Afeallan

"Chapter" Twenty-One

The workers stopped working. Helpers stopped helping. Movers stopped moving. All came nearly to a standstill and Léas knew he had to stop it. Then again, it is difficult, he realized, to stop something that is still. Leas needed a trigger, something to ignite the passion of the people once again. Something they could stand behind. A hero. A martyr. A victim. And a victim was rapidly approaching.

Créda sprinted with all of his strength southward toward Afeallan. In his hand, flapping in the wind, was the note signed “Rýnelic.” He would find Byldan. Burst through her bedroom doors if he had to. He would pass on his message. She would believe. Together they could spread the word: Rýnelic was, Rýnelic lives. But what if, he thought, she didn’t believe him? What if the only way to reach the people was to stand and proclaim in the streets that Rýnelic was mere miles away? He slowed his pace. He weighed his options. He could go to Byldan and try to rally her for his cause. Then again, she may refuse. She could side with Léas. She was in his bed. Then what? He would have to take matters into his own hands. Be the change that Rýnelic spoke of. But Créda began to question himself. What would be the purpose? No one cared if he was real or not. Rýnelic did not want to return, why resurrect his name for nothing but ridicule. He would only be beat down. He could feel the potential derision cutting through him. Causing fear. Then he imagined Rýnelic, standing both for and against everyone around him, regardless of the consequences. One man against all. Créda made his decision. He would stand in the square, shout with all his might, proclaiming that Rýnelic lived. He justified that his original intent would be met, as Byldan would be sure to hear him. Perhaps she would join him. Créda ran.

Líchama sat slouched in a chair, his face a mix of grey and green, looking ill. Léas paced back and forth in front of him, pulling at his beard. Candles burned by Byldan’s bed as she dozed drinking her tea. Ánlic sat alone. The clouds outside were deserting the sky, exposing the stars for what they were as the moon mocked the earth with its sardonic grin. Beneath the same moon, Rýnelic rocked in his ship, swaying with the tide. And Créda ran.