by Duncan Pile
Emmy walked beside her, smiling shyly at Jonn as she approached. She stopped short, squeezed Adela’s hand and joined Gaspi. Gaspi nodded to Jonn and stepped away with Emmy, taking a seat on a waiting log.
Sunlight filtered through the leaves above, dappling the celebrants in light and shade. A faint breeze stirred the trees, creating patterns that shifted lazily across the forest floor.
“My friends,” a gruff voice said, and Jonn turned to face the man who stood at the heart of the clearing. Heath’s eyes caught the sun, glinting a dozen different shades of green. “I am no church man, and do not know the traditional words, but together we will bless this union of souls.”
Heath paused, meeting Jonn’s gaze and then Adela’s. “Ready?”
“We’re ready,” Adela said.
Heath began: “As the soil nurtures the vine, so must a husband nurture his wife, and a wife her husband. Jonn and Adela, will you do all you can to help each other grow, whatever life may bring?”
Jonn met Adela’s gaze and she took his hands. “We will,” they said as one.
“Very good,” Heath said, his green eyes twinkling. “As the water blesses the ground, enabling seed and root to bud and flourish, will you be generous with your love for each other, even in the midst of life’s troubles?”
“We will.” Jonn found himself drawn to Heath’s powerful rhetoric. The druid was a man of few words, but each one contained a wealth of meaning. Heath had prepared the vows long in advance, so Jonn had known what was coming, but he hadn’t expected to feel their import so keenly. It was like a spell, to which he offered himself freely.
“As the wind drives the clouds before it, bringing change, we are always evolving. As time passes, will you embrace the changes in each other and seek to grow together instead of apart?”
“We will.” Again, Jonn felt the weight of the druid’s words.
“As fire scorches the ground, consuming all that it touches, it leaves behind the seeds of new growth. Will you face the crucible of suffering with determination, allowing the parts of you that have become a hindrance to be burned, that you may love each other better?”
“We will.” This was the most challenging vow of the four. What a concept – to willingly face suffering and loss in order that he might love Adela better.
Heath spread his arms wide, and a glimmer of power seemed to shine from his eyes. “Then my friends, I seal your bond with the blessing of earth, water, wind and fire.” His words resonated in Jonn’s breast, as if lodging there. Heath smiled broadly. “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
The small gathering of friends broke into hearty cheers, but Jonn only had eyes for Adela. She was so very beautiful, so wonderfully brave, so patient and kind, and she was his. He felt the mantle of responsibility settle on his shoulders. He had just vowed to be generous with his love, however he was feeling or whatever he was going through. He had promised to face the crucible of personal change with courage, and do everything he could to nurture and bless his wife. It was an extraordinary set of vows, capturing the heart of what it means to love another person. With all his heart, he hoped he could live up to them.
Forty-seven
“This is it, my love,” Jonn said, removing his hands from Adela’s eyes. They stood before a crofter’s cottage, surrounded by trees on three sides but open to the sun on the other. It was low and snug, a well-crafted dwelling built long ago by loving hands. Set back from the river Helia’s floodplain, the cottage was hidden from view by a thick stand of trees. Helioport was less than two miles distant but you couldn’t see it from the door, which suited Jonn perfectly. Technically the cottage belonged to the city, but Trask had pulled some strings and had it bequeathed to Jonn on a long-term lease.
Jonn had first come across the dwelling only days after returning from the fateful battle in Ruined Elmera, and had been restoring the long-abandoned home ever since. He’d sanded and polished every surface till they glowed, wanting it to be perfect for Adela. He’d hand-carved their bed from oak and painstakingly re-thatched the roof. At long last it was ready, and he’d brought Adela to see it for herself.
Adela gasped quietly and clutched his hand. “This is ours?”
Jonn grinned. “We can move in this very day!”
She leant in and gave him a quick peck upon the cheek, before dashing over to the cottage. By the time Jonn reached the door she was already emerging from the hearth room and moving on to the kitchen. Jonn watched with a smile on his face as she skipped lightly through the rooms and entered the bedroom last of all. He followed along behind and found her standing at the foot of the bed, running her hand over the polished curves of the bedstead.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“What do I think? It’s perfect!” she said, turning round and hugging him tightly. “So this is what you’ve been up to!”
Jonn nodded. She’d known he was preparing a surprise – how else could he explain his long absences? – but he’d thwarted her many attempts to tease or trick information out of him. It was all worth it now, seeing the utter delight on her face. She left the bedroom and walked to the front door, where she stopped, looking out at the floodplain. He slipped his arms around her waist and held her tight as she took in the view from her porch. “It’s perfect,” she murmured. Jonn kissed her hair, enjoying the warmth of her body, pressed against his own.
“Yes it is.”
…
“You did this all yourself?” Taurnil asked, looking impressed.
“The shell was already here, but yeah, I restored it,” Jonn said, feeling a glow of pride at Taurnil’s obvious admiration.
“I could have helped,” Taurnil said.
Jonn shrugged. “I wanted it to be my own work.”
Taurnil smiled. “I guess that’s how I’d do it too.”
“Gasp? You’re quiet,” Jonn said.
Gaspi frowned. “It’s great Jonn, but it’s a long way from the city. Do you really want to live out here on your own?”
“It’s not that far away,” Jonn said. “I can visit you whenever you want, or you can come and stay here whenever you feel like getting away for a while. I’m going to build a couple of small outbuildings for you.”
Gaspi still didn’t look convinced.
“Gasp, city life never was for me. I just prefer a little solitude, that’s all. I’ll still be here when you need me.”
Gaspi’s frown faded and he broke into a rueful smile. “Sorry, I’m just being selfish,” he said. “I guess I’m used to having you around.”
Jonn gripped Gaspi’s shoulder and gave it a grateful squeeze. “I’ll build those shelters as soon as I can.”
Gaspi grinned. “There’s no need to wait. I can grow a couple of shelters for me and Emmy, and Taurn and Lydia can hitch a horse to the wagon and drive it over.”
“Lydia will love that!” Taurnil said. “Absolutely, let’s do it.”
Jonn couldn’t help but be touched by their earnest desire to spend time with him. “Then by all means, come. Give us a couple of days to settle in, but you’re always welcome. The more the merrier.”
…
Jonn sank his fork into the hard-packed earth and turned it over with a twist of his forearms. Preparing the soil for planting was back-breaking work but it would be worth it in the end. He glanced at the patch he’d already turned and felt a glimmer of satisfaction. The loam was rich and black, glistening with droplets of morning dew. The feeling was fleeting however, blown away by something colder and more pervasive; something Jonn had known for many a year but had hoped to never feel again. It was misery, unconnected to any circumstance in his life. It had no right or reason to exist, but it snagged him when he least expected it and overshadowed even his happiest moments. Over the years, it had served as a barrier between him and those he loved, and the loneliness had driven him to drink. He’d never let that happen now, but these moments of sudden gloom worried him nonetheless. They’d only moved out to the cottage a few da
ys ago, but he’d been caught unawares by a rush of unwelcome feeling several times now – always when he was alone, and always when he had no reason to feel anything except content.
Jonn shook his head like a dog emerging from water and headed back to the house. Adela’s company would dispel old ghosts. It always did.
…
Gaspi grinned. “Not a chance!” He’d just completed his dwelling, using Nature Magic to shape a welcoming, comfortable bower. His bed was made of deep, spongy moss, protected from the weather by a lattice of interwoven branches, thick with leaves. He’d made the same for Emmy, interweaving flowering vines among the branches and creating a curtain of petals for the entranceway. Both abodes were little more than a bedroom, but that is all either of them needed. They spent their days outside and ate with Jonn and Adela in the cottage. Beautiful though they were, Gaspi’s magical dwellings were just somewhere to sleep.
The curtain of petals parted and Emmy poked her head out of her hut. “Stick to your wagon, Taurn!” she said with a grin, before disappearing back inside.
Gaspi clapped Taurnil on the shoulder. “See you later,” he said, and followed Emmy into the hut.
Emmy turned to face him as he entered and folded her arms. “What do you think you’re doing in here?” she said with mock sternness. “Imagine what my Ma would say if she knew I let a boy into my bedroom!” Gaspi grinned and tried to kiss her, but she pushed him away. “Out you go!” she said with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “I think Jonn needs some help.”
“Spoilsport!” Gaspi said, and ducked out through the entrance.
He walked around the side of the cottage with a smile on his face and found his guardian digging in what was to be the vegetable garden. A narrow bed of soil had already been turned, and a second was well underway.
Jonn looked up as he approached. “Gasp! Come and join me.”
“Sure,” Gaspi said, grabbing a second spade.
He worked on through the afternoon, sweat dripping freely from his forehead as he dug a third bed. From time to time he tried to start a conversation, but Jonn seemed particularly reluctant to talk. Gaspi began to watch him more closely, taking note of his forced smiles and minimal responses. Something was wrong.
“Jonn, are you alright?” he asked at last.
Jonn forced his most brittle smile yet. “I’m fine. What in the world could be wrong?” he said, looking around at the cottage and the trees that skirted it. “Now grab that spade and start digging. I’d like to get this bed done before dinner.”
Gaspi frowned, but he kept his thoughts to himself. He’d seen that haunted expression many times before – Jonn peering out from behind his eyes like a prisoner – and it was never a good sign. He worked on in worried silence until Adela stuck her head out the door and called them in.
…
Gaspi snuck into Emmy’s bower that night, and this time she didn’t kick him out. They sat side by side on the mossy bed, holding hands in the dark.
“So Adela’s worried too?” he whispered.
“She didn’t say so, but it was obvious.”
“Something’s not right,” Gaspi said. “I don’t like what I’m seeing. It reminds me of what he was like growing up.”
“Don’t, Gasp,” Emmy said, resting her head on his shoulder. “We’re here for a couple more weeks, so let’s just see how things go. It might just be a bad day.”
“Okay,” he said. Emmy was right. He’d keep a close eye on Jonn until he knew for certain how his guardian was doing. Suddenly, he had an idea. “Emmy!”
“What is it?” she asked, suddenly alert.
“Can you do for Jonn what you did for Adela?”
Emmy was quiet for a moment. “It’s possible, depending on what’s bothering him. Adela had awful memories to deal with, but Jonn’s pain seems more…part of him.”
“It’s got to be worth a try though.”
Emmy squeezed his hand. “Of course, if Jonn wants me to.”
A short while later, he left Emmy’s hut and went to his own. He summoned a globe light and got ready for bed before lying down on his soft, mossy bed. As he drifted off, his thoughts were of the man who’d raised him from boy to man, and who he loved more than life itself.
…
Afternoon had turned to evening by the time Jonn packed his tools away and went in for dinner. Gaspi, Emmy, Taurnil and Lydia were already seated around the table. Adela was at the stove, stirring a delicious-smelling stew.
He crossed the floor and kissed her on the cheek before taking his seat at the table with a tired grunt. He smiled at Gaspi and was pleased to find it came naturally. The pain he’d been feeling recently seemed less imminent, less threatening, and he felt more like his old self than he had done in a while. It must be the company.
He grimaced, wondering if he’d made the wrong choice in moving out to the country. It was what he wanted, but perhaps the silence and solitude brought to mind thoughts he’d learned to drown out with the noise of distraction.
“Are you okay Jonn?” Adela asked as she carried over the large pot of stew. “You seem preoccupied.”
Jonn nodded. “I’m fine darling,” he said, managing another genuine smile. He pushed his worries to the back of his mind. If the company of friends had driven his ghosts into hiding, he was going to make the most of it while they were here.
…
Gaspi and Emmy took a walk after lunch, strolling arm in arm towards the floodplain.
“He seems better,” Emmy said, as they reached the floodplain.
“He does,” Gaspi agreed, but for some reason he wasn’t fully satisfied.
“Maybe you read too much into it?”
Gaspi was silent for a moment.
“You don’t think so, do you?” Emmy said.
Slowly, Gaspi shook his head. “I’m not sure. He’s definitely better than he was, but I’ve seen that look a hundred times and it always ends at the bottom of a bottle.”
Emmy looked at him with soft eyes. “We’ve got a few more days. Try not to worry.”
Gaspi came to a stop and looked out over the plain. “You’re probably right. I guess I’ve been keeping an eye on him for as long as I remember. It’s hard to let go.”
Emmy smoothed a stray hair from his face. “So don’t let go just yet.”
Gaspi met her gaze. “I love you Emmy.”
Emmy burrowed into him, holding him close. “And I, you.”
…
Jonn watched the gypsy wagon roll away, Gaspi and Emmy walking at its side, and started to feel anxious. They had been his shield, his bulwark against the malady that threatened to reclaim him, and in their absence he would be alone with his thoughts once again. Stubbornly, he shook his head. It would be different this time. There was no reason to slide back into misery, not when his life was so blessed.
For the first few days it seemed he was right, but it wasn’t long before he felt himself slipping. He lost himself in tasks and took refuge in Adela’s company, but misery found him in the strangest of moments. At times he felt like a spectator, watching himself from a distance, as if he was living someone else’s life.
Determined to press on through, he shut his mind to disquiet and soldiered on, but day-by-day, week-by-week, his thoughts pressed down on him, wearing away his resistance, and Jonn began to forget what it felt like to be happy. His vision seemed to narrow, and he went through his days without looking right or left, without noticing what was happening around him. Jonn began to fear that this was it for him; that he would never be happy again, but the worst part was his inability to hide his feelings from Adela. She enquired after him with increasing concern but he couldn’t bring himself to talk about it. All he wanted was to make her happy, and his failure to do so cut him to the quick.
Day by day his desperation grew and he began to contemplate old solutions to his problem. Many a time in the past he’d turned to drink, and after waking up with the mother of all hangovers he’d sometimes felt a little bett
er. Sometimes that had even lasted for a while. Angrily, he dismissed the notion out of hand – that part of his life was over! – and yet the thought was pernicious, returning to him in unguarded moments.
Against the mounting pressure, Jonn made himself as busy as possible, expanding the pasture, planting the beds, hunting game and finishing off the extra dwellings. Every day he sat down with Adela to share the blessings of their table, and every day he grew more distressed, knowing he was less and less present with the woman he loved.
Forty-eight
Ferast rode in silence, his mouth a tight, flat line. His feelings had been a roiling, turbulent mess for days; shock that Sestin had been defeated, fear of being captured and loathing for the Nature Mage and his allies.
He felt like he’d been robbed. The spoils of victory should have been his, but they had been wrested from his grasp at the very last, leaving him with a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. Sestin’s defeat had also sowed the seeds of doubt in his mind. If he’d been wrong about the renegade, perhaps he’d misjudged other matters too. Ferast’s confidence had always been underpinned by the rock hard certainty that he would rise to the utmost heights of power, but what if he had been wrong about that, as he’d been wrong about Sestin? Angrily, he banished his doubts with a shake of his head. He had to stay strong. He had to believe. His day would come, and when it did he would exact revenge on everyone who had ever balked him, but until then he needed a place to hole up and plot. Namert was no longer an option – he would be seized the moment he approached the gates – and besides, he intended to go much further than that.