Faebreaker

17.0: Ashes PT 1

Erik's father was nowhere to be seen, his bed empty, and his candle unlit.

Impossible.

Nothing seemed right anymore. He wanted her back—wanted to go back to a previous point in time and set things right. But no, that was just an irrational thought.

Lia was not going to come back.

It was close to afternoon, and a low wind howled through the ruins of Erik's inn, not a patron to be seen. The building creaked, moaned, a wooden plank crashing down from somewhere as Erik paced around his father's room, trying to comprehend what had happened earlier between Alaric and the strange man, or fae, or whatever, who called himself Aedan. And also what had happened to his father, who'd been at rest just the night before.

Nothing made sense. He liked to think himself as the most down to Earth person in Westerland. He was like any other boy who wanted love, a good life, and happiness. But all this talk about mother, about fae, selkies made him want to quit life. He didn't know what to think anymore. And if he was going to be honest with himself, Erik didn't want to think anymore.

He'd never held a weapon before in his life, but when he saw that man—no, fae—hurt his beloved, he wasn't going to sit around and let it stand. A real man would defend his home from the likes of invaders, not let them traipse in, break things, and cause a ruckus, right?

But what had happened was a little more than just a ruckus, however. Lia was dead, and with a part of her room having collapsed into the inn's lobby, Erik wasn't sure where he was supposed to put her for the time being. Or hell, where he supposed to put her at all, at this point. When he thought about burying her, his heart ached. How is someone even supposed to do something like this?

For now, the boy continued to pace, angry, bitter, and pretty sure that he could have done better somehow. Lia would never get to see her home again—wherever that was—and Erik, well, he'd never get to see her again at all. That's the way of things, he figured. Life, death, loss, the things no one really thinks about until finally, every damned facet of one's existence turns around for the absolute worst.

Erik shook his head, working his way back down into the inn's tavern hall. He passed behind his counter, where Lia used to take her rest, imagining that she was still there, sleeping like a baby. But no matter how hard he thought about her, no part of the happiness they'd shared together could help mend the fact that that man had killed her in cold blood.

He clenched a fist. If ever he found that Aedan character, Erik vowed to take his life as well. It only seemed right. One soul for another. That's how the world operated, didn't it? If someone takes something, you take it back, or take something of equal value.

Sitting at the counter, Erik watched as Alaric emerged from outside with a small body wrapped in a bit of cloth, as though readied for some sort of ceremony.

Erik gaped. "What are you doing with her?" he said through gritted teeth. "I thought you were supposed to be gone."

"Go get that dagger off the floor." Alaric said simply.

"Why?"

Alaric sighed, putting Lia aside on a withstanding table for a moment. "We're going to burn her." He tossed a woolen pouch his way.

A sudden realization dawned on Erik as he regarded it with disdain. "No. I'm going to bury her," he argued. "Right here by this inn."

"It's not what she would have wanted. If you know what she is, then you'll also know that I speak the truth, and nothing more."

"I don't want your truths," Erik spat. "I want to be left alone. I don't care what you have to say. Just go away!"

"Lad," Alaric said with the voice of authority. "She does not belong here."