“Lanth’limnier’s Wall,” Serenthel spoke softly the name of the great wall he had heard stories of but never seen with his own eyes.
He could imagine its towering stones splitting the earth between the Elvan lands and the lands of Orynthis. The great elk statues gleaming alabaster white in the sun. The large iron barred tunnels that allowed water and fish to flow from the Idrisil Riverlands into the Greenwood Dale. The watchers with their bows at the ready to fire warnings at any who dared attempt to sneak into what remained of the Elvan homelands.
Idrisil and parts of Orynthis had once belong to the Elvan people, too, before the fall of D’nas Glas. Now, the Riverland’s tainted source and the ruins of that once great Elvan city lay on the other side of the White Stag Gate, a gate few Elvan would ever walk beyond, a gate he may well soon be seeing for himself. Try though he might, he could not quiet the trepidation quickening his heartbeat. If the Elvan people had once fallen prey to the darker dreams of man and been corrupted by their tempting power, how was he not to become yet another lost spirit when he crossed the wall?
As if hearing every uncertain thought drifting through his head, Mother placed her hand over his. Her long, slender fingers gave his rougher, earth worked skin a squeeze then retreated. In his palm, he found she had left something behind.
“A gift,” she said as he examined the smooth alabaster stone. “It will help keep the darker dreams at bay.”
The milky white, round stone had a hole drilled through it and was hung from a leather band. One side was completely smooth and looked like the full moon. On the other side, the delicate image of a great tree had been carved. Simply holding it within his palm, he felt reminded of home and more at ease with the journey that awaited him.
“Thank you, Mother.” He hung the stone from around his neck and returned her gentle smile. A peaceful silence drifted between them, the traveler and the traveled, until his heart could no longer contain its other questions. “Where do I begin?”
“All journeys begin with but a single step,” she said, her gaze cast back out over the flowers. “Your heart will choose the path.”
A sweet breeze lifted the strands of hair from her brow, and he though he saw the hint of some deep melancholy cross her vision. Heretofore unnoticed wrinkles and signs of time’s heavy weight sagged her ageless face. Her lips parted, a breath came and went, then whispered words broke her silent watch of memories he could not see.
“Promise me, traveler; no matter how steep the path, nor how sharp its stones underfoot, nor how uncertain the bend in the road may be, you will follow it. Follow it to its very end, for only at its end will you find your way back home.”
With his hand clutching the smooth alabaster, he looked upon her garden and answered with his heart. “To its very end, Mother, I promise.”
8
There had been a family once.
A father. A mother. A sister named-
The names and faces continued to allude, muddied by time and distance. There had been laughter, a field of flowers and a song hummed as they played. The sun had been warm and the joy tangible. They bounded through the field together. They danced. They leapt. They ran.
They fled.
No longer laughing but screaming.
No longer the sun’s warmth but a raging fire.
No longer joy but fear.
And a shadow. A shadow chased. It caught father. It caught mother. It caught-
“Caelin,” Dnara muttered, her mind awash with fading dreams.
Footsteps approached, but she struggled to open her eyes. A hand swept into her hair, raising her head up. A waterskin pressed to her lips. Thirsty beyond reason, she drank deep until the skin ran dry, and even then, she felt as if she could drink the whole river and not be satisfied. The water fought back, and she struggled to breathe through a sputtering cough.
“Careful,” Athan said, pulling the skin away and helping her sit up.
A pain shot through her head when she opened her eyes to the campfire’s light, so she clamped them shut and tried to regain her bearings. “Where...?”
“We’re a half-night’s walk on the other side of the bridge, in a thicket called Elk Grove, not that it’s had any elk for probably a decade or more.”
Dnara tried opening her eyes again, more slowly than the last time. The campfire popped as a log split, and she heard the memory of a scream. She sat up with a gasp and stared down at her arms, their skin still tingling and now bound in cloth bandages. Treven gave a whinnied greeting from the other side of the camp where he stood, chewing through a gathered mound of fodder. Athan waited patiently for her to speak, but she didn’t even know where to begin.
“That man...” She could remember the sound of each bone breaking in his hand. Every snap. Every crack. Every scream. “What happened to him?”
Athan sat back on his haunches, his back to the fire. “Luckily, his brother could swim rather well for a big man. Fished that idiot out of the river after the others ran
