A Deep, Enduring Reverie: Book Three of the Druid Saga

A DEEP, ENDURING REVERIE

Book Three of the Druid Saga

By Jonathan Crocker

Copyright © 2014 Jonathan Crocker

All rights reserved.

Cover Art by Tyler Edlin

Read all the books in the Druid Saga!

A Dream of Hope and Sorrow - Book One

A Long and Restless Slumber - Book Two

A Deep, Enduring Reverie - Book Three

Other works by Jonathan Crocker:

The Hummingbird Series

Out of Fire - Hummingbird: Book One

Out of Phase - Hummingbird: Book Two

Out of Time - Hummingbird: Book Three

Prologue

A great wall of stone rose up out of the water to her left. Lyra felt like she could lean over the rail and brush it with her fingers – she couldn’t, of course, as that would have put the ship much too close to the rocks beneath the water’s surface. But it was still close enough that it brought a smile to her weary face. They’d been at sea longer than she would have liked, and the sight of that cliff meant that her journey was almost over.

Drop the sails! the captain called out, and Lyra watched as crewmen fought through the throngs of refugees that cramped the ship’s deck to reach the various masts. Lyra herself was squeezed between an old woman on one side, and a group of children much smaller than her on the other.

She leaned out a little farther over the rail and peered towards the ship’s bow. Up ahead, she could see a long wharf jutting out into the water. There was an opening cut into the huge cliff, and a network of docks was protruding from there. The cliff itself rose quite high – when she craned her neck upwards, she could barely make out the top of it. It reminded her a little of the way that the Aerie towered over the ocean, except that there didn’t seem to be a city carved into the mountain. She wondered if the entire city sat on top of the high cliffs.

Where’s the kid with the letter? a voice called out.

Lyra turned to see a pair of crewmen shoving their way through the crowd. She figured that the men had no idea who they were looking for, beyond the description that they had just given. She didn’t like the way that they were pushing people around, but she was so sick of being aboard the ship that she rushed forward, nearly knocking someone over herself.

I’m here, she said, waving the sealed parchment in her hand.

As the ship glided right up next to the wharf, Lyra was led to the captain. He was the only clean-looking person aboard the vessel, and when he smiled down at her, she felt a bit of comfort. He, in turn, led her to the ramp that led down to the docks, and it was only then that Lyra noticed the contingent of guards that had gathered on the wharf.

Their outfits were made of dark, near-black leather, with long violet and black cloaks adorning their backs. Lyra was young, and had never travelled out of the eagle lands. And in the eagle lands, most commoners knew quite well – violet and black were the colours of the Spider Clan. Lyra stiffened at the thought.

This is the Raven Clan, child, the captain whispered to her. There’s no need to be afraid.

Then why are they holding spears? Lyra asked.

They’re just being careful.

The captain called out to the guards as he and Lyra descended the ramp and set foot on the heavy wooden docks. The huge planks beneath her feet were weathered, but sturdy. They shook a little as the guards marched across them. The captain had his hands held up, in a display of submission – the ships were even flying white flags, symbolic of peace or surrender. But none of that stopped the closest guards from drawing their weapons – the captain found himself with three spear tips closing on his neck.

What are you doing? Lyra shouted. We’re friends! We’re eagles!

One of the guards turned to regard her for the first time.

How do we know that? he asked, his voice rough.

You think we came here to attack you with a ship full of children and old women? Lyra spat.

A few of the guards scanned the faces at the rail of the ship. Those looks seemed to confirm that the ship had few men, and that no one was armed or armoured. Several of the guards whispered words to each other that Lyra couldn’t hear.

And why does the Eagle Clan send its vagrants to us? the same guard asked.

I want to talk to Brom, Lyra said, tiring of the man’s tone.

Brom? the raven scoffed, even laughing at her. Why would Brom waste his time with the likes of you?

Because I have a letter from Kelly, Lyra replied, holding the letter out. The guard tried to take it from her, but she pulled it back. It’s for Brom!

How do I know this isn’t some sort of trick? That you haven’t already read that letter? Or that you didn’t write it yourself?

I can’t read, and I can’t write. Now just go get Brom.

I suggest that you do as the girl says, the captain offered. Lady Kelly sent us here because the Aerie was under attack from the Spider Clan – there are seven other ships behind us. She assured us that the Raven Clan would offer sanctuary. I don’t imagine that either Lady Kelly, or Master Brom, would be pleased to learn that this is the reception we received.

The guard glared at the captain, and avoided looking at Lyra altogether. But then he threw a hand up over his shoulder, and one of the other guards turned and began to hustle down the dock. Lyra watched as he reached a platform and stepped onto it. Another man whistled and looked up towards the top of the cliff – it was only then that Lyra noticed the long ropes that were attached to the platform. It was some sort of device designed to lift things – or people – from the wharf to the city above.

It took many minutes for the platform to climb all the way up, and Lyra tired of the sight quickly. None of the guards were speaking, and she had no interest in starting any conversation. The captain wore an amused expression, but seemed content to stand and wait, as well.

After some length of cold silence, a few of the guards muttered to one another and were glancing up towards the city above. Lyra looked up and saw the shape of a large black bird descending from the cliffs. Her eyes never left it as it glided smoothly in circles, getting closer and closer with each wide arc. She could see that it was a raven, and she knew before it landed on the wooden plank in front of her that it was no ordinary bird.

A flash of bright violet light caused her to shield her eyes, and when the light dimmed, a man was standing where the raven had been – she remembered Kelly using the same trick on occasion. As far as she knew, only totems were capable of shapeshifting, meaning that this man had to be Brom. He wasn’t as tall as she had expected. His hair was shorter than most men, but not close cut – it was a deep black colour, which helped to set off his tanned flesh. It seemed that the sun was beating down much harder on the southern island, and Lyra realized that most of the men on the dock had darker skin – some of them very dark.

You have a letter for me? Brom asked.

Lyra just stuck her hand out, and he snatched the letter from her. He unfolded the parchment and his eyes scanned the words that Kelly had written. Lyra didn’t know what the letter said, but she trusted Kelly.

Brom finished reading the letter. He folded it over once more, and then tucked it into his inside breast pocket. His eyes found Lyra’s, and then he turned to look to the east – seeing the seven ships that were waiting along the cliffs of the Isle of Crows.

You’ve come a long way, he noted. How many of you are there?

I don’t have an exact count, Master Brom, the captain replied. We had to leave in quite a hurry. But I would guess at least two or three thousand.

That’s a lot of mouths to feed.

Kelly said that you’d help us, Lyra snapped.

Did I say that I wasn’t going to help you? Brom asked, looking down at Lyra. You should learn a little patience.

Forgive her, m’lord, the captain said. We’ve been at sea for days, and the ships are well over capacity. Most of the people have barely slept.

Don’t apologize for me, Lyra said. If he doesn’t want us here, Kelly said we could continue on to the wolves. They’re nicer than ravens anyway.

Brom smirked at the girl, a look that Lyra didn’t quite understand.

Help these people off the ships, Brom ordered, turning to face the guards. Lead them to the field south of the city centre. He turned back to the captain and Lyra, adding, You two come with me.

The captain was busy thanking Brom as Lyra fell into step behind the pair, doing her best to dodge the men that were now moving towards the ship. She didn’t pay much attention to their conversation, instead looking around the docks and, in particular, at the rising platform that sat near the cliff base. She was a little disappointed when they walked right past it, following a path that led to a high staircase – it was fastened to the side of the rock, and rose the full three hundred feet to the landing above.

The city at the top was unlike anything that Lyra had seen. Like most citizens of the Reverie, she had been raised in, and around, a vast forest. But here, on the island, she couldn’t see any trees at all. There wasn’t even much grass, and the grass that she could make out was closer to yellow or brown in colour than it was to green. Most of the buildings were constructed out of some sort of sandstone, giving them a similar look. But the place was far from monotone – while the ground and the buildings bore the same hues, there were tents and fabrics and silks of so many colours that Lyra couldn’t count them all.

The sun was even hotter atop the cliffs, and she understood why most of the city streets were covered overhead by large swaths of cloth. Walking under the shade was much less taxing than being exposed to the sunlight.

They were walking through the streets at a quick pace. Lyra didn’t know where they were headed, and she nearly lost Brom and the captain several times as she was so distracted by the busy city around her. She was poking her head into vendor stalls and peeking up onto carts and through open windows. She could smell food cooking, and the scents were just as different to her as the colours and style of the city. But she didn’t have time to stop and try any, no matter how hungry she was – she didn’t have any coin, either.

She finally caught up to the two men, who had stopped in front of a large field. The grass was almost green – but still mostly yellow – and Lyra was happy to see that there were some trees visible on the opposite side of the expanse. They didn’t look to be the same sorts of trees that she was used to, but the sight of a forest comforted her some.

Kelly speaks highly of you in this letter, Lyra, Brom said, leaning over a bit to get a better look at her.

She does?

Yes, she does. She failed to mention the smart mouth. But I appreciate a quick wit, myself.

Lyra wasn’t sure how she was supposed to respond, so she didn’t say anything at all.

The captain here is going to be quite busy over the coming days, Brom continued. He’ll be in charge of organizing the eagle refugees, and liaising with the raven leadership. He’s going to need help, though. And you seem like the type of person who isn’t going to want to sit still, so I figure that you’d be the ideal assistant for him.

I guess, Lyra said. What do I have to do?

Oh, nothing too difficult. Just run messages back and forth, or help to find people the things that they need. Just enough to keep you out of trouble, I’d wager.

The two men exchanged smiles, but Lyra wasn’t sure that she appreciated their humour.

* * *

What had been an empty field three days before was now covered in tents and cloth overhangs. In many places there were campfires still smoldering in the morning light. Nearly three thousand of Lyra’s countrymen were lying, sitting, or standing in the field. Kelly’s persistence had saved them all. But Lyra couldn’t help wondering where Kelly was – the totem had assured the girl that she would fly south to find the group once the battle had ended. Lyra had to keep telling herself that it hadn’t been that long yet, and that Kelly was strong.

You’re up early, the captain said, approaching Lyra from behind.

On board the ship, despite the poor conditions, the man’s appearance had always been immaculate. Now, each day that she saw him, he looked a little more dishevelled – he was the captain of a ship, and likely hadn’t intended to be the de facto leader to such a large group.

The sun comes up early here, she stated.

It does indeed. We have a meeting with the local fish vendors at mid-morning. Why don’t you run along and enjoy yourself until then?

Lyra smiled and nodded, making her way from the field and toward the edge of the strange forest. She had since learned that much of the island was, in fact, covered with lush foliage. She had ventured just inside the trees a few times, but always felt a little off about it. Everything just felt different. The trees had huge, thick leaves, and countless vines that hung from the higher branches. And the air felt much more humid.

Instead of exploring, she spent most of her time lurking about the periphery. She would peer inside, hoping to see a familiar oak or even a pine. She never did, though. So she just kept walking the edge of the tree line. Every now and then she would come across a path, a trail having been carved through the dense underbrush. But even that inviting sight didn’t lure her in.

Lyra was glancing into the trees, as usual, when something else caught her eye – was it a flash of silver? She had to take a step back to notice that a woman had walked right down the path, only a few dozen feet from where she was standing. Lyra ran to the trail, drawn to the presence of someone entering the unfamiliar woods. She looked through the opening in the trees and saw the woman walking away from her.

She was walking slowly, like she was just wandering aimlessly. She had long, silvery-blonde hair that hung halfway down her back, and she was wearing a druid’s robe – deep burgundy with a black symbol on the back. Lyra couldn’t make the symbol out, between the distance and the woman’s hair. But the colours weren’t of any clan that she recognized.

Lyra took a tentative step forward, her curiosity getting the better of her.

I’m not sure you want to bother her.

Lyra spun around to see Brom standing behind her. He wasn’t looking at her, though – he was staring down the path, his eyes following the silvery-haired woman.

What? Lyra said. Who was that?

When you sailed along the southern coast, did you see the smoke rising from the spider seat?

Yes, we all saw it. What happened there? Was there a battle?

In a manner of speaking. A one-woman battle.

You mean that woman attacked the spiders? On her own?

Yes. And she did a particularly good job of it, too.

But why? Lyra asked, glancing back down the path again, but the woman had disappeared around a bend.

She was angry. And very sad. You know of the totems, I assume?

Lyra nodded.

That woman – Sasha is her name – was Desmond’s lover, Brom continued.

Is that a bad thing?

Desmond is dead, Lyra. Killed by a spider in the north.

Dead? Lyra mouthed. She had heard of Iain’s death not long ago. And now Desmond was dead? But the totems are so powerful. How could he die?

We’re not invincible, you know, Brom replied, smiling. There are other powerful forces in this world. Sasha, for example, is more powerful than I am, but she’s not a totem.

Really?

Brom nodded.

Well I can see why she’s angry, Lyra said. If she loved Desmond.

I think that anger has mostly passed, Brom said. Now she’s consumed by a deep sadness.

You sound worried.

I am, Brom said, his eyes again lingering on the empty path. I am.

Gerrard

He had to watch his step as he traversed the small, wet rocks that lined the riverbank. The soles of his boots were soft, making them susceptible to the slickness of the shore. Thousands and thousands of small river rocks were laid out, the slow current gently caressing the few nearest the water’s edge. Gerrard was headed for his usual spot – a large boulder that jutted out into the river. It was an ideal place to fish from.

Gerrard’s companion had a much easier time navigating the terrain. The wolf was following a few steps behind Gerrard, though she was often distracted by the small woodland creatures that scurried away from the water and into the trees when the wolf neared.

Come on, you lousy mongrel, Gerrard called as she darted off toward the tree line, chasing a bushy-tailed squirrel.

The wolf responded to Gerrard’s command, letting out a small whine as she stopped and watched the squirrel disappear into some bushes about the trunks of the ash trees. The wolf, called Jenna, had a sleek gray coat, covered with spots of reddish-brown fur. She was a beautiful creature, a far cry from the man that she followed. Gerrard was old, and looked it. He had once been a powerfully-built man, but most of his muscle was gone, leaving a slender frame behind that drooped from years of supporting the weight of his physique. He had once been a handsome man, as well, but the years had not been kind to him. His skin was rough and leathery, and most of it covered by some amount of coarse black hair.

Gerrard reached the base of the boulder that he sought. It was about the same height as his six feet, and there were a few smaller rocks scattered around it that he was able to use to climb up. He had to reach down to help Jenna jump up to join him.

Good girl, he said, ruffling the auburn fur of her neck with his weathered hand.

He pulled the flimsy fishing rod from his back and went about setting the hook to the line. He had scrounged up a few grubs on the walk over, and he chose a particularly plump one to fit onto the iron hook. A few moments later he was seated on the rock, his legs crossed, and his line dangling over the edge and into the river. Jenna was lying on the rock beside him, her excitement having wound down now that they were in position.

The same scene played out day after day – and Gerrard liked it just fine. Most days he didn’t even catch any fish. Not that it mattered – his village had several fishermen who strung nets across the river a little farther to the north, and they caught plenty. The current flowed to the south, and about a mile downstream there were some rapids, and even a small waterfall. But where Gerrard was sitting, the river was quite calm. In fact, it was the easiest spot for miles to cross. It was shallow enough to walk, with the water only neck high, and not too far – only a few hundred feet from shore to shore.

While the trees behind Gerrard were tall and green – ash and juniper, mostly – the trees across the river were stunted and weeping. The branches bent towards the ground, the bark was gnarled and knotted, and the leaves lacked vibrancy. He could almost picture great webs hanging between the limbs.

What do you think, girl? Gerrard said. Will we get any bites today?

The wolf gave a low growl and licked at his offered hand. The hours went by in much the same manner, with the two sitting atop the huge rock, and the fishing line hanging down into the calm water below. Every now and then Gerrard would feel a nibble, and he would yank the rod hard. But the force of his pull would throw the fish off the hook, or else there wasn’t a fish hooked to begin with. Every time that he pulled on the line, Jenna would jump to her feet, ready to pounce on the flailing fish. Instead, they would both just sit back down, Gerrard hooking another plump grub onto the end of the line.

As the sun drew lower in the sky, a red gleam grew brighter across the water. Gerrard sighed, knowing that his basket contained no fish. He glanced down at the wicker container anyway, admiring the finely stitched Wolf Clan emblem on the front. His wife had made it for him, many years before.

Alright, girl, Gerrard said, and Jenna’s ears perked up. Time to get going. We don’t want to head back empty-handed.

The wolf didn’t need any further instruction – with a great bound, she leapt over the edge of the boulder, her long snout pointed straight down as she plummeted into the cool water. Her splash reached all the way up to where Gerrard was sitting. He stood up and crept closer to the boulder’s edge, peering over the side. There were still ripples in the water where Jenna’s body had submerged. He waited a few moments until her head burst through the surface, a struggling carp clenched between her fangs. Gerrard smiled and made his way down from the boulder.

Jenna was stepping across the small river stones as he made his way around the side of the boulder. The wolf’s fur was soaked and matted close to her body. She padded right up to him and dropped the dead fish at his feet. Gerrard bent over and kissed her on the head,  rubbing the back of her neck – she took the opportunity to lick at his face while he was bent over.

Good girl, Gerrard said. Go on now, you earned that.

The wolf seemed content to let her master have the fish, but, with his permission given, she started to devour the raw meat – the carp’s body was still twitching as her fangs sunk into its scales. Her snout was pressed into the ground for a few minutes as she tore off all of the flesh that she was able. When she had finished, she licked her lips and stood back up, ready to follow Gerrard back home.

He smiled down at the loyal creature – Jenna had been with him for three years. He had found her, abandoned, in the woods to the north. He never knew what had come of her mother – it wasn’t uncommon for animals to be killed in the wild, leaving their young behind, often to be killed themselves by other predators. Ordinarily, Gerrard wouldn’t interfere with nature’s course. The auburn fur about Jenna’s head and neck had struck a chord in his heart, though, and he had carried the young wolf back to his cabin.

The pair now walked back towards that same cabin, under the boughs of the ash and juniper trees, on a makeshift trail that led away from the river. Not many of the villagers ventured out in that direction, most preferring to access the river upstream. Gerrard liked the solitude.

It wasn’t long before they were back home, a bit of smoke still wafting out of the stone chimney from the fire that he had left burning in the hearth. The cabin was a simple structure, built of logs and lumber – save for the hearth and chimney. It was just big enough for one human, and Gerrard didn’t mind sharing the small space with his companion.

Should we head into town, girl? Gerrard asked. I didn’t catch myself a meal, after all.

Jenna didn’t respond, instead perking up and taking off down a second trail – Gerrard had to hustle just to keep up with her.

It was about a half an hour’s walk to the village, which was home to a hundred people or so. The Wolf Clan was famous for its lack of large cities. Even its seat, the Den, had only a few thousand inhabitants, easily the least populous of all of the major clans. The wolves preferred living in small settlements and being closer to nature.

As Gerrard walked into the village square, behind Jenna, he noted the bustle of activity over near the local tavern – the only stone building in town. There were at least two dozen people clamouring around the entrance to the establishment, and voices were carrying all the way across the courtyard.

What do you think’s gotten into them? Gerrard asked, and Jenna looked up at him.

He’d been planning to seek out dinner in the tavern anyway, so he started across the square and towards the crowd.

Gerrard!

He glanced to the side to see a man approaching from one of the other buildings that surrounded the village centre. The tall slender man was a friend, and Jenna ran right up to him, eagerly accepting the man’s pats and rubs.

Hello Bertram, Gerrard said as he followed the wolf to stand beside his friend.

It’s a little late for you, isn’t it? No luck fishing today?

As much as any other day, Gerrard noted with a chuckle. Jenna made out okay, though.

Doesn’t she always? No fish, but did you catch any spiders?

No luck there either. They don’t usually wander so close to the border. But if they do, I’ll be ready. What’s going on over there?

Gerrard inclined his head towards the crowd in front of the tavern.

You didn’t hear? Bertram asked, his smile vanishing.

Hear what?

We had a merchant pull in this morning. He brought grave tidings from the north.

What? What sort of tidings?

Desmond is dead.

Gerrard didn’t say anything. He furrowed his brow, trying to process the words.

I’m sorry, Bertram added. I know that he was a friend.

That can’t be right, Gerrard insisted. Desmond is the most powerful druid in the Reverie. He can’t be dead. How?

I don’t know the details. All I know is that Brom, the raven, flew into the Den five days ago, on the back of a griffon, of all things. And he had Desmond’s body with him. It was wrapped up in a sheet – apparently he was badly wounded.

Gerrard was shaking his head – who could have killed Desmond?

That’s not all, Bertram added. From what I heard, the griffon that Brom rode is usually the mount of another – a woman. She was Desmond’s lover.

His lover?

That’s what they say.

Desmond hasn’t taken another lover in two hundred years.

I don’t know what to tell you, Bertram said, shrugging.

That’s not even the best part, a third voice put in.

Another man walked up to stand between Gerrard and Bertram. He was shorter than both, and a little stockier. He was also wearing the robes of a druid.

Malcolm, Gerrard greeted, nodding. Jenna nipped at the druid’s heels and he bent down to scratch her neck.

Always nice to see you, Gerrard, Malcolm said. And every time that I do see you, I hope to see your robes back on.

Good luck with that, Bertram laughed.

You were going to tell us something, old friend? Gerrard prompted.

Indeed, I was, Malcolm continued. This young woman – Desmond’s lover – is quite skilled in magic herself. You might have heard the tales some months back of the Dragon Clan reborn, coming to the rescue of Ursa’s Maw. This woman is descended from Michael and the line of dragons.

Impossible, Gerrard insisted. The dragons died out long ago.

Yes they did – in our world.

She’s from the world beyond? Bertram asked, rubbing his chin. He exchanged shocked looks with Gerrard.

So they say, Malcolm confirmed. But I still haven’t gotten to the best part. This young woman was so overcome with rage over the death of her beloved, that she mounted her flying steed and flew straight for Arachnia’s Spindle. And then she single-handedly laid waste to half the city.

Gerrard felt his eyes widen – though he wasn’t sure whether it was due to the tale of the young woman’s prowess, or the revelation that the spiders were behind Desmond’s fall.

Granted, most of the city’s army was north fighting Gregory’s war, Malcolm conceded. But I hear that her power was a sight to behold.

How do you know all of this? Gerrard asked.

I was in the Den when Brom arrived. I only arrived back here this morning, along with the merchant caravan. I heard the words straight from Brom’s mouth.

The ravens aren’t always the most trustworthy sources, Gerrard mused.

Perhaps not. But returning Desmond’s body home tends to earn a certain degree of trust.

No one said anything for a few moments. Gerrard was trying to digest all of the new information. Jenna let out a low whining sound, and he knelt down beside her, rubbing the back of her neck.

What do you make of it all? Gerrard asked from his kneeling position.

I’m not even sure where to begin to work through it, Malcolm said. Desmond’s death is a severe blow to our clan, and to the good of all citizens of the Reverie.

I doubt that the elders are too displeased, Gerrard noted.

The elders are mired in their own machinations, as you well know. Desmond always acted in the best interest of the common folk, no matter what direction the elders and the Verdant Council pushed for.

What about the Spider Clan? Bertram asked. If this woman was Desmond’s lover, will they seek retaliation against us?

Their army is far to the northeast, and their largest city is half in ruin, Gerrard reasoned, standing up. I doubt they’ll be too worried about us for the moment.

Brom carried with him some other news, as well, Malcolm added. The Spider Clan might be in more disarray than even we realize – apparently Lord Carrick was never killed. Gregory spread the rumour to solidify his power. Brom and the ravens helped Carrick rally support while the army was far away, and Carrick now controls Arachnia’s Spindle – what’s left of it, anyway.

Well, as long as the spiders are warring with each other, I suspect that they’ll leave us alone, Gerrard said, rising back to his feet.

But how can Carrick hold the spider seat when Gregory has the army at his command? Bertram wondered.

That’s his problem, Gerrard said.

Is your heart still so filled with hate? Malcolm asked. It’s been many years.

Are you saying that I should make peace with spiders?

I’m not saying that at all. None of us are fond of the Spider Clan, Gerrard. They will likely always be our enemy. It just pains me to see you with all that rage. It will cloud your vision.

Thanks for the advice.

One last bit of news, then, Malcolm added. Desmond’s funeral will be held on the full moon, in a week’s time. I assume that you’ll both be making the trip to the Den?

Gerrard sighed. He hadn’t been back to the Den in some time. He had nothing against the place, but it always made for an uncomfortable trip – the Den was home to the highest concentration of druids in the Wolf Clan. It wasn’t bad enough that Malcolm had to pester him about his past each time that he saw the man. The last place that he wanted to be was around a hundred more druids – or maybe far more than a hundred, given the occasion.

Both of the men were looking at Gerrard, awaiting a response. They knew, of course, that he would never miss the memorial of one of his oldest friends. They just wanted to hear him say it. Instead, he knelt down once more, and Jenna licked at the stubble of his cheek.

What do you say, girl? Gerrard asked. Are you ready to take a trip?

The wolf responded with a light bark, which Gerrard took as an affirmative answer. He couldn’t help but smile a little. He stood up again to face Bertram and Malcolm.

You heard her, Gerrard offered.

Excellent, Malcolm said. We can travel together, then. I imagine there will be a large group wanting to go – safety in numbers, and all. I’m sure Jenna will help keep us safe along the road.

Jenna gave another light bark, and the men shared a chuckle.

If the spiders attack while we’re away, I’m holding you responsible, Gerrard said. Now I’d better get some food, or else it’ll be morning before I make it back to my cabin.

He bid farewell to the other two then, and he made his way across the town square, towards the tavern, with Jenna bounding along ahead of him.

Sasha

No matter how hard she tried to distract her mind – to focus it on something, anything – it never helped. She spent her days alone, wandering the jungles that sprawled out from the Crow’s Nest. She spent her nights tossing and turning in her bed, trying to keep the images of Desmond’s face from haunting her dreams – the result was that she found little sleep.

She was lying awake in her bed at that moment, staring up at the uneven wooden planks that formed the room’s ceiling. Brom had provided her with a room at the city’s finest inn, free of charge. He had even let her keep Hermes in the stables – it was a comfortable arrangement for the griffon, but she wasn’t sure how the horses liked it.

Indeed, Brom had been quite helpful since he had whisked her from the spider seat. She had tried to shut that day from her memory, and she rolled over in her bed, shaking the thought away. She didn’t know why Brom was being so helpful. At the time she had just assumed that it was out of some sort of loyalty to Desmond. But Desmond, and the other totems, had always considered Brom to be entirely self-centered.

Unable to find sleep, she finally gave in and threw the blankets off of her slender body. The moonlight was shining into her room, providing just enough light for her to see. She got up out of bed and walked towards the window, where a warm breeze met her. She was on the fourth floor of the building, one of the tallest structures that she had yet seen in the Reverie. It offered an exceptional view of the city.

It seemed that she wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep – or perhaps the others chose not to sleep. The streets below were alive with flickering torches, both handheld and those attached to walls. She could see people moving about, and she could hear voices carrying on the wind. Most were light and jubilant, and she wished that she could share in that happiness.

Instead, she turned and walked away from the window. She grabbed her burgundy robe and pulled it on over her head. Her sword was sitting by the door, and she considered grabbing it, too – but what was the point? She didn’t need a blade to protect herself. Besides, most of the ravens had been beyond friendly and gracious towards her. She was the spider slayer, after all.

Sasha was out in the warm evening air, heading off in a random direction. She’d been in the raven seat for going on a week, and she still hadn’t seen it all. The fabric overhangs that covered many of the streets were useful in the daytime, helping to block out the bright sunshine. But at night, they only served to hide the stars from view. Sasha liked the stars and the moon, so she ducked around a corner and down a smaller side street that didn’t have such impediments. It also lacked sufficient torches along the walls, and was quite dim because of it.

Instead, she was guided by her ears – the ruckus coming from the other end of the alleyway signified only one thing. She stepped back out into an illuminated area to find a tavern with people spilling out of it. Nobody even gave her a second look, they were all too pre-occupied with their own affairs. As she entered the establishment, Sasha walked right past several couples that weren’t shy about expressing their affection publicly. She tried not to look at them as she approached the bar.

The barkeep was an older man, with a round belly and a balding head. He had a rag in his hand that he was using to wipe down the bar, as his customers kept sloshing their ales over the edges of their tankards.

You in the right place? he asked as he stood before Sasha.

Sorry? she said.

You don’t look like my usual patrons, that’s all.

What do I look like?

Well you look clean, and you don’t smell. That’s a step above my nightly clientele already. What can I get you?

Sasha just shrugged. The barkeep smiled and threw down a mug full of the same mead that most of the other patrons appeared to be drinking. She didn’t waste any time in throwing back the first mouthful.

Having a rough day? the barkeep asked, watching Sasha down half of the tankard in one go.

It’s night time, Sasha replied, wiping her mouth on the sleeve of her robe.

Never seen a robe like that one before. You’re not from around here, are you?

No.

After another long swig, Sasha slammed the empty mug down on the bar. She nodded to the barkeep, who fetched her a second mug, clearing the empty one away and wiping up the excess that had spilled over the top.

Sasha kept drinking, and the barkeep, sensing that he wouldn’t get much conversation out of her, left her alone – save for replacing an empty mug with a full one. After a half an hour, she still felt more or less the same as when she had walked into the tavern. It had been the same each of the previous nights, when she had found herself sitting in different taverns.

You’re not going to find any solace there, someone behind her said.

Go away, Brom, she replied, without turning.

You can’t get drunk. At least, you can’t easily get drunk, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. Consider it a side effect of your magical constitution.

Great, Sasha muttered, sliding the half-empty mug away from her hand. She’d never really liked the taste of alcohol to begin with.

This makes three bars in three nights.

Are you spying on me now? she asked, turning on her chair to look at him. A few of the other patrons had noticed his presence and were glancing over, but most of the people in the room were still blissfully ignorant of their totem’s presence.

Did you expect otherwise? he asked.

I didn’t expect anything. I didn’t expect you to pull me out of that city. You should have left me there.

I would have, if I’d known that you were just planning on drowning your sorrows in filthy taverns.

Desmond is dead, she sneered at him.

Yes he is. And how did he die?

What?

What was he doing when he died?

I don’t know. He left us, and he ended up dead. He fought a spider.

He was working to determine the source, and the extent, of the undead corruption in the north, was he not? You were with him, after all.

So?

So, the undead are still out there, threatening the people of this world. Now maybe this world doesn’t matter to you – you can just duck back through a portal anytime you feel like it and return to a whole different life.

That’s not fair.

I’m trying to protect the people of this world, and the people of my clan. Declan is up north, where you abandoned him, carrying on alone. Kelly fought a spider army in defense of her home, and lost – no one has seen her since. Brandt has been defending his homeland for months. And what are you doing?

Sasha said nothing. Her eyes had wandered to the other people in the room.

You’re moping, Brom stated. Desmond died trying to save this world. The other totems are still trying to save it. The undead could be growing in number as we speak, and the spider army will likely turn back south once they realize that Carrick controls Arachnia’s Spindle. Not to mention that there’s still one spider in the north that should be of concern to you. And I suspect that his plans are far more nefarious than his clan’s simple hunger for expansion.

Sasha’s eyes flitted back to Brom’s face at the mention of Graumin.

Is that what it’s going to take? Brom asked, scoffing. Revenge? Although I shouldn’t be surprised, after what I saw in the spider seat a week ago. I think the city is still smouldering. If your need for vengeance is what it’s going to take to whet your appetite, that’s fine. But you need to get back into the fight. We’re not going to win without you.

You don’t know that, Sasha said.

Maybe not. But I have a pretty good feeling about it.

Brom paused, and Sasha looked him in the eye. His dark orbs were piercing her, and she turned away. She wished that he would just leave.

Desmond’s funeral is in three days, Brom said at length. I assume that you’ll want to say your goodbyes. It’s not a long trip for you and I – the rest of the raven envoy is leaving tomorrow by sea. I expect there’ll be quite a turnout. A lot of people are going to want to meet Desmond’s lover. I hope you’re ready for that.

Sasha often forgot just how famous Desmond was in his world. She did want to say her final goodbye, but she didn’t want to be some sort of spectacle.

You brought his body back? she asked, already knowing the answer – she had let him borrow Hermes to fly north. How bad was it?

Sasha still had nightmares about the damage done to Desmond’s handsome face. His skull had been visible in places, where the flesh and tissue had seared through.

I covered him in a shroud before I delivered him, Brom said, his voice softening. It was bad.

Sasha nodded.

You shouldn’t remember him that way, Brom added.

I didn’t want to have to remember him at all. How am I supposed to live for a hundred more years, or two hundred more years, without him?

You’ll just have to figure it out, I guess. But we have bigger things to worry about in the meantime. You can say goodbye at the funeral, but after that I’m going to need you with me.

Sasha glanced at Brom before getting up and walking right out of the bar without a word.

* * *

Morning couldn’t come soon enough for Sasha. Back in her bed, she was again staring up at the ceiling. No sleep found her, but she lay there anyway, until the first wisps of light began to sneak into the dark room. Like she had hours before, she sighed and threw off the blankets of her bed.

While nights saw her finding her way into dusty taverns, daylight saw Sasha seeking the solitude of the nearby trees. The trees on the Isle of Crows weren’t like the trees in the rest of the Reverie, but that didn’t bother Sasha. She didn’t mind the humidity or the increased insect activity. She just liked being alone with nature, away from the busy city streets.

She also liked to bring Hermes along with her, and each morning the griffon was up and alert, waiting for her, as she entered the nearby stable. She didn’t ride him to the woods, which would have been faster, but rather walked alongside him. Once, Sasha would have been conscious of the stares that the griffon drew as they walked, side by side, through the city. Now, nothing could be further from her mind. She was barely cognizant of their surroundings as she moved towards the closest trail that led out of the city and into the jungle-like forest.

She had to push past the many vines that hung down from above, and though the trail was present, it was often covered in large leaves or sprawling vegetation. Sasha had become used to the path, though, having travelled it each day. There were familiar trees and rocks and roots, and she knew when to turn off of the trail and push through the jungle itself – it was only a short distance to reach a small pond. The elevation rose from that point, and above the pond was a series of short waterfalls. Leading away from the pond was a small creek that flowed quite slowly.

Sasha gave Hermes a rub on the neck as he bent down to drink from the cool water. She moved to a large rock that was nearby and sat down upon it.

You’re late.

Appearing from behind a pair of tall, slender trees was a girl.

Are you going to follow me down here every day, Lyra? Sasha asked, without looking the girl’s way.

It’s not like there’s anything better to do, Lyra replied.

Aren’t you supposed to be helping the captain with the eagle refugees?

He doesn’t need my help. He’s good at it. And now that all the raven councillors are involved, all they do is sit in meetings and argue over stuff. It’s not very fun.

Doesn’t sound like it.

I like it better here.

Lyra walked right up to Hermes, who was now laying on the ground beside the water. She knelt down beside the majestic creature and began stroking his soft feathers – Hermes responded with a light clacking noise.

Great, Sasha said. He likes you. Now I’ll never be rid of you.

Don’t be so grumpy, Lyra said. You need the company. Brom said so.

Brom sent you? Sasha snapped, looking at Lyra for the first time.

No, I didn’t mean it like that. When I first saw you walking into the woods, Brom told me to leave you alone. But I came anyway. And I saw him yesterday and that’s when he said that it’s good that we talk, because you could use someone to talk to. That’s all.

You’re spying on me for him.

I’m not spying. I’m your friend. Stop being like that.

When Lyra had emerged from the trees that first day, Sasha had been reminded of her friendship with the ghost, Starla. But now that she had grown to know Lyra better, she knew that the two girls were nothing alike. Lyra was strong and defiant, and had no problem speaking her mind. In fact, she reminded Sasha of a younger version of herself.

Well just make sure you don’t go running to Brom and telling him what we talk about, Sasha said, turning her eyes back to the small waterfall.

We don’t talk about much, Lyra said.

Good.

Lyra leaned over and whispered something to Hermes.

What did you say? Sasha asked, looking back at the pair, lounging carelessly at the pond’s edge.

I told him that you weren’t very friendly, Lyra said. I think he agrees with me.

Then why do you keep coming down here?

The girl just shrugged, as she continued to pet Hermes. Sasha even cracked a slight smile at the sight.

It’s not to see me, is it? Sasha asked. I don’t blame you. Hermes is special.

It is to see you, Lyra said, softly.

Why?

The girl didn’t say anything, but she looked right at Sasha. There was a depth and pain in her eyes that Sasha hadn’t noticed before.

I’m glad that you did it, Lyra whispered.

It took a moment for Sasha to realize what the girl was referring to.

You shouldn’t say things like that, Sasha replied. You don’t understand.

Lyra’s face turned cold at Sasha’s words.

The spiders attacked us, the girl said, her voice still low and uneven. They raped my mother, and then they killed her. And they would have done the same to me, but Kelly saved me.

Lyra…

And then their army attacked the Aerie. They had so many soldiers. Brom said that the city fell. Kelly is probably dead, too. I hate them all. I wish that I had been there to help you kill them.

Sasha lowered her gaze. She had to remind herself that Lyra was just a girl – she’d been through a lot, but she still didn’t understand what she was saying. Sasha had no idea how to explain that, though.

Kelly isn’t dead, she did say. Brom would know.

How could Brom know that? His scouts aren’t that close to the Aerie.

The totems share a magical connection – they can sense one another’s power. And when one of them dies, the others feel a great pain as that connection is broken. Brom would have known if another of the totems died. Kelly, Brant, and Declan are all still alive.

I hope you’re right.

Sasha watched the girl sit there, snuggled up against the griffon, her eyes staring straight down at the ground. With a sigh, Sasha slipped down off of the rock and crossed the short distance between her and the girl. She placed a hand on Lyra’s shoulder.

I’m sorry, Sasha said.

For what? Lyra asked, looking up.

Sometimes I just forget that I’m not the only one that’s lost someone close. You’re all alone.

Lyra shrugged.

Don’t be like that, Sasha said, kneeling down beside the girl. Family is the most important thing, and you lost yours.

I guess, Lyra said.

Are you close to any of the people in the camp?

Not really. My whole village was killed. Kelly was the only one I really knew. The captain is nice enough, I guess.

I can’t stay here, Lyra. I can’t get my head straight. But you’ve reminded me of just what it is that I need.

What?

Family, Sasha said, smiling. Do you want to come with me?

Lyra nodded.

"Then run along and get your things. And do me a favour – don’t