Chapter Twelve #2
I’ve never been afraid of water, but I cannot help but imagine this small craft tipping us over into Nerine’s depths, and that makes me as uneasy as I’ve ever been.
Chiron sits toward the front, an oar in his hand, and directs Wren to sit off to the right a little, distributing us all evenly.
I am centered at the back but feeling as unmoored as I can be.
It doesn’t take them long to turn us around and begin our struggle with the wind and water, in truth.
The air here is thick, and the force it takes to breathe out against the gusts is disconcerting.
The water lashes against the sides of our vessel, but Chiron and Wren beat it back with their even strokes.
Even in the rain, the waterfall is before us, and we ever so slowly gain ground toward it.
No one speaks. Wren and Chiron beat a path forward in time with each rippling wave against us.
The boat sways with the water, and I learn to adjust myself with each rock.
Chiron and Wren continue to clear our path, and just as I feel slightly like we have this under our control, the water pummels us all forward.
We grasp for the walls of the vessel, small as it is.
Chiron, being at the front, splays out over the prow, and for a brief but torturous instant, I think he will tumble into the water.
But I see Wren lean back, and I pitch myself in the same direction.
This change in weight gives Chiron enough gravity to pull himself in, and things right themselves again.
The relief we all feel is a weighty and tangible thing.
Chiron looks back at us and grins. I do not know how he is smiling.
Wren shakes his head at him, repositioning his oar and waiting for Chiron to do the same.
For the rest of our time on the water, we all sway.
Forward when it pushes against us from the front, and back when it is behind me.
When the spray from the falls reaches our faces, I am neither relieved nor afraid.
Just ready to be out of the boat and on solid land again.
The thunder claps across the sky above us as we dock on the other side of Nerine, and the rain breaks through the clouds with a new fervor.
Chiron steadies us all as we disembark, taking both our hands and elbows into both of his hands and guiding us onto land.
His steadiness is effective; we all make it off the vessel, and he ties it to a nearby stone to keep it near.
My cloak is well and truly soaked through now, but its efforts were valiant.
There is truly no material that could withstand this.
The downpour is steady as Wren leads us along the shoreline.
When we reach the waterfall, he lifts his hood over his head and walks through it.
I cannot see him behind the white frothing streams, but I follow him in, Chiron at my back, hand over my shoulder.
I hold my breath as I pass under the falls.
I wipe at my eyes, loose hair sticks to my skin, and I peel it away from me to unveil the small cavern.
The sound of the storm is nearly forgotten now, the whooshing of the falls echoing through the space.
We all remove our cloaks now and wring them carefully, streams of water fall to the earthen floor.
There are some stones that stand near the entrance, so we hang them there carefully, hoping that they will dry some while we are here.
Wren rifles through his bag now, and my suspicions are correct when his book comes out, unwrapped from a sturdy piece of leather.
It is dry, and his relief is pure. In all of the changes that have taken us lately, this blooms in me as a small slice of stability.
Chiron is shaking his head, not unlike a dog, and he sprinkles us all in the water that leaves it.
I scoff at him, and he returns it with a short smile, one that is only a moment long before he sobers. We are all sober.
We drop our packs near the cloaks and inspect the cavern. It is small and mostly empty. It’s dark and cool, but infinitely more welcome than the storm just outside of the falls.
I walk the perimeter of the space, fingers gliding across the stony walls. Nothing is there. No engravings, no epitaphs to tell us what to do.
We continue to search the cavern, wiping away dirt and dust from the stony floors within, peering intensely at the blank ceiling to no avail.
The tension between us all grows heavy, and our shared glances mirror it back to each of us in turn.
When the sound of rock upon stone echoes into the chamber, we turn to it.
Wren wedges his shoulder into the wall and anchors his feet.
He pushes, and more scraping ensues, but the wall only moves a couple of scant inches.
Chiron joins him, anchoring himself the same as Wren, and together they count themselves into another push, the wall rolling into itself and revealing a tunnel that slopes gently down.
It is a small space, barely enough room to stand, but Chiron leads us down into it.
It’s notably colder the farther we walk, and I wish for a warm, dry cloak more than ever.
I use my hands to feel my way through the tunnel.
My fingers glide across the cold stone, feeling every break and crevice.
We walk for a long time before our breath begins to mist in front of us, and my fingers touch ice.
I pull them back from the wall just as it falls away, and we see a wide expanse ahead of us.
Everything shines even in the relative darkness.
There are beams of gentle light that emerge from the holes in the cavern’s ceiling.
In the center of the space, a small pedestal of stone sits.
We approach it together, but Chiron uses his sleeve to wipe the surface, slowly unveiling the engraving beneath. When he finally has enough ice melted away from it, he rubs his arm with his other hand to warm the skin. This ice has been here a long time, maybe decades.
Wren leans in close to it, wiping away small spots that are not yet exposed. He speaks quietly, but his voice echoes through the cave.
Speak fidelity to her waters, fidelity to the Trinity.
We crowd closer now, shoulder to shoulder with one another. In my bones, I understand that this is not like our first trial; there is no trick to this. A vow is called forth from us.
I widen my gait and breathe the tension from my limbs in slow, even movements.
When I speak, both Chiron and Wren lock their eyes to mine; brown and blue, unintelligible in the darkness, but somehow distinguishable to me.
Even then. Because I know them, I think.
Because our bond stands at a crossroad here, and I am about to walk across it.
I whisper, not because I’m afraid, but because I am not.
It carries quietly through the stone room.
“I, Vonetta Sage of the Isle of Women, representative of Naedra, vow my fidelity to the waters of Nerine. I vow my fidelity to you, Chiron Grey Daciana. I vow my fidelity to you, Wren Ashyr.”
I let out a slow breath. The weight of this vow is deep within me, both inevitable and right.
We stay where we are; no one moves. We all breathe the next moment forward. Wren speaks, not in a whisper as I did, but with a steady, solemn tone.
“I, Wren Ashyr of the Isle of Men, representative of Caelestis, vow my fidelity to Nerine. To her waters, and to you, Chiron. I vow my fidelity to you, Vonetta.”
Wren is visibly affected by his own words.
How? I cannot say. But we both look to Chiron now, and his emotions are clear on his face.
The tension and worry that have plagued him throughout our time together are apparent; I do not know if he knows.
When he speaks, it is the voice of a prince, a proclamation to his people.
“I, Prince Chiron Grey of House Daciana, representative of Nerine, pledge my loyalty and fidelity now. To the waters of Elemyr, Nerine, my strength. Vonetta, my fidelity is yours. Wren, my fidelity is yours. I,” He pauses, and we remain as we are.
The room is colder now, and my skin is bitten by it.
But I cannot fidget or move to warm myself now.
Chiron moves to speak again, but he stops.
He does this a few times, hanging his head forward and pressing his fingers to his temples.
My concern grows deeper, and I look to Wren. His look is stony but concerned.
“Hey,” I whisper to Chiron, “it’s okay. Speak to us.” He looks at me through his long lashes. He is anguished, and I fear whatever it is he will say now, but I resolve not to show it. He takes one final deep breath in and begins again.
“I cannot make this oath while I keep things from you both. So I need to tell you something now, something I’ve kept with me a long time.
It’s not really my secret; it’s my parents.
But it weighs me all the same, so I suppose it is mine?
The lost Queen, Adira? She didn’t die. I don’t know why or even exactly when, but she left.
She chose to leave the Trinity. My parents let her leave. ”
We stand in silence for a time. I feel frozen through from the ice around me and from Chiron’s ashamed confession.
Someone who was a sister in Naedra gave up her call?
That this is possible creates far more questions than answers in my mind.
Only one thing is certain to me. This is not Chiron’s shame to bear, nor is it mine.
Wren speaks now, his question echoes into the air and settles deeply into my body, cold as it is. “Why…why did the Land not withdraw its bounty from us then?”