Flames of Awakening: Faemoch Cycle Book 1
Page 17
"Well, when Chlora's plants refused to transport you because you weren't natural, I assumed that meant you had returned to Tolian's body."
Good, I would have refused to go with that demon child anyway, Tolian declared.
"Tolian can hear?"
"Yes," Bergar replied.
"Good. He will surely want to hear the tale of all that has happened."
Jaxius recounted everything about his time away from Tolian. Grundar joined them shortly after the story had started. The three shared stories of their recent travels. None of them wanted to approach the question that nagged at the edge of the conversation. Finally, Jaxius broke that boycott.
"We must find out what we can about your condition, Bergar. We need to find someone more versed in this sort of thing. The knowledge priests in Paradisia might be able to help. Or perhaps the monks of Yema farther south. I don't know, but we will find a way to set this right. It's all my fault. And I will fix it."
"Ye canna be blamin' yerself," Grundar said. "We all knowed what we was gettin' in. Jes' bring me boy back t' me. Tis hard thinkin' o' me boy so tiny."
I am certainly not tiny. I am exactly the perfect size, unlike your behemoth of a father, Tolian exclaimed.
"He disagrees with you on the size. And he compliments your belly." Bergar told his father.
They all laughed at that and toasted the road ahead.
Epilogue
Winds buffeted the man. The sharp rocks had ceased to hurt when they cut into his palms. The rags that he wrapped around his hands were long since soaked through with blood. Finally, though, he had reached his destination. He hooked an arm over the top of the flat outcropping. Straining, he pulled himself up onto the ledge. Taking one last look down the mountain, he rolled onto his back and stared at the mid-afternoon sky. The pain from his limbs flooded his entire body, and his skin was as white from blood loss as the clouds overhead. He climbed this far into the mountain and had escaped, only to die. He listened to the wind for a few more seconds, but eventually the blackness took him. He was dead, and now he would accept his judgment.
"Papa, papa," a little girl's voice brought him back to his body. "Come quick. Come quick. He's waking up."
The man cracked his eyes and the light from the doorway stung. He wondered how long he had slept. Looking down, he noticed the bandages on his hands had been changed. He was in some sort of hut on a cot. He started to sit up, but was cut short. An old man hobbled through the doorway using a cane for support.
"I doubt you will be able to do much more than sit up. You were near dead when we found you," the old man said. His dark, wrinkled skin seemed stretched over nothing more than bones. He was dressed in loose, plain clothes.
"Where am I?"
"You traveled here by yourself, and you don't know where you are?" The old man asked. "You are in the mountain kingdom of Overlook. Part of Kel Mordan. You can stay as long as you like. Your wounds have closed and we had a healer look at you. You had a lot of broken bones. You must have taken more than one nasty spill on the side of the mountain."
The traveler nodded and thanked the old man.
Several weeks passed, and his strength had returned. He had started walking and helping in the gardens a bit to repay the villagers for their kindness. He had actually grown comfortable here.
"Might just stay here," he said one night as he lay down to sleep.
"I wouldn't make that a promise," a voice drifted to him from the door to his hut. The bearer of the voice stayed just outside to keep to the shadows. "Your services are needed."
"Who are you?"
"None of your concern. The issue at hand is that you have forgotten who you are. Now it's time to remember and come with me, Morgrys."
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