Michael Sullivan: Avempartha

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

She smiled at him a bit self-consciously and he thought he noticed a sadness about her. “I was just thinking how wonderful it is here. How nice it would be to live on one of those farms we passed. We wouldn’t need anything grand, not even a house-my father can build a house all by himself and he can turn any soil. There’s nothing he can’t do once he sets his mind to it, and once he sets his mind, there’s no changing it.”

“Sounds like a great guy.”

“Oh, he is. He’s very strong, very determined.”

“I’m surprised he would allow you to set off alone across the country like you did.”

Thrace smiled.

“You didn’t walk all the way, did you?”

“Oh no, I got a ride with a peddler and his wife who stopped in Dahlgren. They refused to spend a second night and let me ride in the back of their wagon.”

“Have you done much traveling before?”

“No. I was born in Glamrendor, the capital of Dunmore. My family worked a tenant farm for his lordship there. We moved to Dahlgren when I was about nine, so I’ve never been out of Dunmore until now. I can’t even say I remember all that much of Glamrendor. I do recall it was dirty though. All the buildings were made of wood and the roads very muddy-at least that’s how I remember it.”

“Still that way,” Royce mentioned.

“I can’t believe you had the courage to just go off like that,” Hadrian said shaking his head. “It must have been a shock leaving Dahlgren and a few days later finding yourself in the largest city in the world.”

“Oh it was,” she replied, using her pinky finger to draw away a number of hairs that had blown into her mouth. “I felt foolish when I realized just how hard it was going to be to find you. I expected it would be like back home where I would be able to walk up to anyone and they would know who you were. There are a lot more people in Colnora than I expected. To be honest, there’s a lot more of everything. I looked and looked and I thought I would never find you.”

“I expect your father will be worried.”

“No he won’t,” she said.

“But if-”

“What are these things?” she asked pointing at the standing stones with her pickle. “These blue stones. They’re so odd.”

“No one knows,” Royce replied.

“Were they made by elves?” she asked.

Royce cocked his head and stared at her. “How did you know that?”

“They look a bit like the tower near my village-the one I need you to open. Same kind of stone-at least I think so-the tower looks bluish too, but it might be because of the distance-ever notice how things get blue in the distance? I suppose if we could actually get near it we might find it was just a common gray, you know?”

“Why can’t you get near it?” Hadrian asked.

“Because it’s in the middle of the river.”

“Can’t you swim?”

“You would have to be a real strong swimmer. The tower is built on a rock that hangs over a waterfall. Beautiful falls-really high, you know? Lots of water going over. On sunny days, you can see rainbows in the mist. Of course, it’s very dangerous. At least five people have died, only two are for sure, the other three are just guesses because-” She paused when she saw the looks on their faces. “Is something wrong?”

“You might have said something earlier,” Royce replied.

“About the waterfall? Oh, I thought you knew. I mean you acted like you knew the tower when I mentioned it before. I’m sorry.”

They ate in silence for a few moments. Thrace finished her lunch and walked around looking at the stones, her dress billowing behind her. “I don’t understand,” she finally said raising her voice over the wind. “If the Nidwalden is the border, why are there elven stones here?”

“This used to be elven land,” Royce explained. “All of it. Before there was a Colnora, or a Warric, it was part of the Erivan Empire. Most don’t like to acknowledge that; they prefer to think that men always ruled here. It bothers them. Funny thing is many of the names we use are elvish. Ervanon, Rhenydd, Glamrendor, Galewyr, and Nidwalden are all elven. The very name of this country Avryn means green fields.”

“Try and tell that to someone in a bar sometime and see how fast you get cracked in the head,” Hadrian mentioned, drawing looks from both of them.

While they finished eating, Thrace stood among the great stones staring west, her hair and dress whipping about her. Her sight rose to the horizon, out beyond Colnora, beyond the blue hills to the thin line of the sea. She looked so small and delicate he half expected the wind to carry her away like some golden leaf and then he noticed the look in her eyes. She was little more than a child and yet they were not the eyes of a child. The glow of innocence, the sparkle of wonder was absent. There was a weight to her face, a determination in her gaze. Whatever childhood she had known had long since abandoned her.

They finished their food, packed up, and set off again. Descending the far side of the heights, they continued to follow the road for the remainder of the day but as sunset neared, the road narrowed to little more than a simple trail. Farmhouses still appeared from time to time, but they were less frequent. The forest grew thicker and the road darker.

As sunlight faded, Thrace grew very quiet. There was nothing to see or point out anymore but Hadrian guessed it was more than that. Mouse skipped a stone into a windblown pile of last year’s leaves and Thrace jumped, grabbing his waist. She dug her nails in deep enough to make him wince.

“Shouldn’t we find shelter?” she asked.

“Not much chance of that out here,” Hadrian told her. “There might be a few more inns on the road ahead as we pass near Alburn, but nothing that will help us tonight. Besides, it’s a lovely evening. The ground is dry and it looks like it will be warm.”

“We’re sleeping outside?”

Hadrian turned around to see her face. Her mouth was open slightly, her forehead creased, her eyes wide and looking up at the sky. “We’re still a long way from Dahlgren,” he assured her. She nodded, but held on to him tighter.

They stopped at a clearing near a little creek that flowed over a series of rocks, making a friendly rushing sound. Hadrian helped Thrace down and pulled the saddles and gear off the horses.

“Where’s Royce?” Thrace asked in a whispered panic. She stood with her arms folded across her chest, looking around anxiously.

“It’s okay,” Hadrian told her as he pulled the bridle off Millie’s head. “He always does a bit of scouting whenever we stop for the night. He’ll circle the area making sure we’re alone. Royce hates surprises.”

Thrace nodded but remained huddled, as if standing on a stone amidst a raging river.

“We’ll be sleeping right over there. You might want to clear it some. A single stone can ruin a night’s sleep. I ought to know; it seems whenever I sleep outside I always end up with a stone under the small of my back.”

She walked into the clearing and gingerly bent over, tossing aside branches and rocks, nervously glancing skyward and jumping at the slightest sound. By the time Hadrian had the horses settled Royce had returned. He carried an armload of small branches and a few shattered logs which he used to build a fire.

Thrace stared at him, horrified. “It’s so bright,” she whispered.

Hadrian squeezed her hand and smiled. “You know, I bet you’re a wonderful cook, aren’t you? I could make us dinner, but it would be miserable. All I know how to do is boil potatoes. How about you give it a try? What do you say? There are pots and pans in that sack over there and you’ll find food in the one next to it.”