Shadows in the Trees: Book 1

Chapter 57

Damon paced in his tent. There was another strategy meeting after the day's battle, but he claimed he was feeling ill and declined to go. He knew his father was upset about it, but he didn't much care. After what he had seen today, he might as well be ill with how queasy and faint he felt.

Nothing could prepare him for the ugliness of war. But this ugliness was expected; he was ready to process it. He wasn't ready to watch their decimated forces rise from the dead as that monster's meat puppets. 

"Damon?" His mother's voice called softly from outside his tent. He supposed the meeting was over now. 

"Come in," he said, his voice tight. 

His mother stepped in, bringing the chilly breeze with her. The stench of rot and death was on the air, and Damon quickly lit another incense burner. 

"Damon," his mother said as he put away the matches a bit too forcefully. "Damon, what's on your mind?" 

"What's on my mind?" he said, turning to face her finally. "What's on my mind? You want to know what's on my mind?" 

"That is why I asked," she said, slowly taking a seat on his chaise. 

"What's on my mind," he scoffed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Mother, when the monster promised to bring our soldiers back, I expected them to be fully back. Like you. Not some barely alive, mindless creatures -- " 

"Damon, you can't expect it to be able to resurrect thousands of soldiers at once! Its powers have limits, you know." 

"So why isn't she going around now and bringing them back? All the way back?" 

"There's not enough time, and it needs to save its strength to defeat its . . . sister," Cordelia said, pausing over the last word uncomfortably. "Son, you have to understand -- "

"Sending those soldiers into a death trap was unethical. Father never could have done it, except that it would be okay, because they could be brought back. Or so I thought." 

"They were brought back -- "

"Oh really?" he shouted. "Then go send them back to their families! See what they have to say about the promise that Roltandre could bring all of their men back alive!" 

"Please, keep your voice down," she whispered, her voice quavering. 

Damon sighed. "I apologize, Mother. I should never yell at you like that." He sat down next to her on the chaise and let her put her arm around him. 

"It's alright love," she said. "I don't feel comfortable with this either. I understand why you're upset." 

"Then why?" he said, tears springing to his eyes. "How could you let Father do this?" 

"You don't understand," she said, her voice breaking. "Damon, if the Sylph is defeated, then her power dies with her. I die with her. We have to win this war, no matter the cost." 

He pulled away. "You're supposed to be the 'heart' of Elohine. You would really let all those men die, only for their corpses to be used as weapons, just so you can live?" He shook his head. "Mother, that's not right." 

"Don't you want me here?" she said, tears falling down her face. "Don't you want me to live out the rest of my life, as I should have?" 

Guilt flooded him. "Of course I do," he said, hugging her tightly. She clung to him, her tears soaking the shoulder of his coat. "Of course I do." 

"Didn't you miss me?" 

"More than anything. Mother, I'm so glad you're here," he said, pulling away to look her in the eye. "Really, I am. But do the ends justify the means? Is this really for the good of Elohine?" 

Her expression told him that deep down, she knew it wasn't. 

"You don't understand," she wept. 

"What don't I understand, Mother?" he said softly. 

"What it's like," she said. 

His blood ran cold. "What do you mean?" 

His mother was collapsing in front of him, tears and snot flooding down her face. He had never seen her like this -- she was always so composed in his memory. 

"I was a faithful woman, wasn't I?" she pleaded. "I went to chapel almost every day, I prayed, I truly believed in the One God, in everything. I was ready for the light to accept me. But when I -- when I died -- there was just nothing."

He tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry. "Nothing?" 

"Nothing," she sobbed. "It was like -- like being asleep, in a dreamless sleep, until I woke up again in my grave, with your father and that thing standing over me. But in that moment, it was my savior. It brought me back to my life, to meaning and purpose and light, to my family." 

"Maybe you just don't remember," he said. He felt sick. "Maybe the light is so wonderful, you couldn't bring it back with you." 

She sniffled. "Maybe." She looked at him, her eyes puffy and rimmed in red. "I don't want to go back to nothingness," she whispered. 

She threw himself into his chest. He didn't know what to do except to hold her. He rubbed her back and patted her curls as she cried. 

"Breathe," he whispered when she began to hyperventilate. "Breathe, Mother." 

He was raised to be religious; he had to set an example for his people. It couldn't be true. His mother must be mistaken about the light. She must just not remember. 

When his mother had died, he used to pray to the One God to keep her safe. He used to imagine her in the light with Him, safe, and happy, and watching over him and Julian. Sometimes, he would even talk to her when he was alone, pretending she was reading with him or playing chess with him. It always made him feel childish, but sometimes it was the only thing that got him through the pain of missing his mother. 

Now, she was right here. He didn't have to pretend anymore. Yet he wanted to send her away. He wanted to kill her all over again. 

What was wrong with him?

She pulled away suddenly, smoothing back her hair and wiping her face. She shook her head and took a deep breath, and suddenly he was looking at his mother again. 

"I am so sorry, Damon," she said. She cleared her throat. "I never should have told you all of that." She laughed a little. "I haven't even told your father that."

"It's alright," he said tightly. 

"No, it's not. I should never have put this burden on you," she said, taking his hand. She smiled sadly. "You've had to grow up so fast, love, and it's all my fault." 

"No, Mother, no," he said, taking her other hand. "You didn't choose to get the plague. And you didn't choose to be brought back. Father made that choice for you. I can't imagine how difficult this all has been." 

She smiled gratefully. "It has been difficult. Thank you for understanding." She peered up at him. "You have such a big heart." 

"I got that from you." 

She smiled again and tucked his head onto her shoulder. "I love you." 

"I love you too, Mother," he said back. He shifted, uncomfortable from craning his neck to meet her shoulder. 

She let him pull back and laughed. "You're getting too big for me to hold, aren't you?" 

"Never," he said. She laughed again. 

"I should be going to bed," she said. "I'm just so sorry, Damon. For everything." 

"Really, Mother, you have nothing to be sorry for," he said, pulling the tent back for her. "I'll see you in the morning. Goodnight." 

"Goodnight," she said. 

He watched her until she was safely inside his parent's tent. He tossed aside his tear-soaked jacket and fell onto his chaise. He was exhausted, but he couldn't fall asleep. Every time he tried to close his eyes, all he could think about was the nothingness.