Escape from Trelanus Place

   Escape from Trelanus Place

Cirilli fastened the dreamcatcher back onto its hook over the bunk Boz shared with Atalaya. She glanced worriedly down at Boz's ashen face as he lay sleeping fitfully, the hitch in his breath betraying a mind buffeted and tormented with dark dreams. Her elation at vanquishing the metal warrior and defeating the lock on the door had vanished like smoke in a hard breeze when Atalaya had yanked the pillowcases off his and Sorrow's faces, and they realized Boz was being tortured by some horrible, evil magic.

He had been near death, it seemed. Sorrow had launched himself across the floor, coming down hard on his elbows in his desperation to reach his brother. Silver rivers were coursing down the bard's dark cheeks, and it seemed that his eyes themselves were melting, pouring themselves out like metal spilling from a crucible. 

She'd never seen Sorrow in such a state, and she couldn't stop thinking about it. It made her want to cry. 

Boz moaned softly in his sleep, his face twisting. Cirilli was glad he would not be alone tonight. He was unquiet in his mind, despite the fact he had shared some of Nevil's nightcap.

The light in the doorway flickered, wavering, and she turned to see Sorrow standing there, Delerium under his arm. "Are you alright?" he said softly, squeezing past her to sit on the edge of the bunk. 

"Me?" Cirilli felt the heat of water behind her eyes. "What about you?" 

He shook his head, shadows dancing grotesquely behind him. "No," he admitted. "I'm not." 

She stepped close to him, putting her arms around him and leaning her head against his shoulder. 

He cleared his throat. "Vic's used that whip on me," he whispered. "I know what it feels like. I thought Boz was going to die. He probably would have if y'all didn't come when you did." 

"He's not going to now, though...right?" 

Sorrow shook his head. "No. But he does need to sleep." He raised the instrument to his shoulder and drew the bow across the strings, singing in a barely audible voice.

In the shadows of tall buildings

Of fallen angels on the ceilings

Oily feathers in bronze and concrete

Faded colors, pieces left incomplete

The line moves slowly past the granite fence

Across the borders between continents

In the great temples from where we all roam,

There is a feeling that you should just go home

And spend a lifetime finding out just where that is.

The sweet, pure notes were almost too much to bear. Cirilli felt a hitch in her throat, and a palpable release of stress. The flicker of movement behind Boz's eyelids calmed.

"Did you heal him?" Cirilli whispered. 

"No." Sorrow put the violin back under his arm and got up, wincing when the bunk creaked. "But hopefully he can sleep better now."

"Sorrow?"

"Mm?"

"What did you do to your cousin? The man who did this?"

Sorrow looked at her for a long moment, and then leaned forward, softly kissing her on the forehead. "Good night, little warrior. Get some sleep."