Page 55 of Burying Venus
Dermot watched blearily as Aubrey stood, the news being so at odds with what he knew. He feared he was still asleep, but the thought made him more aware of the weight of his boots as he stumbled to the door.
Breesha’s smile didn’t falter. ‘Really slept on the floor, didn’t you? Never thought there’d be someone to make you act all gentlemanly.’
Head down in mortification, Dermot glimpsed the cart set upon dewy grass.
‘All ready, are you?’ Aleyn said.
Incredulous Aleyn had recovered from their disagreement last night, Dermot inched closer to Aubrey, the boy having wandered away to gawk at their newfound companion.
‘I’ve packed some food. All nice and tight in the cart, it is,’ Breesha said, patting the wood. ‘Aleyn and I have been up since this morning telling folks all around what’s going on, haven’t we?’
‘That we have,’ Aleyn said. ‘Very kindly, this cart and donkey have been donated to our cause.’
Dermot observed the villagers who had come to meet them. He recognised them all. Some still haunted him in nightmares,others he’d prided himself on forgetting. He’d never truly been apart from them, despite the distance.
He said nothing. Surely these people, stupid as they were, hadn’t been told the same tale of a faerie queen. He hid from them, steadfast in his indifference, until he came to one of those very boys who’d so tormented him in childhood. Terror nipped his heart. His only desire was to leave and, hurrying to get onboard the cart, stumbled into a child that had just leapt out in front of him.
‘Watch yourself, Kerron!’ a woman cried out. Dermot recognised her immediately. She was the same girl who sometimes walked with him to the schoolroom. Their acquaintance had been a short one, owing to her having bettered herself. ‘Never you mind him, Dermot, that’s my little boy coming to wish you well.’
That she was now a mother was too much. Oftentimes he thought of himself as little more than a child, and he had reverted back to that with his own mother, sitting down for her pottage as he often had. Never had he considered a babe, and he marvelled at her having begotten one.
‘Mister,’ said the boy shyly. To Dermot’s amazement, he had not started to cry. He merely moved a few steps away. ‘Are you really going to kill Lord Robert?’
Dermot could not disguise his shock, even in front of such depressing company. He fumbled to the cart, not daring to help Aubrey lest his nature be observed. Scowling at Aleyn, for surely he’d put nonsense into the child’s mind, he waited for Aubrey so they could depart.
‘My word!’ cried the boy’s mother. Her name, he recalled, was Lora. ‘He’ll be killing no one. The things children suppose.’ She rushed to cradle Kerron in her arms. ‘You’ll have to forgive us, I’m afraid. He’s quite taken with Aleyn’s stories.’
‘We don’t know what might occur,’ Aleyn said, coming to Lora’s side with a smile. ‘But our Dermot is going to fix what’s been broken. We best thank him kindly and wish him well.’
Caring only that Aubrey was now safely onboard, Dermot murmured, ‘I don’t know what’s been said of me.’
‘Only the truth. That you’re going to ask our lord for his aid, that I’ve put some rushes in the cart. The children of this village are mindful of our teachings, not the nonsense taught at that institution the Stanleys call a school!’ Here the child laughed in Lora’s arms, reaching for Aleyn so that the old man held him instead. ‘That’s the only way we can be certain of good tidings, my boy. I myself have not been fit to make the journey in some time, and it’s Dermot I’ve chosen to go in my place. We can’t very well count on our lord if we do not make ourselves known, can we?’ Here he cooed at the child and swung him about in his arms, as fit as ever.
He was thankful Aleyn said no more, knowing Aubrey sat only a few inches away from him. That his journey to meet Fand was alluded to at all was incredible. Looking to Lora and seeing her colour, a light dusting on her pale cheeks, he turned away.
The child said that man’s name, the long gone hero Aleyn spoke of in every tale, and Dermot flinched at their provincial ways being paraded in front of Aubrey. Fingers tightening on the reins, he was ready to give the donkey a kick.
‘Wanting to be off, are you?’ Breesha said, coming to his side. ‘And a happy goodbye to you as well! Going to leave without saying farewell to your own mother?’
‘Mother,’ Dermot hissed, thinking of Aubrey and his terror, surrounded by people who would’ve torn him apart had they known his surname. He flinched, chest tight. ‘I… goodbye, then. I hope you will never have cause to worry.’ He remembered only then that this was to be their last meeting, as her hands, so changed from how they were in youth, at last released him.
‘Aleyn,’ Dermot said, nodding to the old man as he cracked the whip on the donkey’s back. He’d never commanded a cart, the training at his father’s expense being focused solely on horseback.
‘Dermot!’ cried one of the young men who’d bullied him. ‘Gods be with you.’
Breath catching in his throat, Dermot turned helplessly to see him waving. The very same who’d kicked and spat on him, the volley of hatred reverberating between them even now. ‘Be on the watch for Robert and his men, else any forces coming from the mainland. And never fear, he’ll not be getting through us!’
‘I’d like to see him try!’ Breesha called, swinging her fist at no one in particular. ‘And remember to keep the food cool, Dermot, don’t put the packs out in the sun.’
Wondering what would prompt him to do so, he watched as the villagers waved goodbye. Even he, who Will called cold and suspicious as a girl, found no malice in them. A few of the men had come out from their work to wave and shout farewell. The boy even called out his name as Lora carried him away. Dermot turned back, at a loss for what to think. His eyes were hot with it, and it was only when one tear strayed that he knew he was crying. Sniffing and going immediately to wipe the wetness with his sleeve, he recalled Aubrey.
‘Don’t mind them,’ Dermot said, careful not to say more in case his voice cracked.
‘They hold you in high regard,’ Aubrey said. His voice was steady despite their chatter; that fantastical accusation Dermot was about to slay his brother as if he were a prince in some fairytale, Robert the villainous sorcerer to be thrown from the ramparts.
Dermot did not know what to say. Long had he dreamt of leaving the island, the shadows of his tormentors looming too close. Now those same creatures spoke well wishes with tonguesthat once lashed with gossip and rumour. Perhaps time mended their savagery, but he had no desire to see them again.
He at last took breath without feeling himself smothered. There was no happiness to be found in the village. As the road signalled their departure, his eyes remained steady without want to turn back. His mother he would remember, perhaps even Aleyn, but the rest would be dead forevermore. He would go to another country, meet worthier people, and forget them.