67. A Moment of Peace
Chapter 67
A Moment of Peace
20 th Day of the Blood Moon
Aravell – Winter, Year 3081 After Doom
The sound of chatter and crackling fire reached Calen as soon as he opened the door and descended the stairs, the warm scents of lamb and rosemary filling his nose. The dirt was washed from his skin, his armour exchanged for a soft tunic and trousers Elia had laid out on his bed.
Faenir sat impatiently at the bottom of the stairs, his ears pricked, his bum wiggling, ever the pup.
Calen dropped to his haunches on the bottom step, scratching the side of Faenir’s neck. The wolfpine whined and leaned into Calen’s hand. He stared into Faenir’s golden eyes, the wolfpine’s tongue hanging from the left side of his mouth. Faenir had been like a different animal when Ella was asleep, as though Calen were a stranger to him, but now Faenir was back to being that same pup that had fallen asleep in Calen’s lap a hundred times over.
“As long as you keep her safe.” Calen scratched Faenir’s snout and rose.
Tanner nodded to him. The man stirred a giant pot with a wooden spoon while Elia Havel watched him like a mother wolf. The woman was in her element, that same smile Calen had grown up with adorning her lips. She half-walked, half-skipped across the kitchen, stirring pots, licking spoons, and adding seasoning at her leisure. It was good to see her smile again.
By the far wall, Lasch was filling tankards of mead from casks and passing them to Yana, who was setting them on the table beside Gaeleron and Ella. The pair were deep in conversation while helping themselves to chunks of fresh baked bread dipped in oil and vinegar.
“You look clean.”
Calen almost leapt from his skin at the sound of Elia’s chirpy voice beside him. He looked down to see her staring back up at him, her head twitching. “I… ehm… thank you?”
She pinched his cheek. “You look good. Like he did when he was younger. Except your eyes. They must come from your mother’s side.”
Elia was gone as suddenly as she had appeared, turning to slap Tanner’s hand as the man attempted to taste the stew.
Calen walked up behind Ella and wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her head.
Ella looked up, let out a soft sigh, then squeezed Calen’s arms and pressed her chin into the back of his hand. “You do look a lot better without all the blood and the dirt crusted in your hair. If you’d asked my advice, I would have said to give that rousing speech after you’d bathed.”
“Watch it,” Calen said with a laugh.
Lasch offered him a fresh tankard of mead. “You look like you need it, my boy.”
“Do I look that bad?”
Lasch raised both palms. “You look tired. Nothing some good food, great mead, fantastic company, and a world of sleep won’t fix. Now sit down.”
“I’ll raise a drink to that.”
Calen took a seat beside Ella and inclined his head to Gaeleron. “You’ve been busy since I’ve been gone. Thank you for watching over her,” he said, tilting his head sideways towards his sister. “And for keeping everything level here. I’m sorry I left you alone.”
“It’s been an honour, Draleid. But I wasn’t alone. Therin Eiltris rarely left my side. And Chora and the other Rakina aided in the training of every new recruit who arrived.”
“You’ll never just call me Calen, will you?”
“No, Draleid.” Gaeleron smiled, then raised the stump of his left hand to his forehead in a mock salute.
Calen took a long, thirsty draught of his mead. It wasn’t quite the same as the one Lasch served at The Gilded Dragon, but it still tasted of home.
The door opened behind him, and he turned to see Therin shuffling in, Aruni and another elf at his side.
Calen lifted himself from the bench, and as Therin made to greet him, Calen pulled the elf into an embrace. He wasn’t entirely sure why. A part of him was still angry at Therin, still mad the elf had lied to him. But Therin had been there at every turn, and perhaps it had taken everything Calen had seen in the visions at Ilnaen to realise that. Seeing how much others had lost had reminded him to hold on to what he still had.
“It’s good to see you too, Calen.” Therin pulled back and gestured to the other elf behind him. “This is Faelen. My daughter.”
“Daughter…” Calen traced the lines of Faelen’s face, her cheekbones high and sharp like Therin’s, her eyes soft. Calen realised this was not the first time he’d laid eyes on the elf. “I’ve met you before.”
“You have, Draleid.” Faelen bowed her head. “In the outer reaches of the Aravell.”
“You were one of the rangers who came to our aid.”
“Sankyar Alunea.” Gaeleron now stood by Calen’s side with one hand pressed to his chest, a droplet of mead rolling down his chin. “Din n?rvarvin gryr haydria til myia elwyn.”
Captain Alunea. Your presence brings honour to my heart.
“Ar diar, myialí, Narvír Athis.”
And yours, mine, Commander Athis.
Gaeleron straightened his back and lifted his chin at Faelen’s words.
As they all piled in, Calen greeted Aruni with the same warmth he had Therin. And to his surprise, so too did Ella. The pair exchanged a quiet whisper, and Aruni squeezed Ella’s shoulder gently.
Once they were all seated around the table, Elia carefully supervised Lasch and Tanner placing the giant pot of stew directly in the table’s centre atop a stone tray. The two men strained, their faces red and hands shaking as she forced them to hold the pot over the table while she adjusted the tray, trying to position it just right. When she finally deemed the tray’s position acceptable and the two men were allowed to lower the pot, she proceeded to lay even more plates of bread, roasted vegetables, sauces, potatoes mashed with goat’s milk and hard cheese, strips of seared lamb and venison… the list went on and on. The last time Calen had seen so much food had been in Arthur’s halls in Belduar. The thought was a sombre one. The last time Calen had stood in those halls, Arthur sat dead on his throne with his heart ripped from his chest.
“One night of peace,” Calen whispered, pushing the thoughts from his head. “Just one night.”
Lasch stood and moved to the top of the table, his tankard in his hand. “Before we eat, I’d like to say something.” A moment of silence passed, all at the table looking up at Lasch. He took a deep draught of his mead. “Liquid courage,” he said with a laugh. “I wanted to thank you all. Not only for how you have cared for and welcomed both Elia and me, but for how you have looked after Calen and Ella – and Dann, the little toe-rag. Where we come from, family, and your people, mean everything. Their blood is your blood, their pain is your pain. Freis and Vars Bryer were two of our closest friends. I grew up with Vars, knew him since we were little shits no taller than my knee. And so that makes Calen and Ella our children in a sense. It’s only a shame our own son isn’t here with us…”
Lasch stared off at something on the other side of the room for a moment, and as he did, Calen’s heart bled. He would have given almost anything to have Rist there with them. He had tried, he’d done everything, and still it didn’t feel like enough.
“Apologies.” Lasch swallowed hard, staring down into his mead. Elia reached up and grabbed his hand, her fingers intertwining with his. “What I was trying to say is thank you for making this place our second home and for making our family a little bigger.”
Lasch raised his tankard, and so did the others. Calen bit at the inside of his cheek, then mirrored the gesture. Ella was the last. She glanced at Calen, then gave him the falsest of smiles and raised her tankard.
“There is a prayer we say in the villages. A prayer for those we love and for those we wish to keep safe. May The Mother embrace you, and The Father protect you. May The Warrior guide your hand, and The Maiden guide your mind. May The Smith keep your blade sharp, and The Sailor see you to safe shores. To family, together and apart.”
“To family,” they all chorused.
As Lasch returned to his seat and the others filled their plates, Calen leaned in to Ella. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said, repeating that same false smile.
“Ella, I’ve known you my whole life. I know when you’re lying.”
She bit at her lip and tapped her fingers against the table in the way she did when she was debating something in her head. “After. Can we take a walk when the meal is done?”
Calen nodded and Ella took a bowl of stew passed over by Tanner, her lips curling in a broad smile of thanks. He continued to stare at her, wondering what it was that had his sister in such a strange mood.
She placed her hands over his. “Eat, Calen. And for the love of the gods, drink.”
And so, he did as his sister asked. He sat and he drank and he ate, and he listened to Lasch and Tanner tell stories about Vars and about Rhett and about a hundred other things. And the entire time, Valerys’s mind drifted with his from where the dragon lay with Avandeer and the others in the Eyrie. And he was warm.
Later, when Elia had fallen asleep in a chair by the fire and Lasch, Tanner, Yana, and Faelen were enthralled by one of Therin’s stories, Ella tapped Calen on the shoulder and the two made to creep out the door.
“Draleid,” Gaeleron whispered, standing from his chair quietly so as not to interrupt the story. “I will go with you.”
“No.” Calen clasped the elf’s shoulder, shaking his head. “Ella and I need some time alone.”
“With respect, Draleid. Now that you have returned, a personal guard should be arranged. Even in Aravell.”
“If it will make you rest easier, Gaeleron, we will arrange one first thing in the morning. Five handpicked by you.”
“It will, Draleid.”
“But give me tonight. And give it to yourself as well. Sit, drink, eat. There’s plenty of stew left. And between Therin, Lasch, and Tanner, I’m sure there’ll be stories told until the early hours. Enjoy the small moments.”
Gaeleron nodded, turning his gaze to the floor.
Calen leaned his head down to look into the elf’s eyes. “You of all people have earned this, Gaeleron. I will never forget who and what you are. Sit. Drink too much. Sleep in my bed if you can’t walk,” he said with a smile. “I’ll sleep in the Eyrie tonight with Valerys.”
With that, Ella and Calen slipped from the house and strolled along the grass paths of Alura towards the Eyrie, Faenir trailing at their heels.
They walked in silence for a few feet, the nightsong of birds and the burbling of Alura’s streams in the background.
“I was worried you’d never come back.” Calen swallowed, looking down at the grass path before him. In an instant, the warmth from earlier faded to ice and was swallowed by fear and worry and loss. “There was nothing I could do… just stand there and watch as you slipped away.”
“I’m here now.” She wrapped an arm around his shoulder and planted a kiss on the side of his head.
Calen slowed his pace as they walked through the passageway to Alura, allowing himself a few extra moments to admire the statues of the dragons that had been added since he’d left, the crimson moonlight drifting down from above. No matter how much of the Spark he saw, he would never be able to comprehend the sheer beauty of what some people could do with it. Not if he lived for a thousand years would he be capable of creating anything even close to the likes of these statues. Calen had only ever seen the Spark as a weapon, a thing to be wielded and used for violence. And yet the Craftsmages used it as a tool for creation, Healers to pull souls from the jaws of death. He’d never put much thought into it, but perhaps that was why The Order had created the separate affinities. Different minds used the Spark in different ways.
“Chora had them crafted.” Ella placed a hand on the stone talon of a dragon that Calen was absolutely sure was Ithrax. “I swear, some days I want to strangle the air from her lungs and others I can’t help but be impressed by her.”
Calen stared up at the statue of Ithrax, memories of the night the great dragon had died flashing in his mind. “It is a hard thing to explain,” Calen said, tracing the lines of the carved scales with his gaze. “To be Rakina. Chora has lost a piece of herself. More than that…”
Calen thought back to the vision he had seen of Varthear’s past, of her soulkin’s – Ilmirín’s – death. And the emptiness he had felt through Kollna when she had reached out to her soulkin and felt nothing.
“When one half of the bond dies, the other withers, severed, burnt, and broken. Without your soulkin, the world holds no joy, no warmth. You are half of what you were before – less, even. It’s not grief or sadness or loneliness. It’s deeper. It’s like your bones have been hollowed and your veins left open to bleed. Like the world itself has no purpose, like breathing is not worth the effort it takes, like you are treading water in a dark ocean and the level keeps rising and you’re swallowing and you’re sinking and the easier thing to do would be to let go. To grant yourself relief from the endless pain. The elven translation for ‘Rakina’ differs from the direct translation. Literally, it means ‘one who is broken’, but they interpret it as ‘one who survived’. Chora can be harsh and cold because the broken pieces of her soul have left her jagged, Daiseer’s loss robbing her of the very warmth in her veins. She is broken, but she is here . She has survived where so many others have not. I don’t think I’d survive, Ella. I’m not strong enough. And so, I don’t always agree with her, but I respect her and I admire her.”
“I didn’t know…” Ella touched Calen’s cheek and turned his head towards hers. “You talk like you’ve felt these things, like you know them.”
“I have… in a sense.” Calen placed his hand over Ella’s. “I’ve seen them in my visions – the paths once walked, Fenryr called them. Do you see things like that?”
Ella shook her head. “Our Gifts are not the same.” As she spoke, her eyes shimmered golden, reflecting the moon’s light.
Calen only nodded and walked on, Ella following. There was so much he didn’t know, so many things he had missed over the past two years. Where did they even start?
When they stepped into the Eyrie, Valerys lifted his head from where he lay on a plateau a hundred or so feet up on the right, his white scales stark against the mounds of blue, black, and purple nestled in beside him. That was the first time Calen had seen Avandeer resting in the Eyrie. He would go to Tivar when the sun rose and tell her everything that had happened in Ilnaen.
Valerys shifted and began to rise.
Rest .
The dragon pushed back. He could feel the ache in Calen’s heart, the touch of his mind easing the sorrow.
I’m all right. Just a little sad.
Valerys lowered his head, but those lavender eyes remained open, watching intently.
Calen dropped himself to the grass where the stream tumbled off the edge of the plateau, his feet dangling. He looked out at the sprawling valley beyond, illuminated only by the stars and the pink light of the moon.
Ella sat beside him to his right, letting out a long sigh. Faenir nuzzled between them.
Feathery wings flapped and echoed up the edge of the cliff, two dark shapes alighting in a nest cradled in a cranny on a cliff to the left.
“When I left,” Ella said, breaking the silence, “I never thought it would be the last time I’d see them again. I always kind of thought they’d just…”
“Live forever?” Calen turned his attention from the nest and looked to Ella, who was staring out into the darkness of the valley.
Ella nodded softly.
“Me too.” They’d not spoken of their parents. That was a wound he didn’t ever think would heal. One he perhaps didn’t want to heal. The pain reminded him of how much love he’d been lucky enough to know.
“It’s hard to imagine a world without them. They were always just… there.”
Calen tilted his head upwards, drawing a long breath and letting it out slowly in an attempt to hold back the tears he knew would spring forth if he didn’t stop them. “Why did you leave? You and Rhett.”
Ella let out a long sigh. “How long do you have?”
“However long you need.” Calen knew it was a joke, but the answer wasn’t. It had been nearly two years since he’d seen his sister. Two years since he’d thought her dead. The longer they could sit there on that ledge, the better, because he knew once they stood and left, the world would drag them forwards.
And so they sat for hours, talking of everything from Rhett, to Haem, to their parents, to Calen’s visions, and all that had happened since they’d last seen each other. Never in his life had he spent so long sitting with Ella and just talking. There had always seemed to be more important things, like drinking with Rist and Dann, practicing sword forms, working in the forge. In truth, everything had seemed more important than just sitting and talking with his sister. But at that moment, there was nothing in the world he wanted to do more.
After silence had settled on them for a while, Ella spoke again. “Calen, earlier, when you asked me what was wrong…”
“What is it?” Calen had never known Ella to dance around something so much in her life. She was usually as blunt as a hammer. It worried him. “Are you all right?”
“No, I’m fine.” Ella shook her head.
“Ella, talk to me.” A touch of panic settled in, and Valerys rumbled in the back of his mind.
She leaned forwards, ran her hands through her hair, and whispered to herself, then turned back to face him. “Rist is alive.”
“That’s not funny, Ella. It’s not?—”
“He’s alive, Calen. I saw him with my own eyes.”
Calen stared back at his sister, his pulse quickening. He stared into her eyes, searching. On the plateau above, Valerys lifted his head, his frills standing on end. “He can’t… I went to Berona… He wasn’t there… He?—”
“With my own eyes, Calen.” Ella clenched her jaw, and Faenir growled beside her. His head lay on his paws, his snout creasing as he bared his teeth and stared into the night. “He’s a mage. He fights for the Lorian Empire.”
“No,” Calen argued, shaking his head. “No. That’s not possible. He would never fight for them. They took so much. They killed our parents.” A rage twisted in Calen, coiling in the pit of his stomach. “They killed Mam and Dad. Rist knows what they did. He would never…”
“Ask Farda. He was there.”
“And why would I believe a word out of the mouth of the man who burned our mother alive?”
“Because for some reason you don’t seem to believe me ,” Ella snapped.
Calen looked back out towards the valley, his hands shaking at his sides. How could it be true? None of it made sense. How could Rist be alive? How could he be fighting for the same people who had imprisoned and tortured his parents, murdered Calen’s, and destroyed everything? “He wouldn’t…”
“I told you that when I was captured after the Battle of the Three Sisters that Farda broke me free. Probably the only decent thing he’s ever done. But there was a part I left out. Rist was there too. He’d come earlier that day with other mages. I recognised him, and he recognised me. He came back that night to rescue me.”
“Then why isn’t he here?”
“It was all chaos. I was exhausted and angry. I wasn’t in my right mind, and we needed to get out of there.”
“You left him?”
“I wasn’t in a position to leave or take anybody.” Ella twisted her tongue in her mouth. She always did that when she was trying to stop herself from getting angry. “I didn’t leave him, Calen. He stayed. There is a difference. He never asked to come with us.”
Calen pressed his hands into his face, then ran them through his hair. “None of this makes any sense. Why? I just… I don’t understand. If he was alive, why did he not come back to us? He fought at the Three Sisters? He fought for the Lorians?”
“I don’t know, but I think so.”
The rage that swelled in Calen was a tangible thing. It rose from his stomach, burning in his blood and twisting in his chest, his hands clenching into fists. His mind melded with Valerys’s, and the dragon’s fury burned with his.
“I didn’t want to say anything earlier. I wanted to talk to you first. I don’t know what to say to Lasch and Elia… if anything.”
“We need to tell them.” Calen drew in slow breaths, attempting in vain to calm the fury that swelled within him. “They need to know he’s alive. Whatever else comes with that will be dealt with. But I know what it’s like to think someone you love is dead, only to find out you’ve been lied to. Even hard truths must be swallowed.”
He looked to his sister, but in an instant, Ella’s eyes shifted to pools of gold, her pupils dilating.
Every hair on Calen’s body pricked, and he leapt to his feet, opening himself to the Spark. On the plateau above, Valerys rose, the rumble in his chest echoing through the Eyrie, Varthear, Sardakes, and Avandeer grumbling in return.
“Calm yourself, Wolfchild.” A pair of golden eyes shimmered in the darkness, gleaming. “You asked me to come to you tonight, and so here I am.”