Nightshade: Chapter II
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II – The Tavern and The Herald
Storm shattered sky began to brew above Noë’s head as she arrived at Geran’s tavern, dimming orange light crept forward from the glass lanterns hung outside the wooden doorframe, twisted black mountain iron keeping them suspended from the decrepit roofing.
She looked upwards, searching the white clouds polluting with muted grey as they drew from the sea’s shore through the woodland path and past the cottage keep on the beach.
From here their home looked serene, still and unbothered as gentle pulses pushed the water’s edge along the white sand of Hyatse, blue and yellow grass between the house and stable far in the distance.
Though the village seemed so close that they lived within it, the woodland between the two stretched a mile’s length, leaving little chance–but still chance–of Fimbulwinter’s dangers, even here in the forgotten lands of Hyatse’s wilds, abandoned and desolate after the Bifrost War.
What was once a quartered land of peace was now in halves, Men and Elves sheltering in Vertan to the West and what little remained of the dwarves and Hel’s ever growing army of undead Dwellers In The Wilds of the East.
Once the Dwellers of Narothal, Ash Mountain Elves with an affinity for fire magic had served and prayed to Surtr, but in Hel’s deception they had gained a new master that brought a plague of death amongst them, enslaving their minds and driving them to do her bidding.
Briefly she hung her head, praying for Hel to find the peace she needed to right the wrongs she committed against the realms and free them from her hatred. Perhaps others saw the Queen of the Undead irredeemable, but Noë felt differently. If Hel’s darkness was anything like her own–or stronger, she knew that it took little to be lost in its cold.
Villains were made.
Even those born of narrow heart and mind.
Hrimfaxi gently brayed beside Noë, lost in thought. She held her horse’s black cheek, the white silvers of his frosted mane braided down his neck as he nudged her shoulder in return.
“I know Hrim. I feel it too.” She confessed as she searched the growing gloom for the source of her unease. The sea breeze was not alone in the air, heavy with energy charged by the storm.
She turned toward him and nuzzled his soft face with her own, “We won’t stay out long and we’ll return home right away.” As he still seemed unhappy, she chuckled at his attitude. “You do want the good wheat, don’t you?”
He responded happily in kind, bringing laughter to her smile. She pet his snout. “Thought so.”
She took her covered basket from his saddle and lowered the hood of her blue scarf uncovering her hair, her silver eyes shining through the midday gloom.
She entered into the tavern, unsurprised at its lack of patronage as Geran toiled behind the counter, organising his wares before barrels of homemade mead and salted meats. “I have a present for you, Geran. Remind me again which you like–bitter or sweet?”
The dwarven man raised his head from behind the wooden counter, his glass rimmed eyes steamed from his efforts as he wiped his hands clean. “Noë! Good to see you. Sweet with rye. It just gives tonic a little something extra.”
Noë approached the counter and sampled the frothing drink from the curved ale horn he placed and winced at once, the bitterness overwhelming. “It tastes like dirt.”
Geran held up a finger as she took a wrapped jar from her basket and sat it on the counter. He unwound the twine around the rim and pushed aside the whitened cloth to reveal the liquid brown of the sweet sap from Dahlia’s prized Honeytree.
With a long spoon he slicked the surface and scooped it into the barrel beneath the counter and poured another foam covered cup. “Try it now.”
Hesitating, she grabbed the carved handle and drank again, ever pleased at the gold running down her throat, sweet with bitter lemon peel. “Much better. Sometimes I believe you to be very talented, Geran.”
“And don’t forget it.” Geran laughed cheerfully in victory. “Now, what will it be today?”
Noë searched the shelves behind his head as she recalled her Aunt’s roving list of necessities. Small and seldom visited by outsiders, the village's resources were all they had access to to survive. “Black tea leaves, wicker bread–or the granules if you haven’t made any yet, hig wheat, maize, parchment, and coal please. Did your wife leave the thread I asked for?”
Geran’s face turned to a wince, “She did, but I am sorry Noë, I just sold the last of the black leaves this morning.” The girl’s disappointed frown shook his heart. “But I know of a trader that should be passing by tomorrow evening–perhaps you can come check back then?”
With a smile and nod, Noë accepted his solution as he began to pull her wares and store them in the grey saddle bag on the counter.
“What’s the tonic for, Geran?” Noë called over her shoulder as she wandered the cobbled tavern floor, looking out into the sandy dirt path through the wide glass window dousing sunlight on the empty tables. She watched the trees move with the picking up of the breeze.
“An illness.” he said, “One said to be passing through humans mostly, but no good for us dwarves either. I heard of it from a pack of rogues passing through from Vertan. One used to stay near Hivar Forth by Grothen.”
“Grothen?” She turned her interest back to the bar keep. “In Karth?”
“Former Karth, I’d say–but yes. No good his word usually is–he’s a bit of a gossip, but I’m not taking any chances. I’ve packed some for you both as well.”
She came closer as he packed more herbs in brown paper, dried and mixed leaves and petals falling with an aroma of warm spice. “Did he know anything about the castle there? I’ve never met anyone who’s seen it.”
“And you still haven’t.” he said to her disappointment. “There’s a reason no one goes near it any longer, and neither should you. Your Auntie has done well to keep you here instead of out wandering about, in my opinion.”
Noë rolled her eyes. Tarrith village was so small it was as if she had fifty guardians instead of just one. They all seemed hell bent to keep her from any inkling of adventure.
Was it so wrong to dream of one day seeing her ancestral home with her own eyes?
“Thanks, Geran.” She took the completed sack from the counter and slung it over her shoulder. “What do I owe you today?”
He breathed deeply as her head turned towards the floor. “Nothing. And I put extra provisions inside for the storm. They told me to find my lodging elsewhere tonight, said the storm will be fifty times what we’ve seen before. Can you imagine?”
She squinted, concerned at the estimate. Rogue groups of travellers were not unheard of in the wilds, but even fewer were those passing on warning. She would get home, and quickly in hopes that they would have time to prepare the same.
Yet still disappointment ate at her.
“You are missing nothing.” Geran said in promise. “You would do well to appreciate that you have a home, safe and warm to return to with someone who cares for you deeply. We lost all that and more to this damned eternal winter.”
Noë heard his warning as his voice came low, danger true between his words. “Thank you.” She shook off the ominous feeling washing over her and looked back into his eyes. “But if you care so much for my relationship with my aunt, you’ll get me the black tea leaves she likes.”
Her devious smile brought forth his laugh as he bid her goodbye, “Tomorrow young one. Ride safe.”
“Goodbye, Geran.” she said with a wide smile as she exited the shop, lifting her white dress as she moved down the stone steps. Hrimfaxi stepped happily in place at her appearance as he fought his tied rein on the hitch.
“Okay, okay. I’m here.” thunder clapped in the distance as she threw the saddlebag over his rear, turning her face towards the heavens. She felt the moisture building on her face and smelled it blowing through the darkening trees. She prepared to climb on top when the ground shook viciously underneath their feet.
Noë stumbled as the earth quaked and stopped abruptly. She looked around herself in disbelief as the rows of cottages and shops swayed and stopped, bringing Geran to the tavern door. “Noë?”
She stood up straight and held Hrimfaxi’s harness to calm him. “We’re okay, Geran. Are you alright?”
“Broken glass or two–but otherwise alright. Do you want me to keep watch while you go through the forest?”
Noë looked into the distance on the seashore by the cottage, seeing a tall woman with black hair nervously looking down the path into town. “No, that’s okay. My Aunt’s waiting for me already. You should close up shop right away.”
He nodded, searching their surroundings. “Yes… I’ll do that. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye.” Noë climbed onto Hrim’s back, steering him towards the tall trees of the shore.
Dahlia watched her begin her ride home and waited nervously, hoping another tremor would not begin. It would not be the first time excess energy drew unwanted attention towards their hideaway so far out of Hel’s way.
As Noë breached the dark of the woods between, Dahlia settled the basket on her hip and held to Hrimfaxi’s reins. Atop her black horse she reminded Dahlia much of Aztrit atop her own horse, Fora. And just as her mother did, Noë loved her horse more than life itself.
Noë climbed down, seeing the worry already etched in Dahlia’s fine porcelain face. “Any trouble?”
Noë shook her head as her aunt touched her blushed cider cheek, examining her for injury. “No, Auntie. I only went to the village, not to war.” She ceased her jest as her eyes met another’s over her Aunt’s shoulder, stepping out from the cottage door.
Blue eyes–but not blind.
Dark red hair–crushed currants spilling over tanned cream ears.
Pinkened lips–full and speaking–speaking in a voice too ethereally divine for her to grasp as his smile turned upwards.
She was dazed.
“Who’s this?” she whispered almost too quietly, knowing his energy before she spoke.
Dahlia stepped back from between them as Orion put on his black gloves. Incapable of telling her the truth, Dahlia motioned to the tall half-elf her niece gawked at. “He’s… a visitor. From Vertan. Prince Orion, this is my niece that I told you about. Noë, this is–”
Orion reached out a hand, her silver eyes full and bright as her small hand seemed to reach back slowly, taking his not yet gloved hand as her fingers intertwined with his own.
“Orion.” he said in greeting.
There was no mistaking it, it was his energy she had felt in her dreams.
She found herself.
“You must be one of the rogues Geran told me of. You came to warn us of the storm?”
Orion looked to Dahlia, her want for him to agree clear in the relief oozing from her. The truth was far more complicated. “Yes, but your Aunt has extended her hospitality to me long enough. I’ll be going now.”
Noë released his hand as he bowed leisurely to them both, his black gambeson and cloak cut finely along his lean form as he pulled his hand into his oversized glove.
As he stepped away, Noë turned over her shoulder. “How do you know?”
He stopped walking and faced her. “Know… what?”
Noë came closer to Hrim and touched his side, afraid that if her hands were free she would reach for Orion again. “About the storm? Geran said a rogue told him it would be fifty times larger than normal. How do you know something like that?”
“Noë.” Dahlia warned, insisting that she come inside only to be ignored.
Orion couldn’t help the short laugh that fell from his lips. “Forgive the theatrics. A friend that I travel with may have exaggerated its dangers to the barkeep a bit. You and your Aunt should be just fine where you are.”
Noë’s eyes followed him as he bowed again a little bit deeper this time–a little bit more intentional.
“Goodbye.”
“Wait.” Noë called again as Dahlia shook her head.
“Noë!”
She turned over to give Dahlia a pleading look. “Just a second, Auntie. I’ll be right in.”
Dahlia's lips pressed firm as she looked between the two. With a nod of encouragement from Orion, she turned and went inside.
Alone now, Noë turned back to Orion who stood patiently waiting for her to continue. “Do we… know each other?”
He couldn’t hide his smirk.
He came closer, seeing her hands tighten on her horse's reins as she took a half step back from him above her. “Are you asking me? Or do you feel certain that we do?”
As his eyes stayed on hers easily, she felt safe to admit that she did. “We do, don't we? And lately…” she felt her cheeks grow warm. “I’ve felt you in my dreams–watching me. Why?”
She watched as he went into his cloak pocket, a thin gold waist chain dotted with pearls appearing slow and long with a small golden disc dangling from its wheat yellow cord. On its front was Idunn’s apple, Vertan’s chosen sigil, and the back an etched boar.
“My mother had it made for your mother as a gift for her newborn.” He looked into her eyes as he settled it in her hands. “Our families know each other well. Your father and my father were brothers in all but blood–our countries, bound in brotherhood for centuries before them. Now we find ourselves their successors. And in turn, we must protect each other.”
She looked up at him, shock in her eyes with little understanding. But speechless she sat before him as he gently caressed Hrimfaxi’s mane, so at home with him though he rarely allowed others to get close.
Orion's blue eyes deepened as he recited prose:
Hrimfaxi he is called,
that each night draws forth
over the beneficent powers.
He from his bit lets fall
drops every morn,
whence in the dales comes dew.
He motioned up to the sky where his great eagle continued to soar. “He's a gift from the Norns. Just as my Eagle Aren. A reminder of how much faith is put into those meant for more than they could ever hope to achieve alone.”
He saw her confusion, her pretty face contorted with whispers of the past with the eyes of her father’s ghost.
She was too breathtaking, too innocent, and not at all. Even in all of his visions meeting her, he could not have foreseen being so… struck.
“I can tell how much your aunt loves you. You, so innocent you only see the world as adventure. She knows its dangers, and worries for you. But your instincts are well. If you lean into them–trust them–others will too. Then you’ll find what you believe you're missing.”
She looked up once more to find him gone, but his presence remained.
To be continued...