The Path to the Sun (The Fallen Shadows Trilogy)

by Kimberli Bindschatel

  Gently, he raised the lid. “It’s a codex,” said Aurora. Aldwyn had told him of books, tomes that contained the stories of many scrolls, but he had never seen a real one. He hesitated, looking to Aurora. She nodded to continue.

  He reached in and took the codex from its box. It was square-shaped with a woven cover. Individual folded pages were sewn together with thin twine and could be turned one at a time. He ran his fingers along the edge of the first page, feeling the texture. “This isn’t vellum,” he said.

  “Paper,” Salista told him. “Made from trees.”

  He flipped through the pages. Each was blank. He looked back to Aurora, confused now.

  She went to the shelf and returned with a cup of writing sticks. “This codex is yours, to record your story.”

  He swung around to meet her eyes. “Mine?”

  “You are a scribe, are you not?”

  He looked down at the book in his hands. “Well, yes, but…”

  “You may work here. Anytime you’d like. Salista tells me there is room.”

  “Thank you,” Kiran said. “Thank you!” He couldn’t contain his delight. An entire book! He would transpose the Script first, then, while Jandon healed and Bria rested, he would record every important detail of the journey so far.

  This was what he was meant to do.

  Chapter 29

  Kiran stared at the mildewed scroll spread open before him as though, if he waited long enough, its secrets would be magically revealed. There had to be more, something he was missing. The elaborate calligraphy, the intricate designs painstakingly scrawled in the borders—any seemingly insignificant part of it could hold meaning. He imagined the Elders gathered at the Temple, whispering by candlelight, pouring over the Script in their deliberations. Were they just as puzzled, trying to make sense of it? Or, if they were here now, would they have known if they were on the right path?

  Aldwyn had said he would find the way and learn the truth on his own. But how? There were so many things he didn’t know, didn’t understand. The only thing he knew for certain was that he was the scribe.

  When he had first arrived in the Weikaito Forest, he was exhausted from simply trying to survive. But now, he worked diligently in the workshop, writing and drawing in his new codex, recording all he had learned so far—the story of creation from the Lendhi, warnings of the Guardian and their escape. Salista even taught him a way to record the Weikaito song he enjoyed so much, The Ancestor’s Footprints.

  But he struggled with the sensation that time was slipping through his fingers. Every day he told himself that it wouldn’t be long and Jandon and Bria would be ready to travel again.

  One morning, after they’d been in the Weikaito forest for nearly two weeks, Bria came to tell him of an upcoming celebration that would occur at the full moon. She wanted to witness the miracle the Weikaito called the Blooming of the Lilies. “For three days each spring, everyone joins in the festivities,” she said. “When the lilies bloom, it marks a new beginning. During the celebration, any couples who desire to be wed simply take part in the ceremony. They don’t have to ask permission of anyone. No Elders, no parents. Not even the Great Father. Can you imagine, Kiran?”

  “That’s nice, but we’ve stayed too long already,” he said and could see right away that she was disappointed. “But perhaps it will be a good omen,” he said. “Then we’ll head out.”

  She paused before nodding agreement.

  When the day of the festival finally arrived, there was an excitement in the air. People bustled back and forth along the walkways and up and down the tree trunk stairs, carrying baskets and blankets.

  Jandon, Bria, and Kiran set out through the forest with the crowd, walking along the bank of a stream toward the Lily Pond. They came to the top of a rise and saw in the valley below where the stream met another and the two intertwined as though in a lustful embrace, merging into one, then spread wide to form a placid pond. Large glossy green lily pads floated on the surface, each as wide as a man is tall, the edges curled up, forming a rosy lip around the circumference. Maroon buds floated amid the gigantic round leaves, rocking with the gentle lapping of tiny ripples.

  At the edge of the pond, Kiran sat next to Bria on a bed of soft green moss to wait for dusk. The grasses along the pond’s shore were a tender new green and alive with the tocking of frogs and the throaty warble of tiny birds, flitting through the bushes. Yellow butterflies with paper-thin wings skimmed the glassy surface of the pond. The air had an earthy, indefinable scent that reminded Kiran of warm spring days back home that made him ache for their innocence. He’d give anything to see Bria smile once more, the way she would when her eyes sparkled. If only they could go back in time and start again.

  The wind calmed and the lengthening shadows turned soft as the last rays of sunlight reached across the valley, turning everything golden.

  As the moon rose, and night finally settled on the pond, the buds began to open right before their eyes. The brilliant white petals stood erect and released an intense fragrance, like sweet apple cider, that permeated the night air, then slowly unfurled, spreading their petals to receive the full light of the moon. Soon came the monotone hum of thousands of beetles flying to and fro about the pond in their frenzied quest to enter the innermost sanctum of the blossoms. “The beetles must arrive by a certain time,” Bria whispered to Kiran, “or they’ll miss their one chance.”

  The night grew darker, the full moon brightened, and all watched with reverence as one candle was lit, then another, then another, the flame shared round the pond, as the bard told a tale of the sacred water lily and her hero, the beetle.

  When the bard finished her story, the sweet strumming of the lute joined the buzzing of the beetles and the Weikaito came alive, dancing and singing in celebratory merriment. Food and drink were shared, though Kiran was careful to drink only from his own waterskin. The party reminded him of the Harvest Festival back home, everyone having a good time and enjoying each other’s company, chores set aside for the duration.

  The celebration lasted until dawn, when the first rays of sun peeked over the horizon. All gathered around the pond once again to watch the blossoms close, trapping the beetles inside. Then, a few at a time, they wandered away to settle down to nap on soft mosses in the sun. “Now, I’m told, we wait for the farewell to old and the celebration of a new beginning,” Bria said and turned to find a place to lie down. He followed her, wanting to be with her every moment he could. She chose a spot and he lay down next to her, their shoulders touching. When she didn’t pull away, he took her hand in his and held it as they dozed off to sleep.

  Kiran awoke as the sun was dropping behind the trees. Beside him, Bria whispered, “It won’t be long now. At nightfall, the beetles will be off to fulfill their destiny. But first, the wedding.” She was smiling and he nodded, happy that she was happy. She pointed to a towering cedar at the edge of the pond. “That tree is Adoette, the sacred tree. Those who choose to be wed will circle it, symbolizing their commitment to one another.” A young bride and groom, both dressed in flowing green gowns, circled the tree, three times around, both carrying something in their hands. “Each has made a doll,” Bria explained, “a likeness of themselves, from their own clothing.” The young lovers presented the dolls to Aurora. As she recited a prayer, she tied them together with a white ribbon. “Now they are bound. The couple will go together to hide the dolls in the woods. They will bury them in a secret place that only they know about, so that no one can separate their love,” Bria whispered, a tear in her eye. Kiran took her hand in his and squeezed.

  Aurora offered the bound dolls to the couple, and, when the bride and groom took hold of the little bundle, the people cheered. “They are now wed,” Bria said. She looked up at Kiran, her eyes watery. “Isn’t it romantic?”

  He wanted to take her away to their own secret place. But she had made her feelings about marriage clear. He stood stone still, unsure what to say, unsure what she wanted him to say. So
he said nothing.

  They went back to sit in their spot by the pond. She drew her knees up to her chest like a child, shivering in the cool night. Kiran opened the blanket and wrapped it around them both, holding her close to him, feeling optimistic. Bria seemed happy, almost like herself again. He pressed his cheek against hers and felt her breath, hot on his neck. He’d forgotten how having her so near affected him. His breath came in tiny pants. His hand went to the back of her head and he gently pulled her head against his chest and twirled his fingers in her hair.

  She turned and looked up at him, her eyes heavy with weariness. “Tell me again what our life would be like if we were back home and I had accepted your hand.”

  His eyes warmed with tears. “We would have our own little farm. And we would have beautiful babies with rosy cheeks and your green eyes. And I would love you until the end of days.”

  “Ah, that is a pleasant dream.” She smiled, a faraway look in her eyes.

  “Bria, I…” Their eyes met and held. “Bria, I love you. I don’t care about anything else. Nothing else matters. I love you.”

  “I know,” she said. “I love you, too.”

  She closed her eyes and kissed him. He trembled, wishing life could stop right here and now so he could live in this bliss forever.

  All at once, the blossoms opened and released the beetles to the wind.

  Bria watched them fly away. “Do you see, Kiran, how the blossoms have changed from white to pink overnight?”

  He nodded.

  “I’ll never forget this night,” she whispered as she laid her head on his chest.

  After a time, her breathing slowed and he knew she was asleep. He jerked upright. “Bria, the full moon.”

  Gently, she took his hands and wrapped his arms back around her. “It doesn’t matter,” she whispered. “Not anymore.”

  He awoke in the treehouse to the soft serenade of the woodland birds. In the night, everyone had returned to their rooms. Almost everyone, he thought, as he glanced at Jandon’s empty hammock. Bria was awake, sitting in the chair next to his bed, her eyes filled with tears. He sat up and took her hand in his. “Bria, what’s wrong?”

  She shook her head and let the tears flow down her cheek. She dropped his hand, rose from the chair, went to the edge of the platform, and leaned on the railing, gazing out into the mist. Kiran went to the railing next to her. Beams of sunlight streamed down through the mist, giving the forest a soft yellow glow.

  Her eyes drifted around the treetops. “This…is what I’ve always…”

  His heart sank. “You want to stay.”

  His statement hung in the air between them.

  Kiran looked down at his hands. “I thought you just needed some time to rest.”

  She turned to face him. “You and I both know, even if I make it, they won’t accept me. Not a woman.”

  “Of course they will. How could they not?” He took her hand in his. “Bria, you are just as worthy of the robes. They’ll see. We’ll make them see.”

  She forced a smile. “That’s just it, Kiran. I no longer care what they see.” She gazed out into the mist. “Things…happen. People change.”

  He glanced around the forest. It was peaceful here. Women were respected, equally. There were no Elders telling her what she could or couldn’t achieve. He thought of his last conversation with Kail, how she had been so sure she had found exactly what she had been seeking, how the words of the Guardian had fulfilled all of her expectations, how being his bride had fulfilled her aspirations.

  Maybe we seek what we believe, he thought.

  His eyes found hers again. Her face looked drawn, her eyes heavy with regret. For a long moment she was silent, holding his gaze. She had more to say, he could sense, and he tried to brace himself for whatever it might be. She looked away, her eyes swaying back and forth as if she was trying to find the words. She turned and paced to the chair, then back to the railing.

  “Bria,” he said, taking her by the hand. “You’re just feeling—”

  Her eyes met his. “You need to go.”

  He let the air escape from his lungs and his shoulders slumped in resignation. She was staying. And he had to go on. Without her.

  There was a part of him who wanted to argue with her, to tell her he could stay with her and be content here with a life together, that he could let the quest go. But he knew he’d be lying. To her. To himself. What she said was true; she had simply put it into words before he could admit it to himself, the same way she always seemed to know what he was feeling about her.

  Suddenly the forest seemed to draw in on him. He grabbed hold of the railing. He wanted to beg her to go with him, to tell her how terrified he was.

  She waited, her eyes on him. He started to say something, then saw her expression. She brought her finger to his lips. “It’s your destiny,” she said.

  “But you and I—”

  “The villagers are counting on you.”

  He let out a breath. “Bria,” he whispered. “I’m no hero.”

  “Listen to me. We all would have died without you. You found food, you came up with a way to collect water. You saved Roh’s life. You were the one who realized we could sing. If it weren’t for your bravery, we might never have escaped.” She tapped him on the chest. “Kiran, you did all that. You.” She kissed him on the cheek. “You’re already a hero.”

  He had to turn away, to hide his tears from her. He wasn’t worthy. Not of her praise. Inside, he’d been just as scared as the others. He had only done what he had to do. He had only been trying to… to persevere. He took a deep breath. Isn’t that what Roh had been trying to tell him? To go on, despite his fear? Roh must have been terrified, running from the slavers, not knowing whether he would live or die. But he had done it anyway, and saved them.

  Kiran raised his chin and brought his shoulders back, his resolve hardened. He would make Roh proud. He would make all of them proud. He turned back to face her. “I will come back for you.”

  For a moment, she showed no reaction. Then she simply nodded.

  He realized then what she must have already known, that he might never see her again. Might never hold her again. Might never… Suddenly he couldn’t breathe.

  She hugged him tight, then drew back and smiled a broad, happy smile. “Let’s get your things together.”

  She handed him his rucksack and started gathering his few belongings. He stuffed them in the pack, then pulled them out, and repacked them again. He dropped the pack on the floor and looked at her. Everything was happening too fast. “Bria, I…”

  Jandon came hobbling across the walkway on his crutches, carrying something under his arm. “Going somewhere?”

  Kiran looked to Bria, then back to Jandon. “We’ve waited too long. We need to get going,” he said.

  Jandon looked down at his foot. “I know.”

  “It will be all right. We’ll take it slow, but we’ll get there.”

  Jandon looked at Bria, then back to Kiran, his expression solemn. “We both know I’m not meant to go,” he said. “If I had to face the Voice, I’d probably turn to stone.”

  “But—”

  “Bria asked me to get this for you.” He shifted his weight to one foot, took both crutches in one hand, and handed the codex to Kiran.

  Kiran looked to Bria, then back to Jandon. “But I hadn’t decided yet.”

  Jandon shrugged.

  Kiran was speechless for a long moment, staring at his old friend. He put his arms around him and whispered in his ear, “Take care of her.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  Kiran held his gaze, searching for more to say. He glanced at Bria, then back to Jandon and a jealous fear crept into his mind.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Jandon said, slapping him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. Bria’s too smart to ever fall for someone like me.” He gave Kiran a half grin.

  Kiran smiled back and laughed. They had been through so much and he never stopped to thin
k about how scared Jandon must have been all along, especially when Deke died. Jandon hadn’t even wanted to come in the first place. It was unfair to blame him for any of it. Jandon hadn’t changed a bit. He was still the simple farmboy who liked Kiran when no one else did. “I will miss you, my friend.”

  “And I, you. You will make us proud.” They embraced once more and Kiran fought back tears. When he pulled away, Jandon said, “Oh, I almost forgot.” He pulled at the cord around his neck and slid the Pyletar over his head. “Take this.”

  Kiran took it in his hands. “But you—”

  “Just take it.” Jandon shrugged. “Maybe he meant for it to be blessed or something.”

  Kiran nodded and put it around his neck.

  “While I was out, I saw Aurora. She said to meet her by the well.”

  “Did she say what she wanted?”

  Jandon shook his head.

  Kiran turned back to Bria. “Whatever it is, I suppose I need to tell her of my plans. I’ll be right back.” He set the codex on top of his pack and headed for the stairs.

  Several of the Weikaito family were gathered at the well. Aurora stood next to an animal with a flat back and shaggy, white fur, similar to a sheep, but taller and lankier, with long, curved ears. Strapped to its back were two water containers made of tree bark and sealed with pine pitch. “It is a very long way,” Aurora said. “The sun will come round forty times before you reach the sea. You cannot carry all that you will need alone. This is Medira,” she said. “She’s a great companion and can carry enough food and water for the two of you.”

  “This is very kind,” Kiran said, looking to all the encouraging faces. “I don’t know what to say. Jandon must have told you I’m going, but I am not yet prepared to travel the dunes. I don’t know—”