The Book of Terrus: The Wise and Powerful

Chapter 15 - Wanderers

OoOoO

Dawn was breaking. Seemingly in defiance of yesterday's carnage, morning came soft and peaceful upon The Teeth. Rays of sunlight fell upon the mountainside in a golden caress, warming the summer dew and perfuming the air. Eagles circled far overhead, hunting the last of the nocturnal creatures as they stumbled home wearily to their dens. One such night-time wanderer made her way down toward Trosk on slow, shuffling feet.

                There had been no sleep for Lhara, nor would there be any today. It was only by sheer strength of will that she had managed to force herself to turn around and set her course back toward Trosk. The urge to simply wander forever along the ridgeline all the way south to the sea had been a tempting one. Lhara knew though that Magda would need her help.

            By the time she at last came to the village, people were already awake and milling about, if indeed any of them had slept either. Some effort was being made to start cleaning up the smoldering wreckage of The Giant's Shoe. Quella and Devina looked up with sooty faces from sweeping the debris together at the foot of The Ram. Their eyes were full of pity when they saw Lhara, even more so when they took in her wild, bushy hair and bramble-covered pants. If once her tendency to wander in The Teeth had garnered amusement or exasperation, today there was only sympathy.

            Lhara found Magda already at work in her little cottage. The old Wise Woman was just drawing a sheet over a still form on the table when Lhara slid through the door. Magda looked up to greet her apprentice with a regretful nod.

            "One of the Factionists," she explained before Lhara's thoughts could inevitably find their way to her uncle. "He died just before sunrise."

            "Oh..."

To be entirely honest, Lhara was not surprised. The pale man had looked more dead than alive when she found him. She felt a shred of relief that the poor soul needn't be subjected to trepanning or madness after all.

"If you could bring water to those who are awake, and check the dressings on their wounds, I need to send for the girls to bring a wagon." Magda looked tired, perhaps even more than Lhara felt. Her cottony white hair, still half-tied up in a bun, revealed a glimpse of her faded dark blue Ættartré tattoo.

"Alright."

"And Lhara?"

Lhara stopped in mid-turn to glance back, expecting further instructions from her teacher. Instead she was met with Magda's outstretched arms. The Wise Woman, bowed and bent with age as she was, still managed to reach up far enough to draw Lhara down into a hug.

"I'm so sorry for all that you have lost, little daughter," Magda murmured into Lhara's tangled hair. "Know that you always have a place here beneath my roof, if you wish it."

Tears instantly sprung up to sting the corners of Lhara's eyes. Fighting against the knot in her throat, Lhara nodded against Magda's shoulder. She had done enough crying last night. Despite her efforts otherwise, she knew her eyes were reddened when she at last pulled away from the comforting warmth of Magda's shawl.

Trying to find words of thanks and finding none, Lhara instead steadied her trembling voice before changing the subject.

"How is Uncle Torl?"

Magda offered her apprentice a small, reassuring smile. "Torl's leg will not be the death of him, that I can promise you and your aunt both. I went to go see him after the ceremony last night, and found him resting comfortably with your cousin's babe. Even so..." Magda's worn expression tightened. "...I can also promise that he will be forever crippled by it. Walking may be within your stubborn uncle's power, eventually, but he must never shepherd his flock in the heights again. The bone simply will not have the strength for such hiking."