“We’re making remarkable time.”
Morvan stated it many times over the last few days while smiling in Kora’s direction, clearly crediting her. Ever since falling into the flowerbed, her constitution had steadily increased. Her energy grew ten-fold and her companions seemed to be caught in its wake, benefitting from propinquity. Gram’s ability to hike all day, at her age, bewildered everyone. But there she marched, step for step, with the Laveriums. They still collapsed in exhaustion at the end of the day, but while they moved, Kora buoyed them all.
Restlessness plagued Kora, even at night while everyone else recharged. After the shortest of rests, she would often lie in camp, studying her three new jewel-centered coins, or replaying the day’s events. Her creativity blossomed, and she lay awake at night listening to the howls of coyotes, thinking up new music, new lyrics for songs, inspired by the mountains around her. Landor forbade her from playing and singing outright, so she would spend much of her travel softly humming new tunes to herself.
The Breakers, a massive range on the eastern edge of Anduir, formed a barrier to the Great Sea and offered protections from the Kingdom of Faros. The vales within the midst of the Breakers teemed with summer life. White cottontails scattered this way and that, proving a tasty meal on a few occasions. Bold stags and their does watched them pass with cautious curiosity from nearby rocky crags, or from behind junipers or pines. Falcons and hawks patrolled the skies, hoping a gopher might let its guard down and linger out of its burrow too long. The path was so overgrown with dogwood and other shrubs and grasses, Kora wondered if these animals had ever seen a human in their lifetime.
On the second day after leaving Glain, Landor discovered Exum Bear tracks in the mud of the riverbed. The fierce beasts were known to call the Breakers home, and being extremely territorial, the company quickly agreed that the best course of action was to pick up camp and find someplace else to eat lunch, lest they become the meal.
Morvan often altered his gait to walk alongside Kora. He performed small, silly feats of dexterity, like balancing on logs, or leaping over large rocks, attempting to get a smile out of her, and she happily rewarded his efforts. He identified flowers speckling the sides of the trail and pointed out interesting facts about birds and other animals they passed. They were supposed lessons for Calandoe, but his volume rose ever so slightly when Kora drifted further from them, and she often caught him looking at her as he taught.
Landor and Morvan spoke with cautious optimism of the lack of any signs of Ghurr. Though much more prevalent in the Blue Caps of Rhoane, there were some tribes known to stalk the Breakers, preying on Anduiris foolish enough to stray too far from the protective confines of Fire Hollow and North Guard. The Ghurr. Kora’s father always shuddered whenever Gram whispered stories of the descendants of the Autumn Folke.
Their moods on the third day blackened. The rugged, ascending landscape demanded long stretches of forced uphill marches. A sudden summer rain pelted their cloaks and faces much of the day. Their conversations deteriorated into occasional grunts and their progress slowed as their footing became unsure. At one point, a flow of muddy water threatened to wash Calandoe down the hillside. Only Landor’s alert grab of his cloak prevented a potentially debilitating tumble. Landor groused several times about the loss of his horse, and Kora had to admit she missed Meg and the extra foods and spices she carried. They slogged on through the hot, wet afternoon until, mercifully, the clouds broke just before sunset. The waning sun washed the hills ahead in deep crimson. The ryas reflected off the wet leaves, giving the entire hillside the appearance of a sparkling sea of garnets.
Calandoe whispered, “Wow,” giving voice to Kora’s awe, and they all stopped to take in the beauty, an attempt to commit the moment to memory.
As Kora scanned the iridescent gorge ahead, she spotted the remnants of a stone structure overlooking the trail in the distance. The lonely tower protruded from the tree line, overgrown and crumbling, evidence of a forgotten time.
As sunset became twilight, they followed the path to under the ruins. A steep climb of carved stone stairs leading to the tower rose to a dizzying height. At its base, a fifteen-foot-tall circular stone column, built off the trail, loomed over the travelers. Five sectional blocks, piled on top of each other, made up the pillar. A thick carpet of moss and creepers claimed the bottom two sections, but it hadn’t yet overtaken the upper blocks, where carved images were still visible. Remnants of color hinted that the images may have been painted long ago, but time had long since eroded those colors, leaving only the wind-blasted stone. The top stone bore a harsh, stoic face; its eyes pointed down as if passing judgment on all who would seek to pass. Words, written under the face in a language Kora did not recognize, suggested some dire warning.
Gram studied the writing. “These are carved in ancient Rhoanish.”
“Can you read them?” Morvan asked.
“Not fully, no, but I think I recognize some of the symbols. There, and there… arrows. It’s a crossroads.”
“Hm, I think you’re right.” Landor added, studying the area, “It’s overgrown, but this could be a path heading west.”
“There’s also a safe haven symbol there,” Gram said, pointing to another rune. “The triangle, over the hearth.” Her gaze rose to the ruins above. “Not exactly the Lonely Cog, is it?”
“A path leading west probably means out of the mountains and back to the plains,” Morvan speculated.
“We’ll take it,” Landor decided, “in the morning. It’s time to rest. But not here. I can see a copse of pines down the western trail. We’ll camp there.”
“Whoa,” Calandoe exclaimed, as he pointed to behind the pillar. He had wandered around and spotted a pile of bones heaped onto the back of the column. Picked clean, some appeared to have been there a lot longer than others. Some were relatively fresh, and quite large.
“Good idea,” Gram said, “let’s camp over there.”
As they left the area, Kora couldn’t help but look up at the ruins. Something called to her. Something unseen. A yearning for exploration bubbled inside her. “Maybe we should go up there and look around?”
“No,” Landor replied bluntly, “there’s nothing to gain by poking around up there.”
Both the sky and the company’s mood succumbed to blackness as they reached the pines. The bed of needles was as soggy as their clothes, and it took too long for Morvan to light the fire. Kora and Gram shared whatever warmth their bodies still stored by pressing against each other while Calandoe rigged a wooden rod near the fire to dry clothes. Finally, they all huddled around the small flame, eagerly devouring their meager portions of mush mixed with berries and roots found during that day’s hike.
Calandoe broke a long stretch of silent eating to express what had to be the entire group’s collective thinking. “I want to go home.”
“I do too, Cal,” Morvan answered. “But this is important.” It seemed to Kora that he said it for his own sake as much as for his little brother’s.
Landor sipped from a small iron flask. Kora could smell the stuff from across the fire. He stared into the flames with his long, wet hair clinging to his face, eyes far away. “Keep your protests. I would stay here. Disappear here… If I weren’t so weak.”
“You mistake strength for weakness,” Morvan said in a firm, hushed voice.
“I know the difference. If I had any character, I would reject vanity and throw off the yoke of privilege. I’m so weak.”
“Real character is shown through family loyalty.” Morvan looked around the campfire to ensure everyone was part of the conversation. “Strong is the man who does what needs to be done to protect his family. To sacrifice himself for the greater good.”
“The greater good,” Landor scoffed, “greater for whom?”
“What do you mean?” Calandoe asked, puzzled.
Morvan replied, “Greater for all the people who depend on the Laveriums, Cal. Think of all the friends of our family.”
“I’d put half of them to the sword,” Landor mumbled.
“Stop,” Morvan demanded.
“You’re right. Two-thirds.”
“They don’t know you’re jesting. I won’t have you frightening our companions,” the prince insisted.
“No?” Landor and Morvan stared at each other over the fire in tense silence until Landor turned his stare of revulsion to Kora. “Maybe she needs to be frightened. How did you know those halls of Glain?”
Beware the Eldest. She tried to ignore it after Glain. Tried to tell herself that perhaps the Laveriums weren’t The Triad. The suspicions came seeping back in.
“I had been exploring.”
“Exploring?” Landor said with reproach, “Alone? You went wandering off in the middle of the night?”
“And well she did,” Morvan interrupted. “She saved our lives.”
“Oh yes, we’re alive, thank the gods the Laveriums are alive. And how many scores of innocent Glainians slaughtered?”
Kora’s stomached tightened. She felt sick.
“How many?” Calandoe asked, obviously troubled.
“Don’t you dare saddle her with that,” Morvan shot back, sharp.
“It was… upsetting,” Gram added in an even voice, “but Kora had no way of preventing it.”
“How do you know that?” Landor pressed, “How do you know that it wasn’t the girl’s actions that drew our pursuers? Did you play while traipsing about? Sing? Use the power in you?”
Everyone turned and looked at Kora. She hadn’t dared think too much about it before now. Of course she played, but it was to free the water Folke. She had to do it. A wave of doubt and grief inundated her. Her face flushed and her ears buzzed.
“Her silence tells all,” Landor grumbled in condemnation. “It’s time to grow up, girl. Everyone here is risking their lives for you and we cannot do that with you wandering off to sing and play.”
“Ignore him…” Morvan interjected, but Landor kept on.
“What you do has real consequences. If you had stayed in your room, maybe that monster, Garakul, wouldn’t have found you. Maybe you would’ve heard them and warned us sooner. Maybe we would’ve prevented them from killing so many or left in time to save those people.”
All of Kora’s grief converted to anger in a flash. “You don’t know that! We could’ve all just as well have been killed in our sleep if I hadn’t been up!”
“Shhhh,” Gram warned.
“I didn’t ask for your help, Landor,” Kora reminded him in a more subdued tone, “you pursued me, remember?”
“I remember.”
“You’re not my older brother. You may be able to lord over Morvan and Calandoe, but not me.”
Morvan smiled, “She’s right.”
Landor looked around at the group, nodded, and took another swig. “You know everything, of course. Everybody your age knows everything.”
“Don’t act like you’re so much older,” Kora replied.
Landor laughed darkly. “Maybe not in years. But in experience, we are worlds apart. Don’t forget that little girl. Don’t go wandering off again. I won’t be risking my brothers’ lives for nothing.”
She decided right then that she loathed Landor. His smug condescension was infuriating. Little girl. How dare he? She saved his life more than once in Glain, and here he was, bullying her. She wanted to hit him. She wanted to punch that sanctimonious face.
“Kora,” Morvan must’ve sensed her ire. He shot her a knowing look, trying to put her at ease. “You keep trusting your instincts.”
She would. Landor could count on that.
* * * *
It called to her. Not like the water spirits did. It wasn’t Magesty, and she didn’t hear it. But something about that ruined tower beckoned her, nonetheless.
After a few hours of reinvigorating sleep, she woke as The Son passed under The Father and couldn’t get back to sleep. Like the tide to the moons, she felt her blood being pulled to that tower. She stood and walked to the edge of the pines to gaze at it. A stark ray of moonlight from The Father illuminated the ruins in white sparkles. A warm summer breeze shifted the clouds and the beam from The Father snuffed out, while opening a ray of The Son’s amber moonlight from a different direction.
If she left camp, Landor would be furious. Who knows what he would do?
If he found out.
She reminded herself that he didn’t know what she knew, feel what she felt. She trusted her instincts. So did Morvan. The wise one.
Kora wondered what Landor had done, that he would be passed over for the crown. Perhaps the king simply realized that Morvan would make such a better leader. (She slung her backpack over her shoulders.) Maybe Landor had done something so heinous, that he was stripped of his birthright. What that could be? He was a boor, yes, but not a coward. He had fought courageously at Glain. (She hopped over a fallen log.) Of course, leadership consisted of so much more than courage. It was wisdom and tact, and Morvan definitely had that advantage over Landor. And, of course, charisma. A king needs to be charismatic. Morvan. Charisma. Over the past two nights she had wondered to herself what the prince would’ve done had she taken the two paces to cross to where he lie and pressed herself to him for warmth. (She climbed the steep steps that led up to the ruined keep.) Would he have wrapped his arm around her? Whispered in her ear, ‘finally’? Or would he have turned away, shocked at her impropriety? He must be used to ladies of the court, she thought. Paragons of politesse. She was a country girl; still had the dirt of ubu beds under her fingernails. (The crumbled stone stairs gave way to steep rock.) Still, she knew flirting. The neighboring farm boys had taught her that, at least. Morvan had been flirting, no doubt. So, what did that mean? What was he thinking? What was he intending? Maybe if they ever had a chance to be alone, he would say something. How could she do that? How could she get them alone on the trail?
She pulled herself up to standing and her eyes and wandering mind focused on the roofless watchtower that lay in ruin before her. One corner of the base crumbled, but the rest of the squat, stone first floor still stood strong, rising out of the moss-laden rubble and chest-high weeds and shrubs. Kora plucked her way through the scrub and deftly navigated the piles of rubble until she stood at the crumbled corner.
A nearby owl hooted in protest, or maybe encouragement. Kora decided to believe it the latter.
She climbed through the rocks. To her disappointment, the interior of the ruined tower was as non-descript as the exterior. The missing roof allowed clear view of the cloudy sky and huge chunks of fallen stone littered the ground. The thickness of the walls that still stood surprised her, and she imagined it must have taken a powerful effort to destroy this tower. She sighed. It had been a significant effort to climb those steep stone steps. For nothing. So much for instincts.
The light of The Father washed over her as the dense clouds parted. The silver moonlight sent a chill down her spine. The clouds in the sky drifted again, this time revealing The Son. The smaller moon passed close to the larger, as if trying to touch, unsuccessfully, and the moonlight warmed in color. The stones around her seemed to sparkle…
No, not seem, they… they did sparkle.
The southern wall, almost completely intact, shimmered in a haze, mirage-like, and swirled, like sand in the wind, revealing a detailed set of bas-reliefs that were invisible to her just seconds ago. But now, in the blended moonlight of both The Father and Son, hundreds of complex carvings were revealed.
She stood in awe.
The central and most prominent image looked down at her, a woman on a throne, that same face as on the column down at the crossroads below. Staid. Grim. Troubled. The woman bore the eagle symbol on her breast and held a ring of keys in one hand and a spear in the other.
Adela Laverium. The First Queen. Our Empress of Emancipation.
Panel after panel of carvings shimmered to life, surrounding the central image, and Kora quickly realized they told a story. Mountains there. Farmers, bowed and dismal. Great battles of men over there. A spear. A woman rising above the horde. The reliefs depicted the stories of the emergence of Anduir, as told to her by Gram and her father.
Centuries ago, the kingdom of Rhoane stretched from the Blue Caps to the Barriers and encompassed the entire southern continent. The Blue Caps were thick with ore and the great eight mining barons grew rich with wealth and power, ruling from their lavish keeps at the base of those plentiful peaks. Each of the eight barons perpetually raced to surpass the others. As such, the wealth of the mountains didn’t flow down into the vast flatlands to the east. Just the opposite, as the barons taxed and tithed the plainsmen and woodsmen to expand their wealth and power. For a hundred years, the eastern Rhoanish people suffered under the oppression of the Rapacious Eight. Until finally, the gods intervened. The prophets foretold of the coming of a great leader who would emerge from the depths of the mighty Blue River with the Spear of Law, said to be a relic of Asar the Eagle himself. The man who could extract it from the waters of the Blue would be chosen by the gods to rule. Except it wasn’t pulled from the waters by a man, but by a girl. A girl still in the bloom of youth. Which proved troubling to the plainsmen. It took the girl, Adela Laverium, several years, and the eight feats of valor, to rally the peoples and convince them to mobilize and rebel against the forces of the Rapacious Eight. A bloody revolution ensued, capped with the slaughter at Blood Petal Wood, led by Adela herself. The slaughter forced the barons to retreat west and allowed Adela’s people to establish Anduir (“The Spear of Law” in the ancient Folke language) as a free kingdom. Adela Laverium ruled with evenhandedness and wisdom for a hundred and fifty years, blessed with the divine longevity of the chosen, and Anduir flourished. Then and now, the name held a beloved place in the hearts of many of Anduir. Still, the eyes of the woman who looked down at Kora appeared to her to be windows to a leaden soul. This queen, carved in the rock before her, looked exhausted and joyless. As a child, Kora always awed and envied the divinity of the chosen, but now she wondered.
The owl emitted a low hoot in agreement. A cloud drifted over The Father and the bas-reliefs faded, leaving nothing but the non-descript ruined wall that had bored her minutes ago.
“Kora?”
She jumped at the sound. The voice came from right outside.
“Yes,” she called.
Morvan climbed through the crack in the corner. The entire courtyard reflected the amber rays of The Son as Morvan hopped over the rocks and took in the scene.
“Are you alright?”
“Yes. Did I scare you?”
“It’s alright,” he assured her. “I awoke and saw you climbing the steps and decided to come and make sure nothing happens to you.”
“I’m well. Does Landor know?”
“No. He’s still fast asleep.” Morvan smiled that smile that always relieved the stress in her shoulders.
Kora nodded. “My liege. There’s glamour here. The moonlight, it reveals carvings on the wall. There.”
“Does it? Carvings of what?”
“Pictures. Depicting the founding of Anduir. Right there in the middle, Adela Laverium.” Kora pointed to the spot.
Morvan approached the wall and felt the smooth stone. “Adela. My great grandmother. This I must see. Is this what drew you here?”
“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “I didn’t hear anything. I felt drawn.”
“Your instincts are powerful. To be heeded.”
“Thank you for your trust, milord.”
“Morvan,” he insisted. He continued to feel the smooth stone with his fingertips as he spoke. “When I first met you, you very bravely set out on your own because you didn’t want to put my brothers and I in danger. At the time, I thought it was foolish. But now… after Glain… I’m worried about the safety of Calandoe, and Heega. Even Landor. I don’t want to see them come to harm.”
“Nor I. What can I do?”
“It frightens me to say it… and it must be your decision…” Morvan said gravely.
“I must travel alone.” As she said it, Kora’s palms got clammy, and she shivered.
“By the gods, no!” he looked at her, incredulous, before continuing, “I would never let you travel alone. I will escort you.”
“You? Alone?”
What an idea. Equal parts frightening and thrilling. On the one hand, it meant leaving Gram. Her rock. Gram had always been there, a constant source of wisdom and comfort and the closest thing to a mother she had ever had. How could she travel without her? No doubt Gram would be devastated if she left her behind. Not only that, but they’d also be leaving Landor’s sword and Calandoe’s sense of Magesty. Surely, she and Morvan were more vulnerable alone? On the other hand, Gram and the others would live. Calandoe really was too young to be caught up in this. That became apparent in Glain. And it might be wise to leave Landor behind, if prophetic warning had any validity.
And Morvan.
They would be alone. Walking alone. Eating alone. Sleeping alone. For days. Didn’t she want that opportunity? Hadn’t she fantasized about it? Like most things, however, when fantasy becomes reality, doubt creeps in. She cursed herself for a fool. Here the prince of the realm risked his life for her, and she fixated on pecking and gushing. Her father would be ashamed of her.
“Of course, the decision is yours.” He reached out and took her hands. “Trust your instincts. What do they say?”
Her instincts, yes. What did they say? What girl could focus on instincts when Morvan’s azure eyes looked through her? When soft fingers brushed her palms with self-assured delicacy.
“I’m not sure… Gram…” she sputtered, “and you, my liege. I cannot ask you to risk your life.”
“Kora. Don’t you know by now?” the handsomest boy she had ever seen stepped closer. “No matter what you do, where you go, I will be by your side. By the Eagle and the Lion, that I swear.”
Kora’s heart pounded furiously as the prince leaned in and gently kissed her lips. The act came as such a surprise, her eyes stayed wide open as he kissed her. The ruins blurred as she swooned. But then, for scant seconds, the moons cast a converging beam of moonlight onto the wall behind Morvan and the image of Adela Laverium reemerged. She stung Kora with a disapproving gaze. Those eyes. So much like Morvan’s. And yet, something else familiar.
As Morvan pulled away, Kora’s made up her mind. The time had come for her to do the right thing.
“We’ll go,” she said, and the image on the wall once again faded away.