Grimenna

by N. K. Blazevic

  “And what of Maggra? What has become of her?”

  “Yulin has informed me she abides in Morinvere now. Word has it Yulin plans on turning the outcasts into a work force to rebuild the old temple. Maggra has already begun. There may be a time when pilgrimages are made again.”

  She followed his gaze out over the hills and wondered what was transpiring amongst the Wildermen.

  “He didn’t even say goodbye,” Paiva said.

  “He didn’t know how,” Viviel returned. “They smothered him.” She remembered all the bright colors and noises and people pressing in on him at the Keep.

  “Did you know what he was, that night of Mummers-eve? Is that why you made him stay with us?” she asked suddenly.

  “Yes.”

  “And how did Ramsi get your books?”

  “After you left for the Keep, rumors began. I think they were started by Ramsi himself. His pride was wounded by us. The rumors called me a spirit summoner, alleged that I invoked dark things through my worship of the Forest. They started as whispers, then accusations began, until finally Ramsi had enough suspicion amongst the village to muster a warrant. He was looking for something to hurt us. You should have seen the contentment on his face when he procured my books.” The Liers were disappeared from Birchloam now, having been shamefully disgraced. There was not a trace of them. Even the red curtains in the Warden’s Quarters had vanished with them. Word had spread that they were headed to the Southlands, fearing they would be branded themselves if they stayed.

  “Why did I never know who I was?” she said. “Why didn’t you ever tell me your secret?”

  “It was too difficult to tell you,” he said. “It was too hard. I have never grown old, but I will with your mother. I have never had a child, I never bore new life into this world. You changed it all for me. I learned how to be human. And human is how I intend to stay. It is a good life. I knew my kind were fading and I wanted to die as a man, not as a myth. I learned I didn’t need the worship of a thousand believers to be revered, and that is not what made life worthwhile in the end. It took me a long time to learn that all that matters is one true love, for it can build a whole world. I have you and your mother, that is more than I could ever ask for. That is all that matters in the end.”

  She leant her head against his strong shoulder and smiled, feeling blessed to know she was so loved.

  — «» —

  How many hours she sat at the top of her pasture waiting! She stared at the trees until they began to move and dance on their own. Her hope that Renn would one day appear drove her to worry. What if he had met some harm in the woods and was not able to return?

  A chilled wind blew down from the hills, carrying with it the fresh scent of a dying summer. She rose from her perch atop her usual rock and looked out over the forest. It was changing, for the autumn season was beginning, and she feared that winter would lock the hills with snow and trap him across the river.

  With nothing else she could do, she went up to the altar and fell to her knees.

  “Grimenna,” she whispered as she bent her head and touched the stones. “Great Mother, bring him back to me.” Tears spilt down her face as her heart filled with longing.

  “Make him come back to me,” she prayed.

  — «» —

  Far off on the other side of the forest, Ulrig looked up from skinning a rabbit. He looked about the smoky cave, listening hard. Beneath his feet the stones were resonating, making his bones ache with longing. He ambled outside and stood atop Far Reach, looking out over the hills and turned his face into the wind, still listening.

  “Renn,” he called. A moment later Renn appeared from the horses below, wrapped warmly in his cloak against the chilled wind.

  “Ulrig,” he shook his head in mild humor. “You should see yourself, you look like a madman up there.”

  “Renn, it is time for you to leave here.”

  Renn frowned and looked at him hard, at his speckled eyes wide and staring over the trees.

  “The Stones are whispering to me,” Ulrig said. “They say you must go.”

  “Why?” Renn asked. “What is wrong?”

  “Can’t you hear her?” Ulrig cocked his head. “Can’t you hear her calling you?”

  Renn followed his gaze out to the winding river in the distance, his face softening.

  “Always,” he murmured.

  — «» —

  Winter was moving in on the hills before Paiva knew it. Soon the river would be frozen over and become uncrossable. Despite pestering her father constantly for news from the Keep, the only thing he could impart to her was that Yulin was busily cleaving together a new plan for the Wildermen who had threatened to swarm the river. In a missive he posted to them he said it was true that the one person the Wildermen truly respected was Renn, the great beheader of Varloga, who had quieted the uprise. Renn had requested rations and supplies from the Keep to see the different camps through the winter but Yulin had no clue as to Renn’s future plans and stated only that he hoped Renn would come to his senses and realize he was pardoned and that there was no need to live in a cave and ride a filthy Berg any longer.

  As the frost crept in, Paiva worried constantly over Renn, over what he was doing and why he had never said goodbye. She relived every moment they had shared and she could not understand what it was she had done to deserve being so cruelly forgotten. Just one word, that was all she longed for. She had the thought that maybe Renn would follow in Ulrig’s footsteps, turning his back on the world of men altogether and becoming a hermit until the end of his days. To Ulrig the Forest was a woman, and Paiva wondered whether Renn felt the same.

  The worst part about her pining was that she saw him everywhere she went. She would catch a glimpse of a dark figure out of the corner of her eye while she walked through the village and turn to find it to be someone else. She’d sit in her pasture and feel him watching her, but when she scoured the trees for him she found them empty save for the wind blowing through them. She had hoped the coming cold would drive him back to her, but he remained distant.

  It was on a chilled evening when she sat on her favorite perch that his likeness appeared in the trees. She was so used to imagining him she almost turned away, but her unbearable longing made her stop and stare. Slowly his shape materialized, and despite furious blinking it did not go away.

  “Renn?” she called timidly.

  “Paiva,” his call returned to her and confirmed his reality. Her heart beat so hard in her chest she had to grab hold of the rock to keep from falling off. She gaped at him, not knowing what to say or if she should dare to truly believe he was there. She leapt to her feet and ran towards him, coming to stop a healthy distance away where she continued to stare at him, wishing to somehow conjure the magic words that would keep him there.

  “Renn!” was all she managed. “You know you are pardoned now, you can come out of the woods.”

  “It feels strange,” he said, taking a step into the frosted meadow as if he were still trespassing. She stared at him, taking him in, and found that he had changed. He had acquired himself new clothes, which were already fatigued from wear. He wore a similar oilskin cloak she was used to him wearing, only it was not shredded and ripped about the hem. His hair was groomed, shining black like polished crow feathers and no longer as wild and knotted as a Berg’s mane. His frame was still lean, but he was broader in the shoulder and his face had lost its gauntness. His nose was still bent, his brow still scarred, but his face was swept clean of dirt and weariness. It struck her then, that he was a truly handsome man. There was nothing boyish or un-grown about him.

  “You never said goodbye,” she said sadly as his pale eyes found hers.

  “I have come at last to tell you—”

  “You can’t say goodbye!” she cut him off angrily. Her heart plummeted and she felt as if the earth would split and
swallow her whole. “You said that if we ever returned to the world we would learn to be friends,” she spat.

  A sad smile crept over his face. “I also said I would never leave the woods,” he replied as she glared at him. “I only wanted my father’s forgiveness.”

  “You can’t say goodbye,” she keened.

  He sighed, his eyes growing as cold as the frost as a sadness washed over them. “The Forest is empty for me now,” he murmured.

  “Are you going back to the Keep then?”

  “No,” he shook his head sharply. “Never there.”

  “Renn. I know this world has trampled you, but just stay long enough to let me show you there is kindness here. There is happiness and warmth. I will keep you safe as you kept me safe in the Forest,” she said.

  She wiped away her tears and looked at him sternly, watching as he tentatively took a few steps farther from the trees towards her. He looked back at the woods, as if it were a skin he had shed and was afraid to leave. When he looked back to Paiva his eyes implored her for acceptance and understanding, as if he were afraid she would send him back.

  “I am in love with you,” she said. “Renn, you are allowed to be loved.”

  His eyes swam with tears and he swallowed hard, unable to reply. “Birchloam does need a Warden,” he replied softly when he found his voice.

  Tears burst from her eyes then and she gasped a sigh of relief.

  “Promise me you’ll dance with me next Mummers-eve,” she said.

  He nodded. “I promise I will dance with you every Mummers-eve,” he replied.

  Her heart seemed to shatter into a million pieces then. She stepped forward and leapt into his arms, molding into his chest where the world suddenly took shape and made sense again. His arms folded around her and held her tightly against him as he buried his face in her hair and breathed her in. She clung to him, afraid to let go. His arms pressed against her back, drawing her in and upwards so that their faces met.

  After a suspended breath, he took her mouth with a searing kiss.

  She could feel the force of it, like the frost that burnt the ground with cold and cracked the Stones and mountains. It made her ache. She felt the breaking of the pain that had kept her waiting for him. Tears rose both from her happiness and her undoing as his lips moved across her skin and into her hair and whispered over and over how much he had loved her all along.

  For long quiet moments after they simply held each other, listening to the rush of wind in the trees, reveling in each other’s warmth. When Paiva finally convinced herself this was not all a dream, she began to laugh.

  He drew his head back and looked down at her with a curious frown.

  “Oh Renn,” she smiled. “I always did fancy a man in a red cloak.”

  — «» —

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  About the Author:

  Natasha K. Blazevic was born in Montreal and currently lives in St André D’Argenteuil, Quebec, where she has become a passionate beekeeper. She studied art for a year in college but she could not nurture her talent or interest there. She was much more interested in being outdoors. She fled to the countryside of the Quebec Laurentians where she apprenticed for a stone mason and cultivated her love of art and animals. She considers herself a student of life with a keen interest in the natural world. She hopes her book Grimenna can not only entertain and enchant readers, but can help to promote a green renaissance.

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