The witch laughed lightly like gentle chimes in the wind and nodded as Fjell shook his head, riding past her. “I will!” she called back and turned Musa to follow him.
Squeezing his knees, Fjell guided Meyla into a light trot and glanced back to ensure Marsilia was following suit. She bounced along, Musa closing the distance to her herdmate. Despite how she still rode awkwardly, the witch smiled at him and he couldn’t help returning the smile as they exited the upper meadow and began the trek down the side of the mountain.
“How old are you?” Marsilia suddenly asked from behind him.
Recoiling from the question, he glanced back to give her an incredulous look. “What kind of question is that?”
“An honest one,” she answered, then frowned. “Though… I suppose a rather rude one. I’ve just been wondering since last night. I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer that.”
“I’m eighty-seven,” he answered, not looking back again. They’d be coming up on the switchbacks soon and while the goats knew the way with or without riders, it could still be treacherous. Spring melts brought washouts and landslides, not to mention the possibility of fallen trees from avalanches over the winter.
She remained silent behind him for a long moment. When she spoke again, her tone was quieter, thoughtful. “How long do dwarves normally live?”
“Around four hundred years. What’s with yer sudden interest in the length of our lives?” he asked in return.
“Nothing,” she sighed. “Just curious.”
Silence reigned again as they began to navigate the switchbacks. As he paid heed to the path before him, the witch’s unexpected line of questions continued to tickle the back of his mind. She was human, after all. She had but a decade or two in her prime, where his kin had two centuries - and it was the same for all of her friends, he realized. Even as old as Eudon was, it was likely the pookah would outlive his adopted daughter.
Or, would if she was a normal mortal. She had the potential to become a sorceress, and any who delved that deeply into magic lived easily as long as their fellow magical beings. Yet, with how little it seemed Eudon had told Marsilia of his own history, Fjell wondered if she even knew of such matters. The more he thought on the matter, the more he was beginning to realize how sheltered the witch had been.
As they came down another switch back, Fjell glanced back to check on Marsilia. She was beginning to ride more easily, learning to roll with the goat’s gate. Her black skirts spread across the rump of the beast and draped around her legs. Though the cloth was rough, it still gave her an elegant grace.
“Are ye holding up alright back there?” he asked.
“Yes, well enough,” she answered and there was something subdued to her tone, something restrained.
Frowning, Fjell continued on, losing sight of her behind him as she came around the switchback. “We’ll stop for a minute at the base of the mountain,” he said over his shoulder. “Have a bite to eat, aye?”
“Alright,” she answered.
They fell to silence again as they continued their trek. Fjell chewed on his thoughts. It was clear that the brief discussion of longevity had troubled her. He wondered if that was all that troubled her, though.
When finally they reached the base of the mountain, he drew his mountain goat over to the side and dismounted, quickly tying the reins to a low tree branch. He moved over to where Marsilia was drawing her goat to a stop as well, went around the side and took her gently by the waist, assisting her down.
He held her in place for a moment, frowning down at her. “Yer troubled again,” he said evenly, releasing her to collect Musa’s reigns before the goat could wander off.
“Shouldn’t I be?” she asked earnestly. “The weight of all of this is settling in. Yesterday we were fighting and fleeing. This morning, I stood in awe of your people's kingdom. But now? Now I’m not as distracted.”
Fjell listened, tying Musa beside Meyla, where they could both graze and drink from a trickling stream. Turning back to the witch, he sighed softly. “Get it in the open, then. Talk it through.”
“I didn’t even know how to ride,” she sighed.
“And yer learning quickly,” he interjected, tucking his thumbs behind his belt.
“We’re supposed to be getting a blade blessed,” she continued, fretting with the silk bag now tied to her belt. “And I don’t even know how to use a sword.”
“Then let me use it for ye,” he said, frowning. “I promised ye I’d stand by ye against the kerling. I don’t mean to do so idly.”
“I’m just a mortal,” she finally sighed, throwing her hands up in the air.
“Oi, no, enough of that,” he said, stepping forward to take her by the shoulders. “Ye are seidkona,” he said sternly, brow furrowed as he looked down at her. She stared back up at him, worry and fear just behind her gaze.
Sighing, Fjell raised a gauntleted hand to tap under her chin. “I get it. I was scared my first battle too. It’s alright. I didn’t promise to stand at yer side because I thought ye couldn’t do this on yer own. I’ve seen yer strength, yer power. I promised to stand by ye because yer worthy of it.”
Tearing up, Marsilia leaned forward, resting her head against his chainmail covered chest. He wrapped an arm around her with a soft sigh. “Ah, Marsilia, ye get yerself too worked up. Have some faith in yerself.”
“Sorry,” she muttered against his chest, her arms wrapping around him in return. He could feel a few tears penetrate his chainmail to soak into his tunic. When she spoke again, her whisper was barely audible. "What if we fail?"
Shaking his head, Fjell wrapped his other arm around her shoulders as well. "Then at least we tried. Better to try and fail than roll over in defeat, eh?"
Marsilia nodded against his chest and remained there, sniffling. He held her for a moment longer as she calmed.
Pulling back, she looked up at him with a curious frown under her tear-reddened eyes. “What is seidkona?”
Fjell couldn’t help but chuckle, relieved and glad to see that spark of curiosity return to her gaze. “It means sorceress.”
“But I’m only a witch,” she said, brow furrowing.
“For now,” he answered, giving her a knowing smile and wink as he turned to collect their lunch from Meyla’s saddle pack.
Chapter 16
She needed to talk to Fjell more, Marsilia decided. Since this entire ordeal had begun, any time she got upset and he coaxed her into talking through it, she always felt better afterwards. She was still scared, still wasn’t sure if she was the right person to be doing this, but his faith in her calmed those worries to something more manageable.
What it did not help, however, was the growing soreness in her rump and legs from the ride. They still had a ways to go, she was certain, so she would just have to get used to it.
Nestled amongst the tall pines just off the path, they sat together beside their mounts eating. It was a simple meal - jerky, some hard bread and water. The witch wished she had saved some of the dried apple rings from the day before. She was only halfway through when Fjell crumpled the wax cloth his lunch had been wrapped in, finished eating.
He took a long drink of water from their waterskin, then looked to her. “Take yer time,” he said, “but… If ye’ve a mind to listen while ye eat, there’s some things ye need to hear of.”
Marsilia frowned, working her way through a mouthful of jerky, and motioned for him to go on.
Taking a deep breath, the dwarf looked off to the woods for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “It’s about yer pa,” he said. “I’m guessing ye don’t know much of his past?”
Her stomach dropped and she forced herself to swallow her food as he looked back at her. “No,” she said carefully. “Just that he was a healer and magic wielder; that he’s always been kind to, well, to everyone.”
Fjell smiled faintly and nodded. “Aye, his kindness is legendary - as is his prowess and neutrality. Master Eudon is one of the most powerful sorcerers in t
he entirety of the Fae Realm, only surpassed by those who’ve chosen to rule. He had the strength and following that he could have carved out his own kingdom, if he’d wanted to, but he never did.”
“Are you sure?” Marsilia asked, frowning as she shredded a piece of jerky. “I mean, are you sure it’s the same Eudon? Pa’s just… well he’s just Pa. Sure, he’s a skilled healer and has knowledge of magic, but…”
She trailed off, frowning as her hands stilled in her lap. Memories flickered through her mind, of him raising a tree from a sprout to a full-grown shade in minutes; how he used to make dancing lights in the sky for her when she was little; how every fae greeted him with utmost respect when they came for aid.
“I’m certain,” Fjell said.
Another thought occurred to Marsilia and she paled. “But if he’s so powerful, and the dark witch defeated him and I both…”
“From what I know of his kind,” Fjell offered, “the longer pookahs are away from the Fae Realm, the weaker their magic grows. How long was he with ye?”
“About thirteen years,” she answered. “I was only eight… maybe ten when he found me.”
Nodding, Fjell paused. “I’ll have to ask how ye came to be adopted by him later,” he said with a quick smile before continuing. “But, aye, thirteen years would likely be enough to greatly wane his power. Don’t over fret; I still believe we can beat her.”
Marsilia nodded and chewed on some of the shredded jerky as she thought. Swallowing it back, she looked to the dwarf again. “All of that is well and good, but why did King Nibelung warn me to be careful who I tell I’m Pa’s apprentice?”
“Well,” Fjell sighed and rubbed a hand over his mouth before continuing. “Eudon didn’t want his own kingdom, so the powers that be were constantly trying to win him to their side. And I mean the elven Queens, even King Nibelung, and all the others. They all wanted to claim him, and he refused them all. The only two courts he would ever grace were the Mantles, because they were sworn to the same sort of neutrality he was.”
“So they might try to use me to get him to come back, to claim him,” she frowned, folding the remains of her lunch in the wax cloth to pack away. She suddenly was not very hungry anymore.
“Maybe,” Fjell shrugged, handing her the waterskin. “But Eudon’s old now, and as powerful as he once was, he’s now weakened and doesn’t have the appeal he once did.”
Standing, Fjell held his hand out to help her up. She accepted the hand and his strong grip wrapped around her arm, pulling her to her feet. Once she stood, he held on to her arm still, looking back down on her seriously. “The king didn’t call ye seidkona on a lark or by mistake, Marsilia. He’d only call ye that if he saw that ye have great potential. He is seidmadr, as well as a mighty warrior. If it’s known ye also apprenticed under Master Eudon, it will be ye they seek to ensnare. Ye’ll become a temptation to increase their power; they’ll assume ye’ll become as great as he was.”
“That’s ridiculous,” she scoffed, but his serious gaze melted the incredulous expression she wore. “Should I be worried about King Nibelung then?”
“Not so long as I have a say about it,” Fjell said, releasing her arm. Glancing up at the sun, he turned to begin collecting their mounts. “We should get going. It’s a long ride still to the Keep of Spring.”
Following him, Marsilia drank from the waterskin and corked. What did he mean by ‘so long as he had a say about it’? She still had only the vaguest notion of how dwarven society worked. Perhaps it had something to do with being friends with an outcast? Yet, the king had not treated him as an outcast.
Fjell turned Musa around and came around the beast’s side to help her back up into the saddle. As he handed her the reigns, she looked down at him, debating asking her questions. It treaded into matters of his past, and he’d already made it clear he wasn’t ready to discuss that. He turned away to collect Meyla, either not noticing her confused expression or, she suspected, ignoring it.
As he mounted his own enormous mountain goat and guided it past her, she debated asking him what the king had said to him. Obviously it was something not meant for her, else it would have been in English. The questions burned in her, overcoming her worries about their quest and the revelations about her pa. It was easier to focus on others.
As they traveled down the remaining portion of the mountain slope into the valley, the path widened. Marsilia was getting a better feel for riding these goats, and urged it up beside Fjell’s mount. He glanced at her in surprise as she came alongside him, then smiled in approval.
“Yer getting the hang of it quickly,” he said.
“I’ve always been fairly good with animals,” she answered, having to split her focus between rolling with the trotting gate and holding a conversation. “May I ask what the king said to you before we departed?”
His smile faded and she could all but see a wall come up, his eyes staring ahead, guarded. They rode in silence for a moment before he spoke. “If ye’ll tell me what you said after I left. I saw ye two talking for a moment before ye followed.”
A gentle smile pulled at her lips and she laughed softly. “I told him you were of a good heart and an honorable warrior.” She caught his look of surprise from the corner of her eye and pressed on. “I meant it as a defense, assuming he’d said something hurtful. But instead he told me he had never said differently of you. You’re not as much of an outcast as you thought, are you?”
Fjell sighed. “It’s complicated,” he answered, but didn’t immediately elaborate, gathering his thoughts.
After an extended pause, he continued slowly. “King Nibelung told me some had figured out, at least in part, what actually happened. He suggested that if I was successful in this quest, it could be the beginning of regaining my standing.” He paused again, frowning. "I'm just not sure if that's what I really want anymore, though."
“But why?” Marsilia asked, nearly losing the rhythm of the trot as she glanced at him in surprise. Regaining herself, she continued. “You seemed happy to be reunited with your friend. Don’t you miss them all?”
“Aye,” he sighed. “I do. It’s been a lonely couple of decades. Don’t get me wrong - I miss them, I love my people, and I’d be happy to fight for them again.”
“But…” she prompted.
Fjell smirked and cast her a side-long glance. “But I don’t miss the politics of it all. The backbiting and angling, currying favor and trying to get a step up. Always being mindful of what people are saying and what they really mean. It’s been a lonely two decades, but it’s also been peaceful in its own way.”
“Can’t you just ignore the nonsense, then?” she asked, frowning. “Just worry about your friends, your crafts, and fighting where you’re needed.”
“I wish it was that simple,” he sighed, reaching up to rub his chin. Hesitating a moment, he glanced over and caught her eye as she watched him in curiosity and concern. “My family’s one of power,” he finally continued. “I don’t really want to get into it much, but because of that, I’m either in or I’m out. There’s no in-between. Our society and people wouldn’t allow it.”
“I see,” Marsilia said quietly, frowning to herself as they rode along.
A powerful family. That explained the familiarity between him and the king. Did that make him a lord? She glanced at him again. He didn’t really seem like a lord. Lords were stuffy and pretentious. Fjell was always so casual, with such an easy smile and ready laugh.
But his home, even if he’d carved all the decor himself, was one of wealth. She would never have even thought of decorating with gems and silver inlay.
“Speak yer mind,” Fjell sighed, and Marsilia realized she’d been blatantly staring at him.
Quickly averting her gaze, she felt her cheeks warm with embarrassment. Clearing her throat, she fidgeted with the ends of the reigns in her hand. “I just… Well, are you a lord or something, then?”
“Does it matter?” he asked, keeping his eyes ahead. “Would it c
hange what ye think of me?”
“I suppose not,” she answered, frowning. “I’ve just never met someone from any sort of powerful family before.”
“I’m still the same person ye’ve been traveling with, no matter what title I was born to,” he countered. There was a growing tension in his shoulders, and that easy smile she so enjoyed was lost.
They rode in silence for a moment as she contemplated the subject, the river running alongside them as they approached a towering canyon ahead. The tall pines around them were becoming more sparse, giving way to lower shrubs on either side of the trail. Pheasants and rabbits scurried away from their approach as an eagle soared high overhead.
Looking up, she watched the eagle bank away from them as she spoke. “It doesn’t change how I feel about you,” she said. “You’re kind, brave and honorable, and I respect you.” Returning her gaze to the trail, she frowned. “But I’m just a serf-born witch. I don’t know how it works in your society… Where I came from, someone like myself would be nothing more than a servant to someone of your title. Can we even be friends?”
“Friends? With a seidkona?” Fjell scoffed, the tension easing from his shoulders. “It would be considered a mark of honor, no matter yer birth. My kind care far more for deeds done than birth rights, no matter how that initially influences one's life."
Marsilia let out a breath of relief, only now realizing how much she had suddenly feared his rejection, his turning away from her. “Then friends we’ll be,” she said, a small pleased smile pulling across her face as they entered into the shadows of the canyon.
Chapter 17
The path narrowed and a harsh wind began to kick up as Fjell and Marsilia entered the canyon, silencing any further attempts at conversation. The witch clutched her fur tighter around her shoulders against the piercing chill, wishing yet again she’d worn her wool instead of the linen dress. Or at least still had her hood.
The Blessing of Equinox Page 10
