Chapter 8


    The Moon Like an Elderberry


    — Part the First —


    Jalo’s workshop stood at the edge of the settlement, perched on a sandy, perilous bluff that sloped steeply down toward the lake. Upon the crest of that bluff grew a mighty beech tree, its trunk aged to a silver sheen. That day, snow mingled with rain and fell so thickly that, peering through the round hollow of the window, Féven could scarcely make out the path leading to the workshop — let alone catch sight of her father, should he be returning from the village.


    Turning away from the window, she saw Fet holding a small black elderberry in his outstretched right hand, likely pilfered from her herb store that morning, and in his left, his glass sphere, through which he peered with one eye half-squinted. He moved the sphere back and forth before his face, alternately drawing it close and then away, until the game wearied him. Casting the berry onto the table, he began to survey the room through his glass toy. At last, his gaze landed on Féven, and his eyes widened with curiosity.


    Still clutching the sphere, he began gesturing eagerly, trying to convey what his words could not. Féven quickly caught his meaning.


    "Everything looks upside down?" she asked. When he nodded, she glanced back through the window, smiling faintly to herself. "It’s a magic sphere, that’s why."


    She knew this answer would hardly satisfy her little brother — and indeed, as she turned back to him, his face was twisted in a petulant grimace.


    "I’ve explained it to you before," she reminded him.


    Fet shrugged but waved impatiently, insisting he wanted to hear it again regardless.


    "Jalo once told you," Féven began, stepping closer and gently taking the sphere from his hand, "that we see because of light. When light reaches your sphere, it changes direction." She traced her finger in the air at the height of the glass object. "That’s why everything looks different."


    Fet made an exasperated gesture, plainly demanding a fuller explanation.


    "I don’t know any more than that," Féven admitted, lifting her shoulders in a slight, apologetic shrug. "Jalo says it’s just a theory. The writings have nothing more on it — at least none that we know of. Unless perhaps in Sén Serén or some other place far beyond ours."


    Fet grew still, fixing Féven with that unwavering gaze of his as he mulled over her words. Moments later, the door of the beech tree creaked, and Jalo entered, his rough hooded cloak pulled low over his head.


    He cast off the cloak, shaking off stray drops of sleet, and glanced at them with that faint bewilderment ever etched upon his face—a look Féven had inherited from him. A slight smile tugged at his lips.


    "Wherefore have you come?" he asked, as though he truly didn’t know.


    "To do something with you," Féven answered plainly.


    Jalo smiled once more and strode over to the great furnace, whose base from the heart of the beech delved deep into the earth beneath the bluff. He crouched by the hearth, stirring the embers to coax forth a stronger flame, for it had dwindled to little more than a flicker.


    "May I stand by the crucible?" asked Féven, shrugging off her cloak and tossing it onto the table. She glanced at Fet, but her brother had long since shed his outerwear. There was something strange about him — he never seemed to feel the cold.


    "No," Jalo said firmly, grasping the rod himself. "Too much mass, crucibles too large."


    "What are you making?" she asked, curious.


    "Glass panes," Jalo replied. "The gnome merchants from the Gates will come for them in three days."


    Glass panes, Féven got lost in thought.


    Glass panes always heralded change. Jalo rarely made smooth, seamless panes — blown from vast molten bubbles. He disliked crafting them, and they weren’t much sought after. But they fetched a high price, and so Jalo only made them when he reckoned money might be needed. When he was thinking of moving to a new place.


    Féven glanced at her father but held her tongue.


    "Prepare the blend for the second crucible," he instructed, catching her gaze.


    She nodded silently and strode over to the long chest near the window, where Jalo had earlier tossed sand, wood ash, and other ingredients whose names he had yet to reveal to her. Gripping the shovel, she set to work.


    They toiled in silence for some time, the heat steadily growing as glass melted and Féven shoveled back and forth across the length of the chest. Clad only in her tunic, she paused for a moment and made her way to the door of the hollow. She pushed it ajar, letting in a gust of cool air.


    Closing her eyes, she savoured the breeze as it brushed her nose and cheeks with a gentle, welcome touch.


    Suddenly, through her half-lidded gaze, Féven fancied she saw something strange poking out from behind the tree. Her eyes flew open at once. For the briefest of moments, she''d have sworn she glimpsed the tip of an ear — dark brown and hairy, like that of an animal. Yet as swiftly as the thought came, it faded, and she realised it was nought but blades of blackened grass swaying in the wind, peeking from behind the trunk.


    Nothing can be seen in this blizzard, she mused, turning away and shutting the door once more.


    "That Al," said Jalo suddenly, breaking the silence, "that bard who wandered his way here — he’s not such a bad lad. Not much of a mind, but no fool neither. You can have a decent chat with him. Friendly and merry too. And you took a liking to him."


    Féven was amused by the thought that her father, for the first time ever, was attempting to marry her off.


    "You mean to wed me to a bard?" she asked, a genuine smile spreading across her face.


    "And why not?" Jalo answered bluntly, shrugging as he stirred the cauldron with his rod. "Bards aren’t treetures they take wives too. He’ll be coming back to you, and he’ll take you on his travels. We’ve moved about oft enough ourselves, and you’ve never minded."


    "I haven’t," Féven agreed honestly. "But I still don’t see what’s got you so fond of him."


    "Maybe I just like him," Jalo said in a jesting tone, smiling faintly. "Why don’t you?" Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    "I never said I didn’t," she shrugged lightly. "Just not enough to marry him."


    "And what sort of man would you marry, then?"


    "I don’t know," she admitted after a moment''s thought, resuming her shovelling.


    "I’m not forcing you," Jalo said calmly. "Not to know, nor to marry anyone at all. Just saying — if you’ve found a good friend, it’s a pity to waste it."


    "I don’t even know if Al is my friend, at least not in the way you mean," Féven replied, slowing the shovel''s motion as her gaze drifted out of the window. The wind howled more fiercely now, even the thicker branches of the beeches swaying slightly in its grasp. Jyrcho’s right, what do I even know?


    "Besides, what’s the point of this talk? We both know he won’t be back."


    "I tell you, he will."


    "And when he does, we’ll have this conversation again."


    "Oi!" came Fet’s sudden cry, though it had nought to do with their conversation. Féven turned sharply toward her brother, as did Jalo.


    Fet was staring at the floor with a sour, almost pained expression, though nothing much had happened — only the elderberry he’d been holding lay squashed, its dried remnants staining the floor a murky, dirty purple.


    "Clean," said Fet, lifting his gaze anxiously from the floor and darting it between Jalo and his sister.


    Their father laughed.


    "Let it be," he said, crouching beside Fet, wrapping an arm around him, and patting his shoulder. "All''s well now, huh?"


    Yet Fet, visibly rattled, pulled away and seized the first rag he could find on the shelf, scrubbing furiously at the stain. Féven was taken aback. Her brother had always been troubled by sudden messes, but this reaction seemed excessive even for him.


    She knelt beside him, gently taking the cloth from his hand.


    "Easy now," she said soothingly.


    He looked straight into her eyes then.


    "Moon," he whispered. "Blood."


    Fév’s gaze shifted to the rag, and at once she understood what troubled him. Like the moon last night.


    "What moon? What blood?" Jalo asked, still amused.


    Féven smiled faintly.


    "Last night, the Sage was red as dirty blood. He remembered it."


    "Ah, nonsense, Fet," Jalo said with a chuckle. He swiped a finger across the crushed berry and licked it. "Elderberry — you''ve eaten it plenty of times. Just a common fruit. Fév will brew syrup or a draught from it."


    Just then, a tapping sound came from the window — once, then again. Jalo tensed, lifting his head sharply. His eyes narrowed, ever so slightly, but enough for Fév to catch that fleeting sign of his wariness. She turned her head to look as well. Yet through the crown glasses, the blizzard raged alone.


    "Expecting someone, Father?" she asked gravely, her gaze steady upon him.


    "No, not at all!" He waved a hand dismissively, rising and making his way back to the crucible. "Yet off with you now! Pull him away from that nonsense." He nodded toward Fet, who was still scrubbing the floor with fervour.


    There was something strange about that smile of his, and Féven hesitated awhile. Yet she nodded in the end, sensing that leaving with Fet might indeed be wise.


    Once outside, she cast her eyes about warily. The world was shrouded in swirling white, every shape softened and veiled by the storm. Even as they moved further down the path, Féven glanced back over her shoulder. The workshop door loomed faintly through the blinding mist, untouched by any visitor.


    I need to find Jyrcho, she thought nonetheless.


    <hr>


    It was barely past noon, but the village, veiled in falling snow and chilled by a damp, piercing cold, lay as empty as if it were midnight. Only the lanterns flickered on the trees, creaking and swaying in the wind. Féven was in haste to return home to Jyrcho, but Fet had insisted they go to the lakeshore, to the rocks where the Pine Festival had been held just weeks before.


    There, he found his calm, sinking into silence and thought even more deeply than usual. He climbed atop a fallen beech and stood for a long while, gazing at the wind tugging a splintered plank of the pier. Its loose end dipped and struck the lake’s thin, frozen crust with a faint splash.


    At last, Féven called to him, and Fet obediently returned, though his eyes had drifted upwards, fixed upon the overcast sky.


    "Jyrcho!" Féven called the moment she opened the door to their house, but only silence answered her.


    She dashed upstairs to the house where their parents had once lived, now Jalo''s and Fet’s sleeping quarters, but it was empty too.


    Where has he gone today? she wondered, returning downstairs to find Fet glancing uneasily about the kitchen.


    Suddenly she remembered. H e left his orb in Jalo''s workshop. For a moment, she expected her brother to demand they go back for it. Yet to her surprise, he calmed himself and wandered instead to Jyrcho’s room. There he fetched a stool, setting it beneath the window, and settled down, unmoving, to watch the wet snowflakes tumble earthward.


    Seeing him thus occupied, Féven retreated to the herb room. She fetched her mortar and pestle and busied herself with her work.


    Not three quarters of an hour had passed when a timid knock sounded at the door.


    She rose to open it. On the threshold stood Od, his cheeks flushed from the cold, his cloak damp with snow. Féven smiled faintly and drew the door wider, stepping aside to let him in. Yet the boy shook his head and reached into the inner pocket of his cloak.


    "Jyrcho bade me give you this," he said, holding out a folded scrap of papyrus.


    Féven''s brow furrowed with question as she accepted it and unfolded the note.


    "Listen, Fév…" Od began, his voice troubled. "Forgive me — I couldn’t stop him."


    Jyrcho too begged her forgiveness in the brief letter:


    "Forgive me, Fév, but an opportunity arose, and I had to take it. No time to write more. Yours, Jyré."


    Féven’s heart quickened as she read her brother''s words, but she merely looked up at Od and calmly asked him to come inside.


    "What opportunity?" she asked once he’d hung his cloak over the back of a chair and seated himself at the table. "And with whom did he leave?"


    "I don’t know, Féven," Od said apologetically. "You know I’d tell you everything if I did. He ran up to me, all excited, shouting that he was going, and when I asked where, he just waved it off — said it didn’t matter and that he was in a hurry. Then he gave me this." He gestured at the papyrus. "Told me to make sure you got it. That’s the last I saw of him."


    The elf-maid said nothing to it, for at that very moment, a sudden noise echoed from Jyrcho’s room.


    “What are you up to, Fet?” she asked as she entered and found her little brother standing at the open window, letting the wind whip at his hair whilst he gazed hungrily into the distance.


    He did not turn to her but pointed with his finger.


    “Look! Moon-Daughter slumbers there. Dragonmage waits. Gown, moon, elderberries.”


    Fév hurried to his side, though she saw nothing but beech trunks and forest floor blanketed in snow. She had never been one for ominous premonitions, but a thought crashed through her mind like a grim revelation:  Jalo!  She sprang toward the door.


    And then they heard it — a blast. First one, then another.


    Without cloak or care, Féven darted out of the house. In a blink, she slid from the great oak tree that edged their path and tore through the woods, taking the shortcut to the western lakeshore where Jalo’s beech workshop stood. Her shoes sank deep into the fresh, sticky snow, and her trouser legs were soaked through to the knees within moments, but she did not slow. If anything, she ran faster.


    The villagers, frightened by the explosion, were already converging from every corner of the settlement. Eftsoons, Féven spotted the glow of orange light piercing through the swirling snow and fog. She halted, aghast.


    Jalo’s beech blazed like a torch.


    “Alchemist’s powder—it’s gone up!” cried Gathén as he ran toward her from the woods. He had been the nearest to the workshop and must have reached it among the first.


    The sound of the sage storyteller’s voice jolted Féven from her trance. Without sparing him a glance, she dashed onward toward the burning tree.


    “Féven, wait!” Gathén shouted, giving chase.


    Those villagers who had arrived ahead were already dousing the flames with water and druidic powder, hastily encircling the blaze to prevent it from spreading to the forest. Féven made to rush inside, into the very heart of the beech, but Gathén caught her with all his might and held fast.


    “Fév, there''s nought left! I was inside — your father’s gone!”


    She struggled to break free, yet he only gripped her tighter.


    “Stop! You shan’t see that — you  won’t!  Besides…”


    As though his words had summoned it, the burning tree let out a mighty crack. The crowd fled back in terror, knowing well what was to come. Moments later, the beech gave a final wrenching groan, splitting in twain ere tumbling down the sandy escarpment and into the hungry waters below.


    “Jalo!” Féven cried out in a wild, raw voice. Then she fell silent. A strange calm came over her — a dreadful calm. “Jalo…” she whispered one last time before standing still, staring long into the gulf.


    It was Od who pulled her from her reverie, appearing behind her with Fet cradled in his arms. He said nothing at first, simply setting the boy down gently on the snow-covered earth. Then, placing a tentative hand on Féven’s shoulder, he murmured:


    “Fév, I’m so—” His voice faltered, and he blurted foolishly, “Gathén says it was an accident. The powder went off by chance, did it not?”


    Féven did not answer. She only turned her gaze to Fet, who had found fragments of his beloved orb amidst the charred ruin. She approached him quietly, taking the half of the glass sphere that had survived intact. It gleamed faintly, like a scarred moon caught in its quarter phase.


    Her eyes swept the scene.


    Not by chance,  she thought, her gaze hardening toward a spot near the tree where earlier that day she had glimpsed the tip of the hairy ear. Yet she kept the thought to herself.  Jyrcho, where are you? Why now?