As she continued to gather wood, she found remnants of the old Eli Creek Trail. It looked long forgotten, overgrown, and blocked by fallen trees. At one time there’d been a whole network of trails and rough roads through this part of the Green Cloak, but no more.
By the time she returned to the cabin with an armload of wood, she found Estral and Enver sitting inside in the golden glow of lantern light. She noticed that water was no longer dripping through the roof.
Estral followed her gaze. “Enver found one of the shingles in the paddock and wedged it in place up there. If the wind doesn’t blow it away, we should stay dry.”
Karigan was pleased. She dumped the wood on the hearth and placed a pot of water over the fire for tea. Estral, who sat at the table, removed her journal, pen, and ink from an oilskin satchel and prepared to work.
Enver was seated cross-legged on the floor, quiet, his eyes closed as if he were in a meditative state. Karigan sat before the hearth and drew her knees to her chest, and gazed into the fire trying to absorb its heat. After a long day out in the damp cold, and then battling the groundmites, the dance of flames and warmth eased the tension of her muscles and made her drowsy. In time, she started to nod off and imagined, or dreamed, there were others there with them, filmy figures in faded green moving about the cabin, standing by the hearth, sitting at the table next to Estral, peering out the window. Ghosts or a dream, or some legacy of memory, she did not know. One walked right through her, and the chill of its passage sent a shiver rattling through her body.
“How did you get chosen for this journey?” she heard Estral ask Enver, as though from a distance.
The answer seemed to take a long time to come. “I was chosen by my prince to be tessari.”
“What is tessari?”
“A witness.”
There was a pause before Estral asked, “What is it that you are supposed to be witnessing?”
Karigan must have drifted off for she heard no reply. She attempted to pull out of her drowse, but it was like trying to claw her way out of a deep, black grave. When she finally managed to shudder awake, Estral was pouring hot water into a mug. Enver was gone, and the windows had darkened.
She stretched and asked, “What is the answer?”
Estral glanced at her in surprise. “Answer to what?”
“What is Enver supposed to witness?”
“Oh, that? That conversation was ages ago. I thought you were asleep.”
“I was dozing in and out, I think. So, what is the answer?”
Estral smiled and handed Karigan the mug. A glance and a sniff revealed it contained tea. “He wouldn’t explain, said it was an Eletian matter, if you must know.”
Karigan sighed at Eletians and their impenetrable ways. She would ask Enver herself sometime later. Estral returned to her writing, and Karigan relaxed with her tea. By the time she took her last sip, Enver returned looking unperturbed by the wet snow that had accumulated on his shoulders.
“The horses are well,” he said. He removed his cloak and hung it on a peg by the door. “The groundmites have left the area and taken their dead with them.”
“You went looking for them?” Karigan said.
“They took their dead?” Estral asked at the same time.
“To eat them,” Karigan told her dismissively. Estral’s eyes widened and she scribbled something in her journal.
Enver looked from one to the other. “Yes. You call it scouting? I scouted.”
Karigan did not think she’d ever go looking for groundmites unless she was ordered to, but it was a relief to know they were gone.
They ate warm stew that night, and after, with all three sitting on the floor, Karigan passed around Dragon Droppings. She told Enver that they each deserved one after their encounter with the groundmites. He did not argue.
He did ask, “Is it customary for your folk, when biding by a fire, to tell stories?”
“Sometimes,” Karigan said. “And sometimes there is singing.”
“Would you tell me a tale of your people?” he asked.
“I am not very good at stories, but Estral is.” She turned to her friend. “Would you mind?”
Estral looked like she might refuse as she had the singing on previous evenings, but she licked her lips and, after a moment’s hesitation, said, “All right. I’ll give it a try, though I’m rusty.”
She began the tale of Bovian’s Seven Secrets, the story of a poor farm boy—it was always a poor farm boy in these sorts of stories—who had to destroy a curse on his village cast by the evil mage, Bovian, by untangling the Seven Secrets. At first Estral was hesitant in the telling, but gradually her voice grew more assured, more powerful, the parts with dialog animated with distinct voices for each of the characters. While Karigan clearly heard Estral speaking, she detected an undertone of Idris.
Enver looked delighted as Estral told how the clever farm boy discovered each of Bovian’s secrets, saved his village from the curse, and was rewarded with riches, a fair maiden, and a kingdom. It was more the way the story was told than the story itself that drew one in, and Estral told it masterfully.
When she finished, Enver said, “Ah, that is very well done, and different from the tales told by my people.”
“How so?” Estral asked.
“Eletian stories are often in verse, or sung, and of real people and deeds.”
“We have many like that, too. Would you tell us one of yours?”
Enver bent his head in thought, then looked up. “There is the song of Hadwyr and Narivanine, and of when the world was new. I have not the skill to translate the verse, but it is the story of their love.”
Karigan found she did not have to understand the words to understand the story. The power and texture of Enver’s voice carried all the emotion, the yearning of two lovers, the intensity of desire, and the joy of their bonding. She was lifted by the soaring melody until a dissonance pulled her back. The tone turned dark and desperate. Her anxiety built with Enver’s increasingly sharp tempo, her breath ragged as the anguish in his voice sawed right into her chest.
“Narivanine, Narivanine,” he sang, and Karigan knew it was Hadwyr crying out for his lover, and she gasped with the pain of it. Narivanine was . . . lost. Sorrow washed over Karigan, the sort of which was raw, too close. She wanted to scream, but she ran out into the snow instead.
She pressed her back against the cabin trying to control her breathing, to hold back the sobs, her hands clenched at her sides. She pivoted and pounded the log wall as hard as she could, exulting in the pain.
WITNESS
Suddenly, Estral was there, grabbing her wrist and encircling her in an embrace that trapped her arms to her sides. She sobbed into Estral’s shoulder, and Estral made soothing sounds and rubbed her back. Soon the sobs came to a shuddering halt, and Karigan drew away, wiping her tears with the back of her hand.
“Think you’ll be all right?” Estral asked.
“Sometimes . . . sometimes it just comes out of nowhere,” Karigan replied.
“Oh, it came from somewhere,” Estral said acerbically. Lantern light shone from the cabin’s interior to the outside through the dusty window, and fell upon her hair, which was collecting snowflakes. “If you’re ready, let’s go back inside. It’s freezing out here.”
Karigan nodded and followed her into the cabin. Enver was pacing and he drew to a halt when she entered.
“Galadheon,” he said, worry wrinkled across his forehead, “forgive me. I meant no harm. The song of Hadwyr and Narivanine is well known among my people and often sung, and I reached for it naturally.”
“Did he ever find her?” she asked.
Enver stared blankly at her.
“Hadwyr. Did he ever find Narivanine?”
Enver shook his head. “No, he did not.”
Drained of emotion and energy, Karigan went
to her bedroll and sank to the floor. She stared at her hand and flexed her fingers, the pain an echo of that which was always within her.
Enver knelt beside her and took her hand, gently unfolding her fingers. “Not broken, at least. I have evaleoren salve, which should soothe the pain.”
“It doesn’t hurt.”
“Karigan Helgadorf G’ladheon,” Estral said, standing above her with her arms crossed. “Now don’t give me that look. We’re not stupid. Let Enver slather his salve on it. He’ll feel better, your hand will feel better, which will make me feel better. Plus, I won’t have to worry about whether or not you can use a sword next time we are attacked by groundmites.”
“I have two hands,” Karigan reminded her.
“What if something happens to the other? Then where will we be?”
Karigan didn’t have an argument for that, so she allowed Enver to apply the salve. Evaleoren was aromatic, so even as it warmed and soothed the pain in her hand, the scent relaxed her, calmed the turbulence that had sent her pounding on the cabin wall.
Enver seemed to know just how to massage the muscles of her fingers and hand, how much pressure to apply, and where.
“You heard about Helgadorf?” she asked Estral. She had never shared her middle name with even her best friend.
There was a hint of a smile on her friend’s lips. “I have my sources.”
Mara? Maybe her aunts? Oh gods, had Estral talked with her aunts? What other embarrassing things might they have told her?
Enver paused his massage to examine the back of her wrist. “This is a recent wound,” he said, indicating where Brienne had slashed her during her swordmaster “test.” It was pink, turning into a scar as had been intended.
“It is the mark of a swordmaster,” Karigan said, and not without some rancor.
“The ways of your people are strange to me.”
“Sometimes they are to me, too.”
Enver smiled slightly and released her hand. “I will leave the evaleoren salve out in case you have need of it in the night.”
Karigan nodded her thanks, and she and Estral began readying their bedrolls to sleep. Enver went outside to, as he told them, take in the air.
Estral sat cross-legged on her blankets. “Are you going to be all right?”
“Sometimes, I guess,” Karigan replied. “And I guess, sometimes not.”
Estral stared at her. “I think that is one of the most honest statements you have ever made.”
It was simple truth, Karigan thought. There were times when Cade was not foremost in her mind and life felt pretty normal, or at least as normal as hers got. There were other times when everything rose to the surface unexpectedly, like an arrow in her gut, as it had tonight.
She stood and crossed over to the lantern to shield it. As shadows grew in the cabin, she gazed out the window and saw Enver standing beneath the trees, his muna’riel cupped in his hands, its light illuminating his face and the snowflakes that fell around him in silver flashes.
• • •
Karigan fell into a dreamless slumber, but was gradually awakened by what she thought was the sound of mice chewing on her gear and scrabbling about the cabin. When she was more awake and aware of her surroundings, she realized that maybe she had been hearing mice, but what had roused her was Estral restless in her sleep, murmuring and twitching like she was trying to escape something.
Groundmites, perhaps?
Suddenly, Enver was there, kneeling beside Estral. He held his hand to his lips and blew. Sparkling motes of gold sprinkled over her.
Karigan sat up. “What are you doing?”
“Her dreams trouble her,” he said. “I wish only to ease them.”
Estral sighed and slumped, her breathing easier. She stopped murmuring and moving. Enver, silhouetted by the glow of the banked coals in the fireplace, watched over her for a time before nodding to himself. Then he rose, stepped around her, and sat beside Karigan.
“I wish to apologize again for the song,” he said. “Lhean lanced your wound. You did not need me to undo the healing.”
“It is not undone. And the song was beautiful. Beyond beautiful, really. I just wasn’t ready for it.”
“I know that now. I will learn the human way of things. That is what I wish.”
Now Karigan didn’t feel sleepy at all, just curious. “Why?”
His eyes gleamed in the fire glow as he gazed down at her. “Surely you see my nature, that I am only part Eletian.”
Karigan nodded slowly. She had seen. “I noticed you were a little different from other Eletians.”
“As much as I ever tried,” he said, “I could not abandon the human part of my nature. I am half-human through my mother. You know my father, Somial.”
“Really?” She had never thought of Somial in terms of being a father before. She didn’t know why. It was a little disconcerting because he and Enver looked to be of an age, but it was difficult to judge the ages of eternally-lived Eletians.
“Your mother,” Karigan said, “is she still with you?”
Enver shook his head.
“I’m sorry.”
“She lived a long, happy life, as judged by mortals. Her memory beats in my heart.”
Karigan had many questions about his family. Had they all lived in Eletia? Then she remembered his mother couldn’t have, because she’d been told no mortals had set foot in Eletia since just after the Long War. That mortal had been her, crossing the threshold of time to lead the Sleepers of Argenthyne to Eletia.
Did the Eletians accept Enver? Lhean and Idris had seemed to, but what about Eletian society at large? She wanted to ask, but didn’t know how to do so without offense. Before she could come up with a polite way to ask her questions, Enver stood.
“I will go out into the night again.”
“Don’t you need sleep?”
He smiled. “Not as much as a full human. I find respite in nature, serenity and restoration.” He paused. “Perhaps you would, too, Galadheon. I could show you how to find stillness, to hear the voice of the world.”
He gazed at her with the intensity that Eletians harnessed so well. “Your inner light burns fast and bright, but without balancing it with stillness, it will burn to ashes. You should walk with me. Perhaps you, too, will find connection with the world.”
It sounded like a spiritual thing, and if so, she wasn’t interested. She was already in too deep with forces beyond her control. The god of death had flung her across the threads of time and generally interfered with her life. Then there were the Mirari, whoever, or whatever, they were, exactly, and her silver eye. No, she had no wish to invite such forces into her life. Wasn’t that what Enver was doing? Best not to find out. “No, thank you.”
“Perhaps another time.” His intense gaze left her as he took his cloak from the peg next to the door and threw it around his shoulders.
When he placed his hand on the door latch, she hastily asked, “Enver?”
He paused. “Yes?”
“Earlier you told Estral you were chosen to be our guide because you are a witness, but you wouldn’t tell her what you are supposed to be witnessing. Would you tell me?”
He did not reply, just stood there staring at the door with his hand resting on the latch.
“Enver,” she said, her voice rising with suspicion, “what is it you are supposed to be witnessing?”
He tilted his head back as though to inspect the lintel.
“Enver?”
“I should not have said anything.”
“If we are to travel together as we are,” Karigan said, “there needs to be trust, not secrets.”
Again, the pained silence.
“Enver.”
“Very well.” He let out a breath. “You, Galadheon. It is you I am to witness.” And then he was out the door and into the
night.
THE MEDDLING OF ELETIANS
Enver, Karigan decided, was not going to get away with being mysterious. She crawled out of her blankets, slid on her boots, wrapped herself in her greatcoat, and ran out the door into a wall of freezing air. She could not see him; he was not using his muna’riel.
The snow had stopped falling, and the moon backlit the receding clouds. Stars glittered in the clear patches of sky. She heard the horses shifting in the paddock, the thud of a hoof, a sigh. The trees rustled in the breeze like breaths taken and exhaled, and the rush of Eli Creek was a constant, faint conversation between water and stone in the background. The woods were otherwise serene.
“Enver,” she called, her own voice startling in the quiet. “What do you mean you’re witnessing me?”
Silence. The clouds parted from the moon and the brightening light unveiled the clearing around the cabin. She shivered with the cold and was about to give up when his voice came to her from behind.
“I am here.”
She whirled, heart thudding, and made out his form in the dark with the glint of moonlight in his eyes. “I wish you wouldn’t sneak up on me like that.”
“Apologies. For sneaking.”
“Hmm.” She took a deep breath and demanded, “What did you mean you are witnessing me?”
He did not answer immediately. Then, “Just as Lady Estral chronicles her observations in her journal, so do I also watch.”
She did not like where this was going. She did not like the Eletians prying into her life. “Why? Why do you watch?”
“It is my designated role.”
“What? Your role?” She perceived him nodding in affirmation more than saw it. “Why in the hells is this your—your role?”
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