Falnight 02 (of 14)

[mother_herbivore]

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When the first leaves began to fall from the trees, Vicaste could not take it anymore.

 

“How can you be content to wait?” they asked me one evening, as we all sat eating supper in silence. I was distracted, thinking about repairs that needed to be done at the hotel before the weather turned really cold, and at first I did not understand what they were saying. They became annoyed when I asked them to repeat the question, and even more so at my reply when they did.

 

“It has only been half a year,” I said. “Not even a full turn of the seasons.”

 

 

“You say that as if every minute that I don’t know isn’t agony,” Vicaste snapped. “I’m sorry that I lack your worldly wisdom, but six months is still a long time to me when my child is missing.”

 

“Vicaste,” Ishgod said, his tone a gentle warning.

 

“No, let them,” I told him. “They have a right to be angry.”

 

My admission was of little comfort to Vicaste.

 

“Something has to be done,” they said. “Ovelia isn’t going to help us, they never do.”

 

“That is not true,” I said carefully. “We’ve always received city aid after a flood, and they sent mages when that ogre camp was accidentally poisoning our river. We aren’t ignored by any means.”

 

“And still our children are missing, and still we are left without a clue to what happened to them,” said Vicaste. They shook their head at me. “You don’t need to defend the city. They aren’t listening.”

“I’m only being fair,” I said. “I’m sure they—”

 

“Fair,” Vicaste scoffed. “Who cares about fair? None of this is fair. It’s about what is right, and sitting about twiddling our thumbs is wrong.”

 

“What would you have us do, then?” I asked. It was a poor question, badly timed and insensitively worded, and disgust flashed across Vicaste’s face.

 

“Why must I explain this to you?” they demanded. “Why is it so difficult to understand that we should be doing something, anything to find Falnight? I would think that you, of all of us, would feel—” They gestured too broadly, knocking their half-full cup over with a clatter, and Winedawn whimpered.

 

He had turned in his seat, facing away from all of us, and we had forgotten that he was there until he couldn’t contain his sobbing anymore. Ishgod rose from his chair and knelt beside him, running a soothing hand over his head and quietly apologizing. I found myself stunned, the full realization of my complacency dawning on me. I have lived through countless tragedies and learned to steel myself against them, Vicaste and Ishgod had their own demons too, but Winedawn was still young, grown-up but not yet a man, still sheltered in our peaceful home—he had never known anything as terrible and uncertain as his own brother’s disappearance.

 

“I’m sorry,” I managed after a few horrible moments. Winedawn’s face was hidden in his hands, Vicaste was silently watching their spilled water spread slowly over the table, but Ishgod looked at me. His mouth was tight, his eyes shining. I said it again, “I’m sorry.”

 

“I think it’s time Winedawn went to bed,” said Vicaste.

 

Winedawn was well past the age of being put to bed, and so early, but he did not protest. He got to his feet, not looking at any of us, and went upstairs. Ishgod followed him. Vicaste stood to get a rag, and all I could do was sit in silence, a terrible weight in my shoulders and chest.

 

My elfkind lives so long, most others would live their full life before I reach the midpoint of mine. I have loved many of these shortlived people, and it is my habit to focus on the present rather than waste my family’s precious time with worrying about the future or dwelling on the past. I missed Falnight, of course, and I worried, but I think I could have gone on much longer before I broke. A year could have passed, probably more as I tried to make life as normal as possible for his brother and my spouses. I have seen myself and others paralyzed by choices, mistakes, what-ifs. It helps nothing, but, I realize, neither had I, going about my days as usual. As old as I may seem, I am still learning from my mistakes, and there are still lessons that I have not taken to heart.

 

“You’re right,” I said, when Vicaste returned. “I should have been doing something long ago. I did not mean to sound so condescending.”

 

“I know,” said Vicaste. They sighed deeply. “And I’m sorry I snapped at you. The responsibility is not just on you; Falnight is as much my child and Ishgod’s as he is yours.”

 

“But I’m the one who is the most capable of doing something to find him.”

 

“Don’t undermine apologies with excuses,” said Vicaste. “I won’t let you take the blame. Any of us could have done something.”

 

It was not true and we both knew that. Of the three of us, I was the only one with the constitution and the wherewithal to do what the Ovelia police would not in order to find Falnight. Ishgod was shy and anxious, and had not been alone for so long since his pilgrimage when he was a much younger man, when he had nearly died twice. Vicaste was waifish, even for a Qerastan, and the same illness that took their arm at the shoulder made their legs weak and made travel taxing. I would never have let either of them set out in search of Falnight alone, and our family was a pillar in Sheaside—we could not all leave at once like Odida’s parents. I was the one who could act independently, and I had not.

 

I did not argue the point to Vicaste.

 

I stood finally and started to clear the table—none of us felt like eating anymore, but the cats were happy to get so many scraps. For a few minutes, the only sounds were that of their purring and the clinking of dishes as I wiped them clean. I listened for voices from Winedawn’s room, but heard none. Ishgod returned before long, looking wan and sad. He sat at the table and put his head in his hands.

 

“I know what impatience has cost you before,” Vicaste said at last, after all the cleaning had been done. “And I see where you come from, even if I don’t understand it. But can you see what I do, of all this? Inaction, from everyone. I just want my child back, even dead. I want to know.”

 

“Falnight is not dead,” I said.

 

“Of course I don’t wish for it. The opposite. But not knowing is worse.”

 

“Please,” Ishgod murmured, “stop.”

 

I sat down beside him, rested a hand on his arm. I motioned for Vicaste to take their seat, and they did, their hand rubbing the tabletop restlessly before they set it in their lap.

 

“There are things we can do,” I said. I had been thinking about it all the while I washed the dishes and wiped down the dining table. I had thought about it before, too, but never with the intent to act. “Although they are the most sensible choice, the police and the lodges are not the only choice. We can use other magic to help us find Falnight.”

 

“You are capable of such divining?” asked Vicaste. They knew that the answer was no. I am but one elf, with none of the extensive training of a mage, and even if I had it, I would die attempting such an undertaking, or kill everyone within a mile of me. Vicaste did not wait too long for an answer and went on, “I will not wait weeks for an appointment with a lodge, and we do not have the money for an expedited ritual. There is no limit to what I would pay for Falnight’s safety, but there is a limit to what I have.”

 

“I know,” I said.

 

Vicaste pursed their lips, growing impatient. Ishgod’s face was still hidden in his hands. It was for his sake that I chose my words carefully:

 

“The plains troll on the other side of the river is a mage.”

 

Now Ishgod looked at me. I squeezed his arm. He was the only one of us who had grown up with stories about the evils of giant mages, and the only one with any reason to fear them. My parents did not tell them to me, and I know without a doubt that Vicaste did not hear any Ylitian stories as a child in Qeraste. Ishgod was the one I worried about.

 

The giant races have never been inherently bad. They are just capable of the greatest things that magic can do: teleportation, instantaneous communication across equatorial lines, healing mortal wounds—all without the support or checks and balances of a lodge. The idea of anyone independently wielding that kind of power has always worried people, and, yes, a few bad apples have spoiled the bushel, but lodges are not all innocent either. The scrutiny put upon giant mages is unfair.

It was humans who wrote the first stories about giant mages eating children, slaughtering livestock, poisoning crops for magical gain. They were just that: stories. Cautionary tales written in poor taste by humans who didn’t want to take the time to learn about the new world they were in and feared the ones who looked so different from them. They liked the elves, and had long been friends with the dwarves in their native lands—our creators were sisters, the moon and the sun, and we all see echoes of ourselves in each other. The giants are creatures of the earth, and though they are not entirely removed from elves, they are still strange and huge and the humans could not reconcile their differences. Aversion festered into hostility, and then the Horizon War of my great-great-great grandfather’s time.

 

The plains troll of which I spoke was, like most giant mages, surrounded by unflattering rumors, but the humans had painted her in a particularly grisly light—the story went that she had eaten the rest of her family during the difficult trip through the Easters into the valley. I acknowledge that it may be true: the mountains are deadly to the unprepared, and my great-aunt said that it was a harsh winter that year, but the way the humans told it you would think that the troll had hunted her family for sport. They called her the Dog, and the name, like many others, had stuck long after the humans left Ylitte. She lived outside of Verible now, out of sight of the road. Everyone knew her house, but hardly anyone had ever seen her. No one even seemed to know her real name. Her reclusiveness did nothing to help her reputation.

 

I knew that Ishgod would not say no, but still I explained myself thoroughly and gently. I did not mean to change his mind about giants, only reassure him that I was not afraid, for Falnight’s sake—it would take far more than a lecture from me for him to unlearn centuries of misinformation and preconceived notions, but I felt that I could at least quiet some of his anxieties. He peered at me through his fingers as I spoke, silent until I paused for longer than a few seconds.

 

“I trust what you say,” he said, “but how are we to contact this mage? What will she do for us?”

 

“I will go to her and ask her to use her magic to find a trace, anything, of Falnight,” I said. “She can search this whole continent if I pay for it, and her rates are far lower than a lodge’s.”

 

“And if Falnight has left Ylitte?” asked Vicaste.

 

“We will find out, then,” I said firmly. “And it’s unlikely, anyway. If he was taken, it would be unwise to leave with him. We may not have extradition agreements, but the other continents would happily send our criminals back to us. It is easier to stay in Ylitte.”

 

“If he was taken?” Vicaste asked, aghast. “What does that mean, if? As though he would leave of his own accord. No, don’t answer that,” they added, when I opened my mouth. “I should not follow that line of thought. Where does this troll live?”

 

“Close to Verible. I have seen her home before. I can make the trip easily,” I said.

 

Neither of them replied. Ishgod still looked upset at the suggestion. Even Vicaste was unenthusiastic about the idea. Their concern for my safety weighed heavily against their concern for Falnight—if a decision was to be made, it would have to be by me. There was little I could say to put their minds at ease anymore. I promised to be careful, that I knew the valley well and that I did not fear the old troll, but what are those but words?

 

“Of course I know that you can take care of yourself,” said Vicaste, “but alone?”

 

“It's a lonely trip to make,” said Ishgod. “Especially at a time like this.”

 

A moment passed, and I thought. It was not an easy thought.

 

“I will take my son with me,” I said. It took them a moment to think of who I could mean. I have lived a long time, been married and divorced and widowed before I ever met them, and I have many other grown sons besides Winedawn and Falnight, but only two of them live in the valley. One lives in Ovelia, too far away to visit on a whim, but the other—I explained to Ishgod and Vicaste that I had not seen him in many years, and these were poor circumstances under which to meet again. Then I told myself: if not now, when? And I had decided.