“By the time I was old enough to decide what I liked and what I didn’t, I hadn’t known anything else. I liked the feel of the place, the history, knowing that once, powerful men had lived here, perhaps controlled much of the country around them. I didn’t like the drafts. It was a bit warmer in the south than here, but as high as we were, there were great cold winds that would come down out of the mountains, blasting through the many holes in whatever room you found yourself. In winter, we got little snow, but the winds were a constant thing, howling through the abbey sucking the heat from your bones.” Despite the rough description he smiled, wide mouth creasing his cheeks. He shook his head. “I hated that wind, but oddly, I miss it now.
“Master Witrin was my mentor, a solid, strong, kind man. He taught me almost everything I know: from the ancient texts of history, to the maps of the world, numbers, letters, and songs. As a child, I was sure he must know everything.
“He was the one who gave me my name. If I had a name before I came to them, they didn’t know it. He named me Ahrn, after the Vanished God, Aehryn.
“Then there was Master Elia…”
Silence.
Senia took a moment to let his words sink in. A warm breeze blew across the rolling hills, tousling long golden grasses.
“What about you?” He said at last. The afternoon was wearing on, and they’d be stopping soon. The sun was low in the west, long shadows playing across the waving fields of grass. “What was your life like?”
There was a stab in her heart as she thought of her family. Though… perhaps it would help to talk about them.
“I came to live at the smithy when I was six.”
“Odd,” he said with the high-pitched voice of remembrance. That’s the age I was when I came to the abbey.” He gave a soft, “huh” and was quiet again.
It was odd, though purely coincidence, certainly. “Suddenly I had two older brothers, an older sister, and a younger brother and sister. You talk about the winds and the cold, but the one thing I remember is the warmth. Even in winter it was always warm. True we had a forge fire burning beneath us, but it was more than that, the closeness of the family, the chaos of children and chores, always something to do, someone to talk to.” She had to stop there, her throat tight, tears welling.
She swallowed, took a moment, and once again, felt the tranquil soothing as Emberthorn touched her spirit.
There now child, all is well.
She went on. “I learned about many things in that house. As a girl, I learned with the girls, sewing, cooking, singing, laughing. Yet I was taller than any other girl in the village and strong enough that I could also help in the forge, learning crafting, cursing, weapons, horses, and the world of men.”
The kernel of a memory came to her. “I remember, a couple years ago, my father and mother sitting with me in the kitchens. The other children had been put in their rooms to sleep, but I remained up. They told me of my real parents that night. Apparently, my adopted mother and my birth mother had been close friends, growing up in a village to the south. When a handsome journeyman smith had come through town my adopted mother fell in love and had moved along with him until they had set up a shop in Alindale, my village. My birth parents, both strong of will and body, had become mercenaries, working for the King, going where he commanded. They died, together, in a battle with the armies of Thania. Apparently, I have my mother’s eyes and her hair, but my father’s straight nose and brow.”
She was quiet for a while then, basking in the memory.
Finally she let out a long sigh, releasing the remembrance.
Ahrn turned to her, his eyes, catching the light of the setting sun, were gold, pure.
“You said yesterday, something about how we’ve both lost a lot recently. Now that I think about it that may be true, but… I think I’m glad that I had so much in my life up until now.”
She nodded. It was true. She wasn’t quite sure where her next words came from, but once said, the simply felt right. “At least we have each other now.”
He smiled wide, his eyes sparkling. He took her free hand in his, as he’d done yesterday and gave it a squeeze.
“Each other,” he said.
CHAPTER 6
A hrn woke with the first rays of sun.
He’d slept well, despite hard earth as his bed. Senia was still and quiet, huddled under her cape, curled into a ball. Emberthorn’s hilt, held in both hands was drawn up close to her face, the cat’s head pommel nuzzled into her cheek. It didn’t look comfortable, but then he wasn’t the one forever bound to the massive sword.
The morning was warm for the season, a breeze ruffling the long grasses around them
He rose and tried some exercises to remove any aches and kinks from his body. The monks had several calisthenics they ran through daily to keep them in fighting shape. He removed his shirts after a while as he began to sweat. Once warmed and stretched, he moved through his fighting forms.
He had missed his morning practice for a few days running now, and after recalling how easily the big man had laid him low the previous day, he was certain he needed the refresher.
Honestly, he shouldn’t have been caught so off guard. He blamed himself. He hadn’t fought a commoner in ages and, in this case, had highly underestimated the speed of a man so large.
So he practiced.
There were hundreds of forms and connecting movements which the warrior monks had picked up over the years. It was said that Embreth knew all of the secret styles of fighting developed over the ages and gave unto her monks the most effective and efficient to use. There was little show or flourish in the movements, they were meant to quickly disable or kill any who threatened the secrets of Embreth.
Senia woke as he was starting his second set of forms. Her eyes fluttering open, looking over at him.
“What are you doing?” she asked, sitting up and stretching.
“This is how the monks train for combat,” he said, sliding from ‘striking falcon’ into ‘weaving snake.’
“But you aren’t fighting anyone.”
He stopped. “No, but there are a series of moves we can practice even without an opponent so that when it comes time to fight, we don’t need to think about what to do, our bodies will know what move is best to defeat the enemy.” Oddly, that was almost the exact wording Master Elia used to describe the forms to new monks.
“Oh.” Senia stood, rolling her shoulders and stretching her arms out to the sides. Both movements had the effect of pulling her shirt taut across her breasts. He felt a stirring deep within him, low and heated. It was odd, he had lived with many other women, seen some completely unclothed, and yet all had affected him little. Senia, however, with the barest of movements, could arouse a great rolling, knotted ache in the depths of his being. Sometimes at very importune times… like now.
“Could you teach me?” she asked.
“It took me fifteen years, practicing every day for hours on end to get to where I am. Master Elia says I’m one of her best students. I can teach you, but understand there is a lot to learn, it will take time.”
“How long of a journey is it to this abbey?”
Ahrn shrugged. He knew the maps, but to say how long it would take when he didn’t know exactly where they were now would be tough. “It is a two-month journey from our abbey in the south to St. Antin Abbey. We were just over a month on our way when we were attacked. I would say it is three or four weeks away. We will pass through the plains we’re on now into forested hills, which will grow higher for some time. The hills mark the border between Aestria and Vohria to the north. Those hills are also the foothills of a small mountain range known as Maalkin’s Rise.” She smiled at the name. She would have known it well as Maalkin was the God of stones, metals, and crafting. “After the foothills, there will be a great forest through a long valley. Past the forest is Hallania, then it is up another set of hills to the abbey.”
“Three weeks to learn what took you most of your life.” She seemed
skeptical.
“You could start.” He shrugged.
“Perhaps, for now, I’ll just watch.”
“Fair enough. That’s how I started.”
She accepted that, brushing her long auburn hair back over a shoulder. The heat awakened within him again. All it took was the simplest things.
He took a moment to close his eyes and still his mind. This helped alleviate the arousal stirring within, and he began to move again.
He finished the second set and moved on through the third and fourth. He stopped there, not wanting to delay their journey.
As they ate a small meal, preparing to leave, she asked, “Is that all the moves?”
“No, that was three sets, there are twelve total.”
Her eyes widened. “It must take you a while to do them all.”
He nodded.
She looked down at Emberthorn, across her lap. “Perhaps I’ll just stick with him for now.”
They made their way through the long grasses following the north road.
For five more days they followed the road through fields, passing some small villages, but as the plains turned to rolling hills, it became apparent that the road was little used. What was a wide dirt road became overgrown wagon tracks, and after they had passed one village on the edge of a small forest, it became little more than a path through the wilderness.
Ahrn continued to show Senia more of the forms every morning. She watched, studiously, but never joined him. They talked more as they traveled, for it would have been a long lonely journey otherwise, learning more of each other. He began to feel like he knew her, like he had known her for some time. There was something, some deep connection which, as he found out more about her, only grew stronger.
She still managed to cause that same ache, stirring his emotions with such small ordinary things, but over time the ache settled, became comforting, known, a constant companion just as she was.
CHAPTER 7
A s day faded to night, on their seventh day out, they stopped in a small valley between two rolling hills, making a small fire under the rustling leaves of a tall oak.
Ahrn sat back against the oak, a perfect spot to rest, a crook in the tree between two massive roots, cradling his back. He rested his head against the rough bark and watched the flames of sunset, then the first stars of night.
He was about to close his eyes when Senia’s voice, low and husky, filled the silence around them.
“Why can’t I let go?”
He looked over to her.
Head down, long hair pulled back over one shoulder glinting with light from the fire, she was intent on Emberthorn sitting, as ever, across her lap. That comforting warmth filled him at the sight of her, and he took in a long breath, letting the feeling bubble around inside him, savoring it.
“Let go?”
She looked up at him, brilliant eyes catching the firelight, then back down again. “Of him.”
“Who?”
She was stroking the blade of the sword, as she did whenever they sat.
“Emberthorn.”
“Ah.” Now he understood. In truth, though the monks knew much about the history of the Guardians, there was little information on the interactions of one with his or her artifact. He had noticed that the blade had rarely left her hands, was never put down, never released, no matter how awkward that made things for her. He had assumed it was part of the bonding, and it would seem that was true.
There was one thing he had heard though. “I recall reading of the great force of will contained within these artifacts. They require someone of equally great will to tame them.”
She grimaced. “You have no idea.”
“You let it go that first morning, when you…” He wasn’t sure he wanted to remind her of losing her family, how fresh that wound may still be.
“It’s odd. I didn’t think about it then, as I don’t think about holding him all the rest of the time. It’s natural. Yet…” she paused, gritting her teeth, obvious frustrated. “Yet, if it was natural,” she spoke slowly, “wouldn’t I be able to release him whenever I wished?”
Ahrn was about to comment on this when she blew out a sigh and said, “Shut up, I’m not talking to you right now.”
“What did it say?”
“‘IT’ is a ‘HE’, just so you know.”
“Sorry, what did he say?”
“Something about being a work of perfection and why would anyone ever want to let him go. His words not mine.”
“He seems to have a very defined personality.”
She nodded. “You have no idea.”
They both laughed a little. The mirth died quickly, though, her lips tight.
She got up, all swift grace, reversed her grip and slammed the sword a good foot into the ground. Ahrn started at the sudden movement.
Then she stood there for a moment, her tan shirt and long brown skirt settling around her lithe form. Her hair had flared around her as she rose and it floated, weightless for a long moment, before falling in wisps back to her shoulders and back. In the dancing light, she was the image of strength and beauty.
The warm bubbles billowed and popped. His breath taken.
One hand fell to her side. The other, after a long moment of staring intently at it, simply trembled, still holding the hilt.
“Why?”
Ahrn rose, approaching her tentatively.
She looked up pleading then back down at the blade. “Please.”
He wasn’t sure whether she was talking to him or Emberthorn.
“I just need to be… me, free for a moment.”
He set his hand softly on hers, the one still on Emberthorn, feeling the soft skin, fine fingers.
Her eyes rose to his then.
“I didn’t ask for this.”
“No, you didn’t.” He tore his gaze from the amazing azure depths within hers and looked down at the sword. “Emberthorn, I don’t know if you can hear or understand me, but please let her go.”
“I’ve tried asking, but he says he can’t help it. He says it’s up to me.”
Ahrn looked back up into those wide pleading pools. Then he stepped in between her and the sword. This brought him so close to her, their faces mere whispers apart. His one hand still behind him on hers on Emberthorn, he brought his other up to her face, brushing stray hairs back.
The warm bubbles burst, igniting a fire within him, his body responding to their nearness.
“Concentrate on me, then.” He was lost in her eyes. Her scent, fresh lavender, wrapped around him. “Focus on my eyes.” His heart was racing. A billow of wind brushed her skirt against the fabric of his pants, the cloth kissing lightly. His free hand settled on her shoulder and, to his amazement, she relaxed.
He worked carefully now, trying to fill her attention, while slowly, lightly removing her fingers, one by one from the hilt of the sword behind him.
He slid his hand down her arm to her hand, grasping it. “Feel my strength, use it. Forget about everything that has happened.”
She closed her eyes, concentrating.
The loss of those azure depths — that break from her intensity — sent him reeling.
“How can I forget any of this?” she whispered, voice hoarse, heavy.
“By remembering who you are. Senia, a strong, kind woman of pure heart and innocent beauty.”
Her eyes snapped open capturing him yet again. “You think I’m beautiful?”
He froze, caught by the question. Had he really just said that? What was he doing?
“Oh!” she breathed.
“What?”
“My hand.” He looked and indeed, her hand was free of the hilt, held in his at their side. He hadn’t noticed, so caught up had he been in the moment.
She smiled at him. Then quickly leaned in, pressing soft lips to his for a heartbeat. Releasing, but still close, she whispered, “thank you.”
In the next instant, she broke away from him, dancing a few steps, twirling, arms outstretch be
neath the starlight.
Ahrn tried not to think too hard about the last few moments or the way his body had responded to her kiss.
“Anything for you,” he whispered, barely a breath of sound, sure she never heard it in her reveling. Then he returned to his seat in the crook of the oak tree.
He tried to close his eyes, but when he did, all he saw was her, close and wondrous. So he stared into the fire as if the flames might burn away her image.
Eventually, she came to sit by him, legs crossed. Both him and the fire were between her and the sword.
“Emberthorn is a gift, an amazing thing,” she said. “But sometimes I need to remember who I am.” She was quiet for a moment, then said again, “Thank you.”
They sat together under the gathering night in silence as the fire died.
It grew chill. She got up to retrieve her cape, which she’d left near Emberthorn. She returned, wrapped in its warmth, and again sat next to him, watching the flickering embers.
“Tell me about this place we’re going to.”
He looked over at her shadowed form. “St. Antin Abbey is a great fortress. I made a pilgrimage there once when I was twelve. I remember little other than walls so high they seemed like they brushed the sky, and so many people, hundreds of monks live there, so many more than my small abbey.”
“Will I be safe there?”
“As safe as anywhere, and safer than most. The monks there are well trained and as I said, the walls are high and strong.”
“And… will you stay there with me?”
“I…” His voice caught. Of course he would… wouldn’t he? That had been his destination before all of this began. But… could he stay so close to her? Could he remain this close and keep his vows? “I don’t know.”
She turned to him then, eyes bright in the darkness. “I hope you will.” She turned away again quickly.
He was at a complete loss. Words came and went, unspoken. He needed to tell her of his vows, his duty. Yet other words warred with these, professions of feelings, of how much he wanted to stay with her, close to her. There was no victor but silence.
The Last Scion (The Guardians of Light Book 1) Page 4