Laura S. Fox
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Hungry Heart - Book #4 - Ch. 10
🕑 Added 2022-11-06 18:59:02 +0000 UTCChapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four / Chapter Five / Chapter Six / Chapter Seven / Chapter Eight / Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten – Scattered Shards
It had to be one of the last benevolent days of fall, with the sun still sending its warmth down on their heads and shoulders as they followed the winding path meant to take them to The Quiet Woods. They were cheerful, talking loudly, greeting with joy every stranger in their way, although it seemed very few people traveled the same road.
Hope and happiness walked with them, and Varg had to say that the good times were all the better after an adventure like the one they had just lived through. He enjoyed looking at his friends, their faces all smiles, and his heart grew larger, too.
“Osion and his pack like tigers,” Toru began, after a bit of an argument with Claw.
“That’s because they haven’t seen enough of me,” Claw retorted playfully.
“Without a doubt,” Duril decided to intervene and reconcile the two shapeshifters. “They would like tigers and bears equally if they just saw enough of Claw.”
“And I would have thought that they would be partial to their own kind,” Varg decided to jump in, as well.
Toru seemed to ponder over something. “Osion told us that he had talked to some tigers and that they are very wise.”
“Some of them,” Claw reminded him. “If I recall correctly, which I should, since we barely left them behind us, Osion said that they only talked to those who seemed older and wiser.”
“That’s because they were afraid of the others,” Toru pointed out. “Do you think that there are evil tigers out there, Duril?”
The healer shook his head. “I doubt it. Maybe they were just so impressive that Osion thought it safer to stay away.”
Toru pursed his lips, apparently not entirely pleased with that explanation. Osion and Nesta, along with a few elders of the tribe, had told them everything they knew about the tigers coming through, but it hadn’t been a lot. Nonetheless, it could only mean that a place for tigers had to be somewhere that the road they were on led to, and that was as good information as any.
“Tigers appear to be quite secretive about the places they inhabit,” he said loudly.
“That means that they have a good reason for it,” Duril said. “Still, their presence in these parts can only give us hope. While they might not be near, they do exist, as scattered as they might be on the face of Eawirith.”
As absorbed as they were in their conversation, they didn’t realize at first that there was someone barring the way. Varg was the first to notice the presence of the stranger, someone resting his bent shape on a cane that appeared covered in old scratches. They all stopped at the same time. The stranger seemed to be an old man, the hood covering his head lowered over his eyes, so that not much of his face could be seen.
“Greetings, stranger,” Claw was the first to speak.
“Greetings,” the stranger replied. His voice was gravelly and bore the signs of the many decades its owner must have lived. “I only ask for a few moments of your time.”
“Do you need help?” Duril asked. “We do not carry coins with us, but we can spare food and medicine.”
“I do not require help,” the old man said and walked toward Toru with difficulty.
Varg tensed briefly. With so many things they had gotten through together, he didn’t believe in those pretending to be weak. That old man could just as well hide a poisoned blade in the voluminous sleeves of his robe or be part of who knew what dark powers. Therefore, he moved toward Toru slowly, ready to fend off any attack.
Toru appeared to be impassive and not in the least troubled by the stranger’s clear desire to address only him. The old man put one gnarly hand into the sleeve of the arm holding the cane and took out a piece of tarnished glass, red in color. They all moved closer to look at the strange object. The light of the sun above seemed to become absorbed by that piece of glass.
From up close, it didn’t look like regular glass at all. Facets and angles met under the surface, glinting black. The stranger held it with a trembling hand. “You earned it, tiger.”
“Toru, don’t touch that,” Varg warned.
The stranger turned toward him, and the hood fell to one side, revealing a wrinkled face and eyes that must have seen plenty, good and bad. “Do not worry, master wolf. This shard belongs to Toru, as he defeated the ugliness below.”
“He’s talking like Demophios, without making much sense,” Toru pointed out. “That means I can take the shard.”
“Wait,” Duril intervened, “who are you?” The question was directed at the stranger.
“My name doesn’t matter. We come when evil is destroyed and its last traces are revealed. You turned the marshes of the nameless witch into a sea of green and flowers.”
They all remained silent. This stranger knew enough if he knew about the nameless witch and what had just happened not far from there.
“What do you know of that?” Claw asked. “I doubt there are rules to forbid you from speaking clearly, old man.”
The stranger continued to hold the shard, although his hand was trembling more and more. “Rules, no. The mistress of the marshes didn’t steal the moon from the skies without help.”
“I thought so,” Toru declared.
“This was her help,” the stranger said, moving the hand holding the shard slowly. “When you destroyed the biggest evil in the world, Toru, shards of its dark soul spread all over Eawirith. The nameless witch had found one and thought to use it to her advantage. That didn’t end well for her.” He cackled like he had just told a joke.
“Are there many other shards like this one?” Toru asked and he took the piece of glass from the stranger’s hand.
The old man heaved a sigh as if a great burden had been removed from his frail being. Varg could tell that holding onto the shard hadn’t been an easy feat. Still, that didn’t make him any less suspicious in his eyes. “Where did you find it? How were you able to identify it?”
“It is our purpose,” the old man said, bowing with deference. “Whenever we find one, we have to bring it to Toru. Only he can unite them and then destroy them for good.”
“Why should we believe you?” Varg questioned.
The old man looked into his eyes, and, in the blink of an eye, Varg saw it all, how the moon goddess had fallen from the sky, how the mistress of the marshes had grabbed the goddess like a mangy dog with a bone and then buried her in her dirt prison. And then, the old man’s eyes showed him things happening miles and miles away, tribes of wolves spread all over the continent stopping whatever they were doing to look up into the sky in dread and confusion. The loss of faith slowly seeping into their bones, making him tremble, as well.
Varg closed his eyes, not wanting to face his past fears for another moment more.
“You know I speak the truth, master wolf,” the stranger said.
Varg just nodded and staggered briefly as he got his bearings back. Claw came to his side and put a hand on his shoulder. “He does speak the truth. How are we going to recognize these shards? What are we supposed to do? Hunt them all over the place until there’s none left? But how will we even know no others are there anymore?”
“You have many questions, master wolf. Alas, the time I’m allowed to spend in your presence is short, so I can only tell you this.” The old man was slowly fading, becoming transparent, which immediately raised a grunt of disbelief from Toru. “We all believe in you, young tiger. We will help you, as much as we can.”
His last words were more like whispers carried on the wind. Before they had time to blink, the old man was gone. The only proof of his presence in front of them was the dark red shard left behind in Toru’s palm.
“What do you think that was all about?” Toru asked. He was staring at the shard with a focused expression on his face.
“Varg seemed to have seen something in the stranger’s eyes,” Claw pointed out.
They were all looking at him, expecting him to say what he had seem. “He showed me how the mistress of the marshes stole the moon. I saw the shard in her hands, cradled like an object of much affection. And he also showed me how wolves everywhere witnessed the disappearance of their goddess with fear in their hearts.”
“So, is he an old witch like Agatha and the others?”
“I’m not sure about that, but he is something. And I believe that he brought the shard to you with great difficulty. It must have cost him dearly, although he merely hinted at that.”
They all remained silent for a few moments. Whatever that apparition had been, they couldn’t ignore it.
“I will hold onto the shard,” Toru announced. He closed his palm over it. The moment he did so, red light flashed from inside his closed fist, and when he opened it again, a small fire was burning, only to quickly fade and turn to ashes.
No one said a word, not knowing what to make of it. Claw scratched his head. “What kind of magic is this? How was Toru supposed to hold onto the shard if it was going to turn into nothing but dust?”
“Look,” Duril said and he was the one who grabbed Toru’s hand and then slowly turn his arm. On his shoulder, a red gleam caught their eyes. The shard was there, implanted in the skin, shining faintly. “Does it hurt?” he asked Toru.
The young tiger shook his head. “No. If anything, I feel some sort of power coming from it.”
“It isn’t the good kind,” Claw warned. “Don’t pay it any mind until we find a way to remove it from you.”
Toru placed a possessive hand over his shoulder, concealing the shard from his friends’ eyes. “It is in my care. That old man said so.”
“Do you believe we can trust him?” Varg asked. “I know what I saw, what he showed me, and I knew he told me the truth. But what about you, Toru?”
Toru uncovered the shard and looked at it. “I cannot explain it. He showed me the way to The Scarlet Peaks, and what we’re going to find there. All in the blink of an eye.”
“The way? But the oracle on the secret path told us we should avoid that place and the hermit,” Claw pointed out.
“Yes, that is true.” Varg recalled everything in as much detail as the bearshifter. “That means we have two mystical messengers telling us two different things. Who should we believe?”
“We don’t have to choose,” Duril intervened. “No one says that we cannot visit the other side of the mountains and search for Niverborg and its survivors if there are any, and then search for the hermit. Since Toru now knows how to get there, it shouldn’t be as much of a hurdle as we first imagined, right?”
Toru looked at them, and his handsome face appeared conflicted.
“What is it?” Varg asked.
“I will have to go see the hermit alone,” Toru replied and touched his shoulder again, as if to reassure himself.
That much the oracle had told them, that Te’cla wouldn’t let anyone else approach but Toru. But he would see him, and that was the most important thing. Varg nodded in agreement. “We will see if we need to get there. Toru makes his own destiny, as much as this arduous fight was laid upon his shoulders. Whatever you choose, just know that we will be by your side. And we will wait for you if you need to go see the hermit on your own.”
Toru looked at him, and his eyes seemed unusually hard to read. “We will see,” he said shortly. “For now, we will continue on our road to The Quiet Woods, as we decided before.”
***
A storm of crows lurked behind his forehead. Never before had he thought that he would have to keep something from his friends, but the warning the old man had given him was clear. His friends, as much as they believed in him and loved him, wouldn’t be received by the hermit unless they chose to pay dearly for their passage. The images the stranger had caused to appear in his mind had been so cruel, and yet, they felt so real. Varg would have to give up on ever having a pack of his own and live alone for the rest of his days, without most of his heart; Duril would lose his only good arm and be deprived of the magic bestowed upon him by Lady Amethyst. As for Claw, he would have to descend into the caverns beneath The Scarlet Peaks and remain there, in the same state he had endured when he had been imprisoned by the evil merchants in Shroudharbor.
He couldn’t bring himself even to tell his friends of all he had seen. Such a price for meeting the hermit was beyond cruel. Therefore, there was no point of even explaining to Duril, Varg, and Claw what the old man had showed him. If it ever came to pass, he would go to see the hermit alone. What price would be demanded of him, the old man hadn’t offered any clue.
Be it as cruel as it could be, Toru would take it any day over putting any of his friends in harm’s way. That was, indeed, a mean hermit. The oracle Claw and Varg had gone to see was right about that. First, they would continue on their path to The Quiet Woods. They would find that well, and they would try to reach Niverborg from there. If there were still tigers there, he would find them. They were his father’s people. They would recall Nelsikkar, they had to.
He was so deep in his thoughts that he didn’t realize that he was no longer alone. Duril’s gentle touch made him jump to his feet. Varg and Claw were sleeping under the naked sky by the fire they had made from dry twigs and leaves. The bearshifter was good with those things.
“You ate so little at dinner,” Duril said. He didn’t comment on how startled Toru had behaved just earlier and sat on the ground.
Toru understood the invitation and followed his example. They were close to the edge of a cliff overlooking a vast meadow, with the river still visible in the distance. Under the light of the moon, it only glistened like myriads of tiny crystals. “I wasn’t that hungry,” he said.
“You’re always hungry. Do you feel ill?” Duril asked.
He was right to ask, but Toru didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t like him to keep secrets from his friends, and Duril needed some answers from him. And to lie to him was impossible.
“I never feel ill,” Toru said directly.
Duril didn’t pester him for a while with another question. “I sometimes wonder why you, Varg, and Claw, need a healer with you.” His tone was half-playful. “You are never sick and any wounds you suffer in battle you easily recover from, as you are shapeshifters.”
“We need you with us,” Toru said right away. “You’re writing all our adventures down. And I love you. Varg loves you. I’m sure Claw, too, and if he hasn’t said it—Why are you laughing?”
“Because you’re just so endearing,” Duril replied. “I love you, too, Toru. That means that you can tell me anything. What did the old man show you? Varg revealed to us what he had seen.”
The question was there, floating in the air. If Varg had done so, why not him, as well? “I can’t tell you. It was too ugly, too… unforgiving.”
He tensed, expecting Duril to insist, and extract all that ugliness out of him. To his relief, his dear friend did nothing of the kind.
“I never told you about my mother,” the healer started.
“I never asked you.” Toru knew, even without asking, that Duril had had a hard life before they met each other. The way some of the denizens of Whitekeep had used to treat him was caused by his humble origins, of which Toru knew very little. “It doesn’t matter to me where you came from, or who your mother was. Just like it has never mattered to you who I am. I came to you as a stranger.”
Duril leaned against his shoulder and kissed his cheek. “It feels like you were a stranger to me but for a moment. As we sit right here, I cannot help but feel and think that I’ve known you since forever. But that is not why I want to tell you about her. It’s because, as uneducated a woman as she was, she wished only the best for me and loved me more than life itself.”
The silence stretched after Duril’s last words, so Toru turned his head to look at his friend’s face. The traces of a frown could be seen on his forehead, a sign that what he wanted to say would have to dig deep into his personal trove of memories.
“She was what people call a lady of the night, when they want to appear polite and above such temptations. I knew from a young age that her choice of profession made others think that they were entitled to look down on her, regardless of whether they were nobles or peasants. At first, I felt enraged. I had my sire’s blood on my side. I also had two good arms, as I wasn’t born this way.”
Toru recalled that, too, the trauma Duril had suffered. “You were already a healer when that happened. How did you come to choose that?”
“Because of her,” Duril replied. “I came home bloody more often than not. I gave as good as I got, or better. And she kept telling me about how important it is to be kind, and I didn’t understand for a long time. She paid Agatha something, I don’t know what, but it wasn’t money, and she brought potions and recipes on how to make them. She insisted every day that I learn, and, for a while, I resisted, annoyed and upset with her that she would want me to become weak and bow to those that had nothing but bad words for me and pain to deliver.
“However, because I loved her, I began to give in to her insistence, and learned a few things. I discovered a secret pleasure in understanding them, something I couldn’t have even imagined before.
“One day, she fell ill. She told me it was her age catching up with her, but I didn’t understand. She was still young. To spare me the pain of seeing her fading away, she tried to push me away. And I determined with all my strength and mind to come up with a potion that would make her better.”
“Did she get better?” Toru asked softly.
Duril shook his head. “No. I ran to Agatha in tears, begging her to save my mother. She caressed my head and told me all would be all right. It wasn’t. My mother died in a few days. I hated Agatha for it. I was afraid of her, because she was known to be a witch, but my pain and anger were too much. So, I went to her again, breaking some of her pots, yelling and crying.”
“She must have been really mad at you,” Toru said.
“No, not at all. She waited until my fury left me, and then she took my hand, forcing me to take a seat by her side. We were in her yard, and I could see the depth of my distraction right in front of my eyes. For a while, she said nothing, just holding my hand in a fierce grip from which I couldn’t break free. Then, she asked me: ‘What did your mother tell you?’ She waited patiently for me to answer. So I told her: ‘She told me that I should stay away.’ Agatha nodded and then asked again: ‘And did you stay away?’ And I replied: ‘No. I couldn’t.’ She didn’t show any sign of being either pleased or displeased with my answer.”
“What did she mean by all that?”
Duril let his eyes wander over the vast expanse stretching away at their feet, as far as they could see. “After a while, she said these words: ‘You did well. That is why you will be a healer.’ Then, she released my hand and ushered me out. Of course, at this point, she was starting to berate me for turning her yard into a complete and utter mess, but I was too confused to apologize. As I walked out, heading back to the only place I knew as home, where my mother wasn’t anymore, my heart felt lighter and lighter. The rage gave way to tenderness, something I didn’t recognize at first because I hadn’t felt it before. And I knew Agatha was right. My mother had wanted me to become a healer, and that was what I would become.”
“That is why you are the greatest healer,” Toru said. “Because of your mother.”
Duril nodded. “So you see, Toru, my purpose is clear to me now, as well. I am meant to be by your side, no matter where that road takes you. Just like I knew that day, with so much clarity, that I would be a healer as my mother wanted, now I know that my place is with you. So, if you have to go to The Scarlet Peaks and meet the hermit by yourself, I will be somewhere near, never too far away. I’m sure Varg and Claw think just the same. Don’t ever believe that you will have to face your destiny alone, because that would be against what I know to be my destiny.”
“That hermit must be very mean,” Toru made an attempt to explain. “In that old man’s eyes, I saw what he intends to do to you all if you dare to come with me.”
“It’s pretty much what Cha’da told Varg and Claw. She was also certain that you would have to see him by yourself, and that must be why she would rather have us find Niverborg first and learn, if we can, about the whereabouts of Nelsikkar there.”
“Even if we do, I believe that I am meant to meet the hermit anyway. It’s what I sense to be my duty. I don’t know yet why it is so. But I simply do.”
“Then that is what you will do. Toru, we are all by your side. We will travel together, and rest assured that we won’t allow a hermit, be he as mean as they say, to come between us.”
Toru felt a great relief wash over him at his friend’s words. Duril wrapped his arm around him and rested his head on his shoulder.
“That’s such a pretty view,” Duril said, “don’t you think?”
“It is. No wonder. The Quiet Woods are not so far from here. There are very few places as beautiful,” Toru agreed. “I bet Claw can barely wait to meet his friends again.”
“I bet they don’t expect to see us so soon.”
“We will have to find that well Cha’da told Claw and Varg about. Do you think that oracles can make mistakes? What if there’s no well there?”
“Cha’da marked Claw and Varg so that they can see the well. As long as we’re together, we will figure out a way.”
“Who do you believe more, Duril? Cha’da or that nameless messenger that made Varg and I see things without being there?”
“I tend to think that they are both worthy of our consideration. Evil never succeeds in hiding its nature for long. I don’t believe that either of them is that. Although, I do worry a bit about the shard.”
Toru let Duril caress his shoulder and examine the shard trapped inside his skin at length. “What do you think about it?”
“How does it make you feel? Do you sense it, that it’s foreign to your body?”
Toru shook his head slowly. “Not at all. It’s like it’s a part of me. And I sense great power coming from it.”
“Is it something you can use?” Duril continued.
“I feel like I could, but Claw and Varg are right. I shouldn’t. The messenger said nothing about what I should do with it, yet, what I know so far is that it was the source of the evil the mistress of the marshes used to steal the moon.”
“That is true, and your decision is wise.”
“Destiny is part what others draw for you, and part what you make of it. Varg says so. And I believe him.”
“You talked to him about it,” Duril said.
“He is a wise wolf. Everyone likes him because of that.”
“Not as much as they like you,” Duril said with a small laugh. “You are our hero, Toru, and don’t you forget that.”
How could he forget? All the ominous feelings from before were lifting from his mind. Toru sighed in relief and pressed his head against Duril’s. There was nothing like friends believing in him in the whole world.
***
Duril took advantage of the fact that Toru and Claw were still sleeping soundly to have a word with Varg. He knew that they would all be in an accord over what path to take, but while Toru sought reassurance in him, he also sought it, in turn, in the wolfshifter.
“This thing, with these shards,” he began while handing Varg a cup of steaming hot tea, “what’s your take on it, Varg?”
“Toru believes it is his destiny to find them. Even without him saying that out loud, I know it is how things stand.”
“That much I gather, too. But you, what do you think?” Duril insisted.
“What that messenger showed me through his watery tired eyes made my heart falter for a moment. So much lack of hope. I wonder what he showed Toru. It must have been quite convincing.”
“It was. It appears that Toru will have to go see the hermit sooner or later. That might have something to do with those shards, it’s what I believe,” Duril offered.
Varg pursed his lips, but he seemed to be convinced of the same thing. “Yes. Just as I think that Toru was chosen to hold the shards because no one is as powerful as him. That was why the old man could barely hold it.”
“I thought so, too. As his companions, we will support him in all the challenges that will cross his path. Something tells me that we haven’t seen the last of this so-called nameless messenger.”
“There are forces at work. That much is true. The messenger, you’re right, he’ll emerge again at the right time. From what I’ve learned throughout my life, there’s no point in tossing and turning and losing sleep over things we cannot fully grasp yet. So, let’s see about our road to The Quiet Woods. Claw will be happy to reunite with his friends, and we will have free reign to search for that well the oracle told us about.”
“That is the straightforward path as we all see it, it appears. We better prepare by holding our breaths, right?” Duril smiled.
“You’re fearless. That’s what I like about you. The oracle was certain the well would spit us back out on the other side of the mountains, where we can search for Niverborg, the place where Toru’s father was born.”
“White tigers. I wonder how many of them we will find.”
“I hope that there are still some of them left. I don’t know if they are aware of Toru’s existence. Sometimes, people from his father’s tribe must have visited Nelsikkar.”
“You know what I’ve been wondering, Varg? Toru defeated Hekastfet in Scercendusa, and yet most of the world doesn’t even know that there was ever any danger. Is there justice in that? I don’t quite see it.”
“Eh, it’s the way of the world, my friend. But don’t forget what Scercendusa represents. Songs and tales about what happened there will spread. They won’t travel as fast as we do, but don’t act surprised if, one day, we find ourselves welcomed with open arms in a part of the world we had never even heard about before.”
“Your words do bring some solace,” Duril admitted. “Toru says that he likes being the hero because the heroes always get the meat. But I don’t think it’s just that.”
“No. He did everything for his family, too. As well as for the entire world. While he might think of his reward in such simple terms, the truth is there. He did save everyone and prevented Hekastfet from taking over the entirety of Eawirith. Nonetheless, I think that the biggest reward for him would be to find the place of his birth.”
“Nelsikkar. It’s a beautiful name. I think it must be a beautiful place, too.” Duril smiled. As little as they knew about it, it had to be so.
“Toru’s home,” Varg said with a smile of his own. “I’d like to see our kitty sitting on his rightful throne.”
“He was born for it,” Duril agreed. “How about we wake up our sleepyheads?”
“It’s about time. The road awaits.”
TBC
