the old sword scar. I’d spent so long holding all this inside, keeping it hidden, that I had no idea how to let it out. It logjammed in my throat, choking me.
But luckily, my professional reflexes weren’t emotionally involved. When the Dwarf aimed his tiny, probably poisoned stiletto at me, my arm reacted before I even knew it. I palmed the knife in my sleeve and stepped aside, avoiding his blow and striking my own right in the little bozo’s heart. As I spun, I drew my sword and slammed my back into the door, ready to defend myself, although I knew I’d dealt him a lethal blow.
The Dwarf wobbled a little, then regained his balance. He looked down curiously at the knife stuck in his chest. A trickle of blood oozed out around it. “Hmph,” he said, wincing. “You are quicker than you look.”
I stared and didn’t move. My knife was stuck in his heart. I’d felt it strike home; no bone or hidden armor had deflected it. He should be dead, or at least seriously inconvenienced. But it seemed no more urgent than a mosquito bite.
He looked up at me, amused by my shock. “Come on, you know what she did to me. She wouldn’t let me die. That means no one can kill me. That’s why I went to see her in Arentia.”
Then something occurred to him. With a grin of comprehension, he said, “My God, you never really believed her until this moment, did you?” He threw back his head and positively cackled. “That’s great!”
“What the fuck are you?” I said. My voice sounded weak and raw.
He sang, “I’m Andrew Reese, and I’m broken to pieces.” He laughed again. “You think that’s hard to believe? How’s this: that time I spent on her island?”
He stepped closer and looked into my eyes. “That was five hundred years ago.”
TWENTY-SIX
The sky grew lighter in the east by the time I left the Dwarf’s estate. As I crossed the yard toward the gate, the monkeys in the trees stirred and hooted at me. The noise was both loud and somehow arrogant. I bet the neighbors loved this guy.
I was numb in every imaginable way. I walked out in a true daze, not caring if anyone saw me. Since I was splattered with dirt and blood, and carried something that would have been impossible to explain, only dumb luck or divine guidance got me out of the house and down the street unseen. I even left the gate open, out of some perverse desire to show off my gory handiwork.
I shambled along the curb toward my horse. If anyone saw me, they must have assumed I was some drunken reveler returning home. Lola still waited patiently under the tree branch, although a ticket stuck over my saddle horn warned me against leaving my horse on the street in the future. She snorted and pawed nervously as I approached, overpowered by the smell of blood and violence around me.
“Shh, girl, I know, just take it easy,” I murmured. She quieted down but still watched me closely, especially the package I carried wrapped in part of a fancy tablecloth. If animals are as sensitive as some people say, this object must have well and truly terrified her.
I climbed onto her back and nudged her into the street. It was bright enough to see the city below us as we descended toward it, and the sails of ships in the harbor glowed pink with the dawn. I passed a milk wagon laboring its way toward the mansions; I hoped it wasn’t the day the milkman collected his bills.
In my room, I undressed and stuffed all my bloody clothes, even my boots, into the fireplace. There wasn’t much kindling available, since most travelers didn’t use fires in the summer, but the owner accepted my story that I needed to sweat out a case of the sniffles and scrounged up some extra wood for me.
The intense heat and perspiration helped me reconnect to the world outside my addled head. I lay naked on the floor in front of the hearth, shivering despite the fire, and let my mind go back over the night. It wasn’t pleasant, but I knew if I tried to deny it, or rewrite it as I had Janet’s death, it too would blindside me in the future. I was through lying to myself, about anything.
Eventually I fell asleep. At first my dreams mingled Janet’s awful death with what I had done at the Dwarf’s mansion, but suddenly all that fell away and I found myself, surprisingly, standing outside Epona Gray’s cottage. The sun was bright, and multicolored birds flitted through the air leaving trails of shimmering sparks. The little building was neat and intact.
The door opened, and Epona emerged. She was staggeringly beautiful, her dark hair loose and shiny and her skin radiant. She was barefoot and wore a flowing, low-cut gown. Her eyes twinkled with amusement. She crossed her arms and leaned against the lintel. “So you figured it out.”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Neither of us lied.”
“I know.”
“And you believe it?”
An emotion I couldn’t identify swelled in me. My vision blurred with tears. “I believe it. I believe you. I believe in you.”
She laughed, but gently. “Please, Eddie, don’t get maudlin on me now. You still have a lot of work to do. But you fought down the darkest things within you, and you deserve a rest. So take this as a gift.”
Three of the shimmering birds flew down and hovered, like hummingbirds, before me. I held out my hand, and one of them tentatively came forward, nudged me with his tiny beak and then settled into my palm. At the instant of contact, I felt lighter, younger and happier than I could ever remember. All the weight of guilt, self-doubt and regret left me. I think I cried out.
But whatever happened, it woke me up. The position of the sun through the window told me it was well past noon. My muscles ached, and my joints popped as I uncurled from my fetal position. The fire had done its job and consumed all my incriminating belongings, and was now reduced to smoldering coals. I spread the ashes so they would extinguish on their own, and poured water in the basin so I could clean up.
I looked at myself in the mirror, pale and still shaky, and accepted that the person I saw there had indeed done the things I had done. The weight of a lifetime of deceit was gone, and I recalled Epona’s magical bird from the dream. Had it been a genuine vision, or just my own mind rationalizing me out of my despair? At this point, I could accept anything as real.
I washed up, put on some clean clothes and my extra pair of boots, packed the rest of my stuff and prepared to leave. I took special care with my souvenir from the Dwarf’s house; an awful lot depended on it reaching its destination. Just as I tossed the bag over my shoulder, someone knocked at my door. I knew it was Bernie before I opened it.
He wore a neat, pressed official uniform and was freshly shaved. His eyes were cold and professional. “Leaving town?” he said without even glancing at my bag.
“Good morning to you, too,” I said as I stepped aside to let him enter.
“It’s afternoon,” he snapped, and closed the door behind him. “You know where I’ve been for the last five hours? Up on Brillion Hill investigating the murders of Clarence Canino and Gretchen Paltrow. Some delivery man found ’em dead on a back porch, and the folks in that part of town like to feel safe. So they expect an arrest to happen quickly.” His eyes swept the room, taking in the fresh ashes. “Know anything about it?”