Blindsighted Wanderer

by E. Hibbs

  His eyes strayed once again to Zandor, and he remembered the wary fear that everybody had awarded it. Evertodomus; the forbidden west; the land of the demons. All were so grossly inaccurate that even thinking of them brought a grimace to Silas’ face. He recalled the terror that had gripped him as he had wandered through Delamere with net in hand, wondering if the slightest noise was some kind of warning against him. He had worried that they were watching him all the while, silently testing him with otherworldly power, which could crush him like a louse underfoot.

  It all seemed so long ago that Silas even went as far to think of the events as happening in another life.

  He looked back at the Elitland again as the first pale grey hint of dawn began to peek at the Eastern Ridge. His heart swelled with pride and love. What a beautiful world it was. Although he knew nothing different, he had never grown tired of the landscape. It had fed him and clothed him and sheltered him, and everyone else he’d always known and held dear. He couldn’t imagine existing anywhere else, or in any other way, than the simple farmer’s life which had been led since before anybody could remember.

  But upon the new day, he would leave it all behind forever.

  As long as you have your family, Silas, said a voice in his head that sounded remarkably like his father’s, you have your home.

  *

  Early the next morning, after a small breakfast, Shadow Mask gave the order, and everybody began unpinning the canvas of the tents and rolling them up. The Atégos pitched in, helping to load the materials of the shelters onto the already-bulging carts; checking and oiling the thick wheels; giving the horses a final meal and drink.

  Araena – still the most shaken after all the happenings – stayed close to Lina and Ida. But all of the children busied themselves. Mekina and Uriel hitched up the horses, helping Irima to apply their tack and secure the carts to their backs. Selena was with Anamaria and a handful of the Seniors, as they saw to the supplies and spice sacks. Raphael and Silas were on top of two different carts, binding down the cargo tightly. Nobody spoke; the Peregrin knew so well what had to be done that they didn’t get in the way of their neighbours at all. The sun had barely climbed in the sky, from the time they began to the time all was complete.

  Raphael paused for a moment to gaze across the Valley towards the Wall. His head filled with images of Merrin: the sparkles in her eyes, the crown of amarant and light upon her head, the way she walked across the water as delicately as though she were dancing. The lightness of her body as he held her in his arms; and the touch of her hand against his face.

  He suddenly felt eyes on him and glanced over his shoulder to see Silas. The blue kerchief had been re-tied around his neck and made him look like a different person, bringing out the intense brown of his stare. He didn’t say anything, but his look lingered as he turned back to tying a length of rope into a firm knot.

  “You must stop doing that,” Silas muttered.

  Raphael hesitated, and rubbed his hand firmly over his eyes, shoulders sagging. “I know. But it is difficult. I thought I loved her.”

  “But you know it was not to be.”

  “Aye. I would never have hurt her willingly. But my passing would have as much the same effect.”

  Silas tied the final knot and sat back against a bulging sack before looking towards Raphael. “Is it enough that she has found peace?” he asked. “All of us have. Perhaps not in the manners we would have thought, but it came for us nonetheless.”

  Raphael caught his brother’s eye and smirked. “I must say, Si is not so silent any longer!”

  Silas grinned. “Is that so terrible?”

  “On the contrary!” Raphael laughed as he jumped back down onto the grass. “It does make for a pleasant change!”

  “Prepare to move out!” Shadow Mask suddenly shouted from across the corrie. They looked up to see him astride the grey stallion, the pastures stretching into the distance behind him.

  At his command, the crowd flocked together and led the horses into a single-file line. Some Peregrin sat atop the carts; some in the driver’s seat, and others – mainly women, children and the elderly – perching in the back amid the bundles and staves.

  Irima walked past Silas and Raphael in the stallion’s wake, a breeze lifting her ringlets and sending soft chimes from the beads and pearls. She glanced at Silas, smiled at him with a wink; then ran to her uncle, who reached down and swung her up before him onto the horse’s back. The animal snorted, but seemed used to the movement, and soon fell quiet again.

  Raphael and Silas fell behind the final cart, and Raphael took Araena by the arm, whilst Silas grasped Uriel’s hand.

  “Si?” Uriel asked.

  Silas glanced down at him warmly. “Aye?”

  “Where are we going?”

  The question was innocent enough, but it held a million others, and the youngest Atégo’s eyes swam with wonder and trust. Silas exchanged a glance with Raphael, before turning back to Uriel and saying:

  “We’re going together.”

  If Uriel was confused by that, he didn’t say anything, and Mekina beamed as she took his other tiny hand in hers. She looked at Silas, and nodded once, her freckles lost in dimples as she smiled.

  Silas’ eyes shone; then the caravan began to move, down out of the corrie and onto the road. The cartwheels rattled over the stones and potholes, and swallows swooped overhead, as though bidding them farewell. They started to climb, and the slope narrowed in around them, as they neared the edge of the Elitland.

  Silas moved close to Raphael, so that the two were walking side by side.

  “If there is anything that I do regret more than others,” he admitted in an undertone, “it would be that I did not have the opportunity to meet our kinfolk.”

  Raphael smiled, putting an arm around his brother’s shoulders. “They are a wonderful family,” he said. “And before I left them, I told them the truth of the other side of the Wall. Who knows other than God? Perhaps, one day soon, that knowledge can rekindle what was lost, so long ago.”

  Silas let out a contented sigh. “Aye. We must hope so. And I cannot think of a better legacy to leave in our wake.”

  Raphael chuckled, and the two of them beamed widely as the Valley dropped below them. They entered into the treacherous beginning of the mountain Pass, a merciless sea of iron flooding all around. The Atégos glanced back over their shoulders one final time at the pristine gem, and all of them – even Silas – let free a tear or two.

  *

  “Merrin!”

  Lailes laughed jovially as she chased him through the waters around the Palace. His body streaked past her – just out of reach – and he hurried into a shoal of passing minnow, their silvery sides camouflaging him. Merrin went to follow, but then Anula appeared from nowhere and darted overhead, distracting her.

  “Oh, Merrin!” Lailes called again.

  “That is unfair!” Merrin shouted, unable to keep a chuckle out of her voice.

  “Well, then, you should have been faster!” Anula said.

  Merrin rolled her eyes and took off after them once again. The moonlight filtered down through the water overhead, and her hair whipped about her face as she passed through a small current around the crumbling citadel. Not too far away lay some of the islands, and a tiny brook that flowed into the Lake from the mountains in the west. Together, they stirred up the water into mild eddies – and as soon as she had passed, Lailes appeared and let them spin him around in gentle circles.

  As frustrating as the two of them could be, it felt wonderful for Merrin to be playing with her cousins again. In the two months since the Rise, she hadn’t found much time to see them – or indeed anybody besides those who would aid her with official business. The private moments she had been able to find, she had spent either in the Tomb Garden, or with Penro.

  Among the chaotic schedule of obligations, she had continued her lessons with Dylana. She seemed pleased with Merrin’s progress, and had told her that she was now
the most powerful Sorcerer for her age that Dylana had ever known. She had said to Merrin that it was certain she would become a Necromancer in her later centuries – and take up Dylana’s mantle, as she had already taken up King Zephyr’s.

  Soon, however, the game ended, and her cousins were called away by her Uncle Lorelen for an early day’s sleep. The night was still full overhead; darkness lengthening as summer faded away. There was time yet before sunrise, and Merrin ascended towards the rippling skin of water overhead.

  “Where are you going?”

  She whirled around at the sudden voice, and saw Penro coming to join her. She waved her fin gently.

  “Dylana has asked me to meet her at Coronation Mount,” she said. “You may come along, if you wish.”

  “It is no private matter?”

  “I think not.”

  Penro smiled, and Merrin took his hand as their faces broke the Surface. They stepped through, kneeling on the top for a moment. For Merrin, it was the first time since the Rise, and she gazed around the moonlit Lake; both hers and Penro’s fins flickering as one. The black tree silhouettes were shot with red, both above and below their trunks. The leaves were changing into the withering colours of autumn, and upon the ground, some of the fallen already lay, amid the blossoms of amarants.

  “I was beginning to wonder if you would heed me,” Dylana said suddenly. Penro and Merrin looked behind to see her standing on Coronation Mount. Her hair blew in the wind, and her gown rippled like the Surface. Her eyes flitted to Penro; then she raised an eyebrow at Merrin.

  “Might he be here for whatever purpose you summoned me?” Merrin asked.

  Dylana paused for a moment before giving the couple a wry smile, her eyes twinkling. “Of course.”

  Merrin grinned, and shot a glance at Penro. He squeezed her hand gently, and she felt her heart flutter.

  “Merrin,” Dylana said in a soft voice.

  Merrin looked back to her, and Dylana cocked her head before moving aside. Merrin’s eyes shot to the spot that had been revealed, and she gasped. Her fin, which had been waving lightly, stilled as though frozen.

  She slipped free of Penro’s grasp and walked up to the island. Penro remained where he stood, both he and Dylana watching. Merrin could feel their gazes like physical touches, but ignored them as she approached the willow and knelt down. Beneath the tree stood a tiny bush of green leaves, thorns, and white velvety blossoms; their edges shining with magic.

  She reached out and ran her fingers over them.

  “Roses,” she said, as though their name would help to convince her that they were growing there.

  The bush was much smaller than the one on the shore, but how it had taken root upon Coronation Mount was beyond her. It was in the middle of the Lake, in the most sacred place, where only amarant may blossom.

  Penro laid a hand on Merrin’s shoulder before helping her up, and holding her tenderly to his chest. She let him, and the Bands shone in the light of the night, as she remembered Raphael. He had broken down her wall, and now she had finally found the strength to open up to Penro.

  Sweet, caring, Penro – who she found she had loved all along. Her father had seen it even before she had, and in her heart, she knew he would be proud.

  *

  26th day of Septyembre.

  Many months have passed since we left the Elitlande behind us. For many a day and night, we have wandered through the narrow passageways and trails, journeying on to new horizons. My boots have worn thin, and the travelling has been exhausting, but to-day brought a fresh breath of air to our weary troupe. Wondrous things have happened, and my heart is a-flutter in my chest.

  To-nighte, as we pitch camp to a glorious sunset of scarlet and sweet pink, Ida and Tomas sit with their new baby. Anamaria and I helped to deliver it... and it is a girl! O bless her! She is beautiful beyond words! And Ida has named her for my own dear mother: Otaie. For that is the most fitting way to honour those of us who have passed on to the Lord’s Kingdome: speak of them in the lighte of new life.

  As I have written, we have been travelling for many, many days now. But if the vastness of the mountains that conceal the Elitlande is an ocean, then to-day, we finally saw syte of the shore. In the distance: blessed flat lande, after the apparently endless snowy peaks. Somewhere far behind us, the green heart lives on, encased by its own walls.

  Now, I do believe, O Lady, that Silas and Raphael and the rest of their dear family understand the nature of the Roade. One is homeless not, when the entire world is your home. I know not what waits when we reach the end of the mountains, but I do know that what the Queen said is truth.

  Wherever they may go, as one world ends, another always begins.

  origins

  A Prequel

  This story is set roughly 8,000 years before the adventures of the Atégo brothers.

  O nce upon a time, long before the Peregrin people began their wanderings, a tiny kingdom lay nestled within the peaks of the Ironbelt Range. Locked in an area rarely frequented by others, and with homes built into the mountains themselves, it lived its own existence; separate from the rest of the world. Rocky paths followed the rugged shape of the land, through the hardy pines and carpets of purple heather; among the mosaic of tiny lakes captured in the bottoms of the corries. It was after this striking nature the kingdom was named: Delamere – the Forest of the Lakes.

  The people who lived there were few, but content. They called themselves the Asrians, after the name of the largest lake in the region. On the shore sat the home of the King – a small structure, barely fitting of being deemed a castle, but yet larger than any other in Delamere. In its shadow sat the first of the commoner’s houses, perched on the side of the scree wall which cascaded down towards the tarn. In the summer months, the sun hit here first, sending light flashing across the surface like diamonds.

  One evening, Dylana sat on her yard wall, gazing out over the mountains. The dusk had turned the sky a beautiful pink, streaked here and there with golden-edged cloud. The air smelled crisp, and far below in the distant valleys, she could see clouds of mist settling down for the night.

  Sunset was her favourite time of the day. No matter the season, she always made sure to be out of bed early enough to watch that last light disappear behind the summits. She didn’t need to worry about disturbing anyone; she lived alone, in the house set furthest into the stone. Her mother had died giving birth to her, leaving her to be raised by her father. But he was old and sickly too, managing to make it until her twelfth birthnight. By the time the moon rose that Midsummer, he was gone.

  In the three years since, Dylana had looked after herself. The neighbours kept a watchful eye on her, giving her a little extra food and helping her re-thatch her roof. But for the most part, she remained on her own, exactly how she liked it.

  As she sat there, Delamere slowly became alive. Doors opened and their occupants flooded out, ready to begin the day’s work. A group of women came walking along the path, wooden tubs clutched in their arms, to be filled down at the lakeshore. They would ask permission from the water to take some of its bounty, then haul the tubs back up to the scree so they could launder at a respectable distance.

  One of the women, an elderly lady named Fenella, noticed her sitting there and nodded in greeting.

  “Good morn to ye, dear,” she said. “Wilt thou come today?”

  Dylana managed a smile, but shook her head. “No. I have no need.”

  “Then fare the well, sweet girl,” replied Fenella, before they all carried on down the steps to the lake.

  Dylana watched them go in silence. They knew that she no longer went to the lake, not since her father had died. But, driven by politeness and custom, they never stopped inviting her along. She might have grown irksome about the whole thing if the lakes were not such an integral part of being Asrian.

  She glanced at the water again. The sun had left it fully now, and transformed it into a still black mirror. She couldn’t see the bottom, only
rocks at the edge which gradually melted away into the depths. There, in the darkest part just before the corrie lip, was the magic of the Wise Ones. Everyone knew it, and revered it to the utmost. Nobody was so arrogant to presume they knew exactly what the Wise Ones were, but their existence had been acknowledged for centuries.

  Dylana had often asked her father if the lake was the entrance to another world. Every time, he would simply smile and say, “Who knows?”

  But just before he died, he had grasped her arm and urgently begged her to never go near the lakes again. “I am no longer able to protect you… Use caution, my daughter! Keep to thyself… that is all you may do now.”

  “Protect me? From what?”

  “Swear to me!” he cried, cutting her off. “Stay away…”

  She had quickly agreed, and word of her vow passed around the kingdom as her father was laid to rest. But nobody had actually believed she would keep it so seriously. To never climb down to the lake was like the girl had cut off a hand. She was an outsider because of it, she knew that well.

  What the others didn’t know, however, were Dylana’s own suspicions as to why her father had made her promise. Ever since she was a child, she had been different. She could see things – things which should have been impossible to comprehend or identify. She would sense massive storms weeks before they even struck; how many fish would be caught, right down to the single number. She always knew when somebody was going to die. And she hadn’t cried at her father’s passing, because she could still speak with him.

  She wondered what her neighbours would call her if they knew. She had no proof, but was sure she would be the quiet solitary orphan no longer. Instead she would be a demon; a necromancer. How else could it be labelled? How could she predict how they would react?

  It was better not to risk it, she thought. Better to be a little strange than completely outcast.

  It was difficult being the only one in the kingdom with purple eyes. Everyone else’s were blue or grey. But she had been born at odds from the start; her irises shining violet from the moment they opened. She had taken them as a gift from the mother she had never known, but knew looking at them could be disconcerting for others.