Eeri opened her eye somewhere on the beach at Avendale. As so often, she tried to awaken the vision in her dead eye, without moving. All in vain. The nightmare continued, none of it a bad dream.
Even if she hadn't been able to show it, she was deeply happy for Kyriann and Ostium, who over the years had built a stable, lasting relationship in keeping with the values of the federation. Their marriage had been just like that, festive, happy, carefree. In a word, Tryker.
But so many people, what an ordeal for her. So many glances at her disfigured face, her once terrifying right arm now dangling pitifully from her shoulder, which was also almost motionless. She hadn't responded to the many greetings. She'd had to make a gigantic effort to finally meet Wixarika, Lylanea and a few others, pretending she'd simply not seen them.
The terrible Eeri, who had become a shadow of her former self in the wake of one folly too many. Coriolis wasn't enough; she still had to believe she could go on, to contemplate the ramparts of Fyre. The flamboyant Kipesta, against whom she had failed in combat, had won. She'd foolishly thought she was up to the task, running madly towards the fight, without thinking, instead of letting her companion take the axe. Oh, what a chance to come back, what a chance not to have lost her mind completely, they all said. She'd have been better off dead, dying with honor, in combat. She would have done better to return to Citadelle, give the truth to the marauders, and face their justice. And who could blame the Karavan agents who had taken them in? In the same situation, she would have done anything to help fellow human beings in distress.
The only comfort she found was with Azazor. The two had been through so much, hated each other so much, yelled at each other so much, that an invisible bond bound them, oscillating between love, devotion and complicity. Of course, they still quarreled and disagreed deeply on many subjects, but they also shared a common and unique vision, like two souls who had bonded in death and resurrection. Two souls who needed only a brief glance to understand and accept each other.
But he wasn't there.
Azazor wasn't there to give her the little spark of energy she so desperately needed. Had they lost their way? The fyros had decided to take their son, Uzykos, to Fairhaven, without telling her. It didn't surprise her that father and son had left without her. Uzykos avoided her out of fear, or shame, she wasn't sure. He'd probably found a way to delay their arrival, not caring if he arrived on time for his mother's friends' wedding. All Eeri's attempts to create a bond with her son were failing, day after day, driving her deeper into drink.
She would have been better off dead. Her son should have kept the image of a heroic mother, the image of crazy, brilliant parents, with grandiose dreams that would have led them to their doom, or never to take the road back. Would it have been better? She had promised to come back, she had come back, but at what price... She was well aware that she had missed everything. Well, Lyren seemed to be doing just fine. Probably because she hadn't been raised by her mother.Ò
Those Karavan agents should have let them die.
Her time was over. She was useless, finished, destroyed.
Even if she hadn't been able to show it, she was deeply happy for Kyriann and Ostium, who over the years had built a stable, lasting relationship in keeping with the values of the federation. Their marriage had been just like that, festive, happy, carefree. In a word, Tryker.
But so many people, what an ordeal for her. So many glances at her disfigured face, her once terrifying right arm now dangling pitifully from her shoulder, which was also almost motionless. She hadn't responded to the many greetings. She'd had to make a gigantic effort to finally meet Wixarika, Lylanea and a few others, pretending she'd simply not seen them.
The terrible Eeri, who had become a shadow of her former self in the wake of one folly too many. Coriolis wasn't enough; she still had to believe she could go on, to contemplate the ramparts of Fyre. The flamboyant Kipesta, against whom she had failed in combat, had won. She'd foolishly thought she was up to the task, running madly towards the fight, without thinking, instead of letting her companion take the axe. Oh, what a chance to come back, what a chance not to have lost her mind completely, they all said. She'd have been better off dead, dying with honor, in combat. She would have done better to return to Citadelle, give the truth to the marauders, and face their justice. And who could blame the Karavan agents who had taken them in? In the same situation, she would have done anything to help fellow human beings in distress.
The only comfort she found was with Azazor. The two had been through so much, hated each other so much, yelled at each other so much, that an invisible bond bound them, oscillating between love, devotion and complicity. Of course, they still quarreled and disagreed deeply on many subjects, but they also shared a common and unique vision, like two souls who had bonded in death and resurrection. Two souls who needed only a brief glance to understand and accept each other.
But he wasn't there.
Azazor wasn't there to give her the little spark of energy she so desperately needed. Had they lost their way? The fyros had decided to take their son, Uzykos, to Fairhaven, without telling her. It didn't surprise her that father and son had left without her. Uzykos avoided her out of fear, or shame, she wasn't sure. He'd probably found a way to delay their arrival, not caring if he arrived on time for his mother's friends' wedding. All Eeri's attempts to create a bond with her son were failing, day after day, driving her deeper into drink.
She would have been better off dead. Her son should have kept the image of a heroic mother, the image of crazy, brilliant parents, with grandiose dreams that would have led them to their doom, or never to take the road back. Would it have been better? She had promised to come back, she had come back, but at what price... She was well aware that she had missed everything. Well, Lyren seemed to be doing just fine. Probably because she hadn't been raised by her mother.Ò
Those Karavan agents should have let them die.
Her time was over. She was useless, finished, destroyed.
---
Eeri"Quand on a le nez trop près de la bouteille, on ne voit plus le bar"