Journey to Aviad

by Allison D. Reid

Dusk came early upon the wood. Though the rain had ceased, the skies had not yet cleared. The thick gray clouds stubbornly blocked out what little daylight yet remained. The wind grew increasingly cooler, leaving Elowyn shivering under her thin summer cloak. She longed for dry clothes and something hot to eat, knowing she was not likely to get either. In the last moments of twilight, just as she had resigned herself to stopping, she stumbled unexpectedly upon her destination. It had crept up on her as stealthily as a shadow in the night. Rising above her were the remnants of a crumbling stone archway, so entangled in vines that she almost missed seeing them. Elowyn pushed aside some of the leaves so she could trace her fingers across the surface of one of the pillars. The stone had once been polished smooth, like marble, and engraved with intricate designs. Time had obliterated many of them, but a few had survived to tell their stories.

  At the peak of the arch was the carved symbol of Aviad; an outstretched hand holding three flaming spheres. She remembered the story of the creation of the world … of how Aviad gathered the stars together, and from them molded the earth, the sun, and the moon. There was no question that this was the temple she sought, only now that she was here, did she dare enter? Instinctively Elowyn felt that, abandoned or not, on the other side of that archway lay holy ground. Once the threshold was crossed, she would be wholly in the realm of Aviad the Creator, who still guided humanity from the world beyond. She wasn’t sure why that thought made her tremble so, for she loved Aviad. She had learned much about his ways from the scholar in the temple who had taught her to read and write, and she knew that those ways were kind and just. Yet, in her heart, she was afraid to step forward.

  Perhaps she did not feel worthy, she who held no status in the world of men, she who was of little importance even to her own kin. Why should Aviad accept her into a place that once held the greatest of his priests and scholars and Tomes of Knowledge? Surely if this temple still stood erect, she would not be permitted to enter and approach the altar, any more than she had been allowed to study alongside the sons of the wealthy. She felt like a thief, sneaking in by broken window to a place where she did not belong, and would not be welcomed. How long she stood and stared at the archway she wasn’t certain. Time seemed to stand still. Nothing else in the world existed but her, the gateway before her, and the symbol of Aviad staring down upon her from above.

  Elowyn realized that she must make a decision. There was barely any light left for making camp and she needed to find a suitable place, quickly. Far in the distance she heard something baying and howling at the rising moon. The night creatures would soon be out, perhaps the Hounds were among them. She stared up at the carved image of Aviad’s hand, and remembering the way she had been taught to properly address Him in prayer, whispered, “May I enter, Lord? Is it right for me to enter?” Her heart instantly felt comforted, and all her fears and uncertainty fled. She even thought she received a response—though no one spoke aloud—in the kindest, softest, most loving voice she had ever known.

  “Come in, Child.”

  Elowyn closed her eyes and stepped through the archway. Squinting one eye open, she looked around. Nothing bad befell her … no lightning had come down to strike her for entering the temple, neither had she been torn to pieces by fierce guardians of the holy ground. Aviad had indeed welcomed her.

  Elowyn cleared away more vines to get a better view of where she was. Though the roof was long gone, enough of the walls remained that she was never quite sure what awaited her around each corner. Normally she would not have entered such a place in the dark. She did not know these ruins, and she could not see more than a few feet ahead. There could be anything—anything at all—hiding in wait, and she would never know until it was on top of her. She was taking a walk of faith as she cautiously moved forward, trusting in Aviad to protect her.

  In what was once the center of the temple, Elowyn found that one corner of the inner room still stood with the vaulted stone ceiling above it intact. It was a place of shelter for which she was thankful. Apparently someone else had recently been there, for there was a blackened ring on the floor and some dry leftover wood that had once been part of a fire. In the last moments of light, she scrambled together any dead wood she could find close by, wet though it was. From her bag of provisions she pulled out some dry tinder and a smoldering coal, taken from the cottage hearth. It wasn’t long before she had expertly started a small fire. She placed some of the wet wood near the flames to dry it out.

  Now there was nothing for her to do but sit back and wait for Einar to come. Elowyn removed her overdress and laid it alongside her boots as close to the fire as she dared. She knew it would be foolish to sit all night in wet clothes. Huddled in the corner, she nibbled on some bread and dried fish while she watched the fire dance and allowed her tired body and spirit to rest. It was unlikely that Einar would arrive by night, but at least she felt fairly protected from wind, rainfall, and anything that might try to sneak up on her from behind. Though she didn’t know it at the time, her instincts had been right about the ruin. Abandoned by the folly of men, it was indeed holy ground, and remained one of the greatest places of power in the world. There was no need for her to be concerned about Hounds approaching it. Had they dared to tread there, the very soil would have burned their flesh.

  By the time Elowyn’s overdress had dried, her thin summer chemise had dried as well, the heat of the fire radiating through it to her skin. She made a futile attempt to brush off the mud before pulling the dress over her head. Her clothes were in such sorry shape, she could already hear Morganne chastising her for not being more careful. But that voice of disapproval was growing more distant as she felt herself being lulled to sleep by the warmth of dry clothes and the comforts of the fire. She murmured a simple prayer for protection while she slept, and then she knew no more until the morning sun fell across her.

  In those first few moments of half consciousness, Elowyn forgot where she was. She felt the sun’s warmth on her skin, and her mind took her back to that favorite place by the stream where she had awakened peacefully so many times before. She was convinced that once she opened her eyes, there would be a canopy of green leaves overhead, with the light shining behind them so that they looked like the stained glass in the windows of the Temple.

  What she did open her eyes to was far more glorious. Spread before her were countless stone pillars and archways where once great halls and chambers had stood. Rising up around them were trees and flowers and grasses that had pushed their way up through the stone. On one end stood a large portion of wall completely covered in vines, its secrets yet to be revealed. But the best part so far was the ground beneath her. Patches of brightly colored mosaics shone through the dirt and fallen leaves, still speaking their silent tales should anyone care to listen. They remained as a lingering tribute to the days when the Prophets lived and walked among them. She wished that she could have seen these mosaics as they once were, and not in their present state of decay, which served as a painful reminder of better days now passed into history.

  Elowyn felt a sudden urge to care for this place that had lain unloved for so long, and having something to do would help pass the time as she waited for Einar. First, she set to work clearing away all the vines that had grown up and around everything. This was more difficult than she had expected, since many of them were old, thick, knotted vines which had not been cut back in any number of years. Those that were hard and rooted in the ground like trees she could do nothing about. But the young, thin, green ones pulled away nicely when she put her weight into it. Guessing what might be revealed beneath the leaves became an amusing game—sometimes there was plain stone, at other times she found carvings or even bits of paint where once there had been pictures on the walls.

  When the walls revealed images of the Ancients, or Prophets, or once great heroes, Elowyn clapped delightedly, smiled and bowed to them in greeting. She felt as though she were releasing them from the bonds of time, awakening them from a long, lonely sleep.
She made a good effort to figure out who each one was, though most remained a mystery. There was often not enough of the image left for her to tell much about it, or her knowledge of the Ancients and the spiritual texts was too limited for the given clues to make any sense to her. But there was no question that each one was important. The only one she felt sure of, which was repeated over and over throughout the ruins, was the image of Aviad, most often portrayed holding the heavens in his hands.

  The last ivy-covered wall in the innermost part of the ruin turned out to be the best preserved. Nearly all of the carvings remained intact and in fair condition. Each set of carvings was separated, which made it seem as though she were looking at different pages of a book. The pictures progressively told a story when strung together. Elowyn tried very hard to understand the message of the story, but the images were filled with people, places, and objects that she did not know. She hoped Einar would be able to tell her what it all meant once he arrived.

  Breaking a branch off a nearby tree, Elowyn set to work sweeping away dust and fallen leaves. She then decided that she would do a bit more exploring to see what other mysteries this place might hold. There was, unfortunately, little left to be found. The further out she got from the central room, the less preserved the ruins were. In many places, only the stones of the foundation remained, with rubble scattered all around. She did, however, find an old well, for which she was grateful. Like the fire ring, the well had also been used recently. There was a new rope and wooden bucket for drawing the water, which was fresh and pure.

  Close to the well, Elowyn found a stone basin, half sunk in the mud and covered by a blanket of fallen leaves. She had seen similar basins at the Temple, sitting atop pedestals and filled with holy water. This one seemed to have once rested atop a pedestal too, the pedestal itself now broken and indistinguishable from the rest of the rubble. Carefully, she scraped the mud away with a flat stone, hoping that the basin would still be intact underneath. Miraculously, it was still whole, though too heavy for her to lift and carry. She had to drag it to the well to be washed off. With no small amount of guilt, she then removed her overdress and used it to drag the basin the rest of the way back to her camp. As she saw it, her dress was already so mud-stained it was beyond hope. It was more important to her that she not risk damaging the beautiful mosaics or breaking the basin.

  Elowyn nestled the basin carefully in the center of the great room, filling it with water from the well. The trees and sky overhead danced on the surface of the water with mirrored perfection. She had intended to wash up her hands and face, yet somehow this did not seem appropriate now that the basin was sitting in the midst of Aviad’s greatness. No longer simply a convenient vessel filled with well water, it had become once again a sacred object that belonged to the glory of the temple. Many times Elowyn had watched the learned monks and priests of Tyroc dip their hands in the holy water, and ceremonially bathe themselves before approaching the altar room. But the hands they dipped were clean, their hair and clothes well kept. Looking down upon herself with disappointment, she saw all too clearly her mud covered skin and clothes … the uneven fingernails so black underneath from scratching in the dirt that she doubted they would ever come clean again. Her hands were rough and calloused, even at her tender age, from both hard work and too much time spent climbing rocks and trees. She was glad that she could not see the state of her hair or face. Though she would have liked to wash herself in the basin, she felt that she would only contaminate its purity, and that it was not enough to cleanse her. Instead, she sat and gazed upon its simple beauty while feasting on some bread and wild apples from her bag. By now the sun was high overhead and she was quite hungry from all her work.

  Elowyn was torn as to what to do next. There was still no sign of Einar, and she did not have an endless amount of provisions. She would need to stock up on wood for her fire before nightfall, perhaps even find something to eat. Somewhere nearby there was a stream where she could wash herself and find some small fish to catch, if she was lucky. But what if she left and Einar came? Would he wait? And then the most uncomfortable thought of all … what if he didn’t come? How long was she expected to stay with the Hounds inching closer each night? In the end, she decided that she did not have much choice but to leave the camp in search of the stream. Before she did, she scratched a short note in a patch of exposed earth near her campfire, saying, “I am here. E.” She hoped that he would understand and wait. She slung her bag over her shoulder and went exploring on the other side of the ruined temple where she had not yet been.

  The terrain there was more rough and broken, with large boulders strewn about. She found several dead trees knocked over by the latest storm, many of the branches already shattered into manageable pieces that she could break without the need of an axe. That would take care of her wood supply—now to find the stream and food. Following the sound of the water was more difficult than she had anticipated. It seemed to be leading her into more and more difficult terrain, with gigantic tangles of thorns, jagged rocks, and fallen trees whose roots had pulled up massive amounts of earth when they fell. They formed unstable walls that could not be safely climbed, and which housed all sorts of crawling things and spiders’ webs that Elowyn had no desire to become intimately familiar with. Eventually she came to the edge of a ravine, with the stream rushing at the bottom. Elowyn sat down on a rock, frustrated by this sudden obstacle in her way. Even if she could scramble down the cliff edge, there was no surety of being able to climb back up without falling. She would need to find another way down, but which way?

  Elowyn decided to walk downstream. She was certain that the cliffs must eventually give way to gently rolling woodlands as she got nearer to the city walls. Tyroc on the whole lay rather flat along the coastline. More importantly, she would rather be heading in the direction of Tyroc than away from it should she run into any trouble. Though the painstaking journey along the ravine’s edge seemed endless, she did eventually come to a place where she could safely climb down.

  The stream was full of small rushing waterfalls, swirling pools, and brightly colored pebbles winking at her like gems from their sandy bed. It really was a lovely place to spend an afternoon—almost as lovely as the place she had lost to the Hounds. Elowyn cleaned herself up the best she could without having to completely immerse herself in the frigid water. For Morganne’s sake, she attempted to wash her overdress as well. She flung it hard against the rocks, while the frothy stream tried to grab the heavy folds out of her hands. When she felt that she had gotten the dress as clean as she could, she laid it across a warm boulder and began to look for trapped fish in the shallow pools further upstream.

  By the time Elowyn had finished her afternoon expedition, she had caught several small fish, found a patch of promising looking berries, some wild onions and mushrooms, various types of pottage plants, and a stash of herbs to dry and take home with her. Overall, she’d had a successful day. But as the sun got lower in the sky, she felt a sudden sense of urgency to return to the ruins. What if Einar had come and was waiting for her? She grabbed her things and hastily made her way back, guided only by her sense of direction. She hoped that by starting out at the lower end of the stream, closer to Tyroc, she would find a more gentle pathway and bypass the difficult terrain of the ravine above. In that, she was correct and the return journey turned out to be far less difficult. Rushing to the place where she had made camp, Elowyn looked around desperately for any sign that Einar had been there. To her disappointment, the ruin was completely undisturbed, including her simple note scratched in the earth.

  Elowyn still had plenty of time to gather more dead wood and get her fire going before nightfall. She revived the fire and laid her overdress before it to finish drying while she gratefully prepared a dinner of freshly caught fish, meager though it was. She washed her smelly hands at the well and filled her water skin to its fullest before settling in for the evening. As dusk began to close in on the wood, Elowyn realized with great apprehe
nsion that Einar was not coming. She was about to spend another night alone in the ruins.

  Once the sun had fully set, and the rim of the world was but a quickly fading streak of blue, the howling began. The eerie sounds seemed even closer, and stronger than before, filling Elowyn’s heart with dread. She pressed herself against the wall, allowing the fire to stand as a vigilant barrier between her and the oppressive darkness beyond. Though the danger was nearer, Elowyn found that she was less afraid than she had been the previous night. Now that she knew some of its secrets, the ruin itself was far less foreboding. The red-gold light from her fire flickered against the bare walls she had cleared away. Each time the flames were revived with the poke of a stick, or the addition of new wood, she could see the face of Aviad smiling down upon her. Far above, the sky’s nightly journey had begun. The stars had always been such a comfort to her—now they were more so as she thought of Aviad’s place among them. To her mind, the stars were messengers of the living Aviad, winking at her through the dark uncertain hours of night, reminding her that she was ever watched over.

  Elowyn’s dreams were exceptionally vivid that night. First she dreamed that she heard a voice, the same voice that bade her to enter the Temple two days earlier. This time it told her that she must clean herself. She looked down to find that her dress had been renewed, and there was not so much as a smudge of dust anywhere on her. Even her hair had been washed.

  So she asked, “How must I clean myself, since I am already bathed?” The voice insisted that she must be clean for the journey.

  “What journey?”

  But to that question came no answer. Somehow she understood that the voice meant for her to wash in the basin, as she had seen the men doing at the Temple. Elowyn approached the basin, looking up at the great carving of Aviad above her on the wall. She knew it was the image that had spoken, though how she could not say. She just knew. She cupped her hands and filled them with water, pouring it over her head. Beyond that she did not know what to do. She did not know the prayers and songs that the monks sang in the holy places.