“You will not be alone for long,” the old maga said gently.
“Is that what your cards told you?”
“The cards, and the dreams of an ancient woman.”
“Divination is a reckless form of magic.” Eolyn did not bother to hide her sarcasm.
“It is. But it brings comfort at times, and that, at least, can be of some use.” The corners of Ghemena’s lips turned up in a weak smile. Her eyes shone in quiet amusement.
Eolyn looked away. She was not in the mood for jests.
“I speak the truth, Eolyn. The Gods have given me a glimpse of your future. Your friends wait for you. You will recognize them...”
Ghemena’s words ended in a ragged gasp. Her body contracted around her chest.
With a start, Eolyn took the old maga in her arms. Summoning the powers of the earth, she laid her hand over Ghemena’s heart and murmured a lengthy spell.
Ghemena’s breath settled into a slow and rasping rhythm.
“You have become a fine healer,” she said. “Such heat in your hands. Your magic depends on this place, Eolyn. You must never forget that. You will always be drawn to the forest to restore your power and renew your magic.”
“You were talking about my friends. Where are they? How will I know who they are?”
“They have unique magic. They hide in visible places.”
Eolyn frowned. Did the dying always speak like this, in riddles and contradictions?
“And what of Achim? Have you seen Achim?”
Ghemena closed her eyes. “No. I have looked for your friend, Eolyn, but he is covered in shadows. You must be very careful. Do not let your affection for the boy cloud your judgment of the man. He has been through years of the most rigorous training. If Tzeremond anointed him High Mage, it is because he has accepted a way of magic that leaves no room for a woman of your power.”
Clarity returned to Ghemena’s gaze as she opened her eyes.
“He knows your name,” she continued, “and by now others may have heard of you. So you must use a different name when you leave the South Woods. Do not invoke any magic unless necessary. Do not do anything that would allow them to find you before you are certain who your allies are.”
Eolyn nodded, but in her heart she could not accept the idea that Achim would ever betray her.
Ghemena sighed as if speaking so many words had demanded extraordinary effort. Her eyes closed again. For a time she lay so still Eolyn would have thought her passage had begun, were it not for the continued warmth of her frail body.
The Doyenne slept the better part of the day, occasionally waking to shift her position or to watch the creatures of the meadow before dozing off again. It was not until the sun dipped low over the trees that Ghemena spoke once more.
“Eolyn,” she said. “Light the candles.”
Breaking into wretched sobs, Eolyn wrapped her arms tightly around her tutor. “I can’t, Ghemena! Don’t do this.”
The old maga placed a trembling hand on her student’s face. “Light the candles, Eolyn. Sing to me. Sing the songs of passage. They will help us both.”
Eolyn choked back tears. She lifted one hand toward the candles. Her invocation came harsh and unsteady. The violet wicks flared like fireflies over the meadow. A soothing scent of winter sage and nightberry filled the air.
“You have brought me great joy, my daughter,” Ghemena whispered. “I thank the Gods for sending you to me, for giving me hope in a time when all hope had fled. I am sorry…I am sorry I will not live to see you fulfill your destiny.”
“Oh, Ghemena!”
“Sing to me, Eolyn. Sing the songs of passage.”
Eolyn focused all her effort on opening her throat. When at last her voice found its way to the surface, it sounded weak against the gathering night, like a wisp of smoke undone by the evening breeze.
I sing for the passing of this witch
This wise and beautiful friend
Who brought joy to my days
And laughter to my nights
I call to her companions in the Afterlife
Those who recognize her with love
Reach out to me
So that we may be the bridge
Upon which she finds safe passage
Ghemena’s body relaxed and her face lost all tension. A deep chill overtook the old maga. Then her hands went limp, and her body settled into the simple cold of the dead.
Eolyn’s song faded. She laid her mentor down, extended the thin legs, and crossed Ghemena’s hands gently over her small chest.
That is all, then.
The last maga of the Old Orders had joined her dead sisters.
Eolyn covered Ghemena’s body with her own and wept. When her tears faded into exhaustion, she kissed Ghemena’s forehead and sat back on her heels.
The evening birds were silent. The rhythmic chirp of crickets began to rise from the forest floor. An owl hooted nearby. Fir trees hissed in the wind.
On the ridge, Lynx would be emerging from her lair to hunt for rabbits now poking their noses out of their dens. Somewhere above, stars were spreading across a black sky.
The night forest was coming to life, yet for all its rich activity, Eolyn felt only absence and remorse. She lifted her face toward the sky and let forth a deep, aching moan.
Only the wolves responded, their sad chorus faint and unbearably far away.
Chapter Thirteen
A Den of Wolves
Eolyn burned Ghemena’s body according to the tradition of the Old Orders, on a carefully laid pyre of Beech to preserve the old, Alder to protect the new, and Ash for wisdom during times of loss. Twelve days after the sacred fire consumed Ghemena’s body, Eolyn scattered the ashes across the meadow.
Ghemena’s absence excavated an aching hollow in Eolyn’s heart. Food lost its taste, herbs their aroma. The voices of the trees became misty and muted. Animals disappeared. The arching blue sky turned flat and gray.
Even as she clung to the routines that had governed her life with Ghemena, Eolyn sank in a sea of remorse. As much as she wanted to remain in their home of so many years, she began to realize Ghemena was right. She could not continue without human companionship.
So a few weeks after Ghemena’s transformation, Eolyn packed her satchel with flatbread, roasted nuts, and dried berries. She added a change of clothes and lined her medicine pouch with herbs, including an ample supply of winter sage. She secured her knife to her belt and filled the kitchen with rewards for the Guendes, who would expect many gifts in return for maintaining the refuge in her absence.
Though it was safer to fly under the cover of clouds, Eolyn decided to leave on a clear night. She wanted to see the forest beneath her and the stars above. As evening fell, she lit a fire of spruce, fir, and pine under the open sky. She mixed henbane, laurel and mugwort with precisely measured white magenta, the spring mushroom that conferred the power of flight. In a small pot of rainwater, she brought everything to a boil. Then she set a dense branch of fir over the rising steam. When all the needles shimmered with droplets of moisture, the fir began to pull toward the sky.
After fixing the branch to the base of her staff, Eolyn offered the spent brew to the fire, extinguishing its flames. She put her satchel over her shoulder and balanced her weight on the floating staff.
Ehekaht
Naeom da-uwaen
Ehukae
With a strong push from Eolyn’s foot, the ground descended, carrying with it the cottage, garden and meadow. Eolyn felt the memories of her childhood fall away as well, like a thousand tiny weights that would always anchor her to this place.
At the edge of the meadow, a subtle movement indicated the arrival of Lynx, come to bid farewell with the simple gesture of her presence. Above Lynx, restless shadows of Guendes moved through branches with whispery wishes for a safe journey.
At the level of the canopy, a strong buzz indicated the limit of the ward that surrounded the refuge. The landscape blurred and then melted into a mirag
e of continuous tree cover.
Directing the staff north, Eolyn gave impulse to her flight and retraced the path that had taken her to Ghemena so many years before. Aromas of pine and oak hung over the forest deep. The breeze refreshed her cheeks. The waxing moon illuminated scattered clouds with shades of slate blue and silver white.
Eolyn flew only at night, hiding beneath the cover of forest at dawn. Occasionally, Owl accompanied her under the starlit sky, the silent beat of its wings a soothing source of companionship. Bat also emerged once or twice, circling the staff in an impatient flutter and descending back to the forest with a high-pitched song.
When night began to fade into the fifth day, Eolyn descended once more to a place of haunting familiarity, the hideaway where Ernan had left her the day their village was attacked.
In all these years, very little had changed. The stream fell in crystalline waves over gray stones. The terror of little Eolyn had long since disappeared in its dancing bubbles.
The entrance to the hideaway was wider then Eolyn remembered. In the moment she noted this, the scent of Wolf filled the air. Eolyn turned to see a large gray male with shining black eyes only a few feet behind her. The creature tensed and bared its fangs.
I mean no harm, she assured the wolf in its own tongue. This place protected me once. I only wish to see it again.
With a twitch of his ears and a sharp nod, the male directed Eolyn’s attention to the hideaway, where an ash gray she-wolf emerged. As a child, Eolyn had harbored a great fear of these creatures, but as a High Maga, she knew they would respect her as long as they did not detect malice.
Eolyn held her breath steady as they sniffed her feet, robe, hands, and staff. After a few moments they lost their stiffness and began to wag their tails. Eolyn reached down to let their wet tongues caress her palms. This was the first time since Ghemena’s transformation, she realized, that she had enjoyed the touch of another living creature.
Whimpers gathered into short barks, and without warning a group of energetic pups tumbled out of the hideaway to attack Eolyn’s feet and skirt.
“Oh,” she smiled, kneeling to meet the family, “I see you have put this place to very good use.”
Eolyn remained with the wolves that day, caring for the pups while the adults hunted. When darkness fell, she made her bed next to their lair. The male slept beside her, his mate taking refuge with their offspring in the den. Snuggling against the musky warmth of his bristled fur, Eolyn drifted into soothing dreams of the forest deep.
By the time she awoke, the male had departed. The female watched her from the edge of the stream, pups scampering at her feet and nipping her tail.
After bathing in the cold water, Eolyn made a breakfast of flat bread, dried fruits and herb tea. She then took her leave, thanking the wolf mother and pups for their hospitality and blessing their refuge with her magic.
Over a decade had passed since Eolyn ran through these woods in panic. The passage of time had left no mark, except perhaps in a slight thickening of tree trunks and the subtle rearrangement of herbs across the forest floor.
Eolyn found the grove where her mother had appeared and spoken for the last time. From there only a short walk remained to the place that used to mark the edge of the South Woods and the beginning of her village.
The forest had extended its reach into the fields once inhabited by her family and their neighbors. A loose stand of alder and birch stretched upwards over thorn bushes and hardwood saplings.
Carefully, Eolyn retraced the path to their former home. Her eyes searched the ground for any sign of her father’s remains, but the forest had long since reclaimed him. Nor did anything persist of the stone and wood structure he and her mother had constructed with the loving intention of raising their family in peace.
Eolyn walked the faint boundaries of their old residence, recalling the location of the hearth, her parents’ room, the room she had shared with Ernan. Standing in the center, she marveled at how everything had vanished beneath the encroaching forest.
The ground lurched and gave way with a sudden snap. Eolyn fell through a cloud of dust. Before she understood what was happening, her descent was cut short and pain shot up her legs.
She stood in a hole up to her chest.
The cellar. How could I have forgotten the cellar?
She flexed her ankles and tested the weight on her knees. Other than numerous stinging scrapes, she was unhurt. Pushing back the crumbling planks, she sought an edge where she could pull herself out. As she removed the rotting floor, sunlight spilled into the cellar and illuminated a formless heap in a forgotten corner, a broken pile of bones.
Eolyn’s breath caught against her throat.
Kneeling down, she ran her fingers over the miniature skull.
Ernan.
He did make it back to the house! He must have hidden here while their father went to look for her in the woods, and suffocated when the Riders set fire to their home.
Eolyn had always remembered Ernan as bigger, older, stronger and wiser, but now with his fragile skull cradled in her hands, the loss of his life touched her with renewed and bitter sorrow. How young he had been when his world came to such a brutal end!
“I’m sorry I couldn’t help you, Ernan,” she said softly. “I’m sorry I was not yet strong enough.”
Collecting every bone with reverence, Eolyn took her brother back into the sunlight. She used her staff to open a hole in the ground, choosing the place where they used to harvest pumpkins. She then covered his remains with rich brown earth.
Eolyn kept Ernan company as long as she could, telling him stories of everything she had done since their parting so many years before.
The sun turned over them, passed its zenith, and began to descend in the western sky. As evening approached, Eolyn stood up, reluctant to leave but aware she could not linger. Night would unveil doors to the Underworld, torn open by the violence of the King’s Riders and never properly closed. The Lost Souls would recognize her light and send dreams of terror before dragging her down with them.
Eolyn called her staff. She removed the fir branch and converted it to ash in a flash of orange flame. From her satchel she retrieved the ward she had woven with Ghemena’s help. Unlacing her bodice, Eolyn removed her dress.
The afternoon sun warmed her bare skin, and she felt her body drink up the freshness of that moment in preparation for hiding to come. Eolyn tossed the glittering fabric toward the sky and allowed it to drift back down upon her.
Ehekaht
Naeom enem
Enem semtue, faeom semtue
Ehekaht Ehukae
The fine silk disappeared on contact with her person, expanding and clinging invisibly to her skin, so light she felt only an occasional tingle when she moved.
She donned her dress and gathered her satchel. Using a small piece of cloth cut from the same fabric as her ward, Eolyn covered her staff, rendering it indistinguishable from a common walking stick.
Then she bent down to lay her hand upon Ernan’s fresh grave.
“Sleep well, dear brother,” she said, “for you are lovingly remembered.”
Chapter Fourteen
Mage Echior
As a child, Eolyn had visited the Town of Moehn only once. She remembered little of that journey, except that they followed the road leading north from her village.
The first stretch of that route was now little more than an overgrown trail, but after a few days’ walk it widened into a small dirt road. Fertile hills spread low in all directions, with fields of wheat and lentils, grazing cows and placid sheep, thick gardens, and scattered fruit trees.
People labored intensively upon the land, acknowledging her passing with little more than a sideways glance or an idle wave. Eolyn observed them with great discretion. Afraid to draw too much attention to herself, she spoke to no one.
One sunny afternoon, she passed through a village filled with shouts, laughter and song. She had never witnessed so many people in one pl
ace, and the sight at once frightened and fascinated her. Villagers turned around each other in waves of dancing. The revelry tugged at Eolyn’s heart, igniting distant memories of laughter once shared around the fires of her village.
“It is a wedding.”
Eolyn jumped at the voice of a man next to her. He was older and portly, with round cheeks and bushy white eyebrows. He wore the earth brown robes of a Middle Mage and studied her with keen blue eyes. “You are not from these parts.”
“I grew up on a farm near the South Woods.” Eolyn fought to control the tremor in her voice.
“And where are you going?”
“To the Town of Moehn. Then perhaps to the King’s City.”
His eyebrows lifted. “You have a long road ahead of you. What would compel a young lady like you to undertake such a journey alone?”
“My father passed away, leaving me with the farm. It’s too much to manage on my own, so I’m going to Moehn, as I have family there. If they cannot help me, I will continue to the King’s City, where I have a friend who I hope can find me employment.”
“Employment!” He laughed. “You’d have better luck finding a husband, I think. Women in Moisehén have not sought employment since the time of the magas.”
“I see.” His response disconcerted her. What did the disappearance of the magas have to do with the practice of employing women?
“What is your name, child?” the man asked.
“Dhana.”
“Nice to meet you, Dhana. I am Mage Echior. Welcome to our humble village.” He gestured toward the revelers. “I cast the circle for this couple. May their life together be long and prosperous.”
Eolyn watched the villagers, longing to indulge in the magic of their dance.
“You may join the celebration if you like,” Echior said.
“No.” Eolyn shook her head, uneasy. “I should be on my way.”
“It is too late to make it to the next village before night fall.”
“I wish to advance toward Moehn as quickly as possible. I’ll make camp along the road if I must.”
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