Ronninflea: Chapter III

An Eternal Guardians Continued Story by Mire, Guilbeau, Angelle, & Boudreaux


                        III.

"You can't do this!"

It was dark, inside and outside.  Only the faintest starlight penetrated a small hole in the roof of the cave, spotlighting the four elves gathered in the dingy cavern.  They were gathered in a circle, the hard boulders which normally served as stools forgotten.  The tension in the air was palpable; all stood as if poised to run.

"Keep your voice down, Oreollivan."

Oreollivan glared at her father, tears gathering in her eyes.  "You can't send him away!"

"Orrie, it would be a better life for him.  There are learned persons of medicine there who could help him.  It would be a quiet, undisturbed life.  It is just what he has always needed." Cavillon's clear blue eyes were also filled with tears, but her voice was as firm as her husband's.  She was truly convinced that the present circumstances were impossible to maintain, and that this option was not only the most viable option, but the best one for her second son.

"It's an asylum!" The indignant protest was a screech as fear drenched Oreollivan.  She would have never thought that their mother would support this. Father, perhaps, but not Mother.  How could they even be considering this?  "He's your son!  You cannot just send him away!"

"It is--" Mikelvic began, but their father cut him off.

"What would you suggest we do?" Lasikor's burning violet eyes penetrated his daughter's anger and fear.  He was a hard man; poverty, suffering, and the deaths of several of his children had made him so.  His hair, once as black as the cloak of a vampire, was now as grey as steel.  Fittingly, both similes also described his personality.  Oreollivan felt her father's resolve; it was infectious, but not in the way he would have liked.  Her emotion drained, leaving only her will, cold and hard as her father's eyes.  

"I do not know," her voice was rock, emotionless, steady, firm.  Mikelvic's eyes narrowed.  She was lying.  She knew exactly what she thought should happen.  What was she planning?  He scrutinized her unrevealing features as the silence swelled.

"When...when does he leave?" Oreollivan finally spoke.

"In three days.  A ship leaves for Vinturion then."

A new jolt rippled through Oreollivan.  Vinturion!  The roughest, furthest, most impoverished of the sister-islands.  It was racked with civil war, inhabited by some of the odder races on Yendys, far worse than Tabar.  What sort of asylum could exist there?  What sort of place, really, did her father intend to send her little brother?  Her parents were the ones who were insane, not Ronninflea.

"Could...could I go with him?"

"You?  Enter the asylum?" Three disbelieving elves gaped at her.

"No," Oreollivan sighed.  "Could I bring him there?  Just to drop him off.  Just to say goodbye."  Despite her plan and her resolve, a lump grew in her throat.  She swallowed, aching and finding it difficult to breathe, refusing to look at her family.  

"No." Lasikor turned away.  "That task is mine."

Mikelvic went in the opposite direction of his father, his feet leading him to the door and out into the moonless night.  Oreollivan was left alone with her mother.

"It...It is for the best.  It is.  There's no other way." Cavillion sounded as though she were trying to convince herself; her voice broke on the last syllable and she turned swiftly, following her husband further into the cave.  Oreollivan stood by herself beneath the hole in the roof, her chin high, her arms crossed.  She stared at nothing as she beheld visions of the future she would create.