Chapter 25 #2
Around midday, the rolling hills that mark central Landore break the monotony of our ride.
A hummed tune carries on the breeze behind me, and I awkwardly turn in my saddle to see where it’s coming from.
Emlyn follows behind Reid, and at that moment, he transitions from humming to lightly singing, his soothing tones wafting through the air.
The words are foreign to me, but they sound similar to what Taran said when he spoke to the horses.
“What language is that?” I call up to Taran. I’ve been trying to keep my gaze off the sway of his hips as they move with his horse, but it’s been difficult—he’s directly in front of me and there isn’t much variety in the landscape. Trees to my right, fields to my left.
“It’s the Tongue of the Land. The sacred language we use to speak with Her and Her creatures.”
Emlyn breaks the song with some loud words in the Tongue. Taran laughs, then yells something in return.
“It can’t be that sacred if they’re using it for jokes,” Reid grumbles from behind me.
My face scrunches as the two fae holler back and forth until Emlyn eventually returns to humming his song.
I nudge Willow to walk faster, until I’m riding beside Taran. Pitching my voice so hopefully only he can hear me, I mutter, “I didn’t take you as the sort to joke about people when they can’t understand you.”
“We weren’t speaking of you,” he replies, keeping his gaze ahead. “And he said nothing of your friend that he doesn’t already know.”
After all the effort he spent trying to reach me… “We’re supposed to be building trust. That won’t happen if you shut us out like that.”
“How about this?” Emlyn shouts. “Fae ears aren’t just pointy. I can hear everything you’re saying.”
I stiffen. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“Maybe? Now you know, at least.”
I suppose that’s good? Though in reality, it means that while the fae can use that language to keep secrets, it’ll be nearly impossible to have a private conversation with Reid.
After a while, we turn east into a valley on the northern side of the forest that we’ve been alongside most of the day. A creek flows through it, its waters flowing over and among various rocks and cattails, their brown tops swaying in the breeze. Taran stops and dismounts.
“We’ll break here to water the horses.” He scratches Willow’s muzzle before offering his hand. I take it, and my other hand ends up on his chest as he guides me to the ground. His jaw tightens before he lets go of me, then he snatches Willow’s reins and leads her to the water.
Emlyn grabs his bow, moving toward the trees. “I’ll try to catch something to eat.”
“No, I’ll do it,” Taran says quickly.
Emlyn raises an eyebrow. “Forgive me, Your Highness, but we both know I’m the better hunter.”
Taran sighs, then nods his head. He glances at me. “You can collect firewood.”
“Why? We won’t need one for long, and Reid and I can easily keep one going to cook with.”
Taran rubs his eyes with his thumb and fingers while mumbling something in the Tongue. “I spoke of the Second Betrayal to you, yes?”
“You did, but I don’t know what that is.” I look at Reid, who shrugs.
Taran drops his hand. “It’s the second time your people betrayed the Land.”
“What was the first time?”
Reid groans. “Emlyn mentioned that. He said humans used to be fae until we started controlling the Land?”
“Wait… what?” My mind shatters, its splinters spiraling into my skull.
We used to be fae?
Why didn’t Taran say anything about this until now?
I meet his eyes, unable to form the words to demand an explanation. He sighs, then recounts how we humans fell from the Land’s grace because of our farming and mining. Every word stirs a whirlwind in my mind, wreaking havoc as I comb through everything I’ve ever learned.
The air’s pressing in on me, my lungs struggling to expand. “How could we not know that? Nothing in our history even suggests it.” As far as I know, our earliest records already have us at war with the fae, defending the land they wished to steal from us.
“We don’t have a written language,” Taran says.
“We record our history through Keepers of the Memories: fae who dedicate their lives—their very long lives—to memorizing tales of the past. When the Keepers in Lyndir became mortal, your history died with them. By the time your people developed writing, most of the stories were already lost.”
A weight forms in my stomach, sinking me to the ground.
This is too much. If I’m to believe this… which, how can I not? There hasn’t been a single hole in any of Taran’s explanations so far. It even justifies why he speaks the same language as us, something that didn’t even occur to me to question before.
Is everything I’ve ever known wrong? My hand goes to my pocket, seeking the touch of my little button.
Taran crouches in the grass in front of me, tilting his head to meet my eyes. “The Second Betrayal was after the wars with my people began. Many of us believed it was our duty, to restore the Land. And we were winning, because we didn’t stay in your realm long enough for our gifts to fade.”
And then their progress stopped, because we…
My eyes widen, the truth breaking through like a beacon in a storm. “It was Arandur, wasn’t it? Incanting. We’re forcing magic out of the Land, against Her will.”
Taran nods, his face solemn. Reid plops down next to me as he breathes out a curse.
Tears burn behind my eyes. “All this time… we’ve been wrong.”
How much damage have I done in my life alone? All those countless moments of casual incanting? So many days. Years. I saw what it did to the world, how it drained color and life from everything, and I just accepted it. Why didn’t that bother me?
Nausea swells from my stomach up into my throat. The fae aren’t the monsters after all.
We are.
Taran reaches forward, resting his hand on mine where it sits on my knee. The fingers in my pocket clench around the button.
“You didn’t know,” he says, “and the responsibility isn’t yours alone. If my people had accepted that the Land had already punished yours, then your ancestors would never have been driven to it. Many of us see that now. That’s why we stopped attacking.”
I take a deep breath, trying to accept Taran’s perspective. If I accept everything else he’s said, then shouldn’t I also accept he doesn’t blame me?
But what am I without incanting?
While I don’t know the answer to that, it’s clear I can no longer blindly follow my father’s path.
We need to get to the border before he finds out I’m gone and sends the Order after me.
They’ll never believe the truth. But if I can help Taran—build an alliance with the fae—then perhaps I’ll be able to convince them. We can make this right.
Taran hesitates, then meets my gaze. “You really care about this, don’t you?”
His eyes don’t look like someone staring down a monster. Only concern swirls in those emerald depths. And his face… something about it steadies me.
My grip on the button loosens, and I take his hand from where it sits on mine, pushing past the awkwardness in an attempt to show my sincerity. “Of course I do. Whatever I can do to fix it, I will.”
He squeezes my fingers, and I nod, forcing a smile. I have a plan; I just need to follow through. So I focus on his touch, something to hold on to—a certainty amid the storm—but an unease lingers. My thumb brushes against his, and a nervous heat twists in my chest.
Reid grabs my arm and yanks me to my feet. “Firewood it is, then.”
I stumble as Taran drops my hand and moves away. Reid keeps pulling me toward the trees.
“I’m going, I’m going,” I say, shoving Reid’s hands off me. Before we enter the woods, I glance back at Taran.
He stands slumped, one hand rubbing his brow and the other on his hip, as if bearing the weight of both our people on his shoulders.
It’s too much for any one person. I won’t let him carry it alone.