III
He was a scholar, a student of words. He studied the arcane, lore ancient and new. From his lips, he commanded power; from his hands, he wove signs. The elements were his to form, mirage and lightning, phantom and flame. Runes, the dead, the throb of life. He pulsed with its hum. Hours he spent listening, tracing its flow; spidery script, meaning and form. Knowledge.
Reason his gift, recall his talent, he had a knack for the obscure. Details and symmetry, the synergy of sound. He spoke as one born to it, resonate with grace. The chant was in tune, the roar of the sea, the whisper of the breeze; the shift of leaves and grass, the clang of a stone against the iron veined ore. Even underground he felt, the tunnels hewn coarsely from picks, tore and chipped away. Rough, smooth, the facets of gem; the surface of bark, the softness of snow. Straw, sand, the beach washed pebble; he could not bear it.
She was there, with him. From her bedroll, she rose, tending the fire, tending him. Her hands pulled the blanket tight, she smoothed his brow, urging him to rest. She would take the watch. The wards were set; his stare followed as dutifully, she checked them. Her complaints were mute; tempered with suggestions, she set the pace, resting often, waiting for him to tire only slightly. Long hours were all she knew, as she spoke of her life at the circus, amongst the animals and gnomes, the humans and tents. Acrobats, trapeze artists, jugglers, dancers, tamers; shows augmented by parlour tricks, all to breathe atmosphere. To bring joy and take coin; there to make an audience swoon, to delight and boo. They never saw the filth, the cracking caravans, the flaking paint. Over the fire, she regaled memories, smiling, then saddened. Another life.
They pressed on.
Through forest and field they walked. Athkatla, city of coin, of opportunity, they put behind them. Their companion silence was banished by the hum of the breeze, the lullaby of insects and the singing of trees. Water gurgled, and animals attended to their lives. Slavers from the city gates thought them easy prey; the crows cawed their thanks. Routine ingrained saw them stripped of possessions and silver; Aerie looked on in disgust and horror. Numbed to the violence, his calm harrowed her more than their foes' threat.
That night, over the fire, she told him of her wings. A child's flight, and vile men, slavers. Through drizzling rain, her words trailed. Tears brushed her eyes and she spoke no more. He listened.
—
Wings struck off, stumps branded. An avariel no longer. She revealed her heart, her pain, and he spoke of his friends, friends he forgot he had. Words spent over many days told stories in fragments, and her horror grew. Wide-eyed, she caught his hand and clung, as if to will the darkness away. Empty, his tone droned on. A throne of iron, built from the blood of the mines, the blades of a host, a sea of flesh. The head a monster, a brother. He had struck down the serpent, severing its head, willing it to wither and die.
That night they embraced; he held her as she spoke of her people, her family. He told her of his.
"G-Gorion?"
"My father."
"A… a human?"
"I never knew my mother."
He fell quiet; she gripped his arm. Understanding warred with uncertainty; she tried, sensing his loss, mourning. The pain he did not feel she felt so keenly; the dull edge masking the yearning, the yawning chasm.
"He stole f-from you."
—
The town of Tradesmeet offered little. Robes so worn their colour was 'bleak', their tatters mattered little to him. While she looked at pretty things, the ghost of a memory rose up and claimed him. A coastal road; gulls and shores, the distant call of sirens. Spray on the wind; kelp, damp; forests and grass. A gazer of stars, a seer; events unfolding… realms beyond his ken.
A riot of colour, tents. A hedgewitch. South, outside the confines of Nashkel, a feud.
North, pitched inside a city; an oracle. Signs, tellers, spinners of future, fortune, misfortune… A djinn. Looming. Terrible. Chained. Black. So black. The walls crushing in. A cage.
Her voice brought him back.
"L-look," Lighting her features, her smile beamed up at him, "Stalls! Clothes!" Then her face fell, "Y-you're tired; we – we should rest."
He didn't answer, but stared at the purple fabric, the white and blue stripes.
"Wh-what are you… oh."
Only his stare tensed. Laying her hand on his arm spoke louder than a yell. They walked past it, and up to the town gates.
