“It will come to you eventually,” said Ing, as he gave the little animal some milk to drink.
Chapter 2: Sarah
Several days later, Ing was awoken in the night by the sound of voices coming from outside his bedroom. He slowly willed himself to get out of bed, although he was tired, and crept to the door. His feet moved slowly as he was not trying to make much noise.
One of the voices he could distinguish as his mother’s, the other sounding like it came from an elderly man. The conversation went on for a little while.
He could only make out a few scattered words here and there, but it sounded that it was a message of danger to come: something about having to leave Ganwin. His mother said that she could not do so, though. When the voices ceased he got back into his bed. In the morning, he would ask his mother of what had occurred. If only I had woken up sooner, then I might have heard all there was to hear. If only I had heard the full conversation, I wouldn't have to lay here wondering what was said. I should ask my mother. No, on second thought, it should wait until the morning, when the darkness doesn't pull so close. It's probably nothing to worry about. What danger could ever befall Ganwin? We are safe here and the man who says we are not is a fool. I will try to think no more of this tonight. It was hard for him to rest as he anxiously wondered who the man could have been. Ing tossed and turned until sleep finally overtook him.
When Ing awoke, he quickly went to talk with his mother. She was sitting in a wooden chair with a look of concern upon her face as she gazed out the window to the front of the house. “Who was that man that I heard you talking with last night?”
From the expression on her face, she had been caught off guard. “What do you mean?”
“I heard voices,” Ing demanded. “Yours and the voice of a man. Who was he?”
“I cannot speak about that with you right now.”
“Why not?” asked Ing.
“You’re growing older, Ing,” said his mother. “Our lives will eventually part ways and you will one day have a family to call your own. You cannot hope to always be with me and your friends.”
“What are you talking about?” Ing felt tears beginning to form in his eyes. “Our destinies are intertwined.”
“Ing, one day I will die,” replied Selenia. “You must learn to be able to carry on without me.”
“Don’t say that!” he shouted. “That day is not near. You’re still young and have many years to live.”
“All I’m saying,” said Selenia, “is that no one knows when their time may come. My father did not know that his time was coming, but the sickness took him. He never got to look upon your face. I have had to live without him for all these years.”
“That doesn’t mean that it’s right,” objected Ing. He remembered the stories his mother had told him about her father, Randell Colt. The man was near sixty-years-old when he had died from a terrible flux in the winter. Ing's mother had told him how Randell and her looked much alike. She would joke that if she had a black beard like he did they would have been mistaken for brothers, although Ing found that hard to imagine. A man and a woman could look alike, but a man and his young daughter looking like brothers? The thought seemed strange although Ing did see much of Shamil Tabberly's mother Scarlet in the young boy.
Ing always wished he had known Randell Colt and felt strange that he should be born so soon after his grandfather had died. One life was taken and another one given, he thought. My mother lost her father and was left with a son. I suppose that is the way of things. The old eventually grow weak and die off while the young learn and grow stronger. Ing had never been too strong though, he reflected. His friend, Shamil had nearly always been able to best him in mock battles. But Shamil couldn't read half as good as Ing could. Even so, Shamil could be found reading by himself and he liked to boast to Arlene Gondweth that he knew all the old songs. One of his favorites was The Moon and Stars:
Up high in the sky
The moon gives off its pale light
The lions below do cry
At the starry night.
In caverns dank and dim, eyes do spy
Where touches no light.
Inside the depths, creatures do lie
And hide away from sight.
O! fair moon! O! Fair stars!
The fair stars above!
Do blanket us like heaven's scars,
Shower us with love.
In places unseen by any mortal, stands Lars,
Upon each hand a glove,
His statue, by the times unmarred.
We remember his love.
The night draws near,
The day soon ends,
The moon is clear,
A willow branch bends.
Darkness presses here,
Fair Lars has met his end,
Day breaks in the east, my dear,
A willow branch bends.
Feeling upset, Ing retreated back to his room. Once inside, he gazed upon the metal cup he had built the other day.
What is my legacy? he thought to himself. When my days are over and I am gone from this earth what shall I leave behind?
Turning away from these thoughts he proceeded to pull one of his books off the shelf. It dated back many centuries. The book was titled The Forest Mother, by Brinlee Cadence. It began as follows:
There once was a lady fairer than any other to look upon. Wayward travelers who passed into the forest south of the Horda Mountains would see her every now and then, seeming to appear out of thin air. Some believed she was an old gypsy who would curse people for the fun of it.
As time
