When Elsi was five, her father died. His death had stained her heart in a way her peers could never fully relate to. When she was twelve, her grandparents passed. It was to be expected, but the death was another reminder of how painful life could be. Both of these events hurt, but with time, the pain was something she learned to live with.
As Elsi left the alpine hills and ventured into the boreal forests, she felt both numb and impossibly fragile at the same time. This new pain was fresh, vivid, and relentless. Elsi felt that her heart had been ripped from her chest. Even the simple act of breathing felt impossible.
It took Elsi six days to leave the mountains and another nine to cross the alpine hills. When she met the edge of Fendrel Forest, the pain had turned to ice, and her chest felt sore. She had run out of tears to cry and curses to yell at the old gods.
When she heard the first sounds of music, she was certain she had gone mad. Why would there be music in the middle of the forest?
However, after walking for several more minutes, Elsi only heard it grow louder. With the music, she heard voices and the sound of laughter. The scent of seasoned meat, roasted vegetables, and campfire smoke hung heavy in the air. For the first time in days, Elsi felt her stomach growl with hunger.
She wandered closer to whatever camp was nearby. At first, Elsi assumed it would be a Meiren camp since she was close to their border; however as she approached, she recognized the music.
“Red of blood and gold of moon, stab the bastards through and through,” sang a man in an upbeat voice.
“Crystals, coins, rings, and lockets, empty out the fool’s pockets,” answered what sounded like half a dozen people.
Elsi could have broken out into a fit of laughter if she hadn’t been so tired. She knew the song as a rather nasty drinking song that the Bards who visited Dawnellis would sing late at night in the taverns.
This was a Bard’s camp.
Elsi walked closer and caught a glimpse of a variety of canvas tents set up together. A large bonfire burned at the center of the camp. Bards danced and laughed around the bonfire, barefoot. Their clothing was a mismatched collection of fine silks and patchwork skirts. Children ran through the forest after each other.
Standing close to the fire was a Bard man who was likely twenty years her senior. He had long, messy dark hair and strummed skillfully on a lyre. His clothing, like all the Bards, was almost skillfully unmatching.
Elsi ventured closer to the fire, hoping she wouldn’t scare the Bards.
“Who’s that?” Asked a voice.
Elsi sat on the raft as it idly drifted down the river. It was nearly the slowest mode of transportation she had ever used, but it was better than walking. So, she refused to complain. The Meiren family–the Garners–had been kind enough to take her south. There was no need to criticize their raft.
Beside her, Pan sat, gazing up at the skies above. Caris and Maude sat together while Finlay steered the little raft. Their various conversations had faded a couple of hours ago. Silence filled the space between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.
Elsi found herself looking up at the stars and thinking about the stories Vel had told her once. He said that Meirens made long, exciting stories for all of the stars. At the time, she had laughed, thinking about it. But now, it seemed oddly comforting to know that the skies above held stories like the pages of a book.
“Do your people have stories of the stars?” Elsi asked no one in particular.
“We do,” Finlay replied with a smile.
“Do you have a name for that star?” She pointed at a star in the southern skies.
“We call that one the Staff of Ignemir,” Finlay began. He pointed just above the star. “If you look closely, it looks like a man standing with a staff.”
“Ignemir…like the god?”
Finlay nodded. “Most Meiren don’t worship the gods any longer, but their stories are still popular throughout our villages. It’s where we get most of the names for our constellations.”
“I like that,” Elsi replied. “We call it the Southern Point. During certain times of the year, it leads straight to Dawnellis.”
“That one is my favorite,” Maude, who was now lying on her back, pointed directly above them.
Elsi followed her pointed figure to find a familiar constellation. “The Darkbringer. It can only be seen in the colder months when the skies are darker for longer.”
“We call it the Son of Tador,” Maude said. “And in the story, the god of war, Tador, sends his son to slay the goddess Letheia. But as he travels towards Letheia,” she drew a line in the sky with her finger. “He meets the woman with a thousand names, and she tells him that if he gives up his mission of slaying the sun, she will marry him.”
“Does she marry him?” Elsi looked over at Maude.
Maude grinned, “Oh yes, and they have ninety children.”
Elsi grimaced and looked back up at the stars. “That’s a lot of children.”
“Your constellations never have children?” Maude seemed shocked by this.
Elis couldn’t help but offer a small smile, “No. We use them to tell us what time of year it is and where we are.”
“Really? So, no stories,” Maude seemed to contemplate that for a moment.
“How do stars tell directions?” It was the first comment she had heard from Caris in a while. He glanced over at her with skepticism.
Elsi thought about it for a moment. “Imagine the stars are paintings on the wheel of a wagon. As the wheel spins, the stars move with it, right? So, imagine that wheel spinning over the sky, the stars aren’t rising and falling but rather spinning around a singular point.”
“Where is the singular point?” Maude asked.
“There,” Elsi pointed to a particularly bright star that sat low in the northern skies. For a moment, she remembered just how bright it was from the mountains. “It’s called Achoren, the North Star.”
“I still don’t understand how you find directions based on all that,” Caris replied under his breath.
It was clear he didn’t believe her, although Elsi wasn’t upset about it. She knew that Meirens didn’t use the stars to travel. “Essentially, we use the stars as a map,” she explained in a new way. “Think of the different constellations as landmarks like rivers and mountains.”
“Why not just use rivers and mountains?” Caris’s eyes met hers.
“Because most of Akarelleian travel happens at sea.”
Caris was about to reply, likely with something snarky. However, Maude cut him off before he could. “Do Bards have stories of the stars?” Maude looked over at Pan.
Pan had been gazing up at the Son of Tador. “We have a story for everything,” he answered with a smile.
“But don’t agree to hear a Bard story unless you want to hear a very long song,” Elsi remarked.
Pan smirked at Elsi. “And what’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, singing just makes stories longer.”
“No,” he countered. “Bards make stories longer.”
That night, Pan played a myriad of Bard songs, each telling an over-complicated story. Some were funny, others were sad. Maude and Finlay were both deeply enthralled by the music. Caris’s face remained impassively disinterested, but Elsi could see his foot tapping ever so slightly to the rhythm of the music.
Pan was a skilled musician. His fingers danced across the lyre as he sang ancient Bard songs. As he played, Elsi watched the water pass beneath the raft, reflecting the stars above. The glistening patterns made it look as though the stars were dancing to the music.
Eventually, Elsi lay down on the raft with the others. Pan’s music took a weight off her shoulder. She gazed up at the dark skies and watched as a small cloud passed over the constellation Maude had called the Son of Tador. The outline of the cloud shimmered like melted silver, illuminated by starlight.
“Always find the silver linings,” her mother always told her. “It’s the little bits of everyday beauty that will get you through.”
A small seed of hope was placed in Elsi’s chest. Maybe it would be alright. Maybe there was still a way to save Vel and the rest of the world.
Chapter Eight: Northern Winds
These stories are so soothing. I would like to spend time floating on a raft, looking up at the sky while a bard sang with his lyre. Thank you.
The editing pixie has been at this one:
Elsi sat on the raft as it idly drifted down the river. It was nearly the mode of transportation she had ever used, but it was better than walking.
Looks like I have a job as your unofficial proofreader, which suits me just fine if I get to read these gentle stories.