[east_emnet]

Chapter 60: Awakening

“They can because they think they can.”

Virgil


Toulouse, September 2, 1082

Eberhard de Toulouse found himself on his knees, swords at his back, looking up at the man in the feathered helmet standing before him. He couldn’t see the man’s face, but the voice seemed strangely familiar. A fire blazed to Eberhard’s right.

“I know what you were trying to do, Roman,” the man growled.

“I’m not…”

“Quiet,” the man in the feathered helmet cut him off. “Don’t speak unless I say so. You have tried to murder me. To keep you from doing so again you must be thoroughly punished.”

Eberhard began to panic, “I…”

“You must burn for it,” the man shouted over him.

Suddenly, Father Lois of all people stepped out from out of the shadows behind the man, “Being brave, Mucius stuck his own hand into the flames, and burnt it clean off. He could have used a bit of work on the subjunctive, though.”

Also stepping out from the shadows were Miquel, sneering and strutting, and Gaston’s dead half brother Barnard, soaking wet from head to toe. “We will throw him in for you, sir,” they both said in tandem.

Out of nowhere, Eberhard felt an unknown hand on his shoulder, shaking him and saving him from the nightmare.



Eberhard didn’t show much appreciation for his sister after she saved him from burning to death in the dream world. “Peironela, how many times have I told you…”

“To knock on the door before opening and not to bother you when you’re asleep, yeah, I know, but this is important.”

He rolled onto his back and opened his eyes. Peironela and Bregida were standing over him, sporting grim looks unbecoming of both of them. “What’s wrong,” he asked.

“You know what,” Bregida stated simply.

Eberhard wished that he didn’t know, or that he could feign ignorance, but they had seen right through that. He nodded, sitting up in bed and yawning, “Miquel and Clara?”

“Yes, Miquel and Clara,” Bregida replied, “and we need your help.”

“What do you want me to do about it?”

Bregida grabbed Eberhard by both ears and got right into his face, almost causing him to shriek in surprise, “Don’t give me that! You know exactly what he’s doing to her, and have known for quite a while. I can’t wait any longer. You can help us stop it.”

“Don’t you think,” he said carefully, wincing, “I would have already thought about this.”

“Yes,” she answered, “but not hard enough.” At this point she decided to let go of his ears, and backed off a bit. Eberhard fell back onto his bed, his ears bright red. Bregida’s own cheeks reddened, and her voice softened, “Eberhard, you can’t do what most of us can, but that doesn’t make you any lesser than any of us. You’re the smartest and sweetest person I know.”

Eberhard almost began to tear up, and would have if his sister wasn’t standing at Bregida’s side, smirking. Briefly, he wondered why he was the “smartest and sweetest person” Bregida knew and not Bert. He quickly assumed that she liked Bert in an entirely different way, one he could not yet comprehend fully. “Well,” he finally asked, “what’s the plan?”

“We’ll reconvene the Court,” Peironela answered.

The Court. Those two words brought fond memories from a much less complicated time streaming back. When all of them were younger, it was a kind of game they would play. One of them would play “the Duke”, which was almost always Gaston’s role, since he would one day be a duke, who would hear and make judgments on make believe grievances brought up by everyone else, “the Court”. It was just a kid’s game, really, but Eberhard quickly realized what Bregida and Peironela had in mind.

“Did we ever try to settle real problems in the Court,” he asked.

Peironela shook her head, “This will be the first time.”

“It could work.”

“No,” Bregida insisted, “it will work.”

“When and where,” he inquired.

“Tomorrow morning, in the woodlot,” she said, nodding to Peironela, who then left the room.

He sat up, “What should I do until then? How will we get Miquel to agree with this?”

“I’ll take care of him,” Bregida reassured him. “It’s your job to spread the word to everyone else.”

Eberhard smiled, “Alright, I’m on it.”

She smiled back, and turned to leave. At the doorway she looked back with concern dawning on her face, “I’m sorry. For hurting you, I mean. I shouldn’t have done that.”

He shook his head, “No need to be. Actually, I kind of needed that.”

With that Bregida was smiling again, “See you later.” She turned and left.

Now Eberhard was alone with his thoughts, and he had a lot to think about. He thought about those who had gone crusading, about Miquel and Clara, and about Bregida. Try as he might, he couldn’t understand why Bregida acted the way she sometimes would. Ever since she kissed Bert she was acting strangely. She never was this moody before. Again, Eberhard decided to chalk this up as something he couldn’t yet understand and left it at that.