“Does that mean you are a monk?” he asked sarcastically, trying to brush her off. She was not going to be deterred so easily.
“Obviously not. But this book I’m reading does belong to them. A treasure of these ancient tomes was found in the mountains. I have learned the old language so that I can translate them since the monks do not have time—”
“That is because those old tomes are a complete waste of time. Even the monks realize it. Otherwise, they would not have left the task to a commonplace girl.”
Morganne was shocked by his rudeness. He obviously wanted her to go away, and under normal circumstances she would be happy to oblige. But this might be her only chance to get answers she had been desperately searching for. Perhaps an appeal to his arrogance would get her somewhere.
“You are obviously a learned scholar. I have mastered the art of translation, but some of the intended meaning still escapes me. Perhaps you could deign to give this commonplace girl a lesson in the art of interpretation? No doubt you have a far better grasp of the history and philosophy of the time in which this was written.”
“Philosophy?” his ears perked. “I very much doubt there will be any philosophy in that old rag of a book. Certainly nothing of consequence,” he scoffed.
“Please,” she gave him the most pleading look she could muster. “It is very important that I understand this. Important to me and possibly to the very survival of this village.”
“I really don’t see how,” he said, finally noticing with discomfort that the entire tavern was listening in on their conversation. “But if it will finally get you to leave me alone, I will take a look.”
Morganne handed him the book expectantly, pointing out the pages she was having trouble with and plying him with questions. He flipped through the pages casually, his expression unruffled by the written words that had so moved her. The ease with which he read the ancient text amazed her.
“What makes you think this has any relevance to the present time?” he asked in a condescending tone.
“What makes you think it doesn’t?” she shot back.
“Well, for starters, this was written in the Era of Desolation, which was a very, very long time ago. It seems to me that, if you believe in such things at all, the prophecy in this text has long been fulfilled. The one who is mortal but never dies is obviously the necromancer. There are some old myths from that era that say Alazoth, the Lord of Destruction, took a mortal wife and had a son who became the most infamous necromancer of all time. He cheated his mortality by raising men from the dead and taking their bodies for his own. But I cannot stress enough that these are only myths. They do not appear in any of the important spiritual texts kept by the monks, and even the myths died out at the end of this era.
“The one whose line wields Aviad’s authority must be Varol, who was born at the end of the Age of Desolation, and whose heroic efforts ushered in a new age that took his namesake. He alone could read directly from the Tome of Truth, he sealed Alazoth and his armies into the Rift, and his descendants were responsible for the destruction of the Black Shrine. No other ancestry has done anything comparable. I am sorry, but I do not see any future hope in this text. Varol’s line has been dead for more than twenty years, and all of these things have already come to pass...they are now history, and no longer prophecy. So again, I ask, what makes you think this has any relevance for today?”
“Partly because of this,” Morganne said, pointing to a page with an image of the beasts and the strange mark on their foreheads. “These creatures are more than myth or history. They may not have been spoken of in more than an age, but suddenly they have appeared in the mountainsides here. The Kinship has been engaged in a constant battle to hold them back. This is the first text I have found that even mentions them. Knowing what they are, and where they came from, is key to finding a way to ultimately defeat them.”
The man shrugged, unconcerned. “There has been a lot of talk lately about strange creatures emerging from the wilds, but I am sure the threat has been highly over exaggerated by all. I have been traveling for months through all sorts of territory, and have seen no dark beasts of any kind save the human sort. Even if such creatures are real, I have no interest in taking the time to explain about population cycles, migrations, and the effects of man’s expansion and encroachment onto previously undisturbed wilds.
“Even so, I am grudgingly impressed by your tenacity and ability to master the old language. When you are ready to give up these fairy tales and get a real education, I have a library full of books at home that I would be pleased to loan you, if you will only leave me be. Honestly, the sooner you are ready to give them up the better. These old tomes can have a strange effect on people. If you are not careful, you could end up as a crazy old woman chasing wisps in the forest.”
Morganne gaped at the stranger in shock at his audacity, finally unsure of how to respond. But by that point everyone else in the room was grumbling angrily under their breaths. They did not like hearing their faith, their struggle, or their suffering, minimized by this outsider. Glak, who had been in the midst of the fight more than anyone, and who knew intimately of the beasts and their dark origins, came over and placed his hands forcefully on the man’s table. His wild red hair dangled over the table and his leather armor creaked imposingly.
“Do not trivialize our peril, stranger. So long as you remain here, it is yours as well. The beasts are indeed real. They slaughtered an entire village full of people on the mountain road, and it is only a matter of time before they turn their eyes toward Minhaven. So unless you are prepared to take up a sword, meet them face to face, and join us in our fight, you would be wise to keep such thoughts to yourself.”
The man gazed back at Glak with a coolness that surprised Morganne. He was apparently not so easily intimidated, but it was obvious by his expression that he detested the idea of taking up a sword for any reason. Glancing down, Glak suddenly snatched up a piece of parchment that was sticking out of one of the man’s books. On it was stamped the Sovereign’s seal.
“Why are you really here? Are you one of Braeden’s men sent to spy on us?”
“Certainly not!” the man exclaimed, looking highly offended. “What you hold in your hand is the summons I received from Tyroc, forcing me to attend Braeden’s ridiculous symposium. It was a boring waste of my time that I’d just as soon forget. I have no more desire to be used by Braeden for his very obvious personal and political agenda, than I do to fight alongside the people of Minhaven for theirs. I am but a weary traveler passing through, and I want nothing more than to end this conversation and be left alone to my studies.
“Whoever you are, know that I came here seeking only a quiet mug of ale, some food, and lodging for the night. This young woman has pressed me for answers since I arrived, and now that I give them, I am accused and threatened with abuse? I always thought that Minhaven offered better hospitality than that. At the break of daylight, I assure you that I shall be on my way and trouble you with my thoughts no more.”
With that, he packed up his things, paid for his food and drink, and left the tavern. As the door slammed shut behind him, Morganne’s spirits fell. Her heart stung with the ache of defeat. She had felt so strongly that this particular book was of great importance, and yet the most learned person she had encountered in a long time had told her that it was old prophecy, already fulfilled and now irrelevant. What if she had been wrong all along? Self-doubt began to eat away at her.
“You all right?” Glak asked.
“Fine,” Morganne said, trying not to let the disappointment show through her voice. “I should not have pushed him so hard.”
“And he should not have been so ill-mannered.” Glak stared down at the parchment with the Sovereign’s seal he still held in his hand. “Even if what he said about the summons is true, I don’t trust him. He has been with Braeden in Tyroc, and he was well known enough to get a summons. The sooner he is gone the better.”
Morganne we
nt back to her room and sat brooding by the fire until Elowyn finally asked her what was wrong. She told her the whole story. The more she mulled over her encounter with the stranger, the more his words festered within her. Her mother had referred to the tomes as fairy tales too, and Morganne had been berated countless times for her persistent faith in them. The man’s disregard for the tomes’ importance had salted old wounds, leaving her in an unusually sullen mood.
Elowyn didn’t share Morganne’s passion for studying the tomes, and had always been able to brush off their mother’s hostility toward them. In a way, her mother’s disbelief had helped solidify Elowyn’s faith. To love and follow Aviad, she had to be willing to stand against her mother’s wrath. What did concern her, however, was the man’s comment about becoming a crazy old woman chasing wisps. She had not told Morganne about her recent encounters with them in the wild, mostly because she did not want to tell Morganne just how far she had been pressing beyond Minhaven’s borders.
She dared to ask in a low and worried tone, “What does it mean if the wisps are chasing the woman?”
But Morganne was still so infuriated by her conversation with the stranger that she did not think about Elowyn’s concern any further. In the morning, she returned to the monks, feeling unusually broken and unsure of herself. She sat down across from Jadon at the bare table in the scriptorium. The room’s emptiness seemed to echo the sense of hopelessness that was overwhelming her. What if she had been wrong all along, and all of her efforts were meaningless?
“Is what the stranger said true?” Morganne pressed Jadon for honesty, however brutal. “Has everything in this book already come to pass, with no relevance for the present time? What about all the rest of these tomes? Has it all been for nothing?”
Jadon sensed her discouragement and gave her a compassionate look. “Perhaps...and perhaps not.”
What did that mean? Sometimes Jadon’s modest words were more of a riddle to her than the old language in all of its mystery.
“If prophecy was so plain, we would not spend generations trying to understand its full meaning. A prophetic writing often speaks to a single event in time, but sometimes it reveals truths that happened in the past, are happening in the present, and will happen again in the future. I warned you before that these writings are not simple instructions, and what they say to us is more than the mere sum of their words. If this particular tome draws you, even if indeed the events described within it have already passed, be assured there is a reason. Let Aviad speak to you through it. Only then will you know why it presses upon your heart so strongly.”
Jadon’s encouraging words lifted her spirits. After all, the stranger had just wanted to be rid of her, but she had learned to trust Jadon’s insights. She decided to hold onto the books a bit longer and try again to approach them not as a scholar, but with prayer and an open heart. She could only hope that Aviad would reveal His purpose to her in time, and that He would grant her heart peace while she waited.
Return to the Wilderness
Harvest time was well underway, as the days and nights had begun to grow cooler and the signs of autumn’s approach were undeniable. Most of the villagers were helping in the fields, bringing in the last of the grain that would have to sustain Minhaven through the winter months ahead. With many of the southern cities still struggling, the extra stores usually purchased and brought in to supplement Minhaven’s short growing season would be far less abundant...and more expensive. While most were confident they would not starve, everyone would have to be sparing with what they had and supplement their food stores in other ways. The villagers harvested and preserved everything they could from their expanded home gardens and from deeper forays into the mountain wilderness. Hunting, fishing, and trapping became even more important than usual.
Cailean and his father were among those building up their stores, making trades, and purchasing supplies. Cailean found some time to seek out Elowyn, and they took a leisurely stroll together along Minhaven’s rugged coastline. It didn’t matter that they got soaked with frigid spray every time the waves pounded against large rocks jutting out from the surface of the water. All that mattered was they could enjoy a few moments together, away from the noise and the busy streets of Minhaven.
“I’ve really missed you, Elowyn,” Cailean said, grasping her hand tenderly. Her heart sang as their fingers intertwined, and in spite of the cool sea air, her cheeks suddenly felt as they did when she sat too close to the fire. She had missed him too. She pressed in closer toward him, releasing a contented sigh. Was it possible he had grown taller? Were his shoulders a bit broader than they had been? His voice just a little deeper? The wind played with his wavy brown hair, leaving glistening droplets of spray behind that sparkled in the sunshine. His cheeks had a fresh, rosy glow. Elowyn wondered if they were as warm as hers.
“I am sorry I’ve been away for so long. It has been a difficult season, for my dad and me. We’ve been working hard to make sure we can meet the higher tax when Tyroc comes to collect.”
“I understand,” Elowyn said sympathetically. They were not the only miners under pressure. With the thieves’ spoils already spent, everyone was concerned about the new demands, and about what would happen if they were raised yet again. “Will you have enough?”
“We’ve got more than half our share secured safely in the new storage pits on the mining road. In a couple more days, we should have another load to add. But Father is not doing well. His bad leg pains him more each passing year. Though he has tried to hide it for my sake, we both know he simply cannot do the work any longer.” There was a long pause before Cailean continued quietly. “I went to see Glak.”
Elowyn knew what was coming. Her heart sank as she squeezed his hand tightly, trying not to let her apprehension show.
“We are honor bound to finish out the season, at least until we have enough to cover the tax. But after that, my father is going to sell his mining rights and the house with them. It is the only way to keep them from falling into the hands of Tyroc. And I will finally join the Kinship,” he said flatly, though the brightness of his eyes betrayed his true feelings. He knew Elowyn did not approve, yet he still had no idea why.
“I will need to train some more at the granary this winter, and I won’t be going with them to fight the beasts,” he interjected reassuringly. “At least not yet. They need more men to help guard the mining road.” Cailean stopped walking and turned toward Elowyn, silently pleading for her approval. “Don’t you see? This is what I have always wanted, to help men like my father...like the men who were murdered. They deserved a better end.”
Elowyn nodded, lowering her eyes and looking out to sea. The haunting vision of those men being brought off the mountain road still pained her; she did not need to be reminded of their tragic ends. Cailean’s aspirations were noble, and she loved him all the more for them. Yet in her heart she wanted to remain selfish, to keep him safe. Why could he not learn a trade, or even join the town guard? That would be less dangerous than joining the Kinship, who were always at the forefront of battle.
“I had hoped this would be good news for us, but I can tell you feel otherwise. I still do not understand. You have trained with the Kinship alongside me all this time, and I know you respect them.”
Elowyn had dreaded this moment. She had mulled and rehearsed a thousand times over everything she wanted to say, but couldn’t. Yet now that the moment had finally come she found herself unable to speak. She gazed into the churning green waters and prayed for wisdom, searching her heart for a way to bare her own soul without hurting his.
Cailean gently lifted her face toward his, the soft brown wells of his eyes so hungry for answers. “Please say something...anything.”
“It scares me, Cailean,” she finally confessed. “The thought of you going out to fight either men or beasts, and not coming back as the person you are. Maybe not coming back at all.” Elowyn looked away again, gathering the courage to continue. For good or for ill, once she
had spoken her true thoughts, there would be no way to take them back.
“Every time they prepare for battle in the mountains, I am there among them, helping—praying they will come back safe. And then I am left waiting, watching out the back door of the tavern for any sign of their return. When they do come back, they come wounded, freezing, and just a little more battle hardened than they had been when they left. It is so difficult because I do respect the Kinship, and I know them now. I care what becomes of them, and if you were among them, it would be far worse. How could I sit there, waiting, wondering if you will return riding your horse or laid upon it?”
Cailean smiled lightly and put an affectionate arm around her. “It won’t be like that. Glak says I am too young and unseasoned to go with his men into the mountains. I need years more of training and experience before he will even consider it. And who knows, maybe by then things will have changed. The beasts could be already defeated, or I might decide stay in Minhaven and keep watch along with Brant’s men.
“At first, I will only be helping on the mining road. Honestly, the danger I face will be no less than it always has been. Only I will be fitted with proper armor and have a decent sword, and I won’t be up there alone. When the thieves come through again, maybe I will still be afraid, but I will not be ashamed...and I will fight back.”
Elowyn smiled warily. Perhaps he was right, but her fears were not soothed by his assurances. In the end, it didn’t matter. This wasn’t about her. It wasn’t even about Cailean finally facing his fears and taking his stand against the thieves. It was about his responsibility to take care of his aging father, and about keeping Braeden out of Minhaven as long as possible.
Cailean tried to lighten Elowyn’s mood by speaking of other things, and by pointing out interesting gnarls of driftwood, or curious sea creatures the tides had stranded in shallow pools along the coastline. But when it was time for Cailean to leave, their departure seemed more forlorn than usual.
Ancient Voices: Into the Depths Page 24
