Instead, he thought back to what Charnas had encouraged him to do, drawing not from what could be seen clearly with the eye but with the imagination. Drawing from a model required skill, of course, but Aram wanted to expand his abilities, and conjuring images from his mind to sketch seemed like the perfect exercise. At once, his pencil leapt into action, soaring across the parchment, the snarling jaws of a black drake coming to life, and then Makasa beneath it, her hand posed upward, swinging her chain.
Aram’s view of the struggle had been obscured by the dust of the storm, but now he could see Makasa’s openmouthed cry, her determination, the slight tightness by her eyes from the pain of the claws piercing her shoulders … Exhilarated, he tilted his pencil to the side, giving the whole scene a light gray wash to show the storm, then finished by adding a few incoming arrows flying toward the drake. It wasn’t as accurate as some of his portraits, but he liked the tension and movement. Charnas was right: This had a different feeling to it, and Aram felt almost hypnotized, his breath short, his fingers moving as if by magic. A new page! He needed to try more.
Closing his eyes, he instantly pictured a deep cave and a figure emerging from it, a boy not much older than Aram, with a young blue dragon looming over him. Both the boy and the blue dragon had a scar over one cheek. For some reason the cave felt dark and cold to him, and wet, so Aram added small foot tracks along the floor.
The young man’s eyes felt alive when he saw them in his mind, and when Aram studied his drawing, he shivered, finding those eyes pierced through him from the page. It felt so real. Realer, he thought with another shudder, than some of his portraits of actual living people.
Aram flipped the page again but felt exhausted. Drawing from imagination took more out of him than the usual light sketching. He glanced up from his work, hearing a loud twinkle of laughter from the tauren and the dryad busy gathering flowers in the forest.
It was selfish and stupid to think of Drella as his, but his thoughts turned again to their special bond, a bond that Thal’darah’s magic would soon unravel. Was that why he suddenly felt a pang of jealousy toward Galena? Of course a dryad would have so much more to talk about with a druid from the Cenarion Circle. Galena even knew other dryads, so it made perfect sense, but still. Feelings often didn’t make sense; they just made problems. It wasn’t a crush, he insisted to himself. They were just close friends. They had gone through so much, it was natural to feel close.
But before he could brood, he heard Murky and Hackle arguing about what to eat from inside the inn. The gnoll seemed to be understanding the little murloc better and better, and Aram had to smile at the thought of what mischief those two might get up to if left unsupervised.
His knee slid, and the letter he had written to his mother slipped out of the book, fluttering to the ground. Aram bent quickly to retrieve it, his eyes lingering on the folded parchment. He still couldn’t find the urge to send it. But another urge rose, one guided by that little thorn that had lodged in his mind after his discussion with Makasa.
Letters. What if he wrote to different places in Kalimdor enquiring after his uncle? Makasa was right about the risk, but he remained convinced he was also right that they could trust the Sentinels to send the messages safely for them. It seemed hopeless, but Aram would just have to be a grown-up about it and do something. And so he did, composing a brief letter introducing himself, and explaining that he was the son of Greydon Thorne, that he had urgent business with Silverlaine Thorne, and any information about his whereabouts would be appreciated. He toyed with the thought of adding a reward, but knew that would come back to bite him if he actually did hear something about his uncle.
Instead, he was honest and direct.
Please, he wrote. Please help me find my uncle. It would mean the world to me.
Aram copied out the letter several times, not knowing how many copies he might need, then tucked them all into his sketchbook and stood, stretching. Murky and Hackle emerged from the inn, each holding fish so fresh and raw they might have still been wriggling. The two trundled over to him, sat, then unceremoniously bit into their respective sagefish.
“Yuck.” Aram shook his head, leaving them to their feast. “Warn someone before you do that.”
“Hackle save you part,” the gnoll offered, eyes glittering.
Before Aram could respond, Hackle and Murky dissolved into laughter, the murloc mostly burbling around a full mouth, the gnoll giving his tittering hyena laugh.
“Very funny. Have either of you seen Master Thal’darah? I wanted to ask him some questions about the ritual.”
That was a lie, but a white one, he decided. He didn’t want anyone to know about his plan to send off the letters; it would make it look as if he planned to leave before the bonding could be undone. Besides, Silverlaine was his uncle. Finding the man might help them recover more shards for the Diamond Blade, but that felt like a long shot. No, Aram was just as interested in finding him to know more about Greydon, and to know more about his place in the world as a Thorne. Greydon had been stolen from him so quickly, and the wound had never quite healed right. Still, he knew he needed to be careful.
Perhaps Makasa’s suspicious nature was rubbing off on him, he thought, watching Hackle swallow a giant mouthful of fish, scales and all.
“Hackle no see him today.” The gnoll raised his nose into the air and gave a long sniff. “But he not far. Forest,” he said. “North.”
“Mrky nk blolger legl,” the murloc added with a shrug of his tiny shoulders.
That was a no, then.
“Thanks,” Aram told them, waving. “I’ll check with the Sentinels, then. You two, uh, enjoy your breakfast.”
The Sentinels were easy to find, patrolling slowly around the perimeter of the Overlook when they weren’t out on the paths checking for stray Horde scouts. Aram left behind the campfire, heading east toward a small arch and a half-built glaive thrower, where Iyneath groomed his moonsaber. The giant cat wrinkled its nose at Aram’s approach, but otherwise relaxed, nudging its furry muzzle into Iyneath’s chest while he ran a bristly brush across the animal’s back, raking out burrs and twigs.
“Cinderfoot, stop that,” the one-eyed night elf chided. But the moonsaber, looking like nothing more than a big housecat, purred and pushed its nose against the Sentinel’s chest again, then started pawing the ground.
Aram pointed. “Back in Lakeshire, they call that making biscuits.”
“I call it a nuisance,” Iyneath replied, but he was laughing. “He has not had a brushing in some time. I can forget that even creatures bred for war have a special bond with their masters. Much like your bond with the dryad, I would imagine. Have the rituals begun?”
“Not yet, I think Galena and Master Thal’darah are still making preparations. I’ve just been filling the time. Actually, I wrote a few letters, and I thought you might know the area well. I’m trying to find someone who was last seen in northern Kalimdor. A human man. Any ideas on where I might send inquiries?”
Iyneath paused, his one good eye flashing with interest as he glanced up at Aram. “Going somewhere?”
“N-No! No”—Aram scratched the back of his head nervously, scrambling for an excuse—“it’s my uncle, actually. I just want to find him and make sure he’s okay. He might be dead, for all I know.”
“Oh. My condolences.” Iyneath stood, dropping the brush before reaching into the pack on his belt and retrieving a small folded map. He beckoned Aram closer, then showed him the map, which was of nearby parts of Stonetalon and beyond. The night elf’s finger moved swiftly across the various regions. “Now let me think. Astranaar, Fort Triumph, Honor’s Stand, Theramore, and even the Northwatch Expedition Base have all received a swell of Alliance troops recently. If your uncle is a soldier, he might be there.”
Aram nodded, doing his best to memorize the locations and the names. He had an artist’s mind, one keen to remember images, even subtle ones. His eyes followed the Sentinel’s pointing, and his heart began
to sink. Some of those places were far away. It would take a long time to get there unless they could magically conjure Gazlowe’s airship again.
“Those seem like good places to try,” Aram agreed. “If I gave you the letters, could you see that they get to those outposts? How long would it take?”
“Between our outrunners and the owls, not terribly long,” Iyneath explained, scratching his chin. “We stay in regular contact with the other outposts nearby, to keep each other aware of any Horde patrols on the move.”
“It would mean a lot to me,” Aram told him. “Here, I’ve already copied out the letters. And … would you mind not telling anyone? It just feels like a fool’s errand looking for him this way, and it makes me feel, well, foolish.”
Iyneath straightened to his full height, his smile turning down slightly. “It is never a fool’s errand to reach out to one’s family. You have my word, Aramar Thorne, it will be done discreetly.”
Taryndrella closed her eyes and cleared her mind. That was hard, of course, really hard. When they first began the ceremonies, she couldn’t manage to do it at all. There were just so many things to think about! Like, why did butterflies only come in some colors and not all colors? And were red butterflies meaner than blue ones? That didn’t seem fair to her if so, because red wasn’t a mean or bad color at all. She found it perfectly lovely. Apples, for example, had become one of her favorite foods. And fire kept people warm! So many good, wholesome things were red that it really should not be considered an “angry” color, in fact—
“Taryndrella! Concentrate.”
She screwed up her face and nodded. There was no need to open her eyes to see Master Thal’darah, already she was quite familiar with his Frustrated Face. He had many faces. Smiley Face at supper, because he so liked all the many new creatures at the Overlook. It was obvious he found everyone fascinating, but especially Murky, because he had never tried to communicate with a murloc before, especially one as brave and unique as Murky the Unstung. And, of course, she knew his Sleepy Face, which happened after they had been at the ceremonies for many hours, the smell of burnt steelbloom clinging to them all. Kind and Patient Face was her favorite because—
“TARYNDRELLA. By the blue hairs in my beard, I beg you: focus.”
There he was again. Frustrated Face. She took in a deep breath and tried her best to banish the thoughts of butterflies and faces and beards. After a moment, the darkness returned in earnest. Taryndrella shivered, afraid. The smoke of the flower and incense filled her, and the visions came quickly. She stood at the edge of a cliff, surrounded by deep, cold shadows. That horrible darkness crept closer, the ends of it as long and spindly as spider’s legs. The blessings of Cenarius kept her safe, and so she thought about those gifts, hard, for Master Thal’darah had promised her that if she just focused on good thoughts of a guiding presence, like Cenarius, then it would come to her in the vision. Only the beautiful warmth of his blessings could banish the icy darkness and clear her path to Aram. She would see him eventually in her visions, standing there right in the open, and when she finally did, then she could trot to him, pluck a single flower from his hair, and cast it into the wind, and the ritual would be complete.
The bond would be severed.
A tiny mote of light drifted down from above her. There was no sky, but the light had come from somewhere. Her heart, maybe, or it was her wishes made real. The little light danced and she smiled, following, reaching out to touch it. It shied away, leading her toward the scary, undulating darkness. Courage. She needed courage. Taryndrella did her best impression of Makasa Flintwill. Courageous, strong Makasa wouldn’t be afraid of some stupid old shadows. Drella trotted toward the light, breathing deeply, telling herself that if she just watched that mote of happiness and hope, then the darkness couldn’t get her.
It worked, for a time, and as she and the light neared the fringes of the shadows, the tendrils began to break apart. Farther and farther they traveled into the shadows, and it was terribly cold. Drella shivered, hugging herself, but she went on, refusing to give up. The vision ceremonies had never gone this well before, and that made her even more determined to press on! For a week, they had tried and failed to get her beyond the darkness, and now it was actually working. Drella forced herself not to look at the shadows, following the light, trusting it. But the tendrils of evil worked their way forward, encroaching on the light. They reached for her, snarling and cruel, tearing at her ankles until she screamed, arms outstretched once more, for the hope of the light.
But it was gone. Extinguished. She cried out, all alone. Then the darkness won, swallowing her, a frigid embrace that left her teary and trembling.
“Curses.”
She opened her eyes, back in Thal’darah Overlook, to find the druid master with his Frustrated Face on. Galena looked no better. The tauren and the night elf exchanged a long look, the last wan strings of steelbloom smoke winding between them.
“I must have done something wrong,” Drella murmured. “We can try again!”
“Peace, now, my dear, we are all too tired for another attempt.” Master Thal’darah passed a shaking hand over his face, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “It should be working. Why is it not working?”
Galena chewed her lip, playing nervously with her braids. “I did every step just as you asked, Master. Maybe we have it all wrong. Maybe this isn’t the right ritual …”
“There is something hindering us,” he said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Something I cannot see. Tell me of the shadows again, dear.”
Taryndrella shivered but did as he asked. “They are like ice all over me! They look like roots, but made all of shadow. Nothing gets through that darkness. This time, I saw a little beam of light. It fell right in front of me and I followed it, just like you told me to do. It cut through the shadows for a little while, but oh, it just was not enough!”
For a while, all three of them were silent. The sounds of the glade seemed far away. The wisps danced in the trees, Murky and Hackle chased each other around the fire, laughing, the moonwell shimmered with magic, crickets skimming quietly across its surface, but none of it gave her joy.
“I have failed you,” she said, hanging her head.
“Nonsense,” Master Thal’darah boomed. “If there is blame to be had, it should rest on our shoulders, not yours.”
“But we did everything right! We followed every step set down by the Cenarion texts—”
Galena was silenced by a sharp look from the master. The mood of the ceremony had never fallen so low. At first, it had even been exciting, like making a new friend or discovering a fun human word, but now it just felt like chores. Chores was something Aram had taught her about, and everyone hated them but for some reason did them anyway. Drella did not hate the rituals, but she was beginning to think it was a lost cause. Tucking one hand under her chin, she let herself feel the disappointment. Usually, it was simple enough for her to banish bad thoughts, especially now that it was her summer, but maybe it was time to consider that this wasn’t going well and might never work.
“I just think maybe Aram should be part of all this,” she murmured.
Master Thal’darah, moving with his usual slow grace, stood and brushed off his robes. “I have told you, he does not need to be here, only close by. He does not possess the proper abilities to complete the ritual. You are unique, my dear. You are special.”
“That is it!” The thoughts tumbled into her mind all at once, so quickly it made her giddy. She popped up, turning a circle, balling up her fists and dancing. “You are right, Master! I am special!”
“Well, humility is also an important characteristic, Taryndrella, and you should take care to—”
“No, not like that, silly! I am different. You told me so yourself after our first ceremony, I have powers you have never seen before in a dryad! Is that not neat? It is neat, but also important. Important because if I am different and special, then maybe these rituals are not for me. Oh, good! You
are here!”
Aramar Thorne had wandered into their portion of the glade, his hair neatly combed and tied off, his too-big jacket sagging with all the things he had jammed in the pockets. His eyes widened at her greeting, a sweet, sleepy grin spreading across his face. Drella very much liked his grin, because it always reminded her of a tired kitten’s. So endearing. The boy came closer, standing next to Galena and before the small altar where the incense and steelbloom smoked.
“How is it going?” he asked. “Did it … did it work? Because I don’t feel any different.”
“No! It did not work at all,” Drella informed him. “In fact, it has been going badly! But that is all right. I know why now.”
“And why is that?” Master Thal’darah sounded strange, like he didn’t believe her but also wanted to laugh.
Drella trotted over to Aram, linking her arm with his and beaming around at the three of them. “Because our bond is completely, unbelievably unique to us! I am special, and so is the bond. Aramar has cared for me since I was just an acorn. Not a night elf, not a druid, but a human boy! Can you believe it? That is something so big, so important and beautiful that we should not forget it.”
Master Thal’darah stroked his beard again and nodded. “Say more.”
“Well! I think because our bond is so special, that it must have different rules. These rituals are for someone else. Aramar gave me a gift, the gift of life and then kindness, risked his life and the lives of his friends to keep me safe. Gifts are special, and gifts should be given in kind.”
Galena hopped up to her hooves, nodding much faster than Master Thal’darah, sending her braids all over the place. “That might be right! The bonds we learned about didn’t sound that deep. They were made with magic … What if their bond was made by fate?”
“Ooh! I like that word. Fate. It gives me chills. Fate!” Drella shivered from her pointed ears to her tail, to demonstrate.
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