Mickey Reichert - The legend of Nightfall

Nightfall let the words wash over him, wondering how she had come so close. Not since Dyfrin had taken young Nightfall under his tutelage had anyone managed to guess so many details about his past. He could not help considering her explanation for his behavior, though he discarded it. He hated pity because it did not suit the strong and private person he had become, and he associated caring with betrayal because the two went hand in hand. It seemed eerie to hear the words in the voice of one who had reinforced the truth of the concept, she who had pretended to love then turned him over to a sorcerer instead. It only proved that she had known and fully understood the cruelties she inflicted upon him, and she had no shame or conscience.

Kelryn’s explanation seemed to lose Edward, like a poorly crafted story with roots so outlandish even a child could not believe. "I couldn’t imagine hitting anyone. How could a mother batter her own son?"

Kelryn shrugged. "Don’t expect me to defend her. But I know from others that, when you’re trying to feed and fend for self and family with no means to raise money except to sell yourself to strangers in front of children you hope will fare better than yourself but probably won’t, a woman can get terribly mad and frustrated. Hit a stranger, and he hits back. Hit your own child, and he still has to love and depend on you."

"This happens often?"

"I doubt it. But I don’t think Sudian is completely alone in this either."

Nightfall could imagine the light shining in Edward’s innocent, blue eyes at the thought of a new cause to champion. To one who saw evil in slavery and striking of servants by masters, the thought of adults beating children had to burn like a brand. He waited for the prince’s rallying call, the endless stream of committed words he could never translate into action. For the first time since he had seen Kelryn again, he smiled. Though hardly the worst he could wish on her, he appreciated that she would suffer through one of Edward’s long, rambling tirades.

But the prince did not speak. Instead, he sat in a pensive silence, apparently considering all aspects of the problem for the first time. Despite the darkness, position and attitude told Nightfall that consideration, not shock, kept the prince uncharacteristically quiet. The disruption of the relationship between mother and child put the slave and servant beatings into a new perspective. Surely, Nightfall’s story about slaves shunning freedom only added to the frenzy of thought taking form in Edward’s head. No easy resolution here, at least not to a prince dedicated to goodness, right, and fairness to all.

To Nightfall, however, the solution came in a rush. In the past, he had tried to deal with, deny, or forget the ugliness that was a theory to Edward but an existence to him. Never before had he pressed forward to find an answer for other children in a similar quandary. Now it seemed obvious. The moment she chose to hit him, his mother had lost the privilege of raising a child. He should have run; or, better yet, some adult should have spirited him away to a farm where the hardship of more mouths to feed became balanced by more hands to tend the chores. He would have missed his mother’s love, but he would have traded it for that of another who did not temper her affection with pain. As a bonus, he would have had a father and siblings and responsibilities that gained him praise as well as punishment. To consider the needs or feelings of the battering mother made no sense to him. Her intermittent love for him was no justification for the thing she had made him into, for the innocent lives he had taken with little remorse.

Nightfall pushed his own ideas aside, wondering how much had come from his speculation about Edward’s thoughts. He could no longer blame his spree of murder on his mother; his own hand had wielded every weapon.

Kelryn changed the direction of the conversation, if not its subject. "Whatever he suffered as a child, Sudian’s a good man. I only ever needed to mention a problem to him, and he handled it for me every time. Those he cares for, he cares for well."

Only Nightfall understood the understatement. The few men who dared to manhandle Kelryn had quietly disappeared, never known to be victims of the demon. Over time, Kelryn had become cautious about her complaints, making certain to hastily add, "But he’s a nice person. I like him," when she feared he might take action with a punishment beyond the scope of the crime.

“He’s certainly done well by me," Edward returned absently, thoughts still apparently on the previous topic.

Kelryn rose. "I need to head home. I’ve got practice in the morning. Thank you for a pleasant evening.”

Prince Edward leapt to his feet, youth lending him a grace that nearly matched Kelryn’s. "I’ll walk you back. The streets aren’t safe for a beautiful, young lady out alone at night."

"Beautiful?" Kelryn took the first few steps, the agile movement adding to her loveliness. "Thank you. That means so much coming from a handsome man used to women of high breeding."

"All the cosmetics and perfumes in the world can’t give a woman the natural radiance you possess."

Kelryn lowered her head modestly, her smile visible even through the night.

The maudlin, stilted line nauseated Nightfall, but the image even more so. As much as he hated the thought, the prince and the dancer looked good together.

The dance hall looked familiar in the moonlight, its many wings jutting like insect legs into the night. Nightfall watched Prince Edward and Kelryn amble toward the main doorway, still discussing him, though the theme had changed from his history to his personality. They talked about his loyalty, generosity, and the honesty that bordered on brutality. The description seemed so opposite the usual hatred and grudging respect applied to him, he repeatedly suspected they had switched topics. But always, just as he became certain he had missed a reference, he recognized the name "Sudian" or a specific that could only apply to himself. All of the examples they used were true, the motivations they ascribed to him far less so. Prince Edward always found the best in anyone, and it bothered Nightfall that Kelryn seemed sometimes to know him better than he knew himself.

Despite his discomfort and the rage that waned only slightly with time, Nightfall remained aware of all sound and movement around him. As they passed the dancers’ quarters, something seemed amiss or, at least, different from his inspection earlier that evening. A brief study from a distance brought him the early details he sought. The painted-closed shutters to Kelryn’s window seemed changed in contour, and he caught a glimpse of fragments of a shiny substance on the ground beneath it. While the prince and dancer headed for the entrance, Nightfall crept up for a closer inspection.

As Nightfall drew nearer, he recognized glass shards sparkling like dew amid the grass spears. He frowned at the oddity. Even castle glass was rarely thin enough to allow a clear view, and the thicker, more poorly made the pane, the more difficult to break. The dance hall windows had seemed particularly shoddy on first scrutiny. Also, the pieces seemed oddly shaped for glass: tiny droplets that clung to the greenery, long dribbles that dangled through the shutters, and flat oblong chunks that seemed more to have coalesced than to have shattered. Alert, he slunk to the window and picked up a particle. It felt slick and dry, just as he expected from glass, though colder to the touch than the late spring air could explain. Now, too, he saw the shutter. The bottom right corner had broken, and chunks of wood interspersed with the glass in similar patterns. Dribbles of glass striped his vision, closing off a hole large enough to admit a person.