[Shadowed Path 02] - Candle in the Storm

by Morgan Howell

  “That place seems far from the beaten track,” said Yim, surveying the wild terrain.

  “It is,” replied Honus, “and I don’t gladly take you there.”

  “We walked through Luvein. This place looks scarcely wilder.”

  “See that lake?” said Honus. “It lies in Faerie. Even in daytime, its surface reflects starlight.”

  Yim gazed at the lake with curiosity. She could see no stars twinkling on its dark surface. “Have you seen this yourself, or are you repeating old tales?”

  “Not all old tales are false.”

  “So the starlight’s only hearsay,” said Yim. “Besides, at Devren’s hut they said Faerie lies close to Cara’s hall.”

  “There’s more than one dell in Averen where the Ancient Folk still linger, and mortals best stay clear of them.”

  “And this valley’s such a place?”

  “In part,” said Honus. “I certainly wouldn’t venture near that lake.”

  Yim smiled slightly. “Why? Because of faeries? I’ve heard tales also. They’re tiny folk with dragonfly wings. Mischievous, perhaps, but certainly not perilous.”

  “Do you have faerie dells in the Cloud Mountains?”

  “No,” admitted Yim.

  “Well they do in Averen, and here tales differ. No tiny sprites dwell in such places, but creatures with little love for our kind.”

  “How so?”

  “If you were present at the world’s beginning, would you be pleased with what we’ve done to it?”

  Yim thought of Luvein. “I guess not.”

  “So we’ll follow this ridge west awhile, and enter the valley farther from the lake.”

  When Yim and Honus finally descended into the valley, the way was steep but not overly long. They reached its shadowed floor by late afternoon. There, the woods seemed already wrapped in twilight. Upon her journey, Yim had passed through many forests, but the one in the valley seemed different from all of them. It took her a while before she decided why. It’s undisturbed , she thought. The trees appeared ancient and the undergrowth beneath them was unmarked by pathways. The plant life was lush and the air was filled with birdsong and the sounds of creatures rustling among the leaves. There was a sacred quality to the place that made Yim decide against sending Honus out to hunt.

  Honus found a game trail and was following its narrow, winding route when he suddenly halted. Yim peered around him and saw a girl of no more than eleven winters standing on the trail. She carried a bark basket filled with cattails and was strangely dressed in a short tunic made from the pelts of various small animals. Leaves and entire plants dangled from a cord that was tied around her waist—so many that they formed a kind of herbal skirt. Both the “skirt” and tunic ended high above the girl’s knees, and her feet and long legs were bare.

  Despite the girl’s unusual garb, it was her face that seized Yim’s attention. Her skin was as pale as moonlight and her long red hair was tied back. Both these things emphasized her eyes. They were the lightest shade of blue that Yim had ever seen. The girl gazed at Yim with none of the shyness common to children but with a look that was at once piercing and serene. It made the child seem wise, as did her knowing smile.

  The girl paid no attention to Honus, walking past him to reach Yim. Then she knelt on the ground, set down her basket, and seized Yim’s right hand with both of hers to kiss it. Only then did she speak. “Welcome, Mother. I’ll lead you to food and shelter.” She turned to glance at Honus. “He may come also.” Then, taking up her basket, she rose and stepped from the trail.

  The girl merged so silently into the undergrowth that, for a moment, Yim thought the child had vanished. Then she heard her voice again. “Come, Mother, you know it’s safe.” Yim, certain that the girl spoke truly, pushed her way into the undergrowth. Twigs snapped and leaves rustled as she followed her guide. Honus trailed behind, moving more quietly, but not matching the perfect silence of the girl. That silence discouraged speech, and Yim refrained from asking any questions.

  Yim and Honus’s guide took a long and convoluted route through the densest part of the forest, and it wasn’t long before Yim lost her sense of direction. All she knew was that they were moving closer to the lake. Suddenly, the girl halted. If it wasn’t for the smoke rising from a stone chimney, Yim might have missed the dwelling altogether. It resembled a hillock within the forest, topped by an ancient tree with tangled roots. Only upon closer examination was Yim able to spot a knee-high hole forming an entrance among those roots.

  “This is my home,” said the girl. “Na metal may enter it.” She gave a sharp glance to Honus. “Especially your killing stick.”

  When Honus seemed about to protest, Yim said, “Your sword stays outside. I’m in no danger here.”

  Honus looked perplexed, but he unstrapped his sword and leaned it against the pack, which Yim had unshouldered and set upon the ground. As he did this, a woman crawled out from the entrance to the hillock. Her hair was dazzling white, but her face looked neither young nor old. Like the girl, she was dressed in skins, but had no plants about her waist.

  “Mama,” said the girl, “Mother has finally come.”

  The woman immediately knelt and smiled radiantly. “Welcome, Mother. I’m Nyra. Your visit is a long-anticipated honor. Please come inside and rest.”

  The woman’s greeting puzzled Yim, but she smiled and bowed. “Karm sees your generosity and we’re grateful for your hospitality. But please call me Yim. My Sarf is Honus.”

  “Oh, ‘Yim’ will na do, Mother. Lila insists on proper naming.”

  “Lila?” said Yim.

  “My daughter. She’s faerie-kissed.”

  Yim understood the term as meaning “sunny-natured,” and she wasn’t sure it applied to the mysterious girl dressed in pelts and leaves. Nevertheless, she smiled pleasantly. “If it pleases you to call me such, then do.” Then she followed Nyra toward the hole at the base of the hillock, thinking it looked more like the entrance to an animal’s burrow than to a human dwelling. Before she crawled into the opening, Yim glanced back toward Honus. Lila stood behind him, gazing skyward. Yim looked upward also, and saw three large owls, each bearing something in its talons. They were swooping down toward the girl. Then Yim dropped to her hands and knees to crawl through the hole.

  The short tunnel that Yim passed through sloped upward and was lined with wood that appeared smoothed by long use. It ended at a chamber that defied Yim’s expectations. Instead of squatting in an earthen burrow, she stood in a cozy room with a flagstone floor, wood-paneled walls, and a large stone fireplace. Light came not only from a fire in the hearth, but also from numerous windows. They were covered with some translucent mineral resembling glass. Glancing about, Yim saw that everything was made from plants or other natural materials. A large, flat stone served as a table. It was only knee-high, for there were no chairs or benches. Upon it were wooden plates and bowls, drinking vessels made from gourds, knives chipped from stone, and other utensils made of bone or wood. Lining the walls were large baskets filled with acorns, nuts, faerie arrow and fox sword tubers, dried mushrooms, and other foodstuffs, but nothing that looked like it had been cultivated. Also about the walls were several low openings to adjoining chambers.

  An ancient-looking man rose from where he had been stirring a series of clay pots that sat in the hearth. “This is my husband, Fenric,” said Nyra. She turned to him. “Fenric, Mother has finally arrived.”

  Fenric bowed low. Though what little hair he had was the same shade as Lila’s, he seemed far too old to be her father. His garb matched that of Averen men, being made of cloth. It seemed ancient and exceedingly worn.

  Honus entered, and Yim was introducing him to Fenric when Lila crawled into the room. Along with her basket, she carried three freshly killed hares. Yim noted that they bore wounds from talons on their backs. The girl handed the hares to Fenric. “Here, Da. They’re for the feast.”

  Fenric placed the hares on a board near the hearth and began to skin
them using a flake of black, glassy stone. As he did so, Yim turned to Nyra. “You said I was expected.”

  “Aye, Mother. Lila’s talked of little else since the end of winter.”

  “But how would she know?”

  “She speaks to the Old Ones by the lake, as I did afore Fenric came.”

  “By the Old Ones, do you mean faeries?”

  “Some call them that.”

  “And they know of me?”

  “For ages and ages.”

  Yim felt as disconcerted as when the Seer had said that knowledge of her was “an old secret.” She noted that Honus seemed to have the same reaction, and she felt it wisest to speak of something else. “Well, it’s been ages and ages since I’ve eaten. Everything smells delicious. What’s cooking in those pots?”

  “Acorn porridge with herbs and honey,” said Nyra, pointing to one pot. She gestured to the others in turn. “Summer stew, faerie arrow with garlic scapes, mushroom soup, and this is hot water.”

  Lila gripped the rim of the water pot using scraps of pelts and emptied it into a wide crockery basin. Then she set the basin before a large rounded rock. “Sit here, Mother,” she said pointing to the rock. As Yim sat down, the girl tested the water’s temperature and added some of the leaves that hung from her waist. When she stirred them in, a fragrant mist arose. “Place your feet in the water,” said Lila, “and I’ll wash them.”

  “I can do that for myself,” replied Yim.

  “Please let me have that honor,” said Lila.

  “Only if you’ll explain what’s going on.”

  “Na here. Na now. Later.”

  “All right.” Yim lifted her feet and placed them in the warm, herb-scented water. Initially she felt awkward as Lila washed the dirt from her feet and began to massage them. The girl’s fingers were strong, and she used them skillfully to ease Yim’s soreness. It seemed to Yim that Lila’s hands spoke to her, acknowledging her hardships and offering relief. Yim relaxed, and her thoughts turned tranquil. After Lila lifted Yim’s feet from the water and dried them using a cattail, she brought out a pair of sandals. “These are yours, Mother.”

  Yim put them on. After all the strange things that had happened that afternoon, she wasn’t surprised that the sandals fit perfectly, down to the impression of her feet on the leather soles. They were oiled but not new, and when she looked down at them, she realized that one of the straps had been repaired. Yim took that sandal off, examined the strap, and recognized Foel’s handiwork. “I kicked this off in the Yorvern River!”

  Lila smiled, then whispered in Yim’s ear. “A token from the Old Ones that you may look to them in times of need.”

  Yim stared at her sandal, wondering what form of magic had restored her footwear and what other secrets Lila knew. The girl ignored Yim’s amazement and joined her father in cooking the hares. Her mother stirred the other pots. No one spoke, but the silence had a peaceful air that gradually put Yim at ease again. The light coming in from the windows slowly faded, and when dinner was served, it was eaten by firelight. The food was delicious, and Lila and Nyra entertained their guests with stories of the forest and its creatures. Some of it sounded like gossip—a feud between the crows and owls; how a larcenous raccoon tricked a badger; and the laments of voles. They also spoke of the lineage of trees and the spring’s surprises. But the topic of faeries never came up until Yim asked, “Does the lake really reflect starlight in the daytime?”

  “Aye,” said both mother and daughter.

  “But the stars are in their old places and hard to recognize,” added Lila.

  “I’d forgotten that,” said Nyra, mostly to herself. “‘tis been a long time.”

  “And you meet faeries there?” asked Yim.

  Lila silently raised a finger to her lips.

  EIGHTEEN

  IT WASN’T until the meal was over that Yim finally had a chance to speak privately with Lila. As the table was being cleared, the girl took the remains of the butchered hares outside. Shortly afterward, Yim followed her. When she emerged from the hillock, she saw Lila standing in the darkness with the ghostlike forms of owls feeding near her feet. The birds remained put as Yim approached. The girl knelt briefly, then rose.

  “What’s happening here?” asked Yim.

  “You’re visiting friends.”

  “Friends I’ve never met before and who seem to know all about me.”

  “Na all,” replied Lila.

  “Then what?”

  “That you’re the Chosen.”

  Yim started at the word. “Who told you that? Honus?”

  “Na him. ‘tis an old secret.”

  “I’ve heard that once before.” Yim gazed at Lila. The child’s pale skin made her seem ethereal in the dark—almost like a vision—and it didn’t feel foolish turning to her for guidance. “What will happen to me?”

  “You can na understand your life until the very end.”

  “Why?” asked Yim. “Earlier, you said you’d explain things.”

  “I can na explain what is na certain.”

  “That’s babble,” said Yim, not bothering to hide her frustration. “You know things, but say nothing.”

  “Do what’s necessary.”

  Those words again!thought Yim. “I don’t know what’s necessary.”

  “You do,” said Lila, her voice quiet yet assured. “You’ve always known.”

  Lila’s reply was so similar to Karm’s that it momentarily silenced Yim. Then, despairing of ever getting a direct answer, Yim asked something simple. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-three winters,” replied Lila. “But I sleep through them and age slowly.”

  “You’re older then me!”

  “And my friends are far older still. Please do na be cross with them or me. We’ve told you all we know. The end approaches, but we do na know its nature.”

  Yim saw she was being told the truth. “I’m not angry, Lila.” She stroked the girl’s cheek. “It’s just that you seemed so knowing. I’d hoped I don’t know what I hoped. That you had some answers, I guess.”

  “You possess the answers, na I. But I can give you food, and speak to your lover about what route to take.”

  “He’s not my lover.”

  “He loves you. And you him.”

  “Yes, but ” Yim sighed. “You probably already know.”

  “I do. ‘tis sad.”

  “It is.”

  Yim and Lila spoke a while longer, but about nothing of consequence. The girl wouldn’t discuss the faeries, and she had given Yim what guidance she could. The owls finished their meal and flew off as Lila and Yim went inside. There, Nyra showed Yim and Honus their sleeping chamber. It lay beyond one of the low openings in the wall and resembled a snug, wooden-walled burrow. Its rounded walls and ceiling formed a space that was too low to stand in and just wide enough for two persons. A thick, soft layer of fragrant dried plants covered its wooden floor. Yim imagined Lila hibernating through the winter in that very place or a similar one. The idea seemed pleasant. She removed her newly recovered sandals, settled into Honus’s arms, and fell asleep.

  The next morning, Yim awoke to view hordes of mice scampering about the central room. She glanced at the stone table and saw that it was covered with fresh berries. The mice departed when Yim’s hosts emerged from their sleeping chambers to invite her and Honus to a breakfast of berries, nuts, and herb-flavored water. Throughout the meal, Lila told more tales of the woods. Although he must have heard them before, Fenric seemed as enthralled as Yim by his daughter’s stories. “Do you sleep through the winters also?” Yim asked him.

  Fenric’s eyes grew melancholy. “Nay. Lila and her mother do, so ‘tis a lonely time for me. Only the kiss bestows long sleep, and only girls are kissed.”

  “This place looks old,” said Honus to Nyra. “Have your folk lived here long?”

  “Since beyond remembering,” replied the woman. “The tree that grows above this house is but the latest of a long line.” She gave the
Sarf a stern look. “Do na speak ill of the Old Ones. They’re wary and protect what they love, but they’re na evil.”

  “Then why do folk fear their dells?” asked Honus.

  “Because they should,” said Lila. “People are heedless, and the Old Ones never forget.” She turned to Yim. “But they love you, Mother. Remember that.”

  After Yim and Honus had eaten, Nyra gave them provisions for their journey, and then Lila led them from the forest. When she reached its border, a crow flew down and perched upon her shoulder. Then the girl spoke to Honus. “Karmamatus, this is Kwahku. He’ll guide Mother to her friend’s dwelling. Follow him and no unfriendly eyes will spy you. Anywhere he alights will be safe.”

  Honus seemed almost as surprised that Lila called him “Karmamatus” as he was to have a crow for a guide, but he said nothing. The crow flew off as the girl knelt before Yim and kissed her hand. “Many hopes go with you, Mother.”

  Before Yim could thank her, Lila rose and stepped into the undergrowth. Then she seemed to vanish. Kwahku, who had been circling above, gave a “caw” and began to fly northwestward. Honus and Yim followed him.

  Throughout the day, Yim and Honus were guided by the crow. The bird would fly a distance—a short one in wooded places and a longer one over more open ground—before perching within view. Honus, with Yim close behind him, would make his way to the bird. As soon as they reached him, he would fly off again. Sometimes he circled high above, seeming to survey the territory ahead before choosing which way to go.

  By this means, Yim and Honus traveled through valleys and over slopes without encountering a single soul. As dusk drew nigh, the bird led them to a perfect place to camp. The spot had running water nearby and was so hidden that having a fire didn’t seem imprudent. Honus gathered wood and lit one. Afterward, Yim roasted tubers in its embers. When dinner was cooked, Kwahku landed next to Yim and she fed him as she ate.