The second that Therin’s aunt answered their knock at the door, Alira blinked in surprise at the familial resemblance. Here were the monk’s thick gold curls and bright blue eyes. Her face was spotted with freckles across her nose and even her smile, with one dimple, was Therin’s. Catching Alira’s surprise as they entered the farmhouse, the monk touched her arm, stopping her. He bent to her and whispered.

“She’s my mother’s twin.”

She raised her eyebrows in answer but she wasn’t sure he could see her with her hood up. She reached to take it down, something her mother had always said was the polite thing to do when entering a building. Therin held her hand and shook his head.

“We don’t take our hoods off unless we are alone, not while in mission regalia.”

She nodded after a pause and the monk gave her a brief smile and gestured that she should enter before him.

Their large farmhouse was beautifully maintained, homey and very clean. They had built a separate space for the ageing man who they took care of, giving him his own apartment of rooms on the ground floor while they moved upstairs. Alira marvelled at the care they had taken to accommodate a man that was only relation by marriage and smiled warmly at the way Therin’s aunt fussed over the older man, tucking in the blanket around his legs as he sat by the fire.

Therin’s mother’s uncle Orin was a wizened, large eyed man in his seventies, but seemed to be in possession of all of his faculties. He was taken care of by Therin’s aunt and uncle, a lovely childless couple. They seemed to think that Therin should have been their responsibility when his mother died, but as they were unmarried, and still living at home at the time, it seemed more like guilt-riddled thinking than actual altruism. They doted on Therin, hugging and kissing him despite his stiff, unbending quiet and they gave Alira all the due welcome of a long lost sister of their own.

“Oh, if Riella could see you now,” said his aunt, Marenna and she smiled sadly. She moved a large basket of sewing off the large scrubbed table in the kitchen and waved a hand for them to sit. Therin’s uncle kissed his wife on the cheek and told her he’d be out in the barn if he was needed. She began making tea, ignoring the protests of her guests. Shortly after they had arrived, Alira and Therin had steaming mugs of sweet milky tea and fresh baked scones laid before them.

“What a surprise to see you, though,” Marenna said and grinned her single-dimple smile.

“Aunt, I am on a mission,” Therin began solemnly. He reached down his robes and withdrew the sealed letter from Devan, flashing the red wax seal at his relation before tucking away again.

“Oh, on your way to a mace already? Goodness me, how proud Riella would be.” Alira wondered if Therin chose to ignore the fact that he’d likely have been a blacksmith like his father had his parent’s survived when he smiled and continued.

“Yes,” he took a sip of his tea and set the cup down carefully. “My mission is that I am tasked with finding an artefact that the church lost a quarter of a century ago.”

“The damned book,” said Orin from across the room. His hearing was fine, then.

“Yes, uncle,” Therin said a little louder. “The book that was stolen by a witch.”

“Erin,” the old man said as he sipped his own tea. The three at the table fell silent. After a moment, Therin met Alira’s eyes and nodded to the man and together they rose and, cups in hand, made their way to the living space across the room. They sat before the wizened man, Alira on the large pouffe cushion that was in the middle of the floor and Therin squatting at the man’s side. Orin sat rigid, his eyes staring into the fire. He barely moved.

“Yes, Erin,” the monk agreed. “What do you remember about her, uncle?”

“I am not supposed to talk about her. The High Lord charged me with silence.”

Alira and Therin exchanged glances and Therin nodded before taking out his letter.

“I’ve been sent by High Lord Devan to find the book, uncle. He has written me a letter to excuse me from duties at the monastery.” He held the thick, folded letter to his aged relative who saw the wax seal and nodded once but his posture did not change.

“He…the High Lord, asked you to talk to me?”

“He told me to find the book,” Therin said in reply. The old man eyed him for a moment then looked at Alira for the first time. She smiled warmly at him and he nodded once.

“What did Erin look like?”

“Black hair. Eyes like fire.” The old man took a sip of his tea and cleared his throat. “She was at the monastery for a fortnight as a nun. She never spoke to anyone except…” he paused and his eyes darted to Therin’s. “The High Lord.”

“Did you ever see her around? Talk to her?”

“I saw her all the time. I worked in the library while I was there. It was my last year before I was transferred to the university.”

The fire popped and Alira jumped slightly. She had not realised how tightly she was wound and the anticipation to hear about her mother thrummed inside her.

“Did you see her in the library?” Therin asked softly.

“Yes, day in and day out. Sometimes I was there until late, finishing a manuscript.” Orin replied.

“And while you were in the library together, what was she doing?” Therin asked gently.

“Her and…and the High Lord were often in the library together. He was showing her the books, unlocking cabinets for her.”

From the look on Therins’ face, Alira wondered if his thoughts were also on their time together on that dust-mote morning. She watched his face for any changes but it was hard to see his eyes with his hood still up.

“Which cabinets? The restricted ones?” Therin had thought about this, Alira could tell. He was sticking to questions he could have guessed the answers to himself, establishing a report with his great uncle as they talked.

“All of them,” the old man said and raised his cup to his lips. Alira noted his shaking hand.

He seems rather nervous, doesn’t he? Henry said and Alira agreed. His voice inside her head held a touch of mischievous knowing.

“And what was she doing when the High Lord was busy? When he had duties to attend to?”

Orin was silent for a long time. Therin adjusted himself, dropping to his knees before the man and resting on his heels. He sipped his tea while he waited and stole glances at Alira. She realised as he looked at her that he was seeing if she was alright, noting any signs of her being uncomfortable. She gave him a tight, quick smile and he pursed his lips, noting her tension.

Finally the old man sighed and lowered his cup.

“She would wander the stacks, silent and ghostly. She was…” he paused again and his eyes darted from the fire to Therin’s face again. “She was always humming.”

If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Alira felt her breath catch as she imagined her mother, drifting among the dusty shelving at the monastery, humming as she had done while making dinner, while washing laundry, while braiding Alira’s hair.

“Humming?”

“Just a soft hum, barely audible unless you were right next to her. Haunting.” The old man squinted into the fire as he spoke. “No words, just sound.”

“Did you recognize the songs she hummed?”

“She had the one song. It was a lullabye.”

Therin couldn’t keep the surprise off his face as Orin spoke.

“A lullabye? Like, for children?” he asked.

“Witch lullabye,” Orin grunted. “To keep people mute.”

Alira’s heart stuttered as she listened. Her mother always hummed. She could hear the sound now, and could hum the song herself if she tried. Something in her posture drew Therin’s eye and he stared at her for a long time, both their eyes shaded by their hoods.

Alira hummed the song in her head, not daring to let it escape her throat.

I taught her that song. Henry said and his own surprise was a shock unto itself for Alira. I didn’t realise she was… His disgust at how he’d been used flared again, a pale echo of the rage she had felt when he had attacked.

What is the song? Alira asked him.

It’s the Song of Silence, a melody the spirits use to calm nature before a storm. To lull the animals and plants into reverie so they will take shelter before the rain and thunder. He began to sing the song, sibilant whispering words filling the gaps where her mother had hummed notes.

Therin had begun talking to Orin again but Alira was lost inside herself, listening to Henry.

What does it mean? She wondered.

Hush, the thunder comes. Silence, the water runs. Rest, the ocean tides. Hush, let silence abide.

She shook her head and tuned back into Therin and his uncle.

“And after she’d left, it was like I could talk again.”

“Left the library or left the monastery for good?”

“Left the monastery. While she was around, I felt like I had things to say but… but I just didn’t…” his hand shook as he drained his cup. Marenna stood from the kitchen table and took the cup, gently patting the old man.

“Don’t rile him up, Therin,” she chided softly. “He’s old.”

“Like I didn’t–”

“Have the words.” Alira spoke for the first time, her voice hoarse.

The two men turned to look at her. Orin nodded and Therin held a question in his gaze.

“Yes, yes.” She reached a hand out and held his gnarled one in her small cold one.

“I’m sorry, Orin,” she whispered. “That’s a terrible feeling. As though you might drown in your own voice, like a single utterance will choke you.”

A tear slid down the old man’s cheek as he patted her hand and nodded again.

“Yes, yes,” he repeated. “Just so.”

“Sister Alira has some experience with…” Therin caught her eye and she nodded. If it would give the man some comfort, let part of her secret be known. “With the witch known as Erin.”

The old man’s watery grey eyes turned to her and she tried to meet his gaze with a smile.

“Indeed. I know much about her. But anything you can tell us about that time, especially the night she stole the book, would be useful.”

Orin looked at the monk kneeling before him and released Alira’s hand. He put his hand on Therin’s shoulder and patted.

“The High Lord raised you, Therin. You know his intentions as well as anyone, I reckon.” The monk merely smiled, and Alira wondered what his thoughts were about that sentiment. “And he bound me to silence,” the old man repeated.

“I don’t want you to feel like you’ve betrayed the High Lord by telling me–” he smiled at Alira, “us,” he amended. “We just want to know what you saw and heard. Anything.”

Orin seemed to relax a little, his shoulders dropping a fraction before he sighed.

“It was just such a terrible time,” he said as his hand dropped from Therin’s shoulder. “What the High Lord did was…” he trailed off and fell silent.

Alira drank her now cold tea, the mail shirt tinkling in the silence.

“What of Galvyn?” she asked suddenly. But it was the wrong thing to ask as Orin’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowed.

“What do you know of Galvyn,” spat the old man.

“Nothing, uncle. We’re just trying to get a picture of that time.” Therin’s tone was soft, reassuring, gentling to tender.

But his uncle had withdrawn further and Alira cast an apologetic face toward Therin who shook his head with a slight shrug.

“Therin,” Orin said finally. “Has the High Lord truly given you leave to ask me these things? Truly?”

The monk weighed his answer before speaking. He lowered his hooded head and then lifted it slowly.

“Yes, Orin. He has given me leave to question you regarding the book and the time around the theft.” Alira could see the light in his eyes as he spoke, a lie, a slight twist of the truth.

The old man nodded and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he stared into the fire again.

“Very well, then. By the High Lord’s leave.” But he remained silent for a long time, finally taking a steadying breath and launching into his story.

“Galvyn was a paladin at that time. He had been given a title and lands but had not yet settled on them yet. He was only twenty but so promising. Devan and he had been close, all their lives. Some said they were cousins by marriage or just boyhood friends. I’m not sure which.” He paused and continued to stare into the crackling flames.

“Devan was a little older than him and both had been in church since they were very young. Being a noble but born the second son, he was not required to find a wife so when he was very young, he took an oath of life-long celibacy, pledging his heart and body to the church. He was devoted wholly to the Light.

“But Galvyn had not been on the same path for as long. The rumor was that Devan and his father sponsored the boy when his parents couldn’t take care of him and his siblings any longer. His mother was ill…” he gestured to his head, sheepish. “In the mind. Something was wrong and she wasn’t able to take care of herself or the children.”

Therin nodded encouragingly. “Yes, I had heard that Galvyn had been a teenager when the monastery took him in. His training was expedited, wasn’t it?”

“When you spend day and night with the Holiest man alive, you don't have a choice but to become a paladin,” Orin said with reverence. “He was slated to be the first ever Hammer of the High Lord, to be just a single rank lower than Devan himself.

“Until Erin came and destroyed everything.” His wide, thin hands clenched into fists.

“And Galvyn lost faith in Devan,” Therin added in understanding. Orin frowned, shaking his head slowly.

“That’s not fair. What Devan did, he did for the good of everyone. He took the fall for what could have threatened to undermine the might of the entire order.” Orin’s frown deepened. “No, if you believe what your father did was anything other than the most self-sacrificing, most righteous thing…” He shook his head again.

“Giving into the witch was decidedly weak of him, Orin.” Therin said gently. “It could have been much worse, I do agree. At least all he has left of it is a scarred reputation.”

“What he did was noble,” said the old man, his voice tight with strong-willed adamance.

“I’m sorry, uncle. I’ve not heard anyone describe his seduction like that. He could have fallen from the Light.”

“Seduction? You mean Galvyn’s fall?”

“No, Devan. The High Lord. Erin seduced him, breaking his oath, and stole the book.”

“No, Therin,” the old man said slowly, shaking his head. “Erin seduced Galvyn, turning him from the Light.” The old man continued to shake his head. “But he told you this, right? The High Lord sent you here to talk to me.”

Henry whispered something inside her mind but she couldn’t understand his words. She blinked back his voice and he repeated himself.

Alira felt cold all over and she breathed quickly, small gasping breaths. Her face had drained of all colour.

“Told me that…” Therin said haltingly, stringing the new story together. “That Galvyn was the one that was tricked by Erin and Devan…what?”

“Took the fall for him and let him leave with her, unharmed. He told you, already though.” The old man wanted assurance that he had not betrayed his High Lord and Alira laid a gentle hand on his arm and whispered.

“Yes, we knew. We just had to hear it from you for ourselves. We already knew.” She squeezed his arm once and stood. “Thank you, Orin.” She turned to Therin. “I’ll wait for you outside.”

She stumbled outside, tripping past the horses, ignoring Marenna calling her name. She fell to her knees just outside the homestead’s gates and threw up, her heart racing, Henry’s words thundering inside her.

Galvyn was your father.