“I’ll be back again after we get our next load secured. It won’t be long. And please, don’t worry about any of this. It will all turn out right...I promise.” Cailean smiled encouragingly. Elowyn smiled back, but squeezed his hand so hard that he finally had to wiggle his fingers free. He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead, which sent her heart reeling, and hurried off to meet his father. She could still feel the warmth of his innocent, unexpected kiss lingering on her skin as she skipped home. As much as Elowyn wanted to quietly slip through the tavern into her room so that she could find time to reflect, there was yet another surprise waiting for her.
Parked in front of the entrance was a cart full of barrels that seemed oddly familiar. As soon as she stepped into the tavern she knew why. Morganne was standing there with Wyman, merrily greeting the kindly old farmer who had ferried them from Evensong to Minhaven. Had a year gone by? Or had it already been several? Elowyn’s old life seemed so near, and yet so distant all at the same time. The old man’s arrival triggered a flood of jumbled emotions that Elowyn was unprepared to face in that moment. Even so, she was pleased to see that he was alive and well enough to bring his customary load of apples.
Morganne pulled the old farmer over to a free table where he could rest. She insisted on buying him some food and drink to enjoy while his cart was unloaded by younger and stronger men.
“Well now, it would seem that Minhaven has been good to you both,” he said, his eyes twinkling.
“Yes, we have found our place here, and Wyman has been very gracious to us. But we get so little news. Tell me, what has been happening in Evensong since we left? Is the shrine still flowing?”
“It is!” he answered emphatically. “Some say the water has been curing the sick, and making the old feel young again. I’m not sure about most of the claims, to be truthful. But it can’t be denied that while the southern cities seem to have fallen on hard times, Evensong has flourished. There has even been talk of rebuilding the monastery. After so many generations of hard living, the Ancients have remembered and blessed us at last. My orchard produced so many apples this year, I couldn’t possibly sell or store them all. No use letting them rot. My heart felt pressed to send some away southward to help the monks feed the poor souls whose crops have failed. It only seemed right.”
He and Morganne continued to chat about the changes the shrine had brought to Evensong, about his orchards, his trip, the weather...Elowyn feigned interest out of politeness, but in her mind, she was still strolling along the shore, hand in hand with Cailean, the memory of his kiss still warm on her forehead. By the time the old farmer’s apples had all been unloaded, and his horses groomed and comfortably settled into the stables for a rest, the weariness of the trip was showing on his face. He thanked Morganne for the meal, and both girls for the pleasant company, promising to come back once more before the snows closed off the southern road.
The next week began cool and wet, with fog and gentle rains flowing down from the mountain peaks. The hillsides were flecked with the first bits of orange and gold peeking out from between the evergreens. Every home, field, garden, and shop was immersed in a final rush of activity. Idleness was now a luxury that none could afford. The storage pits were opened again, with the Kinship standing vigilant over them while miners brought in their loads to be stored safely and recorded in the ledger. With the first blanket of snow, the mining season would abruptly come to an end, and there would be no way to pull heavy carts along the road into the village.
This was always a vulnerable time for Minhaven, and the strain of it throbbed the way an old wound recognizes an approaching storm. Everyone felt the familiar ache, even Elowyn who was keenly aware of the lines of tension etched into everyone’s faces, including Morganne’s. Winter orders were coming in fast, and she was working late hours by lamp light, determined to get them all finished before the wet autumn winds froze into relentless waves of pelting snow. Elowyn tried to focus on her work in the tavern garden, harvesting the last of ripened vegetables and cutting back the dried remains of plants that were already beyond their season. But she found that Cailean and his recent news was all she could think about. She hoped that he would be able to come back to see her again soon, as he had promised.
She was cleaning up the last section of garden in the dreary gray of a damp morning when she heard a sound that made her heart stop. The bells were ringing. The dreaded alarm bells were once again sounding through Minhaven. They echoed off the mountainsides, sending their painful wails through the shifting white fog. Elowyn stood up and stared off to the northeast, where no doubt the Kinship was already moving swiftly toward the source of the first bell. She covered her ears, hoping that by blocking out the sound, she could quell the panic rising within her. What could she do but wait there helpless with bated breath?
The last time this had happened, Cailean and his father were there to offer their strength. But she was alone in the garden; unable to work, to run, to think. She sunk to her knees on the damp earth and tried to pray as her eyes filled with tears that left warm, salty trails down her cold cheeks. No words of comfort came to her. Just a growing sickness in her stomach from which she could find no relief.
The bells seemed to ring without end until she thought they would drive her mad. When they finally did stop, she found that the silence was far worse. The danger might be over, but the terror was not. Elowyn could not forget the sight of the three slain miners, slung over horses’ backs like limp bags of grain, barely covered by the cloaks of the men returning them for burial. She did not want to endure such a sight again. How long could she stay in the protection of the garden enclosure before someone came to look for her? How long could she hold her small world intact, just as it had been before she entered the garden...before the bells? Slowly, and with painful deliberation she began to resume her chores. She tried to quiet her anxious thoughts with mindless work, but her heart would not slow its rapid pace. Deep down, somehow, she already knew.
When Glak and Morganne came walking together toward the garden, Morganne’s face streaked and red, Glak’s hard and expressionless, Elowyn could no longer feign composure. She buried her face into her skirts and began to sob. Morganne knelt down beside her and held her close, the same way she held Adelin when she was frightened during a bad storm. Elowyn could not remember the last time Morganne had held her that way. It was comforting and terrifying at the same time.
“Cailean was a hero today,” Glak said through tightly clenched jaws. “He saved the lives of five men, as well as their loads, with nothing but his sword against armored men on horseback.” Glak’s voice wavered. He paused...too long...his prolonged silence saying more than his words. “He killed two of the enemy,” he managed to continue with the forced bravado of a commander addressing men under his authority, “but he could not save himself, his father, or another miner who was attempting to help them.” He finally knelt down close to Elowyn, though she could not bear to look into his face. The intensity of pain showing through his ice-blue eyes would surely reflect her own, and she could not bear the burden of his sorrow too.
“I vow to you Elowyn, that Cailean will be buried with full honor as a member of the Kinship,” his broken tone became stronger as a seething anger brought focus to his words. “And so also will his death be avenged as one of us, even if I have to forge through the fires of the Shadow’s Crevasse to find these men. Whether by my hand or Aviad’s, they will suffer greatly for what they have done.”
Elowyn shook uncontrollably as she wept against the tightness of Morganne’s embrace. Thoughts of vengeance brought her no relief. Her mind was reeling, trying to make sense of what Glak was telling her. Her heart beat against her chest in rebellion against the thought that Cailean had been killed in such a brutal fashion—that he was really gone. How could something that didn’t seem real wound her so deeply that she could barely gasp for air? If only she could awaken to find that this was just another of her nightmares.
Please, Aviad, s
he begged. If you ever loved me, wake me from this moment...tell me that it isn’t real. But she did not awaken. She could not lift her face, and her body felt heavier than the weight of a Hound pressed upon her back. The cold was seeping into her clothing, and the rain had begun to fall. But none of it mattered. She found herself being lifted by strong arms and carried like a small child back to her room. She was gently lowered into a chair before the fire, and a blanket draped around her shoulders. Her clothes were soaked through, her body shivering with both shock and cold. There were low voices in the background, though she could not bring them into focus.
“If there is anything I can do...” she heard Wyman say. His tone echoed her own sense of helplessness. She caught the words monks...burial...ceremony...honor...no other family. What did any of it matter now? That tender hand that had once held hers was gone. So were the brown curls of his hair, and those soulful eyes that would never again look into hers. Elowyn cried until she was utterly spent; her face stiff and swollen, her mouth dry, and her throat burning. When she reached the point where not even tears would come, she laid down on the fur rug and stared into the flames until they lulled her into a restless sleep.
For two days she barely moved, and ate only when Morganne forced her to. Morganne, and even little Adelin, tried their best to comfort her, but no consolation ran deep enough to reach her pain. Morganne finally made her dress and brought her out into the tavern for dinner, hoping that the change would begin to bring her back into the living world.
Elowyn watched the few lonely souls sitting at scattered tables around the tavern. Their mood was somber and pensive like her own. She was not the only one in mourning. She picked at the food placed before her, despite Morganne’s pleading that she eat something. She usually enjoyed Idna’s cooking, but all of its flavor was missing. She watched slow curls of steam rise from a bowl of stew, shifting and swirling until they dissipated into the air. She pursed her lips, blowing ripples across the surface of the broth that caught flashes of firelight. The steam gradually stopped rising, and the stew grew cold and thick. Just looking at it began to turn Elowyn’s stomach. She pushed it away to the far side of the table and sighed.
Bane abandoned his favorite table to come sit beside her. He said nothing at all, but there was pain in his eyes. Elowyn sensed in him sorrow for these fresh wounds they were bearing together, but also old, scarred-over pain that he must have carried with him for a long time. She did not know why, but his silent presence beside her was the first bit of comfort she had felt since that horrible day in the garden. He slid his untouched mug of ale in front of her and raised an eyebrow. Elowyn declined with a shake of her head, but appreciated the gesture all the same.
He picked up the mug, raising it high and looking upward into the rafters for a moment. He took a long swig, then slammed the mug down onto the table so hard that ale splashed onto the table and everyone in the room jumped. Giving Elowyn’s hand a strong squeeze, he suddenly stood to his full height, wiped his beard clean with his sleeve, and charged out of the tavern like a gathering storm. Elowyn did not know where he was going, but with the slam of his cup, he had changed the mood of the room. A couple of the men peeked out of the tavern door after him, and all began to whisper amongst themselves, wondering what Bane intended to do.
Elowyn tore off a bite from the hunk of bread still sitting in front of her. She dabbed at the butter and put the whole thing in her mouth, letting the soft bread and the butter melt together on her tongue. Not so terrible, she thought. She was hungrier than she had realized. A little more bread, and a sip of almond milk. She suddenly craved the simple strength they would bring back to her young body. But her stomach quickly filled, and as the fire’s heat warmed her skin, she grew tired again.
“I want to go back now,” she said softly. The brief hope flickering in Morganne’s eyes faded away as she took her sister’s arm. She looked on Elowyn’s uneaten food with frustration, not realizing what a victory that little bit of bread and almond milk had been.
The next morning, Morganne woke Elowyn gently with the words, “It is almost time to go.”
“Go where?” Elowyn asked in a sleepy voice.
“The Kinship ceremony and burial. It is today.”
“I’m not going,” Elowyn said, choking back a rush of fresh tears.
“What?” Morganne asked in disbelief. “But you’re expected to be there.”
“I don’t care. I’m not going...I can’t...” The pain rose up again in its full strength, strangling what was left of her voice.
“You need to go Elowyn, and not just for the others. This is your chance to honor Cailean and his father...to say goodbye, to find whatever peace you can with Aviad’s help. It will be hard, but we will endure it together. All of us.”
“I do not want to say goodbye,” Elowyn’s tearful voice shook with anger. “And I do not want to find peace. All of this is wrong. It was not supposed to be this way...Cailean promised.” Elowyn broke down once more into heavy sobs and Morganne could say nothing to sway her decision. She slowly dressed herself and Adelin, then left Elowyn alone with her grief.
Complete silence fell upon the tavern. Everyone had gone without her. Good. Elowyn had not been truly alone in a long time. In the days when she had roamed the wilds by herself, she had never known such pain as this. Perhaps Bane had it right all along. Find a comfortable corner and keep it. Talk to no one, get close to no one. She had thought after their lovely dinner together during the Festival of Life that his heart had grown soft for Idna, but nothing had come of it since. His wisdom had no doubt been purchased by whatever secret pain lurked behind his eyes.
Elowyn needed to be alone again. Truly alone. From her small chest of belongings she pulled out the little satchel she had once used on her days-long excursions into the wood. She filled it with food, her tinder box, and a water skin. Over one shoulder she slung her bow, and across her back, a quiver of arrows. She had thought she could fit into this community, to have something she never could’ve imagined in Tyroc. But in the process she had forgotten herself, abandoning the wild green world that had been her dearest friend, and her clearest view into Aviad’s realm. She needed to find that again; to mend her broken spirit before it was beyond recovery, and to find Aviad’s voice, which had gone strangely silent. She scattered some cold ash across the hearth and wrote a note in it with her finger, the way she had once done for Einar at the ruined temple in Tyroc. “Do not worry. I will return.” She was sure that Morganne would understand.
Elowyn slipped out the back door of the tavern, skirting the meadow northeast, following the farthest border of the village where she was not likely to be seen. She did not want to meet anyone or have to explain herself. When she finally stood on the wooded path leading away from the village into the mountains, she had a decision to make. Part of her longed to see Cailean’s home one last time, and to climb the path they had shared together, though she knew it would break her heart to do so. But she could not forget Cailean’s warning that she should never go that way alone—she did not know the mountain’s moods well enough.
That will change, Elowyn thought. When I have remembered myself, I will learn these lands well enough to risk the path, and we shall meet in that place again, if only in spirit. A rush of tears flowed down her cheeks. She angrily wiped them away and pressed on, taking the less traveled path she sometimes followed to the rushing stream which had marked the farthest edge of her wanderings. No one knew she had been there, and the terrain felt familiar enough that she decided she would stay there for a while.
She built a small fire and surveyed the landscape with new eyes. Blending in would require different skills here than it had in the woodlands of Tyroc. There was less undergrowth to hide in, and the foliage was completely different. The shorter, leafy trees were less abundant, and the lowest branches of the evergreens were sparse, sometimes well out of her reach. They offered no cover. But there were also more boulders, rocky overhangs, and shallow caves that o
ffered better shelter from the elements. The weather was perhaps the biggest challenge of all, for its extremes could be deadly, and its patterns unpredictable. Elowyn was confident she could adapt her skills—that she could eventually even learn to survive on her own in the depths of the mountains, as Glak often did. But she would have to proceed slowly, and with great care.
She spotted a tree some distance away from her fire, tucked away behind other trees, that she thought would be perfect for sleeping in. She cleared away any rocks and sharp branches beneath it, covering the area in a thick blanket of pine needles. She had not slept in a tree for so long that she was unsure if she could still do it without falling. Her life in Minhaven had been far too comfortable, closed in by walls, and connected by smooth man-made paths. She used to fall asleep in the deep hours of the night while gazing at the stars. But now she slept hidden away under roof and rafter while the moon traced the expanse of the sky without her. So many things she had forgotten. It was time to remember them again.
The Black Shrine
Morganne returned from the burial distraught and weary from grief, only to find Elowyn’s dusty note scrawled onto the hearth and her empty storage chest. She lowered herself onto the bed and buried her face in its coverings. Somehow everything was going wrong and she didn’t know what to do. The reality of what had happened out there on the mining road had hit her hard as she’d watched the monks lower three more of their own into the earth. Cailean had been so young—just about her age, in fact—and so full of goodness and life. She did not understand the cruelty that had struck him down...and over what? A few bits of rock dug out of the earth? Those men were still out there somewhere, and now Elowyn was out there too, weakened and heartbroken.
Morganne was furious with herself for leaving Elowyn alone, and angry with Elowyn for betraying her trust. Did Elowyn realize that they were not in Tyroc anymore? There the Sovereign’s might, and fear of his punishments, kept relative order even in the outlying areas. There was no law here. Only the Kinship kept order, and these dark men had so far eluded the Kinship’s grasp. The wilderness was vast, and there were many places to hide. Elowyn had no idea the dangers she might face out there in the unprotected wilds of the mountains. Should those men find her, they would show her no more compassion than they had shown Cailean.
Ancient Voices: Into the Depths Page 25