Findel's Embrace

It was the closest thing to actual rest Faro had gotten since his arrival, yet when he roused, the same pressure awaited him. He wasn't sure how much longer he could sustain the resistance. It was no longer some nameless force. It was the malice of Findel.

Jareen had fallen asleep, and Faro carefully raised his head from her lap. Somehow, he knew it would be dawn soon. There was a deeper stillness. The new Mingling left behind by the Nethec was already still. Where the nights had been raucous, now they were eerily quiet.

He had spoken to his mother of a purpose to help, and his words had not been entirely false, yet as he drew on more of Isecan's Wellspring to push back against Findel and the Synod, he nurtured something else as well—a growing hate. Faro hated Findel and whatever he was. He hated the Synod, too, for what they had done for generations, for what they did to the soul of his own father. For what he believed they were were still doing to it. He would help his people if he could, and he would do it with the aid of that hatred.

As quietly as he could, Faro emptied out his bag of belongings. Many of the dhar had given him gifts. They were a people of gifts and treasures, and he remembered again how it had hurt him to have nothing to give in return. It was as if the families of each dhar sailing east had felt obligated to give him a gift. Nesht had warned him not to re-give the gifts in return for other gifts, as that would be perceived as a slight. He wondered how she fared, and the others with her. Had they reached the eastern lands? What had they found there?

There were cut amethysts, garnets, a bag of finely crafted arrowheads, rings for fingers and arms, necklaces, silver clasps for hair—one of which he wore. He would leave a portion of them with his mother and Coir; the treasures may bring much in trade with the enclaves. He was surprised the elders of Meln had not taken any, for the trinkets had been returned to him, so far as he could tell. Vireel had always spoken so ill of the enclaves, but the ancients had not robbed him after all.

Above all, Faro had his spear, Klotig's Gift. He looked at the haft, at the star-patterns inlaid upon it in silver. Faro had seen many designs among the dhar. They excelled at such intricate metalwork and carving, but he had not seen this pattern elsewhere.

Once he had parted out the treasures, he returned the portion he needed to the satchel along with the tenae and a drinking gourd. He would pick some fruits and vegetables—grow them if need be—from the garden as he left. He would not leave without saying goodbye, but he wished to see the morning. The little house felt close and stuffy. Glancing at his sleeping mother, he opened the door and slipped out, only to flinch and nearly yell.

Coir sat in a chair just outside the door, his head leaning against the doorpost. The old man snorted and opened his eyes.

"Ah, good morning." He cleared his throat noisily and spat onto the grass. Faro was used to the man's less savory habits.

"Blessed morning," Faro said, a greeting of habit. Coir blinked, cleaned his eyes with thumb and forefinger, and looked to the east. The sky was grey and streaked with the first hints of gold.

"A clear day," Coir answered. "Good for walking, at least. Rain makes my joints ache."

"Did you sleep here?" Faro asked.

"I did not wish to disturb you."

"Don't you have a house? Right there?" Faro pointed to the little structure not ten yards distant.

"Yes, but. . ." He shrugged. "I've gotten used to sleeping in chairs."

Faro waited for more. Coir smirked. "I didn't want to miss you," he added.

Faro stared off across the camp.

"What are you thinking about?" Coir asked.

"Nothing."

"I know you better than that."

Faro's mouth twitched. Coir let it rest, but Faro gave in anyway.

"Don't you find it strange that Vah leapt into the pool?"

"The story says he tried to clog it with a rock."

"And you trust his judgment?"

"He was half mad with grief. The rock was meaningless, but life needn't heed our plans, or speak through the mighty only."

"The Simple Seer," Faro said.

"Indeed. But I cannot fault the impulse."

"What do you mean?" Faro asked.

"To destroy the Wellspring."

"The Wellsprings grant us life and cause these lands to bloom."

"Is that all it has brought you?"

Faro squinted. Coir's remarks reminded him of Klotig's appeal: "if it is true you are a child among your folk, then heed this lesson." The Current was a tool, nothing more.

"Do you remember when the quthli gave me that old pruning hook?" He couldn't have been more than ten years old.

"I remember the chastisement your mother gave me for allowing it."

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Faro had worn the long blade in his sash like a sword when he returned for the evening meal. His mother had flushed red and taken it from him.

"You are a child!" she'd said.

"When can I have it back?"

"When you have the sense to use it for its purpose."

The Inevien misused the Current too, not just the Findelvien, and the Malady ate at them all like a beetle at the root.

"Do you know where the River-Tir of Veroi is?"

"Yes," Coir said.

"Where?"

The old man rocked himself to his feet with his walking stick.

"For that," he said, "we should consult my maps."

If Jareen's house was small, Coir's felt smaller from the cluttered tenae and the rough shelves on the walls. Faro was impressed he had managed to preserve so many of the documents. It was most of an hour later when Faro and Coir stepped back out of the house. Inside Faro's satchel was yet another tenae.

The morning was progressing now. The sun shone through the upper branches of the trees. They lingered in the narrow space between Coir's house and Jareen's, watching the morning gardeners. Near the central pavilion, two little vien rushed out of a house. One was an Insensitive. Faro had never seen another Insensitive. No doubt, there was much he had not heard about the little enclave. He should ask more, learn all the details. Yet he could not stay, not with the pressure. He had to make his attempt before it was too late.

"Did the council decide upon anything?" Faro asked.

"Some argued that we should go to Isecan's Wellspring and welcome the afflicted there. It is a kind of neutral ground for the Inevien. Others argued that there is room on the coast between Chemil and Theniel. Yet the humans still prowl the coast, and we are not strong.

"And the outcome?"

"It was complicated. There are rumors flying through camp that your mother knows the location of Vah'tane. Do you have any idea why that might be?" Coir asked. They spoke in Noshian. Sarcasm was little known to the Vien, but Coir had taught him its meaning, and Faro detected it.

"And?" Faro asked.

"They refused to decide. They are waiting for your mother to reveal the plan to seek Vah'tane. Of course, there might be a problem with that."

Faro nodded, feeling the guilt. His lie had complicated things for his mother. He had only thought of how it might complicate things for the Synod.

"I will stay until it is decided."

"But you won't be coming with us," Coir said.

"Were you listening?"

The old man chuckled.

"No. Would that my ears were keen enough. No. I have known you a long time, Faro. You cannot put the sprout back in the seed, as your people like to say. There is a less dignified saying in Nosh."

"What is it?"

"I do not think your mother would approve of me saying."

"I still want to know."

"Approve of what?" Jareen asked as she opened the door.

"Approve of the finer points of Noshian culture," Coir said, looking up at the high clouds, his hands resting on the knob of his walking stick.

They broke fast with a meal of vegetables washed down with water. They ate in silence. Even Coir refrained from complaints or yearnings for meat. Faro had to admit the human did look unusually thin. Faro didn't take advantage of the meal to talk. It was growing too difficult.

The council assembled before the sun had fully dried the dew from the grass. Faro did not sit among the council. He stood behind his mother in the ring of the many onlookers gathered to listen. The whole enclave might have been there, but for the sentinels on duty. All were silent. Faro knew it was customary in such a gathering of import to sit in silence long before speaking, but Jareen stood up after only a few minutes.

"I have decided my course," she said.

"Daughter of Vah," a sitting vienu replied, "we will honor your wishes, though some on the council would make recommendations."

"I thank you for your suggestions," she said. "But my course is decided. I seek Vah'tane."

There was a stirring among the onlookers. Vien and vienu glanced to one another.

"So the rumor is true?" a vien asked. "You know the way?"

Faro saw his mother hesitate, glancing over at Coir. The human's face was relaxed, but his eyes bored into her.

"I believe I. . . we know where to start looking."

"Where?"

"In the northern Mingling."

"The northern Mingling is wide and deep," a vien replied. Faro felt irritated that he still did not know who these vien and vienu were who counciled his mother. That was his fault. He could have asked. He could have concerned himself more with this little camp.

"It does not matter," Jareen said. "I have decided to seek Vah'tane."

"Daughter of Vah," another vien said. "Would it not be wise to listen to the council's suggestions? We could send scouts to seek Vah'tane, and then if we can confirm it—"

Jareen raised her hand to stop him.

"I am going. No one need go with me. But anyone who wishes for Vah'tane may come. I leave this very morning. In an hour I will be prepared."

Without another word, Jareen stood and left the pavilion. Coir rose and followed. Without looking, Jareen paused beyond the crowd and waited for the man to reach her before continuing at his pace. Faro followed as well. The throng watched them leave in silence.

"You're going to Vah'tane?" Faro asked after a safe distance, his voice low.

"Yes," she said.

"Do you know where to start?"

"Yes," Coir said. "The northern Mingling."

"I've been to the northern Mingling," Faro said. "I saw nothing of Vah'tane."

"Like Selu said, it's a big place,' Coir answered.

"Are you sure it would not be better to find an enclave to take you?" They reached the door to Jareen's house. His mother turned to him.

"Are you sure it would not be better to find an enclave to take you in?" she asked.

Faro couldn't help but smile at his mother's spirit. He looked back to the crowd around the pavilion. Many were already scattering around the clearing with hurried steps.

"It will be dangerous for them, too," he said.

"Their wills are their own. We must all choose."

Faro nodded.

"Those who can," he said.

Their conversation lulled as they watched the people dispersing from the pavilion.

"Are you sure you don't want come with us, boy?" Coir asked. "What greater adventure than to seek Vah'tane?"

"Maybe some day." He didn't believe it, but he knew it would ease Coir's mind.

"The north," Coir said. "They all go north."

Faro forced another smile, and then the three of them embraced, arms across each other's backs and heads together.

There was nothing left to say, and he couldn't trust his voice. The embrace had to end sometime. Their arms couldn't share the weight. Pulling away, he retrieved his spear and bags. For a moment, he thought about leaving the harp. He couldn't play it, now, and no one would trade for an instrument made from the body of a beast. After a hesitation, he took it as well. His mother and Coir watched from the doorway, but stepped back to let him through.

"Goodbye," Faro said. There was nothing else to say. He couldn't look at their faces, nor pause to listen to their farewells. He strode around the side of the house, breaking into a jog as he reached the southern trail into the Mingling. Out of sight, his jog turned to a run. Even as tears dampened his face, he ran. Was this the right choice? Shouldn't he go with them? He'd forgotten to pick food from the garden. He ran until he was soaked with sweat, and his breath came in rasps, and still he pushed himself, trying to put the choice far behind him. He had to reach the coast.