Myran

by Angela J. Ford

  Eagerly we settled into the comfortable home of friends to eat and laugh together. We discussed the world and what state it was taking on and whether we would be hiding forever or coming out to rejoice because of the appearance of the One, although that idea seemed a lost dream of long ago. I must admit I had lost faith in all that, yet love kept me sane and holding on, brushing away any stagnant remains of fear. I was full and happy. I was even happier to catch up with old friends and talk of what a long year had passed, what had taken place in our separate worlds, and the loneliness but safety of living in hiding in homes that love had built.

  Words cannot explain the enchantment of that time as days drifted into weeks. Each morning, we woke to the fresh smell of flowers and hazel and drank warm tea to calm our spirits before venturing out into the daylight. There was the sensation of life; it was all around us. We enjoyed each other’s company and the optimistic words that were spoken and the riotous laughter that followed. It was even amazing to see the life of a child: growing, exploring, learning, and discovering. Léthin was a Cron in every sense. He was a young and happy one, growing up in the safe boundaries of love and protection. We slept to the pattern of one another's breaths and were warmed by each other's arms, and soon I realized Hal and I would have our own little one to love, to teach, and to protect. The joy of that discovery was unfathomable. I whispered secrets to Hal; I told him he would be a father before spring fell on the year 924, and in his excitement, he thought we should go home and never stray a step so that I could be at peace in my own world when the child was born. I was content though to stay with Leon and Rena and little Léthin until autumn came and warned us, and with autumn, tidings came.

  ***

  We had forgotten, or so it seemed, the dire plight of others and simply lived in our happy endings, cut off from the knowledge that had sent us roaming out in the world so wide. Now, white horses came again, and with them, they brought Crons. Stealthily they snuck into our peaceful world and awoke it with horrors from the west; the Black Steeds had struck again.

  It was one of those beautiful fall days. I woke to see the leaves falling, and the strong piney scent of the forest reminded me of home. I sang softly as I wandered into the kitchen, helping Rena to prepare the first meal. We laughed as we thought of last year at this same time. We were perfectly happy with our loves, and we were happier now to be together. Life brought contentment; there was nothing to even echo the fierce chaos that we were safely hidden from. I heard the thunder, faint at first, but still it caused me to pause. “What's wrong?” Rena asked.

  I cocked my head to one side, listening, and then, instead of running to the window to look, I started backing away. I did not like it. Thunder had everything to do with my life story: it had stolen my parents, brought the Green People, been my childhood companion, and delivered me safely into the hands of Leon and Hal. Still, I backed away, for I knew what power it held: the power to destroy. Even as Rena scooped up Léthin and called Leon and Hal, the white horses entered the glade. They were only White Steeds, but still, a heavy fear started to parade before my eyes. How could they find us? No one knew of the hut in the glade, yet on they came. They were a host of Crons, armed to the teeth, stout, and sober, looking for wisdom. With them, they brought knowledge, more than we wanted to know. I drew near to Hal and held onto his tunic with shaking hands as they walked toward the door. He wrapped his arms around me as Leon firmly held on to Rena's hand. Only Léthin did not care; he was too small to know what harm could come.

  How could I forget? Life is larger than simply one person or even five. Stepping outside of the circle of events can cause a shift in the happenings. We are all part of a grand puzzle and a great plan, and we must do our part, small as we are. Even more importantly, Leon and Hal played a grand part in this play, and it was only natural they be called upon again, much to my agitation. One cannot slip away unnoticed and not do one’s part. We did our part once, and now we were trying to slip into retirement from the cares of the world. Only, if we had ceased to care about the world, it had not ceased to think of us as its inhabitants and wanted us back once again to take care of the problems that were ever arising.

  I hid my face and listened as they knocked and were admitted. They spoke of the west and how a new horror had risen. The Dark Figure was in full rampage, slaying others unmercifully, Black and White Steeds alike. We must go and rescue those we could and bring them back to the fortress. Protection for the White Steeds should not go unnoticed. As much as we fended for ourselves in this dark world, should not we go when a cry for help was sent up? Should not we run to the rescue if asked? If we saw others dying and did not help, did that mean we would escape? Or would the cold sword of death still swing our way?

  Hot tears drifted down my face and faded into Hal's tunic. His strong arms held me, and I never would forget that moment. My ear, attuned to his heart, felt it beat and quicken. If I had stood in his place, full well knowing, would I have done the same? Would I have gone, knowing? I held on as tight, feeling our anguish bleed into each other's, knowing what was right and denying the feelings. Why could not love be enough? Why must we got out and save others? Why do all desire the same fate, to know love and safety and protection? And why do those who have it see fit to give it out to others. I felt like everything I knew would explode. Everything was shaken loose; nothing was held sure anymore. I knew, because he was a part of me; he was too intertwined to be ripped away. I knew he would go.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Fire from Flame

  “Myran, I love you. You know this more than I ever could say. You understand deeper than I could explain. You know. I know,” he whispered in my ear, holding me close.

  “Time is too short. This is all too cruel. But you will return before the first buds of the spring, and you will hold your child. I understand. I know. You know,” I told him, hope stirring in my heart.

  “Listen, they will soon be here. I have planted an elm. Even as the depths of winter come, think of me. Then, as you see it bravely strive on to life, look.”

  Indeed, he had planted a small elm tree that was barely taller than I was. It was at the corner of the house under a window of the room that would belong to our child. I looked at the freshly turned dirt. Like my heart, it was uprooted and never would be the same again. I drew a breath and I shivered. I did not want to let go and watch him walk away. I knew how hard it was for him to do the right thing and to go to the rescue of those in the west. Why would he sacrifice his wishes for theirs? How could he be so selfless?

  “Myran,” he whispered. I turned around in his arms to face him, and that was when it began to burn. We stared into each other's eyes for the longest time, and then we passionately and deeply kissed each other goodbye. It seemed as if time would rip us apart. Time is cruel and none too gentle with our feelings. We were together two years and married for only one and a half; it was all too short.

  “Remember that I love you.” His voice was cracking now. I saw tears pooling in his dark eyes.

  “Remember, I shall feel your love Never forget I hold you dear in my heart. Do you need more proof?”

  He held my face in his hands and looked at me for a long time. “Myran, dear Myran, no words are enough then.”

  “I shall wait for you,” I told him, “by the sea, along with Luthín and her daughter Ellagine; there we shall abide, waiting for you and Tilyon to return with all the White Steeds. We shall be in the hut by the Jaded Sea, and when you return, never again will there be a parting.”

  “I shall return by route of the sea. I shall come back to my love and my life, by the strong roots of the elm tree. Myran, I promise I will come back.”

  But he never did. We said goodbye, not simply for a few months, nor for that year. We said goodbye for life, and had I known it at that time, I would have gone wild.

  ***

  Leon had not gone. Rena cried and begged and pled and pointed at her son, and even though I offered to stay with her or bring
her to the safe haven of the Iaen or to my home, she was completely distraught. It was as if her past came to face her, and the horrors alone were enough to drive her mad. Leon's fate was settled; he was safe from the pulls of life because he had been there and done his part; he was set free. Hal and I had said goodbye to the carefree months we spent in their company, and we had ridden off in the company of Crons to face our future. Autumn continued to spread throughout the land as we rode back to Shimla. At the edge of the forest, we bade the Crons wait while we crept forward to find the Green People. They were hidden and did not come to our call; they turned their backs on the world of mortals once again. Only my guardians would step forward, and even in this, they caught only a hazy foreboding and could not tell if the future would appear clear or dire. Sometimes they could reach forward into the future but could not see all. In spite of the cloudiness of the vision, Tilyon offered to go with the White Steeds. The other Iaen would be of no help; they were content to live their lives hidden amongst the trees. They were safe from harm for their forest would protect them. It was only true to their nature, and I could only envy them the ability to say no, but their lack of courage was frowned upon by many a Cron.

  So it was decided. They would leave at the end of October and run to the rescue while the cold would hinder them from being followed. It was the surest plan they could come up with; it was a plan that would turn my world upside down. Luthín was calm as she accepted Tilyon's decision to go with them, but I knew she was upset as she turned to me, keeping her golden daughter close at hand. It was she who proposed going to the hut by the Jaded Sea to keep watch, and I agreed, telling her my child would be born while they were away. She was surprised and happy that she could be there for me. It seemed strange that the one who raised me should have a child only four years older than mine. So it was that Luthín turned from mothering guardian into a friend.

  ***

  In the end, the company left from my home. It was hard to tear ourselves away, but Hal and I broke contact. With one last desperate glance, he mounted his horse and galloped away with the White Steeds. I was left standing by the elm tree, and Luthín came to stand beside me. She put a hand on my shoulder, and I saw that she was crying as well. Silent tears ran down her face. Her daughter, Ellagine, held her hand and watched as the cloud of dust disappeared. “Mama, where is father going?” she asked. She was so innocent; her babyish voice still trying to form the words and sounds correctly.

  “Into the west my child,” Luthín replied. Her voice was quiet; the music was lost from it for that moment.

  “Will he come back?” Ellagine looked up at her mother's face. Her golden hair fell about her shoulders, and her blue eyes were wide and wondering.

  Luthín squeezed her eyes shut, concentrating, as if she tried hard enough, she would be able to find the answer. Finally, she sighed, and her shoulders dropped. “I can't tell. I wish...” Her voice broke. “I wish I knew the answer.”

  “It's okay, Mama,” said little Ellagine and ran off into the grass, trying to make crowns out of their dying blades.

  Suddenly I felt sorrier for Luthín than I felt for myself. I knew we needed each other to get through the months of wondering and the months of not knowing. We had to lean on each other, and I was glad for a friend at that time. “Come,” I said, “We will go west as well to that small hut you have told me about. We shall be the beacon and wait for their return.”

  Luthín looked at me as if seeing me for the first time. She was seeing me once again when I was lost and alone, crying out for help. “Was it meant to end like this? It began with just you and me, but Myran, you are the flame, from you will come fire.”

  I remembered those words that were spoken long ago in a forgotten dream. I remembered pondering and wondering about their meaning. I looked at Luthín, but she was lost again, watching out for her child and making sure Ellagine came to no harm, just as she had watched out for me long ago. My thoughts flew back to my earlier life spent, high up among the waterfall, talking with Luthín about mysteries of life, such as love. Now I knew that I was one of them now. I was an Iaen myself, and I had fallen in love with a Tider, one of those who knows, one of the wiser of the people groups. Love was everything Luthín had explained and nothing at all. Every experience cannot be combined, but I felt it then, pounding in my heart as he grew further and further away. It got to the point where every thought of him was a small flame; it burned.

  ***

  We took our time packing up and preparing to move from my home, the house that was built out of love. Luthín assured me the hut by the sea was well stocked, and we would live there quite comfortably for even a year with no worries. I wanted to be sure, and finally, we set off heavily laden, headed for the sea. I felt like the world was falling apart around me. I saw what I had not seen long ago. It seemed a year since I had looked at the world for what it was: cursed, falling apart, and a place of fear; it was not even safe for those in hiding. It was then that the old fears started creeping in one by one, and I simply wanted to be still. I now saw the wisdom in hiding. With the White Steeds scattered across the land, here and there, the less likely we were to be found. We traveled on through the thick grasses and smaller bushes closer to the sea until we arrived at a hut, almost hidden, and that was where we made our home. It was simply one large room and a hayloft filled with old cuttings.

  The change of scenery made all the difference. Luthín and I began to perk up, and as much as our hearts longed for our mates, we were busy again, cleaning, keeping house, talking, watching Ellagine, and thinking. Now and then, we would receive a visit from one of the creatures of the wood, bearing news. Sometimes it was a Jesnidrain; other times, it was a white horse; many times it was some smaller creature, such as a squirrel or rabbit or raccoon who could travel without easily being seen. As winter deepened, this constant news was cut off. It was a relief to such me because my head was full of the killings, rumors of new Monrages being brought forth, and the determination of the Black Steeds to rule the entire world. The slaughter was massive. More were fleeing, hiding was all that was left. Hiding was the life of the White Steeds now. Just when it seemed it could not get worse and the hopelessness would continue at the turn of the year, we received the news we had been hoping would never come.

  A frightened Cron burst in one day, shaking and covered in blood. His eyes wide and bloodshot, as if he were still beholding the horror. He was soaked in his own sweat and seawater. He could not stop shaking. He had been one who had set off with our husbands. He traveled into the west to be the savior of others. Now he stood before us, drawing his last breaths and crying. “They ambushed us and slaughtered every single last of us. Both of yours were killed. I saw it with my own eyes; they are gone! And I am the only one who lived to tell the news. I knew you would want to know, to hear with your own ears. But I tell you, they are gone. The Black Steeds have gone too far. There is no hope. Run, flee, and hide from the horrors of this world! We shall all end up like them, dead. One by one, they hunt us down and kill us!”

  “Speak sense!” Luthín demanded, coming to stand over the Cron who was kneeling in the doorway, losing his strength word by word as the news he had lived to tell sucked his breath away.

  I was already backing away, knowing. My heart told me. I knew. Now it was certain. I would never see him again. Never. Never is a very long time. My mind was growing irrational. Faintly I heard Luthín inquire, “Tilyon? Halender? Tell me...”

  “Dead. They are both dead. Killed. I saw them slain with my own eyes. The swords of the Black Steeds stretch far. They are on the loose; they are determined to rid the world of White Steeds forever.”

  I knelt on the floor. The world turned black. It was only later that I realized I must have helped Luthín find Ellagine and bring her inside. I must have helped bury the Cron who died on our doorstep after he had delivered his horrible news. I must have helped lock up the house so none could enter, and then we curled up on the bed, cried into each other's ar
ms, and then slept. I hope no one will ever know the pain that held our hearts nor the days we sat looking at each other with no desire to go on, except for the fact we knew our children needed us. It was in the midst of this dark story that somehow, instead of wasting away and instead of giving in to our impulses to jump into the sea and never rise to the top again, we held on. If I had been alone, I would have given in, but Luthín needed me as much as I needed her, and Ellagine and my unborn child needed us to live and be well. It was in the midst of that dark world, as February ended and March promised to thaw the chill, and it was to that cold world, which rips away all, that I bore a child.

  ***

  A cry split the air. A sound that had never been heard in that world sent vibrations through the air. Ellagine was climbing down from the hayloft where she had been sent, and she, now wide-eyed, came forward to see the new child. As exhausted as I felt, I was proud to look at my child, my son. He was all I had left of Halender. Already I could tell as Luthín bathed him and put him in my arms that he would be healthy and strong. He had his father's fine black hair and my emerald-green eyes. He was small and yawned sleepily into my face. Despite myself, tears of love, sorrow, and exhaustion dripped onto his soft head. I touched the thin wisps of hair and watched his green eyes close. He was going to sleep now. He was a small, tired little one. His tiny fingers curled, and he turned his face toward me, knowing already the one he should call his mother. I was proud; my heart was bursting, and I wished, blinking back tears, that Hal had lived to see his son. He would have been so proud. My throat grew tight as I thought about Hal laughing, holding me, and kissing me. I watched him sleep again and again in my mind, remembering our short life together. At least I had a son to hold and to remind me; all was not lost.