Chapter Nine
Vonetta
The next day and a half is spent in an arduous journey.
We procure mounts from the stables in Lora, and our ride to Nanburrow is one that takes some adjusting to.
We have small ponies on the Isle, but nothing so great as these creatures.
I feel clumsy and new to learning how to direct my sturdy grey mare, but I gain confidence while we ride, and it passes quietly and without incident.
We stop to water the horses in Nanburrow, another border town at the edge of the greater forest. We take a small meal there, and our companionable travel recommences in the late hours of the following day.
We are closer now to the hills than not, and the tension of that creeps ever nearer both on Wren’s map and in our minds.
The rocking motion of the great beast under me is soothing, and Chiron rides at my side. Wren is just ahead of us down the narrow dirt path.
My legs grow ever stronger, both from our time in the forest and the discipline it takes to keep my seat on the horse—but it is still laborious. The long travel weighs on us all the further we ride. When Chiron speaks again, his words interrupt my composure.
“How are you finding the ride?” He asks.
He appears at ease in his saddle. Long-tested legs hold him in place on his larger steed, a reddish-coated male he’s been calling Fennel-Breath.
His dark hair shines in the sun. It falls effortlessly, appearing both tousled and intentional.
I look away from him and back to the road ahead of us.
“It’s been well, I think. For having never ridden before.”
When I return my eyes to him, Chiron sends a cheeky smile my way. His reins are in one hand and his other on the pommel in front of him. He is the picture of ease.
“Ah, yes. Our green one. Perhaps we should have started you on a pony for your first time.” His voice is a little petulant, and the barb lands, however unintended. Weariness hastens my words.
“Only one of us here is a golden Prince who was set upon a steed at his birth, Chiron.” My tone is sterner, more serious than I’ve ever spoken to him. I am not wrong, but I would rather not continue this discussion. I glance back at Chiron, whose jaw is slack and eyes are wide.
I nudge my mare forward and ride onward, catching up to Wren with ease.
Chiron hangs back now. We ride in silence for a time, and I reclaim my sense of calm again with the sounds of hooves steadily beating the land below us.
Wren shares some facts about the landscape in this part of the country, about how we’ve been in flatter grasslands up until now, and how the hills turn to the mountains in the north.
It’s well met to have a travel companion with such a rich knowledge of the places we go, and I am grateful for it. Conversation flows easily between chatter and silence with Wren. He is comfortable leading the discussion when it’s something he is passionate about.
I can hear Chiron's mount close behind, but he remains at our backs for a long stretch of our journey. Occasionally, I steal a glance back at him under the guise of checking my saddle bags. He appears to be in serious thought, and so I don’t hang back.
Once or twice, he catches my eyes, and the last time, he holds me there with his own before looking away.
He is as uncomfortable as I am about our last exchange.
When we at last make it into the hills, it’s late in the afternoon, and the physical exertion for us all is apparent.
We have arrived at the place of our first trial, and the energy of this place is louder than our exhaustion.
I feel a resonance here that I haven’t felt since leaving the Isle; the priestess in me is awake here. Naedra is alive here.
We are met on the road by a tall, hooded figure; she was expecting us. She leads us through the hills to a stable where we can board our mounts.
Chiron is particularly tender as he unsaddles each one and gives them all a pat on their neck and a soothing word of praise.
The hills are grander than I ever imagined, tall and blanketed in thick viridian turf. The texture of the land here is worn into winding paths and steep slopes. Three main, larger hills reside in the middle; there is a valley between them, and this is where we are led.
As we walk, tension grows between us all. Not a wrongness, but the tone is serious. This is our first trial and our first opportunity to answer the call of the Land. This is the first step to securing our rule as the Trinity.
For the last several days, it’s been easy to put the officialness of everything about us to the side and just be new companions on the road.
The other night in the cabin felt like we were friends of a sort, like something was becoming of us.
Today, that all is overshadowed by the task before us.
The invisible bonds at our wrists feel tangible to me today, not chains, but still weighted.
As we are led through the hills and valleys, the hooded guardian is silent, hands clasped behind her back.
My intuition tells me she is a sister, but one that I do not recognize.
Her hands are gnarled by work and age. Her nails are long, sharp, and almost claw-like; it’s unsettling to look at.
Wren sees me watching our guide because he leans close and whispers,
“This is the Keeper of the Shrine. I’ve read about the position; it is lifelong and solitary work.
They take a vow of silence that is only broken in trance or when there is a trial.
” I nod my understanding to him. I try to imagine what it would be like to be under a vow of silence and to live a life of absolute solitude.
If anything, our vows are the direct opposite of that.
The walk through the valley to the center of the hills is long.
We remain side by side, the guardian in front of us.
No one speaks again, but Chiron does grasp my hand for a brief moment, a squeeze before he lets it go again, and we continue on.
I feel bolstered by the touch; perhaps we both needed it.
When the Guardian stops and turns to us, we are at the center of the three larger hills. They tower around us as swathes of green and yellow, warm and washed in the light of a fading sun. The wind is light here, blocked by the body of the land.
The guardian directs us to stand back-to-back; our shoulders are close, but we do not touch.
We stand like this for a long pause. I close my eyes and relax my limbs from my neck down to my feet, imagining the tension flowing from me back into the ground.
I open my eyes. I attempt to stretch my limbs, but I cannot.
Shock overcomes me, and my breathing comes out in a stuttering wheeze.
We are held within the space by nothing tangible to the eye, by a force that allows us only the ability to move our faces.
I cannot turn my head or see the men around me; we are isolated from each other physically.
I close my eyes again. I do the same visualization again, tension leaving me from my neck down to my feet.
I imagine that I choose this restriction and that I can see Wren and Chiron are calm beside me.
My eyes snap open at the low and unfamiliar voice. The guardian speaks.
“Trinity. You stand now before the spirits of this Land and are asked to draw from the shadows of your own heart. The thing of which you never speak, given to She who is the teacher in the ways of the below. Only then can you fulfill your oath, ‘No secrets between three’. Only then can your triad continue onward.”
The guardian nods her farewell to us and then turns away, walking back out of the valley and disappearing behind the hills. She has left us to our task. I take slow and even breaths. I consider her words carefully.
The thing of which you never speak…
The shadows of your own heart…
We remain held in the chasm of our silence. Trees sway beyond the valley, and I use them as a focal point while I bolster myself to cross a line we haven’t had a chance to walk up to yet.
I feel raw and exposed even though they cannot see me.
Fear. Fear of speaking first is what keeps this silence; it teems with things unsaid between us.
Fear is what we must draw from our own hearts this day, wounds untouched by conscious thought.
I wait, I listen to all of the sounds around us and to the slow breathing of the people near me.
Up until now, we have been strangers. We have been almost friends, even if only for a short time.
It is impossible now to ignore that we are bonded.
Bonded in marriage, bonded as monarchs. As my mind circles the breadth of our positions, Wren clears his throat.
We wait. The moment is charged. We remain quiet, giving him the space to start.
When Wren speaks, his voice is soft, hushed.
But his truth is evident from the very first breath.
“I know what it is I need to say. I have said it to my own teachers and to myself. But never to either of you.” He stops. We wait.
“When I was called to be the representative of Caelestis, of the Isle…I was devastated. And so inexplicably angry. I did not choose this. I did not choose this at all. But I knew even then that choice was irrelevant. The Gods call, you answer. That is my fate. That’s all of our fates.
So I bear this because I have to. But what I fear… ”
Wren is silent once more. The words do not flow out of him; they push their way out in spite of him.
His voice is rough and harsh, and I remember the anguish on his face in my vision, kneeling on the floor of the Atheneum that he so loves.
I squeeze my eyes tightly closed, and I hold vigil for his confession.