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| Chapter 57. Ash and Memory | |
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aeve’s mind wandered to old Ascalon and how on a cold spring evening like this she would be listening to the toll of temple bells as she ascended Oereth Tower to welcome the night in song. Against the frantic sawing and hammering of the villagers, it was hard to imagine that she had once been surrounded by hand maidens and veils of frankincense smoke. Her greatest worry had once been how long she must be present at a ceremony. Now she was cursed with cold, mud and sleepless nights worrying about Mog. The palisade walls had been restored just as the dwarves had sighted Jotun lurking on the other side of the ridge. Thus far, the greedy dullards had not come down to menace them, but Maeve felt uneasy just the same. The walls had already failed her once that winter. She could not fight the belief that there was no safety in all the world, not when her once mighty nation lay in ruins and its most sacred and hallowed places were no more than ash and memory. A cry went up and she was immediately on her feet. She hesitated for a moment, pushing away from her cramped writing desk to seek for her rough-hewn staff resting in the corner beside her bed. Without thinking she hastened to the door and performed a graceless dance of thrusting her feet into her boots while simultaneously donning her fur-lined coat. Much good this would do against giants, she thought. A twig was hardly a deterrent. Anluan and Neave had just arrived to don their gear by the time Maeve had bolted out of the door and was racing toward the heavy gate. It was only then she sensed that her neighbors were not gathering to defend the village but rather in excited anticipation. No sooner did the gate groan open than did she see a pair of sturdy wagons stacked high with crates rumbling down the muddy track. Master Bei’s delegation had arrived at last. An unfamiliar sense of relief and hope stirred within her and she smiled when the travelers who walked ahead of the lumbering oxen raised their hands and waved. Maeve walked among the chattering mountain-folk. Visitors meant a break from routine and a reason to celebrate and swap tales. There would be at least one night of drunken revelry if Maeve had learned nothing else about her adopted people. “You must be Maeve,” said a familiar figure walking ahead of the procession. “Yes,” she said quickly, turning to gaze upon a chestnut-haired man with a thin mustache and the faintest hint of a beard. He was familiar to her, although the last time she had seen him he had appeared sickly, almost emaciated. His cheeks were still hollow, but his green eyes were lively and watchful. “Kai Peng Ren,” he said with a nod, extending a gloved hand. “Oh… You are Master Bei’s adept. I did not realize. The name,” she stammered, feeling awkward. Recovering from a potential gaffe she received his hand and clasped it once in greeting, “Maeve An Binnech. Welcome to Ironfast.” “Names are interesting things. Binnech I believe, means sweet voiced. I understand this to be accurate although I have no memory of your singing. You have my gratitude.” Maeve nodded once respectfully and fell into step beside him. It was not immediately obvious who was in charge. Among the people who traveled with the two ox-drawn wagons there was a muscular Elonian with a hammer slung over one shoulder flanked by a pair of men. One had a bow unslung over his shoulder and his flaxen braid curled into his fur-trimmed collar. The other was a slender Canthan wrapped in furs and barely old enough to be a man. Walking beside Master Kai was a stately golden-haired woman. Her features were delicate, made more lovely by a gentle smile and eyes the color of spring leaves. A toddler gamboled between the two of them, his energetic frolicking indicating he had not walked as far as the weary and mud-splattered adults. “This is Lady Isabeau DeMinuit,” Master Kai said as her attention turned to the woman. Isabeau nodded and smiled. Maeve mirrored the response, all the while keeping pace with them as they neared the gates. Maeve watched as the man playfully grabbed the little boy around the waist and placed him lightly astride his shoulders. “You’re spoiling him,” Isabeau chuckled, indicating she was the boy’s mother, “You can say no to him.” “It’s no trouble. I miss my own children so I’ll have to spoil Micah until I get home.” “Did Mashiro and Kazuma travel with you?” Maeve asked. “Hello Maeve!” announced Liang Meng, suddenly appearing between she and Master Kai, “Where’s Mog? I thought Mr. Mopey would at least come out and wave at us. I was very cross with him for not visiting during Wintersday. I got two bottles of his favorite Krytan rum and some of Master Bei’s cherry brandy. Don’t tell Master Bei, though, it’s a surprise.” Master Kai made a single guffaw. “Oh, he’ll be surprised, alright,” the man said, unable to contain his mirth when Liang Meng beamed with pride at her cleverness, “As for Mashiro and Kazuma, they are here, probably walking behind the last wagon. Ming was leading the delegation but we had an incident and she and a couple of the others had to turn back. They will no doubt visit once the Sigil is placed.” “Excellent,” Maeve replied, “Normally I would not pressure guests, but there is a matter of some urgency concerning Mog Ruith. After you have settled in, I would be much obliged if you would meet with me.” “What’s wrong with Mog?” Liang Meng demanded, her little face stricken, “I heard he had been ill, but he stopped writing and Master Bei said he was too busy to look into it.” “It is not a suitable discussion to have in front of a small child,” Maeve said, feeling the mental pressure of both Master Kai and Isabeau’s attention brought to bear on her. “Is he alright?” asked Master Kai. “Where is he?” Liang Meng demanded. “I am afraid we do not know,” she replied honestly, “After everyone is settled in and your cargo is secured, we can talk about it in depth.” “Fair enough,” said Master Kai grimly. He held up a hand when Liang Meng opened her mouth to protest. She fell silent. “Pendaran!” came Brigit’s voice. She rushed up the track and extended an arm to wrap him in a rough half-embrace, “It’s so good to see you! You look well! How are Mabane and Sabina?” “Better,” he said simply. It was obvious he felt awkward. “When I heard you were coming I asked Armie if it was alright if you stayed in our house. Mog isn’t using his bed right now and I figured you’d prefer that over the crowded floor of the long house.” “If there is a shortage of space, I think Lady De Minuit and her nephew are more deserving. I am here for only a short time. Besides, you know I will sleep fitfully so long as I am horizontal.” “I have a spare room in my cottage and I can easily get a bed moved into it,” Maeve said. “That would do nicely!” Liang Meng announced, “Me and Pen can stay with you.” “That works,” said Brigit, beaming. “Good, I’ll go make arrangements,” Maeve said, uncertain how her guests would feel about being cramped together in a tiny room. There was always the floor beside the hearth if that did not work out. She wasted no more time on pleasantries. It would be dark soon and it was obvious everyone was cold and tired. Maeve needed to convince Master Kai to help her and would no doubt be more agreeable after a good night of rest. While the rest of the village welcomed the travelers, Maeve hastened to procure bedding and cleaned up her neglected cottage until it was warm with a fire blazing in the hearth. Only then did she trudge in darkness to the long house. Music and laughter drifted from the great hulk of the building and she pitied the travelers being forced to carouse after a long journey. When she stepped inside, a reel was in full swing complete with Nathan and Lia on fiddle and Glorn joyfully playing the dwarven version of a tin whistle. There were dancers stamping and twirling upon the old wooden planks, among them Anluan and Neave, as well as Master Kai and Isabeau still clad in their mud-stained traveling gear. Maeve sat down on a bench beside Brigit. The table still had some cheese and heavy bread left over from the meal. A gurgle of laughter erupted from Micah as Armand pulled a brightly colored kerchief from the boy’s ear. For once there was no sign of the man’s normally dour personality. “I keep telling him we need one of those,” Brigit chuckled at Maeve. “One of what?” “A kid,” Brigit giggled, blushing. “Ah,” Maeve replied, at a bit of a loss for words. “Maybe two,” Brigit continued, her embarrassment causing her to ramble, “A little girl and a boy. After we’re married of course.” “I wouldn’t mind working on that,” Armand laughed. “After we find Mog,” Brigit sighed, “We can’t very well do that without him.” “The wedding part for sure,” Armand said with a saucy grin, “I don’t want his help with the other part, even if he learned a thing or two in service to Lyssa.” Maeve blushed as the two of them laughed, knowing they were alluding to the many rites that celebrated love and union. She treasured the hours she had spent with Mog Ruith in sacred love making no matter how foolish and pointless it all seemed to her now. She rose stiffly, unable to stomach their mockery. “I’m going to bed,” she explained before either of them could question her sudden change of mood or the grimness in her face, “Good night.” As she strode past the revelers, she realized hope and joy had died for her seven years ago. Finding Mog was her vain attempt to retrieve something that had been denied to her. There was no longer a gate into paradise, she told herself. She must accept that or go mad. |
