Page 24 of The Shadow of Polaris

By the time we reached the tavern, a thin, dewy glaze of delirium had filmed over my eyes and my body ached in every muscle. Greeted by candlelight and bombarded by questions from a frantic Frya as we entered, all I could do was hold up my hand, mutter a few words, and climb the stairs to bed.

Throughout the next morning, Frya swarmed me like a fly to decay, asking question after question about the temple and what I’d found out. I’d chosen not to mention the part where I’d come face to face with our patron goddess, and instead focused on the mural and its mysterious inscription.

She devoured every piece of information I fed her and exploded with dozens more questions I didn’t have the answer to. By the time the morning sun reached its pinnacle, I wanted to rip all of my hair out and scream at her until my cheeks were blue. I held my tongue, of course, throwing myself into my chores.

An hour or two before the tavern’s opening, a knock on the locked front door interrupted Frya’s relentless interrogation, however, and we looked at each other with startled expressions. Hiding in the kitchen, ready to slip into the cellar at a moment’s notice, I watched the barkeep hobble to the front of the tavern. She slowly unlocked the door and cracked it open, just enough to peek through at the unannounced visitor. A familiar male voice, cheery with energy, spoke from outside as Frya said, “Oh, it’s you.”

Scowling, she stepped aside. Rune wore a thick fur-lined cloak, his espresso hair speckled with flurries. His eyes lit up as they met mine. Shedding the heavy layer, he trotted towards me, hands hidden beneath the pockets of black wool trousers.

“Ell! I wanted to make sure you were okay after the other night. I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner. The harvest held me up. Here, I brought you something I thought might cheer you up.” Pulling a mason jar of what appeared to be some sort of jam littered with minuscule black seeds from his left pocket, he said, “Plum! Freshly made this morning.”

He held the jar out, grinning widely. The deep red color of its contents reminded me more of congealed blood than a sweet topping for toast. Plucking the jar from his open palm, I faked a smile and thanked him, praying silently that he didn’t insist I try it.

“It’s delicious on fresh bread. I thought about bringing a loaf from my uncle’s stores, but it would’ve been a cube of ice after traveling through this storm,” he chuckled.

“Oh, that’s alright, I’ll try it with breakfast tomorrow morning.” The lie slipped through my teeth, maybe too sweetly, and I cleared my throat, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

“So,” I began, changing the subject as abruptly as I could, “I did some…research… last night.” Frya’s intense stare burned holes in the back of my head as I crossed the tavern and pulled three chairs in front of the hearth.

“Anyone want some tea?” she interrupted. The bluntness in her tone screamed at me to keep the events of last night from him.

“No, thank you though Frya,” I said, turning back to Rune who’s golden eyes now burned with fierce curiosity.

If I held out now, the poor man might explode. I started the retelling of my experience in the archives, still leaving out Polaris and her speech of riddles. Rune’s brow furrowed deeper across his face. With each passing question, another wrinkle creased itself between his eyes.

The white cotton tunic he wore hung loosely down his chest, revealing a peak of tanned, muscular flesh. Catching my traitorous eyes as they trailed to the exposed, smooth skin, I blinked towards my feet, stroking the sleeping wolf beneath me, my cheeks now the color of his plum jam.

“I can’t believe you snuck into the temple! The guards could have seen you! Or worse, I’ve heard Polaris frequents the archives at night. Disappointing there wasn’t much insight to find, though. The mural sounds promising. If we knew what it meant.” He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, chin cupped in the palm of his hands. Frya joined us, carrying a tarnished glass and her polishing rag.

“So, this inscription. Tell me again exactly what it said.” She sat behind Rune.

“When winter and spring coincide, darkness’s heir brings the light of truth and the fall of vanity. Only embers of life can destroy visions of death,” I recited.

“I’m not sure about the first bit, but darkness’s heir… that reminds me of a story I’d been told as a girl.” Frya placed the glass gently. “My grandmother loved ancient folk fables. There was one she’d tell me occasionally about the old gods. The predecessors of our namesakes today. There was Night, Day, Dawn, and Dusk. The points of the circadian cycle. Night, the ancestral god of our Polaris, was sometimes also referred to as simply darkness. Maybe that’s what the ancients were referring to?”

“If that’s the case, that mural must be hundreds of thousands of years old. I knew the temple was old, but damn, not that old,” I said, stroking Arcturas’s ear beneath the table.

“The ancient folk built around the mountain. Maybe the archives had already been there? darkness’s heir could be simply suggesting our goddess. She was his descendent,” Frya said.

“Maybe. I don’t know what this all means or even if it has anything to do with me, but what I know is that someone covered it up. Someone wanted to keep this a secret. Maybe we shouldn’t go poking our noses into this. Gods only know what it’ll stir up.” I tapped my fingers on the rough wooden table. The heat from the hearth turned stifling. I was treading into something I wasn’t sure I should be. Something ancient. Something big.

My brow beaded with sweat. All I’d wanted was my freedom from this world. To live a quiet life far away, without the constant breath of fear tickling down my neck. That tower had taken everything from me, and yet I’d risked it all twice over to escape. Wasn’t that enough? I was sinking into quicksand, unable to pull myself free from whatever shadows lurked beneath my skin.

Pulling the neck of my tunic from my sticky flesh, I stood from my seat.

“Rune, would you like to walk with me through the courtyard? I think I need some air.”

He nodded and rose to his feet.

“I need to get dinner started. Don’t worry, dear. We’ll figure this out. Everything will be fine.” Tucking the tray under her arm, Frya smiled sadly and limped to the kitchen. Arcturas trailed behind her, hoping to catch a rogue scrap or two fallen from the counter.

The courtyard, although small, was peaceful at night. Torches mounted on the exterior walls of the tavern and the adjoining brick townhomes flickered quietly, throwing shadows across the small stone fountain babbling at the yard’s center. Our steps sunk into the snow as we passed firs that speckled the bleached ground with emeralds and olives. The air of the evening left my cheeks riddled with a harsh chill, but I welcomed it, trying to cool the heat of the hearth from my face.

Rune was quieter than I’d expected. A distance had glazed over him, as if he’d been carried somewhere far from here. Just like Frya, whose mind often tangled with memory and reality, I’d notice that same vacancy blink across Rune’s eye. It was subtle and fleeting, but I recognized it. Demons of something, or someone, or somewhere, haunted him. Just as I was. Just as Frya was. Maybe the three of us had found each other for a reason. Maybe he needed this friendship just as much as I needed it.

“I love coming out here at night. Everything’s so peaceful. It’s one of the few places I truly feel at ease,” I said, plucking a needle from a juvenile tree.

Rune gazed at the sky. Thousands of stars twinkled at us in a milky wave of ancient light.

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