David Dalglish - Cloak and Spider

A boy , thought Thren, staring down at the crying child as if it were this bizarre thing. What name did we promise to use if it was a boy?

“Aaron,” he whispered, finally remembering. It was as if his mind no longer wanted to work. He kept thinking of the way Marion had convulsed in his arms, kept hearing the echo of that long, horrid shriek.

Thren stared down at Aaron. The baby’s eyes were swollen shut, his nose pressed downward. Atop his head was a shock of blond hair, so much like Thren’s own. So little of Marion, he realized. Would she be denied to him even in the life that had taken her away?

“Aaron,” Thren whispered again, trying to evoke something in himself, to make this alien thing he held suddenly have meaning. He wanted to feel protective toward it, to feel he could sacrifice the world to ensure its safety. Upon his holding Randith, not even a king’s army could have forced the baby from his arms. But what was this thing? This crying, angry thing that twitched within the blood-soaked towel?

It was a death sentence, a murderer, a thief of the life of his beloved Marion. This baby had stolen away her future, stolen away the very breath from her lungs and left her pouring out lifeblood upon a mattress. Much as Thren tried to deny it, much as he tried to remind himself that he held one of the few pieces of Marion left in the world, he felt only rage. Cold rage, something unlike what he felt when a man betrayed him, or a lord or member of the Trifect dared insult him. There was so little emotion to it, so little passion. It was angered death in him, an all-consuming thought.

“You took her from me,” Thren whispered. “Why? What cruel joke in this world decided she was to die now? She’ll never hold you, never feed you. Your older brother will grow, mature, take a wife of his own, and never again behold the face of his mother.”

He was crying again, though he’d never realized he’d started. He noticed only when the tears fell upon Aaron’s face. The baby’s crying had begun to subside, still constant but not as strong. For a brief moment Thren thought the baby might die there, rendering Marion’s sacrifice worthless…and the only thing he felt was satisfaction. Escape. Already the burden of raising Randith would be on his shoulders. Did he want this creature to be his as well?

All it’d take was a shift of the towel wrapped about him. So easy it’d be to block the air from his lungs. So easy to bury him along with his mother, to say goodbye to the future he should have had.

Thren’s fingers grabbed the top of the towel. Thren’s eyes widened, and he felt the cold rage dwindling down into emptiness, total emptiness. He no longer cared. Not about himself, not about Marion, not about Aaron. Was it shock? He didn’t know. Did it matter? Higher he pulled the towel, then shifted his fingers, pressing it against Aaron’s mouth. The baby’s crying immediately stopped. As he held on tight, Aaron’s legs kicked harder, his arms flailing out to the sides.

The door to the other room opened, and out stepped Grayson. Thren pulled back the towel, shifted his arms to hide what he’d done.

“What?” asked Thren as Aaron resumed his crying.

“Marion wants to see her baby,” Grayson said, and despite his tears, a smile spread wide across his face. “Now get your ass in here.”

It was as if the stone about his heart shattered. Thren felt he could breathe again, felt as if the room weren’t so dark. Slowly he walked inside, Aaron cradled in his arms. Marion smiled at him from the bed, still deathly pale, but she was herself again, her bloodshot eyes showing recognition for the first time in hours. Calan stood beside her, looking very much drained.

“Praise Ashhur,” he said, putting his hands on his back and stretching until it popped.

“Indeed,” said Thren, feet moving of their own accord. Once at Marion’s side he offered the baby to her, and she gently took him and placed his mouth to her breast.

“It’s a boy,” she said, her voice raspy.

“His name’s Aaron,” Thren said. “Randith should be happy. He’s always wanted a brother to play with.”

“Aaron,” Marion cooed, then laid her head back on her pillow and closed her eyes. “I’m glad we picked that name. It suits him.”

Thren didn’t quite see how it did, but he would not question her now. His hands free, he wiped the tears from his face and tried to recover his bearings. Glancing into the other room, he almost felt as if he’d stepped out of a different world, a darkness to which he wanted never to return.

Grayson once more went to his sister’s side, and with him cradling her, Calan took the time to gently pull Thren aside.

“Why did you think you must drag me here at sword’s edge?” the man asked.

Thren started to answer, stopped. It seemed almost stupid now, but it was hard to explain the panic they’d all been in as Marion’s health failed through the night.

“Because I feared you’d say no,” he said. “Given who I am. Who we are.”

Calan put a hand on his arm.

“I don’t care if you’re the king, a peasant, or Thren Felhorn. I’d have still come, and still done my best to save that woman’s life.”

Thren grinned.

“I am Thren Felhorn.”

Calan froze for a moment, then chuckled.

“Well. It’s good to know I didn’t make such a boast in vain. Both those lives, your child’s and your wife’s, are miracles. Cherish them. Protect them. I do not know what fate awaits them, but I pray the gift was given wisely.”

Thren crossed his arms and looked away. The gods weren’t for him, he knew, and he felt uncomfortable with the priest’s admonition.

“You’re free to leave,” he said.

Calan nodded, moved to the door.

“I stole a life away from the Reaper this night,” the priest said as he opened it. “Look to yourself, Thren, and then to the child. Make it mean something.”

And then he left.

Thren went back into the room, saw the midwife attending Marion to help with Aaron’s latching, and Grayson leaning against a corner of the room with his eyes closed, fast asleep. Back to the bed he walked, and he let his eyes settle on Aaron Felhorn.

Make it mean something , echoed Calan’s words in his head.

Thren didn’t know how, didn’t know what it even meant, but he knew that come his future days, he would ensure just that. Randith would be his elder son, heir to the empire of drugs, theft, and murder that Thren daily built. But Aaron? Aaron would be something more. Something special.

Someone to steal life from the Reaper.

Thren kissed his wife on the lips, then told her goodbye.

“Don’t worry,” he said, pausing at the door to the quaint home on the corner of the winding street. “The Scorpion Guild will never find you here.”

Marion smiled at him, exotic and beautiful despite the simple dress she wore, which clung to her dark skin and hinted at so very little being worn underneath.

“I’m more worried about not being found,” she said. “Do not forget about me here, and bring my boys to me when you feel it safe. I miss them already.”

She gave Thren a look he’d often wilted under before, one that promised a fiery passion should he return to her. All he had to do was momentarily escape the guilds, the dealings, the bloodshed and drugs.

“I miss you already as well,” she told him.

Thren chuckled, shook his head, and then stepped out into the street. Waiting for him was Grayson, arms crossed over his muscular chest.

“I’m telling you,” he said in his baritone voice. “It’s not safe here.”

“And why is that?” Thren asked as the two walked down the empty street. Worn homes were on either side of them, many with boarded windows and locked doors. The territory was newly taken by Thren and his Spider Guild, and it still showed the remnants of the bloody conflict that had earned him the victory.