The Stewards of Reed, Volume 1: The Rise of Fallon (24 page)

Lady Dinah had not expected to stumble upon the little cabin in the woods so quickly.
Has she no protection at all against the Eastern Wizards?
She is not only placing her life at risk, she is endangering us all!
Lady Dinah quieted her angry thoughts as she tied up the horse and walked to the front door of the cabin.

“Lady Blythe, are you home? It is me, Lady Dinah,” she said, knocking. There was no answer. She peered into the lone window beside the door but could not see anything save an empty room. She tried the door, but it was locked. Having learned her lesson from Lord Milton’s alleyway, this time Lady Dinah tapped three times on the locked door with her wand. Nothing. Then she went through a litany of spells, the same spells she had tried in vain on Lord Milton’s door. Still nothing. She could feel the presence of the wizard, but it was admittedly faint and therefore impossible to tell if the wizard was inside or had recently departed.

Lady Dinah sighed in desperation. “Not again!” she said aloud. “I wish the other wizards would employ lookouts to alert them when someone is coming. I am tired of waiting around after traveling so far.” She sat down on the front stoop, pouting. To her surprise, a few moments later the door cracked open just the slightest bit. Lady Dinah did not see anyone at the door, so she slowly made her way into the small dark room.

“Lady Blythe, is that you?” It was too dark to see, so Lady Dinah held up her glowing wand. She was astonished to find that the room was not in fact empty, but rather a small sitting room packed with furniture and vases and other pieces of artwork. Admittedly none of it was to Lady Dinah’s taste, but she was still impressed that the Lady Blythe had managed to conceal the contents of her home from those who might dare to peek in from the window. “So she does practice magic after all,” she mumbled to herself.

Lady Dinah slowly approached the door to another room just off the sitting room. “Lady Blythe, it is me, Lady Dinah,” she said as she entered the room. She was not prepared for what her eyes beheld. The wizard looked like death. Lady Blythe was lying on the bed and it was clear she had been for some time. She was thin and frail and her hair, once thick and golden (even if it was not always washed), now appeared brittle and dull. Her eyes were sunken in and she could barely look at Lady Dinah.

“Bless me!” said Lady Dinah. “Lady Blythe; you are not well at all. How long have you been like this?”

But Lady Blythe was too weak to respond and she just lay there.

In the two weeks that followed, Lady Dinah was by her side, gently washing her down with warm rags, feeding her soup and other herbs, hoping to see a spark of life. Although some of Lady Blythe’s strength did return in that time, she never uttered a word. She stared vacantly out the window most of the time, only acknowledging Lady Dinah on occasion with a nod or a shake of her head. She jumped at every sound.

It was not until the end of the second week that Lady Dinah even bothered to mention the reason for her visit. “You would not happen to have anything of my mother’s in your library, would you? I am looking for one of her old journals.”

Lady Blythe looked at Lady Dinah and then slowly shook her head.

“That is a shame,” said Lady Dinah, a bit dejected. “Well, would you mind if I had a look in your library anyway? Perhaps I shall find something else of interest.”

She did not really think she would find anything worthwhile. She just wanted to confirm for herself that none of her mother’s materials were there, and at this point she did not quite trust the wits of Lady Blythe. But Lady Blythe did not say anything. She just looked at Lady Dinah, confused.

“You do have a library, do you not?” Lady Dinah asked. The cabin was small and Lady Dinah had not noticed a library thus far, but she had assumed it was merely hidden by a spell. After all, every wizard she had ever known had a library.

But Lady Blythe shook her head.

Lady Dinah sighed audibly. Lord Milton had been right. Lady Blythe apparently was not one to read.
Now what am I to do?
She knew that Lady Blythe was still quite ill and needed care, but she did not want to stay in the dreadful forest any longer.
Should I leave the wizard here? Should I take Lady Blythe home with me? Would she even come?
Lady Dinah debated in her mind for a while, but eventually she spoke again to the ailing wizard.

“Lady Blythe, I fear I cannot stay here much longer,” Lady Dinah said. “You are still unwell, but I would be better able to take care of you in Mt. Xavier.” She paused for a bit before forcing herself to ask the next question. “Might you come with me?”

Lady Blythe slowly looked around her little cabin, the place she had called home for more than a hundred years. Tears began to form in her eyes but she did not cry out. She looked back at Lady Dinah and slowly nodded her head.

“Wonderful!” said the wizard with a single clap of her hands, though she was not quite certain she meant it. “Now, is there anything in particular you would like to bring along? We do not have much room, but you may bring something small, if it pleases you.”

Lady Blythe looked around her little cabin once more. She shook her head in sadness. There was nothing in that cabin that she wanted anymore. She just wanted to forget it even existed. She wanted to forget everything that had happened. She wanted to forget that she even existed. Yet Lady Dinah was here, and Lady Blythe was one who believed everything had meaning. There was a reason she did not die; there was a reason the queen had come searching for her. So she followed Lady Dinah to her home in Mt. Xavier, and there she stayed until the end of her days.

*************

Gentry continued to make trips up to Colton throughout the summer and into the fall months, but he took no further action; the timing was never quite right. Several new faces had replaced the old in Dennison’s crew, but Gentry was only concerned with the original two that still remained – Dennison and Clive.

Meanwhile, Gentry’s parents continued to fret about him.

“He is not the same as he was before his journey to Mt. Xavier,” Gentry’s mother commented to Fallon one day when she came to visit them at Steward Isaiah’s house. She watched her son in the distance as he set up an archery target upon the hillside.

“I did not know him before then,” Fallon replied.

“Has he ever revealed to you what happened on that journey – why it is he falls into those dark moods on occasion?”

Fallon frowned.

“You have seen them, his dark moods, have you not?” For a moment a small part of Edith was hopeful that perhaps she and Hammond were just imagining things.

Fallon shrugged, but said nothing. In truth, he had noticed that there were times when Gentry was full of laughter and joy – times when he seemed much like Zeke – and other times when he was much more serious, more quiet, distant. But if his friend was troubled, he never spoke of it to Fallon.

Edith frowned, the lines of worry more evident on her face. “Be a good boy and look out for my son, Fallon,” she said, her voice both desperate and despairing.

“Yes, madam. Always.” Fallon meant it.

*************

As in the prior years, Fallon took time off to visit his family and help with the farm in late Heptuly, though this time the Steward only permitted two weeks of leave. Zeke was now eight years old and must have grown at least two inches since Fallon had seen him last. Fallon loved how quickly he could pick up right where he had left things with his family. With the exception of the little ones getting a tad bigger and the older ones getting a tad older, it was as though he had not been gone at all. He stuffed his face with Elizabeth’s sweet bread and pies, he climbed trees with Zeke and Talia, he went on long rides with Attawan. Sometimes he would stay up late with his father, sitting on the porch, staring into the darkness, saying nothing at all.
All was well, for now.

Steward Isaiah had been quite impressed with Fallon’s progress thus far and felt more comfortable about his decision to move forward with the training, even if the fact that the mark was different still bothered him. He heard grumblings from some of the Elders about Fallon on occasion, but they knew he had made up his mind so those conversations were becoming less frequent. The Steward looked forward to closing out the year and starting fresh after the winter solstice break – they had almost reached the half-way point of the training. There had been no additional sightings of the Komanites and Fallon had not had any more dreams.
All was well, for now.

*************

It was not long before the leaves of autumn fell to the ground, finally admitting defeat against the approaching winter and its bitter chill. It started snowing the day after the winter solstice, and it did not stop for five days. Tobias and his boys spent hours out in the cold, desperately trying to keep a path to the barn clear so they could ensure the horses, chickens, oxen, cow and small flock of sheep had plenty of food and were not freezing to death.

Although he was wearing mittens, Fallon could barely move his fingers when they finally made it back into the house for a quick bite to eat. He never remembered being so cold in his life, so cold that his bones actually ached; he was absolutely miserable. So was Tobias, who spent much of the evening with his feet in a small tub of hot water, waiting for the blood to start flowing again. Zeke fared better than his brother and father, and did not seem to mind that icicles were literally hanging from the ends of his hair left exposed by his hat.

“If you are too tired to keep shoveling, do not worry, I shall manage just fine by myself,” Zeke boasted. “You old men can stay in here by the fire where it is warm.” He smiled broadly, but his father and brother knew better than to respond…the teasing would have gone on for hours.

Eventually the snow let up long enough for Fallon to brave the trip back to the Village Square. The snow was stacked higher than his head in some places, and there were so many patches of ice that he had to guide Attawan by hand nearly the entire way home. It was almost midnight by the time he finally made it to Steward Isaiah’s house on the hillside. Beatrice’s face broke out in relief when she saw him, but it did not stop her from scolding Fallon for making such a dangerous journey. Fallon just smiled as she waved her finger at him; it was nice to be loved.

There were four major snowstorms – blizzards, really – that winter. The temperature rarely reached above freezing, so even when the sun was out the snow did not melt but instead merely transformed into thick sheets of ice. The Village of Reed was mostly at a standstill, its only life tucked away near the heat of the fireplace hearths and stoves or under piles and piles of blankets. But as the rest of the village curled up and waited for signs of spring, Steward Isaiah pushed Fallon forward with his studies harder than ever.

When Fallon returned to Littlebrook in mid-Tetril in celebration of his 16
th
birthday, he was dismayed to see the toll the harsh winter had taken on the house he grew up in and his father’s farm. He could see where a portion of the roof had collapsed on the house, presumably from the weight of the snow. His father had tried to patch it as best he could, but now that the weather was finally cooperating it was time to fix it properly.

Snow was still covering a good bit of the ground, and although it was only a couple of inches deep, it was definitely going to impact the harvest that year. Only time would tell how much damage the blizzards had done to the winter barley crop. The planting of the next crop would be delayed for several more weeks, so Fallon spent his time helping to fix the roof of the house, rebuilding portions of the wooden fence encircling the farmland that had been knocked over by the weight of the snowdrifts, and tending to the livestock.

Elizabeth, Jonas and Talia had all come over on the night of Fallon’s actual birthday. The winter had taken its toll on their farm as well and they each looked positively exhausted, but Elizabeth always managed to smile. Fallon eagerly returned that smile as she brought out a delicious-smelling apple pie from her basket. “I fear the pie is a bit cold. Though I did manage to remember the candle, so at least you shall have your birthday wish!”

Fallon said his “hellos” to Jonas and Talia, remarking at how much the girl had grown since he saw her last. “Who would have thought a winter chill could spark such a growth spurt?” he teased.

Talia’s face grew pink and she quickly darted behind her mother. Fallon thought this was a bit odd, but he supposed that all girls were a bit odd in some ways. Since starting his apprenticeship with Steward Isaiah, he had not had much of an opportunity to interact with any young girls. If he had, he might have realized that Talia was developing a slight crush on her older neighbor. She was twelve, going on thirteen, and she was awakening to a whole new world.

Fallon blew out his candle to the cheers of his extended family and they each dug in to a piece of pie. Talia was the only one who did not say much the entire night, but there was plenty of lively conversation and laughter whenever Zeke and Elizabeth were in the room. The sun had long since set when Jonas finally stood up and announced it was time to leave. Fallon hugged everyone good-bye (which only made Talia blush even more) and watched as they left.

“Did you have a good birthday, son?” his father asked.

“Aye, it is always a good time when I am here,” Fallon responded, sitting back down at the kitchen table.

“I am glad.”

Fallon’s eyes wandered back to the lone candle in the center of the table, the candle that held fast to his secret birthday wish from earlier that evening. Soon the memory of Elder Jacob snuck into his head and he mused aloud, “One might say it is strange that we blow out candles in celebration of birthdays but also in the mourning of death.”

His father was silent for a moment, contemplating his son’s words. “Perhaps you should think of the candle ceremony of as a celebration of one’s life instead. The final celebration.”