12. Skysinger
Skysinger
T he Crovan warriors walked alongside their horses silently.
Though they were no longer outwardly hostile, their unease simmered beneath the surface.
They clearly weren’t thrilled to guide strangers to their home.
What could they possibly want with her? What did Aelithar mean to them?
Would it be possible there were people like her there? What if their elder was leytouched?
Isolde tried to temper her expectations, but hope surged in her.
Even if there were no leytouched here, even then, surely they would have answers.
Perhaps they knew what awaited her at the Nexus, or what this ritual entailed, or what this presence was.
They would know something. Anything. She clutched her reins tightly.
The Crovan warriors led them northeast, where the trees grew thicker with each passing mile. Soon they arrived at a rocky gully, one side rising high above the other. Gnarled tree roots jutted out from the rock face.
They dismounted their horses, then continued on a path that narrowed as they walked.
The walls pressed closer until it felt like a tunnel, with nothing but the sound of their footsteps echoing softly.
And then it opened again, revealing a much wider space.
A cliff towered on their left, two stories tall, while wooden structures dotted the right side of the gully, backed by dense trees.
Several tiny waterfalls cascaded down the rocky wall, splashing into a wide pool at its base.
Isolde had been taught that the Crovan, like all the inland people, were primitive and uncivilized.
But when she looked around, she felt almost embarrassed that she had ever taken such teachings at face value.
There was no opulence, no grandeur. Everything, from the buildings to the clay pots being filled with water by the pond, was simple and functional.
But there was a beauty in the simplicity, and it was so clean, so tidy.
It reminded her not of anything primitive, but of the kitchens back home.
Operated like clockwork, no room for clutter or excess.
The tall woman led them through the heart of the village, keeping the cliff wall on her left and the buildings on her right.
They passed several people, all of whom gave them long, curious looks but remained silent.
Eventually, they reached a large building set against the cliffside.
A wide double door stood open at the top of three steps.
The entrance led them directly into a long hall, dimly lit by torches and some daylight filtering in through low windows on the side walls.
The interior was not what Isolde had expected.
She had envisioned a throne room of sorts, perhaps, with an imposing old man in a carved chair at the end watching their approach.
Instead, the space was full, cluttered almost. Long tables stood side by side, with a handful of people doing various tasks.
In one corner, a man sat with three children.
An assortment of herbs and small tools lay on the table in front of them, and the man was speaking to the youngsters in a serious tone.
In another corner, a younger man and an elderly woman were having what looked like an animated discussion.
The tall woman moved through the hall, and Isolde followed without hesitation. It was a pleasant place, and all these people at their various tasks gave her a sense of comfort.
She froze. All these people.
Reaper take her, she had just waltzed right into their village, into their home. She hadn’t given a single thought to what she was, what devastation she might unleash upon them. She swayed on her feet, her hands clamped over her mouth.
“My lady, what is it?” Garren spoke, his hand on the pommel of his sword .
Isolde’s eyes darted to the man seated with the children. He looked up at her with a frown. Was he a mage? What if one of the little ones had magic?
“All these people.” Isolde said, her voice trembling. “I’ve just walked into their home without thinking – what if there are magic users here? What if I…”
“Isa,” Felix replied quietly from her other side. “This is not the midsummer festival. You are in control now.”
She whirled to face him. “I have not been around any mages since then! I haven’t been around anyone! How can you know?” Her hands shook, the ley markings on her hands and neck brightened, and sparks of magic flew around her almost menacingly. The current was stirring, clawing at her insides.
“Breathe, my lady,” Garren urged, though his stance was tense, betraying the calmness in his tone. “I am sure these people realised what they were doing when they invited you here.”
“Indeed, we did,” came an unknown voice, deep and smooth like honey. The older woman approached them. She may once have been tall, but age had stooped her, and she now stood just a hand shorter than Isolde. She wore an apron dusted with flour over a finely embroidered robe.
The old woman attempted to take Isolde’s hand. She pulled it back reflexively, startled. The woman raised her hands in a gesture of calm and simply smiled. Isolde held her breath.
“Aelithar,” she said, her voice steady, her eyes kind. “You are welcome here. Do not fear – your presence will harm no one here. Our people do not possess the ley line magic.”
Isolde released the breath. She wanted to say something, to apologise or explain, but the words caught in her throat. She managed a nod and blinked back the heat behind her eyes.
The elder smiled. “Come, my dear. Tell me how you came to us.” She led Isolde to one of the large tables and sat her down on the long bench. The others followed and hesitantly sat down around them. The young man who had been with the elder joined them as well, looking at their group curiously .
Isolde knitted her eyebrows together, trying to think of where to start. “Well,” she began eventually, “My name is Isolde. These are Luella, Garren, and Felix. We came from Azuill. It’s ah… a city to the south.”
The elder nodded, her eyes twinkling. “I have heard of it.”
“Right, of course,” she flushed slightly, power churning inside her. “I was, um, I became Aelithar – as you call it – on midsummer. I had to leave Azuill because of the danger of my magic. We have been travelling ever since.”
It sounded so simple like that. Straightforward. She wondered how to explain it was anything but.
“And where are you going?” the elder asked. “Forgive me for prying, but I expect you have a destination?”
Before Isolde could respond, though, the large door burst open and three Crovan warriors barged in, two with spears and one with an axe.
Felix and Luella reacted instantly, leaping up and positioning themselves between Isolde and the new arrivals.
Garren looked momentarily bewildered but quickly stood as well, drawing his sword.
Rage flushed the leader’s face, and spittle flew from his mouth as he shouted.
“Asara!” He waved his spear at the tall woman.
“How dare you bring a Beastmonger into our village! Have you learned nothing?” Isolde saw Felix take a single step to stand just ahead of Luella.
He had not even drawn his weapon, but menace radiated off him.
Not like the Crovan warrior – big and loud, but a simmering, quiet kind of danger. Like a wolf stalking prey.
The tall woman – Asara – did not back down from the man’s fury. “You have no right to storm into the hall, Elric, shouting and making threats.”
“I have no right? When you bring corruption into our midst! Which one is it?” Elric looked from Felix to Luella, Garren, and finally, to Isolde. “I will slay them where they stand!”
Isolde opened her mouth to defend herself and her companions, but Felix spoke first.
“You can try,” Felix said as he rolled his shoulders and flexed his fingers over the handle of his axe.
He took one smooth step forward to stand toe to toe with Elric, who recoiled.
It was only slight, and he tried to mask it, but Isolde saw it.
She knew Felix did, too, because she could almost see him smirk, even though his face wasn’t visible to her.
The young man sitting with them stared at Felix with an expression Isolde could only describe as awe.
“Felix! Don’t!” she hissed.
“Enough,” the old woman said firmly. “Elric, you will stand down. This is no way to greet our guests. This young woman is Aelithar. It is our duty to aid her, regardless of her companions.”
“Duty!” he spat. “Our duty is to our own!”
The young man and Asara both rose from their seats. “Calm down, Elric,” the man said.
Elric scowled, but the elder’s authority, along with Felix staring him down, seemed to bring him down a notch.
He let out an angry huff, turned on his heel, and stormed out of the hall, one warrior following behind.
The third lingered – a young man, around her own age.
He was tall and broad-shouldered, with light eyes, and wore his hair in a braid.
He nodded to the people assembled in front of him.
“I’m Beorn,” he introduced himself. “I, uh… welcome.” His gaze swept over the newcomers, then settled on Isolde, looking her over in a way that would be considered scandalous back in Azuill. She blinked and gave him a timid smile.
Before she could say anything, though, her view of Beorn was blocked as Felix put himself between them.
“Nice to meet you, Beorn .” There was an edge to his voice that sent an involuntary shiver down Isolde’s spine. “Now why don’t you run along after your angry little friend before he hurts himself?”
Beorn hesitated, frowning, but nodded and left. Once he was out of sight, Felix turned back to the others. Luella’s eyebrows were raised in amusement. “Felix!” Isolde said. “Really! There was no need to be rude to him; he was trying to defuse the situation. We are guests here!”