Ancient Voices: Into the Depths

by Allison D. Reid

  One of the monks pointed into the crowd, saying emphatically, “Rejoice in this day! Because of Immar, the Shadow has no claim on you who believe, and the turmoils of this life are a momentary anguish that shall be soothed away in the blissful days beyond death.”

  At first, the monk seemed to be pointing directly at Elowyn, causing her heart to leap in her chest. Had it been deliberate, or just by chance? She took a moment to reflect...did she truly believe? Yes, of that she was certain. Her understanding of theology might be simple, her faith yet to be refined by the fires of life's trials. But deep within her, she knew that she believed, and that was enough.

  More than once Elowyn had felt the loving hand of the Ancients working in her, and through her. She had heard their voice calling to her...even comforting her when she was alone and surrounded by uncertain darkness. The memory of those rare moments was more real to her than anything in the present moment, and sustained her even during times when she desperately sought the living presence of Aviad but could not sense it.

  Elowyn had never heard Immar’s story told with such passion before, nor had she taken the time to wonder at Immar’s unique role among the Ancients. She had once stumbled upon the ravine revered by the monks, nearly passing it by without recognizing its significance. It was, after all, a seamless part of the landscape around it. She now felt the need to go back there again, to see with fresh eyes the place where a new and inseparable connection between the divine and mankind had been sealed. The crevice made by Immar’s fall was like the imprint of a king’s signet ring, at the same time showing His authority, and His boundless love for those under it.

  When the monks had finished the last of their stories and songs, everyone who had gathered on the green drifted off. Most would join friends and family for a special meal. Much to Morganne and Elowyn’s surprise, though the tavern was closed to guests, Wyman had prepared a meal for them to share. He embraced the girls with a wistful smile.

  “In these past months, you have become like family to me,” he said, “and it didn’t seem right for us to spend such an important occasion alone. I hope you do not mind, but I have also invited Idna and Bane, who have no other family and seem to regard you both with great affection.”

  When Idna and Bane arrived, the girls barely recognized them. Idna wore her hair long, the front strands pulled back into braids interwoven with ribbon. Contrary to the dull grays and browns she typically wore when cooking, she had on a festive blue dress that favored the color of her eyes. Bane had tamed his wooly appearance, and his cheeks shone with the rosy glow of a well-scrubbed face. He had smoothed his hair back and trimmed his beard short enough that the girls could finally get a relatively good look at his features.

  Morganne for a flickering moment wondered if she might have met him once before, long ago. But she dared not ask if Bane had ever been to Tyroc. She had met so many people through the cloth trade, and recognized most of them by appearance, yet not by name. Elowyn experienced no spark of recognition, but thought that he must have been handsome in his day. She noticed an air of nobility in his posture as he graciously invited Idna and the girls to sit down first, before taking his place at the table.

  Despite the fact that both Idna and Bane tended to say little and speak softly, Wyman as a tavern keeper was masterful at initiating idle conversation, so that over the course of the meal many words were spoken, yet little of consequence was said. Everyone was therefore set at ease and could enjoy each other’s company while avoiding all potentially revealing topics.

  When Adelin had reached her limit of being confined to Morganne’s lap, Bane gladly took the chance to play with her, his affection for her obvious to everyone. It was humorous to see the tough, burly miner kneeling on the floor, playing children’s games, and singing silly rhymes. Idna laughed until her cheeks were damp with tears. Bane did not seem to mind—he simply grinned at her with child-like mirth and coaxed her into joining in.

  No one wanted the evening to end, but eventually they all succumbed to weariness, including Adelin, who pressed herself against Morganne’s shoulder and fell asleep. Morganne carried her to bed while Elowyn helped Wyman clear dishes and remains from the table. Bane insisted on walking Idna safely home through the darkened streets, and she seemed grateful for his company. All went to sleep that night with full stomachs and warm hearts. But the feeling did not last.

  The next morning an official arrived from Tyroc just as Elowyn had begun to make her way toward the granary for some archery practice. The man immediately stood out to everyone because he was richly dressed in a mixture of well-made leather and chainmail, and wore the emblems of the Sovereign’s house prominently. There was no mistaking his origins, or his authority. Elowyn froze in the middle of the street like a terrified animal, her heart pounding anxiously. Had someone finally come looking for them? Her mind tried to calm her trembling limbs, which were ready to bolt. There were plenty of fugitives in Minhaven...there was no reason to believe that reclaiming her and her sisters was the purpose of this man’s visit.

  Elowyn hung back behind a group of onlookers and waited with bated breath to see what he would do. The official greeted no one as he rode through the village, staring loftily ahead while everyone watched with apprehension. It was exceedingly rare that officials from Tyroc came to Minhaven, and when they did, the news they brought was typically distressing. His cold gaze and hardened jaw offered no reassurance.

  The man went straight to the village green and stopped in front of the young pine that had been adorned so beautifully for the Winter Festival. There he pulled from his bag a scroll, a mallet, and two large nails. To Elowyn’s horror, he spread out the scroll against the bare trunk of the tree where it would be visible to the center of the village, and drove the nails through it.

  Her heart surged with anger as she remembered the abused, sickly tree in Tyroc that she had climbed the day of Elias’ execution. Her feelings toward Tyroc had softened somewhat since she had come to Minhaven, but this one act of callousness brought back a flood of hurtful memories and feelings of resentment. She choked down an angry sob as she glared at the official, who was in that moment symbolic of everything she despised about city life. While Elowyn’s immediate concern was for the beautiful tree, now oozing sap from the place where the nails protruded, the stunned villagers hung back, more afraid of what news might be written upon the scroll.

  The official finally spoke, calling out to the nearest person, “Where is the pass that goes west, toward Solis?”

  A man pointed past the tavern, toward the base of the mountain where the pass began. “It is that way, across the meadow. But Solis is gone, and all the people are dead. The beasts of the mountains destroyed them.”

  “How unfortunate,” the official said without emotion as he remounted his horse and continued on without another word. The coldness of his tone sent a chill through Elowyn that brought her thoughts back into perspective. There was far more at stake in the world than the fate of one tree. This man was surely sent by Braeden himself, and her heart sickened at the realization that Minhaven was not going to escape the impending darkness. If Braeden’s hand was already reaching so far into the wilderness, what safe-haven was there left to run to?

  One of the young boys was sent to fetch Glak, while the crowd of people surrounding the tree continued to grow. Several people tried to read the scroll without success, and Elowyn remembered that most of the villagers had not been schooled. She approached the tree with great sadness, wishing she had the strength to pull out the nails with her bare fingers.

  The scroll was definitely from Tyroc. She had seen others like it posted in the city, with the Sovereign’s seal stamped at the bottom. Elowyn’s stomach churned at the sight of it. It was on such a scroll that she had seen Elias’ execution notice...and a death warrant, meant not only for the rest of the “renegades,” but anyone found to be sympathizers of their cause. Her cheeks burned to see Braeden freely using the Sovereign’s seal it as though it ha
d been willingly given over to him. She fully believed, as Einar did, that Braeden and Darik together had murdered the Sovereign.

  Elowyn approached the scroll with trepidation and attempted to read it. Some of the words were too large for her to decipher, and the language of it was exceedingly formal so that even when she knew the words she struggled to understand what was written. But she did manage to convey to the crowd that the notice had to do with taxes. Minhaven’s tax was due to be collected in one month’s time, and their share was to immediately increase. Miners in particular were targeted. Their portion would be increased from 1/9 of what they mined, or its equivalent in gold or silver, to 1/7.

  The scroll warned that any miners who could not pay their share would have their mining rights sold to another, or taken by Tyroc to cover the delinquency. A deep, hate-filled anger stirred within the crowd. Elowyn, somewhat unsure that she had grasped the full meaning of the scroll, and distressed by the change in mood of those around her, ran to get Morganne. She was certainly more adept at reading formal script than Elowyn, whose reading skills were admittedly not very practiced.

  Glak arrived just as Elowyn returned, dragging behind her a bewildered looking Morganne. Quickly grasping the seriousness of the situation, Morganne approached the scroll and read it aloud to everyone present, confirming the message that Elowyn had clumsily managed to relay.

  “We knew something like this would come,” Glak said, trying to calm the crowd. “The entire realm has been asked to contribute more than their usual share, to help save the city of Tyroc in its hour of desperation. We have not armies to send, nor do we have a wealthy lord who can help fund their efforts. What we do have is the mountains and the bounty they provide, and so that is what has been asked of us.”

  “Tyroc has always been quick to take from that bounty when needed, yet slow to return it in our desperate hours,” one of the men called out bitterly. “Where were the Sovereign’s armies when we were plagued by the thieves? Where was their bounty of grain in bad years when our food stores ran low, and none but the citizens of Greywalle, Evensong, and the far western villages would help us?”

  “I never claimed it was a fair arrangement. But fair or not, we are still under the rule of Tyroc, and we endure its neglect at times because we want to be left alone,” Glak reminded them. “Would the Sovereign’s armies ever have been truly welcome, even to fight the thieves? Once here, they would not so easily depart. Should we give our freedom away, fragile as it is, for a little extra grain? For gold? For promises of security that are all too easily broken when they cease to be convenient? Unless all are willing to openly rebel against Tyroc, we have no choice but to let Braeden have his extra tax, and hope that will satisfy him enough that his eyes do not linger here.”

  “No disrespect, but it seems to me that his eyes are already lingering,” another man called out shrewdly. “Let us see this plainly for what it is—he’s not satisfied with the wealth of our labors as the Sovereign once was—he doesn’t want extra tax, but our mining rights. And for that I will fight, whatever the cost. Those rights are my freedom, and I have nothing else left in this world to fight for.”

  Morganne gave Glak an alarmed glance as a number of people called out in agreement. The miner’s sentiments had resonated with those standing around him and the crowd’s anger continued to build. The official must have known what Minhaven’s reaction would be and had pressed on quickly to avoid a direct confrontation. Looking out at their faces, Morganne realized with some shock that these men might very well have taken their wrath out on the messenger.

  If only she could explain to them what they were truly facing. The mandate on the scroll had little to do with taxes and the usual politics of Tyroc’s leadership. It wasn’t even about mining rights. Glak and Morganne both understood that Braeden was feeling for a weak point where he could wear away a solid foothold into Minhaven. And if he succeeded, not even the mighty Kinship would be able to keep him out.

  “Do not be so quick to bring the fist of Tyroc down upon our heads,” Glak said sternly, trying to temper anger with reason. “Open rebellion will not serve our interests. We have not the strength to fight both beasts and armies of men. This situation must be handled with wisdom and guile if we want to keep Tyroc out of our affairs. The tax is on all of us as a community, and one way or another, we will meet Braeden’s demands. No one will lose their mining rights. Should we come up short, we still have the last of the thieves’ hoard to get us through so that no one’s share will go unpaid.

  “But I would caution that we do not sit back and rely on that alone, rather we should work hard to meet these new demands on our own. We must prepare ourselves to stand firm so that we do not falter as Tyroc has. Go now, and make sure everyone knows what has happened, especially those on the outskirts who do not often come this way.”

  The crowd slowly dissolved, though not the underlying tension that Elowyn could still feel permeating the very air.

  “Things are escalating more quickly than I expected,” Glak said quietly to Morganne. “I had hoped we would have more time, but it seems that we must be ready to face the worst. Even before that young boy was sent to fetch me, I knew something was amiss. Braeden’s official was no ordinary messenger, and his presence alone caused the haze obscuring my vision to grow darker. We are being tested. We will pay the tax and have our own resources used against us, or we will fail and lose the rights that secure our independence. Either way, there is no victory to be had...we do nothing more than hold back the inevitable for a little while longer.” Morganne and Elowyn had never heard such despondence in Glak’s voice, and it worried them greatly.

  Morganne had hoped by now that she might find something definitive in the tomes that would help their cause, but they were becoming progressively difficult. She had been struggling with the tomes most recently acquired from the monks. They seemed to be prophetic in nature, but their message was veiled in strange, frightening imagery, and references to events she had never heard of. Busy tending crops, gardens, and livestock, Jadon had been unable to help her, and her frustration was growing. She thought perhaps the Guardians of the Ancients might be able to help her, yet she had no idea how to find them, even if they would be willing to trust her.

  The following weeks were marked by brutally long hours for those who worked the mountains and fields. Elowyn felt as though she would suffocate under the heavy fog of anger and fear that had draped itself over the village. Business was slow at Morganne’s shop, giving her more time to work on her studies. The tavern was just as empty. The men were too exhausted and disheartened to make merry, and all were holding tightly to everything they had until they were certain that the full tax could be made.

  As the time drew near for the tax to be collected, both people and goods began to make their way into the village. Every item was logged in a huge ledger, then secured in underground storage rooms that were really little more than tunnels or pits with thick iron coverings and a host of guardsmen on watch at all times. Tax time had always been a particularly vulnerable point for Minhaven. Though the thieves were gone, the legacy of their torment still lived on in the hearts of the people. The storage rooms had never been breached, but those bringing goods and money in from the mountain paths or village outskirts had often been attacked.

  Elowyn was relieved when she finally saw Cailean and his father bringing in a cart full of smelted ore. Cailean brightened when he saw her. Some of the tension in his face melted away, but the worry lurking behind his eyes remained. Both he and his father were visibly exhausted. Cailean gently supported his father as they stepped away from the cart, waiting to have their goods counted and written up in the tax ledger. His limp was more pronounced than Elowyn remembered, and there was a trace of pain in his smile.

  This had been a difficult season. Rebuilding from the winter storm had been a major setback, and now the sudden tax increase was an additional burden. They had been using every last glimmer of daylight to work the mountains,
leaving all of the smelting and other household chores to be done at night by firelight. They had managed to come up with their extra share of the tax...barely. When Cailean’s father moved away to record his tax portion into the ledger, Cailean quietly confided in Elowyn.

  “He can’t go on doing this kind of work much longer, but he knows nothing else. I love my father, and I understand that it is my duty to care for him now, as he has always cared for me. Yet I fear becoming trapped into this life, just as he has been all these years. Is it selfish to want something more?”

  “I don’t think so,” Elowyn said with genuine sympathy. She understood his longing to break free from a lifetime of repetitive, punishing labor.

  “Don’t tell my father, but I am going to ask to join the Kinship. If I can make my fortune in the wider world, neither of us will have to live as slaves to the mines.”

  Elowyn’s stomach tightened. She well knew that joining the Kinship had been Cailean’s intention all along, but the thought still made her uncomfortable. Surely the beasts were more formidable than the mines. The mere memory of their stench threw her into a panic.

  “You don’t approve...”

  Elowyn looked away to avoid seeing the disappointment in his soft brown eyes. “It is not for me to approve or disapprove.”

  “I seek your favor just the same. Caring for my father is not the only reason why I wish secure a more promising future for myself.”

  Elowyn’s face grew warm.

  “It’s not that I don’t approve...” she stopped speaking abruptly as she noticed Cailean’s father had finished his business with the ledger and was walking back toward them. But even before he reached them, a far off bell began to ring. It was not a melodious bell like the one the monks rang for their calls to prayer, or the cheerful ding of the bells that marked the hours of the day. It was not even the low, mournful bell used for more somber purposes. The tone of the bell had an alarming quality to it, like a shrill scream for help. For a moment everyone in the village stopped what they were doing and stared toward the mountain in disbelief. Another bell of the same sound, but closer, joined the first. Then suddenly the whole village broke into an orchestrated chaos.