19. Nineteen
Nineteen
Their journey by portal to the northwestern corner of Pyralis passed without incident.
From there, it was only a day’s ride through the vibrant countryside, foraging for apples and bedding down beside small fires to chase away the evening chill, before they reached the edge of Maedwen.
The rains began nearly as soon as they crossed the border.
For two full days, the sun hid behind a thick blanket of clouds while a soaking rain poured from the heavens.
Even drenched and chilled to the bone, Nova marveled at the magnificent green country rolling out around them.
Occasionally, the muddy cart roads led them through small settlements.
Tiny townships boasting little more than a tavern and a trading post with hardy Wyldling folk bartering pelts for potatoes and woven fabrics for foraged plants.
Bryn led the way atop her straw-colored gelding, greeting wary passersby with a tap of her fingers at the center of her forehead.
The gesture seemed to ease the locals’ initial mistrust—that is, until they caught sight of Nova and Callan, who stood out like sore thumbs despite their hoods pulled low.
Nova imagined their presence would provide enough fodder for drunken tavern gossip for weeks to come.
Late on the third day, the skies mercifully ceased their crying, and the thick cloud cover parted, revealing glorious golden rays.
Bryn suggested they make camp to take advantage of the break in the weather.
While the Wyldling disappeared into the forest in search of small game, Callan set to work coaxing a fire to life, scraping the blade of his dagger along a flint stone.
Wisely, he’d gathered dried grass and leaves as they passed through the Autumn Court, forming the material into small bundles which they’d been able to use to kindle flames even in the waterlogged landscape of Maedwen.
Not for the first time, Nova was reminded of Fawn, who had conjured roaring flames from thin air as easily as blinking.
Shaking her head, Nova cast all thoughts of Fawn from her mind.
Thinking of her only made Nova worry, and she was doing all she could for her friend at present.
Determined to make herself useful, Nova checked over the horses, lifting each animal’s hooves one by one and inspecting them for any stones or other irritating bits.
Finding nothing, she removed her woolen cloak and draped it over a broad, flat rock to catch some of the sun’s rays.
After several days of heavy rain, the garment was soaked and added extra weight.
Fortunately, it had kept her body somewhat warm and her clothing relatively dry.
Lowering herself onto the rock, she tugged off her boots and removed her socks, laying them beside her cloak.
The forest was quiet, peaceful. The patter of falling drops picking up each time the breeze, crisp and fresh with the scent of earth, rustled the leaves.
Spring, with its budding blooms, had always filled Nova with a sense of hope.
A similar sense of optimism took root in her chest as she tilted her head back to feel the warmth of the sun upon her face.
Roughly an hour later, Bryn emerged from the woods, a gray hare dangling from her belt. Nova rose, offering to prepare the animal for the evening meal, but Bryn waved her off. After pulling on her boots once more and shaking out her cloak, Nova joined Callan by the campfire.
The roast rabbit, served along with bread and hard cheese, made a pleasant meal.
Nova draped her cloak about her shoulders and scooted closer to Callan when the sun dipped beneath the treetops.
He wrapped an arm around her and tucked her in close to his side.
Bryn sat across from them, the flames dancing in front of her as her eyes flitted about.
She cocked her head, listening as the darkening woods slowly came to life around them.
“What are you listening for?” Nova asked contentedly, nuzzling her cheek against Callan’s chest.
Bryn was quiet for a beat longer before focusing her attention on the fire. “Beasts. Sprites. Many creatures call the woods of Maedwen home. And not all of them pleasant.”
Sobered by the mention of beasts, Nova perked up, remembering it was unwise to let her guard down, no matter how tired she was or how full her belly.
“The same sprites from the Wylds?” Nova tipped her head to look at Callan, finding his jaw tight, his warm brown skin bathed in the orange glow of the flames.
“No.” He clicked his tongue. “The sprites you’d find here are more playful. Hiding things. Tying your bootlaces together while you sleep. The sprites of the Wylds are a more sinister sort.”
“And they inhabit the mounds?” Nova’s gaze flicked back to Bryn, who adjusted her position to lean back on her hands.
“The Wyld sprites are more like guardians. Charged with protecting the burial mounds,” Bryn explained.
“Burial mounds?” The notion astounded Nova. In the Human Realm and Aemoria alike, folk practiced fire as a final rite. How else were the souls of the dead to be carried to the After Realm? “But you said folk believe the mounds are as old as the gods. Who is buried within them?”
Bryn’s bright eyes gleamed in the firelight, a grin spreading across her impish features.
“Elves.”
Again, Nova twisted her face toward Callan for confirmation, her mouth falling open in delighted surprise.
“So the legends say.” Callan smiled faintly, shaking his head at the glee written plain on her face.
“I’ve never seen an elf.” Nova sat up straight and crisscrossed her legs, ever hungry for a faerie story.
“Nor have I,” Bryn said.
“Nor has anyone,” Callan added. “The race of elves died out long ago.”
“So the legends say.” Bryn smirked.
Callan shook his head again and stirred the fire with a stick, sending sparks flying into the sky.
“Would one of you kindly put me out of my misery and share these legends with me?” Nova glanced back and forth between her companions, growing impatient that the two of them possessed a knowledge she did not, like a shared secret.
Callan held out a hand and bowed his head to Bryn, deferring to her.
“First came the gods, of course,” Bryn began. “Together, they created the world and the elements. For a time, that endeavor entertained them. But it wasn’t long before they tired of one another’s company and sought to create new life.”
“Elves,” Nova ventured.
“Elves,” Bryn said, nodding. “The legends say the elves weren’t so different from the gods.
Their lives spanned many thousands of years, and they, too, could create life.
The elves were wyldwielders with the ability to conjure plants and make them grow.
But they were also earthshapers. Splitting the ground.
Moving mountains. They settled in what is now called Maedwen. ”
Suddenly, Bryn’s eyes went wide, and Nova tilted her head. The breeze had stilled. The faint chirping of frogs had gone quiet. She heard nothing apart from the crackling of the fire. It was as if the forest itself was listening to the tale.
“Though the gods created them,” Bryn continued after a moment, “the elves came to worship not the heavens, but the earth. They buried their dead beneath the ground, the sacred sites marked with burial mounds.”
A chill ran through Nova at the memory of the massive mound of earth and the whispering voice in her vision. Drawing her cloak closed over her chest, she settled against Callan’s side once again, grateful for his warmth as he draped his own cloak around her.
“Why bury them?” Nova asked.
“They believed it returned them to Cyraelian.” Bryn rolled her shoulders, stretched out on the ground, and tucked her hands behind her head, her tale concluded.
Callan tossed a large log onto the fire, then repositioned himself to lie on his back as well, tugging gently on Nova’s arm for her to join him.
She laid her head in the crook of his shoulder, gazing up at the clear sky and the glinting sea of stars, visible for the first time since they’d entered the Spring Court.
“What is Cyraelian?” she whispered, tilting her face toward his. The word sounded vaguely familiar, though she couldn’t imagine where she might have heard it uttered.
Callan’s heart beat slow and steady beneath her ear. He yawned and tightened his arm around her.
“It’s their word for the After Realm,” he mumbled, words slow and syrupy.
Nova fought the pull. Tried to look at the stars. To listen for the sounds of mischievous sprites. But, before long, sleep won out, and she drifted off as well.
The rains resumed shortly after they rode out of camp the following morning, thankfully more of a drizzle than anything. Nova was grateful to only look like a half-drowned rat by the time they finally reached the city surrounding the Maedwen Estate that evening.
A massive fortification of gray granite rose out of the ground before them, metal spikes fixed at intervals lining the top.
A wide moat surrounded the wall, the water not stagnant but rushing softly like a creek.
They approached the edge of the moat with Bryn leading the way.
Nova and Callan brought their horses to a halt side by side slightly behind hers.
They kept their hoods pulled low as Bryn whistled and waved a hand, signaling the guards who kept watch behind a small opening near the top of the wall.
One guard poked her head out and looked down on them.
“What’s your business in Maedwen?” the guard shouted.
Bryn tapped her forehead in the customary greeting. Callan followed suit, and Nova clumsily attempted the gesture as well.
“We seek an audience with the Noble Lord,” Bryn explained, pitching her voice to be heard over the distance and the patter of the rain.
“Are you expected?”
A second guard emerged at the top of the wall, setting light to several mounted torches, the firelight banishing the dark and illuminating Bryn.