Eleanor (50 page)

Will’s words played through her head:
‘
I heard him screaming...
’
 

Wanting to bring some comfort she smiled.

“You’re here, why would I want to be anywhere else?” she asked, knowing how close she was coming to saying something she should not.

“Your Avatar made a more ‘persuasive’ deal,” Jarrick said, interrupting. Eleanor saw hate burning in Conlan’s eyes as he looked up at his brother. Jarrick smiled at him and continued. “This, sadly, means I am unable to finish teaching you the error of your ways.”

“What deal?” Conlan ground out.

Ignoring him, Jarrick addressed Eleanor.
 

“You have seen his injuries. I promise there will be no more damage than this when you are ready to leave. I will see to it he is fed. Put this on him.” He held out his hand, in which was a heavy metal band, hinged in the middle so it opened out into two halves. Sturdy looking rings protruded from the ends of the band where it split apart. Eleanor took it, looking at it in confusion.

Jarrick smiled, as if it was the best joke in the world.
 

“It goes around his neck, to restrain him.”

Jarrick’s meaning punched through her numbed brain.
He’s going to chain you up like a dog… Oh Conlan, I’m sorry.
Nodding, Eleanor opened the collar and placed it round Conlan’s neck. It was tight, but not so tight that he could not breathe. Jarrick handed her a padlock that filled her hand and the end of a metal chain. Eleanor slipped the lock though the collar’s rings and the last link in the chain and closed it, turning the small key, the sharp click making Conlan tense. Removing the key, Eleanor placed it in Jarrick’s waiting hand; thick, meaty fingers closed over it, as if Conlan’s humiliation and imprisonment were precious gifts. Eleanor shuddered, for Jarrick they most likely were. Conlan had offered no resistance to her actions, but she could not bring herself to look him in the eye. As Jarrick took the other end of the chain and spent a few moments securing it to the base of the brazier, Conlan placed a cold hand gently over hers.

“Look at me, Eleanor,” he whispered. With effort she did as he asked; the pain and fear she found made her want to cry. “You’re shaking,” he told her distractedly. “What deal did you make with Jarrick?”
 

She stared blankly at him.
Am I shaking?
She glanced at her hands. Yes, she was. She tried to get her cotton wool-filled, aching head to formulate a short answer that would explain everything for him. Instead, her mind kept wandering off on strange tangents. Was Jarrick going to keep his word? Was the collar she had put round Conlan’s neck going to hurt him? Had she done the right thing? Was Amelia going to live? Along with the discordant thoughts came flashes of Perry’s face, his body exploding. Eleanor flinched at the memory, feeling a dull ache in her stomach.
 

“Eleanor!” he croaked, his weak, grating whisper as insistent as he could make it. “What deal did you make?”

Before she could answer, she felt hands on her upper arms – gentle, reassuring and helping her up. Jarrick stood behind her, one hand now resting lightly on her shoulder and the other gently stroking her hair.
Strange that he can care for me and yet show such violence towards his brother
,
Eleanor thought numbly
.
She did not like the feeling and cringed again, but she was too shell-shocked by recent events to pull away from him.

“Your Avatar has shown herself to be brave, intelligent and resourceful. I shall enjoy getting to know her,” Jarrick said, sounding oddly amused – smug almost. With effort, Conlan pulled himself into a crouch, his face twisting into a mask of pain as he whimpered. Getting himself under control he looked at Jarrick with loathing and fury.
 

“If you hurt her, I will destroy you,” he said, his attempt at a threatening tone making him cough.

“It’s OK, Conlan,” Eleanor whispered, unsure why she felt it was OK.
 

He dropped his gaze to her face, agony crying out from his eyes. It took her a moment to realise he was frightened for her, that he was terrified Jarrick was going to hurt her. She tried to find something to say, something to reassure him, but before she could, Jarrick was gently leading her out of the room, an arm around her shoulders. He stopped at the door, looking back.

“I will be back to talk to you later, brother. I shall tell you all about the deal we made.”
 

There was an unpleasant gloating in his words, which did not make sense. Eleanor heard the metal chain skitter rapidly across the stone floor; she turned in time to see it reach its limit, the sudden stop pulling Conlan to the ground.
 

“No, Eleanor, please!” he choked, trying to get up and tugging in desperate futility at the chain. Taking hold of her shoulders in a tighter grip, Jarrick steered her from the room and the door was locked behind her.
 

“He really likes you,” Jarrick commented, amused. He guided her back to the room where they had left the others. Giving her a small shove inside, he closed the door. Eleanor listened for the key turning in the lock, but it never came. She stood, staring at the blue carpet and taking slow deep breaths, trying to get her trembling body under control. The adrenaline was fading and the exhaustion was bearing down on her, along with all the guilt and fear.
 

“Eleanor?”

She raised her head and saw Freddie stood beside her.
 

“What happened? Is Conlan alright?” he asked.
 

Unable to find words for her misery, Eleanor pushed into Freddie’s head and sent him her memories, all of it from the moment she had regained consciousness, knowing all her feelings were leaking through with them but not caring. She just wanted someone to understand. Freddie’s eyes glazed over as he watched her personal hell playing through his mind. As the memories finished, Eleanor pulled her string free and hung her head.

“Oh,” Freddie breathed, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her tight to his chest. She wanted to cry, wanted to purge herself of her bitter, dark, twisted feelings to cleanse herself, but the tears would not come. She was beyond tears now, beyond pain and rational thought. Still holding her, Freddie led her to the wall by the window and sat her down, sitting next to her, an arm round her shoulders.
 

She stared blankly at the blue carpet. The colour matched Will’s eyes. Unbidden, her mind moved into overdrive. There were thirty-two statues in the courtyard, not including the one she had exploded. The chain Conlan had been tied up with had sixty-seven links. Jarrick’s short hair was the same colour as his brother’s, but while Conlan’s was soft and wavy, with a mind of its own, Jarrick’s lay flat to his head, like a thin, greasy cap. The guard, Hannad, only had three fingers and a thumb on his right hand. She had seen books in the library on art, mathematics and philosophy. Either Jarrick had attempted to educate himself or he wanted people to think he had. Perry’s face flashed into her mind again, and all thought ceased for a moment as she saw his body rip apart. She pushed it away and the barrage of random information restarted. The courtyard was perfectly square. There were forty-three windows facing in to it, and fourteen doors.
 

With a small, detached part of her brain, Eleanor had an idea what was happening. Her mind had done this a lot when she was a child, before she learnt how to control it. Everything she empirically experienced or thought, her mind stored in perfect crystal clarity, ready for instantaneous recall. When she was younger her mind would spit this data out in nonsensical order, especially when she became upset, frightened or stressed, often causing her to recite meaningless strings of information in babbling incoherence that led many family members to suspect she was insane. Over time she had learnt to control her mind, turning it from an aggressive monster which gave her headaches and stopped her sleeping, to a valuable tool she relied on totally.
My control is slipping.
Panicking, she tried to take command of her faculties again, but the tighter she gripped, the more it felt like things were slipping through her fingers, tidal waves of information crashing over her.
I’m losing myself.
Desperate to stay afloat she reached for the only life preserver she had, the only one she wanted. Conlan. As her mind seethed around her, she retreated and took her memories of him with her – the way his cheek fit perfectly into her hand; the intelligent curiosity in his bright green eyes;
the fresh colour of new leaves
; the way his laugh captivated her; his unique smell – light and masculine, which made her think of warm, sunny days and the smell of saddle leather, horse sweat and campfire smoke – she had to be close to smell it and for her it was more intoxicating than the most expensive perfumes; the feel of his fingers laced through hers as they had stood before his grandfather’s house; the almost painful surge of joy, when he had sung with her, his beautiful voice wrapping round hers and supporting it, raising it above ordinary – just as he had done to her soul, bringing her to Mydren, raising her above ordinary.
 

His stunning, heart-stopping smile filled her head. Slowly she felt her mind calm, and letting go of her fear and panic she imagined him sat next to her, his quiet presence reassuring her. She imagined listening to him breathing as she had done in the desert. The chaos in her mind dropped and the dull throb of her headache returned. She recognised this discomfort – understood it, even. The familiar pain was a strange comfort. Closing her eyes she let her body slip sideways to the floor, Freddie’s arm falling away. Resting her head on the soft carpet, holding her feelings for Conlan close to her like warm, protective armour, she gave in to her exhaustion and slept.

The days passed. They did not leave the room. Will would not leave Amelia’s side, and Eleanor did not want to be any further away from Conlan than she already was. Freddie went with the majority. Food came at regular intervals throughout the day, as did Jarrick’s healer, Kona. He was not the wise, stooped old man Eleanor had expected. He was tall enough to look Will in the eye and appeared to be about the same age; a thin, fragile body supported a head that seemed too big for it. Everything about him was soft – his voice, his expressions, his touch, his light-brown eyes. Will treated the man with deference and awe-filled respect, asking him quiet questions as he hovered at Amelia’s side and watched Kona check her pulse, change her bandages and apply salves and pastes that filled the room with a pungent antiseptic smell. At Will’s polite request, Kona had treated Eleanor injuries, too. Taking her into the bathroom for privacy, he inspected the cut on her side, which had finally stopped bleeding, and touched the scabbed-over tear beneath her eye and the bruising on her head with practiced, kind, professional fingers.
 

“Your friend – Conlan – Jarrick permitted me to treat his injuries. I was not allowed to speak to him, but he spoke to me. He worries for you,” Kona said, watching her face for signs of pain as he probed the lump on the side of her head.

“Is he going to be alright?” Eleanor asked, Kona’s words better medicine than anything else he could do for her.

“He will be fine,” he answered. “Jarrick is now treating him well – he visits him every so often and they talk. No further acts of violence have been committed against him.”

Eleanor looked at the healer. “Why do you do it? Why do you work for a monster like Jarrick?”

Kona smiled at her. “He is not a monster. He has a good heart and he treats his employees like family. Perry’s death wounded him deeply. He may be a criminal, but he is respected. He is known to be a man of his word, and whilst he is harsh, he is fair. He saved my life and saw value in my skills where most did not and has become my friend. Please try not to judge him on his current actions – the pain of his childhood has left him irrational and hate-filled when it comes to his brother, turning him back into the lonely, frightened, grieving little boy he once was.”
 

In the days that followed, as Amelia slipped in and out of fevered, unknowing consciousness, Eleanor thought a lot about what Kona had said, so when Jarrick knocked politely on their door one afternoon and inquired if Eleanor would take a walk with him, she agreed without hesitation.
 

In the courtyard, all signs of the destruction she had caused were gone. Even the library windows had been replaced; she could smell new wood and paint on the warm, restless breeze.

“We did not get off to the best of starts, did we? I was hoping we might be friends,” Jarrick said, an underlying growl of apology in his voice.

“I am sorry for the hurt I caused you,” Eleanor said quietly, watching his face, trying to judge his response and looking for the truth in what Kona had told her. She saw him wince, grief and pain flashing through his eyes. He noticed her studying his reactions and his friendly, relaxed smile returned immediately to his face.

“His death was my fault, I gave you no choice. I underestimated a force of nature and sadly Perry paid the price. I shall miss him,” he said softly.

“What are you and Conlan talking about?” Eleanor asked, realising her mistake as Jarrick’s body tensed, the muscles in his jaw flexing.
 

“Lots of things... you mostly,” he replied. It appeared to have taken him some effort to stay calm.

“Me?”

Jarrick smiled at her, and there was something dark underneath his countenance that Eleanor did not like. “I have told him what you did, how truly impressive you are. He seems to think that you are weak and foolish, that you made a mistake trying to help him. He is angry that you disobeyed him. I have tried to reason with him, but I am certain you know how stubborn he is.”

Eleanor stared at the podgy man stood next to her. He seemed sincere, worried for her almost. She did not trust him to tell her the truth, as what he had just said could have been designed to make her think badly of Conlan and better of him, except that all Jarrick had really done was confirm the fears she already had about Conlan’s current state of mind. This would not be the first time he had thought her a fool for trying to help him. Jarrick watched the expressions on her face for a moment before speaking.