“That is true, so long as knowledge is coupled with humility and prayerful obedience to the will of the Ancients.” Jadon studied her face thoughtfully. “There is more of scholar than seamstress about you.”
“I cannot claim to be a scholar, but I was taught by one to read and write in the common tongue. If only I knew the old language, I would gladly spend my days studying these texts and any others I could find.”
“If that is your desire, we may be able to help each other. But I would need to speak to my superior before making any promises.”
Morganne’s mood brightened, though she was hesitant to get her hopes up. The three of them trudged back and forth several more times with armloads of books before the cart was emptied. The last item given to Jadon was the stone chest containing the bit of wood and lock of hair. A spark of genuine excitement finally lit in Jadon’s eyes. Morganne asked if he knew what their significance was.
“No, at least, not yet,” was all he would say.
Wyman and Morganne were then escorted out of the building and through the gate, which was latched firmly behind them. They slowly made their way back through town, sliding and bumping across the ice choked roads. Morganne’s heart was restless as she thought about the books they had just left in Jadon’s care. She fervently hoped that he would take her request seriously.
By the time they returned to the tavern, the green was full of people—mostly men and older boys from the village, clad in worn, poor quality, or mismatched armor. Mingled in among them were Minhaven’s Watch, led by Brant, and Glak’s men, many of whom were encumbered with obvious injuries from their recent venture into the mountains.
“Must be recruiting day,” Wyman commented. “I am surprised Glak did not give his men a longer rest.” The tone of concern in his voice was unmistakable, as though this breech of the norm betrayed the true gravity of Minhaven’s position in a way no words ever could. News had spread quickly through the small village about the destruction of Solis. It was time to strengthen defenses, and to turn ordinary citizens into fighting men who could be called upon at any time to stand against the onslaught of the beasts.
Cailean and Elowyn were among the many milling about the green. Cailean was eager and filled with excitement. This chance to prove himself to the Kinship might bring him one step closer to joining their ranks. He wore a mixture of leather and chainmail that had obviously been made for someone much larger than himself. Hanging at his side was the sword he had told Elowyn about when they first met.
Elowyn followed close behind Cailean as he waited for his turn to be tested and instructed on which group to join for training. Her face beamed and she felt completely weightless under her heavy winter clothing; thanks to the Kinship, she had finally gotten her bow. To anyone with true mastery of the weapon, it would have seemed a pretty poor one. Certainly the bowyer had no use for it. He cleaned and repaired it so that Elowyn could use it as a training bow and gave it to her along with a quiver full of hunting arrows. He was glad that something he would have ordinarily cast into the fire could bring her such joy.
No matter how eager Cailean was, or how many ways he tried to call attention to himself, it was obvious that the men were being pulled aside first. Those with the greatest strength and skill were asked to join the town guard by Brant, who was attempting to increase patrols and send them farther out than ever before, while still keeping a strong presence in the village. They were being sent off with members of the Kinship for intensive training on how to fight back the beasts. Those who were too old, too young, or unfit for the rigors of battle, were gradually weeded out. Some of Brant’s men took them aside to train them how to defend their own homes and shops should the village ever be overrun by enemies.
Elowyn could see the tension growing in Cailean’s face as he was passed over time and time again, waiting to find out which group he would find himself in. Finally one of the Kinship approached Cailean, scrutinizing his armor and his sword.
“Do you know how to use it?” he asked in a brusque tone.
“No, but I am strong and I want to learn.”
Much to Cailean’s bitter disappointment, the man pointed to where the young and infirm were being taught the basics of home defense.
Cailean pleaded, “Please, do not send me there. I know I can be better than that. It has been my life’s desire to learn the sword and someday join the ranks of the Kinship. Let me train with the fighting men and prove myself to them. If I am no good, then send me away and I will accept it.”
Another member of the Kinship approached, having heard Cailean’s plea. “You’re the boy who has been running our errands and polishing our armor these last weeks.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’ve already shown us that you’re loyal and a hard worker. I’ll let you through based on that. But as you say, if you’re no good, I will send you back. This is not a game, young man. The unskilled warrior is more of a danger to himself and his comrades than to the enemy, and the enemy will show him no mercy.”
“I understand,” Cailean replied solemnly.
“Go, then, and do not make me regret my decision.”
“Yes, sir,” Cailean beamed, running off to join the fighting men as he had been instructed. The two members of the Kinship turned away, scanning the remaining group to figure out whom to approach next.
“What about me?” Elowyn asked timidly. “I have a bow, and I want to learn how to use it.”
The men looked down with surprise. Neither had taken any notice of her standing there. The same man who had vouched for Cailean addressed her.
“Just as there is no place for the unskilled warrior in battle, neither is there a place for girls. Have your brother or your father teach you.”
“I have neither,” Elowyn replied.
“I am sorry, but I cannot help you—not while there is such an imminent threat looming over Minhaven. The men must be trained first.”
Elowyn knew there would be no way to change his mind and so she contented herself by watching Cailean from a safe distance. Though he was clearly not as good as the men he was training with, none could say that he didn’t give everything he had. He swung his sword with a ferocity Elowyn had never seen in him before, reigning deft blows upon the training pole as though it were his most hated enemy. When he sparred with the other men and got knocked down, he quickly rose to his feet, ready to face the next strike. The men were given no rest because the beasts would not afford them one. They would be learning not only skill, but endurance in the face of exhaustion, hunger, and pain. Elowyn could hardly bear to watch the grueling session to its end, but felt that she must stay for Cailean’s sake. She did not know if Cailean had taken any notice of her, but so long as he continued to stand against such brutality, the least she could do was remain nearby as a comforting presence.
Training ended just as the sun began to wane. A small group of the men, who were already accustomed to hard labor of one kind or another, made their way over to the tavern for fellowship, food, and drink. But most of them limped home to nurse sore and weary limbs and sleep away the pain. Cailean sat down on the edge of the training field, removed his helm, and did not move. His mind and body were completely spent. Elowyn walked over and sat down quietly next to him. In spite of the cold, his hair was damp and his forehead glistened with sweat.
“Were you there the whole time?” he inquired.
Elowyn nodded in response.
Cailean leaned back against a snow bank, staring blankly into the sky as the light began to fade with the sinking sun. “Was I any good? Do you think they’ll ask me back?”
“Yes,” Elowyn replied reassuringly. “I think they will.”
Knowing how dangerous it would be for him to let the chill seep through his armor and clothing, she let him sit for only few more moments before she stretched out her hands toward him. He grasped them gratefully, wincing in pain as he pulled himself up onto his feet.
“Do you think you can walk as far as the
monks?” she asked. Cailean nodded, but Elowyn noticed that his legs nearly buckled under him when he took his first step. She steadied him the best that she could as he moved stiffly in the direction of the road. Dutifully, she walked beside him all the way back to the monks, where so many of the villagers were still being housed.
Cailean led her to a long stone building with a thatched roof that looked as though it could have once been a stable. Inside there was nothing but a central open hearth and rows of narrow, hard, wooden beds, most likely the same type the monks themselves used. They were meant to keep one off the cold ground, and nothing more. Comfortable or not, each bed was taken. Elowyn was grateful that the old farmer had spoken to Wyman on their behalf when they had first arrived, or else they would have ended up here too. She could not imagine having to live in such tight quarters with so many other people through the entire winter.
Cailean was instantly met with excited cheers, strong slaps on the back and well-meant jests. Everyone knew where he had been that day and was eagerly awaiting his return, triumphant or otherwise. Elowyn wondered if the obvious camaraderie among this small group of villagers was born out of their shared misfortune, or if they had already been lifelong friends. Either way, she was surprised to find a tiny seed of envy growing in her heart. She wondered if she would ever find a place where she fit in as comfortably as Cailean did here. However bitter Minhaven’s winters might be, she realized that Cailean had never known streets so cold as Tyroc’s, or a home as bitter as her mother's. Cailean's father came over and began to help him out of his armor.
“Well?” he asked inquisitively.
Cailean glanced at Elowyn for reassurance. “I think I did all right. They didn’t send me away at any rate.” Exhausted though he was, he was satisfied that he had passed his first test and brought honor to his father. He was then plied with a flurry of questions from everyone there, under the cover of which Elowyn slipped out unnoticed. She had not been given the chance to use her new bow, but she was still hungry, and weary from a long day out in the cold. As she hurried along the path, absorbed by her own thoughts, she nearly ran into one of the monks, who had just emerged from the chapel. He brushed back a lock of wild curls that had escaped from the hood of his robe and gave her a discerning look.
“You are the sister of Morganne the Seamstress, are you not?”
“Yes,” Elowyn replied in an unsettled tone. She was still trying to get used to the fact that nearly everyone in Minhaven knew who she was, whether she had actually met them or not.
“Could you give her a message for me? Tell her that her request has been granted and that Jadon will meet her at the chapel at sunrise.”
Elowyn nodded in affirmation then quickly made her way home, as the mountains snuffed out the remaining glow of the sun’s candle, and the stars began their watch over the expansive night sky.
The tavern was warm with raucous laughter when she walked in. Finian and Ham were up to their usual antics, calling out silly riddles for its patrons to solve. Despite Wyman's worry that there was nothing good for them there, Elowyn found comfort in the boisterous talk and merrily slurred drinking songs that permeated the whole of the tavern, even as far as their private room. Though the conversations of its patrons were usually far from virtuous, the atmosphere felt more wholesome and inviting than the angry silence of their mother’s cottage ever had. Several of the men noticed her unassuming entrance and called out friendly greetings as she slipped quietly past them. Deep down, Elowyn suspected that she and her sisters had already been accepted into their midst, and that they were indeed looked after, not only by the Kinship, but by the locals themselves. The fact that they had made it to Minhaven alone and established themselves without the need for charity had gone far to earn the respect of these men who so valued their independence.
Bane in particular had taken it upon himself to be the girls’ most fierce defender. Only once had an inebriated patron cast a lurid comment in Elowyn’s direction when she was clearing tables. The usually slow moving, quiet, and contemplative Bane had risen to his full height, grabbed the man by the back of his neck, and threw him out the door. Bane then drew his weapon, ready to fight. When no one came to the offending man’s defense, he quickly apologized to Elowyn and to Bane, then ran home to sleep off his stupor before he got himself into more trouble. Bane was apparently a man that no one wished to contend with. Glak had pleaded with him countless times over the years to join the Kinship, but he had declined each time, saying, “Such days are behind me now. I am a miner, and nothing more.”
As Elowyn entered the kitchen, Idna nodded to her and smiled in her usual, quiet way. She slipped a bit of Elowyn’s favorite sweet bread into her hand, then shooed her into the corridor. With a sigh of contentment, Elowyn opened the door to their private room and sat down on the bearskin rug in front of the cold hearth. Morganne and Adelin had not yet returned, giving her a few precious moments of solitude. She was so hungry that she gobbled down the sweet bread in the dark, not caring that she hadn’t had her supper yet.
She lay on the rug for a few more moments, enjoying the feel of the soft fur between her fingers and the lingering taste of sweet bread. But the chill in her bones soon prompted her to rise and revive the fire. From a mound of white ash, she gently unburied the few dying coals that remained. She fed them with curls of birch bark and a few strong, steady breaths from her lips. They glowed with increasing brightness until they lit up once again, their small flames reaching out with greedy fingers toward the bunch of twigs and sticks Elowyn held out for them to consume. It was not long before the flames were leaping gaily about, warm, and full, and satisfied, casting their flickering red glow about the room.
Elowyn felt very much like a little coal being gently coaxed into flame. Her old life had left her gasping for both air and sustenance. But day by day, she could feel Aviad’s hands clearing away the ash, and His breath giving her new life. Her hands now warmed by the fire, she ran her fingers along the smooth wood of her new bow as the little seed of envy began to ebb away. Perhaps, in time, she would find her place and these pangs of uncertainty would pass into distant memory. Gareth had frequently told them that Aviad moves in his own time, and that waiting on Him teaches us patience and reliance on faith. But Gareth had also told them that no matter how long we must wait, Aviad never leaves us disappointed, for everything He does is for the eternal good of those He loves, and His love encompasses the whole of the world. Elowyn found comfort in this thought as she settled into her new life, waiting anxiously for Aviad to reveal the next bend in the path that He had set her feet upon.
Prophecy Fulfilled
The tiny village of Minhaven was bracing itself against the heart of winter, holding fast in the midst of a constantly swirling fury of white. It seemed to Elowyn that no matter which way she turned, the wind pelted frozen snow into her face and pushed its way down the hood of her cloak. The days were colder than anything Elowyn could have imagined and the nights were worse. The new winter cloaks that Morganne had made for them during their time in Greywalle turned out to be woefully inadequate for the season. Fur linings were a luxury for the wealthy in Tyroc, but in Minhaven they were a necessity for survival. Morganne bought fur from the tanner to make each of them new cloaks and over dresses, and paid for fur-lined gloves and boots.
Brant’s new recruits had been forced by the weather to move their training sessions indoors, and so an old abandoned granary on the outskirts of the village was converted into a fighting arena. The floor was high off the ground and made up of large stone blocks from a nearby quarry. The rest of the timber framed building was in sorry shape from years of neglect and had to be shored up with heavy wooden beams to keep it from collapsing. The building did little more than keep out the snow and fend off the worst of the wind, which whistled through gaps in the walls and roof. Double doors at the back of the granary were opened to allow for ranged weapon practice. Even indoors, training sessions were long, cold, and exhausting.
> Yet Elowyn went faithfully to each one with her bow in hand, watching Cailean as he gradually became stronger and more skilled, and learning all she could from the archers sinking their arrows into snow covered hay bales. She hoped that one day she would be allowed to shoot alongside them. Elowyn knew that she probably could have taught herself to shoot, just as she had taught herself wood skills by simple trial and error. But the risk of injuring herself was higher, and in the end, she knew that she would not be content to just learn the fundamentals of archery. She aspired to one day master the bow as Einar had. Who better to learn from than this group of men who were among Minhaven’s finest?
Glak sometimes appeared at the old granary to oversee the training of Brant’s new recruits. He would walk among them, scrutinizing each one in the same way he had evaluated his own men the day the Kinship departed to battle the beasts in the mountains. He rallied them with inspiring tales and set increasingly difficult challenges for them to meet. To make their brutal regimen more bearable, he offered to commission a full set of chain mail for any man who could best him with the sword. Thus far, no one had achieved this feat, but each man tried his hardest, determined to be the one who would someday defeat the seemingly invincible Glak.
There was always a glint of disappointment in Glak’s eye when he won that did not seem to be directed at the men. On careful reflection, Elowyn felt that it was a restless sort of disappointment, as though his intentions were not only to hone these men’s skills, but to find an opponent against whom he could whet his own. Elowyn noticed that he frequently paced the granary floor like a trapped animal, too agitated to rest, but with no way to escape, nor enemy to fight against. Were there bars encasing his mental prison he would have beat himself bloody against them.
Glak took a pointed interest in Cailean on several occasions, once commenting that he thought Cailean had great potential. After that, Cailean worked twice as hard, eager to please and earn the respect of Glak and the rest of the men. He was painfully aware that he was younger and more inexperienced than any of the others, and he was therefore determined to match the stride of his counterparts, blow for blow. Elowyn often helped Cailean home into the waiting arms of his father, his energy spent, body bruised and aching. She would then return to the tavern, where Morganne would be hard at work translating whatever text Jadon had given her to work on.
Ancient Voices: Into the Depths Page 9
