Gwen lay on the ground for an hour. Maybe after all the experiences of the past month, she’d run low on tears, because she only cried for a few minutes. She spent the rest of the time alternately fuming and planning.
She was angry with the bandits. Of course she was. First they took her parents, then they took her belongings. The Usurper had even denied her a home with the sheer danger he presented.
But really, Gwen was the most angry with herself. With her ember-given senses, how had she not felt her pack slip off? With her ember-given strength, how had she not won that fight so decisively that the bandits couldn’t run away? Gwen knew she wasn’t anywhere close to the power of a Beohur, and the bandits today likely each had more fighting experience than she did. Sherley implied they had even beaten a sellsword. Still, Gwen had expected the ember would have let her beat the basest, most pathetic of foes. At least trolls were born the way they were. Bandits chose to be cruel.
This loss hurt even worse than it should have. Yes, being penniless was terrifying. Yes, losing to horrible thieves made her blood boil. But the true fear and pain came from what Gwen’s defeat meant. The Usurper had beaten two militia members and then the Torchbearer of War--three strong, trained fighters. Gwen had been beaten by three hungry bandits. How was she supposed to defend herself or anyone else if he caught up to her?
The answer was clear. Gwen had to keep training, keep meditating. She hadn’t even learned to tap into the ember’s magic yet. Maybe she would always be weaker than the Usurper, but she could surely make it so she’d never lose to bandits again. A week or two of training would likely be all it took, especially if she did it with her new staff.
The problem was, she didn’t have a week. Not right now. Not unless...
“Herald?”
The Herald appeared in front of her.
“Yes?”
“Do I still need to eat and drink?” Gwen felt hunger and thirst, but maybe the ember would keep her nourished so she didn’t have to act on those feelings.
“For the moment, yes. The stronger the ember grows, the longer its power will sustain you without consuming food or drink. Eventually, you will cease to need them entirely. Now, however, you have not even surpassed the physical limits of humanity, so you must eat and drink as normal. You could likely go without for longer than most humans, but it would impair your strength and concentration as it does for them.”
“I understand,” Gwen said. “That was all I needed.”
The Herald nodded and vanished.
So Gwen didn’t have a week to train. At sixteen, she was practically an adult, so orphanages were off-limits, and no almshouse would let her stay for more than a night or two. She would need to find some kind of work. She could try to apprentice to a blacksmith or a shepherd, but neither of those would help her climb Ascangen. The best work would take her up the tree somehow, but what would do that?
She didn’t have time to sit around and think about it. She had to do something. She could at least reach Wirtrumburg while she puzzled things through.
It was only when Gwen stood up that she realized how stiff and sore she was. Half of her body ached from Sigurd’s fists, and the other half had tightened up from lying down right after the fight.
Still, Gwen decided as she walked, she was lucky Sherley hadn’t gotten her with that dagger. Stolen or not, the woman had certainly seemed like she knew how to use it.
The dagger! Sherley had said she stole it from a sellsword. Sellswords got paid to travel, and all they had to do was be good at fighting. If Gwen was good enough, maybe she could find work guarding a caravan that was headed up Ascangen. Sellswords probably even trained with each other to stay sharp, which would be perfect!
The only problem would be finding a caravan once she got to the city. How did anyone hire a guard? Did she have to know someone or be part of a guild or a company? Some part of Gwen had known that growing up in a small village had left her sheltered, but she hadn’t truly felt it until now. She had no clue how cities worked.
Her sense of overwhelm only strengthened when she arrived in Wirtrumburg. Though technically one city, it was divided into five districts, one between each of the Roots, which were larger here than Gwen had ever seen them. Gwen was approaching Fjorir, the fourth district. Ascangen towered above her, the Trunk and Branches filling the night sky. Gwen caught glimpses of the twinkling stars in the gaps between, but she saw far fewer than she would have back in her village.
Towering almost as high, though only because it was far closer, was Wirtrumburg’s city wall. The gargantuan stone structure ran between the Roots, rising halfway up them, and if Gwen squinted, she could see guards and ballistae on top. Here at the bottom, though, the road led to a thick wooden gate flanked by two guards with torches. The gate was open, and the guards didn’t move to stop Gwen from entering. She supposed she looked the part of an impoverished pilgrim, approaching with nothing but her staff.
The wall was deeper than Gwen thought. The gate led to a torch-lined tunnel a few dozen feet deep, where Gwen’s footsteps echoed off of the smooth walls.
Finally Gwen emerged from the wall to enter Fjorir. Its buildings glowed with dozens upon dozens of orange pinpricks. Though the night sky was obscured, the city had its own stars in the form of torches. The only light in Gwen’s village after sundown belonged to the inn, but here, people seemed to stay awake for longer. She supposed they had to, seeing how early the sun set.
Fjorir’s buildings also all seemed to have at least two stories, though more often four or five. The buildings pressed up against each other, sharing walls or leaving alleys barely wide enough for one person to walk through. If they didn’t have much space to build outward, then it made sense that they would build upward, but the towering structures still caught Gwen by surprise. Even walking down a wide road made her feel cramped.
Of course, part of that was due to the sheer number of people around. The streets were never empty, and carriages and wagons often parted the crowd. Everyone she passed in the city also seemed to have a vitally important mission, because they always looked forward and practically ignored each other unless they ended up in the same line or doorway. They weren’t impolite when they did come into contact, though: Gwen passed a row of shops and stopped to count seven consecutive patrons holding the door for the next person to enter or leave. The last time Gwen had seen seven people in the same place was at Old Man Corwin’s funeral two years ago. And Corwin had been one of the seven.
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Gwen had to bring all her self-control to bear when she passed through a market lined with food stalls. It was almost midnight, and she’d had a long day, and each new enticing scent was another reminder of how hungry and penniless she was.
Finally, after almost an hour of dragging herself down the main road, Gwen reached a temple. It didn’t have much in the way of a courtyard or a garden, but it was on a small campus with a few other buildings, one of which had rows of evenly spaced windows like some sort of dormitory. Hopefully they would let an impoverished pilgrim stay the night. Maybe even feed her, if she was lucky.
Orange torchlight shone from inside the temple. Gwen climbed a set of wide stairs leading up to a pair of heavy wooden doors. She knocked harder than she intended with the iron knocker, wincing at the noise.
After a few moments, Gwen heard footsteps from the other side of the doors. After a few more, the doors swung open to reveal a stooped woman with neatly braided gray hair. She wore the classic long white cassock, though Gwen could see a pair of old, tattered fur slippers peeking out from under it.
“Come in, come in.” The old priest shuffled aside and beckoned for Gwen to enter. “I’m Sister Adelina. And you?”
“Gwendoline Shepard,” Gwen said. “I’m on a pilgrimage.” Her full name felt appropriate, though so did being glib about the more specific details of her quest.
After closing the door, Sister Adelina led Gwen through the antechamber into the temple’s large main room. Rows of benches lined either side, leaving a center walkway for the faithful to approach a life-size stone statue of Celia, Beohur of Travel. Gwen did so, kneeling and using a lighting stick to ignite one of the candles at Celia’s feet. Instead of praying to the Beohur, though, she recited a silent eulogy.
May you live on in your worshipers and their travels. May your Torchbearer do your memory justice.
Then Gwen stood and wiped her eyes and turned back to Sister Adelina, who was watching with a soft smile on her face.
“What about your pilgrimage brings you to our Fourth Temple of Celia?” the priest asked.
“I come from a village about halfway to the Wirt,” Gwen said. She’d tell Sister Adelina as much as she could without revealing she was a Torchbearer. “I decided to travel as far up Ascangen as I can and visit as many holy sites as possible along the way. But I was robbed by bandits earlier today, so now all I have are this staff and the clothes on my back.”
Sister Adelina nodded solemnly. “I’m sorry that happened, though I can’t say I’m surprised. There is more and more lawlessness on the roads as of late. I’ve left extra offerings to Celia, but I haven’t noticed any effect.”
Gwen’s heart ached at the thought of this caring, devout priest wasting her remaining days praying to a dead Beohur. She wanted to tell the Sister, but she couldn’t bring herself to spoil the woman’s faith. Gwen would just have to restore the Beohur so Adelina’s belief wasn’t in vain.
“We don’t have much,” Sister Adelina said, “but I wouldn’t be a priest of Celia if I didn’t offer a pilgrim a hot meal and a bed for the night.”
Gwen followed the priest down a hallway and into the dormitory-like building. They passed through a library that Brother Ferdinand would have envied, with its floor-to-ceiling shelves stacked with religious tomes. Gwen saw two different scroll cases, both full. She wished she could spend a season here just reading.
The next room was a kitchen and mess. A large fire pit occupied one corner, complete with a frame for hanging pots and a spit for roasting meat and vegetables. The rest of that wall was taken up by cupboards and a washbasin for dishes. Across from the stove and pantry stood a single long table with a bench on each side. The entire setup was impressive in its size, if not its sophistication.
A pot of something vaguely stew-scented hung in the fire pit already. Sister Adelina hung a kettle next to it and lit the fire. She motioned to the table, and Gwen sat, with the priest sitting across from her.
“I’m grateful that the bandits don’t seem to have harmed you,” Sister Adelina said.
Gwen studied the old woman’s face, but she couldn’t find anything except sincerity. “No, just a few bruises. I was able to fight them off, but they grabbed my pack on their way.”
“Really? Well, you must be quite skilled with that staff.”
Again, there was no hint of suspicion or mistrust. Sister Adelina seemed genuinely grateful and impressed. It seemed safe for Gwen to ask about getting up the Tree.
“I’ve had some practice, yes. I was hoping to find a job as a guard for a caravan and follow it as high up Ascangen as it went, but I have no idea how to find someone who’s hiring.”
Sister Adelina opened her mouth, but the kettle cut her off with a shrill whistle. She left the table and returned a couple of minutes later with a bowl of stew for Gwen and a cup of tea for each of them.
“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” the priest said, “but I have few contacts in the outside world. I’ll ask the others when they wake, though, and perhaps we can find some information for you.”
“Mmf frfrr?” Gwen asked through a large bite of stew. It was a bit bland, but very nourishing, especially to Gwen’s desperate stomach.
She swallowed and tried again. “The others?”
“Oh, they’re sleeping,” Sister Adelina said with a chuckle. “We’re early to bed and early to rise here. I work nights in case of visitors like yourself.”
“Oh. Is that lonely?” Gwen was used to spending every day with her brother and a dog and a lot of sheep. She hadn’t felt particularly alone today, but she suspected that would change after a few more days without companionship.
“Sometimes,” the priest said, “but mostly it’s peaceful. I get to see people in the morning before I sleep and in the evening after I wake, and I get to spend the rest of my time caring for the temple.”
Gwen supposed that made sense. A month ago, she would have loved to be able to devote her life to the Beohur, though she doubted she could pick just one of them like Sister Adelina had. The great irony was that in becoming a Torchbearer, Gwen had devoted her life to one Beohur, and she hadn’t even gotten to pick. Ryland had chosen her rather than the other way around.
When Gwen was finished with her stew--mostly root vegetables with a few small chunks of meat--she followed Sister Adelina upstairs to the sleeping room, which consisted of rows of low beds, each with its own dresser. All were occupied except for the two on the end.
“Here you are,” Sister Adelina whispered. “I’m sure you’ve had a difficult day, so sleep as long as you like. I might not be awake when you get up, but the rest will be, and I hope they’ll have some answers for you. I’d hate for your pilgrimage to end when it’s barely begun.”
“Thank you,” Gwen said. “Thank you so much.” Just having a full belly and a place to sleep was such a relief. She could figure out everything else in the morning.
Once Sister Adelina left, Gwen slipped her staff between the thin mattress and the bed frame. She didn’t think anyone here would steal--especially not a poor pilgrim’s only possession--but after the bandits, she wasn’t about to test her faith in people.
Despite how long the day had been and how tired Gwen was, it took her a while to get to sleep. She tossed and turned and couldn’t get comfortable. Eventually she put the pillow behind her so she at least had something at her back. It forced her to rest her head on her arm, but having her back exposed felt lonely, which was worse. With the pillow’s new position, she fell asleep almost immediately.