14. Chapter 14
The breaking sun cast gentle beams of light over the cottage rooftops as Vaelin stalked through the streets of Rowanmere. He glanced to the sky, frowning at the thick canopy of foliage that obscured his view. It did not improve his mood.
He’d been confident the healer would be at the inn this morning, that the sharp edge of her stubbornness would have dulled with time.
Instead, the innkeeper had informed him that no one had arrived looking for him, nor had any messages been left.
He growled in annoyance, a rumble that moved through his chest to the tips of his fingers. He drew his hands into fists.
This had all been a waste of time — time they didn’t have.
He tucked his weapon in close to his hip as he made his way to the stables near the edge of town — a last ditch attempt to find a suitable horse in this Godsforesaken realm.
He’d need one if he had any hope of making it back within the time frame he, Evric, and Aurelia had agreed upon.
He hoped they’d had better luck than him, but it was equally possible that they’d found themselves just as empty-handed.
Vaelin loosed a low, steadying breath, unease stirring in his gut as he wondered whether either of his friends had begun to cough…
Dark visions rose in his mind - fissures of flame splitting the skin of Evric’s face like burning threads of death, Aurelia, grey-faced with sunken eyes, gasping for air as the earth drained the life from her.
His stomach roiled and he swallowed rising bile.
He shook his head violently as though he might physically cast the thoughts away. They lessened, fading to a dull hum where they crouched in the darkest recesses of his mind. In their place, he saw a flash of green eyes and his braided fear and anger leapt at the new target.
It was a selfish decision to stay behind in this village.
And for what? To dole out herbs and teas that would do nothing more than temporarily staunch the flow as the rest of the continent bled out?
Perhaps he could sympathize with the pull of responsibility, of familiarity.
But what the fuck didn’t she understand about the fact that everyone she loved would die if she didn’t do something to stop it?
Her refusal and what it might mean for this mission - for the very fate of the world - sat like a stone in his stomach.
In a fortunate turn of events, the man working the stables had been pleased to present Vaelin with a size-appropriate, golden ash-coloured horse with a black forelock that swept halfway down its broad face. He handed the reins to Vaelin, accepting the gold with thanks.
Vaelin dragged a hand down the beast’s powerful neck. “Is he Vyatka?” he found himself asking as he adjusted the saddlebags, securing his blade to the saddle. He hadn’t expected to find one of the fae’s prized breeds in this realm.
The man nodded. “A mix, but certainly favours his Vyatka blood.” He stifled a yawn with the back of his hand, murmuring an apology.
“I’ve got a new babe at home,” he said, and Vaelin recognized him, then, as the man who had come calling for Isla when his wife had gone into labour.
“I forget what it’s like to sleep more than two hours in a stretch.
Wouldn’t trade it for the world, though!
” the man continued, and his eyes slipped out of focus as they took on a dreamy affect, no doubt picturing his child.
Vaelin’s eyes flickered over the man’s face, the clear lines of love etched as deeply into his expression as the purple smudges beneath his eyes that betrayed his recent lack of sleep.
Vaelin wondered idly whether his own father had felt that love at the start, before Vaelin had grown into his greatest disappointment - a young boy who received nothing but his father's disdain before he'd fallen in battle. Vaelin flinched, the thoughts piercing him in a place he’d thought had long since gone numb.
He turned away abruptly, swinging up into the saddle in one smooth motion, nodding his thanks to the man.
Vaelin steered his mount toward the mouth of the trail, allowing the horse to move at its own pace as he settled into the comfortable, four beat rhythm.
He shifted in the saddle, absentmindedly tightening the straps on his vambraces.
The King had indicated, in no uncertain terms, that their party was not to return without answers, and the ones they currently had would not be those the Starfire would be willing to hear.
The obvious solution was for Vaelin, Evric, and Aurelia to head to Dunovar to seek the Scholars themselves…
but he knew in his bones that the healer was key to halting this illness in its tracks and that making his way to The City without her would earn him nothing.
He couldn’t explain it, but it felt as though a hook had been lodged into the point where his neck met his shoulder, tugging him toward the human healer.
Vaelin’s muscles tightened instinctively as his horse’s gait stalled, and the animal nickered a greeting. Ahead, a slight figure crouched on the trail, digging bare-handed in the earth, her arm looped through the reins of a bay mare that stood placidly at her side.
The healer - Isla, he remembered - was focused on her work, her chestnut hair pulled back at the base of her neck.
His magic seemed to reach towards her, a light, playful breeze that wound down the trail, fluttering the light tunic she wore.
She glanced up without any hint of surprise, as though she’d expected to see him there.
He released a breath, surprised to feel some of the tension in his chest ease as her eyes met his. He watched as she stood, tucking the plants she had dug up into the leather satchel her horse bore like a saddlebag, dusting her hands off on her trousers.
“You came,” he said, surprised to hear the strain in his voice. He cleared his throat.
She placed a foot in the stirrup, swinging gracefully into the saddle. Flattening a hand against the horse’s neck and murmuring a word of comfort as the animal danced sideways, she looked up to him.
“Let’s go,” she said simply, as she steered her mount back on to the trail.
He followed.
It was an hour before either of them spoke.
They rode in silence, Isla leading the way and Vaelin trailing quietly behind like a shadow.
As they moved farther from Rowanmere, the forest gradually thickened, the trees growing taller and closer together.
The trail narrowed as tree branches reached overhead, curving towards each other to create a dense archway of greenery.
Light filtered through the foliage, casting the woods in a strange, earthy glow.
Vaelin longed for the clear, clean air of the mountains.
And yet, as he looked ahead for any glimpse of the mountain peaks, his chest tightened as they drew closer to the border between this realm and his own.
Thus far, he had largely managed to bury his feelings about Sereth, her death, and the impending doom the illness foretold.
But here in the quiet of the forest, with nothing but his own thoughts to wrestle with…
he rolled his neck, frowning at the back of the girl’s head.
The trail they rode along was fairly well-trodden, but not without hazard.
The healer maneuvered her mount easily over the protruding roots and moss-covered stones with the ease of a person accustomed to riding.
In fact, Vaelin mused, she sat astride the mare as though she'd been born on horseback, her body naturally shifting with the animal’s motion.
He eyed the sword she wore strapped to her back, sunlight glinting off of its pristine hilt.
It was clearly freshly forged — he doubted it had ever been swung.
He shifted his weight, guiding his own horse around a particularly large tree root, grumbling irritably as yet another errant branch snatched at his cloak. A glimpse of movement caught his eye and he caught the hint of a smirk on the healer’s lips. His frown deepened.
“You should let me lead,” he said, urging his mount up next to hers as the trail widened.
“Why? Because you’re a man?” she asked, her response dripping with the tone of someone accustomed to being underestimated.
He managed to bite back a sigh of annoyance — barely. Must she always respond as though his every word was an attack? “No. Because I know where I’m going.”
“Why would you assume I don’t know where I’m going?”
His eyes travelled from the freshly-forged blade, to her spotless clothing - clearly not suitable for travel - and the scant belongings she had fastened to her saddle.
“Have you ever been outside of Terravern?” he asked, dryly.
She flushed, cheeks turning pink as her eyes flashed with annoyance. Her lips parted, an argument surely on the tip of her tongue, but he already had his answer.
“I’ve been travelling the realms since before you were born,” he drawled.
She exhaled a sharp noise of frustration, not unlike a horse with dust up its nose. It was another hour before she spoke again.
“How long until we reach Dunovar?” she asked.
“It depends,” he said. “We’ll likely reach the mouth of the Pass within a few days, depending on how many rest breaks you require.”
“Me?” she asked, annoyed again. “What about you?”
“You’re human,” he said simply. “You’ll need more rest than I would. We’ll camp most nights, but in Brackenford, at least, we should be able to get rooms for the evening. By then, you’ll be longing for a proper night’s sleep.”
He could almost hear her bristle at his side. “I don’t need coddling. I can sleep on the ground,” she said.
Vaelin rolled his eyes. “I’m not making a judgement about your strength. It's just a natural human shortcoming - your bodies need more rest than the fae.” The girl’s fingers twitched at her side, as though she itched to draw that sword of hers. He wondered if she even knew how to use it.