As much as she had enjoyed her time of recovery, Lyn was beginning to feel restless. To alleviate this, she started reaching out to the townsfolk each day on her excursions. She began to meet people, learn their culture and their histories, and generally made herself a more public figure. She even found some work in one of the kitchens assisting the cook. She learned quite a bit and especially loved the early rush of the morning; the smell of fresh, warm bread and pastries made up for the early working crowd. They paid her a modest wage, and while Lyn was relieved to be making her own way, she was more excited about the experience.
She found that she wanted to try other occupations, too. Learn what day to day life meant for a working people. In the forest, life seemed much more reactionary. Hunt when hungry, sleep when tired, etc. These more ‘civilized’ places seemed so much more preemptive; always preparing for tomorrow and seeking to expand. Part of it was very refreshing in that it always seemed people were looking to the future, always reaching for more. Such passion, dedication, and hard work inspired Lyn and she found herself responding to their spirit in kind. Before long, Satora started accompanying her during her daytime activities, and Lyn had to admit that seeing the bandit leader smattered with flour was a hilarious sight indeed. Still he refused to remove his mask, but it seemed that people had become rather accustomed to it as an affectation and did not mention it.
One evening over dinner, Lyn was explaining to Satora that she was transitioning her temporary employment over to the blacksmith.
“Blacksmithing, eh? Well I can’t say I’m looking forward to the heat, but I could do with some hammer work.”
Lyn giggled at the thought of the eccentric man slipping his way around a smithy, and said, “You know, you don’t have to come. Don’t you have business you usually attend to during the day, anyway?”
“Yes, I usually do. But my business here is done. Well, nearly, anyway.” He winked at her and she rolled her eyes, accustomed now to his flirtations.
“Do you shamelessly flirt with all girls, or just unsuspecting traveling ones?”
“Oh yes,” Satora said, sitting back in his chair with his hands behind his head. “Most definitely all.”
--
Despite her gusto, Lyn’s time at the smithy was short lived, and Satora’s shorter still. It turned out to be uncomfortable, loud work, and while Lyn could appreciate it for what it was, she didn’t feel being trapped inside the sweltering forge was the best way to expand her skills. So she sought other individuals and tasks to occupy her time, and as she interacted with more people throughout the town, she began to get to know them. There was a name she kept hearing in conversation, “Skyehart”. She did not know to whom it referred, and there seemed to be mixed feelings about the name around town. From what she could gather, it seemed to be the surname of one of the oldest and most powerful families in the Northern Province. While the northerners did not recognize a hierarchy of authority, it did seem the Skyehart family was well respected, and feared.
Lyn put no thought to the name until one morning, when she saw a confrontation between two men in the street. The day was a stormy one, and the wind whipped violently between the buildings and cut right through Lyn’s cloak. She was making her way to the tavern to meet a few town friends for lunch when she noticed two men in front of her bump in to one another. This might not have been a noteworthy occurrence with the exception of two factors: The first was the size of one of the men. Most northmen were large by nature, but this man made them look small. He even beat out Zhiva in height and size. While Lyn was certainly no tall girl, this man towered above her and she estimated he was about half a head taller than Zhiva.
The second factor was the reaction of the other man. Stumbling, he immediately turned on the first man and began a loud and angry rant. He gave the large man a shove, but to no apparent effect. As the wind kicked up a strong gust, the taller man’s cloak pulled back and Lyn saw what the stranger had underneath; he was wearing a full set of steel armor made of blackened plates that layered over each other almost like scales. The chest piece was made of one such scale, much larger than the rest. Suffice it to say, the shove would not have even registered on such a steel shell. The cloak was pulled back further as the smaller of the two men pushed again. The hood, pulled down by the shove, revealed long golden hair pulled back in to a high ponytail, and striking blue eyes. Short blonde stubble ran down a chiseled and taught face, pulled into a look of consternation. Lyn had never considered herself overly interested in physical appeal of others, but something about this man caught her breath in a way that even Satora did not.
She had little time to gawk, however. With a frustrated yell, the angered northman took a wide swing for his opponents face. Without a change of expression the blonde man stepped to the side, easily avoiding the swing. Unfortunately this only enraged the aggressor further. With fury, he began to swing much faster and with evident force. The blonde warrior seemed confused that the issue was being pursued further, and continued to move out of the way as much as possible. When it was finally evident that the situation would not be diffused, the large man contorted his face into a look of sheer rage and brought both hands heavily down upon the outstretched arm of his opponent. There was a sickening snap, and Lyn let out a cry. Faster than she would have thought possible in such attire, the large warrior had the smaller man by the throat. Hearing her outburst, he stopped and looked over to her, his breath frosting the air as his face changed from rage to confusion. Looking back at his red-faced captive, he slowly released his grip until the man slumped into the snow, gasping for air. After a moment of hesitation, the armored man reached down and tried to assist his opponent to his feet, appearing strangely sorrowful. The downed northman shrugged off his help violently and struggled to his feet, one arm hanging limp at his side. He took one last look around and with no further prompting, limped off down the street.
By now a few people had gathered to see what the commotion was all about, and Lyn heard whispers beginning. The blonde man looked around slowly, his gaze finally coming to rest on Lyn. His eyes seemed so soulful to Lyn, and even though she did not know this man she read in them a depth of character. Without intending to, she reached out to him. Immediately, he put his hood back up and wrapped his cloak tight about him like a shroud. He turned and continued on his way, not stopping to look back. When he had left earshot, the whispers turned into excited chatter and she distinctly made out the name once more--Skyehart.
Chapter 8
29th day, 10th lunar cycle, 700th age of Arc
“It has astounded me how connected I have become to Brightpeak at all, let alone in such a short time. As I look back on my experiences I can see how widened my horizons have become, and the soul of the world I have begun to discover. Climbing the mountains to get here was a treacherous journey, but looking back on it I see how useful it was to me as a growing experience. Amazing, how much we learn about ourselves in moments of strife. It’s as if conflict brings out the utmost of our characters, and we truly see our limits and how to exceed them.
On the topic of conflict, I experienced quite a tussle between two northmen earlier today. I am ashamed to admit that while the violence was daunting indeed, I have found myself focusing more on the large blonde warrior. He had such variance of emotion about him. I watched the story of his thoughts cross his face the entire time, and when I looked in to his eyes, it was like watching a reflection in a deep pool. However, in the interest of not falling into a typical love-lost girl trap, I have decided not to fixate on him any longer, and to move forward with my studies. Brightpeak has offered me an abundance of opportunity to learn and to become connected to people in a way I had not before; I find myself participating and trades and skills, learning what day to day life is like for those outside the wood. And I am finding that they are not all the ignorant, shallow cowards I had thought. No, in fact I am finding myself quite akin in spirit to these north folk, and I will be sad indeed to leave them. Gods providi
ng, I can come back here someday by easier route. Maybe fate will align Satora’s visit and my own once more. For now, however, I will continue to do as I have done and pursue my purpose.”
Weeks more passed with Lyn becoming more and more ingrained into Brightpeak society. As she came out of her shell, she explained to people who she was and what she was doing there. To her great pleasure, the northmen received her well indeed. When she expressed her surprise at their reaction to her pilgrimage, they explained that the north had always been much more in touch with their ancestors and history than the rest of the world. After all, the north was the oldest place in Arc, they had an obligation to remember where others had forgotten. Even more to her surprise and joy, she was not treated any different after they discovered her true identity. She had been worried that when she explained her role, they would view her somehow differently, but this was not the case. To them she was still simply Lyn, and she found she had a place among them. She discussed this very same phenomenon with Satora one night at the tavern.
“Ah, yes,” he said over the barmaid as she refilled their mugs. “There is a peace not found anywhere but those places that say ‘welcome’ to your heart, yes? The problem is...” The rest of his sentence was cut off as one of the northmen at a nearby table ordered another round for the bar and was met by a chorus of loud hurrahs. Satora waited for the din to go back to its regular obtrusive level before continuing, “The problem, you see, for people like us is that we aren’t meant to stay so still. We have a whole world to explore and see and experience, and we can’t let comfort stop us from moving forward.”
Lyn stopped mid sip and thought about what he said. She knew he was right, but she also knew what it meant; she had to leave Brightpeak.
--
For the next couple of days she was deep in thought, preparing herself to leave. She had been so busy with the people of the town that she had neglected Alir, and sitting in her room feeding him bits of dried meat, she could tell he had missed her.
“Satora was right, curse him,” she said aloud. She had already decided that she needed to move on, but she was loathe to do so. Despite herself, Lyn had subconsciously started to forget that she was due to leave. She had begun filling roles in people’s lives, she had a glimpse of living comfortably and with stability. She had a feeling of peace and joy. In short, she had gotten a taste of home.
So upset was Lyn that she decided to pack up and set off immediately; she could not bear the thought of having to say goodbye. She prepared with surprising speed and before she knew it she was set to go. She opened the window to her room and prepared to climb out, but stopped to look back at the place that had all too quickly become a second home to her. Biting her lip, she turned back and scrawled a hasty note to Satora for when he inevitably came to find her for dinner. It simply said, “We’ll meet again.”
Somehow Lyn managed to leave town without being noticed. She was much better prepared this time, with more clothes, a better cloak, and provisions. As she had understood it, there was another town lower on the mountain. She planned to stop there on her way down, hoping it would make the trip more manageable than it had been on the ascent.
No sooner had she left city limits that a rumbling voice spoke close by. “I see you are ready to continue your journey.”
Lyn gasped and started, turning quickly to find the demon wolf Marcho standing not five feet away. “By the Gods, Marcho, you scared me.” Startled, she found that she had forgotten him nearly altogether. The ebon demon stared at her with his three crimson eyes, but said nothing. Alir called out shrilly and Lyn could feel the tension of her companion. As it happened, she shared it; Marcho still unnerved her, despite his lack of overt hostility. After a moment of watching him, heart pounding, she averted her gaze and said, “I had forgotten about your hunt. Were you waiting for me outside the town this entire time?”
“Yes.”
“I imagine it wouldn’t have done either of us any good for you to have come in with me. Did you discover anything about your quarry?”
The great wolf sniffed the air, head tilting slightly towards her. “Yes.”
Lyn winced, remembering Marcho’s penchant for answering the question exactly. “Point. What exactly did you learn?”
Marcho took a few steps towards her and his muscles rippled beneath his ebon coat. “That someone you met in that town has come in contact with Umbra.”
--
Satora knocked on Lyn’s door for the second time, still not hearing anything from within. He had already checked the bathing rooms, but she was nowhere to be found.
“Curious,” he said to himself with furrowed brow. Without fail, she had met him for dinner every night they had been in Brightpeak. She had seemed rather reticent the last couple of days, though, he thought. Perhaps she simply wished for some time alone? He turned to leave, wishing to give the girl her space. As much as he did enjoy being such a large and ridiculous personality, sometimes people needed the peace of their own solitude. Satora was man enough to know when to bow out.
“Or,” Satora said with comical emphasis, interrupting his own thoughts. He promptly spun about, stuck a key in the door, and waltzed in to the room. Quickly realizing it was empty, he cast about for some clue as to where she had gone. His eyes widened as he saw that the room had been packed away and tidied, and that a note sat on the stand next to the bed. Hastily grabbing at it, he opened it to see the words “We’ll meet again.” Panic gripped him as he realized the girl must have slipped out earlier without his notice; free she was indeed to pursue her path, but not on this night. One of the inn keeps had just informed him a very large storm was on the way, and Satora suspected Lyn had no idea what she was about to be in for.
--
Outside the town limits, Lyn was standing perfectly still. Marcho was close enough now that she could feel his hot breath on her neck. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her, and was staring at her intently. Lyn had dealt with predators before; she knew if she turned to run it would only cause him to give chase. She had to admit, she was surprised at his sudden shift. There hadn’t seemed to have been any provocation, except that he mentioned someone she knew had something to do with the demon he sought.
“Your fear is well founded, World-Walker, but I am not what should be causing it. For the first time in centuries I have caught the scent of my enemy; I cannot allow it to escape in to the world again.” He began to circle her very slowly.
“Marcho,” Lyn said quietly, trying to force her voice to steadiness. “Tell me what I can do to help you, I bear you no ill will.” A rumble came from behind her and she snapped her mouth shut.
The black wolf moved back in to her line of sight, keeping his eyes on her. “I must see what you have seen. Watch my eyes, do not look away.”
Lyn obeyed, though she wasn’t convinced that she could have done anything different. Suddenly she felt a presence force itself in to her mind. It felt similar to what she experienced with Alir, but more violent and unwelcome. She felt the presence digging through her memories, watched them flash before her as they were brought forth and discarded. She no longer even saw Marcho in front of her, or heard Alir as he called out in anger. She was reliving her memories at high speed, watching them zip past. As the memories were being tossed about, she found herself recalling the sensation of the moments; her emotions shifted as quickly as the scene of the memory did, and she found herself caught in between laughter, tears, anger, loneliness, doubt, joy, and a myriad of nuanced feelings. Then suddenly the scenes stopped, frozen in one moment in front of her like a painting. And in that frozen moment she saw the man they called Skyehart.
“Yes...” the presence whispered in her mind, and with just the one word she could feel the intent behind it; murder, hatred, fear. That was the last she remembered before she collapsed.
Lyn awoke to darkness and stayed still for a moment thinking she was in her bed at the inn. But a pounding headache broke her reverie and she winced. Sitting up, she saw that
she was laid out on her cloak under a large tree. Alir sat on a branch very near her, and seeing her move, called out to her. She took a moment to get her bearings, not recalling how she had come to be on the ground.
“I’ve got to stop drinking if it’s going to keep getting me laid out like this,” Lyn said to Alir jokingly, rubbing her head. Without sound, Marcho strode out from behind a large tree trunk and sat a few feet away. Lyn froze at seeing him, but said nothing.
“I thought it would be best for you to have a moment before seeing me,” he said matter of factly. If Lyn didn’t know any better, she’d have thought he was apologizing. He paused for a moment before continuing, “I had forgotten that your kind are no longer acclimated to such magic. I did not stop to consider the effect it would have on you.”
For a short time there was tense silence. Lyn realized she wouldn’t be winning any willpower contests with the immortal demon, but she had to consider whether or not she actually forgave him and was able to trust his words. Finally she decided that his actions were driven upon self-preservation and necessity and forgave him. This time. She didn’t feel the need to tell him he was forgiven, but she picked herself up, dusted off, and looked around.
“Well, since night has fallen regardless, we should probably find a place to make shelter. I did learn how to make a pretty mean lean-to. Want to see?”
Chapter 9
19th day, 11th lunar cycle, 700th age of Arc
“I can’t believe that life in Brightpeak tamed me so quickly; I had forgotten Thom’s warning about the storms and now it looks like we’re about to be caught in a large one. The strangely warm and calm weather when I left didn’t even register as out of place to me until it was too late. As soon as the wind picked up, I told Marcho that we needed shelter immediately. Luckily he found a small cave for us. It is cramped, but it is shelter from the storm at least. I don’t even have the space to build a fire, but I did stretch the furs over the opening to help block out the wind. I can only hope the storm will subside soon so that we can move forward. Were we not already a day out, I would have just swallowed my pride and gone back to Brightpeak, but it’s too late for that now. I can only hope that Satora and his men somehow got word of the storm and didn’t leave after I did...”
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