Traven would have kicked himself if he could have managed it without falling on his arse. All those images that Pale had sent just before the Faery did her magick were to keep him close to the Fold.
“It was not his fault. The wolf sent the images. I just didn’t understand their meaning. I didn’t expect your help, not after the argument in the Fold.”
“Ah, yes. Emerald can be taxing. She is the Guardian of the Fold, but outside of it, these are our Sheets. If you have no other urgent destination, my people would request your presence at Thunderhead, our clan’s Hearth.”
Traven thought the Giant would never ask. The Hero did not think it would help his new-found heroic image to admit that not only did he have nowhere else to go, but he would have died trying to get there.
“It is, I who would be honored,” Traven enunciated carefully as he tried to lift his leaden legs.
“Let me,” the Giant said as he scooped Traven up like a small child.
Traven squirmed and complained like a rebellious toddler, “Let me down! I can do it myself!”
The Giant ignored his complaints. “Your horse is too weak to bear you, Hero. Even at your best speed, it could take days to reach Thunderhead. Will you not allow me the honor of delivering you to my home?”
All the Hero could think of was how cowardly this would sound in his epic tale, but Pale sent images of pups being carried by their dams and elder pack members being supported by their brood.
The image was so comforting, and the warmth of the Giant’s embrace was so inviting, that Traven gave up his struggle. Besides, there weren’t any minstrels around to record the event. The Giant grunted with satisfaction as Pale grabbed Lauger’s reins and urged the horse forward.
The group set out into the dark night, torches bobbing with each step. Travel snuggled down and found his eyes drooping as the Giant’s rocking gait soothed his body and mind.
If the Hero closed his eyes, just for a moment, it felt like he was back home. Some nights, late in the summer, when they trekked to his Uncle Saint’s homestead, Traven’s father carried him just like this.
Oh, even back then Traven was a bit too old to be coddled like a baby, but young enough to enjoy his father’s embrace. Even the Giant’s beard scratched at the Hero’s cheek just like his father’s had. With each passing day, even each passing hour, Traven realized the further you strayed, the closer you came to really being home.
***
Ornery rubbed at his tired eyes as he walked down the Mansion’s hallway. The pajamas Mr. Skelt gave to him were far too big, making him trip and stumble every other step. The low light did nothing to aid in his search of the house either. Ornery tried to remember which hallway he had come down, but they all looked the same. The wood was pocked, and the paint flecked off in big sheets if you barely brushed up against it. It was strange enough being inside a house. Ornery had only been in a handful over his life, but this one was huge and featureless, making it difficult to navigate.
Angry voices rose from his left, so he cautiously followed them. Ornery knew Miss Emmert when he heard her voice — and boy, was she mad. He was pretty sure the man she spoke to was Mr. Skelt, but the voice was so low that Ornery could not be sure.
He hoped that it was Mr. Skelt for the simple reason that Ornery would not have to meet anyone new. Ornery was tired and simply wanted sleep to carry him from the turmoil. He needed to be at his best to meet his father.
Ornery slowed as he approached the corner for Miss Emmert’s words were scalding — worse than any she had ever launched at the boy, but Mr. Skelt shrugged off his sibling’s harsh words. Ornery snuck to the edge and peered into the hallway.
Miss Emmert was on her tiptoes, trying to get eye to eye with Mr. Skelt, but with the exception of a bale of hay to stand on, she had no chance. Her words were so fast and furious that Ornery had a hard time understanding the conversation, but the gist was clear. Miss Emmert blamed her brother for Madame Hesper’s sudden decline.
“Sele. Holt...” A weak voice drifted from the open doorway.
Both Miss Emmert and Mr. Skelt entered the room in a rush. Despite his exhaustion, Ornery followed close behind, his boyish enthusiasm getting the best of him. Once inside the room, he crept into the corner. The room smelled dank and old, even the candlelight looked reused.
All sorts of odd accents decorated the room. A gilded frame held no picture. On the far wall, a mirror cast no reflection as Mr. Skelt passed by. A bat hung from the rafters, and a stuffed owl sat upon the bedside table. An old woman lay upon the lone bed, layered in thick blankets. Miss Emmert dropped to her knees beside the bed.
“Mother, what is it?” Miss Emmert asked.
The old woman rose up on one elbow and, with great effort, propped herself up on the pillows. “Come, child. This involves you.”
Ornery waited for Mr. Skelt to step forward, but he did not.
“Boy, don’t think I can’t see you in that corner. Come forward.”
Frozen, Ornery tried to sink into the shadows, but Miss Emmert’s angry look could not be ignored. “Mother, let the child go to bed, there is much we need to discuss —”
“Dimtri, your father.” Madame Hesper nodded in Ornery’s direction, “Has been detained.”
This moved Ornery’s feet like no other words could. He found himself nearly across the room before Miss Emmert’s shocked response tumbled out.
“How? When? Why —”
The old woman raised a hand to quiet her daughter. “Listen and I will relay everything.” Madame Hesper patted the bed beside her. “Here. Sit, child.”
Ornery’s feet stalled, but Miss Emmert made room for him to pass. “Mother’s right. You should hear this.”
Madame Hesper continued. “Vezar, your uncle, was summoned to the Peak and —”
Miss Emmert interrupted, “He’s never been called before. Why now, of all times?”
“I do not know. All that was related was the fact of Vezar’s vision and his need to leave on pilgrimage —”
“He could have been lying —”
The old woman gave Miss Emmert a stern look. “If Dimitri believed his brother, then so shall we.”
Ornery held his breath. He’d never heard anyone talk to Miss Emmert like that before. With the mood his caretaker was in, Ornery braced for the worse, but Miss Emmert only sighed and nodded for her mother to go on with the story.
“Dimitri was left as Protectorate of the herd —”
It was Ornery’s turn to interrupt. “Why him? Why not another Stallion?”
The old woman scoffed, but her look of dismay was directed at her daughter. “Have you accomplished nothing in these past few years, Sele? In these perilous times, he must be better prepared.”
Ornery’s caretaker squirmed under her mother’s gaze as Ornery had so many times under Miss Emmert’s judging eye. When Miss Emmert answered, she sounded younger and not quite so sure of herself.
“We couldn’t have him running around the countryside, spewing intimate knowledge of the Herds —”
“Still, some basic social etiquette might have been nice.”
For as weak as the old woman looked, her tongue was as sharp as any.
When Madame Hesper looked back at Ornery, her visage softened, and she patted his hand. “The centaurs have strayed from their noble heritage and... Any other Stallion might take the opportunity to... To increase his... To have...”
“Oh, he might make his own foals?”
The old woman seemed relieved that the boy understood the concept without having to explain it in detail. “Yes. Your father is the first Centaur in centuries to be faithful to one mate.”
Madame Hesper lingered, clearly caught in the hold of a memory. Miss Emmert cleared her throat, and the old woman finally finished the sentence, “Even after your mother’s death, he has remained loyal to her memory. He is a creature of great honor. I know it pains you to wait, but this task is no small thing. If Vezar has truly been summoned to the Peak —
”
Miss Emmert supported her mother as the old woman coughed and sputtered. Finally, once Madame Hesper had calmed again, she spoke, but this time to Miss Emmert.
“Sele, you cannot deny the tumbling of events, the convergence of prophecies. This...” The old woman motioned to her bedridden body. “All of this...” motioning to everyone in the room, “Is the Fate’s work. We cannot change the tide now. Our only hope is to navigate it skillfully.”
Ornery could not follow the discussion further. The only damage he cared about was his father’s delay. How could he come so close to finally realizing his childhood fantasy only to have it snatched away? There had to be some mistake. Some horrible misunderstanding of some kind. Besides, how did this old woman find all this out? She was cooped up in this room. How did this knowledge find her?
Before he could stop himself, Ornery blurted out his question. “How did Father send you word?” He was ready for any answer, except for the one he got.
Miss Emmert answered him off-handedly between comments to her mother, “The hawk, dear.”
The hawk? Ornery turned. This really was too much. The thing was stuffed and propped up. Or was it? Did its eyes just blink? Ornery nearly fell off the bed when the bird heard a sound outside and turned his head all the way around. The hawk made a deep cooing noise that made both women turn.
“No, I’m sorry, Swoop. Soon. We’ll send you on your way before daybreak," the old woman said lovingly.
The hawk turned his head back and resumed its tireless stare. Ornery edged closer to Madame Hesper.
“Don’t worry, child. That old bugger owes me. He’ll not harm you.” Madame Hsepser turned back to Miss Emmert. “Dimitri hopes to meet you in three days’ time at the Cinder Fold.”
“And if he is detained longer?”
“He wants you to reside there until he can escort you to the Steppes.”
Miss Emmert rose and paced the room. “No, the Fold is out of the way. If we set a course for the Lower Steppes, with best speed, we can make it by week’s end.”
Ornery liked this plan, but the old woman was insistent. “He made it extremely clear he does not feel that a safe nor wise plan.”
“Why?” Miss Emmert asked, frustration clear in her tone.
“Now that’s a bit fuzzy. It seemed there was a hare nearby, and, well, Swoop was distracted...”
“Dimitri may have reasons that under these circumstances no longer —”
“Enough,” Mr. Skelt said, loud enough to stop the argument between mother and daughter. “Everyone is tired, and nothing need be decided this eve. We could all do with some rest.”
Miss Emmert did not seem finished yet. “But what of Crystalia —”
“I shall fetch her at first light, and then —”
“Ouch!” Ornery exclaimed as Madame Hesper pulled out a hair from his scalp. He watched in horror as she sniffed it and then chewed on the root.
“He’s to be a bay,” the old woman said with great satisfaction.
Miss Emmert’s face lost its angry contortions as she moved across the room. “Really? Are you sure, Mother?”
“I might have lost much this night, but some skills are yet mine.”
Ornery allowed his caretaker to hug him. “What’s that mean?”
Miss Emmert slicked back his hair and held his hand while she spoke.
“Your father is a bay. It is the rarest of all the strains. The first centaurs were bay...”
Miss Emmert seemed near to tears, so Mr. Skelt came over and helped Ornery up. “As I said, enough emotion for one day. On the morn, we will broker this all.”
To Ornery’s relief, Miss Emmert nodded. “Holt, as always, you are the voice of reason.”
With the excitement past, Ornery’s feet became leaden again. He followed Mr. Skelt out the door and down the dull hallway.
A soft bed never sounded so good.
*****
CHAPTER 14
“Never question hospitality. You never knows when it might come again.”
Granny was a good one, with sage advice that was extremely difficult to follow, Traven thought as he paced inside the hewn-rock chamber that Grave had assigned him.
If the Hero spoke out loud, the words echoed off the impossibly tall ceiling. He felt like an ant given the run of the cellar. The room was so warm that he had stripped down to his shirt and britches, but even the thin fabric was wet from his sweat. One would think these mountain-dwellers would like their homes a bit crisp, but not these Giants. The place was like one of those saunas in the Desert Kingdom.
Pale, of course, seemed not to care. The White Wolf was curled up next to the blazing fireplace. Despite the cracks in the ceiling that served as vents, smoke still spread out from the fire and choked the room. Traven had half a mind to douse the damnable flames, but every other room had its own blazing fire, and the Hero feared to insult the Giants. It was not so long ago that he was lost out on the Barren Plains, nearing death. A little extra heat was easy to take when put in that perspective.
Traven fingered the dress clothes laid out upon the slab of rock that served as a bed. The colors were bold. Gold thread held the silk together. What occasion would he need such finery?
Could it be that the Giants were crowning Traven with The Hope’s Laurel?
The Hero had pestered Pale with such questions, but the wolf had responded in his usual bored manner. Who would have thought a creature of teeth and sinew could be so patient?
“You’d best dress quickly, Hero. The Gathering has begun,” Grave said as he entered the room.
Suddenly, the chamber did not seem so large. Out on the plains, Traven had forgotten how truly huge these Giants were. “Forgive me for asking, but what is this The Gathering? Why am I attending?”
“The Chieftains of the Hearths have been called together to test you, Hero. Our people have great need, and you might be the One we have sought for generations.”
Traven groaned internally. At one time, the Hero would have been thrilled to hear elders speak of his potential, speak of the great and mighty things that Traven could accomplish. Now, however, the Hero knew there was always a price for such glory. He wondered how much this deed would cost him, not that Traven would balk at any request the Giants made of him. He owed them his life, and perhaps even more importantly, Lauger’s life.
“I will summon you when all is ready,” Grave stated as he turned to leave the room. “Pale, to me.”
The White Wolf looked up with half-closed lids, then snuggled back down. Concern, and perhaps a bit of sorrow, darkened Grave’s face.
“If you want I can make him —” Traven tried to say before Grave interrupted.
“No one can make a Wolf do anything he does not wish. I felt it back at the Fold, but now I am certain. Pale has bonded, Hero. Do not forsake him.”
“Wait.” Traven had to run to get across the cavernous room before the Giant strode out. “What do you mean, bonded?”
Grave looked at Traven as though the Hero might have hit his head too hard. “He is a creature of Nature. His lineage descends from the highest order. A select few of these magnificent creatures still roam the world, looking for another kindred spirit to bond with. Forever now, your paths are intertwined.”
“But I don’t need another traveling companion —”
The Giant seemed mildly surprised by Traven’s attitude. “Who spoke of your need? Do you not know the honor? The stature that Pale brings to you and your quest?”
Traven’s cheeks reddened. He was so very tired of being blind to all of these rules and legends. He felt a child trying to play a champion chess tournament. Traven feared his breach of etiquette might have angered Grave.
The Hero straightened and addressed the Giant with as much dignity as he could muster, “I fear I have made another error of ignorance, Grave. I did not understand the depth and width of Pale’s commitment to my quest. I will honor him and you by accepting such a gracious offering.”
Grave tu
rned towards the hallway. Before the Giant could leave the room, Traven touched the Giant’s elbow.
“Thank you for being such a stalwart companion to him through these hard years. We will both benefit from your sacrifice.”
Moisture glistened on the Giant’s egg-sized eyes. “It was no sacrifice. If anything were to happen to you, Pale knows where he may reside.”
Grave strode off before Traven could think of any words to soothe the Giant’s sense of loss — perhaps there were none. He could not imagine if Lauger suddenly elected to bear another rider. There were no words formed by lips that could heal that wound.
Traven viewed Pale with a renewed sense of appreciation. It was hard to imagine that the furry mutt that laid out by the fire, now on his back with his feet stuck in the air, was some sort of Nature’s dignitary. The Hero could not help but kneel down and pet the huge wolf on the chest.
“What did I do to get so lucky, huh?”
The question was supposed to be rhetorical, but Pale sent a flood of images to Traven’s mind. Some were from the distant past, while others were of recent history, and yet others Traven could only assume were of events yet to come.
The Hero tried to hold on to these images so that he could sort through them later, but they evaporated more rapidly than a dream. All Traven was left with was a feeling of pride and loss — glory and despair. The Hero sat down hard on the floor. He would remember never to ask the wolf a question that he did not truly want answered.
***
Ornery was startled awake by a pounding somewhere in the house. It was still dark, and by the snap of the cold air, he would say it was before sunrise. The noise stopped, but Ornery crept from his bed to check on the disturbance.
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