Rhistmaege

Parent Trap

Bisby had already returned to Meregrund when Nemi and Dovi entered the dale.

Dovi quickened his pace. What news did Bisby bring?

The small man's face was haggard and his clothes were ruffled and ripped in several places.

Dovi's eyes narrowed. What happened?

"Bisby, are you alright?" asked Nemi.

"Oh, this is nothing. Just caught in a nasty vortex of despondency when reentering Meregrund. I'm fine. It's the people of Avrenhalde we should all be worrying about." Bisby attempted to smooth his unruly hair, but failed miserably.

"My father? Any news-" asked Dovi.

"The more you two interrupt, the longer the people of Avrenhalde will suffer. I ask the questions. Bisby traveled with my assistance." A thick vein pulsed rapidly along Tuck's temple.

Dovi bit at his lip. Check out the attitude on this son of a-

"Bisby, forgive me for asking, but with things unraveling so quickly, I need an immediate Witnessing. I'll make sure you have plenty of time to recover your strength. You two, not a peep, no matter what you see. Bisby, if you will." Tuck nodded encouragement to the small man.

Bisby scratched his eyebrow, took a deep breath, and transformed back into a hawk. The hawk took flight and was met in the bright sky by hundreds of multi-colored birds. Birds swirled and whirled, wheeled and flowed. The Witnessing began.

The world of Avrenhalde, or what was left of it appeared amongst the flock of birds. Blackened, burnt-out husks of men, women and children sprawled about the razed, smoldering remains of country cottages. Smoking carcasses of pig, horse, chicken and cattle lay in deep wading seas of ruin. The scene zoomed this way and that way.

Dovi recognized the lay of this land, as it was his very own. The Macabre family pig farm was a wasteland. Nothing moved. Not a blade of grass remained untouched. His home was leveled to soot and scarred stubs of blackened timbers. Years of tears and sweat and backbreaking work was completely eradicated. As bad as it had been, it had been his home. It was what he knew. Made him who he was. If I ever get the chance I swear I will end Craeve and Ruenwall. The scene shifted again. Chalia. His sweet mother. She was nearly unrecognizable. Anger and agony reverberated through Dovi. Only a hint of the kindly face he remembered remained. A beaten, misshapen array of festering, blackened skin swayed in the slight breeze. Legs were tied back and stretched tight to reach her wrists. Her belly lolled down, entrails hung from a gaping gash that had nearly severed her in two. Dovi fell to his knees and wretched until there was nothing left.

Mercifully, the scene changed, but the rest of Bisby's report was much the same. Wroughton Grove turned to Rotten Grove. Familiar faces had fallen. Families mourned their dead. House after house had been turned to ash. Vis Cawstecke's mother held her son's lifeless body in her lap. Dovi felt a pang of shame at his lack of compassion towards his former foe. You've a right to not care about him. He made my life a misery.

Again, the scene changed. Craeve was there. And Ruenwall. Wickedness incarnate. They sat around a roaring fire, laughing about the destruction they had dealt. Shockingly, Belesarum sat besides them and so did the Rhistlock Maeges. Dovi felt his stomach fall. Craeve, Ruenwall and Belesarum, working together. What had happened with the Crown? And where was his father? As if Bisby had been reading his mind, the scene changed once more. There was Rabby's father, Maclinton Maggutton, staggering and struggling to drag something through thick woodlands. Mac dropped to his knees and heaved in exhaustion. He glanced back at the burdensome load he pulled upon a makeshift stretcher of branch and twine. He's alive. But, it seemed Monti barely clung to life. A gruesome bloodied hollow remained where his left eye had been. Deep gashes covered his cheeks and forehead. His breathing was ragged and shallow. His face was ashen white. Mac didn't look much better. He reached down to his right side and his hand came away glistening red. I've got to do something. I've got to help.

Dovi grabbed Tuck by the arm and shook him forcefully.

Tuck's hand snapped up and took Dovi by the wrist. He twisted Dovi's arm and forced him down to his knees. "Told you not to interrupt me," he said with fire in his voice. He released his grip and stomped away.

Nemi's eyes softened. She seemed to want to say something, but held her tongue.

The birds scattered as Tuck waved his hand flippantly. "Go Bisby, get some rest. I apologize for the abrupt loss of communication." The red hawk sped away in the direction of Bisby's quarters.

"On your feet Dovi," said Tuck with the barest hint of regret. "You see how dire things have become. Every moment wasted allows the pestilence to spread further into Avrenhalde. I'm truly disappointed in you. You've made no progress since you've arrived. In fact, I believe you've actually regressed. How will you remedy this? How long are you going to dither about in your self wallowing? Why are you so selfish? I'm so fed up. You aren't fit to be called the son of Chalia Macabre."

Dovi's world melted. There was no thought. No intention. No anticipation. No plan. Somewhere within, a fury burst forth. Tuck Sooth was his target. He became slamming fist. Raking nails. Gnashing teeth. Hard swinging elbows and kicking legs. He danced upon a mist of hate and whipped his sorrow into flaming ire. How long his unfettered fit of madness lasted, he did not know. Seconds, hours or perhaps days. Time and space fell into oblivion. Feral blackness consumed him. With one last flash into consciousness, before all went dark again, he saw Tuck Sooth before him, arms interlaced upon his chest. A knowing smile crossed his face. "Finally, some progress."