by Meg Caddy
When Lycaea could walk – albeit hindered by her wound – we took Kemp and followed Moth and Dodge to Tadhg. Further than any Valley waer has travelled, according to our lore. Dodge was slower than usual, his own wounds troubling him at points throughout the journey. Still, his spirits were as hearty as ever in his home city. Surrounded by other storytellers, it seemed only natural for him to turn to us and demand that we tell our tale. He wanted everyone to know what we had fought for, and lost, and loved.
The idea took within me, and at every opportunity during our travels I committed quill to parchment. I gave as much of an account as I could, but without Lycaea’s words it was empty. Our story began and finished with Lycaea, and without her it could never truly be complete.
She was reluctant, and I had to argue with her the whole journey from Tadhg back to Luthan, but she gave in. We stopped in Luthan for a while and let her write out the bulk of it. Too many times, I found her hunched over crumpled pages, sobbing uncontrollably. Leldh and Kaebha were gone, but shadows remained. Sometimes, still, she and Kemp woke in sweats, or screaming. Dark nights.
Eventually we decided to make one more journey before we left the past to rest. We did not discuss it; we simply woke one morning, packed our belongings, gathered Kemp and left Luthan.
We came here, to the Valley.
After the battle at Caerwyn, Alwyn brought the survivors back to the Valley. The souther-waer helped to drive out the remaining soldiers and their families. They lingered a few months to help rebuild. We will stay here awhile, in the old bakery, to assist with the restoration of the worship-house and the village. Lycaea has taken some of the women under her wing; those who were left here when the others were taken to Caerwyn. She is teaching them to fight. They are frightened and angry, but I think they will heal in time, as much as any of us can. Lycaea is hoping they will come south with us, to Luthan.
Kemp follows Lycaea everywhere, these days. He remains a wolf in his mind; we are slowly teaching him words: how to speak, and how to be with people again. Lycaea pretends to find him a nuisance, but she spends every spare minute with him and will not hear anyone speak a word against him. Sometimes it is difficult; I remember the young boy he was, and the future he would have had here in the Valley. But I remind myself that he is young, and he has our love to help him mend.
We will not settle here. Lycaea grows restless even now, and I cannot stay where the scars of what happened are still so raw. There is also much to be done in Luthan, for there are changes to be made for the people in the Ultimo. Many lives were lost in the mountains because of the divide in Luthan, and it cannot be allowed to continue. We will do what we can, and then we will return to our travels. Although Lycaea and I work for the Own still, we are not tied to the city. Anyway, Hemanlok is expanding his reach.
For a while, he talked about sending us to Caerwyn to keep track of Melana. It is hard to tell whether she claimed the bastion for sanctuary and peace, or whether she has a longer game in mind. Lycaea and I discussed at length the possibility of going, but eventually we refused. We see the wisdom in being aware of Melana, but our work in Caerwyn is over. We will leave the Watcher business to the Watchers.
Kemp and Lycaea sit on the floor just a few paces from me. She is using smooth white stones to teach him how to count again. He watches her with his one good eye, solemn and attentive. Usually, slight scents and sounds distract him, but Lycaea always has his complete focus. She is more patient with him than I have ever seen her.
Soon, Kemp and I will observe the Grey Worship, and then we three will go for a walk before the rain starts to fall. I can smell it on the air. The sky will turn crimson tonight, and then black, and then the Valley will be alive with the smells and sounds I used to know so well. It seems fitting to end our tale here, by the swollen river and the wild sheep. We can never restore what was taken from us, but we can remember it, and pay honour to those we lost.
After that, we go where the gods take us.
Acknowledgments
I can’t thank everyone enough for the patience, good humour, and support they have shown in the last ten years. Consider this my best attempt:
To Mum and Dad, who encouraged my thirst for stories and who read every draft of my own.
To my brothers Ben, Danny, and Joe, who never complained when I made tea and burnt toast at 3am.
To the team at Text Publishing, especially Editor Extraordinaire Mandy Brett, YA Goddess Steph Speight, Map Master Simon Barnard, and the glorious Imogen Stubbs.
To Juliet Marillier, the wisest person I know, who showed me how to take my book beyond the first draft and who has helped and inspired me ever since.
To the Katharine Susannah Prichard Writers’ Centre (KSP) and the Society for Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators (SCBWI West) who welcomed me with open arms, and who provide such a haven for writers in Western Australia.
To Jess Caddy, for lending a pair of fresh eyes to later drafts and helping me work out the geography of Oster (and for buckets of herbal tea, countless book chats, and hundreds of entertaining emails).
To Kristin Lane, whose cries of ‘I believe in you!’ and ‘Do the do!’ pushed me through long nights of editing – and to Gemma Goepel and Beverly Twomey for their love, enthusiasm, and fantasy know-how.
To Rebecca Warnes, who spent hours brainstorming with me and who helped me celebrate every milestone.
Last (but never least) to Jenn Godfrey (and The Cat) who started me (and Lycaea) out on this journey ten years ago.