The moon hung in the cloudy night sky, bringing some relief to night’s whispered promise of blindness. In a close huddle of trees, the newly lit fire flickered, painting their shadows onto the canvas that was their band’s makeshift shelter. Artowen sat in the middle of the huddled group, the tarp they had strung on the floor and trees open to the warmth of the fire. Aunt Idwyn sat opposite them, who was tending to her short bow.
“I thought Truthsayers were disallowed from carrying weapons,” Artowen addressed her.
A slight chuckle. “This is not for my safety, but a means of claiming food.”
“From the stories you’re supposed to claim food from villagers or people passing by.”
She shook her head, eyes never leaving her bow. “Some might think that the ideal, but a true Truthsayer knows the value of moving unseen and fast. If not for you three I would still be speeding ahead. Besides, there is not a governing body for one such as I.”
“She’s right Arty. Usually, she doesn’t have us around so a little protection couldn’t hurt,” Emerii said.
“I’m glad you understand as a fellow woman Emerii,” Aunt Idwyn strung her bow and stood up. “I saw hare tracks but a little ways away. This won’t take long.” Artowen began to stand to accompany her but she forestalled him with a raise of her hand. “This is a rest for all of you, please take it.”
He still felt like he could go on, but understood his aunt’s intentions. We must pace ourselves in this journey, otherwise we will be worn.
She disappeared into the darkness. Artowen fidgeted as he waited for his aunt, eliciting a chuckle from his friends on either side of him.
“You should have just gone with her Arty,” Royce said.
He shook his head. “She probably needs time away from us to have a clear mind and think on her strategy. Besides, I would keep talking to her and that would scare the prey she is hunting.”
Emerii nudged him. “There is nothing wrong with wanting to be with family, you’ve been apart so long I can see why you’re jittery, but don’t be disheartened by a few moments of separation. We’ll all be together for the entirety of this journey.
Artowen nodded his head but said nothing else. They sat in companionable silence for a time until Aunt Idwyn reappeared in camp without a sound. They nearly jumped at her presence. The smile that never quite reached her eyes appeared ominous in the night, but a burst of laughter from the woman calmed their nerves.
“I sure got you all, though that was not my intention. I see you are keeping to your word Emerii. Good.”
She removed a dead hare from her cloak and knelt to skin and clean the dead animal.
“I can do that Aunt Idwyn,” Artowen said.
“You’ve grown to be a fine man Artowen, but I shall do this myself. I took its life, so I must pray for its passage. I must complete my other prayers as well, so this is no trouble.”
“I’ll join you Aunt Idwyn.”
‘Now there’s a good boy. Will our two companions join as well?”
“I don’t mind,” Royce said, “But I’m not the most devout.”
“Neither am I,” Emerii added.
“You three must train your faith as much as your physical and mental attributes. It is an important factor of your guardian deity after all, as it is a fragment of God’s grace.”
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It was a lecture, but a light-hearted one that the entire band smiled at. They nodded as if they knew those exact words by heart, uttered by parents or others in authoritative roles when they were still but children.
They went through the process led by the Truthsayer, their eyes closed and clasped together. Part was for the hare they would eat and part was for the general observance of God. The trio believed, though not as heartily as older generations. They had seen enough, predicted enough of the grim future, to doubt whether the grace of one they worshiped truly touched them. Who could blame them for their doubt? With how Aunt Idwyn carried on, certainly not her.
Once they finished their group prayer she sat and privately divined fate, heard the weaving of the lore of the world.
She opened one eye. “Dear nephew, would you perchance cook the hare up for us? This is a good time to see if you have inherited any of my beloved sister’s cooking skills.”
“You’ve been adamant about doing these tasks by yourself, why ask for assistance now?” Emerii asked.
An innocent expression on Aunt Idwyn’s face as she said, “Any food I cook suddenly becomes unpalatable for any other human.”
The maws of winter snapped around them, devouring the band with every intention to digest and scatter their remnants. The face of death was a cold white powder.
Not only was the season a cleaving scythe, but time distorted as it froze in place for any who tried to move forward. Travel was a trial presented by winter, a declaration that they could not reach their destination. The harshest winter Welkia had experienced, as far as Artowen knew.
“There was one far worse hundreds of years ago,” Aunt Idwyn had told them when he expressed his concern.
Forced to take shelter in caves known only to his aunt or to dig into the snow, their newly formed band was displaced.
“It was a mistake,” Aunt Idwyn said sitting by the fire lighting one such hidden cavern. “We should have departed sooner.” She did not comment more on the matter but did let out a long sigh.
The roar of the storm called for their bodies, but they huddled against the iciness. If not for Aunt Idwyn they might not even have survived this unusual time that was calling for the deaths of Drajin.
“Could you tell us of the prophecies of the promised one?” Artowen asked his aunt.
“This is no time to brag,” Royce chimed in.
“You already know the tales are loose, there is not much to tell,” Aunt Idwyn said.
“I’m trying to brighten the mood,” Artowen countered.
“By bragging,” Emerii said with a smirk.
Aunt Idwyn chuckled at their banter. “You are the promised one, and I can proclaim that fact. Unite the lands, pull the sword from the Lake of Origin, and push back our enemies. That is the extent.”
Artowen would not let winter claim him. “And become Drawalda,” He added.
“There is nothing stating that in the prophecies, however, I am confident that you will complete your dreams. You are the Promised One after all.”
Artowen beamed. It was not odd for someone to believe in him, he was the Promised One, but when that person reaffirmed his impossible dream he couldn’t stop the joy from showing on his face.
“Lady Idwyn, would you mind explaining the plan for when we arrive in Bardoo?” Emerii asked.
“There is nothing particular about what we will be doing. Strut up to the capital of Bardoo, then to the King to demand his support. He shall bend before our God-given duty.”
“We’ll batter them with our cub’s stubbornness,” Royce said.
That created much laughter around the fire.
The nights continued much like this. They traveled when they could, on roads or other paths more protected from the harsh conditions. If not for Idwyn’s skills of traversal as a Truthsayer the band would have been stranded indefinitely.
“We are close,” Aunt Idwyn said at one point. The only other person who might have traveled this path was Emerii, but it would have been far too changed by the season to tell. His aunt measured their reactions which must have been to her liking for she smirked slightly.
This particular stretch of the road was rough, a steep winding incline that was in disrepair. To save the horses’ legs they were forced to dismount and guide them through the precarious terrain. As they approached Bardoo the snow began to thin, meaning this region had not been assailed by the unusually harsh winter like the heart of Welkia had.
At the crest of the path they could finally see the edge of their destination, Tartos, the bleak stronghold powdered with snow was at the edge of their vision. If the road held they would arrive at the fortress city by nightfall.
“Finally,” Emerii exclaimed.
Aunt Idwyn chuckled. “Best become used to the travel. As the Band of the Promised One, we will be married to the road.”
Royce nudged the paled Emerii forward as they descended.
