Move to Farthvevire

Year 23199

Month of Quette

Robin Longforn (age: 82)

Robin was going to miss it. Every shop and home of Thyrel oozed with decorations. Bright banners hung from their iron posts above the doors. Elaborate lanterns hung from cords strung between each building. The air smelled of sweetened meats, fresh breads, fruit and delicacies. But more than the food or grand structures and decorations, it was his friends he would miss most. Razoan, Gerard and Terrin.

Moving to a small coastal town after having grown up in the grand city of the Ethrea didn’t sound appealing to him. However, this was his father, Wren’s, decision. At least I got to enjoy my birthday here. He thought back to the month of Nevemme. He’d celebrated his eighty-second birthday. His youth was ending as an Ethrea, well, half-Ethrea. His mother Rebecca was human. She was getting older. Passing over a century was still within normal, but Robin knew his mother would likely pass in a few decades. The thought was depressing.

Does father want to settle somewhere else for her? He thought about how long Rebecca had been around Ethrea. Maybe, the move was his mother’s request.

He sat in the back of the cart, letting his legs dangle off into the kicked up snow slush from the horses that pulled it. The cart jumped and rocked with the pits and protruding stones of the path upon exiting Thyrel. They weren’t bringing much. The cart contained a few smaller furniture pieces, food and clothes packed in travel chests.

“Don’t be a stranger!” Razoan called from his post at the gate.

Robin smiled, feeling slightly forlorn, and gave an exaggerated salute as though he were deploying for war. It would be two days of travel before they would reach the coastal town. The sight of Thyrel faded a half hour later when they rounded the south Bearing Mountain point. His parents talked as they traveled. Mostly about Wren’s trade deals, but a few topics interested Robin. Talking about travel to the various towns and cities of Marmeada was a common conversation. Where his interest pulled was the mention of Marmidon’s Gift.

“The Seer’s words will prove themselves at the end of Quette.” Wren spoke mostly to Rebecca, but his voice had increased loud enough for Robin to hear clearly.

“Did you write the Aodhs?” Rebecca sounded as though she had forgotten to do so herself.

“I didn’t.” His father laughed. “I guess our move will be a surprise!”

“You do trade trips with Mr. Aodh, don’t you father?” Robin heard a lot about his father’s trips each time he returned, but most of the time Robin had been learning to weave, studying the history of the Ethrea or training to improve his sword skills and hand-to-hand. His schooling was completed just before his birthday.

“Yes. I haven’t seen him since our trade trip to Virm.” His energetic tone shifted, heavy with the feel of something unpleasant he had recalled. “That was three years ago. He pulled out after that.”

“The loss of a child would be hard on anyone.” Rebecca placed a hand on Wren’s shoulder, a soft touch of comfort. “But Gracie wrote me back in Autuoe. They’re expecting another child soon.”

“That is good to hear. They need the blessing of Marmidon after what happened to little William.”

Robin hadn’t heard of the Aodhs loss. He’d seen William when he was about two years old. He found children rather enjoyable. They were easy to entertain, laughed at almost everything and Robin truly loved seeing them smile, their eyes alight with wonder when he wove the water through the air.

“Robin,” Wren glanced back at him. “I know this move is hard on you. Once we are set up, I’d like to take you with me on my next trade deal. Show you the ropes on how to run it.”

Robin’s heart jumped with excitement. “Truly? I get to travel with you?”

“Your mother and I agreed. It would be good for you. We know you will miss Thyrel.”

“Thyrel is wonderful, but you’ll find that Farthvevire has its own charm.” Rebecca sounded excited.

“I’m sure it does.” Robin had only seen a couple places, Charveil, found on the north side of the Bearing Mountains, and Virm on a different occasion with his mother. Both were large cities like Thyrel.

Rebecca turned around and looked back at him. “We’ll also be arriving just in time to join the celebrations for the End of the Era.”

The End of an Era celebration happened on the eve of every new century. Robin hadn’t experienced one yet. The conversation returned to the trade industry. They spoke of the places they would go, what goods were found in each city and the best merchants to work with.

Time passed fast. Evening came and they camped for the night. Robin lay close to the fire, keeping warm under a thick fur with the heat that came from the dancing flames. He watched the fire. The flames licked at the air, reaching out to the puffs of smoke that outran the ground-bound element. His gaze shifted to the stars. The bright formations created images of wild beasts. Tonight the two moons were slivers in the sky, two bent strands of white and red rock that orbited Marmidon. He hadn’t seen how bright the night sky could get. The constant glow of Thyrel made it hard to see the sky. Robin smiled. This could be nice.

The next day passed into the afternoon. The marshlands were in sight straight ahead of them. The patches of water decorated the ground like a spotted Gowva. The quadruped roamed the marshes eating the moss and long stranded weeds that grew up from the depths of the water. It looked much like a long-legged cow with a longer neck to match. They were harmless and not much good for anything but predators like the Vilka. The meat of a Gowva was tough and flavorless. The smell of the marshes matched the murky looks. A mix of sweaty mud, wet trodden grass and the small white wildflowers that had their own stench. Vealereen was the only flower Robin knew of that didn’t have a pleasant smell.

Robin watched a nearby Gowva graze a deep patch of murky marsh water. The cold ice-topped water didn’t seem to bother it. It dunked its head lowering until it was covered up to the hump of its shoulder then emerged with a large thick weed. The animal looked in their direction, the strange animal’s stupor only added to its oddness.

“Take a look, Robin! The Pincer Peaks!” Wren called out, a hand raised to the towering tips of curved stone.

He stared as they passed into the canyon and underneath the peaks. A shiver shook through Robin’s body. The shadow of the peaks enveloped them. The looming stone curled overhead as though it were reaching around them. The canyon itself was narrow, a single road wound between the towering cliffs of dark stone, no wider than two carts. Bushes clung to the rock, roots visible, gripping the curves of the stone and digging into the small cracks and crevices.

After a half hour, the canyon opened up. Bathed in the sunset, Robin shielded his eyes and looked down the hill at the coastal town. He scanned the homes, all varying in style and build, but somehow fitting together. Decorations covered every part of town, much like in Thyrel, but with more of a homemade feel that Robin rather liked. The lanterns weren’t delicately painted, or perfectly pressed with every wrinkle out. Instead of Thyrian crystals to light each one, candles flickered inside, casting dancing shadows. Streamers wrapped up lantern posts and the pavilion pillars.

His father guided their horses through the crowd on foot, holding tight to the reins to keep them from veering. A few that knew Wren waved and welcomed them with plates of food to try. Robin jumped off the cart. He walked around with a half-eaten plate of light and airy bread dusted with a sweet powder. The nervous feeling of moving here had washed away. He walked to the edge of the crowd, towards the setting sun.

The sight of the glistening waves against the rich red-orange shade of light amazed him. He stared, watching the waves crash on the distant shore.

“Quite a sight, isn’t it?”

Robin turned to see his father walk up beside him. He no longer had their horses and cart in tow, he approached alone, his mother off enjoying the reunion with old friends.

“I can see why mother wanted to be here.” Robin finished off his bread, dropped his hands to his side, holding the empty plate in one.

“Robin. We didn’t move here just for your mother to be back in her hometown.”

This was the first Robin was hearing this, his head tilted and he half looked to his father.

“Remember what your mother said about Mrs. Aodh?”

“That she’s expecting a child?”

Wren nodded and folded his arms across his broad chest. “We’ve been assigned to live here. To keep a watch over this child.”

“Assigned? By Dessuithiel?” Robin wasn’t aware that civilians received orders like this.

Wren affirmed with a single nod. “We are that child’s guardians.”

“Wait. Do you mean that the Aodhs’ child is the child? The one that will receive the Gift?” Robin knew the words of the Seer Lucia.

“It is very likely. If Gracie delivers tonight, at the stroke of midnight, the Seer’s words will once again be proven true.” He raised a hand and pointed at a lone home outside of town. “That is the Aodhs.”

Robin stared. Light flickered from inside. They were not here enjoying the celebration. He wondered if Gracie was already in the midst of labor. His brow pinched and his lips pressed tight. “Should we see if they need anything?”

“Your mother and I will go check in on them after we unload our things. Come, I could use your help.” Wren gripped Robin’s shoulder giving it a single squeeze before he turned and left.

Robin sighed when he placed the last bag inside their new home. While the location was new to him, the home smelled old. He sniffed and caught the scent of lavender mixed with honey. It wasn’t the worst thing, he shrugged and went back down the stairs to the front door. Wren stood there waiting for him.

“Go ahead and enjoy the rest of the festivities. Your mother and I are off to check in with the Aodhs.”

He leaned against the doorframe and watched his father take Rebecca’s hand, their fingers laced and the look between them, a tender love. Robin smiled. He hoped to have that one day. His gaze shifted to those in the streets. The noise of the gravel pathways added to the encompassing sounds of laughter and music.

As midnight approached and his parents had not returned, Robin walked back out to the edge of town. The darkness of the fields ahead hid the waves that crashed on the sand, their low rumble barely reaching his ears. He made his way down the slope, wanting to hear the waves, feel the sand. It was hard to see at first, but his eyes adjusted to the dark the further from town he got.

Cheers began to rise from town. Robin turned at the sound and listened for a moment. A countdown was in motion. “Midnight.” His voice filled the silence directly around him.

He then looked to the home of the Aodhs. Shadows rushed across the curtained windows. Clearly, something was going on. He approached the home, the path to the shore leading him past it. The cheers from town rose to a climax and a wind rushed in from the coast.

Energy hit him like a wave on a rocky cliff. He stumbled back from it. He looked to the home where his parents and the Aodhs were. His hand rested over his heart. The energy had come from inside the home. Was that…the Gift?

A soft high-pitched cry of an infant came from the Aodhs home.

There were sounds of movement for a moment that stopped abruptly. The front door swung open and Wren stepped out. His father spotted him and a wide grin stretched across his face.

“Robin, come.” He waved Robin over.

Robin approached, listening to the calming cries of the newly born child.

“Come, meet Aeryn Aodh.”