But, these were children, Serenthel reasoned. A silver coin may be enough to trade for the mithril box, unless they knew what it was. He hesitated. Should he start with a gold coin?, he wondered. The true value of money eluded him, and bartering was not a skill he’d ever been necessitated to learn. No, he would start with a silver. Or, was that too much?
Before he could decide and leave his place in the shadows, a bush on the other side of the lowered courtyard rustled. A low growl drifted on the wind. The boys stopped in their bickering. What stepped into the light was no rabbit.
Serenthel reflexively stepped back as Forfolyn’s rear leg raised at the sight of the white wolf. The wolf kept its head low and its gaze focused on the two boys. Serenthel notched an arrow, making ready to distract the wolf so the boys could find safety. Forfolyn did not bolt, however, and slowly, against natural instinct, the leg lowered. Serenthel took in a shallow breath and lowed his bow as realization set in. The wolf that was not a rabbit was also not a wolf.
There, in their very midst, stood a spirit of nature.
“Gods have mercy!” Yanishk shouted.
“What?” Kazim glanced over his shoulder to see what had given his brother such a fright, only to turn pale himself and rush blindly forward. Kazim stumbled over the lantern and both boys fell to the rocky ground.
The lantern shattered, spilling its oil and casting a web of flame over the courtyard stones. Yanishk cried out as some of the oil splashed his pant leg, but Kazim had enough wits left to quickly cover it in dirt. The boys scuffled along the dirt then froze in fear, unsure what they should do. The wolf took a slow step towards them, its lips raising over sharp teeth.
“Run!” Yanishk yelled, and as one they both turned on their hands and knees just as Serenthel joined the wolf in the flame-lit courtyard.
“A ghost!” Kazim cried, tears in his eyes and his arms grabbing at his brother’s vest. “We shouldn’t have disturbed the graves!”
Pride gone, Yanisk joined his younger brother in his frightened weeping. “Please, don’t hurt us, we didn’t mean nothing by it!”
Serenthel thought to speak, to give the boys some comfort, but Forfolyn chose that moment to join the scene. Both of the boys’ eyes went wide as the moon, and together they crawled back a step as Forfolyn raised his antlers. The wolf, forgotten by the boys, let out a growl in warning.
Kazim looked from the wolf to the elk to the elf then grabbed the mithril box from his brother’s fingers. With trembling hands, he set the box on the ground as the oil driven flames sputtered. “We’re sorry,” he whispered.
The flames died. Darkness resumed its rein over the ruins. The two boys ran for their lives, leaving their shovel and the ghosts behind.
Serenthel watched their figures disappear into the dark field then side glanced the elk. “Did you have to frighten them so?”
Forfolyn snorted and shook his antlers before nodding towards the wolf. The wolf’s white fur seemed to glow in the moonlight, and its unnaturally white eyes watched them from across the courtyard. Serenthel and Forfolyn both bowed their heads to the wolf, and the wolf lowered its haunches, waiting to see what the pair did next.
Serenthel picked up the mithril box. It seemed undamaged and unopened. With an intention to put it back into the earth where the boys had found it, he walked into the courtyard past the remains of the lantern. The wolf rose up and came to stand between Serenthel and the hole.
Serenthel stopped. “Am I not to put it back? Surly, this is where it belongs, where you have been protecting it?”
The wolf eyed the elf for a long moment then nudged its nose against Serenthel’s hand, as if urging further examination of the box. The rectangular box was the size of a small mud brick in Serenthel’s hand, and he could see no obvious mechanism to open its lid. The lid had been decorated with scrollwork and a waning crescent moon in its center. Turning the box over, Serenthel let out a gasp that made Forfolyn’s ears twitch.
“T’ethwyr,” he whispered then translated the Elvan word that had been etched into the silver surface with a skilled hand. “Traveler.”
When he looked up from the box in hopes for an explanation, the wolf spirit was gone.
20
Dnara floated upon the black sea for years stretching into eons before her. Soft spoken voices whispered over the waves with words she could not understand, then a flute’s gentle song beckoned her home. A hand upon her brow woke her. Her eyes opened to the stars, but she turned away from them. She didn’t want to go back to shore. She didn’t want to face what she had done.
The sun never rose, but the moon moved across the sky again and again, chased by Demroth’s shadow. The stars grew brighter until the moon was no more. For an eternity, she floated, letting the tide take her wherever it willed. The direction no longer mattered to her.
But then, from a far distant shore, there came a song, hummed by a gentle voice and carried on the wind. As the sound reached her ears and the wind joined her on the sea, the moon rose anew to begin its cycle once more. Dnara’s eyes opened with understanding. From the darkness, light can be reborn, and from
