“Good sir,” Morganne called out to him as they approached, “Do you know where we might find lodging for the night?”
The man surveyed them with squinting eyes, watery with age.
“Ay. There’s a squatter’s camp o’er by the docks if yer only want a fire an’ a bit o’ dry ground. Or if yer have the means, yer can go to any home that has a lamp lit outside the door. That’s a sign that they’ll board strangers for a price. But if the lamp is blown out, tha’ is no more room.”
“Thank you. Tomorrow we shall return to see what services you may be able to provide. I am in need of sturdy footwear before we continue on our way.” Morganne extended her foot, revealing a slipper that had been reduced to rags and secured around her feet with twine. Elowyn noticed patches of dried blood through the caked on mud, where her feet had been worn raw or torn by twigs and stones on the road. She had apparently been enduring the pain all along without complaint.
“Oh, may the Ancients have mercy!” He exclaimed excitedly, “Whot have yer don’ to ’em then?” They weren’t sure if he was bemoaning the state of Morganne’s shoes or her feet, but they suspected it was the shoes.
“Com’ in, Com’ in, I can’t send yer away in that state. Whot would people say? If yer don’t mind sleepin’ on the floor in my shop, I’ll take yer for the night an’ get to work.”
And so he took them in, giving them a place on a plush bear rug in front of the hearth, and a bowl of leek and fish soup from his pottage kettle. Morganne commissioned an order of new leather boots for herself, shoes for Adelin to keep her feet warm and dry, and repairs on Elowyn’s boots which were starting to show wear. They haggled a price that included the additional cost of their board, and allowed Morganne to work off a portion of their bill by mending the man’s clothes. That settled, the old shoemaker went eagerly to work. At his direction, Elowyn warmed up some water, gently bathed Morganne’s damaged feet, and soaked them in a mineral bath. The shoemaker had quite adamantly proclaimed that it would not do to have those feet “muckin’ up” his new boots. When he grew weary, he retired to his room, leaving the girls to pass a restful night in front of the fire, warm and secure with full stomachs.
When morning came, the shoemaker went back to work on Morganne’s boots, and Morganne got out her needle. Not wanting to spend her day trapped indoors, Elowyn decided to take a look around outside. The sky was a promising blue, and the fresh breeze lifting off the lake was calling her to the water’s edge. Approaching the docks, she noticed a crowd was starting to gather. A man wearing a rough hooded monk’s robe was standing atop a wooden crate and calling out to anyone in earshot. There seemed to be a good mix of townsfolk and travelers from what the shoemaker had referred to as the squatter’s camp.
“Too long have we, the children of Aviad, slept, allowing His fertile fields to lie fallow when we should have been planting and preparing for harvest. Too long have we shut out His calls, and ignored His warnings that there is danger lurking nearby, preparing to devour us where we lay. Have none seen the signs of change upon the horizon? Do you not wonder why there is a sudden resurgence of trolls bearing down upon you? For many hundreds of years, their emergence from the Shadow Wood was a rarity, a curiosity even. There was no need to shut your gates by night and double your watch. I know too, that you have heard the strange howlings and bayings emerging from that accursed wilderness that few dare to enter. I tell you, I know what beast makes those sounds, and it is a beast that has not been seen in these lands for more than an age, not since the Rift was sealed and the dreaded Alazoth, Lord of Destruction, was trapped inside.
“We must awaken, and remember our history, our heritage. We must rekindle our faith in the Ancients—true faith that goes beyond simply uttering hollow words. We must go back to the old ways when all lived and died for Aviad’s glory, when our lives were spent fighting against evil instead of killing each other over petty squabbles. I tell you truly, it is time to rise together against the greatest darkness our generation has ever seen, or may ever see again. It is bearing down upon us even as we stand here. Alazoth has been released from the Rift; he has returned and desires nothing less than to claim our very souls for his own!”
Some people in the crowd threw rotten food at the man and jeered insults at him. “Go peddle your nonsense elsewhere, holy man. We’ve no use for it here.”
Others argued that if this were true, the Temple in Tyroc would have surely told them, or taken action on their behalf.
“Cling not to the Temple, for the Temple cannot save us,” the monk protested. “The men there may be learned, and they may perform sacred rituals, and speak with eloquence, and scribe our texts, but they cannot change what is in our hearts. There is no ritual they can perform over us that will cause us to live pure and faithful lives. Look to the Temple for spiritual guidance on worldly matters. But search your souls, and look to none other than the Ancients themselves for your salvation.”
A rough looking man dressed in armor pushed his way up through the crowd. He spat at the monk, kicked the crate out from under his feet and smashed it to bits with his hatchet. “Tha’s the end of it then. We already got ’nough trouble with the trolls without this sort ’o thing. Everyone clear out, before I summon the rest of the watch to deal with yer.”
The crowd quickly cleared away, but Elowyn stayed until the guard left and she helped the monk to his feet. “I believe you,” she said softly. “I have seen them.”
The monk turned his hazel eyes upon her with surprise. “What have you seen, child?”
“The Hounds. They are on the move, southwest of here, closing in around Tyroc. I was nearly devoured by one.”
He gave her a dumbfounded look before gathering his composure. “I’m sorry, I have been on the road for many months—you are the first true believer I have met. And one so young … it comes as quite a shock, that does.” He stared at her in disbelief for a few moments, before a great smile broke out across his face, and he exclaimed, “Well, what is wrong with me then! Blessed be to Aviad!” He clasped her hand in his and shook it vigorously. “My name is Brenate.”
“I’m Elowyn,” she said, smiling. “But don’t tell anyone else what I’ve said, or my sister will be angry with me.”
“Not to worry,” the monk winked at her. “With the luck I’ve had so far, I doubt that any would believe me even if I did tell. It would seem that truth is poorly received, while fantasy is sought after. Though perhaps if the Hounds have been seen in Tyroc, my message will carry greater weight there.”
Elowyn shook her head with alarm. “I’m afraid it will be even worse for you in Tyroc. Those from the Temple who would have believed you were cast out and are on their way to another place, I know not where. You must not trust the Temple, or the Sovereign’s house with your message. You would put yourself in great danger.”
The monk’s smile dissolved into a very serious expression. “How is it that you, a mere child, know about such things?”
“Please do not ask that of me,” Elowyn said with pain in her voice. “The tale is too long, and it is one that I must keep to myself for now. Just trust that I know. It is by no accident that the Hounds are gathering at Tyroc.”
“I see,” the monk said, visibly perplexed. “I will go with caution, but go I must. Three others from my Order are to meet me there. I am told they came this way a while ago, and went on toward Tyroc through the Shadow Wood rather than by the road. They were looking for something of great importance.”
Elowyn asked wide-eyed, “Are you one of the Guardians of the Ancients?”
“Aye,” the monk said with surprise. “How did you know?”
Elowyn shook her head sadly. “You will not find your brethren in Tyroc.”
Without speaking directly of Einar or their flight from home, Elowyn told Brenate about the dying monk found by Einar, and of the others who had fallen and were buried. He bowed his head in silence, uttering prayers under his breath for the sake of his fallen brothers.
> With tears in his eyes, he finally asked, “What, then, became of the relic they carried?”
“I don’t know,” Elowyn answered truthfully. “The man who had agreed to deliver it to your people was killed by the Hounds as he tried to leave Tyroc. There are others, friends of his, who are trying to find it and finish his quest. But I do not know what has become of them either. I am sorry that I cannot tell you more.” Her regret was genuine. No doubt Morganne would have chastised her for being so free with Brenate, but this was an unexpected opportunity for her to set at least one thing right in the midst of a long series of terrible wrongs. She felt that she needed desperately to take it, for her own sake as well as that of Brenate, Einar, Nevon, and all the others.
“Grieve not. You have told me more than I dared to expect, and for that I thank you. No doubt Aviad himself placed you in my path to guide my way. It would be folly to continue on toward Tyroc now. I must instead return home and share this news with my brethren. This may change everything for us.”
Then the monk did something quite unexpected. He laid his hand on the top of her head and spoke a blessing over her. He finished by saying, “Believe and remember. The journey begins.”
Elowyn gasped and drew back from him.
“What is it, child?” he asked in a bewildered tone.
“You must tell me what those words mean.”
“They are nothing to fear,” Brenate said, confused by her reaction. “The phrase is a shortened version of an old saying among Aviad’s followers, going back to the days of the Prophets. Now it is used mainly among the monastic community as a blessing, and as a reminder of the oaths we swore when we left our old lives behind to follow whatever path the Ancients laid out for us. The full verse says, ‘Believe in the Ancients, the givers of everlasting life, for they are our constant guides. Remember those who came before us in righteousness, forging the path to truth with their blood and their wisdom. The journey begins when in faithful humility, our feet meet that path, walking it to its end as our will becomes one with the divine.’ The verse has many different levels of meaning for those who care to study it in depth …”
“You don’t understand.” Elowyn’s skin was tingling, and her heart was pounding hard. Dared she tell the monk? Would he think her mad? Yet if anyone could answer this riddle, it was he, a faithful follower of Aviad.
Cautiously she told him of her nights at Aviad’s shrine, of her dream, and of hearing those words again from Gareth after he had been expelled from the Temple a short time later.
Brenate’s expression grew serious. “And you had never heard the phrase before? Are you certain?” Elowyn nodded.
“Such a dream is rare, and a special revelation not to be taken lightly—I would even dare to call it a vision rather than a dream. Aviad must have a part for you in all of this. But I cannot tell you what that part is. No doubt it will be revealed to you in time, at His leisure.”
Elowyn could not hide her feelings of disappointment, or her anxiety over this unknown responsibility that Aviad had placed upon her.
“Worry not, child,” Brenate said with the most jovial tone he could muster. “Aviad always takes care of his own. When He calls you, He does so with good purpose, and He will remain with you to whatever end. Now, I must get on my way. My road is long, and I would like to get well away from here before the sun sets. The wilds here are not safe at night—too close to the Shadow Wood and the many evils that lurk within it. When you do continue on your way, I would advise you to get up with the dawn and travel quickly, without respite, for as long as you can.”
“Can you tell me what lies east and north of here?”
“Along the road, there is little else between here and Port’s Keep, which is about four days’ journey by foot. You will need to be well supplied and prepared to make camp amongst the trees.”
After the monk left, Elowyn sat for a while on the docks, looking out over the water. The lake was very different from the churning ocean she knew so well. It was a frigid, black mirror, with a tiny island at the center that looked as though it were full of tangled trees and brambles. Deep and still, the only thing that broke the lake’s perfection were occasional breaths of wind that threw tiny ripples across its surface. This was not a place that invited bathing. Anything at all could be lurking below the surface, unseen through the murky waters. Gazing uneasily across the lake and into the Shadow Wood, she was glad there was some sort of barrier between them, even though this body of water seemed much more a part of its treacherous tangles of vine and tree than it did the civilized world. She wondered at those who had been brazen enough to build a settlement along its border and remain there.
All her life Elowyn had lived on the edge of the Shadow Wood, in awe-filled respect of its perils, hearing tale after tale of untold terror. No longer content to remain within their own territory, those terrors were now emerging. Tyroc was perhaps large and powerful enough to stand its ground, but this ramshackle fort was certainly not. She felt that the sooner they were on the move again, and away from this place, the better.
When she grew tired of the docks, Elowyn explored what little there was to see of the village. It was a disorganized jumble of poorly constructed homes and shops, all clustered between the road and the lake’s edge. There were no mapmakers that she could find. Before heading back to the shoemaker’s shop, she traded some of her herbs for a small tin cooking pot and some cured meat. She spent the rest of the afternoon looking after Adelin and preparing the evening meal while the old man finished their order, and Morganne took care of his mending. In the end both were well pleased with each other’s work, and it seemed as though their dealings in that town were at an end. By the time the sun had darkened, and the meal was finished, their satchels had been packed and set by the door. The girls were prepared to leave at first light, when the town’s gates were opened and they were free to continue on their way. But as Elowyn thought later, however much she longed to break free, the Shadow Wood was not yet ready to release her from its long, fast grip.
Elowyn was wakened in the night by a hard and frantic pounding at the shoemaker’s door. She could hear commands being shouted, along with yells, and screams, and the frightened cries of very small children. She cautiously unlatched the door, unable to push back the memory of the apparition that had once made itself known to her in the same way. The man standing in the doorway was no apparition. He was one of the watchmen, and the tone of his voice left no room for questioning.
“Awake yer household and get to the docks. The gate’s about to breech! Don’ stand there starin.’ Fly, now!”
In a panic, Elowyn woke Morganne and the shoemaker, telling them what the guard had said. The old man began cursing, but moved faster than Elowyn thought he would be capable of at his age. Morganne grabbed Adelin while Elowyn snatched their packs and flew out the door. There were dozens of men surrounding the gate, trying to brace it with wooden beams. A large crash echoed down the street as something heavy rammed into it from the other side. It shuddered and groaned as a dying beast about to breathe its last.
“Away from the gate!” someone called out. “It won’t stand another blow. Into position and weapons ready!” He had barely finished speaking when the next blow came. A wooden ram came crashing through, and the gate was breeched. The rest of the wall began to give way as well, and through the opening Elowyn got her first sight of a troll. Towering above everything, the troll was massive and hideously ugly, with a grey, sickly complexion. It had huge yellow teeth and merciless eyes. The first one through the breech called out triumphantly in a guttural tone that froze Elowyn’s blood. It snatched up one of the watchmen with its huge hands. As Elowyn looked on in sickening horror, it ripped him in two with its teeth and devoured him—armor, bones and all. It turned its head, grinning at the rest of the men who were scattering at its feet. Blood still dripped from the corners of its mouth
Elowyn’s knees suddenly unlocked themselves, and she ran with all that was in her. Morgan
ne, Adelin, and the shoemaker were close behind. Elowyn realized that she had never truly known what fear was until that very moment in her life. It was a moment that forever changed her. As she reached the docks, she saw that those not able to fight the trolls were being loaded onto boats. They were broad boats with flat bottoms that would not have stood up long to the ocean’s pounding waves, but which were perfect for the still, currentless waters of Deep Lake. Once packed onto the boats, the people were rowed well away from shore and in the direction of the tiny island she had seen during the day.
With wide silent eyes, Morganne squeezed Adelin tightly in her arms until Adelin squirmed uncomfortably in protest. In the bright moonlight, Elowyn could see that Morganne was trembling as she stared across the water toward the town. Flames began to leap up, exactly from where could not be told, but from that point the fire spread rapidly. The settlement at Deep Lake was burning. The shoemaker began to curse again under his breath, this time more out of grief and fear than out of annoyance at having been disturbed from sleep.
“A troll breeched the gate once before, but he was felled before he could get very far. I fear this time all’s lost. I hope the watch ’ave the sense to get away, and don’ stand there like fools even after everyone else is safe on the water. I’ve never seen so many trolls come together like tha’ …”
“What will we do now? How long can we stay out here?” Elowyn asked.
“We have ’nough emergency stores on tha’ little island to keep the entire town’s number for a fortnight. Tha’s long ’nough for help to come, anyway. But the trolls cannot swim, nor can they abide daylight. We need only wait for dawn an’ then see what is left. Not much, I’ll wager, from the look of it.”
Everyone on the boat huddled together through the dead of night. No one spoke. One could only hear the soft whimpering of children pressed securely against their mothers, and the gentle sobs of those who feared for the safety of the watch, which had defended them and guided them to safety. Elowyn slipped in and out of wakefulness. Each time she awoke it took her a few moments to remember where she was, and to realize that this was real, and not just a passing nightmare. When the blessed dawn finally broke across the sky, they cautiously rowed back to shore to face whatever awaited them.
Journey to Aviad Page 22