Broken by Mande Matthews

Author:Mande Matthews [Matthews, Mande]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Guardian Tree Press
Published: 2014-03-11T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 26

Weyland watched the young man strut out of their view. Seretta helplessly lifted her shoulders, as if apologizing for Rolf’s bad behavior.

"Don’t mind the boy," Weyland assured her. "He’s young and has much to adjust to."

"I try to impress upon him the seriousness of song, but he just keeps up these awful jokes. They aren’t even humorous."

"Nei matter. Keep on with your work, and he’ll settle in sooner or later."

"I hope you’re right."

"You’ll see. In the end, everything will work out just fine."

Then Weyland turned away and allowed his façade to crumble. The boy made him angry. Not only that, but Weyland was tired of cajoling these foolish, self-important songvaris. He’d spent thousands of years pretending to be someone other than who he was; it exhausted him. Why did he let that boy’s silly lay upset him? He’d heard the Scandian version of the gods before. He knew what tales were told on cold Scandian nights about Loki and his abomination of a son, Fenrir. He knew that neither the Scandian myths, nor the Alven versions were the truth.

Only he knew the truth. A truth that would soon be known. A truth that had been squelched throughout the ages as the Alvens made up their own mythology to make themselves so much more important than anyone else. Just like the Guardian had done to his father ages and ages ago.

Weyland’s skin twitched for release. His flesh wriggled underneath his muscles, signaling he could not contain himself much longer. But he didn’t want to rush—rushing meant calling attention to himself, and he had one more job to do before he could seek release. He forced his feet to slow as if sauntering along as if he hadn’t a care in the worlds, and he pasted the fake smile back onto his face.

Regardless of what the boy said to the others, they wouldn’t believe in the tale. Weyland knew that neither Scandians nor Alvens realized there were both lies and truths in everything; if you looked hard enough you could find either. They were too foolish. Both races believed what they were told—what was passed down to them as if it were law. Even if the boy was determined to undermine his teachings with lays that actually contained bits of truth, not a soul would believe him.

Both Alvens and Scandians are too entrained to open to the possibility of being wrong in their beliefs.

Weyland strode through Asheim, waving at residents, smiling at those fools, looking for a moment of solitude where he could slide into the shadowwalk. He always had to be careful—if any one of them ever discovered he was a walker, discovered what he actually was, they’d never bend to his "suggestions" again, but ages of disguising himself left him more capable than any of these bothersome children.

Besides, over the ages, Weyland had learned to blend in—to not be noticed. It was a gift from his father—a final sacrifice to keep him safe—and he loved his father for the ability more than he could express.

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