Lord Asher.
My mother’s father, the one who had driven her to the massacre, the man who had pushed us both. I felt the pain associated with the memory. It couldn’t have been. How could that man have been the same Asher, the same man that had met with Chevelle? I remembered the first time I had seen him. The look he’d given me, the way his knuckles whitened as he gripped the staff, his shabby cloak. I remembered thinking it must have been a disguise because of the way he carried himself, and then chastising myself for being so paranoid.
I realized I was staring at Chevelle as I recalled their meeting. He was watching me, concern on his face. A thought flashed that maybe he knew that I was on to him. But it was all so wrong.
My head spun and I closed my eyes. I tried to find something to grasp, something to steady me before I blacked out again. I needed a way to fix the conflict. Asher couldn’t have been my grandfather. I struggled to sit up long enough to reach my pack. I felt around for the only thing real I had. My fingers finally caught the edge of the binding and I pulled the diary out, clutching it tight as if someone might try and take it from me.
I couldn’t make myself look at the others, but I knew what they’d be thinking. It was a few minutes before I could focus well enough to read. I flipped through the first pages: my mother as a child; her father’s prize.
A tear tracked down my cheek and I wiped at it absentmindedly. And then I felt their eyes on me so I hardened, biting down, determined to keep another from escaping.
I scanned back through, searching for mention of him, but I kept getting caught in the story. It was all so different now, now that it wasn’t a stranger. It was my mother’s story, my story. And Asher’s?
Lord Asher.
Page after page I kept my nose buried in the diary. No one asked me to move. But they kept close. I could feel them watching, waiting. Eventually, exhaustion won out and the dreams were back.
The next day, I was almost certain the dreams were not just dreams, they were memories. And Asher was Lord Asher. But what I could not reconcile was how he was alive, how he could have met with Chevelle, and why.
My thoughts were clearer now but that made them all the more distressing. I felt like secrets were everywhere, swallowing me.
I recalled each time I had seen him. I focused on the day we all had seen him in the tree line: how they had reacted to his single nod. I could see his braid swing behind him as he turned and disappeared into the brush. I struggled to understand and I couldn’t help but remember what had happened just before, a memory I’d not returned to willingly. I could still hear the sickening thud as the council tracker’s head landed on the ground. The sight of it rolling to a stop, the blood on my blade.
Yet I could not understand.
And so I forced myself to stop thinking of it. It was the only way to put an end to the screeching pain in my head. But when I finally calmed it to a dull throb, I could begin to feel the ache in my chest. It was tough to breathe. How could they… But I couldn’t even finish the thought before the other pain returned.
It was some time later that I broke, unable to stand the conflict in my own mind, the pain I was causing myself. The pain they were causing me? No, I wouldn’t think it. When I finally gave, I found solace in the mind of the hawk as it hovered above us, floating on the current of the wind. I stayed there, void of all other thoughts, until I surrendered and returned to my own tortured body.
In time, I found a compromise with myself. I would only allow a set amount of concentration, a set amount of worry, each day to feed my concern and distress. The rest would be devoted to the one thing I was positive of: we… no, I needed to find council, to release my mind from the bonds that felt like they were killing me.
I could only hope that it would release the memories as well, remove all of the unanswered questions, erase the doubt. Doubt that was even now creeping into every thought I had. How could they? And always, why?
Finally, I was in control of myself enough to continue. Our task was my first priority now. Find council. I focused on my memories of them, the images of their faces. It was all I had but at least it was something.
Ruby scrutinized me, obviously concerned, as we rode through a field of tall grass. I ignored her, pretending to watch my horse steal bites along the way, struggling to keep a steady pace as his head bent sideways securing generous mouthfuls.
She couldn’t stand it for long. “Frey?”
I looked at her blankly. Her eyes went wide. Well, I’d thought it was blankly. I tried to smooth out my face. “Hmm?”