The big man moved far quicker than a man his size seemed able, pounding his fist into Garin's stomach. Garin jerked, barely able to keep himself from doubling over and accidentally slit his own throat.
"Release him, you fucking moron!" the bandit leader hissed. "I need him to talk."
Garin felt the knife and hand pull away, then he was shoved forward and onto his knees. Just as he rose, he was laid flat, his side burning where the highwayman kicked him, lungs struggling to suck in air.
"Well?" the big outlaw demanded as he stood over him.
Garin didn't try to rise again but turned over to stare up at the brigand. Pain wracked his body, and the shallow cut in his neck still dribbled blood. But fear had been replaced by that pulsing, all-consuming Song. He opened his mouth.
The words hissed and curled in unfamiliar sounds even to his own ears. Yet somehow, he knew their meaning as clear as if he'd spoken in Reachtongue.
"Boil blood."
The big man's expression shifted, then he stumbled back a step, eyes widening, staring at his hands. Garin watched as his skin rippled, and his veins bulged, then looked away as the man began to scream. His shrieks cut off in a sudden, wet squelch, and the blood, burning hot, seared Garin's face in droplets.
For a moment, no one moved. Garin opened his eyes and looked around at the bandits. The buzzing still filled his ears, incessant and maddening, like hornets had made a hive of his head.
As his gaze fell upon them, the highwaymen broke, some slinking away into the shadows, others abandoning all dignity and pelting into the forest. In seconds, they were gone, leaving their leader's prone, bloody body on the forest floor.
Garin's eyes fell to what had become of the big brigand. What you did to him, some part of him corrected, but it was hard to listen with the Nightsong filling his ears, the sharp sounds cutting into him, the soft sounds carrying him away—
"Garin!"
He opened his eyes, and Tal knelt before him, hand on his shoulder, eyes creased with concern. As if his name had been the word needed to break the trance, the buzzing faded away.
"Garin," Tal repeated, low but urgent, "are there any more?"
Garin saw Aelyn standing just behind him, staring with a mixture of disgust and fascination at the remains of the bandit. As the smell of blood suddenly registered, he felt his stomach twist, and then he was bending forward, splashing sick up Tal's boots.
"Never mind, never mind," Tal muttered, shifting out of the way while maintaining his grip on Garin's shoulder. "You're not the first man to retch at the sight of a corpse."
"Though that one's a good deal uglier than most," Aelyn observed.
Garin sat up and wiped his mouth. I did that, he thought, the words cycling through his mind. I did that. It was more than the act of it; he had willed it, wished to hurt the man with every shred of himself. It hadn't been the Singer's command that had done it. It was him.
And it was only then that he knew: even when they reached Hunt's Hollow, he wouldn't be coming home. There was no home for the devil he'd become.
Welcome to Hunt's Hollow.
The words were carved into a board raised by two poles that the town's mayor had cobbled together, but Tal supposed it served as an archway. You certainly know where you are, he thought.
Home. He wondered if returning to Hunt's Hollow was coming home. He'd been born and raised within its borders, but he'd left before he'd even become a man. He'd been too many places, seen and done too many great and terrible things, to believe he could call anywhere home.
Yet, in some small way, thinking of Hunt's Hollow as home was a comfort. And we all need what small comforts we can get.
He glanced at Garin, who stood staring up at the sign next to him. Wren was on Garin's other side, watching him with a creased brow. He wondered if the boy now felt the same as he did. Ever since the incident with the highwaymen the evening before, he'd barely said more than two words within Tal's earshot.
"Can we enter? I'd rather not waste any more time here than necessary." Aelyn stood at Tal's other shoulder, his nose wrinkled as if smelling something foul. It wasn't just the mage's sensitive nose — the stink of livestock permeated the air, thick and pungent as a duchess' perfume. A sharp-tipped traveler's hat once again hid his pointed ears and shaded his elven eyes.
"You go on," Tal said, "and you as well, Wren. I want a private word with my apprentice."
Wren curled her lips. "Just get me when you're ready," she said to Garin, then went back to join the rest of the troupe as they continued setting up camp behind them.
"Don't keep me waiting," Aelyn said with a strained smile, then went forward to wait under the welcome arch with uncharacteristic patience. He's more eager for this leg of our journey to be over than I — to make no mention of removing that Binding Ring from his finger.
He turned back to Garin. "Something's troubling you."
The youth shrugged. "Just the same as before."
"It's a heavy burden. I'm sorry I placed it on you."
"You didn't." Garin finally looked over at him. "I chose to go with you. I pushed to enter the ruins. I knew the risks. Besides, maybe it's just as you said: maybe this devil has always lived inside me." He hung his head. "Anyway, a man makes his own decisions, and he has to live with them."
True enough. Tal looked back toward the village. He knew Garin had grown and matured. He could only hope it would be enough.
"Even so," Tal said, "there's something you ought to know."
He hesitated. Say the words, part of him whispered. You must say the words.
But the truth often brought far less healing than it promised. Even when it was owed. Even when it was overdue.
Garin was watching him, waiting, his brow creased again. Perhaps the last time he'll look at you, another part of him mocked. Surely the last time he'll want to.
But no matter the consequences, no matter how it would change both of them, Tal forged on ahead, if only to ease the guilt pressing down on his chest.
"Have you ever wondered why I took you on as my apprentice?"
The space between Garin's shoulders prickled at his words. Have I done anything but wonder?
"A lot of people asked," he answered, his voice neutral.
The man he'd followed through Night's Pyres and back sighed like he was setting down a heavy rucksack. "Don't mistake me; there were other reasons. In part, it was due to your curious and restless nature, and the fact that you often hung around my farm. But those are the meanest of my excuses." Tal's mouth stretched wide, but it looked like the grin some of the draugars had worn, a corpse's smile. "The truth is… I knew your father."
Garin looked sharply at Tal, his heart suddenly pumping like he were running a race. "You did?"
"Yes. I told you I was born in Hunt's Hollow. Growing up, most of the other children called me Bran the Bastard on account of my unsavory origins. Your father wasn't one of them. He was a friend, my only friend, in a town that shunned me for being a fatherless, unnatural whelp."
"Friends?" Whatever Garin had been expecting, it wasn't this.