Chapter 7.
Camaraderie
"Don't walk in front of me, I may not follow; Don't walk behind me, I may not lead; Walk beside me, and just be my friend." - Albert Camus
o - o - o - o - o
The trees and flowers of the High Forest were in full bloom. Huge swathes of beech, elm, sycamore, ash, yew and willow were heavy with green canopies and growing seeds. On the apple and pear trees, bright white blossoms attracted myriad insects, and the birds which stalked the tiny pollinators. Occasional cherry trees stood out from the rest because of their pale pink flowers, with only the bluebells coating the forest floor beneath them able to match their vibrant colour.
Everywhere Esmerelle looked, the land was showing signs of flourishing, and it exuded an aura of peace and tranquillity. She was wary, though, and did not completely lower her guard. It had been two weeks since she had encountered the group of gnolls in the place where she regularly went to gather herbs. Their presence, even though she had come away from the encounter unscathed, had shaken her confidence and destroyed her complacency. She had long thought of the Forest as home, but had rarely encountered intelligent creatures within it, other than the fey and, once, a small group of centaurs.
For the first week after her encounter with the gnolls, she had barely left the house, too afraid that they would return in larger numbers. Then the need to move and be useful began to grow, and she was driven by her own restlessness back to the Forest. On her first foray she went back to the place where she had fought the gnolls and camped there overnight, to prove to herself that she could. Now she was travelling in the opposite direction, to more unfamiliar territory. She rarely came this way, but her curiosity about which trees and herbs grew further away from the house eventually got the better of her, and she knew that even in the places which were familiar, she would never be truly safe again. It made her a little less afraid of the rest of the Forest.
She'd spent the night nestled in her sleeping roll beneath a great oak tree, and was now halfway into her second day of walking with no edge to the forest in sight. Aggie had told her that the High Forest was 'very big', but she had no idea just how big it was. She still had some niggling fear that Eldon and the other clerics of Lathander would find her and take her away, but had she known that the High Forest was five hundred miles across and just as long, and that even if Eldon had wanted to return to Aggie's cottage again he would never have found it because the fey liked hiding it, she might have been a little less worried.
When the sun was halfway to the horizon, she followed the sound of water to a nearby stream and sat down on the banks. Dipping her canteen into the cold clear water, she refilled it then brought out a packet of small, fat-rich cakes which had dried fruits and seeds baked into them. A single cake provided enough energy and nutrients to last half a day; Aggie had taught her how to make them, as well as how to preserve other foods, how to skin animals for their hides, and how to find her way by the position of the stars.
As she ate, she closed her eyes and let her thoughts wander as she listened to the sounds around her. Most prevalent was the sound of stream running over the riverbed. On the far bank, a frog was croaking regularly, though she couldn't see it. Above her, the breeze rustled the leaves of the trees, making them whisper to each other. Oblivious to the whispering of the trees, a variety of birds sang their songs; a robin, hidden deep with a blackberry bush, sang his solo territorial warning. A pair of chaffinches performed a duet in the treetops, and on the ground, where beetles and bugs scurried around the leaf-litter, a family of sparrows sang as a group. A lone song-thrush performed a beautiful tune that wove itself around the rising and falling notes of a flute...
Her eyes flew open, her heart pounding in her chest. She ignored the birdsong, the whispering of the trees, the babbling of the stream, focusing all of her attention onto the flute. For a brief moment she wondered if she'd been mistaken, if perhaps all she'd heard was the song of some unknown bird. But there was nothing natural about the sound she heard now, and although she didn't recognise the tune being played, she knew it wasn't bird-song. It was too steady, too rhythmical, too man-made. But who could be out here? Some people did call the High Forest home... a few elves and gnomes, the centaurs and gnolls, some groups of orcs, and beasts such as unicorns and pegasi, as well as treants and satyrs, but none of them were given to flute-playing, although she sometimes heard the satyrs playing their pipes.
She decided it was better to know who was playing the music, and she quickly packed up her bag before hoisting it over her shoulders. Though she didn't know the exact direction from where the music came, she knew it was from somewhere upstream, so she followed the watercourse until it disappeared into the ground in a natural spring. The music was stronger, now, and she thought she could even hear faint voices, drowned out by the sound of the music. Slowly, she continued, moving as quietly as she could, placing her feet carefully so she stepped on no fallen twigs and tripped over no vine-like brambles. When the voices grew louder she slowed even more, and silently took cover behind a clump of large, leafy ferns. Carefully, she moved aside a large leaf, and peered out at the scene in front of her.
These people definitely weren't satyrs. They were a motley assortment of folks and looked about as different to each other as people could get. The music was coming from a flute being played by an old man. His hair was grey, as was his long moustache, and she watched as his fingers, as gnarled as old oak roots, moved fluidly up and down the length of the instrument. He was wrapped in a green and blue patterned cloak, and his clothes were of a pale green colour, with black boots on his feet. On the floor in front of him sat a brown-haired half-elven man wearing a shirt of chainmail and thick leather trousers. At his hip was a short-sword, sheathed in a leather scabbard. His boots had been removed, and one trouser leg had been rolled up to expose a bandage, through which a patch of red blood had seeped. The bandage was being tightened by a tiny blonde-haired halfling woman with twinkling blue eyes, who wore skin-tight dark grey clothes beneath a light set of leather armour. Her skin was tanned brown and her nose and cheeks were liberally sprinkled with freckles. Also on the floor was an armour-plated dwarf. His long dark brown beard had been braided, and his dark brown hair was fastened back into two plaits. On the floor beside him was a shining hand-axe, but his focus was entirely taken up by the open book in his hands, and his lips moved silently as he read. Not far away, an elven woman was sitting cross-legged on the ground with her eyes closed. Her long black hair fell straight and loose down her back, and was kept out of her face by a leather headband adorned with beads and feathers, which was fastened around her forehead and tied at the back. She wore little in the way of clothes, opting for brown leather shorts and a dark green shirt, but her skin was covered with a variety of tattoos in green, brown, black and ochre. Around her shoulders was a heavy fur cloak, which was covered with patterns made from shells, beads and feathers. Across her knees lay an intricately carved wooden staff some seven feet long, and her hands were resting upon this. An elven man with long brown hair and honey-coloured skin stood over her, with his arms crossed over his chest, and whenever his green-brown eyes drifted down to the woman, a smile played across his lips. He wore thick leather armour and a bow was strung loosely over his back.
"I told you we should have stuck to the roads," the half-elven man complained, wincing when the halfling woman was a little rough with his leg. "Now we're lost, I'm injured, and we're barely even into the Forest."
"I don't get lost," said the standing elven man. "It would take far too long to reach Everlund by road and trail. This way is faster. Trust me."
"Last time you said 'trust me' we ended up being short-changed on our job."
"The ways of humans are still strange to me." The elf looked a little chagrined.
"Which is why I told you to let me make all the arrangements. But the gods forbid you actually have a little faith in me."
"I do have faith in you, but I know you too well. I warned you not to go into that cave. The bear could have killed you and Kiree both. If you weren't too busy trying to show off, you would have seen the signs that showed the cave was inhabited. Instead, you took a foolhardy risk and with nothing to show from it."
"For your information... ow, damn it, Kiree, can't you be a little more careful?" the half-elven man growled at the halfling. The diminutive woman held up her hands in a gesture of defeat.
"Stop complaining, Duncan," said the elderly man. The music had died away as he'd removed the flute from his lips, and now the air felt strangely empty, as if a childhood friend had disappeared. "Daeghun's right, it would have taken far too long by road, and the roads themselves aren't exactly what I'd call safe right now. We'll see more than enough action once we're assigned to a caravan, and until then, it's better to make haste and be safe. Besides, I need to find a new song, or an old one, to play before we reach Everlund, and the High Forest is full of songs just waiting to be discovered."
"Always with the songs," said the half-elf, rolling his eyes. "Why can't you pick a craft that somebody actually pays you for, like painting?"
"For how much longer will we have to endure Duncan's whining, Shayla?"
The elven woman opened her eyes; they were as blue as sapphires and seemed to shine with an inner light. "Patience, Lucas," she said. "The spirits of this place are ancient. I will need time to persuade them to lend me their strength."
"We could just chop it off," the halfling woman grinned. "Before it gets gangrenous, you know. What do you say, Belvar? One swing of your mighty axe should do it."
"If I thought it would stop him complaining," the dwarf said with a snort, "I'd've done it myself already."
"Really funny, all of you," the half-elf grumbled. "I'm so glad you're sympathetic."
The conversation turned to small-talk, and Esmerelle studied the people more closely. From what she'd seen and heard so far, she'd been able to glean several interesting facts. The old man with the flute was obviously a musician, and the others seemed to hold him with some regard. The elven man and his half-elven companion didn't seem to get along that well, and it seemed to be an ongoing issue between them. The elven woman must be some sort of healer, and if she could communicate with spirits, perhaps she was a witch, like Aggie. Esme had no idea if the elves counted witches amongst their number, and it was true she'd never heard of elves dressing so strangely, but anything was possible these days. Where the group had come from she could not tell, but if they were going to Everlund to be 'assigned' to a caravan, they were probably guards, or mercenaries. In her mind, the former represented authority and the latter danger, and she was loathe to deal with either.
A quiet scuffling noise above her caught her attention, and she slowly turned her head to the birch tree beside her. There, sitting on a branch and watching her intently, was a squirrel. That in itself wasn't so strange. Squirrels were quite common in the Forest, and they were naturally curious and cautious creatures. But this was no ordinary squirrel. It was wraith-like and insubstantial. Esme could see right through its body, which had a feint blue glow about it.
"It seems we're not quite alone here," said the elven woman. There was a blur of movement from the group of people. The elven man had drawn an arrow on his bow and he looked around for something to aim at. The dwarf's book had been dropped and the short man now stood with his legs planted firmly apart, the axe hanging with feigned casualness from his right hand. The halfling was on her feet with a shuriken in each hand, and she swivelled her head from side to side in a bird-like fashion. The old musician had also proved spry despite his age; he leapt to his feet and drew a short sword and a dagger in one fluid movement, and his flute was now inside a pocket of his shirt. Even the injured half-elven man had drawn his sword, though he couldn't stand. The only person who hadn't moved was the elven woman; she still sat calmly on the floor with her hands resting on her staff.
"Come out, child," the woman called. "We won't hurt you."
"Speak for yourself," growled the dwarf.
Esme knew there was little she could do. Either she could run, in which case they might chase her, or she could show herself, in which case they might hurt her despite the elf's assurance. But if they wanted to hurt her, wouldn't they have done so already? They probably wouldn't have waited for her to come out on her own. She decided to take a chance, and slowly stood up, stepping around the fern with her hands up and palms facing out, to show she held no weapons.
"Bah! A girl!" said the dwarf, dropping his axe to the floor and retrieving his book. "You had me thinking we were being stalked by more bloody orcs."
"What are you doing here?" the halfling demanded angrily, waving a shuriken in the air. "Spying on us? Come to steal from us while our guard's down?"
"Of course not!" Esme replied indignantly. "Stealing is a sin in the eyes of Lathander."
The halfling grinned and slipped the blades into a sturdy leather belt pouch. "Glad you think so. I hate competition. I would have had to kill you, you know."
"This place is far from the roads," said the old man. "What are you doing here?"
"I live here," she replied, deciding honesty was best in this situation.
"Alone?"
"Do you see anybody else with me?"
"No, but you could be the front for bandits or thieves. Or you could be a creature of magic, come to lull us into a false sense of security."
"Don't be so paranoid, Lucas," said the injured half-elf. He flashed her a smile. "The young lass doesn't look much like a bandit, and since she appears to be one of Lathander's faithful, that's good enough for me."
"What you call paranoia, I call common caution and common sense. It's something you've always lacked and probably always will," the old man scoffed.
"What is your name, child?" asked the elven man, stepping forward before the pair could begin arguing. She eyed him warily, but she sensed nothing but genuine curiosity in his question, and she saw no reason to lie.
"Esmerelle," she said at last.
"Well met, Esmerelle. I am Daeghun. As Shayla said, you have nothing to fear from us. I am curious; how is it that you came to live out here all by yourself?"
"Daeghun," said the elven woman, Shayla, with a warning note in her voice. "Leave the poor girl alone. I'm sure we gave her quite a scare, tramping around her home, brandishing weapons at her. I would not be so forgiving, had somebody done the same to me."
"It's okay," said Esmerelle quickly. "I live over a day's walk from here. You're not intruding. I'm just glad you're not gnolls."
"Orcs and gnolls," said the dwarf without looking up as he turned a page in his book. "And I thought this was the safer route."
"I don't know about orcs, but I met a group of gnolls a couple of weeks ago. And Bu... I mean... I once heard that there are dragons living in some parts of the forest, too."
"Last time I'm listening to you. Ever," said the half-elf to Daeghun.
"What happened to your leg?" she asked.
"I was gored by a bear whilst protecting Kiree," he replied, nudging the halfling with his elbow. The tiny woman was almost knocked off her feet. "She wanted to explore a cave for treasure and didn't realise a mother bear was nursing her cubs inside. I'm Duncan, by the way."
"And that bear must have gored your brains, too," Kiree said with a glare. "Because the way I remember it, you were the one who begged me to go cave-exploring with you."
"Would you like me to take a look at it?" she asked.
"What, you're a healer?" His eyebrows shot up in surprise.
"Of a sort."
"Then by all means, see what you can do. The only other option is waiting in pain until the spirits grant Shayla the strength to heal me."
She stepped cautiously forward and knelt down beside the man. With as much care as possible she began to unfasten and unwind the bandage, then examined the wound. It was more than just a goring; the bone had been cleanly fractured, and although it had already been set back into place, the fracture line could still be seen. The injury was clean, though, and she doubted it would become infected.
From the bag she carried on her back she took out a vial of powder and mixed it into her bowl with water. When she had a thick paste, she applied it to Duncan's leg, trying her hardest not to hurt him. She'd never actually treated anything but animals with one of Aggie's cures before. When she'd finished with the mixture she took a small bottle of oil from her bag and put a few drops onto a clean piece of cloth. She wiped around the wound with it, then sat back and began hunting through the bag for some willowbark.
"What are you using?" asked Shayla. The elf had approached silently during her ministrations, and was now watching her.
"Comfrey and whitewillow for the bone injury, and lavender oil to keep the area clean. I have some willowbark and hyssop that I can use to make tea for the pain. It will make him sleepy but the leg will heal faster if he's asleep."
"Why do all healers treat their patients like they're not even there?" grumbled Duncan.
"Where did you learn herb-lore?" Shayla asked.
"From my grandmother," she replied, thinking quickly. "She died a couple of years ago."
"And you've been alone ever since?"
"Pretty much."
"Most young women," said the old man, Lucas, "would think about moving to a town, rather than staying alone in the wilderness. Why did you decide to live alone, instead of seeking out company? The High Forest is dangerous, you know."
"It might be dangerous, but at least it's an obvious danger. At least you don't have to worry about people turning against you or trying to use you or stab you in the back."
"Such a jaded opinion for one so young. I've decided I like you, Esmerelle!"
"You should continue treating Duncan," said Shayla. "As you say, the body heals faster whilst it is resting, and I don't think it would do us any harm to stay here for the night. If you think it's safe, that is."
She felt herself blush at the woman's insinuation that she knew best. "Unless the gnolls come back, it should be safe enough. Though to be honest, I never usually come this way. The area is quite new to me."
"In that case, I will go and keep watch," said Daeghun, picking up his bow. "I will go a few hundred yards east. Kiree, will you go west?" The halfling nodded and trotted off into the forest. "And Lucas..."
"I will sit here and play my flute, and hope that Esmerelle has something in that pack of hers for aching joints. You've already taken my horse from me, Daeghun, don't ask me to spend the whole night watching , too. Besides, nothing will get past you and Kiree."
"I will send Ashara north," said Shayla. And suddenly, the incorporeal blue squirrel appeared on the woman's shoulder.
"Very well, a'maelamin," said Daeghun, bestowing a small smile upon her.
"And that leaves south for me," said the dwarf; Belvar, Esmerelle recalled. He put his book away, picked up his axe and strolled into the forest. Lucas, meanwhile, had taken out his flute and began playing the song that he'd started previously. It sounded familiar to Esmerelle, but it wasn't anything she could put her finger on.
She worked silently for a time, setting up her small portable tripod and building a fire beneath it. She measured out willowbark and hyssop into a cup and brought it slowly to boil, allowing it to steep before giving some to Duncan. After a time he lay back on the ground using his coat as a pillow, closed his eyes and drifted slowly to sleep. When his breathing was finally steady and rhythmical, Esmerelle turned her attention back to the others. The sky had darkened without her even realising it, and soon it would be twilight. Lucas was still playing his flute, though more often than not the song faltered and he went back and repeated parts, changing them and experimenting. Shayla, meanwhile, had resumed her meditative posture, with her legs crossed and her eyes closed.
It had been so long since Esme had last spoken to somebody, other than the merchants, that she felt she ought to have dozens of questions about the world outside of the Forest, about where these people were from and where they were going, about anything at all, really. But she realised it didn't matter. In the morning, these people would be gone, and she would be alone again.
She turned her attention to the meditating elf. The woman was beautiful; compared to her, everybody else in the party looked plain and washed out. She seemed unconcerned by her comparative state of undress, and didn't even seem particularly bothered about sitting still on the hard earth for so long.
"Is there something you wanted to ask?" the elf said without opening her eyes.
"Err, no," she stammered, embarrassed at being caught staring. "Well, yes. I just wondered... is the squirrel I saw earlier your familiar?"
Shayla opened her eyes and smiled. "No. Wizards and sorcerers have familiars, but there are no wizards amongst my people, and few sorcerers. I am a shaman, and Ashara is my spirit-guide."
"I thought there were lots of elven sorcerers and wizards?"
"Not amongst my people, Sy-Tel'Quessir. The wild elves. Most are hunters or warriors."
"Is Daeghun a wild elf too?"
"No, he is a wood elf, though he was raised by my people. Duncan is his half-brother, and was raised amongst humans, so he understands their ways better than we do."
"Do Daeghun and Duncan have spirit-guides too?" she asked, looking around for other ethereal animals.
"No. Only my people have spirit-guides, or other shaman."
"What does a shaman do? Is it anything like a druid?"
"A little. We draw our strength and our powers from nature, but also from the realm of spirits. The best of us can walk dreams and interpret the will of the spirits of nature."
"Where are the rest of your people?"
"In the Kryptgarden Forest, some two hundred miles or so from here."
"Why did you leave them?"
"I am on my Journey," she smiled. "All Shaman must undertake the Journey. Most choose to wander alone, undertaking tests of strength and will in order to learn the wisdom of the spirits and the land. When I left, Daeghun came with me, and we decided instead to wander together, to explore the world and the people in it. I've seen much, since leaving my people."
"How long have you been travelling?" she asked, resting her hand on her chin.
"Nearly forty years."
"Forty years? You don't look that old!"
"Thank you. But elves don't age as humans do. I'm much older than that. I'm almost as old as Lucas, in fact," Shayla winked.
"I heard that," said Lucas, lowering his flute. "Just be thankful you've aged gracefully. Arthritis is no fun, I can tell you."
"Do your joints ache much?" Esmerelle asked, remembering his words to Daeghun.
"Not so much in summer. It's winter that gets me the worst. When the weather's cold and wet I like nothing more than to sit in an inn earning a living by playing songs. I just like to remind the fair folk amongst us that age is less kind to humans than it is to them."
"What's the furthest place you've travelled to?"
"Hmm, let me think. The furthest from here would be Calimshan. I've roamed the Sword Coast from the Spine of the World right down to Calimport, and back again. Took me five years to get from north to south, with many stops along the way. And another two and a half to get back to Waterdeep, where I met Daeghun and Shayla here sharing drinks in a tavern with Belvar."
"What's Waterdeep like?"
"The City of Splendors? I could tell you a thousand tales about the place. Do you want to hear of merchants or of the Masked Lords, or of the Undermountain which lies beneath the city, or of the magnificent harbour which houses powerful warships, or of..."
"Waterdeep is a large, crowded, expensive human city," said Shayla dismissively. "On the first day Daeghun and I arrived there, several ruffians tried to take our belongings. I was forced to be violent."
"And what's in Everlund?" she asked, remembering the conversation earlier.
"Ah, you were listening to that, were you?" said Lucas with a smile. "The only thing in Everlund is work. It's how we earn our living, mainly. We escort merchants around the Sword Coast, protecting them from bandits, orcs, trolls... and pretty much anything else that comes at us, really."
"You're mercenaries, then?"
"Not exactly. Mercenaries, you see, mostly care about money. And whilst it's true that Kiree does care mostly about money, the rest of us have set our sights a little higher. Shayla's on her Journey of discovery, of course. Duncan wants to be a hero. Belvar's a scholar, and I'm here for my music. If you want to learn, or make a name for yourself, you have to travel, you see. And whilst travelling, if you can make a little money to afford a nice room with a warm fire, then all the better!"
"And what's it like in the rest of the world, outside the Forest?"
"I couldn't possibly sum it up in less than a life-time," said Lucas, his blue eyes twinkling. "But what about you, young Esmerelle? Where are your parents? Surely you can't have lived with your grandmother your whole life."
"My parents died when I was very young," she said, trying to sound sad. Then, she thought of Eldon, and she didn't have to try. "I don't remember them. My grandmother raised me, and taught me as much as she could before she died."
"Don't you ever get lonely?" Shayla asked.
"Not really. I have the f... I mean, I generally keep too busy to be lonely."
"Perhaps you'll join us for supper, Esmerelle," said Lucas, his jovial voice now lightening the darker mood.
"Are you sure? I'd hate to intrude. I was thinking of going back home."
"Nonsense! Night time is no time to be wandering around dangerous forests. After all you've done for Duncan, you are amongst friends here."
"Thank you," she said, feeling a broad smile cross her face.
It seemed the group of friends had hunted recently, because from a large pack that was lying on the ground beside Duncan, Lucas took out a pheasant which had been plucked and bled. He spent a few moments spitting it and suspending it over his tripod, then began rooting in the pack, muttering under his breath.
"Why can I never find thyme when I need it?" he said. "In every sense of the word."
"I have some you can use, if you like," she offered. "I picked it fresh this morning."
"Do you use thyme in any of your potions, or just for flavouring food?" Shayla asked.
"For food, mostly. You seem to know a lot about herbs and plants too. Do you make potions as well?"
"Sometimes," said the elf with a small smile. "I use special combinations of herbs to induce visions. It is one of the many ways in which a shaman can become more receptive to the spirits, and it is a way to help know oneself."
"Visions? Really? What sort of things do you see?"
"Personally," said Lucas, "I see a pheasant that is cooking without any seasoning."
"Sorry," she said, handing him her packet of thyme as a guilty blush coloured her cheeks. But she noticed him smiling beneath his long moustache.
"What I see," continued Shayla, "depends on the herbs I use, the mood I am in, and my aim during my vision-quest. Sometimes I receive memories, as I do when I trance... sleep..." she amended, noticing Esme's confused expression. "And other times, the visions are more surreal. I may travel the land as an animal or walk the realm of the spirits. It differs each time."
"Are vision-quests something anybody can do, or are only shaman allowed to do them?"
"Anybody can undertake a vision-quest. Not everybody wants to. It can be... intensive. Sometimes Lucas partakes of a vision quest with me, but the only other one of us to try was Duncan, and he only did it once. I don't think he liked what he saw, because he won't do another and refuses to speak of what he saw."
"Do you think he had a bad experience, like a nightmare?" she asked, gazing at the still form of the sleeping man.
"I don't know. But vision-quests always show you the truth, in one form or another. Sometimes the truth is a very hard thing to face. The bravest of men, who will fight a dragon or a demon armed with nothing but his sword and his courage, may flee in fear when confronted with the truth of himself."
"Enough talk!" said Lucas, withdrawing a small harp from another backpack. "You and Esmerelle can be the first to hear my latest song. I finished it as we left Llorkh, but the time wasn't right to play it then. Tell me what you think."
As Lucas' fingers began to travel over the strings, gently plucking with far more grace than she'd thought his old hands would have been capable of, Esme sat back and watched him across the fire. The notes rose and fell clearly, each one clear and defined, separate from its predecessor and successor, but at the same time, joined to them. She was so mesmerised by his fingers on the strings and the gentle tune, that when he started singing in a clear but quiet voice, it felt as if he always had been singing. The words skipped straight from his mind to her heart, seeming to bypass her ears entirely.
"High upon the mountain tops,
I hear your song carried by wind,
The gentle lilting of your voice,
The hidden meaning of your every word,
And I wait by the fire
For my heart's desire.
Through the forest and field it winds,
Neath the cloudy skies of grey,
Following the serpentine rivers,
Echoing like a sigh through the empty valleys,
And I wait for you,
For my one love true.
Betwixt the cities and the towns,
Inside sparkling gems of old,
The cobbled streets hear your voice,
One by one, the people stop to listen,
And I wait for your touch,
I miss it so much.
The day will soon come when you'll follow your song,
Sailing by night upon high seas,
With naught but stars and hope to guide you,
On that day, you will come back to me,
And I wait at home,
You are never alone."
By the time the song had finished, Esme realised that warm tears were rolling down her cheeks, pooling in her eyes, making her vision blurry. She took out her handkerchief and wiped her eyes, and felt silly for crying in front of these people who were practically strangers. But the song was so beautiful... she couldn't help it. It was so sad, and yet so filled with hope, and yearning, and it seemed to awake in her long-repressed feelings of loneliness.
"That was beautiful, Lucas, as always," said Shayla with a smile. "Who were they originally?"
"I don't know," the old man said with a sigh. "Maybe a fisher woman waiting for her husband to return after becoming lost at sea in a storm. Maybe a soldier sent off to battle in distant lands, while his love waited at home for him. Or maybe it's something older than that. Maybe it is from the Retreat, when your cousins returned to Evermeet, yet some were left behind. All I know is that it was real love, the sort that is rare and special and more dangerous than all the dragons in the land."
"Do you mean to say that song was about real people?" Esme asked, pocketing her handkerchief again.
"Yes. Songs about real people are the best kind. Whoever they were, they lived a long time ago. Their bones are likely naught but dust now. But people have a way of leaving impressions behind... and the land has a way of remembering. Most bards are content to make up new songs, but the best of us... we find old ones. That's one of the reasons I sometimes go on Shayla's vision-quests. It can make the process of connecting with the land around me, and of finding songs buried beneath years of history, a little less time-consuming."
"Do you hear songs everywhere you go?"
"Sometimes. The places where emotions run strongly are easiest, because the imprint is stronger when the emotion is stronger. It's one of the reasons I hate visiting old battlefields. Too much anger, too much fear and violence..." He shuddered. "I should like to visit the Anauroch some day. It's said to be large and empty. The songs there will either be extremely beautiful or extremely dull."
"What's the best song you've ever discovered?"
"Hmm. Hard to say. 'Best' is very subjective. But one of the most inspiring is a song I found about two brothers who loved a beautiful woman. They both asked her father for her hand in marriage, and he granted it to both of them, because they were from a rich family, and he hoped to marry his daughter off to one of them. But he was a greedy and petty man. He knew that when each brother learned that the other had asked for the same woman's hand, they would fight for her. And they did. They arranged to duel at dawn, and the whole town turned out to watch. But just before the duel could begin, the younger brother, Alain, turned to look at the woman - who was crying because one of the men she loved was about to be killed - and her father, who was trying to hide his glee at his good fortune, and he realised that this woman and her father were not worth the life of his brother. He gave up his claim to the woman to save his friendship with his brother, and expected his brother to immediately jump at the chance to marry the woman. But the elder brother, Tirrin, then realised that his younger brother was wise and selfless, and that they had almost allowed a woman to divide them, to break them apart. And what's more, he saw that it was the woman's fault, because if she had simply made up her mind about who to marry, she could have saved bloodshed, for the brother not chosen would surely have stepped back. So the brothers left, neither of them marrying the woman. In the end, they married twin sisters. The girls were simple farmer-folk, but each loved her husband dearly, and understood that the bond between family should not be sundered by love, but strengthened by it."
"How can you get so much detail about that song, and yet not even know who the people from your first song were?"
"He cheated on the song about the brothers," said Shayla.
"It's not cheating," said Lucas with a huff. "It happened quite recently, only a lifetime or two ago, so after I heard some of the song on the street where the duel was to take place, I began to ask around. It turned out the story about the brothers was told often in that place, although nobody had put it into song form before. I got most of the details from the townsfolk."
"You live such interesting lives," Esme sighed wistfully. In comparison, her own life was frightfully dull, even with the pixies for company.
"It's not all sunshine and roses," Lucas assured her. "We travel a lot and work hard and fight hard. We sometimes go hungry and have to sleep rough in all sorts of weather. We see people hurt, and sometimes we see them die."
His words weighed heavily on her, and there was no more discussion for the rest of the night. When the pheasant was cooked, Esme took a piece of it, and when both Lucas and Shayla said that it was okay for her to stay the night with them, she took out her sleeping roll and blanket and crawled inside, beside the small fire. Before she closed her eyes, she looked again at Duncan, to reassure herself that he was resting peacefully. Content that he wasn't going to wake up in pain in the middle of the night, she closed her eyes listened to the fire crackling, and the quiet, indiscernible whispers of Lucas and Shayla talking quietly. Were the two discussing her, or something else? Not that it mattered either way. After tonight, these strange, interesting people would be gone, but at least she'd have the memory of meeting them, and that would be enough to keep her entertained for another year. Twenty seemed like a good age to leave the High Forest.
A/N: If you're wondering what Lucas' song sounds like, look for 'Animusic - Aqua Harp' on youtube, and it's similar to that. I love the sound of the harp, and have the utmost respect for harpists. I wish I could play, but my short little clumsy fingers just weren't designed for string instruments, so I restrict myself to woodwind.