Elowyn was at first relieved to see them go. The battle was over; no one had died, and the beasts remained on guard in the valley rather than pursuing the Kinship. As the last of the men disappeared out of sight, Elowyn suddenly realized that she had stayed too long on the cliff top. How would she explain her presence there? Glak was sure to be furious with her! She could only hope that the trail they had taken down into the valley was longer than the one she had taken to go up...long enough to buy her the time she needed to get ahead of them. She turned back from the edge of the cliff and raced down the path to where the horse was still securely tethered. He stamped anxiously at her as if to say, where have you been?
Clumsily, Elowyn scrambled up onto his back, kicked his sides as she had seen the men do when they wanted to go faster, and hung on for dear life as he lunged forward. Feeling the anxiety behind her kick, maybe even sensing the danger himself, the horse needed no further encouragement. Finally he was headed in the right direction again. Elowyn made it to the crossroads and kept going, her heart thumping wildly, partially out of fear of falling off the horse, and partially out of fear of being caught not keeping her word to Glak. She was not sure which would bring about the more punishing outcome. She let the horse run at his own pace, protecting her head, but unable to avoid getting her arms and legs whipped by passing branches. One managed to strike her left cheek in a moment of lost concentration, and she could feel the area beneath her eye begin to swell.
The horse finally slowed to a trot when they drew near to a running stream. Maybe he was thirsty. Elowyn brought him to a halt and dismounted. Her legs were quivering so that she could barely stand, and her arms stung. Red welts were forming where the thickest branches had hit.
“I think we’re well enough ahead,” she told the horse. “Let’s just sit here for a bit. Have a drink if you like.” She wasn’t sure why she was speaking to this animal as if he could understand her, but believing that he could somehow made her feel better. His quiet companionship was comforting.
Elowyn had not been sitting there long when she felt the earth vibrating beneath her, followed by the more distinct sounds of horse hooves and jingling armor. The Kinship had caught up with her. As they approached, she could see that some of the men sported hastily tied bandages. Their faces and hands were streaked with red—she hoped with the blood of the beasts rather than their own. It was a solemn reminder of the reality of the intense battle they had just left. She had only witnessed it from a great distance; they had experienced the pain of it first-hand. Glak looked down on her from his mount with a troubled frown.
“You should have been farther along than this.” Noticing her swollen face, he asked, “Did you fall? Are you all right?”
A wave of guilt washed over her. After all they had just endured, Glak’s concern was over her minor wounds, inflicted because of her own foolishness.
“I didn’t fall, but I wasn’t careful enough about watching for branches. It only stings. I will be fine. We stopped to get a drink at the stream.” Elowyn tried to mask her nervousness, hoping he would not question her further. She did not like deceiving Glak, and resolved never to try it again. Under different circumstances he might have seen through her rushed explanation and pressed her for the truth. But he was too preoccupied with his thoughts following the excruciating battle they had just endured.
“This is no time or place to rest.” Glak’s brusque tone left no room for protest. “You must ride back with us—now.” Elowyn boosted herself into the saddle again, and gave the horse’s neck an affectionate rub. He flung his head in response. Their shared secret was safe, at least for the moment, though its ache gnawed at her all the way back to Minhaven.
Building Walls
Elowyn could not shake off the strong sense that she was watching history unfold before her eyes. Not that time wasn’t continuously moving forward, of course, but there are significant moments that shape history, whether for the better or worse. Moments from which things can never really go back to the way they were before. Minhaven was enduring one of those moments; for better or worse, Elowyn could not yet tell.
Since the time in which it was a tiny settlement of only a few clustered buildings, Minhaven had been a free, open place that blended seamlessly into the surrounding landscape. Now, all around her were the unmistakable signs of construction taking place—bits of scaffolding, carts overburdened with chiseled stone blocks, buckets of mortar being passed along by hand, and the sweaty brows of men as they grunted, lifted, positioned, and fixed into place heavy sections of stone wall. Minhaven was being sealed in. Elowyn knew that it was for their own protection—a way of temporarily holding back the wave of beasts that was sure to come. Even so, she could not help but feel as if each section was but a length of prison chain trapping them inside just as much as it kept everything else out.
She had stared across the field behind the tavern with a sense of wonder since the moment she had arrived. The field and trees and mountain all gradually rising up before her to touch the sky. Now at the edge of the field a wall was going up, and a fortified watch tower. No more would anything be able to come across the pass and surprise them. But neither would anyone be able to look across that field at the unobstructed beauty of the mountains, as Aviad had made it on the day the world was created. Watching the wall’s progress with dismay, Elowyn wondered if she was the only one who cared about such things.
At least Minhaven would not be completely encased in stone as Tyroc was, nor would the walls be as high. There were already many natural defenses in place that would not be altered; the sea to the east, and sheer cliffs around the southern edge of the village. Only the northern border, some of the western hillsides, and the entrance from the southern pass would need to be strengthened with artificial walls and towers, upon which Brant’s men would have to stand on vigilant watch day and night.
Every man and boy in the village was helping in the endeavor, including the regular guard, the Kinship, and even the monks. The women and girls made sure there was plenty food and water for the workers, tended simple wounds, and brought any other tools or supplies that could be easily carried. There was only one man noticeably absent.
Glak was in the stables preparing his horse for a long journey. Winter was imminent. The days had grown cool enough for long cloaks, and at night you could see your breath against the moonlight. The mountain peaks were white with snow, which would soon roll down its slopes and hillsides to grasp Minhaven in a cold white grip. The passes would be closed off, but so hopefully would the mountain pathways between the dark valley and Minhaven.
Morganne watched Glak as he brushed down his horse. For once she had nothing to say. I told you so didn’t seem right, so she just stood there, wondering where he was planning to go. He wouldn’t leave Minhaven at this time of year unless it was important.
As if he could read her thoughts, he said suddenly, “We need allies. The Kinship can no longer fight alone.” He said it with no trace of panic or desperation, but with a remarkable amount of calm in his voice. He had already come to peace with his decision to leave.
“This burden was never meant to be only yours, or the Kinship’s, you know,” Morganne said reassuringly. “It is humanity’s fight now, just as it was in ages past.”
Morganne tried to gauge his mood. She had asked him once before to seek out the Guardians of the Ancients, and he had lashed out at her in response. He had felt overwhelmed by his duty to protect Minhaven. Even more so, the idea seemed to only intensify the sting of a monk’s betrayal that he still carried in his heart. Some wounds were too deep to fully heal. She pressed cautiously, ready to step back if necessary.
“You seek fighting allies,” Morganne said softly. “But would you also consider going to the Guardians of the Ancients for help? They need to know that the Black Shrine has been rebuilt, and they might be the only ones who can tell us how to tear it down again.”
“I know you believe in them,” Glak said thoughtfully. “And if Br
aeden has been trying to silence the Guardians, then perhaps they are worthy of my attention after all. I will do my best,” Glak vowed. “And now there is something I would ask that you consider.”
“What is that?”
“That you and your sisters should also leave Minhaven.”
“Leave? But why?”
“Because as loathe as I am to admit it, I can no longer guarantee your protection here. Young women and children do not belong on the front line of any battle, and that is what Minhaven may soon become. Go back south, to Evensong or Greywalle. You started over once. You can do it again. They would welcome you in either place.”
“I know we haven’t been here long, but Minhaven is our home now,” Morganne protested. “We belong here. I cannot explain it...I just know that we do. I would not abandon this place, or all of these people, out of fear of what might be. All of my talks with Jadon have taught me that if nothing else. Besides, I think you realize as well as I do that no place is truly safe.
“There was a time when I would have told you that Tyroc was invincible. When the Sovereign reigned, who was great enough to challenge him? Yet even Tyroc fell...not to an army, or plague, or any disaster from across the sea. It fell to an insidious man, posing as a monk, whose evil influence has quietly worked to destroy it from the inside out. Tyroc may still look strong and whole from the outside, but that façade is shored up with rotted, decaying beams that will eventually collapse if they are not replaced. When Braeden has eaten his way through what’s left of that great city, what part of the realm will he feast on next? What will finally stop him? Not distance, or defensive walls, or armies with swords, you can be sure of that.”
Morganne expected an argument, but instead Glak stayed his brush and gazed off into the distance with a wistful smile.
“There is something special about this place, and these people, I’ll give you that. Though I’ve traveled over the whole land, through the countryside, and into many different towns and cities, including Tyroc, there is no other place I would call home but here.
“Braeden has Tyroc tightly in his fist—for the moment. He may yet grab the whole rest of the world and plunge it into darkness before he’s done. But he must not be allowed to take Minhaven from us—that I will fight for. That I will die for. This departure is a bitter one; my heart will remain here, yet I know the only chance I have of saving my home is to bring back any help I can find, and hope that I find it in time.” He put the brush away, positioning a blanket and saddle securely on his horse’s back. It was nearly time for him to go.
“I will miss your wisdom,” Glak said, much to Morganne’s surprise. “I never expected to find it in one so young. But then I suppose we’re only as young as our experiences allow us to be. Some of us had to find our way early, didn’t we?” he mused as he strapped on his saddlebags, water skins, and a rolled blanket to help fend off the cold nights ahead.
Perhaps his thoughts were lingering over a childhood lost to death, loneliness, and the burdens of caring for a sickly older brother. She had felt the same sense of loss over her own childhood, consumed by hard work, pain, and fear. Yet his words made her wonder if there was a greater purpose hidden behind all of their misery. Maybe Aviad had used those hard times to prepare them both for this hour, and for a future yet to be revealed to either of them.
“At any rate,” Glak continued in a lighter tone, “I expect to benefit from that wisdom again when I return in the spring, so you had best take care. I’ve asked Bane to keep watch over the three of you—not that I had to ask, really. He is a good man.”
“Yes, he is. There is something about him...I feel like I have known him all my life, though really I don't know him at all. In his own quiet way, I guess he’s been watching out for us since we got here. Adelin adores him.”
Glak finally led his horse out into the open and hoisted himself into the saddle with practiced ease.
“Try to keep Elowyn out of the wood—if there is any way you can. The first snow is not far off.” With that he turned his horse toward the western passage and quickly disappeared from sight behind a newly constructed length of wall and the half-finished tower. She could only pray that his quest would be successful, and he would return in the spring with good help. Morganne turned toward the tavern to find Elowyn hanging about the back door, watching the progress on the wall with a solemn expression and one tightly clenched fist.
“So he’s left,” was all she said.
“He had no choice,” Morganne responded. “He’ll be back in spring when the passes open again. We’ll be all right,” she said reassuringly, putting her arm around Elowyn’s shoulder.
Morganne didn’t understand her mood, but how could she? In her fist Elowyn grasped a small medallion on a fine cord, long enough to wear around her neck. Glak had given it to her on his way out to the stables. The medallions were worn by widows of Kinship warriors who had fallen in battle, and the rest of the group was sworn to care for them until they either re-married or passed away. Glak had wanted to present it to her at the burial ceremony. The honor was one he did not bestow lightly, but Elowyn had been closer to Cailean than anyone, and he’d had no other family. It was both a tribute to Cailean, and a way for Glak to make sure that no matter what happened, Elowyn would never have to fend for herself alone.
Elowyn had stared at the stamped metal medallion dangling delicately from Glak’s battle worn hands, unable to speak, barely comprehending his words as the pain of Cailean’s loss washed over her anew. Glak had gently placed it around her neck, but despite its small size, it had felt strangely heavy hanging there. Elowyn felt as if the cord was choking her even though it hung loose down the front of her chest. She had pulled it off as soon as Glak walked away. The choking sensation remained.
It wasn’t the cord after all, but something else entirely...something she had pushed away into hiding, only she could not keep it buried deep enough. Her father, Gareth, Einar, Glak...Cailean. The circumstances were all different, but the result was the same. They had all left her behind. Elowyn was not a widow by law, but deep down she felt like one, and the medallion in her hand only intensified the heavy ache swelling in her chest. She wondered if she would ever be free of it.
Elowyn took her burdens with her into the wilderness, hoping to leave at least a few of them there, but once again she found no comfort in solitude. The wisps were noticeably absent, as were the moon and stars, hidden beneath a heavy cover of late fall clouds coming down from the mountains. By morning, Elowyn realized that she was cold and lonely, and sore from her restless night in a tree. The beasts and the necromancer had pursued her all night long in her dreams. When daylight came, she headed for home only to be scolded mercilessly on her return...and not only by Morganne. If her miserable night had not been enough to convince her that the season for exploring was over, Wyman’s pained face would have been. She would simply have to get used to that horrible wall.
The shore held too many recent memories of Cailean, but Elowyn found that she could bear the granary. Archery practice was a soothing distraction, and her desire to master the skill had taken hold of her even while she was back in Tyroc. There were usually other members of the Kinship around practicing their respective skills, and there was no longer any question about whether or not she belonged. Sometimes the other archers gave her advice or encouragement, but for the most part they just shot quietly alongside her, as if she had always been one of them.
Day by day, the strength of her draw improved, and she shot with ever increasing ease and precision. The range was the one place where she felt some relief from her sorrows as her mind came into focus, and she felt the glow of satisfaction each time she set a goal for herself and managed to best it. She finally understood why the fighters were constantly looking for a new challenge; why they often practiced until they were covered in fresh bruises, pushing the limits of their bodies. She understood why they always wanted to fight the man they knew could beat them.
Bane was now
coming to the granary too, though it did not seem to Elowyn that he was learning new skills as Cailean had been. He was bringing back to life old skills that his muscles had known once before—skills that had been wasting away for years on miners’ work. She had been around these training sessions enough to tell that Bane was good, even if a bit rusty. He would be one of their best fighters in no time at all. She wondered what his old life had been, and why he’d left it. Even more so, she wondered what had finally made him decide to pick up a sword again after refusing it for so long. He was still just as quiet and kindly as he’d always been, but now there was a fire behind his eyes that hadn’t been there before.
But the biggest surprise was when Morganne showed at the granary. She had decided to take up practicing her anelace again. The threat to Minhaven had not diminished, and whether she was forced to stand and face destruction along with everyone else, or whether she must flee south with her sisters, she needed a way to defend herself, and them. In what other time or place would she ever have this opportunity again? She had not taken it seriously before, but now felt that she must.
It was not long after Glak’s departure that the old farmer from Evensong came to deliver his last load of apples for the season. Morganne treated him to a meal once again, enjoying any bit of news she could get from the outside world. He asked of course about the wall going up, and Morganne had to warn him about the beasts and the dark shrine. He seemed saddened by the news, but not shocked.
“History always comes ‘round again,” he said thoughtfully, “and will keep coming ‘round until the final day.”
Ancient Voices: Into the Depths Page 28
