Raised By Wolves Volume four- Wolves (83 page)

“Blind.”“
He
had some strange notions,” I snapped. “He thought

I would be thankful. I suppose my father thinks I would be thankful as well. Or perhaps he is not so very delusional, and he knows I would hate him forever if he accomplished his horrific

scheme.“Why is it, Mister Jenkins, that some men feel driven to

expect everyone to applaud their poor and sad choices? They make a choice that results in their misery; and then…
pride
, I suppose, dictates they cannot reverse it; and then they feel compelled to decide that since this has occurred to them, everyone must share in the misery. And then they justify it in the name of God as if they could speak for the Divine. Why do men do that? Why do they engage in such an obvious child’s game? Why exercise such hubris and truly risk angering God? Are they just that damnstupid?”

Obviously discomfited, he stood and set his half-empty bottle onthe barrel. “I willleave youto await the Earl.”
“Whichone?”I asked.
He frowned and met my gaze. “Whyse, I hope. Though if your father should arrive first, I suggest you hold your tongue and not anger him. Mylord.”He left us.
I sighed and tried to rein in my Horse. I understood his need to fight, though. And here we were, in a position to do so if we desired.
“Do youthink this is a further test?”I asked.
Gaston sighed. “I do not know, Will,” he said quietly, and I could hear the straininhis voice.
I embraced him. “I amsorry.”
“For what?”
“For thrashingabout inthe traces.”
He chuckled. “You are merely tossing your head. My Horse is well; he sees a path of escape—though he does worry that it is a trap.”
“Do you believe in this Lord Whyse?” I asked as doubt nipped at myheels as well. “This does seemfar too easy.”
“I must,”he said.
I pulled away to regard him and found his mien as troubled as he sounded.
He sighed. “I need hope, or I need to be bound; else I willattempt that pathofescape.”
“Youare doingverywell,”I assured him.
“I have faith, but now I do not feel I know what is expected ofus.”He smiled weakly.
I took a deep breath and thought on it. “I suppose we wait to see what the Gods bring next—and behave accordingly. So far, things have gone much better than I expected. I learned a great deal from Jenkins; and though the substance of it angered me, I know I should be grateful. This is what I came for.”
“So your father behaved as youexpected?”
“Somewhat—he is much as I remember.” I changed our tack to lightenthe mood. “Do youfeelI resemble him?”
Gaston shook his head with wonder and not refutation before frowningwiththought. “Ouiand non. He is a bigman.”
“Oui, I recallthinking I would be as tallas himsomeday; but it never occurred:perhaps that is whyI never felt I grew up.”
He chuckled and gave a small sigh and smile. “I am pleased you willnever grow into him. Are you sure you are his?” He did not appear to be entirely in jest: there was a hopeful note inhis voice.
I laughed. “You would not ask that if you had met my mother. I cannot imagine any man I would wish to own as my father wanting to bed her—especially not in the name of misbegottenpassion.”
“Truly? Thenwhere did youcome from?”
I smiled. “That was the great question throughout my childhood—asked by everyone.” I regarded him seriously. “Did you think my father would be like yours? Did you harbor a secret hope ofthat?”
He nodded. “I have wished for us to come here and be pleasantly surprised—to find that our dread was unnecessary. And that wish has been answered, perhaps, but from another source. Your father is… mad. Not the passingmadness ofa man at odds with his Horse, but the chronic illness of a man who…” He frowned inthought. “Has lost his soul, perhaps?”
“For much ofmy life, ifI had known ofHorses and Men and Wolves, I would have said my father had killed his Horse, but… Truly, I never saw himangered as he was tonight. I would say that is an angry Horse. But perhaps it is another beast entirely. Thenagain, Chris likened your Horse to a demon. And I have found myself comparing what must have been Shane’s Horse to one as well. And we have even called our own demons at times.”
“Demons are angry Horses no one can ride?” Gaston

asked.“Perhaps they are angry Horses without a rider. As we

discussed; alone, they are but beasts that do not make choices with an eye on the road ahead. They just run where they will.” I looked to him. “Yourode yours verywelltonight:ifthe Gods are testing your Horsemanship, I cannot see where you did not pass.
I
amproud ofyou.”

He indicated the cellar around us. “It is not finished, yet.” Then he smiled. “But oui, I think we should take pride in what we have accomplished so far. No one is dead—save Thorp.” He shrugged.

I sighed. “I feel we have done the correct thing, the honorable and wise thing, but I am disappointed. We will have solved nothingwhenthis Earlrescues us—for whatever nefarious purpose he might have. My father will still be a threat to us. And thoughI feelI know far more now, I stilldo not know for certain what drives him. And, I do not think it can be known. He might not even be aware of the cause. I envision it as a black box he has placed in the cave. It casts a shadow he shies away from, but he does not know what it contains.”

Gaston smiled. “I cannot imagine a man knowing what drives himto madness and not attemptingto cure it, either.”
I smiled as I thought on it. “It is a great tenet of Christianity that suicide angers God; because it is a show of hubris to discard the sacred gift of life that God has bestowed in His infinite wisdom. But any creature has life. Man is special and unique amongst the beasts because we have the abilityto reason. I think that is our Divine gift. I feel the Gods are likely angered by any man who refuses to claim the Divine birthright of a rationalmind.
“And so, if a man sees he is in pain or ails—whether in

body, mind, or soul—and he knows the cause, he should act to

body, mind, or soul—and he knows the cause, he should act to heal himself and prevent further harm. And if he does not know the cause, he should seek it. Anyother course ofactionis akinto suicide. Thus I believe my father killed himself years ago, and now he wanders inPurgatory.”

Gaston sighed and smiled. “Your mother must have takena lover.”
I laughed. “I always wished to be the child of gypsies— or the faerie folk: some changeling left on the steps of a village cottage on the night of the full moon, and given to the childless lord and his barren wife—but then my parents gave me two sisters.”I shrugged. “And there is a resemblance.”
“Oui, I suppose,” my matelot said with a frown. “But only a little in the face. Nothing else of your body reminds me of

Sarah.”I laughed. “I seem to recall you once had quite an

 

interest in her body because it was a woman’s and bore a resemblance to mine inthe face.”

He frowned. “I suppose I did. I can barely remember that. I suppose I wondered how you would appear ifyou were a woman. But thenmycock ceased to care.”He shrugged.

“I thank the Gods for your blind cock,”I said sincerely. He snorted. “I thank the Gods dailythat youare blind.” We regarded one another and I felt as close to him as I

ever had.
“Youare loved,”I whispered.
“As are you.”
I sighed happily and considered the future until such

thoughts made me frown.

thoughts made me frown.
“What?”he asked withconcern.
“If we can put this behind us with the assistance of the

king—a thingI trulydoubt thoughit is insultingto the Gods to do so…” I sighed and shrugged. “Where will we live? I suppose I shallhave to learnDutch.”

“Untilyouanger them,”he teased.
“The Dutchhave colonies inthe West Indies.” He frowned. “Do youwishto returnto the tropics?” “Is this stone floor cold? Do you wish to spend the rest

of your days wearing wool? I would like to feast my blind eyes uponyour bodyat allhours.”

He chuckled and shrugged. “Dutch Protestants are a dour lot. I suppose that might be mitigated inthe tropics.”
“There is always the Orient.”
“With five children, two wives, and who knows how manyothers?”
“Pete might marry Chris, yet; and then we would have one wife—who has a wife.”
“And—Gods willing—is the mother of your child.” He shrugged. “I have been thinking that perhaps I should marry Yvette ifPete marries Chris.”
I thought that a fine idea, still… “How long have you beenthinkingthat?”
“Weeks. Months, perhaps.”
“And youdid not feelit fit to share?”I teased.
“I did not think we were going to live.” His words sobered himand he looked away.
I sighed. “I cannot believe the Gods would be so cruel…
I sighed. “I cannot believe the Gods would be so cruel… now.”
He gave a wistful smile. “I would not think the Gods cruel if I died this day. I have had you. I have gained far more thanI ever dreamed. I would onlyregret that I left youalone.”
“Do not say that,” I said with dread. “Not while we still sit in the house of a madman who wants you dead merely to make me miserable.”
He nodded with an apologetic mien and looked to the ceiling. “Please, though I am happy, I do wish to live so that I can keep Will happy, and raise our children, and do good in the world.”
“I do hope Theyfeelthat a worthyrequest,”I said. “Else I shalllose faith.”
There was the sound of a hissed disagreement beyond the door, and we tensed. I could not make out the words or voices. Then the cellar door was flung open to crash into the wall. We jumped to our feet.
A hunched figure with a cane entered. I knew who it was; thoughI would not have beenable to recognize himwithout the context ofour locationand circumstance. It was Shane.
I had hoped not to see him. There was nothing I wished to say to him anymore, and I knew I would never hear what I wanted. Now, a thousand emotions and memories roared in and crashed uponthe rocks ofmyheart, onlyto leave me slick witha feelingI could not name.
This was not the dark-haired, pale-skinned, and often dour boy of my childhood who had granted me a grudging friendship. Nor was this the slender youth with the sad brown friendship. Nor was this the slender youth with the sad brown eyes and the soft fulllips ofmy adolescence who had offered me my first taste of love and passion. And this was not the twisted visage of drunken, demonic fury who had tormented the last days of my youth with violence and hatred. He was now a stooped, scarred, and bloated caricature of a man, with bloodshot eyes, sallow skin, and a silver mask over half his face; and he was peeringat me withwonder.
“Shane?”I whispered.
He took a long shuddering breath. “Marsdale? It’s you. My God, it’s you.” His words had the soft slur of heavy wine. He stepped closer. “I heard…” He looked about with sudden concern and spied Gaston. He froze with an unreadable expression.
I glanced over and found my matelot regarding my supposed nemesis withsurprise and curiosity.
“Shane, this is Gaston Sable; Gaston, Jacob Shane,” I said.
Shane looked to me. “You have given up everything for that?”The visible halfofhis mouthtwisted into a sneer. “I’ve had

better.”“Aye, youhave had him,”mymatelot said flatly.

That wiped the sneer fromShane’s lips, and he regarded Gastonwithrecrimination. “Aye, I’ve had him.”
“And lost him,” Gaston said with the same lack of expression.
Shane recoiled and studied the floor. “I didn’t
lose
him. He left.”
“Aye, because you drove me away,” I said with calm. I
“Aye, because you drove me away,” I said with calm. I had nothing to lose and nothing to fear. “I loved you, and you repaid me inviolence and shame. Why? Because youwanted my father’s love more thanmine? And what has that gained you?”
He regarded me with the hurt and lonely eyes of the boy who had come to share my life all those years ago. It tore at my heart and finished shredding all the veils and curtains I had hung in order not to look where he truly stood in my past. I had glimpsed through them here and there since beginning to heal in Gaston’s arms; but now there was only truth and light, and my memories ofShane stood exposed—good and bad.
His old anger flashed, and myHorse recoiled insurprise.
“
Your
father,” Shane growled. “I stayed and earned him.”
I calmed my Horse and stood my ground. “Earned him? What a fine prize, Shane. Look what he has done to you,” I said softly. “What you have let himdo to you. You have let himtwist you into a miserable and bitter man like him. Is that—this—the best life has to offer?”
“This!” He indicated his mask and cane. “This was done by your damn sister. Nay, this is not the best of life. I’m ruined, aye! Eventhe blind know it. Nay,
before this
, I was a better son than you. I became a man in his eyes:not some damned mewling sodomite! He wanted me as his son. He lamented my being born to another and youto him.”
He was not saying anything I had not heard fromhim: he had thrown the same words and justifications in my face before I escaped; yet, I was surprised he still believed it. I was surprised I had.
“Nay, I think he lamented you not being another— namelyyour father,”I goaded. “I think he loved your father more thanmymother.”
He froze, surprise and doubt inhis eyes.
“I have a theory,” I said. “I think my father was once muchlike us. I think he loved men. And I think someone told him it was wrong. And I think he abandoned his love for the sake of propriety, just as he demanded you do. And I think he wishes for us to be as miserable as he became. What do you think of that?”
He did not respond. I saw fear inhis eyes.
“Or perhaps I am wrong,” I said. “Perhaps you never loved me. Perhaps I am just a damned mewling sodomite who wants to believe everyone is like me in order to justify my beliefs.”
He took a ragged breath. “I loved you! It was wrong. It wasn’t what a mandoes, but I loved you.”
It hurt; and yet it was a great relief. “I loved you, too. That is why you are not dead after all you did to me. I have killed many men since for far less. But you, nay, I ran from you because I was heartbroken that you would treat me as you did whenI loved youso.”
Shane sat heavily on a barrel. “He, he… He said men didn’t do that kind ofthing. He said boys sometimes have foolish notions; but men grow beyond them. He said if he ever learned I did such things, I would have to leave—he would send me to an orphanage and I would have nothing because I would deserve nothing. He said you were weak, but he couldn’t be rid of you because youwere his fleshand blood:but he had faithinme, that I could overcome suchmoralweakness.”
He met my gaze. “But Marsdale, I still wanted you. It was the beast in my soul. No matter how much I drink, it is always there. I cannot drown it, and then… And then when I drink it gets the best ofme. It always has.
“I amsorry,”he whispered.
I could scarcely believe I was actually hearing those words fromhim. I had dreamed…
“I forgive you,” I said. “I forgave you… I do not know when, but at some moment inthese last few years, I forgave you. I blame him—myfather—
our
father. He set out to tear us apart. Maybe because he truly believes it was in our best interests: I know not.”
Shane sobbed—once. It was a forlorn and choked sound, and then he threw his head back and swallowed it down. When he looked forward again, his gaze settled on Gaston for a moment and quicklydarted to me.
“He’llkillhim,” he said. “Nay, worse, he’llmake you kill him. That’s what he wants.”
Once again, I could not suppress my surprise at the monstrosityofit. I shuddered.
“He’s expected me to…”Shane shook his head.
“He has expected you to kill your lovers?” I asked with further horror.
Shane snorted. “I’ve not had lovers,” he said irritably. “How could I? Nay, he’s expected me to be discreet—to clean up my mistakes and leave no evidence of my drunken stupidity and sinfulness.”
I recalled Sarah mentioning a young sodomite who had disappeared from the village on the estate. I wondered how many times Shane had raped and killed in the name of drunken and twisted logic. It sickened me; and filled me with pity—for everyone involved—evenhim.
“Our father has made youinto a monster,”I said sadly.
He took a shuddering breath. “You were always the smart one.” He stood on shaky legs and thumped his way to the rack that held the wine. He selected a bottle with care, uncorked it with practiced ease, and drank deeply. “I hated you for being smarter thanI was,”he said as he wiped his mouthonhis sleeve. He snorted. “I hated that bastard Rucker for… Nay, I was jealous.”
“I am curious,” I said with resignation. “Did you say somethingto have Father discharge him?”
Shane nodded and took another drink.
I thought of all the other things he had done or I had suspected he had done. Anger flared whenI came to Goliath.
“Whydid youtorture myhorse?”I asked.
He winced and grimaced. “Jealousy,”he whispered.
“Because he was mine and youcould not ride him?”
“Because he was yours and youdid ride him.”
He was an abomination—and he had loved me. Nay, he had been turned into an abomination for his love of me. What was I to think ofthat? He should have beenstronger, perhaps.
“I cannot forgive you for Goliath,” I said. And then, because I would know: “Did you plan to do the same to Gaston?”
There was a quiet gasp frommymatelot.
Shane grimaced with guilt and shook his head tightly. “I did, but… Nay, not now that… I’ve seenyou, and…”
There was a commotion beyond the door. We tensed at hearingour father demand Jenkins step aside.
“Do youlove him?”Shane asked.
I regarded himwithsurprise, and he pointed at Gaston.
“More thanlife,”I said.
With lambent eyes, he nodded and set the wine bottle aside.
The door burst open and my father appeared: coatless and wigless, pistolinhand.
“No damn king will tell me how to…” my father was snarling.
He glared at Shane with surprise, and then tore his gaze fromhimto pass over me with disdain and settle on Gaston with malice. His armrose, bringingthe pistolto bear onmyman.
I could not say whether he would fire or merely threaten. It did not matter. The maw of death at the end of that piece could not be pointed at Gaston. We were dead ifit was.
Time slowed and nearly stopped. Gaston’s eyes filled with alarmand he slowly began to hunch down and aside. I had started moving when I saw my father’s intent; but my love seemed a million leagues away across the cellar, and I knew I could not reach him fast enough to push him aside or stand before him. I could only pray my father took the time to say some angryor pithythingbefore pullingthe trigger.