JOURNEYS OF CHANGE:

THE BURNING BLUE

THE RAVENS

So long ago it was, but Eagan ad M’aghedan still remembered it as if it were yesterday. It was a day that will remain etched upon his memory as deep as a pair of two lover’s initials scarred deeply into the bark of an oak tree. It was the day the ravens came.

The wide open plain stretched as far as his eyes could see. Endless waves of amber fields brushed along in the slight breeze from the north. Ochre grain blended with a deep blue sky as the wind blew at his back, rustling his fair hair and breeches. Off in the distance, obscured slightly by the light from a sun set low in the sky, he could see a slight wisp of smoke rising unsteadily from the fires of home. Waiting for him at the hearth would be his mother and father, but today was his day with Mariel.

Every day after chores the two of them would have an adventure in the village or in the barley fields where he now stood. Their parents did not approve of them wandering about simply because they were merely children, but the pair lived for adventure, the kind of adventures that fascinated the minds of children eight summers old.

Eagan stood waiting for her in the tall grasses which rose to the middle of his chest. Sighing, he looked around and found himself staring at the dark mountains and the outlying forest that was off a couple furlongs in the distance. The Soulless Mountains, his mother had always called them, but being a small child, he had no perception of what a “soul” was, nor what it was like to be without one. Neither he nor Mariel had ever been as far as the mountains before, since their parents would never allow it, but they had always wanted to venture out into the unknown.

Kicking around in the dirt with his boots, Eagan noticed a tiny, purple flower he had almost stepped upon. Leaning over he carefully plucked it from the ground and cradled it in his small hands. The diminutive flower had a pale violet blossom with long, slender petals and a lemon yellow centre. He held it up to his nose to discover a sweet fragrance emanating from it.

Caught in his discovery, he almost failed to hear the rustle of barley stalks behind him.

“There you are,” came a quiet voice. “Your mama said you would be out here in the fields, but I did no’ think you would be out this far.”

Eagan turned around to see Mariel. She was almost eight summers old, about as old and as tall as himself. Long, tangled brown curls framed her round face, and he found two vivid, blue eyes staring back at him with a smile.

Almost forgetting himself for a moment, he produced the flower for her to see. “Isn’t it pretty?” he asked her, and she nodded enthusiastically. He shrugged and offered her the flower from his open hand. “It’s for you.”

Her eyes instantly lit up as she took the blossom. “Oh thank you, Eagan!” she exclaimed while placing the stem of the tiny flower in her hair. She blushed and smoothed out the wrinkles in her plain, flaxen dress.

He sat down on the grass, and she sat next to him. The sun was sinking on the horizon; nightfall was hours away. Dinner would come soon, and he would have to bid Mariel good e'en until tomorrow.

Mariel sat with her eyes transfixed on the dark mountains. “I want to go to the mo'ns, Eagan,” she breathed with childlike fascination. She turned to look him in the eyes. “I’ve always wanted to go there. Will you go with me, Eagan?”

He wanted to shake his head, to disagree with her and end the conversation right there. “You know Mama does no’ want me to go there. Your mama does no’ like us wandering off this far either.”

She stood up, obviously displeased with his answer. “Have you ever been to the mo'ns?”

“The Soulless Mo’ns?” Eagan quickly shook his head and gave her a reproving glare. “Of course no’. We are no’ allowed to go there. You know that. We’ll get beaten until we are as red as the e’en sun if they find out. ”

“I have never been there either.” She prodded his arm. “Let’s at least go to the forest. Come on, Eagan. Let’s go together. Mama won’t mind. I’ll have you to protect me.”

Sighing, he stood, and she took his hand in hers. She smiled, and with a laugh they waltzed and skipped through the fields towards the mountains and the thick forest surrounding the dark yet majestic peaks.

Eagan watched Mariel while they ran. She seemed so happy. Hair rushing and flailing about as they went along, she seemed as pleased as ever, just by being free, being alive, being in his company. He felt so glad only being with her, not caring what would happen when they got home, for no matter what mood he was in, her never ending fount of happiness always found a way to seep into his bones.

The sun sank even lower, dropping to a span of about two handbreadths above the horizon by the time they drew close to the thick forest at the foot of the tall peaks. Mariel gave a laugh full of mirth and ran towards the forest even faster than before, breaking the hand contact between them.

The sky darkened for only a single a moment.

Eagan stopped and turned to see a lone, night-black raven passing in front of the sun. The huge bird glided silently in the breeze before cawing twice and flying from sight. Hearing Mariel call his name, he shook off thoughts of the raven and followed her into the woods.

The woodland was thick. Trees were spaced very closely together, and the canopy of leaves grew so dense that very few of the sun’s fading rays had any chance of filtering through. Leaves and twigs crunched underfoot as both small children stared around in wonder. They walked deeper into the woods, both of them just listening, looking, taking everything in.

In the middle of a slight clearing, they found a small pool filled with crystal clear water. The pool, only about two spans deep, was hidden deep in the forest, in an inlet in the mountainside, so that it could not be seen from the fields.

Mariel casually sat down on a fallen tree trunk that sat at the edge of the pond and stared smilingly at him and then at the calm waters.

Eagan wordlessly sat down next to her, pondering which one of his da’s heroic tales they could play in such a captivating setting. Wasn’t the Battle of Kh’adech fought beside a murky lake? he thought. It was only a pond, but with the imagination of an eight year old, he could already see the Battle of Kh’adech escalating beside the Dark Morass, with Haram Singing Blade leading the charge.

“It’s all so beautiful,” she breathed, distracting him from his thought. “All of it.”

“Aye, it is,” he agreed. Everything was quiet, peaceful, at rest, so unlike the stories his da read to him every night before bed.

Mariel carefully pulled the violet flower from her hair and fingered the petals gently. “Eagan,” she said with a smile, cocking her neck to one side while looking at him, “will you love me forever?”

The young boy scratched his head in confusion. This sounded strange coming from someone who was only eight. He had heard tales of maxarchs and max’aras who had pledged to “love forever,” but that was the stuff of dreams and did not happen to eight year old children. “Why do you say that?” he asked.

She kicked her feet and glanced back to the forest pool. “I do no’ know. I heard my da say that to mama last night.” She paused. “We’re good friends. I thought maybe it was the right thing to say.”

He thought for a moment with his immature mind, not exactly sure what “love” or “forever” truly meant. To such a small boy, forever was a quarter moon away. “Of course,” he answered. “But only as a friend. And only if I do no’ have to kiss you.”

Mariel blinked, still staring at the calm surface of the pool. “Huh?”

“I will ‘love you forever,’ just as you said,” he repeated. “As a friend. No kisses.”

“’Tis well,” she said. “Kissing is for big people.” She smiled, stood up on the log, and began walking the length of it with her arms outstretched for balance. She started humming to herself and looked as happy as ever as she hopped from the log.

Lost in their fantasies, the Battle of Ederia raged around them until the forest grew darker. Just like always, Eagan wielded the Partisan of Light as Mido Shining Spear, protecting Mariel, the Cátacan max’ara, from the terrible ravager hordes.

But amidst the great battle of legend, Eagan knew his mama would come looking for them eventually and would be very displeased to find them out in the woods. “I think we had better go home,” he suggested to Mariel with a hint of worry in his voice after the last of the figmented ravagers had been slain. “Mama’s probably getting worried about me by now.”

Mariel was once again walking the length of the fallen tree again. “Ach, if you insist,” she acquiesced.

Taking one last glance at the calm waters, Eagan stooped to pick up a stone and skipped it across the pool right before they were about to head home. The glassy surface of the pool was disrupted as the stone made contact. Ripples and small waves sent the calm pool into turmoil.

The serenity was broken.

From the dark trees came a loud, startling rustle. Mariel, about to hop off the log, stopped and stared cautiously in the direction of the sounds.

Both of them waited and listened in fear.

The rustle was followed by another, and another in rapid succession, until an innumerable swarm of ravens exploded from the leaves of the trees. The sound of torn leaves ripped from the branches and the flapping of what seemed like thousands of pairs of nightmarish wings grated on Eagan’s ears as he watched in horror.

Mariel stood frozen upon the log when the black horde of birds dove and crashed into her small body. She was thrown limply into the shallow waters as the ravens continued to attack. They swarmed over her, pecking and assaulting her without relent. Doused with water and covered with hideous black birds, Mariel tried to protect her face with her arms while her only companion thought of what he could do.

The brave boy grabbed the thickest fallen branch he could find and ran to the pool, shouting and flailing the stick until he could actively beat at the ravens with it. Black feathers flew as he struck the attacking birds. Feeling like Haram Singing Blade straight from his da’s tales, Eagan hit and swung at them until the very last raven had either fallen or flown away.

Mariel sat there in the shallow water. Her dress was soaked and tattered. Blood, dirt, and oily, black feathers matted her face, arms, and body. Tears streamed down her face as she started crying, sobbing uncontrollably.

Eagan went to help her up , but she could barely walk. Seeing himself ever more so as a mighty warrior, he tried his best to carry her, but the ravens had wounded her badly.

Out of the corner of his eye, a small lavender fleck caught his attention. In the struggle with the ravens, his gift to Mariel had been jarred loose. He stooped down to retrieve the crumpled flower with the hurting Mariel leaning against his shoulder and thoughtlessly pressed it into his pocket before standing upright and beginning the long, tedious journey home.

They would pay for hurting her, he vowed in his heart while helping the poor girl home. He would make sure of it.

But he also knew his own buttocks would burn like fire once he arrived on Mariel’s doorstep.

“Oh, my Blood!” Mariel’s mother gasped when Eagan gingerly dragged her daughter’s silent form behind him. “What in the Depths has happened to you?!”

Eagan’s eyes welled up, knowing very well that Mariel was in trouble. Halfway through the barley field her breathing had changed, and she had stopped whispering softly to him, reminding him that it was not his fault, that it was all her idea. Still, he could not refrain from blaming himself, regardless of how much he had chided against her whim. He held Mariel to his chest just as her mother ran up to him.

“Oh, my daughter!” Mariel’s mother cried, brandishing a horrid look towards the repentant Eagan. “What under Caelum happened out there?” she barked at him, her own eyes frantic with worry, searching her daughter’s stilled body.

Eagan, as much as he wanted to lie, could not stretch the truth to her as much as he would have wanted. “We went to the forest, Mattin,” he apologised in between sniffs. “I wanted to go there and asked her to come with me,” he said, knowing well that Mattin would never believe that her own daughter would suggest such a foolish idea. “Big, black ravens attacked us,” he blurted. The small boy stopped to catch his breath. “I tried to fight them, but there were too many... too many...”

Mattin pulled Mariel to her chest and cried softly against her daughter’s ruined dress.

“What is all this noise about?” C’horan, Mariel’s large, well muscled father, demanded as soon as he arrived from inside the small wooden cottage. His eyes widened upon seeing his wife in tears with Mariel clutched to her breast, and he ran to her side, pressing his ear against his precious daughter’s chest to listen for signs of life. “My Blood!” he swore aloud. “Heart, how could this happen? Was it a wild beast?”

Eagan stood paralysed with fear. He breathed slowly, afraid to say any more than he already had.

C’horan lifted his head, his dark eyes intent on gleaning the truth from someone. “Eagan! Speak, boy!”

Mattin stared off to the horizon, her eyes fraught with fear. She locked eyes with her husband for but a moment before turning away, smoothing the shaking Mariel’s hair with her palm. “C’horan, they went to forest, the both of them, at Eagan’s behest,” she murmured softly.

“The forest?!” The bald shaven, bearded man that Eagan had known for as long as he could remember glared at him in a way he had never seen before. His fists and mouth gripped in anger. “Boy! My only daughter’s life hangs in the balance! Go! Bring the Diviner now before I grow so inclined to beat your bones within a hair’s breadth of their life!”

Spellbound at C’horan’s fury, Eagan ran as fast as his legs could carry him off in search of Maralesius, Gran’dú’s only Diviner. All along the way, through the fields and muddied streets of Gran’dú, he prayed silently that she could be found easily, or he might lose his closest friend in the world.

Mariel.

He chanted it to himself like a mantra to speed his steps and remind him of his purpose.

Once past the fields on the outer fringes of Gran’dú, Eagan rushed into the middle of the village at a heady pace. In the busy streets he passed dozens of other farmer children like himself, dodged horse drawn carts, and darted around unhurried men carrying huge burdens of wool, produce, and other various assortments in huge woven baskets. He passed by farriers, stables, merchants, inns, and metal smiths, but he was unsure of Maralesius’ whereabouts. In a small farming community like Gran’dú, it was not easy to get lost, but for a boy of only eight summers, finding the Diviner proved a greater task than initially expected.

He had to hurry. Mariel’s life depended on him!

Not wasting precious moments, Eagan approached the nearest smith’s workshop. Smoke and heat rose into his nostrils, and the loud swell of bellows in the fire pit caught him by surprise, making him jump. The smith, an aging man with a long, graying beard but well sculptured forearms brandished a blacksmith’s hammer in his left hand. “Are you lost, young man?” He shook his head. “This ‘ere’s no’ a place for children. G’won before you get yourself hurt.”

“Please,” Eagan begged. “Tell me where I can find Mara—Maralesisus,” he stammered, fighting the pronunciation of the long given name with raspy, deliberate breaths.

Sensing the boy’s desperation, the smith sighed and rested his hammer on his shoulder. “I do no’ know if the Diviner is in town, boy. She departed to aid a neighboring village, last I heard.”

Eagan’s heart sank. Mariel was in trouble, it was all his fault, and the Diviner was nowhere to be found.

“Ach, take heart, boy,” he soothed. “I did say she might be gone, but do no’ know everything. If Maralesius is here, she be down past the market, mark my words.” The heavy hammer came down from his shoulder and clanked on the red hot metal twice before he resumed. “Look for a wooden sign of fire in a bowl. She be there if she be in the village a’tall.”

“Thank’e,” Eagan acknowledged and hurried out of the smith’s as if struck by lightning.

Advancing straightway to the market square, the small boy pushed through the dwindling crowds in the e’en. Several of the merchants caught him by the arm as he passed, trying to persuade him to buy an exotic dagger, or a silvered bowl, or beaded decorations that would have easily captivated a child his age, but Eagan had no money, and more pressing concerns pounded in his head, urging him onward.

Mariel.

Once past the market Eagan noticed a small wooden shack with a signpost hanging out front. The words on the sign were indecipherable to his illiterate eyes, but surely enough, embossed on the warped wooden sign was the symbol of a shallow bowl with fire blazing inside. The sign creaked in the wind, as the hinges that it hung from had long since rusted and tarnished. With desperation in his heart, Eagan marched inside.

The interior of the tiny cottage caught him by surprise. From outside he would have assumed the Diviner to be a poor old woman, but inside she was wealthy beyond his imagination. Literally scores upon scores of trinkets and baubles of precious metal glittered in the light of a single candle smouldering in the far corner. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling, and various tapestries adorned with runic symbols interwoven into the fabric with gilded thread also hung from brazen hooks in the walls.

But what truly caught his attention was the large orb of solid sapphire resting on a silver pedestal near the candle. Carved throughout the sphere were other symbols, circles, lines, crosses—words perhaps, but he was unable to read— and in these furrows, silver was inlaid and polished, making the ball a solid shape without cracks or ridges.

A woman in a midnight blue smock was shrouded in the darkness. She had been sitting before the pedestal on a blue satin pillow. Her eyes and mouth were closed, a low humming emerging from her lips.

Eagan thought this sight odd, but it was not all too unfamiliar to him. As a younger child he had seen the village Diviner only a couple times, once when he was only a mere babe, as his mother and father told him, and once when he was a bit older, but he remembered neither occurrence.

The woman, hearing him enter, ceased her humming and turned her head in his direction. She pulled back the cowl from her head, and her eyes opened. She was much younger than he expected, perhaps the same age as his mother. Long sandy hair flowed from beneath a silvered tiara. Glowing orange irises the colour of apricots stared at him in askance. “May I help you, young man?”

“Are you Mara—Mara—“ he stuttered while struggling with regaining his breath.

“Yes, I am Maralesius,” she finished his question for him, speaking in an accent quite different that his own.

“Oh, thank Caelum you are here!” he blurted out.

“What can I help you with?”

Mariel.

Mariel.

“I am Eagan ad M’aghedan,” he said.

“Ah, M’aghedan, I remember your family well.”

“My friend is hurt,” he voiced in desperation.

“How is she hurt?” Maralesius posed, somehow knowing that it was a young girl he spoke of.

“She was hurt by large black birds,” he said. “I tried to fight them, but I could no’.”

Her dark eyes widened, pondering what the young boy had told her. “Black birds, you say?”

“Aye,” he nodded. “They flew down on her, hundreds of them.”

Maralesius’ eyes narrowed; her lips parted in astonishment. She silently rose from her seated position and gathered a few of the herbs hanging overhead, placing them in a leather pouch that hung from the sash at her thin waist. “Come,” she motioned. “We must hurry.”

Eagan nodded with his jaw dangling. What was it that he had said? With hundreds of questions in his mind, he followed Maralesius out of her hovel into the darkened, emptying streets.

Her eyes darted left then right, and she circled around back, where her roan stallion was tied to a iron post. The horse snuffed loudly when she loosed the rope from its mooring. She patted the horse on the muzzle and whispered gently into his ear. After situating the saddle Maralesius boosted Eagan atop the horse. “Ach, easy you go, boy,” she said when he almost lost his balance. The Diviner straddled the horse and grabbed the leather reins, first making sure that Eagan remained in place in front of her on the saddle. She clucked her tongue, and the horse began moving at a steady trot through the marketplace.

“Tell me about this friend of yours,” Maralesius wondered while they rode.

“Her name is Mariel ad C’horan,” he said. Eagan, taking a look behind him, saw her long tresses flailing about as they stepped up the pace, relieved that she had not insisted he ride behind her. At that moment a mouthful of hair in his face did not seem a pleasurable prospect. “Our farms are right next to each other. I’ve known her since we were babes.”

“So there is a Bond between you?” she asked.

With the horse speeding up once they left the market, Eagan fought to retain his balance. “We are friends,” he answered.

“That was not what I asked.” She snapped the reins to coax her horse to go even faster. “I asked if you have a Bond with her.”

“A Bond?”

“Are you Promised to be married?”

Eagan shook his head. Wed to Mariel? “I’m only eight summers,” he answered. “I’m too young to think about marriage. Besides, I do no’ even like her.”

Maralesius left the subject there, satisfied with young Eagan’s answer.

The night grew colder and colder the closer they got to C’horan’s farm. An omen, Eagan felt, of what lay ahead of them. Faster and faster they raced until Mariel’s home lingered as a dark spot on the horizon. His heart beat hard in his chest. Oh, how he hoped she would be fine.

The old, dark farmhouse lay still and dark when they arrived. Maralesius reeled her horse, and the stallion whinnied loudly. Eagan felt he would fall and land his head on the ground when the horse lifted its front legs in the air for a moment, but the Diviner was a much better rider than he initially thought. She steadied her mount, calming him with soothing verse in a tongue that Eagan did not understand.

From where they dismounted, Eagan noticed the red patch near the cottage entrance where Mariel’s own blood had stained the grasses. He closed his eyes and shook his head, hoping, praying that she would pull through.

Maralesius gently pulled the paralysed Eagan by the wrist to the front door. Through the glass window pane, a tiny orange flicker of a candle reflected into her dark eyes. With a deft knock on the weather beaten oak door, she took a step back and waited.

The large door steadily creaked open. C’horan’s dark, blazing eyes poked through the aperture. “Maralesius?” In the dim light of the moons, he noticed the pale, apricot eyes that burned with their own fire. “Come, come! Quick!” He opened the door wide enough for both the Diviner and his daughter’s playmate to enter.

C’horan’s rustic farmhouse remained dark when Eagan marched inside. The sandy floorboards creaked beneath his weight. He passed by the dinner table strewn with bowls and wooden utensils. A large, black iron kettle rested in the centre with a carved ladle protruding at the lip, and a mouth watering aroma of spiced, boiled pottage drifted steamily in the air, reminding him that he had not eaten yet.

Maralesius gently pushed past him and bid him to follow, breaking him from his reverie. C’horan led her to the other end of the house, where Mariel lay on a soft, down filled pallet next to the lone white candle.

Mariel looked awful. The blood from her many wounds had dried on her dress and in her hair. She lay quietly as if sleeping. Her eyes remained closed, but her breathing seemed to have stopped. Fearing the worst, Eagan gasped, but in doing so Mariel’s chest rose to draw in life giving air.

Mattin remained knelt at her daughter’s side with tears gently rolling down her cheeks. She slowly rocked back and forth, her hands clasped in a silent prayer. She looked up to Maralesius with trepidation in her eyes, but no words came from her mouth.

C’horan spoke for her. “Can you help her?”

The Diviner raised a hand to silence him and stood next to the stilled girl. Her eyes examined her from head to toe, and she knelt next to Mattin, gesturing her aside. She plucked one of the black feathers from Mariel’s dress. She rubbed it between her fingers and brought it to her nose, inhaling the scent that it gave off.

“What is it?” C’horan wondered aloud.

Maralesius raised her hand again to silence him. “Bring me water,” she said simply. With nimble fingers she gently tore open Mariel’s dress to expose her many wounds. Mattin handed her a carved wooden bowl filled with clear water, and the Diviner produced a small sponge from one of the many pouches on her belt. She dipped the sponge in the water and began cleansing the wounds, softly scrubbing away the matted feathers and caked blood with a mask of grim concentration on her face. Every few moments she would lean over Mariel’s form and utter tender words into her ear.

Eagan stood behind C’horan and Mattin, both of whom blocked his view from where they sat. He eagerly tried to poke his head over their shoulders to witness what was being done to Mariel, but he was just too short, so instead he shuffled around them to where Maralesius worked.

The Diviner then ground in her hands the herbs she had brought and mixed them all with the remaining water from the bowl at her feet. She stirred the amalgamation until it was thick and syrupy. Wordlessly she applied the emollient to Mariel’s injuries and waited until the concoction dried like crusted scabs. With a toss of her hair she crossed her legs and waited, seemingly satisfied with her treatment.

“What do we do now?” Mattin questioned.

“Will she be fine?” C’horan wondered.

Maralesius nodded her head slowly. “Aye, she should be healed in a matter of days, if I was able to reach her in time.” She sighed. “With all hope she will be in danger no longer.”

“Danger? What danger?” C’horan’s face reddened. “Aye, she could have bled to death, but they were simple pecks from crows. What life threatening harm is there in that?”

“No.” The Diviner shook her head. “Not crows.”

“What, then?”

“Kh’áve,” she breathed. “Mere crows do not attack small children.” She tapped Eagan on the arm. “You, boy, where did this happen?”

Eagan’s eyes watered. “The forest over yonder. The one near the mo’ns.”

“Idyllus?”

The word sounded foreign to small ears. “I would venture so.”

Maralesius’ features sank.

C’horan’s thick brow furrowed. “What is the matter? What is all this talk?”

The Diviner remained silent, only returning his question with a blank, unknowing stare.

“What are Kh’áve?” Eagan wondered aloud.

Maralesius sighed again. “A Kh’áve is no ordinary bird. Although we know little about them, we do know they come from the Dead Lands, from far to the south, beyond the Soulless Mo’ns. They migrate in flocks of hundreds, sometimes thousands, searching for anything to devour. Usually they prey on cattle or other game, but hardly ever on people or children unless provoked. Their bite is oftentimes fatal, but the poison can be neutralised if treated in time.” She shook her head in dismay and pondered the situation. “Kh’áve do not migrate from the Dead Lands until the winter. Why under Caelum would a flock of them attack a child in the spring?”

Mariel’s naked body began shaking as the poison induced fever began ravaging her from the inside. Her face turned red, and sweat poured from her forehead.

“Has the poison run its course?” Mattin implored. “Will she pull through?”

Maralesius looked away. “With the number of bites she sustained, there is no way to predict her chances. I have Shifted her Water as much as I can, but I am only a Diviner, not a goddess. I’ve done everything I can for her. All we can do is wait.”

Eagan reached for Mariel’s warm hand and cupped it in his own. “Mariel, please get better,” he breathed more to himself than to her. Though at the age of eight, he had no plan to wed nor had any concept of this Bond Maralesius spoke of, he knew deep down in his heart, that should Mariel leave him, he would feel that a part of him had been taken away.

It had been all his fault. He was convinced of that. He could have fought the Kh’áve off of her. He could have beaten down every single last one of them, but he was a mere child, not a man trained in the Way of the Blade, like his friend Jol’s elder brother Garme. In that moment, as he held Mariel’s hand in his own, he vowed deep in his heart that one day, he would learn the Way of the Blade and protect her from any harm that might befall her.

But if Mariel joined her ancestors, his promise was worthless. Eagan sighed and withdrew his hand from Mariel’s burning flesh, silently sending a prayer Caelumward that her life be spared.

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