Aerenden: The Child Returns (Ærenden) Read online

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  ÆRENDEN: THE CHILD RETURNS

  Copyright © Kristen Taber 2012

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9851200-1-6 (Kindle)

  This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, locations, and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locations or events is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Sean Tigh Press. No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without the prior written permission of the Author.

  www.kristentaber.com

  Cover Art by Katerina Vamvasaki

  Sean Tigh Press logo by Lance Ganey

  To my husband, who graciously smiles when I dash away from dinner in chase of magical creatures. You are my muse, my balance, my life.

  PROLOGUE

  THE WALLS fell in first. A flash of light and smoke came next. Or could it have been the other way around? It happened so fast, she could not remember. The air smelled funny, like when Papa put out the fire before bed. It filled her mouth and her nose. It stuffed her lungs and clogged her breathing. Then it turned thick and black so she could not see. She coughed. She tried to stand, to run, but her legs sagged beneath her. Tugging on a curtain, she pulled three times before she grew tired of toppling over, and crawled toward her bedroom. She called for her mama, but heard only the sound of distant screams through the smoke. None of them was Mama.

  “Mama? Mama?” she cried again, feeling her way along the floor. Her fingers brushed a rug, soft and cool compared to the stone floor. A glowing fire consumed part of the room, heating the stone. It crept toward her. Fires hurt. Papa had told her she should not touch them. Sometimes she thought about trying to see if he was right, but she did not want to try with this one. It seemed angry. Its flames popped and snarled.

  The couch began to glow, and then disappeared as the fire swept over it. It folded in half, crashing to the floor with a loud bang. She yelped. Tears stung her eyes and wet her cheeks. Her arms shook. Her legs trembled. She backed away, and found the table that usually stood in the middle of the living room. It must have toppled over too. It lay on its side next to a body that looked like Mama. She knew Mama by her hair. She loved to bury her face in it. She loved to admire the pretty flower smell of it, and the shine.

  “Mama!” She still received no answer. Her tears dripped from her chin onto her arms. They felt hot. She reached the body, the strands of hair splayed across the floor, and tugged. Her mama did not move. She pulled again, her hands slipping from her mama’s hair. She held them up, wiggled her fingers. They were sticky and red. She knew that color. She had learned it recently. Mama’s hair was supposed to be black, not red.

  The fire came closer, eating the table with gold teeth, crumbling it into gray ash like the fireplace dissolved the logs on cold days. Heat scorched her face, and singed her hair. It rolled over her body in waves, biting and clawing her skin. She shrank from it and somewhere, somebody wailed. The noise grew louder, closer, filling her with fear. The noise came from her mouth, she realized, and her lungs ached from it. She inhaled smoke and choked on it.

  She wanted to leave but Mama refused to carry her. She did not understand why. She reached her arms up, noticing for the first time the soot caking the creases of her elbows and covering her pudgy skin. Then someone grabbed her and she flew.

  Firm arms swung her fast through the air and out of the room, down a hallway filled with smoke and outside into the garden courtyard where she had often played with her toys on sunny days.

  She rubbed her eyes to clear the tears and the stinging, and felt them burn from the black on her palms. She wailed harder.

  “Take her,” a gruff male voice said, handing her over to another set of arms. She did not know the man, but she knew the woman who now held her. She knew her orange hair, anyway, but her voice seemed different.

  “Is she okay?” the woman asked.

  “Meaghan will be fine. She’s just scared.”

  “We all are,” the woman replied. “Are they both gone? Were we not able to save them?”

  “They’re gone,” the man responded, his voice heavy with anger and grief. “He betrayed them.”

  The woman looked away from him, toward the light the burning castle cast into the sky. “So he’s won. The kingdom is his.”

  “Perhaps for now. Has James told you what you need to do?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then go. Keep her safe.”

  The child wailed again and the woman pressed her close. “Be well, Miles. Give my sister my love.”

  Miles nodded. “Good luck,” he said. Then the world turned white and disappeared from memory.

  CHAPTER ONE

  MEAGHAN RACED across the yard, blades of grass sticking to her feet as she moved. Frost numbed her toes, but she could not feel it. Her skin burned and her lungs ached. Orange flames chased her, and somewhere in the back of her mind, a hulking shadow waited for her to grow tired. Her heart pounded in her chest and she gulped in cold air to calm it. Then, by sheer will alone, she stilled her feet. The need to keep moving gripped her, but she ignored it to risk a glance over her shoulder, her anxiety dissolving when she saw only the dark windows of her house behind her.

  It was a dream. Nothing more. She had known when she had opened her eyes, but the remnants of fire, and the haunting gaze of the dead had soon erased logic from her mind. The images had catalyzed her away from her room toward safety. Toward the only light shining brighter than the stars dotting the night sky—the light coming from the window in the apartment above the garage.

  Despite the late hour, Nick was awake. Reading one of the books her father had loaned him, she guessed. The last had been a book on World War II aviation. A modern mystery sat on his coffee table before that. His tastes were as mysterious as his past.

  She blew out a breath, watching as it scattered white droplets into the air, and then resumed her trek to his apartment at a slower pace. The dream began to fade, streaking from her memory like a watered down painting, and she questioned the logic of visiting Nick so late. But the panic she had felt remained and she did not want to be alone.

  Racing up the steps for the apartment two at a time, she landed at the top with a muted thud, and then took a moment to push several strands of dark brown hair from her eyes before lifting her fist to knock on the door. A few minutes passed. She shivered and cinched her robe
tighter around her body. Her fingers turned numb and she had nearly decided Nick had fallen asleep reading when the thin curtain covering the window shifted. It fell back into place and the door swung open.

  For a moment, Nick stared at her, one eyebrow arched in surprise, then his mouth tugged into a frown that cut rigid lines into his soft face. His displeasure hung in the air, thickening it until she felt she would suffocate.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  She tucked her hands into the pockets of her robe. Her eyes sought his apartment for the familiarity of the threadbare carpet and the worn, green couch, and she longed for the comfort it promised.

  “Meg.”

  Nick’s impatient tone brought her attention back to him. Waning moonlight deepened his sandy hair to brown, and darkened his eyes, shadowing ocean blue with sea storms. She longed to find comfort in them, too.

  “I just,” she hesitated. “I hoped we could talk.”

  “You know that’s not possible. You can’t be here.”

  She knew. It had only been a few days since she had tried to kiss him, since they had agreed to take time apart to allow her feelings for him to die. Her cheeks flared, and so did her fear. She had not realized time apart meant she would lose his friendship. She lifted her chin and set her jaw to prevent tears from forming in her vision. “Do you really think I’d be here without a good reason?” she asked. Removing her hands from her pockets, she crossed her arms. “My last final is in a few hours. Do you really think I’d leave my books unless…”

  “Unless what?”

  “Nothing,” she muttered. Her anger and her fear gave way to embarrassment. Why was she here? Because of a dream? Only children ran from nightmares, not seventeen-year-old women taking advanced classes. “Forget it,” she said. Pivoting on her heel, she stopped from leaving when Nick’s hand gripped her shoulder. He turned her around to face him again.

  “What aren’t you telling me?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at her. “If you aren’t here to talk about what happened between us, then what did you want to talk about?”

  She considered lying and taking a quick escape, but when he squeezed her shoulder in his usual gesture of friendship, she decided to trust him. Moving past the kiss would take effort on both their parts. “I fell asleep at my desk,” she answered. “I didn’t mean to, but I guess I’ve been studying too hard and—”

  “And you had another dream,” he realized. The tension dissolved from his face, and then his body. Stepping back, he cleared the threshold and escorted her inside.

  Hot air slammed into her like a wall, assaulting her ice-chilled skin before her body adapted to it. She wriggled her toes to revive them. Her ears tingled from the rush of renewed blood, then her nose and cheeks, but her fingers were slower to respond. She rubbed them together, relinquishing them to Nick when he sandwiched them between his hands.

  “You’re freezing,” he said. His eyes coursed down her body, taking in her robe before landing on her bare feet. He shook his head and let go of her hands. “Are you crazy? You’re not wearing a jacket or shoes. It’s supposed to snow.”

  “It didn’t cross my mind while I was running for my life.”

  “Dreams can’t kill you,” he reminded her, and then chuckled, unfazed by the glare she cast in his direction. “Have a seat,” he said. “I’ll make you some tea.”

  “Cocoa,” she instructed. Sliding into her usual place on the left side of the couch, she drew her knees under her chin, wrapping her arms around them. “With marshmallows.”

  “Anything you say.” Nick feigned a bow, and then turned to the small kitchenette flanking his apartment to follow her request. His movements were efficient, steady, and it calmed her to watch him. Once he had placed a mug of water in the microwave to heat, he leaned back against the counter, and waited.

  She fidgeted with the belt of her robe for a while before she spoke. “The microwave’s slow tonight.”

  The corner of Nick’s mouth twitched up. “Give it time. It’s old.”

  “Much like the rest of the place,” she said, glancing from the microwave to the outdated wallpaper. Stripes had faded from a once vibrant yellow to sallow gold. “It’s overdue for a renovation.”

  “Perhaps,” he said, turning back to the microwave when it dinged. Removing the mug, he set it on the counter. “But it works for me. I’m grateful Vivian and James were between tenants when I needed it. They’ve been good to me.”

  “They have,” Meaghan agreed. “I’m glad you decided to attend the university here.”

  Nick cast a glance over his shoulder at her. Shadows returned to his eyes for a moment and Meaghan clenched her teeth, feeling foolish for the slip. Nick diverted his attention back to the mug. “While we’re on the subject of school, which final is tomorrow?”

  “Psychology,” she said. “I wish I had more time. I’ll do okay, but I’m not sure I’ll get the grade I need to qualify for the advanced program.”

  “It would be a shame if you didn’t,” Nick responded. Crossing the room, he handed her the mug before sitting next to her. “You were born to help people.”

  “Hence the all-nighter. Or rather, the attempt at one.” Sighing, she stared into her cup. A few clumps of powder clung to the surface of her hot cocoa and she poked at one with the tip of her finger. Since she was a child, she had understood people’s emotions in a way that made helping them feel natural. She did not want to think about how she would react if she failed. She needed the advanced program to funnel her into her Masters and then private practice, as she had always dreamed.

  That was, until the nightmares had begun haunting her. For longer than she cared to remember, they had haunted her sleep and clung shadows even to her waking moments. She tightened her hands around the mug as flames overtook her mind again, the heat of it seeming to sear her skin. She stared at one forearm, expecting it to redden, but saw only Nick’s hand as it covered her wrist.

  “Tell me about the dream,” he said. “Was it like the others?”

  “Sort of.” Meaghan drew in a shuddering breath. Lifting the mug to her lips, she took a small sip, though she could not taste it. “It was like the others and it was different,” she said after a moment and set the mug down on the coffee table. “The woman was in it again.”

  “You mean the dead one?”

  “She wasn’t dead this time. Not at first, anyway.”

  “What do you mean?” When Meaghan did not respond, Nick drew his hand to her knee. “What do you remember?”

  Meaghan closed her eyes and tried to draw the image of the woman once more. At first, she appeared as no more than a distant ghost, hazed in black and white, but soon she solidified. She smiled, welcoming, and Meaghan caught her breath, preventing a sob from escaping her throat. The woman seemed as real as she had less than an hour before. She stood in a room of stone, but nothing more of the dream surfaced.

  Meaghan opened her eyes. “There isn’t much.”

  “Tell me what you can.”

  She nodded, letting the image take hold of her vision and her memory. “She was elegant,” Meaghan whispered. “She wore a gown. A satin ball gown, I think. It was purple. I remember because it matched the amulet around her neck. Her eyes were gold, and her hair was dark like the other times, but braided. At least it started out that way. She let it down to brush it.” And it had felt like silk, Meaghan remembered, though her hands had seemed small as she touched it. The thought stalled her breath and Nick’s fingers sought hers. She opened her eyes to view compassion in his stare. And worry. When salt water rolled over her lip, she understood why. She had not even realized she had been crying.

  “Is this too much for you?” he asked.

  Meaghan shook her head. “It just felt real, that’s all.”

  He nodded. “Did she say anything?”

  “No. She loved me though. I don’t know how I knew, but I did. I could feel it. She held her arms out to me. Then something went wrong.”

  Nick’s
grip tightened. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know. The necklace flashed as if it had light inside it. There was an explosion, fire, then…then…I can’t remember.” Fear overwhelmed her, reviving her need to flee. She bit her lip to control the reaction, but could not control her tears. She wept, and Nick brought his arms around her.

  “It’s over now, Meg,” he whispered. “I won’t let anything hurt you.”

  She found comfort in his words and in the warmth of his shoulder, and soon her fear faded. He traced his fingers across her cheek, wiping away her tears. “Have you told your parents about the dreams?”

  She shook her head, then looked away. Drawing one long breath and then another, she calmed her heart. Her shaking stopped, and she became acutely aware of how close Nick sat. Shifting away from him, she cast him a sheepish smile. “They wouldn’t understand. Honestly, I don’t know why you do.”

  “Because I care. But so do they, Meg.” He drew his fingers to her chin, guiding her eyes to his. “I realize I gave the wrong impression when you showed up tonight, but I am here for you. Don’t doubt that.”

  “I don’t.” She reached up to take his hand. Her gaze fell from his eyes to his lips. She recalled the kiss they had shared days before, the excitement she had felt with the contact. She also remembered the pain she had felt when he pushed her away. She started to withdraw from him, but she did not get the chance before he leaned toward her. His lips touched hers, and a fraction of a second later, his fingers closed around her arm and he pushed her back once more. His eyes widened in fear before he stood.

  “You have to go.”

  “But I didn’t—” Meaghan started to protest, then lost her words as anger stiffened her lips. She glared at him. “You’re the one who made the move this time.”

  His fear turned to guilt, his complexion to white. He averted his gaze. “It doesn’t matter. This can’t happen.”

  “Why not?” she asked, standing to face him. “It’s obvious we both feel the same way, so why is this a bad thing?”

  When he returned his eyes to hers, but refused to answer, she threw her hands into the air. “Fine. Keep your secrets. But know this. If I leave now, you won’t get another chance with me.”