The Great Darkening (Epic of Haven Trilogy) (31 page)

Chapter Thirty-Four

“I
t
is a miracle that you are even here in my tavern,” Keily said after hearing the story that Yasen told her. “The THREE who is SEVEN must have great plans for you, to spare your life like He did.”

“He may,” Yasen consented. “But I doubt I will ever really understand why His plans have such threads of pain woven through the fabric of His story.”

“Ah, well … that’s easy enough to understand!” Keily exclaimed in a matter-of-fact, albeit teasing tone of voice.

“Oh it is, is it?” Yasen retorted.

“The pain is like the strand of contrasting color in the tapestry.” She rose to her feet and walked over towards a moth-eaten tapestry of a ship at sea. “Without it, it would be hard for our eyes to focus,” she looked at him playfully, “and we might not so plainly see what it is that was meant to stick out above the fray. The presence of pain promotes the true worth of something or someone, doesn’t it? And then, somehow, the worthy things tend to stand in the foreground of our attention and our memories.”

She looked back at the tapestry. “Without the pain, without the thread, well … we would be hard pressed to even recognize the ship at sea, and all the more so when the moths have done their worst and our sight goes the way of the fading silver.”

“I am not quite sure if I should call you the wisest healer I have ever met, or if that whole explanation of yours was just poking fun at my lack of two good eyes,” Yasen said with a mirthful laugh.

“Well …” she winked at him, “I am not so sure either. But don’t you go cursing the pain just yet, North Wolf, for I have quite a bit more of it that I am about to inflict upon you.”

“Very well then, you may do your worst,” Yasen gruffly agreed, but softened his surly retort with an amused smile.

“Just consider this,” she said as she traced his scar with her fingers once again, “the underscore of something beautiful to come. Huh?”

With that thought, Keily did her best to apply the poultice of herbs and oils, willow bark and ground kale. She wrapped his head with the concoction and he winced and breathed hard through his teeth at the stinging pain that bit at his eye. She squeezed his shoulder to acknowledge his pain, waiting with him as the burning subsided.

“Let’s pray that this will do the trick, for these are the extent of my skills,” she told him kindly as she leaned in to brush his forehead with a kiss for good luck. She turned then to leave the room, but Yasen’s hand reached up and took hers before she could step away.

“Wait, my lady,” Yasen told her through labored breath. “It may just be that I should indeed be grateful for this loss and pain … for it seems that they brought me to you. If that be the truth of it, well then, I owe a debt of gratitude to Him after all.”

A winsome flash of genuine delight crossed her features at his bold words, but she dismissed them graciously. “Such a charmer, this wounded wolf of the North. I think that’s the willow bark talking,” she said with a smile. “Now I must be off … and you must rest.” She left half-blushed as she closed the door behind her.

A few minutes later, Lieutenant Armas entered the kitchen where Yasen lay stretched out, resting on the small table. “Yasen, I need a word with you,” Armas said. “Our time is short, for the ships will sail for the Western Wreath in a matter of days. I need to confirm that you understand your part in all of this.”

Yasen slowly sat up, making it clear to the lieutenant that the green concoction that was bandaged to his wound was causing this mighty man a great deal of pain.

Armas went ahead with his news anyhow, feeling the pressure of their task weighing upon him. “Hollis has already left for the North to send another score of men,” the lieutenant told him.

“North?” Yasen asked. “And what of his summons to an audience with the Priest King?”

“You let me take care of that,” Armas replied. “The Citadel is no place for Hollis right now.”

“I’m not sure how this task of leading the men fell to me,” the North Wolf growled. “I’m no chief, and certainly no politician.”

“If I am honest with you Yasen, I believe that you are exactly the kind of man this colony will need to succeed … and damn it all, man, you
must
succeed.” The intense sincerity of Armas’ tone stirred Yasen to greater concentration on the task at hand. For hours the men talked of the impending assignment, of the colony and the imperative success of the mission. Yasen wrote down the names of the men who would accompany him, making ready a full report that Armas could deliver to the Citadel.

As the night wore on, Keily came by the room often to see to the mending of Yasen’s wounded eye. Armas could sense something in the air each time the beautiful barmaid touched and tinkered with her patient. He observed that it was perhaps something more than duty or medicinal obligation that spurred on her efforts; there seemed to be a deep and familiar kindness that bordered on the edge of genuine affection.

“Careful there,” Armas said to Yasen after one such encounter. “You don’t want to go complicating an already complicated situation with the messy business of love.”

Yasen gave the lieutenant a quelling look, telling him to mind his own business without needing to utter a word. Armas raised his hands in surrender and continued with the plans for the colony. Of course he couldn’t blame Yasen; she was fiery and beautiful, and if any woman could hold her own around the hero of the North, it would be Keily.

“Well, I must be off. I will take your report to the Chancellor, and see to it that the Citadel will be prepared to receive you in three days’ time,” Armas finally told Yasen. “You see to making sure the men are rested and well fed, and that their minds and their axes are sharp and ready.”

Just then Keily came back into the kitchen. “Alright, enough of this!” she said to Armas. “If my patient doesn’t get some rest he will be no good to anyone.” She planted her hands on her hips, daring the lieutenant to defy her.

Armas bowed to the barmaid. “As you wish, my lady. I was just leaving. But please see to it that he mends as quickly as possible. For Haven will need him … all of us will.” The lieutenant shot a meaningful glance at the North Wolf, who put off his attention with a detached gesture.

Armas addressed Keily once more. “And please tell your father that His Brightness and I thank him for his generosity.” Armas handed her a small purse of coin as payment for both past and present expenses, then kissed her hand in a courteous farewell.

Armas and Yasen embraced arms. “Mend well, Chief … and mend soon,” Armas said. “Forty woodcutters, in three days. I will meet you at the Kings’ Gate and we will travel to Abondale together. Farewell, North Wolf.” With that, Armas left the hospitality of the Gnarly Knob and began his hard and hasty ride back to the Capital.

Two days passed, and the woodcutters regained strength and sharpness under the hospitable watch of Shameus and Keily. With warm food and good drink and real rest, the kind that comes when one does not fear the evil lurking just beyond the firelight, the men soon began to laugh and sing again. The memories of the green death began to fade from most of their minds as their loyalty and devotion to the way of the flint returned. They had little room left for hope or faith, so they managed their fears with ritual and tradition like woodcutters had for the last seventy years. They held to their disciplines, for that was all they knew to do. After each night’s rest and before the last meal of each day, the men prayed their prayers and recited the words of the Priests as they kissed the flints that hung around their necks.

The affection and intentions of Keily towards Yasen became increasingly obvious to the rest of the woodcutters, though the North Wolf seemed rather oblivious to them. At meal time, when the whole of the company was gathered around the long tavern table, she would make sure to give a little extra attention to him.

“Why does Yasen’s baguette always look bigger than the rest of ours?” Oskar yelled out in mock outrage.

“Speak for yourself, brother!” said another. “My baguette is plenty large!” The table erupted with good-hearted mockery, laughter rising above the din of clinking flagons and spoons scraping the bottom of bowls.

“Aye, we all see the way that brown-haired lass looks at you, Wolf,” said Goran
.
“It’s not a wonder why you’re getting a bit more, oh what’s the word …
attention
.”

“She is only looking after my injuries,” Yasen said dismissively.

The whole table erupted once again, and the hero of the North shook his head in annoyance, although he could not stop a slight flush from coloring his bearded cheeks. The men fell suddenly quiet as Keily walked back into the room with plates of apples and some kind of cheese.

“Alright you old goats, what are you carrying on about, that when a lady comes into the room you pretend so quickly to be innocent little lambs? Huh?” she feigned offense, staring them down with a reproachful eye.

“Oh, I understand now,” she said, clearly not afraid to play along. “You’re all amusing yourselves with the size of Oskar’s small baguette!”

Oskar’s eyes went wide in disbelief, and his bearded cheeks grew as red as the ripe apples she placed on the table in front of him.

The entire tavern laughed hard, and Yasen shook his head in wonder at the fearlessness of this woman. Her eyes caught his stare, and an intimate smile was shared there between them in the midst of this public revelry. The laughter continued unabated until the sound of thunder and flash of lightning shook the small tavern and quieted their merriment.

“That’s a bad omen, a storm like this on the eve of our departure,” Goran said. “I say we pray that our brothers are alright out there on the open road.”

“Aye, I agree,” another said, and the table that was just moments ago alive with inappropriate banter now fell silent in fearful prayer.

The thunder rolled and the lightning cracked while the men sipped their ale in silence, clutching their flints as if they were talismans to ward off the raging storm. Just then, the door of the tavern burst open in a fury of wind and rain, darkening lamps and candles alike as its open threshold admitted the violent gusts of the storm. A lone figure rushed through the doorway, seeking refuge from the tumult outside. The man had to have been soaked through to the bone, and as the lightning flashed behind him, the mood of the room responded to the shadowy, wet figure.

The cloaked man came in and closed the tavern door as fast as he could. “I am sorry for the mess,” he said apologetically. “The storm came upon me out of nowhere!”

The stranger glanced around the room at the stoic patrons who regarded him curiously. “Is Shameus here?” he asked.

“That all depends on who is asking, lad,” the grizzled old barkeep responded.

The soaked man pulled back his hood, revealing a vaguely familiar face. Shameus looked at him carefully as he tried to place the young man. “Do I know you, son? Your face looks an awful lot like a young man I once met, only … well … different, somehow.”

“You do, Shameus. You and your daughter showed me kind hospitality months ago, and I would like to ask for a second helping of it … if there is still room.” The stranger surveyed the full dining hall, his eyes lighting up with recognition as he spotted the beautiful barmaid.

“Cal?” Keily’s voice exploded from the other side of the tavern. She ran up to the soaking wet stranger and gave him a welcoming embrace.

The men at the table shared looks of utter amazement and exchanged wide-eyed words of disbelief.

“I thought he was dead for sure!” Oskar said.

“This is not possible, he must be a ghost. How can it be?” Goran wondered out loud.

“My friend, is that you? Is that … really you?” Yasen stood to his feet; his slow, dubious steps towards the young man were filled with wonder.

“Yasen? Yasen!” Cal said, equally confused. “I … I don’t understand. I saw you die! I saw the demon bear crush you! How can you be alive?”

“The men told me the bear must have eaten you, for when they returned to gather the bodies of the fallen, yours was nowhere to be found.” As Yasen spoke, a tear traced a scarred path down his wounded face. Keily placed a steadying hand on his arm as she beamed at Cal through several tears of her own.

“You saved my life, brother. I have never known such selfless bravery in a man before,” whispered Yasen as he tried to compose himself.

“What a day this has become! A brother who was once dead stands here before me, alive and well!” Cal beamed as he spoke the words.

The two men laughed in utter amazement and embraced each other.

“Oh thank the THREE who is SEVEN!” Cal said, eyes still watering at this happy reunion.

“Come on, you two weeping babes,” Keily said, still a bit overcome by the immensity of emotion. “Let’s dry you off, Cal, and get something warm in that belly of yours!”

“Aye, we agree with the lass!” Goran shouted from the table of woodcutters. “It looks like you are going to need your strength, lad, for you must have a story to tell us all!” The men raised their flagons and pounded the table as their happy laughter nearly overpowered the sounds of the storm outside.