Page 16 of Aofie's Quest
“No,” I wailed, horror gripping me like a vise. “How do you know this?”
I pulled against Romulus’s grip, but he was much stronger. Releasing my arm, he threw his arm around my waist and lifted me off my feet.
“Please stop,” I pleaded with him, feet kicking. How dare he pick me up. “Please. I have to warn them. They have to run!”
“And where will they go?” Reish’s question sounded like an accusation. “What will they do? It’s over for them, and if you stay it will be over for you.”
Horror filled my heart, and every breath was like agony. I’d been so excited, thrilled even, with my plan, but all was lost and I’d made it worse. A tear trickled down my face and dripped off my chin as Romulus continued to carry me away. I fixed my gaze on Reish. “Who are you? How do you know this?”
“I am the seer.” Reish’s voice was tiny, far away, like the wind in the trees. The sound of it reminded me of the hillock where the gods gave me a vision. “I will guide you, to save you from yourself. During your quest for answers, many will live and many will die, but you must live so life in Labraid can continue.”
Chapter Fourteen
A glorious springblossomed as Romulus and I traveled alongside the chattering river. It only took a few days to find it after the negative events that took place outside of the vale. I tried to put what happened out of my mind, but it wormed through my thoughts, an impossible problem. What did I do wrong? And what happened after Romulus dragged me away? Had Jezebel truly destroyed the vale? Had anyone survived and did Reish warn them? She hadn’t come with Romulus and I. She wastheseer oraseer? Either way, my knowledge about seers was limited. Epona had told me little, except that seers dared to interfere with the way of the gods.
My heart ached for them, people I did not know, and for myself. Selfish as it was, I’d hoped my words would save them, not ruin their lives. Thinking back on my actions the past seven days, nothing but failure aligned with my actions. My thoughts overwhelmed me. Perhaps Romulus noticed, for he walked a few paces ahead, leaving me to agonize as he scouted the foreign landscape for unusual activity.
A calm week passed without interference from trolls. I lifted my face to the wind and enjoyed the beauty of spring gracing my eyes. The riverbank dipped down, creating a yawning mouth for the river to flow through. Its waters ebbed and flowed, sometimes fast, others times slow. I liked seeing the churning, foamy surface of lapping water, rushing as it slid through rocks. Some lay close enough together they created a slick path to the other side of the bank. Grass-green bulrushes grew along the shore, sometimes coming as high as my shoulder, and the ground was wet and soft.
Throughout the day we heard bullfrogs, and sometimes I caught a glimpse of their muddy green skin as they hopped from rock to lily pad, pink tongues flying out to catch the blue dragonflies that buzzed around the silver river. Cranes, their feathers as pure white as doves, stood in shallow water, one eye cocked, watching for clusters of silver fish, some as big as my hand. Scales winked in the sunlight and then the birds would pounce, spraying droplets on the shore as they devoured their prey.
The river held my attention, and I studied it, day by day, as we traveled. Romulus set a quick pace and at night I’d collapse, exhausted. It differed from the tension of training with the centaurs or hunting, where we often paused for long moments, training our muscles to relax until we blended into the muted colors of the forest. Marching was relentless, unending, and even though my boots were comfortable, my feet hurt, my back ached, and soon I began to wish for a pallet of furs and a bath. The way my skin itched made me long to dip into the stream and scrub myself clean of the daily grime. But every time I looked at Romulus’s ramrod-straight back, my bravery faded, and I slept each night in a nest of grass. Itching.
Trees lined the other side of the river, blocking the view of the land beyond. The river zigzagged, dancing away from the tree line and then returning, like a maid flirting with a potential lover. Weeping willows with thick tresses like hair grew in abundance around the river, and each evening without fail, Romulus set up camp underneath one. He said that way we could sleep, unseen by the night farers. But I saw no one, and I began to question whether anyone was alive in the vague, wide, beautiful world.
“Where did you come from?” I asked Romulus one afternoon, tired of holding my tongue.
His pace never slowed, and he kept walking as though he hadn’t heard me. His rough voice drifted back to me, carried by the chatter of the river. “Nowhere, if you must know. I was born in the mountains of the north in a land of ice and snow. Norbrin. Like my father before me, I took up the oath of my people and became a ranger, a nomad, a traveler, a trader…”
I shivered, imagining icy winds howling from a bleak mountainside. “It sounds terrible. What of your mother?”
“If you could see the white plains of snow and the creatures of ice, you would know better than to say such things. Yes, it was cold, but we coped. As to my mother, what of her?”
I twisted my hands together, embarrassed by my callous remark. “What was she like?”
“As cold as the winter winds that create icicles, bringing the storms which break the hearts of men.”
His words sent a chill down my spine. I imagined an unhappy childhood, which explained the ice in him, the hardness, the gruffness. “I’m sorry—”
“You are naive.” He cut me off, his words ringing out cruel. “You think you know about life, but you know nothing. You don’t know what it’s like in the wild, with no protection.”
His words stung, and I blinked hard. “But I can learn,” I shot back with defiance.
“Yes.” He spun around, his slate-gray eyes hard as rock, his mouth set in a grim line. The shadow of a beard had begun to grow again, and now I saw the color of his hair for what it was: the color of ice and snow. “Wasn’t the first lesson hard enough? Now you know, gather more information before you rule the fate of men.”
My heart froze, and anger lashed out of me, so intense I wasn’t aware of my own actions until the glob of mud smacked Romulus square in the head. His jaw tightened but instead of retaliating, he slicked the mud down his head, rubbing it into his white hair until it was just as stringy and dirty as the first time I’d met him.
He growled, low and menacing. “Watch yourself, Aofie Mor, or you may find yourself traveling alone.”
Ugly, hateful words rose, but I quashed them, aware I was not furious at him, but at myself. Deep down inside, I knew he was right. Next time, I’d gather more information before making a decision, but I wanted comfort from him. Since the seer disappeared, he’d marched, face forward, not stopping to ask if I was okay or offer an embrace. My face flushed. Not that I needed an embrace from him.
He whirled away from me and picked up the pace. Tension hummed between us like a fog of gloom.
I moved slower, head down, glancing at the river now and then for solace. In the end it was the chattering of the river that brought me out of my reprieve. It swayed me as though it were speaking directly to me, only in a language I did not understand. I recalled something Epona had taught myself and the young ones.
It is tempting to rush through moments in life and frolic from one activity to the next. Training with the sword is exciting, as is learning to hunt with a bow and arrow, and using the knife to cleave meat from bone. But as interesting as those things are, and as skillful as you wish to be, don’t miss the moments that don’t seem as potent and important. When you go to the brook to bathe, listen to the stillness in the air and give thanks to the gods for fresh air and clean water. When you walk from tent to tent, going about your daily chores, be thankful you walk on your legs and are healthy and strong. Thank the gods and the goddesses for breathing life into you, for each of you were born with a great purpose, and rushing from one task to the next will not help you find it. It is only when we listen, in the stillness and softness, embracing the faint company of silence, that you will truly understand why the gods have granted you the most powerful gift in Labraid. Life. And when you listen, notice how all living things speak—often in a language you don’t understand, but they are expressing gratitude for the life they were given, and blessing the gods for a chance to give back to Labraid.
Crestfallen at the memory, I knew Epona would be ashamed of my actions. I’d lost my self-control and actually flung mud at Romulus in retaliation. Although I wasn’t truly angry at him, simply frustrated with the path my adventures had led me on. I’d also failed to stay calm, focus and listen. I murmured an apology to the gods and asked them to help me be better. I was sore and weary, but it was no excuse. I decided that when we stopped for the night I would apologize to Romulus and try to be a better traveling companion. It was clear he was used to being on his own and perhaps I was an inconvenience, yet he saw fit to guide me. He also knew who I was, and I wondered what stories had circulated about the fall of the kingdom of men.
