Gershwin stroked his patchy beard. He laid a hand on Cassendir, the white light of his magic pulsing softly. “I understand. He’s unconscious, but alive. No, don’t worry little dragon. Concentrate on keeping the fire going and leave this to me.”
Chapter Eighteen
In time, Gershwin dismantled their makeshift camp. With a white glow seeping under his tunic and trousers, the solid snow forming a roof above them moved, dissipating into frost and being blown away by the wind. The old man weaved more spells into the air around them, and the wind blew a bit warmer. Loren saw Kaiten remove a layer of furs, opting instead to pile them onto Cassendir. The scholar was looking a bit better, up and walking well enough, but it was best they moved through the north as fast as they can.
The sun beat down on them, lending them warmth even though the light bounced off pristine white snow and into their eyes. They walked on in a group, huddled close together and holding each other’s hands in case one would lag behind. Even with the First Son’s magic, they were collectively too weak to take the risk of leaving even one person unattended. As they walked, Gershwin told them tales of the north. He shared what knowledge he knew of the land, keeping their minds focused and occupied even as their legs moved automatically, one foot in front of the other.
The north, Gershwin said, was a country of nomads. The land was too hard and cold to plant or grow crops. There were towns closer to the border where nomadic tribes could trade handicrafts and game meat for vegetables and wheat grown in warmer lands. The nomads would roam in bands, bringing with them herds of elk and deer, making rare cheese from their milk and crafting accessories and weapons from their antlers.
As she listened to Gershwin’s voice, Loren began to remember something she saw back home in the castle of Aldoran. Her mother’s map had depictions of all the towns, kingdoms, landmarks, and more from Aldoran in the west to the farthest corners of the Eastern Shores and everything in between. At the highest point of the map, Loren remembered the details were less defined. The only major landmark at the top of the map read “The Eye of the World.”
“The Eye of the World?” Gershwin repeated with a raised brow when Loren asked him about it. “All I can tell you is that it is a repository for all the world’s knowledge, little dragon. Very few have actually seen it, as the path towards it snakes through mountains with treacherous, deadly drops. Blizzards blow unceasing, and if the winds and the path don’t kill you, the cold will.”
“Have you seen it, sir?” Loren asked with wide eyes.
Gershwin nodded grimly. “I have. Only once, and only a glimpse.” His eyes gazed into the middle distance, remembering a time long ago. “I was foolhardy, and thought myself to be very powerful. The cold was nothing to me with this magic of mine, and I thought I could brave the storm. It was a difficult journey, and even my magic gave out, causing me to collapse in the snow. Fortunately, I woke. I found myself in a well lit room, lying under blankets by a hearth with a lovely fire going. A young girl, much younger than you or the huntress, attended to me. She brought me hot food and drink, extra blankets to stave off the cold that seeped in through the walls. And she did this all while rushing about, carrying large tomes in her arms, taking them from table to shelf and back. She had silver hair, and told me only that her name was Keeper. Keeper Silver.”
Loren’s brow furrowed in thought as she listened. “What was in the books?”
“History.” Gershwin replied. “Keeper explained that each book held the events that occurred that day. All the events from everywhere in the world, occurring at the same time. Of course I asked how that could be possible. The Keeper only smiled and offered me warm wine. She bade me to sleep, and overcome with some magic, I did. When I woke again, I was in a cottage by the border, the one I grew up in as a young boy.”
Cassendir leaned closer, growing more curious as he listened. “How is that possible, if you were at the highest point of the world?”
“I have no idea, Kespian, I have no idea.” Gershwin replied with a light shrug. “Perhaps that little girl with silver hair had greater magic than anyone has ever seen.”
In time, the border of the north was in sight. Gershwin said there was a path by the foot of the mountain, the edge of Kilrough, that was worn and marked by nomads. It would lead them to a border town, and with luck they may even find some nomads stopping to trade. Loren mentioned that they still carried some gold with them, so perhaps they could purchase horses and supplies. Cheered by the thought of their journey coming to a close, Loren and Kaiten spoke animatedly with each other, about their homes and their plans, their journey so far.
Kae watched the young royals walk ahead of their group, oblivious but happy. Once the two were far enough out of earshot, the huntress pulled Cassendir closer to her and sidled up beside Gershwin.
“You two are smart men, right? You know a lot about magic.” Kae said.
Cassendir, the scholar, sighed. His arm was bent at an uncomfortable angle but Kae wouldn’t let go. “Yes Kae. We know about magic. And some other things, as I’ve lived in a library most of my life.”
Kae ignored the slight, or she never noticed it in the first place. “Alright, I have
