CHAPTER 3

The next morning Lyra awoke slowly and reluctantly. Opening one eye, she could see it was still dark and wondered why she was so up so early. Turning over and trying to go back to sleep, she heard a knock on the front door. “What in the world?” she thought to herself, when to her surprise, she heard her mom almost immediately answer the door.

“Good morning!” she heard her mom say. “Not quite yet, but you’re welcome to come in for a few minutes.” She could tell it was a man’s voice, but couldn’t make out what the visitor was saying. “Oh, thank you so much,” Meela said graciously, “you’re absolutely welcome to. Feel free to take a look around, and I’ll bring you some tea!”

Who on earth would possibly be visiting right now, and why did her mom offer him tea like it was just the most normal thing in the world?

Shortly after Lyra heard the door close, Meela came into Lyras room and explained that it was the coachman for her trip to Farvell. Lyra looked at her mom like she was crazy, “The sun isn’t even up yet!” she said.

“It is, actually,” Meela crossed to the window and pushed the curtains aside, “you’re going to want to get your rain cloak back out.”

From her bedroom window Lyra could see the sky a very dim, watery gray through the rain streaking down the glass. The clouds rested droopily in the tops of the trees, and she could hardly see the rest of her neighborhood, much less the mouth of the canyon she’d be traveling through on her way into the mountains. Generally speaking, Lyra loved rain. She would often go for walks through the forest in the rain without so much as an umbrella simply for the smell of it all and to see the vivid shades of green that only a lovely, gloomy rainy day could bring out. She loved to think that, instead of her choosing to reach out her hand to pick a flower or feel the springy softness of a moss covered tree, when it was raining, nature was instead reaching out to touch her face, and run it’s droplets through her hair. But these forays were always near enough to home for her to come back before any real chill set in and warm up with a bath or a cup of tea by the fire. Today she wouldn’t be near home. Farvell was three days journey by carriage, and under normal conditions it would take most of the day to reach the small mountain town where she was to stay that night. So as Meela recommended Lyra searched and shuffled through a few of her bags until she had all of her warm rain clothes out and got dressed while Olan helped the coachman load Lyra’s bags. The bags didn’t take very long, but they were still a little delayed in leaving as Olan offered very generously to give the coachman a guided tour of the fungal entryway, “just while you finish your tea.” A few minutes passed the end of the coachmen’s tea Meela helped Olan wrap up the tour and they all said their goodbyes. The Faela’s graciously tipped the coachman and thanked him for taking good care of their daughter.

“Absolutely, Mr. and Mrs. Faela,” the coachman said, “I’ve driven this route plenty of times, and it should actually be lovely, even if it’s a little slower going in this weather.”

As they began to skirt the edge of town and head for the canyon, Lyra actually found herself enjoying the ride. The carriage was equipped with a a large stretch of canvas which drooped slightly over Lyra’s head. She was initially worried that this would be less than adequate, especially if the rain picked up any harder, but after some time in the carriage she noticed something peculiar. The rain didn’t seem to be hitting the tarp at all.

“It’s magic,” said the driver, who had noticed Lyra trying to get a good look at what was going on.

“Ok, yeah! I was thinking it had to be. That’s really cool. I’ve never seen something like that.” Lyra had been hesitant to ask because she’d assumed the driver didn’t perform the treatment, and wasn’t even sure how much he’d know about something like that, but the thought itself seemed presumptuous and she was trying to think of a way to ask without sounding like she was stereotyping.

“Pretty fancy for a human, huh?”

Lyra blushed, “Uh, I mean, for anybody, right?”

The drive burst into a sudden, hearty laugh, “you’re just fine,” he said, “I know how it is. I drive elves and dwarves and you name it. I’ve heard everything and I don’t take no offense. But in case you meet any more humans in Farvell, which you will, you might like to know that humans really don’t have nothin against magic. Certainly not the ones you’re likely to meet there. Not an ideal locality for magic haters.”

Lyra let her tension out with a chuckle and a sigh, “Well, thanks for the tip.”

“Of course! In Yaleen I wouldn’t be surprised if an elf here or there might go their whole life without ever havin so much as a full conversation with a human.”

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“There was a really nice human girl in my class for a few years when I was growing up, Rita was her name. And she loved magic! But I guess I just always assumed she was probably unique.”

“I think it’s just sort of an old fashioned kinda thing. Real old fashioned honestly,” he laughed, “but ya know, in places where elves and humans don’t run into each other a whole lot lot, how are they gonna know, ya know?”

Lyra agreed with a shrug.

“Might be better than the dwarves at least,” the driver encouraged the horses as they made their way around a large boulder which had rolled onto the path.

“What do you mean?” Lyra asked. She knew even less about dwarves than she did about humans.

“Oh well, not anything against them. I just get the feeling that sometimes they,” he hesitated, and then laughed, “well I guess sometimes it feels like they just plain think we’re stupid.”

Lyra and the driver shared a laugh for a moment. As the dense trees went by they continued continued to talk about some of the similarities and differences between the races and this eventually led to a long string of stories of the wild and quirky characters the driver had in his years on the job. Lyra listened, comfortably wrapped up her warm rain clothes, kept dry by the lovely magical canvas. Occasionally Lyra would interject with questions about the different places or people in the drivers’ stories, and she was grateful to have such a fascinating way to pass the time. The rain grew lighter, to a mist, and the road eventually found it’s way to a stream, and the previously narrow canyon now gradually opened up and grew wider, transforming the setting from a close, dense, fragrant forest into a grand view of the mountains on either side, reaching easily up, deep into the foggy clouds. The talk had grown lighter, too, until Lyra found herself simply sitting and enjoying the sights and sounds of the ride. The width of the canyon varied as they went on, with the stream following suit, here a stream, there a pond, but always continuing on along the path. Several hours into the ride, the driver steered the carriage into small grassy glen to stop for lunch. Lyra could tell the sun was high in the sky, though she couldn’t see it, and as she and the driver sat and lunched together they discussed how beautiful and vibrant the colors of the plants an flowers always were during a light rain. As it turned out, the driver had in fact a pretty good knowledge of the native plant species and they lingered for about a half hour after they were done eating for Lyra to point out and ask questions about a few of the species in the canyon she was less familiar with. She gathered a handful of the more fragrant flowers she discovered and tied them into a tiny bouquet as they continued on their way down along the road.

With the storm as thick as it was, it seemed to get dark earlier than Lyra expected, but the driver assured her that they were still making good time. The canyon grew narrow again, and the coachman informed Lyra that this meant they should be arriving at their lodging within the next hour. The stream they had been following must have been gathering water from tributaries as they went, as it had now turned into a small, gentle river. Lyra could confirm at least a few of these tributaries as she had seen several lovely little waterfalls along their way, falling into pools along the stream. Along this river, in the dim evening light, Lyra could make out a clearing here or there with a fallen log which looked intentionally placed near the rivers edge, and an occasional small stone circle.

“Do people come stay out here overnight?” she asked the driver.

“Oh, no,” the driver said, “this close to the inn I usually just see folks fishing and picnicking at those spots. Some people stay at the inn for a few weeks at a time if their business is in the canyon itself, and this beginning stretch of the river here is great fishing.”

Lyra wondered what kind of business people would have in this canyon. Whatever it was it sounded like a lovely job to have. As promised Lyra soon saw, emerging from a bend in the road ahead, pinpricks of light in the distance. As they drew nearer she could guess that they were two lanterns adorning a large doorway, and could vaguely see the shape of the lodge they were attached to. A few of the windows had a soft orange glow, and she began to smell the faint aroma of smoke from the chimney- and food. Whatever it was it smelled absolutely delicious, and Lyra was acutely aware of how long they’d been riding since lunch.

“Rivertop Inn!” The driver announced, as they turned from the road toward the lodge.

Branching away from the main road, there was an ancient, wide, stone bridge which arched over the river toward the inn. The Rivertop Inn itself appeared to be old, though not nearly as old as the bridge, but was well maintained. It was clear that this was a popular and commonly used place of lodging for those traveling the canyon. The rain at this point had really picked up and was coming down in sheets as they pulled up to the inn entrance. The magical tarp had been so effective in keeping the rain away from her that Lyra hadn’t even thought to get out her hooded coat before the driver stopped the cart and hopped down. She hurriedly pulled the jacket she was wearing awkwardly over her head and jumped down from the back of the carriage so as to make sure the driver didn’t get too many of her bags before she could help. Lyra was surprised, however, when around the corner of the carriage there came a figure she didn’t recognize.

“Don’t worry, Lance! I got it!” a voice shouted over the sound of the rain, “just these bags here?”

The voice belonged to a young man who had come out to help with Lyra’s bags. She it was raining so hard that she couldn’t get a good look at him, but she could tell he was wearing a hooded coat which was properly suited to the weather and was a little embarrassed she didn’t have hers on.

“Yeah, those are them!” She shouted back, “thank you!”

She put on her backpack and grabbed the small suitcase she’d kept with her which had her traveling gear and unused rain coat in it, and through the mud and in through the front doors behind the young man who was carrying her other two, larger suitcases. Lyra saw the driver jogging his horse over to the stable, and turned back in from the rain.

“Uh, thank you so much,” Lyra said to the young man as she rummaged through her pockets for a tip.

“Oh, I don’t work here or anything,” he laughed, “I just saw you guys coming over the bridge and figured you had some bags. So, no tip necessary.” He took his coat off and hung it on the wall. “I’m jasper he said.

Jasper was taller than Lyra, with dark hair which had been ruffled slightly by his hood. It was short enough for Lyra to just be able to see his rounded, human ears underneath. He smiled, and his dark blue eyes were a striking contrast to the bright red flush of Lyra’s cheeks. She very briefly forgot how to talk, though, as she had not even considered the idea that the inn would house anyone other than grisly old fishermen, this moment of surprise to meet… “Jasper” had actually thrown her into another bout of burst thought and unfortunately it felt to her like she stood there blushing for about three excruciating minutes before she said anything back.

“I’m Lyra,” the reply finally escaped her lips, “I’m, uh, from Yaleen.”

“Well, nice to meet you, Lyra,” Jasper stuck out his hand. Lyra reached out and shook it as Jasper spoke again, “Can I, uh, take your coat?” he smiled knowingly as he pointed to the top of her head with his other hand.

She really wished she’d taken out her rain coat.