The Path to the Sun (The Fallen Shadows Trilogy)

by Kimberli Bindschatel

  “The salt is for trade. It is valuable. Make sure to keep it in the waterproof box.” Aldwyn put a kettle of water on the hearth. “We take it for granted here, but it is scarce elsewhere. Many generations ago, outsiders would come from far away lands to trade for our salt. That’s how our village was settled. That’s how we came to have a lot of the things we cannot make ourselves—knives, pans, forks. There are places in the world where metal is dug from the ground, turned in fire, and forged into shape.”

  Kiran examined the fork as though for the first time. He had never questioned where these things came from or how they were made. Why had he never asked? All of a sudden, he felt hopelessly ignorant. He dropped the fork and fiddled with the torn strap on the old rucksack.

  “You’ll have to find food and water along the way,” Aldwyn said as he took two mugs from the cupboard. “You certainly can’t carry enough for a trek this long.”

  “How long is it, Aldwyn?”

  “Well, now… The dwelling place is on the far side of Wiros.”

  “Do you mean the other side? Of the world?” He shifted to the edge of the bench. “How will we know how to get there?”

  Aldwyn smiled. “You will know.”

  Kiran sat back. Aldwyn rummaged around the kitchen, opening and closing cupboard doors. “Where is that bag of tarweed?”

  “But no one has ever been there, right?”

  Reaching into the back of a lower cupboard, Aldwyn found what he was looking for. “Ah. There it is.” He brought the bag to his nose and smiled as he inhaled the aroma of the dried tarweed. He chose several nice leaves and placed them in the mugs, then dropped the bag in the pile on the table. “The Great Father will watch over you and guide you on your way.”

  “But why would He? I mean, isn’t He angry with us right now? Isn’t that why he sent the drought? We’re going all that way to tell Him we’re sorry. Why would He guide us there to do that?”

  “Faith, Kiran. When the time comes, you will see.”

  Kiran stood up, took a few steps toward the window, then turned and paced back, trying to temper his curiosity. Aldwyn had always been lenient with him in private, but it was not the practice of the Torans. A Toran did not question. But today, Kiran could not hold back. “But that doesn’t make sense!”

  Aldwyn glanced up toward the Celestial Kingdom and took a deep breath. “It will be fine.”

  “Fine? You don’t know, do you?”

  “We know enough.” Aldwyn walked around the central hearth, across the room and pulled a wooden trunk from under his bed. He took out several blankets and carefully compared their sizes and weights. He chose one and dropped it on the table. “It will get cold at night.” He ladled hot water from the kettle, filling each mug, and sat down at the table. “There, drink your tea.”

  Kiran remained standing. “Old Horan said you were sending us to certain doom.”

  Aldwyn winced and stared into his tea.

  “It must be a mistake.”

  “A mistake?” Aldwyn raised his eyebrows. “You question the wisdom of the Elders?”

  “No sir.” He lowered his gaze. “ It is not my place to question. I am just trying to understand. Old Horan said—”

  Aldwyn slammed his mug down on the table. “Don’t you mind that crazy old man.”

  “But you’ve always said—”

  “Never mind what I’ve said. Forget about him. Now, say what’s on your mind.”

  “I want to know why we were all chosen.”

  Aldwyn sat back in his chair. He took a sip of his tea. “You will, in time.”

  Kiran drew in a breath. He looked Aldwyn directly in the eye. “Aldwyn, I want to know why I was chosen.”

  Aldwyn sighed. His expression turned introspective and his gaze shifted to the tiny shuttered window. Several long moments passed as though he were waiting for divine inspiration to speak.

  Kiran wanted to shake the answer from him. “Something happened. I know. I saw it. You weren’t supposed to call my name, were you?”

  “That’s enough!” Aldwyn rose from his chair. “Don’t you question me. You were chosen by the Great Father. That’s all you need to know.”

  “I am not a child! I know something’s going on. And if I’m old enough to go, I’m old enough to be told why.”

  Aldwyn slammed his fist on the table. “You. Do. Not. Question!”

  “I deserve to know!” Kiran grabbed his hat from the hook and left, slamming the door behind him.

  His dog Echo trailed after him as he headed to his favorite spot, a high bluff overlooking the entire valley and the sea. He breathed deeply the humid night air, savoring the familiar mix of scents—salt, dry grass, hot sand. He came here when he needed to think, to feel the rhythmic surge of the sea—the heartbeat of the world.

  Something wasn’t right. Aldwyn had gone against the other Elders; he was sure of it. But why? Kiran put his arm around his dog. “Why would he take that risk, Echo?” He had gone against the Way before, when he taught Kiran to scribe. But they had kept it a secret. If others learned of it, they’d both be banished. But to go against the Elders, in front of the entire village… Is that what he had done?

  Kiran heard a noise and spun around. Aldwyn was trekking up the hill. He sat down next to Kiran with a huff and wheezed, catching his breath. “I knew I’d find you here.”

  Kiran studied the man who was like a father to him. Wrinkles lined his weary eyes and his beard had grown thin. His frame was stooped and withered as though some great weight bore down on him.

  Kiran pictured Aldwyn bent over, toiling in the garden under the burning sun. Alone. How can I leave him? Aldwyn had taken him in when anyone else would have shunned him. A dry lump formed in his throat. “Promise me you’ll take your share of the tithes.”

  Aldwyn huffed. “I will do no such thing.”

  “But the other Elders do. And with me gone, and the drought and the garden. Who will water when it is your time of atonement and—”

  “Now, that’s enough. I didn’t come all the way up this hill to talk about the farm.” He ran his fingers down his long wispy beard and gazed out at the sea as if gathering his thoughts. When he spoke, his words came as slowly as snow melting in spring. “Before I was an Elder, before I knew I would be an Elder, I longed for such a quest. I believed so strongly, passionately. But it wasn’t meant for me. I felt the hand of the Father lead me to my place there, amid the Elders.” He pointed toward the Sanctuary, pausing, as if flooded with memories. He turned to face Kiran. “You, young man, are on a different path. This quest is your destiny.”

  “Yes, yes, to seek the Voice of the Father, I know. But why me?”

  Aldwyn sighed the sigh of a teacher trying to reign in his wayward student. “Look out there.” He gestured across the entire panorama. “What do you see?”

  Kiran looked east, out over the Sea of Demarcation, squinting as he tried to focus on the edge of the world. Most days the waves tossed and churned, a vast tumult of white and blue that stretched all the way out to where it dropped off into the abyss. Tonight, as the last rays of sunlight skimmed across the surface, the muted colors of the sea merged into the sky as if they were one, without limit. It was times like this, he knew, when a man could be lured by the tranquil benevolence of the water, then, without warning, the winds would change, and send the man over the edge to his death. Kiran wasn’t sure if that was what he was supposed to be thinking about. “I see…the sea.”

  “Ah, from here yes. But from the other side, it is the sea and a mountain.”

  “The other side?”

  “How does it look on a different day? Or in a different season? Look to the forest. Do you see individual trees or a collage of color?”

  “Well, I guess I—”

  Aldwyn waved his hand in the air. “Search within yourself.” He tapped Kiran on the chest. “Listen to your heart.”

  “I’m listening. I’m listening.”

  Aldwyn sat back and rubbed his chin the way
he always did when pondering difficult questions. Kiran couldn’t contain the smile that spread across his face. When he was young, he had imagined that Aldwyn could conjure magic by rubbing his chin. He knew it was the silly notion of a child, but it still came to mind every time he saw him do it.

  “Here in the village, all we know comes from the Script. We study the scrolls, yet some preach the Way as if…” He turned to face Kiran. “But you, well, you see with different eyes.”

  “I’ve studied hard, you know I have. But the more I study, the less it seems I know.” He sighed and poked at a hole in his boots. “I just have more questions.”

  Aldwyn smiled. “How innocent you are. And so perfect.”

  “You make me seem like a child. I’m sixteen!” He turned away. “It’s just…all the rules.” He looked north across the bay, to the easternmost peak of the mountain ridge, where the Sanctuary on the Mount sat perched. Anger welled up in him. He had stood on the ledge, inches from redemption. All he wanted was a chance to prove himself.

  “Listen to me,” Aldwyn said, taking Kiran by the arm. His eyes were set with determination, as if it were possible, by sheer will, to transfer his wisdom to Kiran. “You are to seek the dwelling place of the Voice of the Father and beg his forgiveness, but remember, the Great Father works in mysterious ways. Knowledge and understanding can come from unexpected places. Seek wisdom from all whom you meet on this journey. But be cautious. These influences can also lead you astray.”

  “How will I know the difference?”

  Aldwyn tapped him on the chest.

  “Listen to my heart.”

  Aldwyn nodded. “Let that be your guide.”

  “But what if…?” Kiran twisted his boot in the sand. “What if my heart conflicts with the Way?”

  “The search for truth is a grave task. This will not be an easy journey. Above all else, trust yourself.”

  “But the Script…?”

  Aldwyn clenched his teeth. “The scrolls are not meant to be our only source of inspiration.” He turned his gaze to the Sanctuary on the Mount for a moment, then shook his head. “We’ve become so…disconnected. I fear…”

  “What? You fear what?”

  He turned back to Kiran. “I fear I’ve already said too much. ”

  “What do you mean, disconnected?”

  Aldwyn sighed. Then, as if to confirm he’d given Kiran too many things to think about, he patted him on the shoulder and said, “Clarity will come with time.” Leaning on Kiran’s shoulder for support, he rose to his feet and brushed the sand from his robe. “Maybe someday young Torans will learn the story of your travels.”

  “Really?” Kiran looked up at Aldwyn, his frustrations forgotten in an instant. “Will we be celebrated? Will there be a Book of our quest? I hadn’t thought of that. We’ll be heroes.”

  “Ah, now you are eager to go.”

  Kiran’s face flushed red.

  “Don’t go off chasing the wind. Remember, patience. Only with patience and humility does wisdom come.” A smile spread across Aldwyn’s face. “Always so full of doubt you are. I have answered your questions as best I can. Now, you must seek for yourself. Why don’t you stay and watch the sun set and recite the evening Verse. We’ll talk further in the morning.” He took a few steps toward their home, then stopped and turned back. He looked as though he had something more to say, but he only sighed and turned and headed home.

  “Did you get all that?” Kiran asked his dog. Echo cocked his head to the side as if trying to understand the question. “At least I’m not the only one.”

  Time melted into the night as Kiran’s confusion merged into an abstract longing that settled over him like a fog. Flashes of firebugs began to appear, one by one, in the tall grasses, and the landscape came alive, each tiny light sending a message in the dark. He thought of the many evenings he had spent chasing them, mesmerized by their magic—one of the many mysteries of the Great Father—and his disappointment as they always flitted just outside his grasp. Those days are over, he thought. I have to start figuring these things out on my own.

  What was Aldwyn trying to tell me? He had to be prepared when he faced the Voice.

  He jerked upright. I am going to stand before the Great Father—and speak with Him. He sprang to his feet. If the Great Father will accept me as a true Toran, then everyone will. “That’s it!”

  His hat fell to the ground and the dog let out a yip and spun around in a circle.

  Kiran laughed out loud. “Yes! That’s what I need to do.” He stood tall, straightening his back. “I am going to be an Elder some day. I am. You’ll see.”

  And so he made a vow. He would reach the Voice of the Father, no matter what it took, no matter how long. Then he would return home, with his head held high, bearing the blessings of the Great Father. He’d be a Toran—a real Toran. From this moment forward, his mission was clear, as though a door had opened before him that he hadn’t known existed.

  He plucked a switch of grass and stuck it in his mouth, then plopped down, snatched up his hat and placed it on his head, adjusting it just the way he liked it, and nodded with satisfaction. He lay back on his elbows and scratched Echo’s ears. To the west, the last burst of sunlight blazed across the trees of the Lost Forest, burning orange and yellow. The amber sky turned pink, then magenta, then a deep, vibrant purple, transforming the Lost Forest into an abstract texture of leaves and branches, color and shape, light against dark. A collage of color…

  Tipping his head back, he remembered how, as a child, he’d marvel at the stars as they popped out of their daytime hiding places. Now, they reminded him of all the things he still didn’t understand and he felt small and insignificant. Like the orphan that he was.

  Something still didn’t make sense. Of all the people in the village, he had been chosen to go. Why? Aldwyn never answered his question. Why won’t he tell me?

  Kiran looked to the sky. “Why me?” he said aloud, daring to say it in the Tongue of the Father.

  There was no answer.

  Aldwyn was asleep in bed. The rucksack was propped against the table, the broken strap mended. Kiran went to Aldwyn’s bedside and kneeled next to him. “I won’t let you down,” he whispered. “I will make it. I promise. I’ll be an Elder someday, just like you. I’ll make you proud of me.”

  He crawled up into his loft, but couldn’t sleep. He stared up at the wood rafters that supported the thatch roof, stained black above the hearth by seasons of smoke. This was his home and now he had to leave. How many cups of tea had they had together? How many questions had he asked? Like the stone-piled walls, he had built so many memories, one atop the other. Would he ever see it again?

  Finally, he fell into a deep sleep.

  Hands gripped his arm. “Kiran, you must leave now.”

  The room was dark. It was still night. “What? Leave?” He shook his head, trying to emerge from his dream.

  “The Javinians are attacking the village. You must go now!” Aldwyn’s command hit him like a slap. He grabbed his tunic and jumped down from the loft.

  The silhouette of a man hovered in the doorway. “Shush! Keep quiet. And no lanterns. The heathens could be right outside.” Kiran recognized the voice. It was the warrior Shad.

  Kiran slipped on his clothes, his nerves buzzing. Aldwyn cleared the table, stuffing everything in the pack. He wrapped some cheese and bread in cloth, tucked it in the top, and cinched down the straps.

  Shad continued, “The pilgrims are meeting at the old well. Get your things together. Be quick.” And he was gone.

  “Here, put these on.” Aldwyn handed Kiran his boots.

  “But they’re yours. I can’t—”

  “Don’t argue.”

  “Aldwyn, what’s happening?” Kiran whispered, his mind racing. “We can’t leave now. We’re not prepared. We don’t even—”

  “Shh. Pay attention and do as Shad says.” Aldwyn slung an empty waterskin over Kiran’s shoulder. “They must know of the prophecy,” he
muttered.

  “Prophecy? You mean the quest?”

  “Yes, yes. The quest.” Aldwyn tied the pack on Kiran’s back, took him by the shoulders, spun him around, and pushed him toward the door. “Once you are together, run as far and as fast as you can. Just get through the Lost Forest and past the border.”

  “But then what, Aldwyn? Where do we go from there?” Everything was happening so fast. He had so many more questions. He didn’t know where to start.

  Aldwyn flung open the lid to his trunk. “Here,” he whispered in Kiran’s ear. “This will guide you.”

  Kiran stared at the scroll in his hand. “But what am I supposed to do?”

  Aldwyn took a deep breath, as if he were the one about to jump off a cliff. He hugged Kiran tight, then took hold of him by the shoulders. He tapped him on the chest with an encouraging nod. “Now go!” he said, and pushed him out the door toward the Land Unknown.

  Chapter 4

  The harvest moon hung low in the eastern sky. The night was still young. He slung his pack over his shoulder and, with one hand holding his hat on his head, raced toward the well, his pulse pounding in his ears. He couldn’t believe it. They were headed for the Lost Forest—Javinian territory. He was too excited to be afraid. He had been chosen. A real pilgrim. And he was on a real adventure, like he’d always dreamed.

  The woods thickened. Trees closed in overhead, their leafy branches blocking all but a hint of moonlight. Kiran had to slow to a walk. The shouts of fighting men rose from the village. Kiran bit his lip. He tried to see what was happening, but the only thing he could make out in the moonlight was the Temple, in stark silhouette against the golden shimmering bay.

  As he approached the old abandoned well, he searched the shadows for Bria. He saw Jandon first. Deke stood behind him, as calm and composed as an Elder waiting for his followers to gather before him. Bhau was there, too, shifting from one foot to the other, his hand on the hilt of the dagger at his waist.

  “Look who dared to show,” Bhau sneered.

  Deke stepped in front of him. “I don’t know what Aldwyn thinks he’s doing, sending you, but you better be up to it.”