“My mother taught me all that I know of the prophecy,” Enaya said.
“Everything I learned was from Sarimus and Bella,” Farrus added.
“And tonight you have the very privileged opportunity to see the words of Harmony Alexidus as they were written one thousand years ago,” Roswell Gracin announced, striding through the front door. He went straight to the hearth and began finishing the meal. “I hope you’re all hungry. I’ve spent a great deal of time in my life mastering the culinary arts. It isn’t often I get to entertain, and tonight I’ve prepared one of my favorite dishes.”
“If it tastes as good as it smells, there may be some blood spilled fighting for seconds,” Farrus joked.
“I’ve seen you fight, guardsman. You’d better hope the first plate is enough for me,” Givara cracked with a fond smirk. The guardsman’s scarred face split into a wide grin.
“Why don’t you all have a seat at my table,” Roswell told them.
The dining table was a small rectangle in the center of the room. Farrus and Givara were seated there already, but Sim and Enaya needed to pull their chairs over. Quinn stayed where he was, slumped in a chair, his arm resting on an end table, undeniably lost in thought.
When Nehrea entered, Enaya could feel the discontent rising in her stomach. The former courtesan looked for Sim and walked quickly to his side. He stood and offered her his chair, fondly caressing her shoulders when she sat. Then he found a chair of his own and squeezed in beside her at the cramped table.
Watching them together, staring into each other’s eyes, constantly touching, Enaya felt those familiar stabs of envy. She knew that to go forward, she must put her injured feelings aside and concentrate on the mission, but her jealously was uncontrollable. Though she had rebuked him, she wanted desperately to feel the touch of his hands and the lust in his eyes burning for her. She couldn’t help but feel as though she was the one being rejected.
“Where have they gone?” Sim asked Nehrea.
“Inland, to graze,” she replied. “They will come for me in the morning.”
Sim slid his arm around her, and they sat together, silent and content.
One more night, Enaya thought. Then I will have him back.
Roswell began placing plates of food in front of each of his guests. Enaya deeply inhaled the luscious aroma of the large fillet of flaky white fish and vegetables on her plate. She was hungry, and she knew there would be many nights to come when she would fall asleep dreaming of a hot meal, so she took the time to savor every bite.
The meal began with only the soft murmur of satisfied diners breaking the silence of the small cabin. Roswell surveyed the room looking pleased by the response of his guests.
“I find it very interesting that the heir to the Alexidus Monarchy is the granddaughter of a former Councilman,” Roswell said between bites.
“My grandfather’s wealth and influence landed him on the council, but he has never been one of Desirmor’s bootlicks,” Enaya responded proudly.
“Are you certain of that?” Roswell asked doubtfully.
“I am absolutely certain,” she answered him squarely. “He learned the truth about my grandmother on their wedding night. In fact, he’s a collector of historical artifacts. There is a secret room in his estate, where he has amassed a rather impressive collection of pieces related to the Harvens.”
It suddenly occurred to her that he had promised her his journal. That journal contained everything he had learned about Desirmor, the Harvens, the prophecy, and Harmony Alexidus. It contained vital information. With her identity now undoubtedly known, his estates would be seized and given away. Getting that journal was going to be difficult, but it would be necessary.
“A collector of Harven artifacts?” Roswell seemed impressed.
“My grandfather is a patriot,” Enaya spoke fiercely. “He has a journal that details everything he has ever learned about Desirmor and the Harvens. More importantly, it contains detailed maps of the castle, and the Harven Mountains. He wrote down everything he learned, any detail that might have importance. Unfortunately, because of my actions, he is almost certainly dead.”
“Not yet,” Roswell said with heavy sympathy. “A man of Yennit Relador’s wealth and respect will be brought to Desirmor first. He will die, but Desirmor will illicit every last parcel of information that your grandfather knows first.”
“How about a little sensitivity?” Sim quickly defended Enaya. “She doesn’t need to be reminded.”
“My apologies, Lady Relador,” Roswell bowed his head.
“No apologies necessary.” Enaya could feel her longing for Sim expand when he rushed to her defense. His penchant for chivalry was one of his most endearing qualities.
“Is there any way we can save him?” Nehrea asked.
Enaya shook her head. “My grandfather lived his life in preparation for this very situation. He will die painfully, but history will remember him as a hero.”
“What about the journal?” Sim looked at Enaya. His eyes held promises of retribution.
“It is invaluable to our cause. We must go after it.” Enaya waited for the objections.
“We aren’t going anywhere near Fandrall,” Farrus managed to say despite a mouth full of food.
“We must,” Enaya insisted.
“Then you're on your own. Sim isn’t going to Fandrall,” Farrus said.
“Lady Relador, it hardly matters. If they don’t burn down his estates as an example to any other possible dissenters, a new lord will surely be taking up residence. The journal may not even be there by the time you get there to claim it,” Roswell tried to reason with her.
“We have to try,” Enaya insisted stubbornly.
“I’m with Enaya,” Sim said.
“My love, you can’t. You must stay as far away from Fandrall as possible,” Nehrea implored him.
“No. Enaya’s right. We need every advantage we can get,” Sim said. He looked squarely at Enaya. “You said he has a collection of Harven artifacts?” She nodded. “That’s enough for me. Who knows what he might have that can help us? Remember, I may be the last of my kind, but I know absolutely nothing about my ancestors or my culture. There could be something useful.”
“Forget it, Sim,” Farrus objected. “I swore to Sarimus, Sevin and Bella, that I would keep you and Maehril safe. I’ve already failed to keep my promise for Maehril. I’m not going to risk letting you get that close to Desirmor. Not yet. You need to start gaining control of your powers. Right now, you’re too vulnerable.”
“If Enaya says we’re going after the book, then I’m with her,” Sim‘s voice began to rise.
“You’re not going to Fandrall,” Farrus barked.
“Oh enough already. The two of you,” Quinn suddenly demanded. He had been silently picking at his plate from his seat away from the table. “All of this bickering is pointless. Don’t you see? You won’t have to make a choice. Somehow, the world will make that choice for you. We don’t have the luxury of sticking to a plan. Something will inevitably force our hand.”
“My son speaks sensibly. It is likely your decisions moving forward will be shaped by events, as yet, unseen,” Roswell agreed. He thoughtfully chewed his dinner, then looked over at Sim. “May I ask you, Siminus? I know so little about you. Where were you raised?”
Sim's eyes took on a sudden haunted cast. Enaya imagined that he tried very hard not to dwell on the tragedy back at the Kelmor Inn. When they had first set out on their flight from Dell, she had questioned his emotional strength. It had been very encouraging to learn that he could move forward, with fortitude and resolve. She was excited to find out in what other ways he would prove her wrong.
“I was raised in Dell. It’s a small port city on the island of Caramour,” Sim said.
The Librarian’s eyes lit up. “Caramour? Really? How interesting.”
“Why is that interesting?” Enaya asked.
“There is a very obscure story. Something I read once…I can’t r
emember where. It tells of an island people who worshipped a deity that lived on the top of a mountain. It dates back to an age long before the reign of the three queens, and if I remember correctly, the story mentioned something about a strange kind of poisonous wheat that inexplicably grew there. As Siminus surely knows, Caramour is where Othoran wheat is grown. Strikingly similar, wouldn’t you say?”
“I still don’t see why that is so interesting,” Enaya responded skeptically. “There are stories from practically every corner of the globe. Why do you think that story is relative to Caramour?”
Roswell smiled. “In this story, it is said that the deity gave the wheat to the islanders. You see, wheat doesn’t grow in the tropics, Lady Relador. It requires seasonal climates. Othoran wheat therefore, is unnatural. In the story, the islanders are instructed to cultivate the wheat, then construct boats and trade it in foreign lands. Eventually as they began the first harvest, the tribe became infected with a plague which caused them to cannibalize each other. I’ll admit it is an odd tale, but one that has always stayed with me.”
“I’ve seen people exposed to the wheat’s poison, but I’ve never heard of any kind of cannibalism,” Sim said.
“I didn’t say the story was true. I merely pointed out that I found it interesting,” Roswell said. “However, to get back on topic, I was wondering about your background Sim. Tell me about your parents. Your upbringing.”
Enaya listened as Sim explained the dynamics of his true father and his parents. She studied his face. The way he spoke was detached and monotone. His cheeks were slack. His eyes were listless. When he detailed their tragic demise at the hands of the Blood Lord, his impassiveness took on an even more defined pallor. He was hurting, deeply so. It was easy to forget that he had watched them die barely two weeks before.
She thought about that first night, confined in a canopy of trees on the Othoran plains. Sim had been so angry and devastated. She could remember watching his back as he slept, feeling so excited for finding him, despite the sympathy she held for his losses. It was her destiny to guide him, but suddenly she wondered if she was failing. How did he manage to talk so openly about their murders without the cathartic release of tears? Was he building a wall around those emotions? She had regarded him back then as a scrap of iron that she could forge into a sword. Had she allowed him to harden inextricably?
“So Maehril is gone now?” she heard Roswell ask, breaking her subconscious train of thought.
“Gone, but we will find her,” Farrus replied bitterly.
“We can only hope that she is in the custody of decent people. Maehril is small and weak. She needs help,” Sim added.
“I can’t believe it,” Roswell exhaled with a shake of his head.
“Does the prophecy say nothing of her?” Sim asked.
“And she’s mute,” Roswell mused to himself.
“Master Gracin,” Enaya spoke up, “what does the prophecy say of the girl?”
Roswell shook his head. “This is new information. In all of my interpretations I never considered a second catalyst.” He turned up his hands. “The problem with prophecy is in the vagaries. They never just come out and explain things plainly.”
“I know. Right?” Enaya said with a grin as she remembered saying something similar to Sim once.
“Bella believed that Maehril is referred to in the prophecy as the Silence and the Beacon,” Farrus said.
Roswell’s eyes lit up as he seemed to realize the sense in what Farrus had said. “Yes. Yes, I can see that now. A shame I wasn’t able to meet your mother, Siminus. Bella Kelmor sounds like a formidable woman.” Enaya noticed the proud smile that broke the sullen gloom on Sim’s face.
“She was perfect,” he mouthed to himself, earning a comforting embrace from Nehrea.
“I think it’s time,” Roswell said, rising to his feet. He turned to Quinn, who glumly presided over an empty plate balanced on his knees. “Quinn, would you mind clearing some of these dishes.”
Quinn stared up at him absently for a moment. Then he slowly rose to his feet and silently obeyed his father.
Enaya’s excitement rose as she watched Roswell go to his bed. He pulled it away from the wall, then knelt down and starting prying up two loose floor boards. From the cavity beneath, he pulled up a long wooden lock box. He brought it to the table, then went searching through a shelf of books on the far wall. The tome he pulled out was old and falling apart, but from its center he produced a key. Enaya held her breath as he returned to the table and opened the box. Two rolled parchments lay well preserved inside.
“You are the first people to see these parchments in…how long has it been since you’ve seen these, Quinn?”
Quinn shrugged. “Forty years?” He guessed.
“Forty years,” Roswell agreed.
With exceptional care, he removed each delicate roll and placed them down on the center of the table. Then he looked up at Enaya with a pleased glint in his eyes. “Lady Relador, would you like the honor of reading them aloud?”
Enaya’s mouth went dry and a joyful thrill ignited the tips of her fingers. She gingerly reached for the first scroll Roswell handed to her and rolled it out straight on the table. The paper was aged and yellow, and cracked in a dozen places along the edges, but the black lettering was as vibrant and clear as if it had just been recorded.
She cleared her voice and spoke to the room of eager companions.
“Like an avalanche tearing apart the White Mountains, he comes
Aberrant beasts, blackened soul, perverse and twisted
He brings the age of night
Contempt in name, peace broken, harmony enslaved
Like carrion her people lay.
Stained as the night, broken as the earth
A shackled sapphire and despot’s throne
Echo the falls, shrouded by mist
First to the symbol of peace in castle’s keep
Second to the symbol of law at mountain’s foot
Last to the plains and the vanishing kin
Despair and weep, as time erodes like mountain stone
Memory fades, seasons pass as seasons must
And darkness spreads like crude across the land
Nine times witness the deafening roar of envy’s black horde
Harken yet, for the silence comes
A beacon of light, pointing the way to salvation
Earth breaks like thunder, a river feeds Lancashar’s plain
Calling back the stallion carrying the whisper of change
Despot’s blade, black turned white
Three times to live, three times to die
Once for light and open eyes
Once for silence and creations door
Once for love’s forsaken soul
Bleed last for the forgotten, bleed last at the tree
Bleed last for the right heart given away
Rise from the foam of ocean's tide
sunken cask, fortune's treasure
The shark and the dagger
Sailing seas on heaven's breath
Let mountains shake, let oceans rise
Let skies cry out for the forgotten
A crown of chiefs, a blade of light
A hand chosen to wield a path of silence
An eternal life lost of love
Tortured in words, collector of truths
Give greed the key to ressurector's debt
Forge the first step to the black war.
In the city of stone
The burnt and broken passing of time
Son of pages turned
A life given to spare the soulless queen
Unyielding as stone
On the eve of extinction
Harmony sings to love’s lament
Seek the silence be blinded in light
For when the soulless queen returns
To stand at the side of Alexidus
The last child of the mountain
Will open his eyes and find his path to H
armony
Broken sister wounded with grief
Seek the storm that binds the east
As forged in blood and tears and ice
An axe to carve Roedaran’s cask
She paused then and unrolled the second scroll.
A gaelsend soars above the gap
As night turns to day
As day turns to night
Guiding the forgotten home
To the mountains of ruin
To the earth’s white heart
To stained rocks of corruption
To Harmony’s last breath
The eve of Beacon’s second light
Beneath the second tree,
A balm to sear the blood’s black death
Shall be taken into his hands
Choose twice the weapon of rebirth
An arrow to claim a warrior’s virtue
An axe to carve a king’s wisdom
A hammer to build a tower of peace
If love is given, then given back
The last child of the mountain’s cry
Like rivers flow into silence
Give voice to the queen of hope
Lead the dirge of forgotten blood
Through every road, through harrowed pass
Until at last the silence stands
And light shines for the forgotten
Whispers of the past reborn
Within the city of her kin
Upon the stone that buried fear
Set free the voice that rides the wind
Beneath two moons
The Innkeeper's Son Page 72
