He had been beaten.
His left eye was swollen and tinged with an ugly purple, a large gash ran from his cheek and down across his neck before disappearing underneath his shirt. A few more deep purple bruises were just visible from underneath his hair and around the collar of his shirt. Although he gestured with his left hand, his right and dominant arm hung loosely at his side. I could almost see the pain in his eyes, the strain in his face. I recognized the same pain in me, the same entrapment I had felt over the last few days as my body ached and tried to heal. He was in agony.
Then, he flinched. It was so subtle I almost didn’t catch it. His left arm moved toward his chest and then out again. I reached toward the image on the screen, my heart calling out to him. The bed lifted as Ovailia stood and took a step closer to the screen.
“You see it, too?” Wyn whispered.
I tried to focus on what Ryland said, but I couldn’t; my heart beat too hard in my chest. He seemed fine, until another twitch, this one bigger, caused him to stop. He paused and lowered his head, his chest heaving as he breathed. The clip played for only a second more before cutting back to the announcer and then the TV shut off.
“How much time does he have left?” Wyn asked.
I saw Ovailia’s mane of hair shake, her shoulders sagging.
“A week, maybe two, if we are lucky.”
I didn’t flinch at Ilyan’s voice, even though it was so close to me. He stood to my side, beyond my line of sight. I stayed still, my arm still extending toward the television screen.
“Why would he do something like that?” Ovailia snapped. “And to his own precious son, too.” The words dripped off her tongue like poison.
“It wouldn’t be the first time he has hurt his own children, Ovailia. You should know that better than anyone.”
I turned toward his voice, my arm finally dropping down to the bed. He stood at the side of the bed, his back leaning against the ugly brown and orange papered wall.
“But if he only has a few weeks before his mind is lost…” Wyn began, her unfinished thought fading into the steadily darkening room.
“It’s true then, everything he told me in the dream.” My voice was so quiet, my throat burning as I spoke. I looked to Ilyan who raised an eyebrow at my question. In my peripheral vision I could see both Wyn and Ovailia whip around to me in surprise.
“What dream, Joclyn?”
I looked at him skeptically, second guessing myself.
“He came to me… I thought it was a dream…”
“What dream?” Ilyan repeated.
I felt a heavy panic creeping through me, the reality of what was happening hitting me hard.
“When you held me under the water, Ryland was there. I thought it was a dream…” My voice gained in intensity as the panic continued to grow.
“What did he say to you?”
My fear rose, knowing exactly what was going on. I knew why he was twitching, what was happening, because Ryland had told me.
“His father… he is deleting his mind. Edmund’s killing him, isn’t he?” I looked hard at Ilyan, my panic demanding the answers I desperately needed.
“He’s not going to kill him.”
My heart swelled in relief, until Ilyan’s tone, his desperation, sank in.
“A Vym?zat is when someone uses their magic destructively on another person. In essence, they delete, or partially delete, that person’s mind. They remove all memories and personality. A Vym?zat creates a shell of a person that can be molded to become what the one who uses the magic wishes them to become. In Ryland’s case, Edmund will not kill him; instead, he will delete all of him and turn his body and magic into a weapon.” Ilyan’s voice was so deep, it almost didn’t sound like him.
“No! We need to save him.” I went to remove the covers from me, fully intent on running to his aide; but my head swam so uncomfortably, I was sure I wouldn’t be moving anywhere soon.
“I don’t know if that’s possible, Joclyn. There is no known way to reverse it,” Wyn said.
“What else did he say in your dream?” Ilyan asked gently, pulling my attention from the other two.
“Only that…” I paused as I replayed the dream in my head, trying to pick out important pieces of information. I stopped as I recalled him writhing on the ground, my memory vividly showing me the small mark on his back. The mark he had kept hidden from me. My breathing picked up again.
“He had a mark like mine on his back.”
Ilyan only nodded in acknowledgment at me.
“Why did he have a mark?” I said to Ilyan in a panic when it became obvious he knew and wasn’t going to provide me with an explanation.
“Do you remember when I told you that Edmund and his servants have been hunting the Vil?, and that it is the Vil? that gives a kiss?”
I nodded, waiting for him to continue.