Chapter Twelve: Departures

“The hardest part of a journey is taking the first step.”

—Dagus Adem, The Adventurer’s Guide to the Continent

Talberon and Alend left at dusk, two cloaked riders disappearing into the horizon. Ein stood at the top of a hill, watching as they crossed the farmland and plunged into the trees.

“What do you mean, I’m not your son?”

“Exactly what I said. You’re the son of Rhea’s sister and another man. They both died when you were young, so we took you in instead.”

Ein kicked at a rock on the ground and sighed bitterly. People had always said he took after Rhea’s appearance, but he never would have guessed the reason why.

Alend isn’t my father, he thought. My father… isn’t my father.

He tore off the Three-winged charm from his neck and glared at it.

“Fat lot of use this will be,” he muttered. If he wasn’t of the Thoren bloodline, the relicts would have no reason to go after him. He clenched his fist around the pendant so hard it dug into his palm.

“Now do you understand? Either I go or Cinnamin goes. This is why I have to leave, Ein.”

Ein drew his hand back and hurled the charm as far as he could, watching it land in the river below. He shook his head in disgust.

“There you are. I was looking all over for you.”

Ein spun around as Garax scrambled to the top of the hill, puffing. He had a sheathed sword in his good hand which he used as a cane to support himself. It was growing too dark to see, but the storyteller appeared to be smiling.

“What do you want?” Ein snapped. Then, shaking his head, he said again, “Sorry. I’m a bit worn out, that’s all. Did you need me for something?”

Garax shook his head. “I was heading past the forge earlier and I couldn’t help but overhear you arguing with your father.”

“There’s been a lot of eavesdropping going on lately,” Ein gave a dry laugh.

“Are you going after him?” Garax asked.

He’d thought about it, long and hard before Alend’s revelation. He’d made up his mind back then, that he was going to take his father’s place. But now, he wasn’t so sure.

“He’s already gone.” Ein pointed into the distance at the black mass of trees. “They left a few minutes ago.”

“We can still catch up to them.”

“‘We?’”

Garax mopped his forehead with his sleeve. “I was thinking it was time to leave this place, go on one last adventure while I still can. I’ve spoken to the troupers and they’ve got room to spare for a few more. I wouldn’t mind your company on the journey, and you seem to know your way around a blade.”

“You’re leaving Felhaven?”

“Indeed. I fear I’ve not long left to live, so I may as well make the most of it.”

Ein stared at the old man, from his missing hand to the sword and golden eyes that always seemed to be dancing with amusement. He thought back to Alend, the way he’d been walking, the wound in his stomach. There was a very real possibility that he wouldn’t return, not if he was leaving in that state.

He couldn’t accept it. He needed answers. He needed to protect the life he’d been living up until now, with the mother and father and sister he’d lived with for his entire life.

“When and where should I wait for you?”

#

Rhea came up to Ein when he was packing that night. He’d dumped his belongings on the bed and was shoving them into his bag, ticking off a mental checklist as he did so. He had his clothes, blankets, bedroll, food and water, a tinderbox and the small cooking pot his father—Alend, he reminded himself—had given him, bandages and twine for making traps… what else did he need? He strapped his bow against his back and a bastard sword to his waist. Where was his knife?

“Looking for this?”

His mother—aunt?—was there, the hunting knife in her hands. Ein took it from her and froze like a deer under torchlight.

“You’re leaving as well, aren’t you?” she asked. Her eyes were tired and red. “Don’t try to hide it.”

Ein tightened his grip on the knife. “I am,” he said.

Rhea sighed. “First Alend and now you. Next thing you know, Cinnamin will be old enough to want to leave the nest as well. Have you told her yet?”

Ein shook his head.

“Make sure you do,” his aunt said. “But don’t tell her what you’re really doing. Just say you’re joining your father on his business trip.”

“Alend,” Ein corrected. “Not my father. Alend.” It felt strange calling him by his first name.

“I guess he told you, then.” Rhea sighed. “But as corny as it sounds, don’t let it bother you at all. To us, you’re our son, and we’ve never thought otherwise.”

Ein pulled his straps tight and hefted his bag in one hand. It was heavy, but not so heavy he couldn’t walk with it. He fixed it onto his back and tied the knife to his waist.

“You’re not going to stop me?” he asked.

Rhea smiled sadly. “I wouldn’t be able to, would I? Besides, it’s not as if you won’t be returning. Just a quick trip to Aldoran and you’ll be back before we know it. Right?”

Ein nodded. “Of course.”

His aunt moved in and embraced him, resting her head against his chest. He burned her face into his memory, her smell and the feel of her arms around him. Since when had he grown taller than her? Sixteen years had passed so quickly, like the blink of an eye.

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“Be careful, okay?” she murmured. “Make sure you eat and sleep enough, and don’t push yourself too hard. Stay off the roads at night and lock your doors if you ever stop at an inn. Don’t go chasing after too many girls, you hear me?”

“I will.” Ein swallowed the lump in his throat. Rhea pulled back and stepped away. In her hand was a cube-shaped box, small enough to fit in the palm of her hand. She gave it to him.

“What’s this?” he asked.

It looked to be made of ebony, a superb work of craftsmanship with no joints or seams whatsoever. In fact, he could have mistaken it for a solid block of wood were it not for the rattling sound it made when he shook it. He ran his fingers along its edge, searching for a lid or a lock, but there was none. It was completely smooth.

“It belonged to your father,” Rhea said. “Your real father. He left it with my sister, and she gave it to me when she passed away. I’ve tried everything short of breaking the thing open with a hammer, but nothing seems to work.”

“What’s inside it?”

Rhea shook her shoulders. “I only wish I knew,” she said. “But it’s rightfully yours, so it’s only fair that you take it. Maybe there’s a hint to who your real father is in there.”

Ein looked at the box for a moment longer before tucking it in his pocket.

“Alend might not be my real father,” he said, “but he comes damn close. And the same goes for you. And Cinnamin too.”

Rhea smiled. “It makes me happy to hear that.” She took a step back, her hands clasped in front of her. “You should go and say goodbye to her now, before she runs off.”

#

He found Cinnamin outside the bakery with a few of the other children. She had an apron around her waist and her hands were white with flour.

“Ein!” she exclaimed. “We were just looking for you!”

Two more children emerged, dressed in similar clothing with dirty hands. Ein recognized them as the two he’d saved from the burning building. Their eyes widened in surprise as they saw him.

“Young Master Thoren!” the boy exclaimed, bowed deeply. “Thank you so much for rescuing us!” He was a few years younger than Cinnamin, scarcely a decade old. The girl, presumably his sister, was even younger.

“Are you doing well?” Ein asked, bending down on one knee. He caught Maisie’s eye through the window. She smiled and went back to her work.

“We’re alive and well thanks to you,” the girl said. Her brother nudged her and she came forward. “We wanted to do something to show our appreciation. Cinnamin said you liked cookies.”

Ein looked at his sister with amusement. “I’m not sure there’s a person in this village who doesn’t.”

The girl brought her hands out from behind her back, revealing a small package wrapped up in a white cloth. It was still warm, and it smelled of butter and milk.

“We’re sorry we couldn’t bake some more,” she said. “And they’re a little burnt. But we hope you like them.”

Ein took the bundle her hands and smiled. “Thank you very much. What were your names?”

“Jayde,” the girl said.

“Thom,” the boy said.

Ein stood up. “Stop by the forge when I come back and we can play together.” He paused. “And while you’re at it, go and thank young Master Sutherland. He deserves it just as much as I do.”

“Okay!”

The two children ran off, tottering into the darkness. As soon as they were gone, Cinnamin gave him a puzzled look.

“‘When I come back?’” she repeated.

Ein sighed. “I’m leaving again.”

He saw the emotions flicker through her face, one by one like the pages of a book. First was surprise and shock, then anger, frustration, and finally dejection.

“Why?” she asked. With her hands on her hips and a scowl across her face, she looked like Evaine. That reminded him—he needed to say goodbye to her as well.

“I’m going with Father,” Ein said. “Just to help him on his trip. We’ll be back before you know it.”

“How long are you leaving for?”

Ein wasn’t sure how long it took to get to Aldoran from the Sleeping Twins. He wasn’t even sure how long it would take to get out of the Sleeping Twins.

“A few weeks I’d guess,” he said carefully. “It’ll be just like one of our hunting trips, only a little longer.”

“But you just came back from a hunting trip.”

Ein fiddled with the bag of cookies in his hand. Cinnamin sighed.

“This had better be it,” she said. “Things always fall to pieces when you’re not around.”

“This will be it. I promise.”

That seemed to appease her, if only by a little bit. Ein’s sister gave him a quick hug, coating his jerkin with flour.

“Come home safely,” she said.

Ein didn’t reply.

#

He spent the remainder of the night searching for Bran and Evaine, but he couldn’t find either of them. He was forced to give up at the seventh hour past noon, when he’d promised to meet with Garax at the Wydlings’ camp. The Children of the Wind had packed away their tents and prepared their horses to ride, and were waiting restlessly by the time he arrived. Garax came not a moment later, slinging a small bag over his shoulder, his sword strapped around his waist. The two stood at the path leading to the village as the troupe packed their luggage into the carts.

“Are we waiting for anything?” Ein asked. “It’s dark enough already; we won’t be able to cover much ground.”

“The moon is out tonight,” a female trouper said. “Its light will guide us.”

Ein looked up. She was right. The moon was a pool of liquid silver in the sky, casting a sombre light across the earth. It was a full moon, large and heavy, and he could see every blemish on its surface. Ein couldn’t remember when he’d last seen a moon so clear and beautiful.

“Oh, there she is,” Garax suddenly said. “I was wondering if she’d decided to back out. I should have known better.”

Ein turned back to the path and squinted. A small figure hurried towards them, laden with bags almost as large as she was. It took him a moment to recognize her.

“Evaine!?” He looked to Garax.

“She’s the one who planned this whole escapade.” He shrugged. “I just thought you might want to join.”

It was Evaine, there was no doubt about it. She’d donned a travelling garb, her braid swaying behind her, her arms straining with the effort of carrying her bags. One of the troupers went out to her and took them, tossing them onto the back of the wagon.

“What are you doing here?” Ein gaped.

“I was wondering the same thing,” Evaine said. Her eyes were dancing with excitement. “I was looking all over for you but I couldn’t find you at all. I guess the Winds of Fate were at play the whole time.”

“Evaine,” Ein said again. “You can’t leave. You have to realize, the moment you set foot outside Felhaven they won’t let you back in. Think about it! What are you going to do for the next thirty, forty, fifty years of your life? What will you—”

“Don’t lecture me,” Evaine said hotly. “I’ve given this more than enough thought.” She climbed onto one of the wagons as the Wydlings began their final checks. “Now, why are you leaving? I thought you said you were going to stay here and work the forge until you were old and wrinkled.”

“I’m going after my father to make sure he’s safe,” Ein said. “I’ll be coming back as soon as he’s finished his business in the city. But you… they won’t let you back, Evaine. Your hair’s been braided. It’s been braided, and there’s no undoing it.”

“Braid be damned. I’m leaving with you, Ein, even if it means I won’t be coming back. This is how much I care about my braid.”

She whipped out a knife from her side, and before Ein had time to react, she pulled her hair taut in front of her and slashed through it in one swift stroke. The braid broke away cleanly, her remaining hair coming loose around the base of her neck in an uneven veil.

“Happy now?” she asked. Her eyes were a mixture of defiance and self-satisfaction.

Garax cleared his throat from beside the two. “I think we’re about to leave, boy. You’d best hop on if you don’t want to be left behind.”

Ein was still staring at where Evaine’s braid had been when they set off. Felhaven grew further and further away as he watched from the back of the wagon, basking under the light of the moon. He was leaving. He didn’t know when he’d be back. His home of sixteen years where he’d grown up alongside Evaine and Bran, his home where he’d lived with Alend and Rhea and Cinnamin—he was leaving it. The streets he knew as well as the back of his hand, the houses and their cosy chimneys spouting smoke into the air, the valley and the woods he’d played in as a child—he was leaving it all.

He was leaving, but he would be back. This wasn’t the end. He would be back.

Ein unwrapped the cookies he’d been gifted and began to eat. They were too sweet and slightly burnt, but there was something about the taste that made him unable to stop.

It reminded him of home.