Journey to Aviad Read online

  “I am only a child,” she stammered, “I do not understand what these things mean. Is that enough? What else must I do?”

  “Believe, and remember. The Journey begins,” the voice said.

  Then the voice left the carving—at least that was how it had seemed to her in her dream. Elowyn woke to find that she had already been asleep for many hours, and her fire was almost completely out. The howling had stopped, and the wood was blanketed in the complete silence that only comes about in the deepest part of the night. She restarted her fire and tried to fall back asleep, only to find herself staring at the carving of Aviad, wondering if what she had experienced was real. She half expected the wall to come to life before her eyes. But it remained cold and silent, and Elowyn eventually fell to sleep again, this time dreaming of the wood and the stream and the sunshine dancing through the swaying branches overhead. She even dreamed about the young, thin, giggling trees that watched over her old stomping grounds, and of their jolly mother with the thick, knotted trunk. They were the most pleasant dreams she’d had in quite some time.

  When Elowyn finally roused herself, late in the warmth of the morning, she let out a great sigh of contentment. She ate a small breakfast then approached the basin with great curiosity as she remembered her dream. She immersed the tips of her fingers in the cool water, looking up at Aviad’s image. There was no sound, no movement. She reminded herself that it had only been a dream after all, and yet she wondered if the elements of her dream were instructions meant to be followed. This was a peculiar place, no doubt still touched by the presence of the Ancients from when it was a sacred site. Perhaps it would be best to do as she had been told, just in case what she had experienced had been more than a mere dream. She cupped some of the water in her hands and poured it over her head. The drops ran along the length of her hair and down her face, dripping off her eyelashes, nose and chin. She looked up again at the carving, smiled brightly and skipped off into the trees humming to herself. She felt as though all of her burdens were lifted that morning. Her body felt light, her spirit refreshed.

  Elowyn decided to do something she had not done in a long while. She called it tree sailing. Morganne called it utter madness. And just past her camp, standing in a patch of soft, springy green moss, was the perfect tree for it … tall, but not too tall, strong, flexible, and with a great number of canopy-like branches fanning out from the trunk. Elowyn scrambled up the tree, inching forward on her belly across the strongest of the overhanging branches, grabbing the smaller ones to her chest. She pushed herself forward as far as she dared, hanging on with her whole body. As the wind caught the branches, she was swayed up and down. It was the closest she had ever come to experiencing what it must be like to sail on the ocean—something she had always felt a great longing to do. Once caught in the rhythm of the tree and the breeze, she could close her eyes and relax without any fear of falling. She felt so free suspended weightless in the air. It was almost as though she were part of the tree itself, growing tall and graceful, joining the wind and sky in their daily song, year upon year, age upon age. Time seemed motionless, meaningless.

  Elowyn had been in the tree for a long while when her senses slowly became aware of movement below her. Peering through the leaves, she saw someone moving about where her camp was. His form seemed familiar, but she had to be sure … yes, it was Einar. Finally he had come! She called out to him, laughing as he looked about unable to find her.

  “Up here,” she called, “in the tree!”

  Einar seemed both startled and amused at the same time. “By the Sovereign’s name, what are you doing up there, child?”

  “Can’t you see?” Elowyn smiled joyfully. “I am riding the wind!”

  Surely if anyone could understand this unique habit of hers, it would be Einar. He shook his head at her but did not scold. That beautiful, wondrous, youthfulness that she had recognized in him only once before, shone through his features.

  “You are indeed a most unusual child …” Einar looked around the ruins as Elowyn eagerly climbed down the tree to retrieve the helmet and bow. “I see that you have not sat idle while you waited for me. Making a new home for yourself?” Elowyn could see that Einar did not regard this place with the same reverence she did. As his eye roved from crumbling wall to fallen pillar, he saw little more than a jumble of old masonry.

  “It is a special place … it seemed to need me. Everyone has forgotten it.” Though Elowyn said this with the utmost humility, she could feel her face growing warm.

  Einar began to laugh in that jaded tone of his, until he saw the crestfallen look on her face. “Aye, such a tender soul. I suppose if I had been forgotten for hundreds of years, I would want one such as you to find me again.”

  “I was hoping you could tell me what the carvings mean. They are all about people and places I don’t know, except, of course, for Aviad. He is everywhere.”

  Einar seemed a bit uncomfortable as he scanned the numerous images spanning the walls. “I’m afraid I will be of little help to you in that regard. I have not put much thought into the old tales of Aviad and the like.” He shrugged.

  To Einar it all seemed no more than a fairy tale, and a dangerous one at that. How long had the Temple leadership interfered in the affairs of the Sovereign for the sake of its own gain? How often had they swayed the people, based not on the issue at hand, but simply on their word and desire? He thought the Temple leadership to be imminently corrupt, and the people who blindly followed them to be no better than drunks, addicted to a never ending supply of ale, packaged neatly and sold as religion. However, he could not say this to Elowyn, her innocent face raptly gazing into his, desperately craving his wisdom and approval.

  “Perhaps one day I shall be able to introduce you to a friend of mine who knows of such things.” Quickly changing the subject, he put on the brightest expression he could manage and said, “Come now, sit with me and show me this bow that you’ve found.”

  As Einar sat down, the breeze lifted his cloak, revealing a heavy bandage wrapped around his left arm from elbow to shoulder.

  “You’re hurt!” she exclaimed. “What happened?”

  Einar quickly covered his arm with his cloak. “Let’s just say we ran into some … trouble, two nights ago. We had to move camp, which is why I am so long in getting to you. My sincerest apologies for the wait. It could not be helped.”

  Elowyn’s ears attended to every word. This was the first time he had ever mentioned “we” or “camp.” Again, she wondered about him. Where did he go? Where did he live? Did he have a family? Why was he always so secretive? What was he hiding? Perhaps in showing him what he had come for, she would get some answers.

  Pulling the bow out of her sack, Elowyn handed it to him. All of the joy instantly left his face, and he held it close to his body with his head bowed heavily.

  “Please, tell me again exactly what you found, and where you found it.” His voice was low and somber.

  Elowyn recounted the tale of that last night by the stream, of finding a stray coin, which led her to find the helm and the bow and the arrows. She told him about the tracks she had found, and what she thought they meant, which seemed to be confirmed by the attack on her the next day. She showed him the helm as well, and he wept over it when he saw the crest.

  “It is finished then. My friend is lost, and so is the accursed quest that sent him to his death. There is no hope to recover either, the Hounds and their Master have seen to that.”

  Elowyn shuddered at the mention of the Hounds and their elusive Master. “The night of the storm, one of those Hounds was scratching at our cottage door. It left a footprint. The last two nights that I have been here, their sounds have drawn closer. Einar, what are we to do if they come to the cottage? It is only my mother, two sisters and I. We are not warriors, and we have no weapons to fight off such horrific beasts. I told my sister the print was from a wolf, so as not to scare her. But I am scared.”

  “If you were not, after what you ha
ve seen, child, then you would be a fool.” His words troubled her. She had expected him to say something comforting, or at the very least give her some practical advice.

  Einar rose and said abruptly, “I must take my leave, and report back what you have told me. I am sorry.” Elowyn felt her heart being squeezed by a mixture of emotions. Sorrow first, for she felt the loss of Einar’s friend, who apparently meant much to him. Second, hurt, for she had anticipated that once she brought Einar what he asked for, he would be more open with his own business. Instead she found him even more closed off, and curt with her in a way he had never been before. She knew it was not because of anything she had done, but it left her sore just the same. Third, fear. Einar was the closest thing to a brother, or even a father, that she had ever known. She wanted him to make things right, to protect her, to assure her that she was not in danger, or tell her what to do, just as he had given her instructions on how to use the dagger. Though Elowyn knew she was miserably clumsy with it, at least she was not completely vulnerable so long as she carried it. There was always a chance. But now she was left feeling helpless, paralyzed. She handed him the bow and arrows with the helm.

  “Keep them, or give them back to your friend’s family. I do not want them any longer.”

  “Thank you,” Einar nodded. His eyes had grown cold, and all the muscles in his face hardened. She felt as though she were standing with a total stranger.

  “When will we meet again?” Elowyn asked, hoping that he would look at her, and that she would be able to see some remnant of the kind gentility she had come to know in him.

  “Soon,” was all he would say. Then he departed, vanishing into the trees, as was his custom. Elowyn felt hurt, and betrayed, and very uncertain about Einar. She had done his bidding, waited at the ruins patiently for two days, knowing that if it had taken a week or more for him to come, she would have waited. This was not exactly the way she had expected his visit to turn out. She sat in front of the little basin and cried until the hurt gave way to a quiet resentfulness. She decided that if she was going to continue meeting Einar, she wanted to know more about him. She needed to know that she could trust him. “Next time I see him,” she vowed to herself, “I will demand some answers.”

  But then as she stared at the ground, she noticed something. A footprint, deep and clear. It was Einar’s. Glancing in the direction he had gone, she saw more. The ground was still extremely soft from all the rain the storm had brought, especially in the thick wooded places where the sun did not reach. It would be impossible for him to leave no tracks on a day such as this, no matter how great his skill. She sat and debated for a moment. Was it right to follow uninvited? What if she were caught? Surely he would be furious. It would be his fault though, wouldn’t it? If he had been more honest from the start, she wouldn’t need to sneak after him looking for answers. And then the most dreaded thought of all; what if she followed him, and did not like what she found? Was it better to know than not know? She told herself that she would just follow a short bit, to see in what direction he had gone. But curiosity grabbed hold of her; she could not stop herself. She needed to know, once and for all, what his secret was, and she might not get the chance again, for she realized that she did not have the ability to follow him any other way undetected.

  Einar was heading well away from Tyroc, up along the ravine but more to the west. Where the soil became thin and sandy, his footprints were shallow and difficult to follow. Several times she thought she had lost the trail, only to pick up traces of it again further ahead. Eventually she came to the bottom of a long, sloping valley. On the other side, a steep hill crested and she could not see what lay beyond it. Many separate plumes of smoke rose above the hill, and Elowyn guessed that they came from the camp he had spoken of. She eased her way slowly along the edge of the trees, not wanting to draw attention to herself if anyone was on the lookout. As she got closer, she began to hear the bustling sounds of an active camp—axes at work, people calling out instructions to one another, bits and pieces of casual conversation, and warm greetings passed between friends. Elowyn strained to see, but was not yet close enough. The camp was masked by thick, tangled underbrush, much of it sporting nasty looking thorns. Carefully she inched herself up a nearby tree so that she might get a better look.

  The camp was full of makeshift tents, many of which were windblown with patches sewn on to cover the rips. It was a bedraggled group she saw—most dressed in what were once fine sturdy clothes, now worn thin with use. A group of men were digging a large pit on the far side of the camp against a rock face. The rest were busy setting up tents, preparing food, and taking care of other menial chores. Several seemed to be wounded. There were no women, and no children.

  One man was tied up against a tree near the edge of the encampment. Elowyn wondered who he was, and why he was being held prisoner in such a way. Then she saw Einar emerge from a tent. He strode over to the prisoner and had some sort of argument with him. She could not hear what they were saying, but both seemed very upset. The prisoner spit on Einar, and instantly several large men rushed over to pull Einar away before he had the chance to strike him. An older man approached who had an aura of authority about him. As he and Einar spoke, the man’s expression grew increasingly concerned. He dismissed the other men and motioned in Elowyn’s direction. At first she panicked thinking she had been seen, but then realized that he was motioning to a tent near to where she was hiding. Perhaps if she could get close enough to it, she could finally hear what was going on. Elowyn slithered down the tree as quietly as she could and crawled over toward the back of the tent where she could hear but not be seen.

  “I realize it is tempting Einar, but you know that is not our way, and it is not yours either. I have known you since you were but a lad bouncing on your father’s knee. Worry not, Justice will be served tonight at the appointed time, and I have decided to give you first rights.”

  “I fear even that will not be enough to quell my grief, my lord. It festers deep within my soul. It haunts me, consumes me … I cannot rid myself of it.”

  “Aye, and so it shall be … for a time. You know that we all share the same grief, for all of us have lost these past months, in one way or another.”

  “Yes, my lord. I do not mean disrespect to you or any other in this camp.” Einar’s tone softened, “I beg your patience, for this latest news is a fresh wound that I must learn to bear.”

  “Indeed. And now that we are in private, I wish to hear of it. What news do you bring?”

  “Nevon is dead. The Hounds have devoured him.”

  The two men fell silent for a few moments before the elder finally asked, “How do you know that he is perished?” Einar relayed to him the whole tale of tracking his friend as far as the clearing where he had saved Elowyn from the Hound. He told him of their rapid advancement and of his inability to travel any further east because of their numbers and the encroaching storms. He told him also of what Elowyn had seen, and of what she had found and returned to him.

  “This girl you speak of, can her word be fully trusted?” Elowyn bristled slightly at the question, listening intently for Einar’s answer.

  “Yes, my lord. I have worked to slowly gain her trust, and she has proved herself to be honest and forthcoming with what she knows. I have found no reason to doubt her sincerity.”

  “And she knows not who you are or where you are from? One careless word to the wrong person…” Elowyn saw the shadow of the elder rise and begin to pace with what she perceived to be anxiety.

  “No, I have been careful not to reveal myself, though I am not sure how much longer I can continue to question her while leaving all of her questions unanswered. Eventually she is sure to become suspicious.” Elowyn’s ears perked with great interest at this remark, wondering if his secret would now be revealed. Einar’s answer made her wonder about the sincerity of his friendship. True, he had saved her when she was still but a stranger to him, and he had showed her kindness. But what if he was only us
ing her to glean information for whatever purpose he was tasked with? The other man continued with his questioning.

  “There was no body? Not even a trace of one? Even for Hounds, that is strange. And no sign of the package he was carrying either? Of course, he would have held it close to his body and well hidden. If the Hounds’ Master has Nevon’s remains, so also he must have the package. If that object is now in his possession … I fear to think of what may become of us.”

  Einar spoke once again, his voice carrying an edge that meant he was trying desperately to stay his anger. “Despite our disagreements in the past, I know that you and Nevon both truly believed in the quest, and I am sorry that it failed. But with all due respect, I cannot believe that my fate, or that of the world, rests with any single object.

  “Ever since we found the dying monk in the forest, the men have been rattled and uneasy. His presence, his tales, his relic, and most of all, this quest, have been a distraction from our true purpose here. What do we go out and tell the men? How many of them have hung so much upon this that they will now give up all hope that they can save themselves? Nerves are frayed enough. We are weary and wounded, and our families, our very lives, have been taken from us. Is that not enough pain to endure?

  “There is plenty of evil to be fought right here, with Braeden’s wicked deeds, his evil magics, his outright manipulation of the courts, and of the people, too, for that matter. Have you forgotten that he was recommended to the Sovereign by the Temple? If he is what the Temple represents, then I want no part of it—its relics, its monks, or of its so-called deities.”

  “You know not what you say,” the elder man interrupted with a slight growl to his voice. “Think what you will in private, but speak not against the Ancients in my presence. How convenient that you believe so readily in the powers of evil, but not in the ones that might save you.”