Wisdom, p.6
Wisdom, page 6
part #7 of Beginning's End Series
“What does it say?” she asked.
To be honest, the engraving was so thick and heavy-handed, she wasn’t even sure it was using the common tongue. It was nothing from the jeweler—judging by the careless scratch marks and the way the lettering ran off the side, she was guessing that Olin had carved it along the way.
He glanced over with a smile, looking impossibly pleased with himself.
“That is a testament to our newfound accord,” he said proudly, looping both thumbs into his belt. “It’s been a while since I’ve left the settlement, but I still remember a bit of fae.”
Eden glanced over curiously, then took the compass for himself. He stared a moment, trying to decipher the rudimentary letters, before his lips curved with a wry smile.
“Go straight,” he recited, flashing a quick look at the dwarf. Their eyes met, and something warmed between them. “How hard could it be?”
Olin chuckled, thinking himself quite clever. “You’d be surprised.”
It was better than anything they could have hoped for, with enough provisions to last several weeks in any direction they chose to travel. There were clothes and daggers, flint and cloaks. Even a few of the fae’s glass-stoppered tonics had managed to make it out unscathed. Aside from a startling lack of money, one of the few things they were actually missing was a place to sleep.
Olin nodded suddenly, like he was reading their thoughts.
“We searched a while, but couldn’t find your tent. It’s strange, really,” he continued, rubbing thoughtfully at his chin, “considering everything else we found.”
Kiera went pale, as an image of the flaming canvas flashed through her mind. Her friends had been struggling to keep conscious when she burned it. There was a chance they hadn’t seen.
“It must have fallen into the cavern,” she said stiffly, eyes darting around. “That’s not so surprising, really. I’m sure a lot of things did.”
The others nodded distractedly, still rummaging through their bags.
Olin regarded her with a twinkling smile. “Happens more often than you’d think.”
The one he’d replaced it with was bigger—just slightly, but it was enough. The friends would no longer be stacked on top of each other. They would be sleeping side by side.
She threw a sideways glance at the immortals.
That will be fun.
“There’s something else,” Olin prompted, giving her a nudge, “near the bottom.”
With a curious smile, she opened it wider and reached all the way through, her fingers wrapping around a familiar leather grip. She went still for a moment, unable to get past the shock, before yanking all at once—extracting a worn book from the depths.
Her eyes widened in silence. She had thought it was lost forever.
“Not sure why you’d need a book, given the nature of your expedition,” Olin murmured, watching as she flipped open the cover. “But perhaps it’s preferable to the fae’s company.”
Evander flashed a swift look between them, silent and curious.
“Eden gave it to me,” she answered, smiling without thinking. Her hands wrapped around the edges, holding it tight to her chest. “It’s a history of the realm. He wrote an inscription inside.”
There was plenty of smoke damage. What looked like the fragment of a claw was sticking through the cover. But she could still see Eden’s elegant script slanted along the page.
She hadn’t brought herself yet to read it. She was saving it for a special time.
“You are an exceptionally odd bunch,” Olin concluded, glancing around the circle. His eyes lingered a moment on the wolf and vampire, before landing on the fae. “Especially you.” He paused, remembering their conversation by the fire. “It makes you even more unlikable.”
Eden looked up with a true smile, and an uneasy alliance was made. “I have thanked you once already, dwarf. Do not make me say it again.”
Olin chuckled quietly, then surprised them both by taking a sudden step forward and reaching for the fae’s hand. His grip was strong, his eyes guarded. But there was a lightness beneath the caution, a slight relaxing of those walls. Something that spoke very much to hope.
“We know what we’re doing,” he murmured, speaking so quietly, only the two of them were meant to hear. “Allow us time to prove that to you.”
Eden held on tightly, staring deep in his eyes. They stayed like that for a moment, both of them searching, both unsure what they were hoping to find. Then he leaned down with a whisper, “My people do not shake hands.”
Olin grinned, crushing his fingers. “You will learn.”
They released each other, and took a step back.
Suddenly, their time was finished. There was nothing more to say. The sun had already risen, the hour was upon them. With the practiced hands of those who’d done it a hundred times before, the friends picked up their satchels, armed themselves with weapons, and fastened their cloaks.
The shore was just two days through the forest. They would reach it in one.
Kiera headed after them, slinging the bag over her shoulder, a slender arm still wrapped around her book. On second thought, she believed the claw enhanced it. Their journey had been full of such memories, there would surely be many more. A rush of giddiness swept over her, warming to the tips of her toes. She took a step to join the others, when a sudden hand appeared on her arm.
“One more thing.”
She glanced back to see Olin standing behind her, planted, as though his feet had grown straight from the earth. He studied her for a moment, then reached into his pocket and pressed something into her hand. It was an emerald, big as her thumb. Worth a small fortune.
Her mouth fell open in shock. “Why would you—”
He closed her fingers, eyes crinkling with a smile. “For the ship.”
AFTER THE HEAVY GLOOM of the caverns, it was a relief to get back into the forest, to fill their lungs with clean breaths of air and watch the sunlight filter through the trees. The hours passed just like before. They hunted and hiked, gathered handfuls of berries. They roasted strips of fish, then climbed to the top of a rocky bluff to see if they could glimpse the ocean. They couldn’t, not yet. It hovered just on the periphery, teasing them with the call of gulls and breezes tipped with salt.
But the woods felt different as well—almost slanted, making each step unsteady. It was like coming home after a long journey, only to discover another family already living in the house. The rooms were the identical, everything was just as they’d left it. Yet, it wasn’t remotely the same.
Kiera stifled a quiet sigh, placing one foot in front of the other.
It was almost easier in the mine.
An unbearable silence had fallen between the immortals. Immovable as mountains, fragile as glass. Sometimes it swelled, almost to bursting, before retreating just as fast—like cool water poured over a flame. Their lips would seal and refuse to open. Their eternal eyes were cast on the ground.
There was a single mercy, and it was for the fae.
While each passing hour might have been a torment, he carried nothing more than the weight of his own fractured heart. But the vampire bore that torment for them both, feeling the fae’s every sorrow, his every aching despair just as vividly as his own. It was perhaps the reason he made no attempt to start a conversation. It was also the reason the friends decided to hike so long.
None of them could bear to imagine what would happen when they finally stopped—the suffocating, throbbing silence as they sat around the evening fire.
But no matter their determination, their legs could carry them only so far.
“We should stop here,” Jesse called suddenly, having watched his girlfriend’s shoulders droop for the better part of an hour. “There’s no need to hunt, we can finish the rest of the rabbit.”
The others complied in silence, setting about their tasks like puppets moving on a string. A fire was quickly kindled, the caldron was bubbling not long after that. The perimeter was checked and the tent loomed in the shadows, as they settled with visible reluctance around heated stones.
This isn’t terrible...it’s even worse.
“So who’s hungry?” Kiera asked brightly, determined to force those shadows away. “I used some of this dwarven spice Olin tucked into our bags.” She sniffed at the bottle, eyes watering on the spot. “On second thought, there’s a chance he’s trying to kill us...”
An echoing silence rang around the fire, swelling in volume the longer it took anyone to reply. Most days, this alone would have been enough to prompt laughter. But the men had faces to match—three beautiful statues, each hoping one of the others would speak. Evander flashed a tight smile, but said nothing in return. Eden had taken out his arrows to begin the nightly count.
They lay unnoticed in his lap.
“I’ll try some,” Jesse answered gallantly, unwilling to leave her hanging alone. He reached for the bottle and sprinkled a pinch over the strip of meat he’d been roasting. A single bite, and identical tears sprang to his eyes. “It’s really—” He choked into silence, feeling as though he’s been stabbed in the throat. “It’s really good.” In an act of sheer lunacy, he doubled down. “I’ll have some more.”
I love you.
She smiled with gratitude, then offered some to Eden—already knowing his reply.
For the last several days, the fae’s appetite had shrunk to nearly nothing, as evidenced by the sharpening of bones, the gaunt hollows in his cheeks. In the beginning, she and Jesse had taken it as a personal challenge—searching the woods for his favorites, and trying to coax little bites. At one point, in a moment of frustration, she’d sawed off the leg of a pheasant, cooked it defiantly over the fire, then thrust it—still smoking—into his lap. Not long after, Jesse had taken her aside. He’ll eat when he’s ready. She’d stopped trying after that. Truth be told, she barely even noticed.
But the vampire could see nothing else.
“Are you not hungry?” he asked, before he could stop himself. Just a few quiet words, but they were enough to freeze everything else. “I could find something different...if you liked.”
Eden’s eyes flew up like he’d shouted, before lowering just as fast. “I’m fine, thank you.”
The others stared for a split second before hastening to rekindle the conversation once again. Kiera began prattling on about everything they’d seen that day; the flocks of birds, a trunk that had been split up the middle, a cluster of unlikely flowers. Jesse panicked and sprinkled more dwarven spices onto his rabbit, then proceeded to discreetly gag.
Evander looked past them, leaning carefully onto his arms. “Have you not been eating?” he asked softly, afraid to say anything further, lest it trigger something worse. His eyes swept over the fae, lingering on the shadows beneath his eyes. “Mios—”
Eden caught his breath and drew back. “I’ll take the first watch.” He rose swiftly to his feet, turning away to hide his eyes. “There’s a river that runs over the trail not far ahead. I’ll see if it’s shallow enough to cross.”
The others stared, then nodded in perfect unison.
“Alright, thank you.”
“Remember your bow.”
He nodded once, then disappeared into the trees.
The three of them remained where they were sitting, trying to keep steady, as a looming silence threatened to swallow them whole. Evander was so tense to the point of breaking. His eyes were fixed on the spot where the fae had vanished, and every muscle was poised like a bird preparing for flight. He gripped the stone, as if to keep himself there. A single lapse, and he might go tearing after him.
“He wants to be alone.” Jesse’s voice cracked like a whip, his green eyes burning with a fiery reproach. Funny, he had no trouble speaking now. “He does not wish you to follow.”
Evander stared a moment longer, then lifted his eyes with such an expression, the shifter almost regretted having spoken at all. They lingered there before falling to the forest floor.
“I know that,” he said softly.
At that point, the meal was effectively finished. Between the fae’s sudden disappearance and the dwarf’s homicidal spice, there was no reason to linger by the fire. As if sensing this, the vampire pushed to his feet, raking back his hair with hands that couldn’t keep from trembling.
“Thank you,” he added suddenly, “for protecting him.” His eyes swept over both of them, resting a moment on each one. “You have done what I can’t.” A strange emotion passed over him, perhaps he tried to smile, before he gestured to the caldron. “I’ll clean this. You can get some rest.”
Most days, they might have argued. There was an unofficial division of responsibilities when travelling, and the vampire had already done more than his share. But they rose in silence, nodding curtly, before walking to the tent. When Kiera glanced over her shoulder, he was already kneeling beside the fire and reaching for the caldron, those fading embers flickering in his eyes.
She held back a sigh, ducking beneath the flap.
This is different.
She’d known the tent was bigger from the mere weight of it, but she now saw just how much bigger it actually was. There seemed a great open space around them—with room to walk, room to stand. The walls themselves were thicker, woven in such a way to keep out the wind.
She shivered in the emptiness, feeling suddenly cold.
“A little jarring, right?” Jesse asked quietly, already undressing for bed. His cloak was gone and a tunic hung loose from his shoulders. “I can stand in the middle without hitting my head.”
She tried to smile, but it faded just as fast.
“How is this going to work?” she asked instead.
The two of them glanced instinctively towards the door.
“I don’t know,” he murmured. “I don’t know if it can. When you break someone the way he broke Eden...I don’t know if you can expect them to fully repair.”
His voice was mercifully quiet, but immortal ears were sharp and the words still carried. The sounds of the scrub brush went quiet as the vampire’s hands went suddenly still.
She looked again, feeling torn down the middle. “You are not helping,” she hissed.
He held her gaze, completely unapologetic. “You saw Eden’s face those first few nights, you remember how he looked when we were walking through the cavern. A light had gone out, Kiera. He was not trying to find it. There was a moment when the grimlock held him...I could swear, he stopped fighting back.”
Yes, she had seen that too. She was determined to ignore it.
“Eden is not blameless in all this,” she answered softly, remembering Evander’s desperate pleas to keep him alive. “There is more to this story you don’t know.”
He tilted his head, debating whether to ask. After only a few seconds, he decided it didn’t matter. “Eden is trying to save the world, not just one person. You would defend Evander for making promises of eternity and then abandoning him? For trying to convince him it was wrong?”
No, I would not.
“I think it’s easy for us to speak of eternity,” she replied, “we will never have to live one. But I would not condemn Evander—forever—for trying to save Eden’s life. You scream the exact same cautions at the fae, you chide him just as fiercely. And you are not in love with him.” She shook her head. “Imagine if it was someone different. Imagine if it was me.”
Jesse’s face softened as he glanced again towards the door. “Did he leave?” he murmured. “I hear nothing.”
She followed his gaze, then lifted the flap.
The vampire wasn’t in the clearing, and the caldron still hung above the fire. Her eyes swept the trees, far as the light could touch, but there was no sign of him. For a moment, she was scared he’d gone searching for the fae after all. But then a faint noise pricked at her ears.
“Stay here,” she murmured, tightening her cloak. “I’ll join you again in a moment.”
She flipped the hood over her crimson hair, then padded quietly across the pine needles, stepping lightly as she made her way carefully over a tangle of moonlit roots. She didn’t have to go far. The river the fae had been checking wound its way close to camp, gentling into a quiet stream.
Evander was sitting on the shore, weeping into his hands.
Oh, honey...
He didn’t look up when she approached, nor did he make any effort to leave when she sat beside him. If anything, he cried even harder, desperate tears streaming over his hands.
“I have broken it,” he gasped. “I have ruined everything.”
She hesitated a moment, then wrapped an arm around his back, absolutely stunned when he leaned into her. Before that moment, she wasn’t entirely sure vampires were able to cry. The same way people questioned whether they had a conscience or a pulse. But it was a sight she would never forget, one that struck to the core of her. A deep rending inside him, a hurt that could never heal.
“I wasn’t strong enough,” he whispered, dark hair spilling down his cheeks. “He was always the strong one, not me.” His breath came in jagged bursts, unable to steady. “I wished only to save his life, not give the fates an excuse to take him from this world, but I never...”
He crumbled again, burying his face in his knees.
“I have lost him, Kiera! I have lost him, just the same!”
Chapter 6
Things didn’t go easy that night, not that anyone expected them to. Instead of coming back to the camp after midnight, Eden took both watches himself. He was still standing in the trees when the others awoke the next morning, keeping his eyes fixed on the burning rise of the sun.
“Eden,” Jesse called softly, afraid to disturb him. The fae startled and turned, remembering to smile a second too late. “I would have watched until dawn. Why didn’t you wake me?”
The fae smiled again, shaking his head. “It’s no trouble,” he said mildly. “I couldn’t sleep.” His eyes lifted a second later, sweeping the camp in a heartbreaking habit. “Where is—” He caught himself. “How was the tent?”
