Into the Fold

by Chase Blackwood

  “Carry on,” Dan said, “Something about running but never walk.”

  Laurent was now peering over Aeden’s broad shoulder, curiously. I glanced briefly at Aeden. In the past, that’s all I would have needed to do, and he would’ve taken action.

  Aeden, however, was looking across the room. I followed his gaze and caught sight of Adel gesturing to him. He once told me the fidgeting gestures were a method of communication from his time at the monastery.

  It appeared the other group had finally opened the box. The map was currently clutched in Kallon’s hand, with Janto and Caine peering intently at it.

  “The River Lufian,” Laurent pointed to the map casually.

  Aeden gently rolled the map. Laurent shrugged, grinning goofily.

  “That’s not part of the bet!” Dan exclaimed, as he marched over to the other team.

  Laurent glanced at us with his wide-set eyes, before moving to catch up with his friend.

  “I believe,” Sakhira spoke, “that Laurent just solved our first riddle.”

  “What?” I asked in exasperation.

  My mind reeled. I replayed the passage in my head, deliberating upon the heads that run but never walk, whose sharp tongue offends but never talks. It made sense. A river runs. I think I had been so caught up in my own thoughts, that it had clouded my mind.

  “The River Lufian runs south to a fork,” Sakhira explained calmly, “May I see the map?”

  He reached a hand toward Aeden. I glanced up, partially hoping Aeden would meet my eye again. He didn’t. Aeden handed the map to Sakhira.

  I moved closer to Sakhira and took hold of a side as I examined it.

  Holding the map gave me a sense of control over the situation. It allowed me to feel like I had a semblance of authority over the direction of my life. It was a silly thought. We are like butterflies in the wind.

  Sakhira gently took the map and spread it onto the table. Oria and Garit stepped closer. Even Aeden stepped in, looking over their shoulders. Oria glanced back and smiled, as she swept some hair behind an ear.

  “You see,” Sakhira said, pointing, “the Lufian River splits here, two heads.”

  Garit was nodding slowly.

  “That makes sense,” Oria said.

  Across the room we could hear Kallon telling Dan and Laurent to leave. I glanced up and saw Dan distracting Kallon as Laurent peered at the map in Adel’s hand.

  “It’s in old Heortian!” Laurent exclaimed, “And they only have two riddles…”

  His voice fell away as Adel pulled the map closer and Caine stepped between them.

  I took that moment to reach for our map. As I rolled it up, I spoke.

  “Then it’s settled, we head south to the fork in the river,” I stuffed the map into my travel sack, “and along the way we can figure out the rest.”

  There was some nodding, murmuring, and a general consensus of agreement, along with the commotion caused by Dan and Laurent on the other side of the hall as they were shooed out the doors.

  Aeden stood near the doorway, watching the other team. He whispered as I walked by. His voice was like a Lenton breeze.

  “We should work together.”

  At the time I didn’t understand what he meant. I chose to ignore him. It was a bad decision. Pride is often the bane of rational thought.

  Chapter 52

  “The singular confidence of the supremely ignorant can be both, infectious and highly dangerous.” Canton of Sawol

  The Fold was beautiful. It was different. And, as I was to learn, highly treacherous.

  The journey began with the long trek down Mystes Mountain, following the opal path of the ten thousand steps. It took us over the narrow, arching Bridge of Antiquity. It led us past Cascading Falls, where a thousand dancing rainbows vied for our attention and fresh pools of water rested, waiting for us to replenish our water skins.

  The tall evergreens ceded way to a forest of broad leaf perennials, bamboo, and bluebells. All the while, the Lufian River snaked its way down the mountainside. At times it was a narrow, gushing waterfall, falling steeply through the canopy of trees. At other times it was a broad sweep of slow-moving water, clear as freshly polished glass.

  The nights brought velvet skies with a tightly woven blanket of stars. The moon, however, remained but a sliver in the evening sky. The campfire became a place of quiet respite, of stories, and of warmth.

  Garit talked of the Inquisition. He talked of histories penned by questionable historians and outlandish nobles. These stories would prompt a response from Sakhira. A student who was far more knowledgeable than I had previously known, versed in strange aspects of the ancient arkein.

  Oria feared the hidden unknowns of gloaming and startled at every chirping squirrel, groaning tree, and screeching bird. Each night found her sitting closer to Aeden. She’d tell him she felt safer near him. She’d primp and fret like a preening bird.

  As for Aeden, he remained mostly silent. He seemed to tolerate us, as he thought his thoughts. I’d watch him from the corner of my eye and wonder what images were passing through his mind. I wondered what emotions were tugging at that Thane heart. Was he remembering his family? Was he remembering the night he let my father die? Was he thinking of me?

  On the seventh day we had arrived on the forked shores of the River Lufian. Its slow-moving water sparkled under the warmth of a midafternoon sun. The smooth obsidian stones lining the riverbed, distorted the perception of depth and cast a shadow within the river itself. The flowering plants framing the riverside were vivid splashes of color on the vibrant painting that was the Fold.

  A single granite boulder sloped gently to the river’s edge, marked by a stone pillar. It provided a vantage point in an otherwise flat expanse. We summited the grand stone and witnessed the Lufian River’s path. One leg of the river split eastward and the other westward. The two great legs straddled a broad sweep of grassy plains.

  Sakhira inspected the pillar of stone. A strange flowing script was etched into its surface. I stood at the threshold of a stone bridge. It spanned the river in an elegant sweep, as if borne from the very boulder we stood upon.

  “We should cross,” I proclaimed.

  Sakhira looked up, but remained silent. Aeden stood distant, apart, and largely uninvolved. It was Garit and Oria that had their opinions and made them known.

  “We still don’t understand the second riddle,” Garit reiterated for the umpteenth time.

  Oria was nodding her head.

  “I still don’t understand how it’s relevant, it doesn’t seem to apply to anything we’ve seen, except perhaps this pillar,” she said, pointing to the stone marker Sakhira stood beside.

  Sakhira looked at Oria for a moment before reexamining the column.

  “It could be dangerous,” she continued, “and we should rest.”

  She cast a quick glance at Aeden, but he was busy gazing across the vast plains at some unseen point. He seemed to be straining to hear something.

  “You’re saying the grass is dangerous? Or the flowers?”

  I was exasperated. Oria had done nothing but complain during the trek down the mountain. The mornings were too cold. The path too long. The opal stones too slippery. The bridge too high.

  “Mind the white flowers,” Aeden spoke aloud, disturbing the relative stillness.

  They were the first words he’d said in a long while. I wasn’t sure if he’d uttered them at all. They were in context, but felt out of place. Was he siding with Oria? Was he poking fun of me?

  “What?” I questioned.

  “On the far side of the Lufian,” Aeden pointed, “The short, white plants are hemlock, they’re poisonous when ingested, taller and interspersed with the hemlock are hogweed, avoid their broad leaves.”

  It looked as if he’d say more, but instead he fell silent.

  Oria crossed her arms and was nodding, as if that were her point all along.

  “Fine,” I replied, “I’ll watch out for the flowers.”
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br />   I then looked to Sakhira. He was slowly shaking his head.

  “This is a dead language,” he said aloud, scratching his head, “This can’t be part of our quest.”

  Garit stepped closer to examine the pillar himself.

  “Interesting,” he said, careful to avoid touching the pillar. “How did the riddle go? Upon the plains of pain and death, shield your notice of life’s unseen breath, then follow the hard-green line, to your nearest sign,” Garit recited.

  “Maybe this is the sign,” he gestured to the pillar.

  I was shaking my head.

  “If that’s the sign, then where are the plains of pain and death?”

  Garit shrugged meekly. Oria pointed to the south, but I ignored her and continued, undeterred.

  “The hard-green line?”

  “The river?” Garit said softly.

  “It’s not green,” I finished for him.

  Oria stepped forward, “but it does bring life, which is green.”

  I nodded, but wasn’t listening. I didn’t want to listen. I was sure we had to cross the bridge and continue south. I was determined to be right. I had to be right.

  “I’ll explore the other side and see if there are any clues,” I said.

  Oria huffed. Garit was slowly shaking his head and looked about ready to speak. I cut him off before he had a chance.

  “I’ll be right back. Perhaps by then you’ll have figured out the writing on the pillar.”

  Garit looked hesitantly from me to Aeden and then back to the pillar. Oria had turned away and crossed her arms.

  It was settled. I’d made up my mind. Without further thought I stepped onto the bridge. I could be stubborn at times. It was a strength and a weakness.

  I glanced fleetingly at Aeden and saw a hint of concern on his face, but he made no move to stop me. With anger in my heart and frustration writ upon my face, I crossed.

  White flowers of hemlock and hogweed grew in thick clusters along the south side of the riverbank. Interspersing these were purple-leaved plants with red flowers and spikey fruit. Beyond the riverbank was the flat expanse of grassland.

  A breeze rippled through the plains and the tall grass bent and swayed to some unseen tune. The sharp sound of movement was like music to my ears. I knew I was getting closer to the Sages of Umbra. The path had to be this way, and I was going to be the one to find it.

  I glanced back, seeing Sakhira at the foot of the bridge. Oria and Garit were likely at the stone pillar.

  Where was Aeden?

  His lack of concern only emboldened me. I avoided a nearby cluster of white flowers and broad green leaves, as I moved ever closer to the edge of the tall grass. I paused at the threshold of the plains, not seeing a clear path. I reached out a hand to casually push aside the tall growth, only to be cut by a blade of grass.

  It was sharp as a razor.

  Instinctively, I retracted my hand. Bright red beads of blood swelled upon my skin. A burning sensation crawled up my arm. My heart started to pump wildly as the pain pulsated and played with my nerves. It felt like I’d fallen into a pit of molten lead.

  Another breeze rippled through the plains, stirring the grass. The knife-like sound grated at my ears. I let out a scream.

  I couldn’t think clearly. The agony was blindingly bright, like staring into the sun. It seared at my mind and tore at my soul.

  My vision blurred as I fought my way back to the bridge and stumbled. I felt something firm, yet yielding. I knew it was a person, but it felt more like a soft mountain. He mumbled something unintelligible. I couldn’t focus. I didn’t understand.

  Suddenly I was swept off my feet in powerful arms. I caught a glimpse of grey and white. A feeling of safety chased the feverish throbbing that now encompassed my whole body. I shook uncontrollably, before the world faded from view.

  Chapter 53

  “The need for love can be as strong as one’s thirst for water.” Caliph Rajah of Sha’ril

  I awoke slowly. My head throbbed painfully and my arm felt stiff and cold.

  I peeled my eyes open and looked about. Surrounding me was a blanket of leafy darkness. Stout bamboo poles encircled me, save for a singular opening. The last warmth of daylight spilled through the doorway and into the shelter.

  The gentle sounds of a crackling campfire drifted languidly into the space, followed distantly by voices.

  Taking in a slow and deep breath I struggled to sit up. My head spun and a wave of dizziness threatened to plunge me underwater. With my eyes closed, I sank back into a bed of branches, covered by a blanket.

  “You’re awake,” a voice reached out to me.

  It sounded so familiar, but I couldn’t place it. It was male, soft, and caring.

  “I’ll go fetch Aeden,” the voice said.

  I grunted as I struggled with my thoughts. I didn’t want Aeden to see me like this. He’d know that I’d failed. Failure wasn’t something I took lightly or easily. Yet, another part of me craved him like a manticore craves meat.

  As I glanced about, the true weight of my failure settled deep into the pit of my stomach. Somehow, I knew he’d built the shelter I was in. He’d likely aided in my recovery. He probably wrapped my arm. It infuriated me and it further endeared me to him.

  By the time Aeden had arrived, I’d worked myself into a frenzy of thought. I peeled my eyes open and propped myself onto my good arm, the bandaged arm pulsated in a ripple of torment.

  “Thea,” he whispered.

  His frame blocked most of the fading light. He looked so strong in the narrow opening. He looked so worried. His eyes were focused on me. They drank me in carefully, examining the color of my skin, the dilation of my pupils, the movement of my eyes.

  “Drink this,” Aeden said, holding out a wooden cup.

  I struggled to take it and nearly fell backward. Aeden moved forward rapidly. An arm was suddenly supporting me. His hands felt firm yet gentle. I had missed the way they felt on my body. He held the cup to my lips.

  “Small sips,” he whispered so gently as to make me think the wind had spoken to me.

  I took a sip. It was disgusting, but I didn’t want to show him my discomfort. I didn’t want him to leave my side. Not while I felt so weak. Not when I wanted comfort, protection.

  “What is it?” I questioned, after several small gulps.

  “Bezoar and the petals of a jack flower,” Aeden responded, watching for any signs of improvement.

  “Bezoar?” It sounded familiar but my head remained fuzzy.

  “You can find them in the stomach of larger animals. It’s known to bind free radicals and cleanse the blood of poisons.”

  I shook my head, wondering how he knew such things. At times he seemed so immature. At other times, it seemed like he’d lived more than one lifetime. A warrior, a monk, a slave, and a student.

  He’d been raised as a leader. Aeden once told me he had to apprentice under every master within his village, learning their skills, understanding their craft.

  He’d been a monk. That was the strangest one for me. Aeden looked nothing like a monk. Adel was easy to imagine in the Bodigan grey robes of Sancire. But Aeden? It felt out of character, almost comical.

  It was far easier to imagine him as a slave, struggling for survival, fighting for his freedom. It was during his time as a slave that he’d helped Jal Isa Sha’ril overthrow the Caliph of Sha’ril. It was almost too much to believe, yet still easier than seeing him prostrated before Salvare.

  Sometimes, when I closed my eyes, I remembered the final night in Verold upon the Isle of Galdor. I could still see him swinging his sword, fighting off the Inquisition’s men, like a knight from a fairytale.

  “Let me see your arm,” he said.

  I presented my bandaged arm to him. Aeden pressed ever so gently, assessing the swelling. He then slowly unwound the bandage, pinching my fingertips occasionally as he went. Once my arm lay bare, looking thin and brittle in his massive hands, he inspected the site of the cut, exa
mining the discoloration and the bruising, spreading outward like an unfolding flower.

  “It’s getting better,” he said. “I’ve marked it here and here,” he pointed to a black line upon my arm, “See how the discoloration is now well within the lines?”

  He leaned out of the shelter and shuffled through a bag he’d placed there. He brought out a dark paste and began to apply it carefully to my wound.

  “What’s that?” I asked, wrinkling my nose at the smell of it.

  “Ash from day-old fire,” he said, never once looking up from his ministrations, “with crushed black-jack flowers and minced dogbane leaves.”

  Once complete, he slowly re-wrapped my arm in a non-constricting bandage.

  “Rest,” he stated.

  I didn’t want to rest. I wanted to know what had happened while I had slept. I wanted to know if the riddle had been solved. I wanted to know if any others had been hurt. More than anything, I wanted social interaction.

  “Help me up.”

  Aeden stood there for a moment, looking at me incredulously.

  “Please,” I pleaded, “I need to move my body and get closer to the fire.”

  Aeden nodded before scooping me up and assisting me to the campfire.

  The evening air was cool and felt good against my skin. Aeden’s body was warm. The sight of the campfire and the smell of burning wood, calmed my soul.

  Ringing the campsite were several shelters. Each were made from bamboo poles leaning together. Interwoven through the leaning bamboo were leafy branches, forming a barricade against the wind. They were simple and ingenious.

  I knew Aeden had likely had a hand in their construction, if not led their creation. Who else had been trained to survive in the wild? Who else literally crossed the Shrouded Mountains and lived to tell the tale?

  I shook my head slowly, leaning a little more heavily into Aeden. I could feel the muscles in his arms against my back. It sounds silly, but I felt safe in his arms. The world seemed less dark, less scary.

  “Look who’s up,” Oria said cheerfully.

  “We were worried,” Adel said, coming to assist Aeden.