Afeallan

"Chapter" Seven

Rýnelic woke up in a cold sweat. He felt as if he had been weeping. Waves of adrenaline kept washing over him. He was wide awake. He heard Byldan stirring in her room. It was still dark outside, but the crispness of the air told him it was morning. Byldan entered the room, wearing a nightgown. “You’re up,” she exclaimed surprised.

“I had a weird dream.”

“You want to talk about it?” She sat down next to him.

“No.” Rýnelic stretched his back and groaned. He became annoyed at the earliness of the day and yawned in protest. Byldan had excused herself to dress in something more appropriate. Rýnelic tried to fall back to sleep, but eventually his thirst got the best of him and he found water. Byldan returned and saw him up.

“We need to talk about last night.” She said. It sounded as if she had been working to rally her courage for the confrontation. Rýnelic became nervous. “You can’t be doing things like that if we’re going to accomplish what you want.”

“What did I do?” He honestly didn’t remember much.

“You were too intoxicated. The people will love you—they already do. But they will never respect you.” Her voice reminded him of something.

“You’re right,” he said. “You’re absolutely right. It has to stop.”

“What?” She was surprised by his sudden surrender.

“I want this to work,” he explained. “I realize that it can work. I must set an example. No more running. Can we take this outside?”

“Sure,” she said. Rýnelic retrieved his pipe. They sat on the front porch, watching the sun rise.

Though Byldan continued to chastise Rýnelic and his bad habits, her excitement was impossible to hide. It was contagious. Before long Rýnelic began suggesting ideas as rapidly as she was. Rýnelic was becoming frantic. The prospect of the responsibility was like medicine for him. But there remained the problem—the missing bridge—of setting things into motion. Léas arrived. He surmised the situation and began proposing his own solutions. It was Rýnelic, to everyone’s surprise—including his own—who silenced the debate.

“If we are going to rebuild Afeallan,” he said, “why don’t we rebuild Afeallan?” He put extra emphasis on the second ‘rebuild.’

“What do you mean?” Léas asked. He chuckled, thinking it was nothing more than circular talk. He looked at Byldan to have her join his snigger. She was smiling, but not as he.

“How much of Afeallan was gone while I was away?” He looked sideways, dead, into Léas. “Or,” he continued, “how much had rotted since Cyning?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” said Rýnelic irritated, “how much decayed?”

“A lot,” Byldan said. Léas had grown quiet.