Rowan found the start of their grand adventure to be rather uneventful, partly because the reality of it all hadn't sunk in yet, but also because barely anyone did more than glance their way as they passed.
It made sense, of course. Lochlan and Liadra were trained to occupy the liminal space at the edge of people's senses, and Rowan was, at best, a rumour to most people outside the wealthy or the nobility. As for Seres, it was unlikely that anyone would expect the prodigal princess to be travelling with such a minimal escort. There was also the fact that the four of them were wearing relatively plain, even if exceptionally well-made, riding gear instead of any obvious finery.
Once they were outside the city, however, things started to get slightly more exciting as they worked on picking up the pace to help make up for lost time.
They initially tried for the slightly faster pacing of a trot, but Rowan struggled with the unfamiliar two-beat rhythm of her horse's gait.
It only took a little more than a mile for the inevitability of Rowan’s lack of experience to strike.
"Oww ow ow ow," she cried out as she landed on her side.
"Are you okay?" Seres asked. "That looked like it hurt."
"I'm fine," answered Rowan with a soft note of pain as she rolled back up, thankful that Elan Fiir was attached to the horse instead of her. On the flip side, said horse was now running away.
"Rubbing your shoulder like that isn't very convincing."
"I'm more concerned about the horse. Give me a second."
Without any more warning, Rowan bolted across the grasslands to catch her mount. Fortunately, she was more than a match for a horse in terms of speed. Ten leagues an hour? Easy. As she was, Rowan was pushing twelve. The downside was that she was significantly lacking in stamina, at least compared to a horse. Still, this was a sprint, not a marathon, and Rowan was able to catch up in no time.
"Easy, girl," she whispered in an attempt to calm the mare down.
Instead of letting Rowan stroke her, the mare reared her head and gave Rowan a toothy neigh followed by what could only be called the smuggest chortle in existence.
"Dinnae give me that," said Rowan with a hint of annoyance.
The horse, of course, had every intention of giving Rowan 'that' in the form of an extremely loud snort right in her face.
"What do you mean you want an apple?" Rowan wasn’t actually sure that's what she wanted, if anything, she just knew that horses apparently liked apples. From the horse's reaction, it seemed like a good guess as she nodded intently.
"I don't have any, but we have some nice tasty treats back with Seres and the other horses."
At the mention of treats, the horse was instantly off. If Rowan hadn't been holding onto the reins, it would have been another chase.
"Wait! I need to get on first. Please don't shake me off."
The horse just gave her a look that said, “That was entirely your fault and we both know it."
Rather than dignify her mount with a response, Rowan heaved herself into the saddle. Thankfully, the horse didn't do anything to make the endeavour any harder than it had to be. Not actively, at least. She just stood there, as if to emphasise her earlier point. The fact that she was significantly taller than Rowan was, of course, irrelevant.
Fortunately, Rowan's athleticism and flexibility were enough to get her mounted. Alas, mounting was only the first step. Once Rowan had both feet in the stirrups and her hand on the reins, the horse went from nothing to a full gallop within seconds. If she weren't an Ardent, Rowan would have been thrown off like a ragdoll.
Seres was laughing when Rowan finally regained control. To add insult to injury, the horse joined in, and Lochlan could barely contain himself. Only Liadra maintained her composure.
"I think she likes you," Seres giggled.
"She's a menace," Rowan huffed. "I'm half convinced that she's an Ardent in disguise."
"That would be something. Are you sure you can handle her? The stablemaster would have given you a mellower horse if you'd told him that it was your first time."
"It'll be fine," Rowan said, rolling her eyes. "Nami's just a little feisty, is all. Speaking of which, do you have any of those sugar cubes on you?"
"I do, yes."
Seres pulled out three brilliant white cubes of sugar from a small pouch at her waist. One was given to both Rowan’s feisty chestnut and Seres' graceful grey, along with the sturdy bay that served as their pack horse. Seres then offered a couple to Lochlan and Liadra for their own mounts. Nami was demanding another before she was even finished.
"You can have more later," Seres told her with a mischievous smile. "If you behave, that is."
Even from her saddle, Rowan could feel the indignance behind the look that Nami gave Seres.
"Are you sure she isn't an Ardent?" Rowan asked. "Horses shouldn't be this emotive."
"You're just being silly," Seres giggled.
"I'm not," Rowan protested.
“What would you call it then? We both know she was born with the Gift of Intelligence."
"More like sass,” Rowan muttered quietly before speaking up. “Why couldn’t it have been grace or vitality?"
"Are you sure you want to say that while you're on her back?"
"No," Rowan admitted, "it's just…"
Seres’ brow rose in mock curiosity at Rowan’s fading remark. "Oh?"
With a deflated sigh, Rowan said, “Nothing.”
There was no helping it. If anything, Nami was the perfect horse for Rowan and she couldn’t exactly begrudge her for having the one Gift that made her more intelligent than the average horse, especially as she had lacked the foresight of taking riding lessons. Maybe if horses had as many potential Gifts as humans and the other humanoid races, she would have been more annoyed. Alas, they were limited to three, just like all the other non-sapient animals.
"Rowan?” Seres said with a measure of concern. “Are you okay? You're staring off into space."
"I was?"
"For a good minute," Liadra noted, seemingly out of nowhere.
"Well… I think I'm okay. I was just thinking."
"If you're sure,” Seres replied, the concern still clear on her face.
"Yeah, I'll be fine. Shall we go? We still have a ways to go before we reach the first village.”
Rowan fell a few more times before accidentally encouraging Nami into a canter. It came as a surprise to everyone as Rowan adjusted to the new gait effortlessly. The fluidity of the three-beat measure of a canter felt so much more natural to Rowan as she found herself riding with Nami instead of against her. Well, not “against” per se, but she couldn't think of a better word to describe how it felt before.
When it became clear that Rowan wasn't going to fall, they fell into a canter for half an hour to make up for lost time before returning to a brisk walk for the rest of the day. The horses could probably have maintained the canter for longer, but they didn't want to push them more than necessary when walking would get them far enough.
*****
They continued to travel west by way of the road that ran alongside the Telma River. It had been years since Rowan had last travelled down this road, and it was just as beautiful and viridescent as she remembered. Even in winter, the gentle rolling grasslands were a lush green, and they had been painted with wildflowers. The picturesque scenery was further enhanced by the impressively white and fluffy clouds, one of which Rowan swore looked just like a Fenrabbit.
When the sun started setting on the first day, they were forced to make a decision on where they would be settling for the night. The safer option would have been to stop and set up camp while they still had sunlight, but Liadra's estimate of the nearest village only being three miles away had them taking a gamble.
When the village came into view, it was almost too close for comfort as the sun dipped below the Kærinsiir Mountains. Liadra had been off in her estimate, though fortunately only by a mile or so.
When they approached, Rowan came to the conclusion that calling it a village was rather generous. It was more of a hamlet, little more than a dozen or so buildings.
According to Seres, it had originally been settled in order to take advantage of a ford. The keyword there, of course, being ‘originally’ as the water was far too deep to wade across now, even at low tide. Had the ford survived, the village may have grown to be more noteworthy in size, but as they were, it was a miracle anyone still lived there.
Of course, with so few buildings, an Inn was out of the question. Granted, they weren’t really expecting one, especially as Lochlan and Liadra had already confirmed there wouldn't be any. Not that it mattered. Even without Lochlan working his magic or them identifying themselves, everyone offered their full hospitality and then some.
Alas, Seres refused to take advantage of their generosity, which led to Rowan offering a compromise. In exchange for silver link, one of the farmers granted them access to his barn, an assortment of blankets, and a freshly baked loaf of bread. Seres wanted to give him gold instead until Rowan reminded her it would be practically worthless to him. Even silver was pushing it, but they weren't exactly carrying much in the way of copper.
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The barn ended up being surprisingly comfortable, especially as they had also been given permission to make beds out of the hay. Unfortunately, such comfort was not without cost as the hay became one with their hair as they slept; it took the better part of the next morning to brush out every last bit.
Meanwhile, Nami spent much of the morning munching smugly away at her breakfast, chortling whenever the girls hit a snag. The other horses, on the other hand, enjoyed their breakfasts in relative silence.
When they finally left, they took some time helping Rowan get the hang of trotting. Liadra ended up being a massive help in that regard, as she suggested a rising trot when they established the two-beat measure as the cause of Rowan’s difficulties. By rising and falling in the saddle, Rowan was able to finally match the rhythm of Nami's gait.
Alas, the rising trot was a lot more physically intensive than the alternative, and Rowan could feel the strain building in her legs with each passing mile. After two hours or so it reached the point of being too much for her to comfortably maintain.
“Do you want to continue?” Seres asked when she noticed Rowan stopping to massage her calf.
“I can keep going,” Rowan answered. “I just need a second.”
“We could stop for lunch,” Liadra suggested. “There's a hunter's lodge nearby in Dramlich Forest that caters to people on the road.”
Lochlan shook his head. It was an oddly subdued gesture from him. In stark contrast to Liadra, who had been surprisingly conversational for much of the ride, Lochlan had abandoned most of his theatrics in favour of a markedly quiet and serious persona. He channelled that persona as he questioned his cousin.
“Are you sure, Liadra? I know the place you're talking about, and it's a bit of a detour to get there.”
“It'll be fine,” Liadra answered. “Even if Rowan could keep going at our current pace, we probably wouldn't make it to Baromiir before nightfall, so we may as well play it safe.”
“A fair point,” Lochlan admitted.
“What do you think, Rowan?” Seres asked.
“It depends,” Rowan pondered. “Liadra is probably correct in assuming we won't make it to Baromiir today, not with how long it took us to get ready this morning.”
“Sorry about that,” Seres apologised meekly. Whilst everyone had woken up with an impromptu hay wig, she had been the worst offender on account of having the longest and the waviest hair out of everyone.
“You don’t need to apologise, silly. It's not your fault that your hair came loose while you slept.”
“But…”
“No buts! If our positions were reversed, you'd be telling me the exact same thing!”
“True.”
The response was barely audible, but Rowan saw a hint of a smile accompany it. Satisfied with her handling of the situation, Rowan then returned to the previous line of conversation.
“How much of a detour is it?” she asked both Lochlan and Liadra.
“A few miles,” Lochlan answered.
“It's still in the general direction of Baromiir, however,” Liadra clarified, “so we'd still be making progress.”
“In that case, I say we go for it,” Rowan declared, though a hint of a question remained as she turned towards Lochlan specifically. “That is, assuming the detour was your only objection.”
Lochlan nodded.
“Perfect! Let's go then. No more trotting, though. Even with the promise of a hot meal, I'd rather not push my legs if I don't need to.”
*****
A few hours after their detour to the lodge, Rowan and Seres decided to call it a day. They still had plenty of sunlight remaining, but it was their first time making camp, and they didn’t want to risk fumbling around in the dark.
Fortunately, it didn’t take them too long to find a suitable campsite; a small, well-sheltered glade from where one of the Telma River’s tributaries cut through Dramlich Forest. Their second order of business, the tents, however, proved to be an absolute nightmare. It didn’t help that Lochlan and Liadra made it look effortless when they assembled their own tent.
When an hour passed with the two girls making little progress, Lochlan sighed, his theatrical persona back in full. “My poor heart weeps, Liadra.”
“Should we help them?” Liadra asked.
“No!” Rowan and Seres cried. If they didn’t do it themselves, they wouldn’t learn.
It took another two hours for them to be done with the assembly. The moment they hooked the final guy line, both girls collapsed to the ground in a display of cathartic exhaustion.
"Tents have no right being so difficult," Seres huffed. “Don’t they know I’m a princess?”
“I don’t think they care, being tents and all,” Rowan opined between several heavy breaths.
“Well, maybe they should.”
“We’ll just need to show them who’s boss.”
“We need better instructions.”
“Are you sure we had the right ones?”
“I think so. I didn’t see any others when I went looking through our packs.”
“You’d think they’d give us something that didn’t read like it was made for an architect.”
"You can say that again."
Once they were done complaining, they just lay there for a while. At some point, Rowan felt a question growing inside of her.
"Hey, Seres?"
"Yeah?"
"I was wondering, why did you pack so many crystals?"
"Oh, that? Let me show you."
"Let you what now?"
Seres rolled her eyes sleepily. "Just watch," she said as she slowly rose to her feet and walked over to where they had thrown their packs. From inside one of them, she pulled out a rose-tinted crystal with veins of blue. Rowan recognised it as a Thermal Resonance Crystal, specifically a flame-bearing one.
"You see, most research into the Mark of the Goddess would suggest that it enhances the innate strength of one’s Gift. The reality is so much more."
To illustrate her point, Seres conjured a small flame, as if drawing it from deep within the crystal.
"How are you even?" Rowan started.
Seres let the flame dance across her palm and around her fingers in order to further highlight her ability before tossing it into the campfire.
"I can Resonate with crystals and channel their power. Being able to see the flow of Resonance with my Gift helps as well."
"There has to be a catch?" Rowas asked.
"It takes a lot of energy, and once I release my control, I can't regain it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Take the flame from before as an example. When I threw it into the campfire, I relinquished my control over it, and now I can’t do anything with it."
"Ah. How did I not know this was a thing?"
"Probably because we’re even rarer than Ardents or Stoics, and most of us don’t realise the full potential of the ability, so it isn’t exactly well documented.”
“I know that feeling. It was bad enough researching Ardents.”
“I can imagine. I think the Good Lords might have uncovered some of the research, though.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Fein. If you hadn’t made your deal with him, he’d probably have had it tortured out of me.”
"Well, I'd do it again and again if I had to."
"Thank you."
"Don't mention it. You gave me a reason to live, after all, to not give in. If anything, I should be thanking you. Now let's get cleaned up before I start crying."
“Right.”
*****
Rowan woke up screaming. She had dreamt of the eclipse in vivid detail, only every mistake, every moment of terror was punctuated by the touch of the Silent Sisters. Rowan's back roared in agony.
That was only the start of her torment, however, and it would not wake her. Not even reliving her mother's death was enough to grant her bitter release from the torment. No, true suffering and the climax of her despair came from seeing Tehri broken and on the verge of death. She had been too late. She had failed. There was nothing she could do other than hold onto Tehri as the light faded from her eyes.
It felt so real. The pain. The loss. All of it. Rowan's chest heaved as adrenaline continued to flood through her veins. She had to do something, and she had to do it fast before her emotions got the better of her.
Rowan rushed out of the tent with Elan Fiir, a belt of knives, a reflex bow, and a quiver full of arrows, practically her entire arsenal. The only thing she was missing from it was her short spear and buckler.
The chill of winter started assaulting her the moment she stepped outside. She didn’t care. It was nothing when compared to the icy grip of fear.
In her rush to vent off her rising terror, Rowan ran towards the edge of the clearing with Elan Fiir in hand. She was about to cut down a large silver pine when she stopped herself. The tree hadn’t done anything wrong. It didn’t deserve to suffer in her place. And even if it did, the risk of it falling on either tent was far too high.
Fortunately, the moment of pause helped stave off some of the more erratic ‘coping strategies’. Her fear and despair were still almost completely overwhelming her, however, and she needed to redirect them before they got any worse. Unfortunately, Elan Fiir was not part of a realistic solution, so she sheathed the blade and started stringing her bow instead.
The focus required to string the heavy reflex bow helped a little bit. Once it was fully strung, Rowan started loosing arrows on a nearby silver pine.
On the seventh arrow, Rowan heard movement from the tent. She snapped around with the bow, ready to shoot any trespassers in their tracks, only for Seres' head to pop out of the open flap.
When their eyes met, Seres stepped out of the tent towards Rowan. She was wearing a dressing gown for warmth.
"Are you okay?" she asked, "I heard you screaming."
"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," Rowan replied quietly.
"What's wrong? You can tell me."
"I had a nightmare. A bad one."
"It must have been. What happened? I've never seen them make you scream like that."
"I saw Tehri broken and dying in my arms. I saw my failure."
Tears started to well in Rowan's eyes.
"You haven't failed."
"Then why hasn’t anyone seen her? It's been five years!"
The dams of her eyes gave way, and the waterworks began in earnest. Seres stepped in to give her a warm embrace.
"There, there, Rowan," Seres said softly, stroking Rowan's back. "We'll find her."
Rowan dropped the bow and hugged Seres back, crying loudly into her shoulder.
After a couple of minutes, the weight of Rowan's emotions brought them both to their knees. Even so, this was a much better way for Rowan to vent her feelings as opposed to aimless training.
Almost half an hour later, the tears finally stopped flowing. Rowan's eyes were raw, her throat coarse, and her nose red.
"I think I may have ruined your dressing gown," Rowan apologised with a rueful smile, looking down at the war zone of snot and tears on Seres' shoulder.
"Think nothing of it," Seres replied softly, "It'll wash."
"But…"
"No buts, Rowan. You needed that. I will ask, however, that we return to the tent. Now isn't the time to be training, the ground is hard as a rock, and you're cold to the touch. We can train together tomorrow if you want. You need to start teaching me, after all."
It took Seres pointing it out for Rowan to realise that, yes, she was, in fact, freezing. Barely moving while half-naked in the middle of a late autumn night didn't exactly do much to keep one warm, after all.
Rowan nodded her acceptance of Seres' request and picked the bow up as she clambered back to her feet. As Seres started to walk back to the camp, Rowan was quickly reminded that she was missing something.
"What about the arrows?" she asked.
"How many are out there?" Seres said, turning to give Rowan a contemplative look.
"Seven."
"That's too many to just abandon," Seres sighed.
Rowan nodded.
In response, Seres started walking off into the darkness with a confident smile.
"Let me help you find them," she called back confidently. "Two pairs of eyes are better than one."
"Um, Seres…"
"Yes?" Seres replied, turning back slightly.
While maintaining the most neutral expression that she could manage with her tear-ruined face, Rowan pointed in a completely different direction.
"The arrows are in the tree over there."