CHAPTER 38: DAPPLED HISTORY
It turned out that there was, in fact, one road exiting their village—which, Elias had since learned, they called Sanctuary—leading to the only destination that made any sense: the deck of an airship. Whatever cobrium they possessed was stored aboard their modest vessel, as they always held onto a little extra, Mitra explained, though whether it would be enough for The Sapphire Spirit’s homeward voyage remained a question yet to be answered. However much she could spare, Elias did not doubt it would help. And if it wasn’t enough, he could only hope that Iric chopped wood as well as he moved crates and that Briley’s engine tests proved successful.
The trail over was skinny, winding, and riddled with slick rocks and protruding roots. The forest was as dense as it was endless, its towering trees taller than any manmade structure Elias had ever seen, and he was pretty sure he had seen the biggest ones now. It was a sunny afternoon, but few beams slipped through the branches to dapple their path.
“What do you think of our village?” Mitra asked halfway through their journey.
“I can see why you call it Sanctuary,” Elias replied.
She smiled a half-smile. It was just the two of them, Mitra rolling an empty wheelbarrow with both hands, mindlessly maneuvering it around familiar obstacles. “Sanctuary was founded over a century ago, though it safeguards a legacy far older than that,” she said. “It exists for people like us, Elias. And its existence has never been more necessary than it is today, nor has it ever been more endangered.”
“I was wondering why you didn’t invite Jalander to join us,” Elias mentioned, “though I suppose Bertrand could use the company.”
“I do believe what you told me about Jalander, but he is still Valshynarian, even if grudgingly so,” she explained. “His presence here is not without risk. Everyone who knows of this place puts us in more peril.”
“He is just trying to survive.” Elias sounded somewhat defensive. “He’s really not so different from us. The way I see it, Jalander never had the option to hide. I do.”
“And you are not the only one,” Mitra said.
“Is everyone in Sanctuary a collector?” he wondered.
“Not everyone,” she revealed. “Some are family—spouses and children. But it is a safe haven for those who are. Many here wish to learn and ascend, but others do not, and yet even they are at risk. You and I choose to pursue our powers, but there are those for whom our gift is a curse, and yet the Valshynar would still take over their lives. Some escape that fate by coming here, living as apostates. My only ambition is to help and to guide, whatever path they choose. And they may choose to leave, as is their right. A few of them do. We are not the Valshynar. This is not a prison, assuming we can trust you to keep our secret.”
“How long have you been running this place?” Elias inquired.
“A while,” she said.
“I know it’s rude of me to ask, but… just how old are you?”
“Old enough to remember when things were different. What do you know about the history of our people?”
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“I know about the Five Great Schools that existed before the Valshynar took over and absorbed them one by one,” he said.
“Recent history. Before that.”
In the library of his mind, Elias was flipping through the many books Jalander had lent him and the fragmented conversations the two had had, trying to order it all chronologically. “There was the dawn of air travel and the discovery of sky rifts.”
“And before that?”
The further back she pushed him, the dustier and emptier his mental library grew. “I know the great schools existed for a few centuries, and there were other ones, too, that rose and fell over the years. Collectors were less organized in the earlier eras. Much has been lost to history, or so I’ve read.”
“And before that?” she asked again.
Elias racked his brain. “The Cataclysm that destroyed the Great Mountain.” He knew he was skipping over entire millennia. “The Ancients who cultivated godhood—our ancestors.”
“And do you believe that story?”
“I dreamed it. We all dream it, do we not?”
“And because you dreamed it, you believe it.” It was a statement more than a question.
“It’s not like someone told me the story offhand,” he countered. “At least, not someone corporeal. I suppose I just assumed it was true, a trick of divine intervention. I’ll admit I have wondered how exactly the experience came to be, how a voice arrived in my head like that, but I’ve accepted a lot of strange things since becoming a collector.”
“A trick of divine intervention,” Mitra repeated, appearing amused. “Dreaming is clearly an effective means of communication. You accepted that story, precisely as it was told, because you dreamed it. You believe it not because of what was said but because of how it was said to you.”
“Are you telling me the Cataclysm is a lie?” Elias felt his heart skip a beat.
“Long ago, there were other versions of the story you dreamed,” she said, “but that is all I can say. And this: there is a place for you in Sanctuary if you wish—so long as you do not lead the Valshynar to our doorstep. Obviously, this would require certain sacrifices. I assume Jalander has told you of the risks you face out there on your own.”
Not far ahead of them, the oak hull of an airship materialized in puzzle pieces through the parting of pines and spruces. Elias thanked her for her offer, but he wished to carve his own path forward.
“Then carve it you shall,” Mitra said.
* * *
When they returned to The Sapphire Spirit that evening, Bertrand and Jalander appeared as one: calm, rejuvenated, and somewhat overboiled from their lengthy dip in the hot spring. As for Elias, he was still lost in thought, rolling a wheelbarrow full of cobrium.
Briley, in contrast, was red-faced, panting, and holding an axe she must have discovered below deck. Iric was still chopping wood, of which there was a considerable pile beside him.
“You’re back.” Briley dropped her weapon. “How did it go? It looks like it went well.”
“It was an unexpected adventure,” Bertrand said. “But at the end of it, we acquired some cobrium, paid for with an unspecific future favor—the best kind of debt. Hopefully, it’s enough. If not, it looks like we have plenty of wood.”
Briley turned to the pile. “Iric is very good at chopping. Me, not so much.”
“You are a fine woodcutter, Miss Soren,” Iric inserted from twenty feet behind her.
Briley looked less convinced, though she possessed other talents. “I tested the wood and got the engine started. It works. Burns fast, which is why we’ve chopped so much of the damn stuff. For future emergencies, I guess, assuming there’s enough cobrium in that wheelbarrow.”
Elias rolled their borrowed cart up the gangway without contributing to the conversation. And as they began loading their ship with both fuel sources, Briley asked Bertrand the obvious: “So, who the hell were they anyway? Villagers in the middle of nowhere. They must have been unconventional folk, if nothing else.”
“I honestly still haven’t a clue,” Bertrand said, and neither Elias nor Jalander suggested they knew any different. “They kept asking me about the Valshynar. Do I look like I’m Valshynarian?” He chuckled, shrugged, and scooped up a bundle of freshly cut logs. “I suppose they’re just trying to stay safe out here in the middle of nowhere. I can’t really blame them, but I certainly do not understand them.”
“Well, I for one am ready for civilization again,” Briley said, staring skyward. The early evening sun had slipped behind the tall tree line, and the forest around them was growing dark, its once rich green pines and blue-needled spruces reduced to black silhouettes against a backdrop of dying light. “I am ready for home.”
Bertrand inhaled deeply the crisp, clean, natural air, still looking strangely at peace considering all that had transpired, as crickets chirped the arrival of dusk. “Home sounds nice,” he agreed. “Home sweet home.”
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