Why do I feel like a condemned man?

Chapter 2, Part 2 (Voyage of the Dawn Breaker.)

Rhyslin lay still, gathering his strength, before bringing his hands to his sides and then pushing up, first to his elbows. When he felt steady enough, he swung his legs over the edge of the down-filled mattress and sat on the edge of the bed with his head in the palms of his hands.  “That was strange,” he muttered after rubbing his forehead.  “It took too long to release the power.”  He blinked and then took a long look around the room.  “Why aren't we on board the Dawn Breaker?”  He inquired as he felt the ranger's prana from across the room.

Marcus stepped out of the shadows, his cloak shifting colors as it adapted to the slightly brighter light, settling into a lighter brown and tan pattern.  “How are you feeling, Rhys?”

“I feel like Ifrinn, old friend,” Rhyslin muttered as he ran his fingers across his scalp.  “You didn't answer my question.”  He let out a slow, pain-filled breath and turned his face to look at the ranger.  “Why aren't we on board the Dawn Breaker and halfway home by now?”

Where do I start?  Marcus wondered and then shrugged.  “Because the Dawn Breaker had to evade a storm.”

“What storm?”  Rhyslin blinked, confused, “I don't remember a storm.”  He closed his eyes as he thought back.  “As I recall, there were no clouds in the sky.”

Marcus nodded, “What's the last thing you remember?”

Rhyslin tilted his head slightly to the left.  “Interrogating the Ogren.”  He paused, his brows furrowing as he dug into his memory.  “I remember trying to let go of the power and how hard it was to do so, and then nothing until I woke up.”  He drew in a deep breath.  “What happened?” 

“Mathair Astinmah showed up,” Marcus stated.

“She did? When?”  Rhyslin shivered, and a tingle shot down his spine. Despite the size of the room, he felt confined.

Marcus saw the suspicion in his friend's eyes and sympathized with him. “Mathair Coille showed up midway through the interrogation,” he explained how the goddess had taken over the oldest Dryad and matured her.

When he described her new appearance, Rhyslin sighed.  “Poor Keisha, I hope she'll be okay.”

Marcus shrugged and then decided to tell Rhyslin the rest. “I think that's the least of your problems.”  When the draoidh arched a brow, the ranger continued, “For the last three days, Mathair Astinmah, Mayana, Lilly Ann, and Analise have been sequestered away with the other two Ciad-Ghin queens and Natolie, working on something.”

As each woman was named, Rhyslin's heart rate increased.  When the two taghta were mentioned, Rhyslin sighed softly.   “Why do I feel like a condemned man?”

Marcus grunted, “Because you are a clever man, and having seven women plotting something is something every man should fear.”  He reached out and patted Rhyslin on the shoulder.  “As to the storm, your mother summoned it up the minute you passed out.  It was so sudden and violent that Captain O'Cuire felt it was wise to run before the storm and return when it is calmer.”

Rhyslin nodded, “He's following orders.  He's to put the safety of the ship above all.  We can survive without the covering fire, but it's a long walk home without the ship.”

The ranger grunted again but couldn't argue with that order.  He watched as Rhyslin looked around for his clothes.  “Now, where do you suppose my caretaker put my clothes?”

When Marcus sputtered, Rhyslin shook his head in disappointment.  “I was unconscious, Marcus, not dead.  I felt every touch of her fingers, and I can almost count the number of times that she washed my forehead.”  I even felt the other one and heard her heartfelt request.  He thought to himself as he caught sight of his clothes and reached for them.  After getting dressed, he looked around for his staff and spotted it leaning against the wall a few feet away.  “Just got to test me, don't you?”  He muttered as he put his hands on his knees and, with a grunt, pushed himself to his feet.  As a wave of dizziness threatened to overtake him, he closed his eyes and let it wash over him.  “No,” he muttered as he felt Marcus reach out to help him.  “I've got this,” he winced as he took a half step forward, and his right knee wavered.  “Yeah, yeah, I know,” he whispered as he took another step.  This time, it was his left ankle that crackled.  “Oh, hush you,” he admonished as blood flowed to his muscles.  Four more steps, each surer than the last, brought him to the staff.

As his fingers closed around the worn wood, images flooded his mind.  “Oh, I see,” he murmured as he observed.  “Marcus, your description of Keisha's change doesn't do it justice.”  He quirked a brow when the staff hummed smugly.  “So, you sang for her?”  Rhyslin couldn't help but chuckle.  “It's okay. I would have praised her as well.” 

After communicating with the staff, Rhyslin put his hat on and turned to Marcus. “Come on, Old Wolf. Let's see what Mathair is doing.”

The ranger nodded and followed Rhyslin into the hallway.  “Still feel like a condemned man?” 

“Without a doubt,” the draoidh replied as they entered the afternoon sun.  Rhyslin raised his right hand to adjust the brim of his hat.  As he felt the staff give a gentle tug, he turned to the right until he looked down a brick street.  “This way, Marcus.”

As they made their way down the street, stepping around the occasional snow drift or water puddle, Rhyslin shook his head.  “It will take months for the local weather patterns to correct themselves.”

“Could you fix it?”  Marcus asked, even knowing what the answer would be.

“With the right ritual, maybe”" Rhyslin replied after a moment.  “It's better to let it fix itself.  After all, I don't want to muck up the weather completely.”  When Marcus grunted noncommittally, Rhyslin shook his head and muttered, “I am not a god.”

“Are you so sure about that?” the ranger inquired as he quirked his brow. “Isn't your Mathair, well, Mathair na Coille?”

“That's what she keeps telling me,” Rhyslin admitted, rolling his eyes. 

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