Morganne eventually fell asleep, her tears spent. It seemed like only moments later when she was wakened by the touch of small fingers gently caressing her cheek. Adelin was awake. Morganne pulled her close for a moment, then rose and dressed, her body aching with fatigue. Before opening her shop she went to return the book she had finished to Jadon. The expression of concern she had seen in his eyes on her last two visits was intensified.
“Truly, I did not expect to find you back here for several more days,” he said without any trace of real surprise in his voice.
“The tome you gave me is an important one,” Morganne said. “Once I began reading, I felt compelled to finish.”
“Many things are important,” Jadon said softly without elaborating. Morganne understood that in his own gentle way he was chastising her. No doubt it was obvious to him from her darkened eyes and haggard appearance how little she had been sleeping.
Jadon listened thoughtfully as Morganne described the tome’s contents. She asked if he knew whom the prophet was speaking about when he warned of “the one who is mortal that never dies,” since that had made no sense to her at all. How could one be mortal yet not die? She suspected the one referred to in the torn pages as “cloaked by death” was the same person. Jadon’s curiosity was piqued by these strange descriptions, but he did not have the answers. Even this tome, which described not only past events, but those yet to come, did not seem to unnerve Jadon. She envied his calm, yet at the same time it infuriated her.
“This tome has upset you,” he stated, leaving her no room for denials. “Why?”
“Because it paints a future which is full of death.”
“Surely you did not need this tome to tell you that everyone’s future must eventually end in death. Nor should you need me to remind you that those who have faith cannot find true life until they have passed beyond death’s threshold.” She knew Jadon was right, but the fear rising in her throat was not so easily quelled by dispassionate theological truths.
“I suppose what I fear most is not death itself, but what must come before it,” Morganne confessed. “I do not want to suffer, nor do I want to have to watch others suffer. What happened at Solis still weighs on me like a nightmare from which I cannot wake myself. The beasts could have just as easily attacked Minhaven.”
“Aye,” Jadon responded with genuine sadness, “you are not the first to profess that burden to me. The destruction of Solis was a terrible tragedy that we shall mourn for many years to come. Some of the villagers had friends and family there, and many of my brethren had close ties to their monastery. But we cannot let fear of what has happened, or what could have happened, rob us of our present lives such as they have been given to us. No amount of worry will change our fortunes, whether we are to suffer, or to live out our lives in comfort.”
“If we believe what is written in the tomes, then none of us should expect to live or die in comfort,” Morganne said, her voice betraying the anxiety she was unable to hide any longer. “They warn us of an impending time of suffering and death which seems to be coming fast upon us. As we speak, the Shadow’s armies are gathering to strike. Those who realize what is happening have been exiled, and their warnings silenced. Solis was the first to fall, but what word of their demise will ever reach the southern cities now standing on the brink of their own destruction? How many will have to die before men realize that history has caught up with them, and their time of peace has ended? We have all forgotten our heritage, and our duty. We have long abandoned our watch and left our posts. Now we lie asleep, unaware of the hoard amassing just beyond our gates.”
“Not all have forsaken the past,” Jadon said reassuringly. “There is a group of monks called the Guardians of the Ancients, who claim to be the heirs of the Prophets. They travel about, teaching the old tomes to anyone who will hear them. Some say they have even begun to receive new visions and prophecies of their own. They have been especially vocal of their belief that the Era of Peace ended nearly twenty years ago, and that we have moved into the Era of Awakening, in which those who have long slept shall rise again, men and beasts alike.”
“Yes, I have heard of the Guardians,” Morganne said, “though I knew nothing about their beliefs before now.”
“The Guardians have been more forceful with their teachings in recent years, to the point where they have begun to cause a divide among the other monastic orders. Some claim to have also felt the shift in era and are ready to follow the Guardians’ lead, while others resist their message. But no single order carries the authority the Prophets once had, and so we wait for a consensus that may never come.”
“What do you believe?” Morganne asked with great curiosity.
“I admit that I have felt a change in the world, though I cannot claim to fully understand it. I find no reason to disbelieve the Guardians. If there are heirs to the Prophets, the Guardians have a better claim than most, as they have devoted themselves exclusively to preserving the Prophets’ teachings and way of life. Their practices have changed little since their order was formed several hundred years ago.
“But in the end, it matters not to me when the shift in eras has truly been made, whether the Guardians are heirs by Truth or merely by self-proclamation, or if the Shadow swallows Minhaven whole or remains at bay. My resolve shall not waver, and I will go on just as I have since the day I took my vows, by asking every morning in prayer for my daily bread, and doing my best to live each moment in Aviad’s will. That is what I have been called to do, and I shall honor that calling to whatever end He sees fit for me to endure.”
Morganne was amazed by Jadon’s response, yet at the same time it left her crestfallen. Gone was any lingering hope she still had of urging Jadon beyond contemplative prayer and into action. She realized that no matter what she might find in the tomes from the mountains, Jadon would never fight against the Shadow like Elead the Prophet, wielding a sword in one hand and the Tome of Aviad in the other. She also knew that, admirable as Jadon’s way of life might be, every part of her being told her that she was not meant to just sit back and wait.
“I wish that I felt such certainty as you do,” Morganne said. “Each day I pray for guidance, but what Aviad wants of me eludes my understanding. How am I supposed to know?”
“When you are alone in silence, and at peace in prayer, what does your heart tell you?”
Morganne reflected carefully for a few moments before responding. “Even when I am at peace, I feel a great weight pressing down upon me, urging me to act, to join in humanity’s fight against the darkness. In what manner I am to fight is the question I am still waiting for an answer to. I feel as though I’ve been forced out onto the road, my satchel already packed. A little voice over my shoulder is saying, ‘Hurry, hurry, you haven’t much time. You must get there quickly or all is lost!’ But when I ask where I am supposed to go, the voice goes silent. It has been...difficult.” Morganne’s voice quivered and her eyes grew wet with tears she could barely contain. She had not intended to betray her emotions so openly before Jadon, but exhaustion was getting the better of her, and it felt good to finally confess the troubles she had been keeping to herself for so long. “When I am immersed in the tomes, the pressure abates for a while, but in the end, their message only adds to the sense of urgency I feel to do something.”
“Aviad is obviously preparing your heart for an important task He has yet to ask of you,” Jadon said. “Perhaps it is not meant for you to know right now what that task will be. He is simply asking you to be ready, with your feet firmly planted on the path, and your satchel in hand, for the moment when He finally hands you a map. Your calling and mine are not so different as you might think. We are both just travelers on Aviad’s road, waiting for His direction to guide us home.”
“When I can feel the enemy closing in around me, it is hard to just sit and wait. I feel a responsibility to sound the warning bells, to alert all those in danger’s path, but there are none to ring. When I am alone in the dark of
night, panic fills my heart so I can barely sleep. The illuminations from the tomes come to life in my mind, and I can see what is coming with a clarity of vision that so few have seen. I do not know how I will face what is surely coming, how any of us will face it.”
“No, you don’t, none of us do. But Aviad knows, and in that you should find some comfort. Perhaps you should take a rest from your studies and allow yourself time for reflection.”
“Oh, please, do not ask that of me. I want to keep working on the tomes—I cannot escape the feeling that there is something important to be found there, something long buried that needs to be remembered.”
“That might very well be, for I do not believe in chance. Surely these tomes were meant to be found and I cannot deny their significance. However, I am concerned for your health. It is obvious that you are not sleeping, and the old tomes are known for having a powerful effect on the mind and spirit. Even the Prophets required respite from time to time, and you are but a young woman, not a Prophet. I implore you to take care with your studies, and to balance intellectual pursuits with prayer, with hard work, and with charity. The work of our hands gives our minds focus, just as rest and meditation helps us to regain perspective. No matter what is written in the tomes on these shelves, you will not find every answer there.”
Jadon walked over to the window and opened the shutters for a moment, filling the room with cold mountain air. “Look out this window and tell me, what do you see?” he asked.
“I see a snow covered hill with tall pines,” Morganne replied.
“What else?”
“I can see a small glimpse of buildings through the trees, with smoke wafting up from them to meet the gray clouds until they are indistinguishable from one another.”
“Show me the tavern, or your shop,” Jadon requested.
“I cannot see either.”
“Yet we know they stand just a short walk from here. What if you looked out from the baker’s front window, would you see your shop then?”
“Yes, of course, they face each other across the street,” Morganne said.
“Tell me what is beyond Minhaven, over the mountain passes to the west.”
“I do not know, I have never seen those places.”
“Neither have I. And yet, we both have faith that should we travel the western pass to its full length, we will be spilled out onto solid earth, finding forests, fields, and cities waiting for us that we have never known before,” Jadon said, finally closing the shutters against the cold.
“The tomes are like this window,” Jadon explained. “Each one shows whatever landscape was granted to its author by Aviad, its purpose to reveal only what He wishes at that moment in time. You cannot see all of Minhaven from any one window. Each one shows a very limited part of the whole. Even were you to take the views from every window in Minhaven and put them all together, you would still not see the entire town. And there is so much more out there, beyond our sight and knowledge that will never be seen through any window frame. Yet those places are no less real than the ones we know through our own limited experience.
“The tomes are excellent teachers—they chronicle our history, give us lessons in how we must honor the Ancients with our words and deeds, they tell us how to live our faith, and even give us glimpses into the realm of the spirit through the eyes of those who are blessed with visions. But take care that you do not narrow your focus, so that you see only the view granted to us in the few tomes sitting here on the shelf. Aviad’s message to the world is larger than this, his realm more infinite than we can ever truly grasp.
“To understand what to do with the knowledge in these tomes, to truly know what Aviad would ask of you in our fight against the Shadow, you must remain in constant communion with Him through prayer. With Aviad guiding you, your feet will not be led astray, nor will your mind and heart be deceived by false prophets or selfish human desires. Listen for His voice, and allow Him to guide you as He did the Prophets who came before.”
“I will try,” Morganne said sincerely. She had been given that advice once before, by the monk in Greywalle. Following it had not been as easy as she’d expected, but she had not forgotten how profoundly the experience had changed her.
When the bells rang that morning, Morganne departed Jadon’s company empty-handed. Though she loved translating the tomes, it actually felt good to be free of their intense hold for a little while. She delved into her work at the shop with a renewed energy, remembering the simple joy of creating beauty from the work of her hands. She tried her best to follow Jadon’s example that day by letting go of all her past pains and future worries, and living each moment in Aviad’s presence.
That evening, instead of retreating to her room, Morganne took her dinner in the tavern. She allowed herself to enjoy the boisterous camaraderie of the tavern’s regulars, even when the object of their humor was of questionable taste. She even solved one of Finian and Ham’s silly riddles. Laughing in surprise, they insisted on buying her a mug of ale. She graciously passed it along to Bane, whose quiet presence by the fire was always a source of comfort to her.
When she could not fight her fatigue any longer, Morganne went back to her room and dressed for bed. That night she slept as she had not done in weeks. It was a long, restful, dreamless sleep, and she awoke refreshed and ready to join Elowyn at the granary for a little while. As much as she despised practicing with the wooden anelace, her talk with Jadon had forced her to admit to herself the full extent of her fears. The training Glak had so generously offered to her was important, not only for her own sake, but Elowyn’s and especially Adelin’s. Perhaps in learning to use a weapon she would not feel quite so helpless to defend her family should the worst befall Minhaven. Morganne welcomed any feeling of security, whether false or real, to use as a shield against the demons that haunted her in the dark of the night. At the very least, Glak was providing her with an outlet to help abate her growing restlessness in a way that Jadon would not.
Aviad’s Glory
Winter was finally loosening its grasp on Minhaven. The gentle breezes of early spring began to melt down the snow and bring some much needed cheer to men’s hearts. Elowyn greeted each increasingly warmer day with great anticipation. She had spent the winter months dashing from building to building with her head down, trying to evade the cruel, mountain winds. For too long, the confines of her world had been made of dark, smoke-stained walls and starless ceilings. She desperately needed to break free. Lifting her face to the mountains, Elowyn knew it would not be long before she could finally explore the alluring foothills that had been calling out to her like sirens ever since her arrival.
Elowyn’s was not the only soul weary of winter. All of Minhaven seemed to be awakening from a deep slumber. The streets were beginning to come alive again with the sounds of people and animals, the pounding of hammers, the clanging of metal, the rumbling of carts, and the clopping of horse hooves on bare earth. Gone were the layers of ice and snow. For the first time in a long while, Elowyn noticed the songs of the birds and the roar of the ocean. But the warmer weather also brought about other changes that Elowyn was not quite as happy about. Cailean and his father were notably absent, as were most of the unfortunate souls who had abandoned their homes to seek refuge in Minhaven. It was finally time for them to reclaim whatever winter’s ravages had left them, and stand on their own without relying on the charity of the monks.
Cailean was not the only person missing from daily practice at the granary, but Glak did not appear to be distressed that his ranks were thinning. He understood that the necessities of the season must inevitably call many of the men to resume their labors upon the fields and the mountain slopes. There were other enemies besides the beasts against which men must fight to ensure their survival. And yet the presence of the beasts was not forgotten. Spring came more slowly to the treacherous mountain roads and the snow covered peaks that towered above Minhaven. Though it was still too early to press very far into their shadows, Glak
kept a watchful eye turned toward them, impatiently waiting for his chance to return as he began to make preparations for the Kinship’s next foray.
Elowyn spent less time at the granary herself, longing to be outdoors like everyone else. The small, rough crop fields around Minhaven were suddenly bursting with villagers. The children made games of removing rocks and breaking up clods of dirt, and the men came after them with plows, preparing the ground for planting and harrowing. The pungent odor of manure seemed to permeate the air no matter where Elowyn went, but she did not mind. The smell was just another reminder that warmer days were coming. The animals seemed anxious for spring too, gazing expectantly toward the hills and meadows. Elowyn liked to watch the milking cows as they searched the pastures for tender young shoots of grass to feed on, nudging their new calves forward to explore the world on lanky, unsteady legs.
The monks were hard at work too, tending the fields and gardens that would sustain their community and its guests over the next year. Jadon encouraged Morganne to join them, not because they needed her help, but because he believed the punishing labors of the field to be the best purgative for the soul. He was convinced that it would help her find some of the answers she so desperately sought. Morganne joined him once or twice, hoping for divine revelation. Instead she discovered that her thoughts were gripped more by her immediate misery than by Aviad, and that soil stained hands and clothes were not favorable attributes for a seamstress.
Elowyn was not interested in field work either, which was repetitive and tedious, but she found herself drawn to the immense herb garden the monks kept. Gardening was different...it was more personal. She had known each plant in her garden in Tyroc as though it were a friend on whom she could shower all the tenderness and affection in her heart with no fear of rejection. And year by year, the friends she had so carefully loved and nurtured returned to her, larger and more beautiful than before.
Ancient Voices: Into the Depths Page 15