Chapter 55 Durvla
Durvla
Chiyo bought me a new dagger belt at the market, and I adjust it around my waist. Chiyo’s full name is Cloda Chiyoko Kilkenny, but it dawns on me that I don’t know her brother’s full name after almost two months since meeting him.
He walks beside me, leading Ghendor by the reins, and I glance at him with curiosity.
“Do you have another name like Chiyo?” I ask.
He blinks at me for a moment, but then signs, “I do.”
I watch him expectantly, and a tiny smile buds on his lips.
“Itaru,” he says, fingerspelling it slowly.
“That’s lovely.” I smile at him, and he shrugs. We fall back into comfortable silence for a while longer. My legs are like lead, but my rump is sore from riding. There’s no winning.
Alys, Chiyo, and Osheen are engaged in conversation up ahead, with Kilkenny having volunteered to bring up the rear. He glances at me, signing one-handed. “Tell me about Taig,”
A pang settles in my chest, but I exhale slowly and will it away.
Today has been a day of memories for sure.
For Kilkenny, for Alys, and now for me apparently.
“He’s an incredible little boy.” I’m warmed by the memory of his goofy smile.
“He was just a baby when we noticed that he was different. It didn’t make us love him any less, though.
If anything, we loved him even more. He doesn’t talk. Not yet anyway.”
What if he said his first words, and I missed them?
“He loves soft things and hates loud noises. Ironic since … you know.” I point to my ears and Kilkenny chuckles and nods.
“How did you all keep him hidden for so long?”
“Trap door,” I sign with a shrug. “Osheen helped us create it for him.” Osheen glances back from where he’s walking alongside Chiyo.
He smiles softly at me, and I smile back.
We’ve all dismounted our horses to give them a break from our weight.
Soon we hope to find someplace suitable to rest for the night.
“No one else has really taken care of him. Well, aside from Osheen’s family when I was apprehended. He can be a challenge.”
“If it makes you feel any better, Alys tells me that the Verge is a paradise for those with ailments and differences.”
Alys looks back at us, signing, “Everyone is welcome in the Verge.” She wears a different headscarf now, wrapped around the front of her hair and woven through a thick braid down her back. “Ordinary, magical, different, typical, healthy, ailed …”
That sounds divine, yet I can’t quite fathom it. The world we live in hates differences— differences are seen as weaknesses. “Sounds perfect for a magical woman with an ailment,” I motion with a small smile.
“Let’s stop here,” Kilkenny says, coming to a halt. We’re under a few trees in a small clearing. We’ve already ventured off the main path, so it would offer us some coverage.
Kilkenny stalks off with Ghendor after handing me a bedroll, and Osheen approaches with something like hope written all over his face.
But he turns to Alys instead of me. I tilt my head into his view, and I’m not prepared for the question he asks.
I stare in shock as he asks without signing, “Can you fix her? Can you make her normal again?”
Heat claws into my chest, and Kilkenny whirls toward us from where he’s standing. Can you fix her? Make her normal again? What’s worse is that Osheen asked as if I’m not standing right here.
He blanches, glancing between the three of us as he notes our stares. Chiyo turns our way as she struggles to unload the bedrolls from their horse, Ffion. Kilkenny now stands near me, his unsettling glower boring a hole into Osheen.
“I … didn’t mean that,” Osheen says.
I cross my arms over my tightening chest. “What did you mean then?”
“I meant if Alys could cure you. Your deafness. Don’t you want that fixed?”
“She doesn’t need curing or fixing,” Kilkenny says before I can. “She isn’t broken. Make yourself useful and go help my sister with your bedrolls.”
Osheen’s lips part a few times as though he wants to say something. He turns to me as if for help, but I can only frown at him.
Is that what he thinks about me? That I’m broken?
“Durvla, I only meant … Alys is a healer, and if she can make your life a little easier. It’ll help … it’ll help all of us.”
Chiyo appears, placing her small hand on his shoulder. “Mate, your foot is halfway down your throat. Quit prattling already.” She shoves a bedroll into his arms as I turn to storm off.
I take only a few steps before he rests a heavy hand on my shoulder. I whirl to face him, shoving his hand off and ignoring the dizziness from the sudden movement. “Can’t talk to you now,” I sign sharply. “Give me space.”
He draws in a small breath and rubs a fist over his heart—“Sorry,”—before he walks away. Darkness swirls around the edges of my vision, and I shut my eyes.
Something cool presses against the back of my fist and I unclench it to take the cool waterskin offered to me. “Drink,” Kilkenny says. “Then rest.”
I nod, but I meet Osheen’s gaze across the clearing.
He thinks I’m broken. After all this time.
After everything we’ve been through together.
His father’s death, my parents’ deaths, health issues, Taig, struggling to put food on our tables, raids …
Still, I never wanted to appear like someone who couldn’t handle things; this is why I never liked asking for help.
Hurt by yet another crack chiseled into our fragile friendship, I try to swallow the cool water around the lump in my throat and then wordlessly retire to my bedroll for the night.
Carys is standing on the shore of the loch, staring out into the vast water.
Beneath my feet, the grass is cool and slightly damp.
A gentle breeze blows through my curls and through Carys’s unbound hair, which sways below her knees.
The glint of the setting sun reflects off the golden strands in her raven hair as she stoops to remove her shoes.
She’s in a simple charcoal-colored gown.
She stands and toes off her shoes, nudging them aside with her bare foot.
Sadness and hopelessness roll over me in waves that are almost nauseating.
I clutch my stomach as Carys steps into the cold water.
She bites back a yelp, and the sting of the cold water catches me as well. Another step. Then another.
Carys is submerged up to her waist as my heart hammers erratically in my chest. I gravitate toward the loch against my will. There’s a pull from the water, luring me in, promising peace. Behind me looms the Fortress on the Mount, but it’s ominous. Dark. It promises nothing but misery and torture.
As I turn back toward the loch, Carys is slowly sinking into the dark water. “Carys!” I hear myself scream, and I clap my hands over my ears. The scream echoes, and Carys stands upright, splashing water as she does so.
She whirls toward me and blinks. Just … blinks. As if she’s unable to register anything. When she speaks, her voice comes out whispered and broken. “Durvla …”
“Carys, come out of the water.”
Her internal struggle is visible, but she slowly makes her way to shore again. She’s shivering, drenched up to her shoulders. Wrapping her arms around her torso, she regards me with confusion. “How are you … ?”
I shrug my shoulders. “It’s … a dream.” I glance around, hugging my arms across my torso as well. “Your dream.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m … a Dreamwalker, apparently.”
She takes my hand. Hers is cold and wet, much like her neutral expression.
“Are you alright?” I ask her.
“No.” She’s shivering now, and I’m sure it’s not just from the cold.
She starts rambling about Iywan working with someone to possibly open the Veil at Fiada Purlieu.
That the fairytale book she’s been reading is in an extinct, ancient language, and that there’s a prophecy that has something to do with the goddess Agryna.
Her words muddle up my mind, but I pull my focus to her and force myself to commit what she says to memory.
Pausing, she takes a deep breath and fiddles with her amulet. “I’m a Flamewielder, Durvla.” She huffs out an uncertain laugh, and I smile at her.
“I know.”
“This is madness.”
“And apparently our new reality.”
“I need to somehow stop Iywan’s bizarre plan and keep him from marrying me off to Rheon. That man …” She visibly shudders. “I—”
My body prickles and things start to fade on the horizon. Behind me, the castle is also beginning to fade. “Our time’s running out.”
She squeezes my hand tightly. “Don’t go.”
“Garrick!” The voice catches me off guard, but it’s not Carys who speaks.
I blink at Carys. “I’m sorry,” I tell her. “But listen.”
“For the love of Damarlach. Garrick! Open your eyes. We have to go.” Kilkenny’s voice in my mind.
My shoulder is jostled, and I’m almost pulled out of the dreamscape, but I hang on to Carys’s hand.
“Don’t do anything rash. You’ll figure things out. You can do this.”
“I’m not sure I can.”
“Wake! Up!”
“I believe you can,” I say. “Just as you believed I could knit you an entire dress in a month.”
She smiles and squeezes my hand even tighter but the world around us is fading rapidly.
I try to ground myself in this dreamscape but it’s no use. It’s like grabbing on to air. “Be brave,” I tell her, echoing the words Kilkenny has said to me more than once. “Don’t break.”
“OPEN YOUR EYES—!”
I awake with a gasp, squinting against the small ray of sunlight that shines through the trees. Alys and Osheen are frantically tacking up the horses while Chiyo and Kilkenny fend off three men clad in ragged clothing and leather. Another man lays unmoving nearby.
I scramble to my feet, my heart in my throat, my head spinning, as the scene unfolds before me. I’m rooted in my spot, unable to make my feet move. Kilkenny is quick and light on his feet, matching each strike of the assailant’s sword, swing for swing, jab for jab. That man goes down quickly.
Chiyo slings a small, sharp weapon toward a gaunt ruffian off to her side, and it slices across his thigh, darkening his stained trousers with crimson. She draws two daggers as the man screams and wildly brandishes his sword.
Alys shouts something, gesturing from off to my right.
Before I know it, Osheen is tugging me toward Ghendor and hoisting me up into the saddle.
Cold prickles at the back of my neck, and a bizarre buzzing sensation flares up beneath my skin.
I clench my fists and try to will myself calm again.
Kilkenny glances over his shoulder at me, his brows raised in a question.
The buzzing under my skin becomes nearly unbearable, and suddenly Kilkenny’s voice is in my head. “Put the bracelet on.”
I jump so hard at the sound of his voice that I nearly fall off Ghendor, but I rummage around in the saddle bag and grab the bracelet, quickly fastening it to my wrist. I breathe through the sudden shift in my body as my powers are silenced.
I’m focused on Kilkenny as he sheaths his sword over his back and wraps his arms around his attacker’s neck from behind. The man struggles, his face turning bright red, then blue, as he flails and swats at Kilkenny’s arm.
Chiyo is fast, dodging the brawny assailant again and again, a delighted grin lighting up her face. She’s playing with the man, goading him on, taunting him as she ducks and weaves, twists, and spins. She makes it look easy—graceful. A lethal dance.
Kilkenny gives her an aggravated look and shouts something at her.
She rolls her eyes, and as the brawny attacker swings again, she ducks.
The man Kilkenny is holding stops struggling, his face purple, and Kilkenny drops him as Chiyo flings her dagger into the brawny attacker’s chest. The man drops like a rock.
I didn’t even lift a finger, but I feel like I’ve been running for miles.
“Let’s go,” Kilkenny says, hurrying toward Ghendor while I try to ignore the dead bodies we’re leaving behind.
My heart is still racing as Kilkenny mounts Ghendor, but it slowly calms as his arm encircles me. As we gallop out of the clearing, Kilkenny’s voice is loud in my head once more.
“We really need to work on you controlling your powers.”
Hours later, green mountains loom to our right, and there’s a massive body of water far up ahead. The azure sky fights for visibility through dense white clouds, but the sun is warm enough that I shed my cloak as soon as Kilkenny helps me dismount Ghendor.
“I spoke to Carys in a dream last night,” I blurt as soon as my feet touch the ground.
His eyes widen, intrigue washing over his features. The interest spreads to the rest of the group as Kilkenny asks, “Did she speak back?”
“She did.”
Osheen can hardly face me as I glance at everyone. His words from last night hit me hard all over again. Can you fix her? I feel even smaller, as if standing here in the mountains doesn’t already heighten my vulnerability enough.
Shoving down the rising hurt, I focus on describing the dream to everyone, not sparing any part in case even the smallest detail turns out to be important.
“It’s not a surprise she can read the Ancient Tongue,” Alys says, thankfully snapping me out of my woes. “It’s in her blood.”
I wait for an explanation.
“The royal family were descendants of Agryna’s Chosen, or the Heirs of Embers, as some call them.”
Again, right out of my fairytale book.
“Carys’s late father, King Rhodri showed no manifestation of powers, nor did the king before him, but in the years before, Agryna’s Chosen were Flamewielders and Lightweavers. Some were even oracles.”
“She did mention something about there being a prophecy.”
“Prophecies are complicated. Sometimes they’re translated so often that the entire meaning changes or they’re just interpreted incorrectly.” There’s weight to her words.
“Do you know the prophecy that Carys might be referring to?”
Alys nods, her plump face solemn. “Something about the daughter of Agryna and Ehlach restoring balance. Some translations replace Agryna with Sunlagh, I believe.”
Sun. Moon. Dreams. It makes sense how they may interlock.
“Has anyone theorized who this daughter is?” Chiyo asks. “Is it symbolic or literal?”
“Prophecies are always symbolic. The problem is that people take it literally and lives are destroyed.” She bites her lip and shakes her head. “We should get going again. It’s too open here.”
She’s right. But Kilkenny’s face is contorted in deep thought; he doesn’t respond.
Although Mages aren’t beings of myth as I once believed, to fathom that this prophecy is real, and that Carys is somehow connected to it, is bizarre.
Yet a shudder shakes my core, a weight settling in my chest as I replay everything I’ve been told regarding Carys’s situation.
I press my fingers to my lips to keep from inappropriately bursting into laughter.
Breathing out slowly through my nostrils, I rise to set off with the others again.