Eleanor (37 page)

It was a high child’s voice, but no less commanding because of it. Conlan had stepped away from Dal to loosen his sword, and it was the boy who had spoken. He took a few steps forward towards the twelve Elves that now all stood staring at him.
 

“Do not provoke them, they are Avatars. I have felt their power, and we would not survive a battle with them,” the child said with authority. Everybody froze.

“Is this true, have you succeeded, Conlan Baydon?” the female Elf asked.

“Yes,” Conlan confirmed, not taking his eyes off the crowd.

“Then this changes things. We might be willing to trade for the wand.”
 

Conlan flicked his eyes to the Elf in surprise. “The wand belongs to the Avatar of Air by right; you were given it to protect it, nothing more. As you have heard, you would not win a battle with us and we will take the wand by force, if we must. Besides, trade would be difficult, as I am quite certain that I have nothing you would want.”
 

The Elf stared at Conlan. Seeming to consider this point, she turned back to the other Elves and then huddled together, muttering.
 

“
YOU!
”
 

The Dwarfish word, full of dark hatred and fury, battered against them. Eleanor instinctively turned to face the direction it had come from, stepping in front of Will to do so. She was just in time to see the massive, charging Elf as it flattened her, throwing itself into Will. She made a jarring impact with the ground, a foot stomping on the wrist of her sword arm as the Elf stormed over the top of her. She felt bones chip and crack, a numbness spreading through her arm, but she was too worried about Will to pay it any attention. The enormous Elf knocked him to the ground and crouched over him, pounding him repeatedly in the body and head. Will was in no condition to defend against the juggernaut’s savage, frenzied attack. She could see Freddie and Conlan struggling towards them through the surrounding crowd of Elves. Amelia was closer, but she just stared, wide-eyed. Getting to her feet, Eleanor dropped her sword; her right hand was too numb to hold it. Left-handedly she punched at the big Elf’s head, but it did little more than distract him as his gigantic fist thrust up into her abdomen, the brute force of it shuddering right through her body, lifting her off her feet and dropping her at Will’s side. Will was no longer conscious. Gasping, her vision blurring, Eleanor pulled herself forward, using her body to cover Will’s head, neck and chest. She took several punishing blows before the Elf seemed to notice she was there. Eleanor felt a hand grasp round her neck, trying to pull her off, when all three of them were hit by what felt like a fast moving brick wall which sent them sailing through the air.

“Eleanor, are you OK?”
 

Eyes flickering open, she could just make out Conlan’s blurry face. She shook her head. Twisting, leaning over the edge of the bed she was lying on, she retched; water, blood and yellow bile spewing forth onto the sand beneath her. She felt a gentle hand on her head, pulling her hair out of the way and moving down to rub her back. The pain it caused to vomit was intense, and she curled herself into a ball, groaning and grasping her sides. The pain gave no respite. She threw up again, voiding her stomach, and then passed out.

Thirst woke her up. Her throat felt raw, the bitter taste of stomach bile still in her mouth. She opened her eyes, trying to ignore the feeling that someone was attempting to get into her skull with a pneumatic drill. She was in a large, round, off-white tent. The material was thin enough to see daylight through. Her body felt hot and damp. The tent was supported with a central pole, giving a coned roof pulled out by ropes on the outside, creating straight walls of material from where the cone of the roof finished down to the sand. She was lying in a makeshift camp bed, no blanket, not that she would have wanted one, but there was a pillow. She turned her head to the side; the movement made her stomach flip queasily. On the other side of the tent was another makeshift bed. Will was laying in it, motionless, the cuts and bruises on his face vivid against his grey skin. Amelia was knelt at his side, holding his hand. Reaching a string out towards him, Eleanor felt his energy level and was relieved to find it normal.
Amelia or Freddie must be helping him.
Conlan and Freddie were sat at the back of the tent engaged in low conversation. At the end of Will’s bed was a table. Eleanor could see a large jug of water sweating in the heat. At the sight of it her thirst wiped out all other thought. Moving slowly she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and tried to sit up, but unfortunately she unthinkingly pushed up with her right hand. What had been a dull throb became a screaming agony. She had not realised how much her leather cuff was supporting the broken bones and controlling the swelling until she had tried to move. She managed to stay sitting, but gasped, cradling her injured arm against her chest as tears slipped down her face. She tilted her head back, closing her eyes, willing the pain back down to a manageable level. Feeling the movement pull open the newly formed scab on her neck, making blood ooze thickly, she ignored it.

“Eleanor?” The soft growl gave her a measure of comfort.

“Yes…” Such a weak, pathetic squeak of a voice.

“Can I help?”
 

“Water?” she managed. The pain subsided slightly and she opened her eyes, tilting her head slowly forwards again as Conlan handed her a glass of water. She took it and gulped it down. It barely touched the sides, doing nothing to satisfy her burning thirst. She waved the empty glass at Conlan.

“More?”

She nodded, regretting the movement as her stomach tightened and the throbbing in her head took on a shrill whine. He picked the jug off the table and moved back to her. Before he could pour it she dropped the glass to the sand and held her hand out. The sick feeling in her stomach made her lean forward slightly, taking deep breaths as she fixed her gaze on the ground and tried to stop the world from lurching.
 

“All of it?” he asked.

She waved her hand at him impatiently. The handle of the jug was placed in her outstretched fingers. Taking it, she brought it to her lips and drank greedily, careful not to spill any. She was halfway through the jug before she felt the liquid begin to lubricate her throat. She kept going until the water was gone. Tipping her head back carefully to get the last drops, she noticed Conlan’s amused expression as she did so.
 

“Better?” he asked.

She handed him the empty jug back and nodded, slower this time, looking back at Will. “What happened?” she asked, her voice sounding slightly stronger.

“Amelia stopped the fight,” Conlan said.

“Why was there a fight in the first place?”

“Because Trey is holding a grudge,” Conlan muttered. Several pieces of information tumbled through Eleanor’s pained head.
 

“Trey? The one who tried to kill you, that Trey? That was the giant that attacked Will and flattened me?”

“Yes, that was Trey. How much damage did he cause you?”
 

“I think I have a broken wrist, bruises, a concussion and I’ve bitten the inside of my mouth,” she said in flat monotone.
 

Conlan’s jaw muscles clenched as she listed her injuries. “You should lay back and rest,” he said.
 

“So, are they going to feed us to the Almighty Sarlacc?” Eleanor asked.

Freddie chuckled, but Conlan looked confused. “Almighty Sarlacc?”

Eleanor sighed. “Big monster, lots of teeth, slow digestion.”
 

“Eleanor, are you quoting ‘Star Wars’?” Will’s voice was scratchy and thin, but he sounded amused. She smiled at him. One of his eyes was swollen closed and he looked a mess, but she could see the smile that tugged at his mouth.

“This place makes me think of Tatooine, and you always did remind me of Obe-Wan Kenobi.”

Will laughed at this; it made him spasm in pain and cough furiously. Amelia gave her a look.
 

“I’ll go ask for some more water,” Conlan muttered, looking totally confused as he took the empty jug to the tent’s opening. He lifted the flap and met with the tip of a sword that hovered threateningly in front of his eyes. He asked politely for more water, the jug was taken off him and he was shoved roughly back inside the tent.

Eleanor sighed. “Oh, the Almighty Sarlacc is going to be too good for us,” she muttered morosely. Freddie sniggered and Eleanor ignored Amelia’s accusing look as Will laughed himself into another coughing fit.

They were left to languish in the tent for hours. Conlan had asked the guards if they would open the tent’s flaps to let the air in as the day wore on and the temperature rose further. His request had earned him nothing more than a sharp order to be silent. Will drifted in and out of consciousness and Eleanor lay back on her bed, trying not to think about her discomfort and general misery; in fact, trying not to think about anything. She could hear Freddie and Conlan’s occasional whispered conversation, but she could not make out the words. She could hear Amelia’s gentle, loving words as she comforted Will. What she could not hear was noise from outside the tent – hundreds of Elves and not a sound reached her. This scared her.

The light in the tent began to fade.
Sunset.
Thankfully the temperature dropped, too. Eleanor jumped when the tent flaps were thrown open and four Elves strode in. One of them was Trey, his seething, baleful presence seeming to fill the tent. One of the guards brought in some lanterns, giving the tent a soft glow, but Trey’s hulking form seemed to take the comfort out of the light.
 

“Sit, Conlan Baydon, and we will discuss this situation,” said one of the newly arrived Elves, a man; his features did not seem to have slipped, but his cheek carried three deep scars, like an animal had scratched his face open.

“There is nothing to discuss, Johan, his life is mine!” Trey growled.
 

“Your presence here is a courtesy, Trey, not a necessity. If you are unable to be civil you will be removed.”
 

Eleanor recognised the voice as a figure stepped towards Trey, the female who had spoken to them when they had arrived. Trey glared at the woman, but nodded. Watching the huge Elf warily, Conlan sat cross-legged on the sand.
 

“Let us talk,” he said. The four Elves sat themselves in a circle, Trey sitting in front of Eleanor so he could stare at Will as Amelia helped him to sit on his bed. Eleanor was surprised to find that the fourth member of the Elfish party was Adra.

“I am Sarina,” the female Elf said by way of introduction. “This is Johan, we speak for the Elf council. Trey has accused a member of your party of a crime. Adra stands as your advocate and advisor in matters of Elf law.” Conlan’s eyes widened in surprise as he looked at Adra, then narrowed in suspicion. Adra saw the look and sighed.
 

“You could have killed my son, my whole patrol, but you did not. I will give you honest advice.” Conlan nodded, his gaze turning back to Sarina.
 

“Trey has accused whom of what?” he asked slowly.
 

“That abomination,” Trey snarled, pointing a thick finger to where Will sat. “Took my daughter from me!” The accusation smothered them. Eleanor felt an energy string brush against her.
 

What did he say?
Amelia asked. Eleanor could feel the effort it was taking her to keep calm, and without thinking she gave her an exact translation. Amelia gasped; pulling her energy free with a yank, eyes wide with horror. Will dropped his head in a move that screamed guilty. Conlan looked bewildered. From his point of view Will had been nowhere near Trey’s daughter, yet Will’s body language indicated he accepted the accusation. Amelia’s voice broke the silence: low, hurt, horrified, disbelieving.
 

“You killed his child?”
 

Will brought his eyes to hers; Eleanor could see the agony in them.
 

“Amelia… I…” he stuttered. He wanted to explain, but he seemed to lack the words. Amelia’s disbelief turned to fury. She stood, propelling herself backwards away from him and stumbling. Freddie caught her, helping her up.

“Amelia, Will didn’t kill Trey’s daughter,” Eleanor said.

“Then why is Trey accusing him of it?” Amelia snapped.

“He’s not, he’s accusing Will of destroying memories of a daughter who had already died, precious memories, memories Trey can’t replace.” Eleanor said. She did not want to sugar-coat the accusation, as she knew how much Will hated himself for what he had done to Trey, but she also did not want Amelia thinking he went around killing children.

“How do you know this?” Amelia asked. She still sounded hurt.

“Because when Earth attacked him, our minds merged. Occasionally some of Will’s stronger memories and feelings break out of where I tried to contain them,” Eleanor said. Amelia stared at her, then back at Will, but the look of horror and betrayal did not leave her face. The Elves watched with interest. They might not have understood the words, but the expressions and body language were giving more than enough hints as to what was going on.

“Why?” she demanded.

“Trey was trying to hurt Conlan, trying to kill him, I… reacted. I wasn’t thinking straight,” Will answered. Eleanor felt her heart squeeze for him. Amelia did not understand. Not ‘thinking straight’ was a major understatement. Eleanor had lived these memories, carried these memories and knew how much suffering they had caused. Will had been in Mydren for less than an hour. He had been dragged, painfully, from his drowning but still living body. His mind had been a mess; confused, terrified and in agony, he had focused on the only thing that made sense – haunted green eyes. Stephen’s eyes. When Trey had attacked he had acted to protect his little brother, fought back, instinctively pushing into the Elf’s mind and filling it with his own agony. He had not understood what he was doing or how he was doing it, but the pain he inflicted had been nothing to the pain he found, namely Trey’s anguish and grief at the loss of his child. Will had found the memories of the happy, smiling little girl and had ripped them apart, wanting the pain to stop. Will was blaming himself, hating himself, for something that was not his fault.