Page 30 of Somewhere down the Ley Line
The tall woman’s eyes widened, her expression changing from hostility to something like awe. She took a step forward, her spear lowering. “Stop!” she called out, her voice carrying authority. “This woman… she is Aelithar!”
At her words, her warriors stilled. The archers lowered their bows, and the spearmen stepped back, their eyes flickering between Isolde and the woman. Glowering, the man in the wolf-skin put his bow away like the others. The tall woman approached slowly, her spear now held horizontally in a gesture of peace. “Aelithar,” she repeated, her voice softer. “My apologies. Please come with us. Our elder will wish to speak with you.”
Felix blinked, utterly bewildered. He exchanged a confused glance with Garren and Luella.
Isolde looked at the woman silently, her face very pale. Finally, she gave a small nod. “If you mean us no harm, I will speak to your elder.” Her voice only shook a little.
“Are you sure about this?” Felix murmured to her, eyeing the Crovan with suspicion.
Isolde glanced at him, her eyes still carrying the faint shimmer of magic. “I have so many questions. Maybe they have some answers.”
12
Skysinger
The Crovan warriors walked alongside their horses silently. Though they were no longer outwardly hostile, their unease simmered beneath the surface. They clearly weren’t thrilled to guide strangers to their home. What could they possibly want with her? What didAelitharmean to them? Would it be possible there were people like her there? What if their elder was leytouched?
Isolde tried to temper her expectations, but hope surged in her. Even if there were no leytouched here, even then, surely they would have answers. Perhaps they knew what awaited her at the Nexus, or what this ritual entailed, or what this presence was. They would know something. Anything. She clutched her reins tightly.
The Crovan warriors led them northeast, where the trees grew thicker with each passing mile. Soon they arrived at a rocky gully, one side rising high above the other. Gnarled tree roots jutted out from the rock face.
They dismounted their horses, then continued on a path that narrowed as they walked. The walls pressed closer until it felt like a tunnel, with nothing but the sound of their footsteps echoing softly. And then it opened again, revealing a much wider space. A cliff towered on their left, two stories tall, while woodenstructures dotted the right side of the gully, backed by dense trees. Several tiny waterfalls cascaded down the rocky wall, splashing into a wide pool at its base.
Isolde had been taught that the Crovan, like all the inland people, were primitive and uncivilized. But when she looked around, she felt almost embarrassed that she had ever taken such teachings at face value. There was no opulence, no grandeur. Everything, from the buildings to the clay pots being filled with water by the pond, was simple and functional. But there was a beauty in the simplicity, and it was so clean, so tidy. It reminded her not of anything primitive, but of the kitchens back home. Operated like clockwork, no room for clutter or excess.
The tall woman led them through the heart of the village, keeping the cliff wall on her left and the buildings on her right. They passed several people, all of whom gave them long, curious looks but remained silent. Eventually, they reached a large building set against the cliffside. A wide double door stood open at the top of three steps.
The entrance led them directly into a long hall, dimly lit by torches and some daylight filtering in through low windows on the side walls. The interior was not what Isolde had expected. She had envisioned a throne room of sorts, perhaps, with an imposing old man in a carved chair at the end watching their approach. Instead, the space was full, cluttered almost. Long tables stood side by side, with a handful of people doing various tasks. In one corner, a man sat with three children. An assortment of herbs and small tools lay on the table in front of them, and the man was speaking to the youngsters in a serious tone. In another corner, a younger man and an elderly woman were having what looked like an animated discussion.
The tall woman moved through the hall, and Isolde followed without hesitation. It was a pleasant place, and all these people at their various tasks gave her a sense of comfort.
She froze. All these people.
Reaper take her, she had just waltzed right into their village, into their home. She hadn’t given a single thought to what she was, what devastation she might unleash upon them. She swayed on her feet, her hands clamped over her mouth.
“My lady, what is it?” Garren spoke, his hand on the pommel of his sword.
Isolde’s eyes darted to the man seated with the children. He looked up at her with a frown. Was he a mage? What if one of the little ones had magic?
“All these people.” Isolde said, her voice trembling. “I’ve just walked into their home without thinking – what if there are magic users here? What if I…”
“Isa,” Felix replied quietly from her other side. “This is not the midsummer festival. You are in control now.”
She whirled to face him. “I have not been around any mages since then! I haven’t been aroundanyone!How can you know?” Her hands shook, the ley markings on her hands and neck brightened, and sparks of magic flew around her almost menacingly. The current was stirring, clawing at her insides.
“Breathe, my lady,” Garren urged, though his stance was tense, betraying the calmness in his tone. “I am sure these people realised what they were doing when they invited you here.”
“Indeed, we did,” came an unknown voice, deep and smooth like honey. The older woman approached them. She may once have been tall, but age had stooped her, and she now stood just a hand shorter than Isolde. She wore an apron dusted with flour over a finely embroidered robe.
The old woman attempted to take Isolde’s hand. She pulled it back reflexively, startled. The woman raised her hands in a gesture of calm and simply smiled. Isolde held her breath.
“Aelithar,” she said, her voice steady, her eyes kind. “You are welcome here. Do not fear – your presence will harm no one here. Our people do not possess the ley line magic.”
Isolde released the breath. She wanted to say something, to apologise or explain, but the words caught in her throat. She managed a nod and blinked back the heat behind her eyes.
The elder smiled. “Come, my dear. Tell me how you came to us.” She led Isolde to one of the large tables and sat her down on the long bench. The others followed and hesitantly sat down around them. The young man who had been with the elder joined them as well, looking at their group curiously.
Isolde knitted her eyebrows together, trying to think of where to start. “Well,” she began eventually, “My name is Isolde. These are Luella, Garren, and Felix. We came from Azuill. It’s ah… a city to the south.”
