Elowyn carefully gathered as many herbs, lichen and other useful plants as she could from the surrounding meadows and woodlands. Much to her relief, she found that she did not have to forage in as deep as usual to find what she needed. Elowyn was apparently not the only person who was wary of straying too far from Tyroc’s borders. Some of the wild plants were faring quite well with the unusually wet weather, while others were sickening and rotting where they grew. Her garden plants were no different, and Elowyn found that she was forced to harvest some of them far earlier than she liked, and give up on others all together.
This was always the hungriest time of the year. The previous winter’s stores were nearly gone, but the new harvest had not yet come in. There was growing concern that the grain harvest might either fail or be badly tainted with ergot, which could be deadly if not carefully removed before milling. Those who still had large amounts of good grain or flour tucked away suddenly became less free with it. Prices rose at the market for bread and baked goods of any kind that required flour or meal. Morgan either could not, or would not, pay the high prices, and so they went without bread, relying on ground cinquefoil root for flour and porridge.
Elowyn found, however, that the biggest hardship she had to endure was not the lack of bread or food, but her newly given responsibility of trying to keep Adelin out of trouble. Adelin was used to having Morganne’s full attention. She could not understand why she had suddenly been passed to Elowyn, who was trying her best to keep Adelin entertained and still get her own work done. For the first time, she began to fully understand and appreciate the daily toil Morganne endured without complaint. If Elowyn looked away for even a moment, she would find Adelin pulling on Morganne’s dress or trying to climb into her lap. There were times when Elowyn had to resort to penning up Adelin with her in the garden, behind the makeshift fence that was used to keep the animals out. Adelin would stand and cry in the direction of the cottage until Elowyn was so unnerved that she teetered on the brink of tears herself. But eventually even Adelin would grow weary of crying and drop to the ground with a surly expression, crossing her little arms angrily in front of her. When it rained, however, the garden was not an option, and they were all stuck inside together.
Rainy days were by far the worst. The cottage was overflowing with cloth, finished garments, and garments that were in various stages of completion. At times Elowyn was used as a dress form, or was made to carefully press, hang, or fold different pieces as they were handed to her. She was always very apprehensive about touching the finished garments, and it certainly did not help that Morganne’s watchful eye scrutinized everything she did. Elowyn wanted nothing to do with these garments in particular. Never had she seen their like before … precious velvet gowns in deep, rich colors, luxurious fur lined mantles, full and flowing linen dresses covered in delicate beadwork and trim, weightless silk that was as smooth as water between her fingers. She thought that to wear such a garment must feel like wearing air. Some of the dresses had elaborate embroidery, or were couched with gold thread that glittered brilliantly in the firelight. If she damaged even one of these, she feared what her mother would do to her. She would almost rather face the Hounds again.
There came a fateful week when it did nothing but rain … the long steady kind that soaks through everything. Trapped inside together for so long, with pressure mounting to get the order completed on time, everyone’s nerves were frayed. Adelin was impossible to occupy, and her constant crying for Morganne only made the tension worse. Their mother kept looking up from her loom to glare at them. She growled at Morganne to keep Adelin quiet, while Morganne and Elowyn exchanged helpless glances, unsure of what else to try. Morganne would then sit Adelin on her lap for a while, but the work she was doing was far too delicate to have Adelin moving about or pulling at the fabric, and she did not want her curious little fingers to get caught on the needle. Elowyn made more attempts to keep her occupied and quiet, to no avail. Their mother demanded silence again in threatening tones that chilled Elowyn’s blood. But what could she do? Stand with Adelin out in the rain until they both caught their deaths? Bitterly she thought that it was not likely her mother would mourn their passing.
Elowyn did her best to keep up with Adelin, until at last she had chased after her so many times that Adelin was starting to see it as a game. She began to run from Elowyn on purpose just for the sake of being chased, laughing the whole time. Elowyn did not find it amusing at all. Finally, Adelin tried to make a wide pass around Elowyn by running toward her mother. Her young, unsteady feet stumbled and got tangled up in the threads being fed into the loom. She fell, pulling the threads with her, and damaging some of their mother’s weave in the process. Elowyn stood frozen and wide-eyed as she watched her mother’s face grow white with intense anger. Morgan rose from her stool to her full height and breadth, her lips curling into a thin, snarling line. She raised her hand to strike the oblivious Adelin with blows that were likely to kill her at that young, fragile age. Before Elowyn quite knew what was happening, Morganne had thrown down her sewing, snatched Adelin into her arms, and backed away. Their mother’s first blow whistled through the empty air. The shock of being defied in such a way by her eldest daughter was the last for Morgan. Her anger grew to an uncontrollable rage the likes of which they had never seen, nor ever wanted to see again in their lifetimes.
Morganne pushed Adelin behind her, gazing up coolly. She stood there, facing their mother, taking one strike after another without apology. Elowyn was paralyzed with terror, not knowing what to do. Adelin began to shriek as she watched Morganne fall to the floor, half-conscious and bleeding. Elowyn held tightly to her squirming, wailing sister, wondering if their mother would now turn on them, too, only Elowyn was prepared to run with Adelin and hide, or even fight back, rather than just stand there and willingly take an undeserved beating. Instead, their mother leaned over Morganne and jeered at her in a tone of complete disgust.
“This was a lesson, not only for you, but for your sisters. First, let your pain serve as a reminder of what happens when I am crossed. You belong to me, and I may deal with you in whatever manner pleases me. But the second lesson is the greater, and the earlier you learn it the better. Kindness is weakness, Morganne, and there is no place for the weak in this world. You should have let Adelin take her own punishment. You see now what happens when you risk yourself to save others? Look at yourself, if indeed you can. I despise you, and what you are becoming.” Then she strode out of the cottage and left them alone for a good many hours. She could have been mistaken, but Elowyn thought she heard Morganne softly laughing to herself before she completely lost consciousness. Adelin, still terrified, crawled into a corner and cried herself to sleep. Elowyn treated Morganne’s wounds the best she could with wet rags and herbal poultices, and lay next to her in silence all through the night.
It was many days before Morganne could go back to her full routine, and even then she did so with great pain. But if their mother was sorry for her actions, or regretted the loss of time worked on the order, she made no sign of it. Indeed, for about a week she said absolutely nothing at all to any of them. She threw herself into her weaving as though nothing else in the world existed.
The effect all of this seemed to have on Morganne was a mystery to Elowyn. Morganne was different, but not in the way Elowyn expected. Her back stood straighter, and she did not lower her eyes when their mother addressed her. Instead she stared straight back at her with the same defiant look she had displayed before. She seemed to now enjoy provoking their mother in subtle ways that were sure to get her attention, but could not be pointed to as outright disrespect. Morganne appeared to regain the focus she had lost when Gareth left, and it showed in her work. Elowyn did not understand the transformation at all. Yet somehow it made her feel more secure, especially now that Einar was gone. Their mother’s reaction was a mystery too. When Morganne pushed, she didn’t push back—she retreated to her loom and donned a sour expression, refusing to speak for
hours, sometimes days. Elowyn sensed that the balance of things had been altered, though she could not understand how, or why.
The day finally came when the order was complete, and their little cottage was on the verge of bursting. More anxious than ever, their mother went over the order item by item, inspecting each garment down to the last stitch to make sure that everything had been done precisely as requested. When she was satisfied that they could produce no better, she sent a message by courier to the castle, asking the lady’s preferred day and method of delivery. She was fully expecting to have to hire out a cart and oxen and ferry the order herself. To everyone’s surprise, the very next morning there came a loud, demanding rap on the door. Morganne opened it to find a man in an impressive, brightly colored uniform standing on the front step. Behind him was a large, elaborately decorated horse-drawn cart that displayed the crest of the Sovereign’s House. But between him and the cart, mounted on a beautiful brown mare, was an even more impressive, richly dressed woman. She surveyed the surrounding area, the cottage, and Morganne, all in one careless, sweeping glance.
“Oh, how perfectly primitive! Isn’t it charming?” She laughed in a way that indicated she thought herself to be rather clever, and everyone else would be well advised to think the same. Morganne nervously began to tuck back loose strands of hair, and brush the soot off her clothes. By contrast, their mother rose from her loom and stepped out to greet the woman without the slightest hesitation or appearance of self-consciousness.
Elowyn looked on in silence with great curiosity. This was by far the most exotic and imposing looking person she had ever encountered. Dark lines were boldly drawn along the bottom rims of her eyes, slanting upward to give them a cat-like shape. Her lips were unnaturally red, and her skin the color of milk. There were thin gold bracelets around her wrists that clanged together musically whenever she moved, and draped around her neck and head were brightly beaded strands of braided gold. Her blue-black hair flowed free instead of being covered or contained in netting. Only the young and the unseemly ever wore their hair loose in public. Yet none would dare to think of this Lady as unseemly. If anyone in Tyroc could claim to have noble blood, surely she could. Her posture was perfect, and her eyes commanded everything she saw as though it naturally belonged to her. Her clothes were of the same caliber as those of the completed order. The garment peeking out from beneath her summer cloak was of a thin, wispy material Elowyn had never seen before. She was sure that whatever it was, it had been bought at a very high price.
Elowyn found it hard to turn away—she felt as though she could stare at the Lady forever. She looked wild, but fascinatingly beautiful, like an untamed horse that no one could break. It was obvious she was not from Tyroc, or any other nearby town or village.
“We are in receipt of your courier’s message, and have come to collect the garments commissioned,” the uniformed man said in a dry, uninterested voice. “Payment will be made when all have been inspected and properly fitted to the Lady Isana. You will return with us now to the castle.”
Their mother nodded graciously, but watched with a keen eye as the servant loaded everything into the cart, and Morganne frantically gathered together all of the supplies they would need. Elowyn was told to keep the house and care for Adelin while they were gone, but the Lady protested.
“No, no, that will not do at all. The whole family must come, or I shall be extremely displeased.”
Their mother seemed perplexed for a moment, but she quickly recovered herself and said, “As you wish, my lady.”
Elowyn’s heart pulsed with anxiety as she covered the hearth fire and barred all the shutters. She grabbed Adelin’s hand, her knees quivering as she walked slowly toward the cart. This was completely unexpected, and none of them were quite sure what to make of it. She and Adelin were lifted into the back of the cart, while Morganne and her mother were helped onto the narrow bench seat in front. The Lady Isana remained on her mare, riding beside them.
Elowyn could not imagine why she and Adelin were required to go along. She felt her tongue and throat going dry, all their moisture seemingly diverted to the palms of her hands. Every turn of the cart’s wheels brought her closer to the evil looming within the Sovereign’s castle walls. Neither her mother nor Morganne knew, and there was no way for her to warn them. All sorts of wild ideas were streaming through her mind to explain this unusual breech of the norm. What if Braeden, through some manner of sorcery, had discovered her relationship with Einar? What if the whole purpose of this venture was to capture her? Once they passed through the gates of the castle, they would be entirely at Braeden’s mercy. If they simply disappeared, no one would ever know what became of them. Elowyn tried to calm herself, realizing how ridiculous those thoughts truly were. Even if Braeden knew of her existence, which was unlikely at best, what sort of threat was she, a mere child? Elowyn gazed at the lady intently, searching for any sign of malice or deception, and found neither.
Elowyn had ridden in carts before—mostly badly built carts lined with soggy straw that smelled like manure. This experience was nothing like that. This cart was clean, and freshly painted, and ran as smoothly as the road would allow. Entering Tyroc in such a fashion was wondrous, and she might have enjoyed it were she not so petrified of reaching their final destination. They received no suspicious looks from the guards as they passed through the city gates and rode along the narrow cobbled streets, shadowed by the massive city walls and towers that fortified them. There was none of the usual jostling or having to push through crowds of people. The crowds parted voluntarily to let them pass, many staring up with awe at the splendor of the cart, and the glorious beauty of the Lady Isana herself, who seemed thrilled to be attracting so much attention. She straightened her back more than Elowyn thought possible, and caused her mare to prance alongside the cart. The tilt of her head was regal as her glance took ownership of everything in sight.
Elowyn had never seen Tyroc from quite this vantage point before—she was getting a rare opportunity to see her home city with new eyes. Tyroc was alive with sounds, and colors, and especially smells, pleasant and unpleasant all mixed in together. To someone like this lady, who had unimaginable wealth and power, Tyroc must be a city full of delights. Anything in the world that was worth having could be found in Tyroc … for a price, of course. The city was a very different place for the poor and the working class, who labored their lives away in order to survive day by day.
Above them rose modest homes and workshops, their facades ornamented with moldings and painted with bright reds, blues and greens. They passed shops selling boots, pottery, purses, knives, tin pots and pans, pilgrim’s trinkets and other wares. The signboards hanging out over the streets called out to passers-by in a language that anyone could understand. The road soon spilled them out onto the familiar central square, where merchants traded year round from makeshift stalls, the backs of their wagons, or the bags of their packhorses.
To the right, the Temple rose above the square. The sunlight peeking through the clouds glanced off its ceremonial pools and fountains, casting dancing reflections onto the warm sandstone walls and spires. There was a beauty about the place that Elowyn had not recognized for a long time. The Temple had become for her a common object in the midst of a dreary city that, on the whole, she utterly detested. Elowyn remembered that on the other side of those thick sandstone walls, beyond the public Temple, the abbey, and the honeycomb of private chambers no one was allowed to see, extensive grounds sprawled all the way to the outer city wall. There were carefully tended gardens where the monks grew their food and herbs, as well as tranquility gardens kept for their beauty and used for silent meditation. At the center of it all was a large hedge maze, the heart of which was a library filled with the Temple’s most coveted Tomes of Knowledge. To find the library, one must solve the maze. Gareth had always told her that there was just as much spiritual wisdom to be found in the confusion of the maze as there was in the library itself, and so he was never dis
appointed when he got lost.
Elowyn had often watched the monks praying in the protective shade of gnarled, ancient trees when she was supposed to have been copying her letters. She could not help but look back on those peaceful times with longing. Those she had met at the Temple had always been kind to her, and they’d had such a warm, lovely golden glow all about them. She had felt close to Aviad when she was there. Had all of those kind people left with Gareth? Had Braeden covered the beautiful glow with darkness? Was Einar right to be bitter? She thought perhaps so about the Temple itself, but not about Aviad. Surely even Braeden could not produce a darkness so strong and deep as to envelop Aviad. Her knowledge of spiritual things was perhaps simple and childlike, but she knew in the core of her being that Aviad did not change, at least not in that way. In a world that was constantly shifting, blending, growing and decaying, that was the one truth that remained aloft, untouched.
The Temple was behind her now, as the cart swung to the left and bumped across the square. Radiating out from the square were numerous roads, some wide enough for several carts to pass, others so narrow that two people could barely squeeze past each other. The main thoroughfares were typically cobbled, like the square, but not all were. Many roads were still little more than beaten dirt paths, which at the moment were mucky pools of mud because of all the wet weather. Each road led to a different quarter of the city—the sooty blacksmiths quarter, the stench-filled tanners and butchers quarters, the bakers, the chandlers, the tinkers, the leatherworkers, and of course the clothiers, among others.
The road the lady chose was one that Elowyn had rarely been on. It housed many inns, taverns, breweries, and shops selling travel gear. These streets were bursting with visitors from the farthest reaches of the world, who had come to purchase from the great variety of goods available in Tyroc. The green southern fields and towns ferried their harvests up the coast to be sold in Tyroc’s many food markets. The far northern mountains sent iron, copper, tin, silver and other materials to be beaten into submission in Tyroc’s forges by its smiths. From the northwest came fine, heavy luxurious wools and flax, and from across the sea came more exotic wares, such as spices, gems, gold and silk. The world converged at Tyroc’s ports not only at faire time, but year-round.
Journey to Aviad Page 16