Hungry Heart - Book #4 - Ch. 18 (Patreon)

Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four / Chapter Five / Chapter Six / Chapter Seven / Chapter Eight / Chapter Nine / Chapter Ten / Chapter Eleven / Chapter Twelve / Chapter Thirteen / Chapter Fourteen / Chapter Fifteen / Chapter Sixteen / Chapter Seventeen 

Chapter Eighteen – Golden Eyes

The halls of the Niverborg castle were lit by torches and invaded by happy chatter and laughter. Toru didn’t have to sniff the air to know that a feast was underway. Lakan had sent word through one of the younger tigers that he wanted to see him alone before they headed down to the main hall and enjoy the newfound bounty of the forest. It appeared that, as little food as these people had had over the years, they hadn’t forgotten how to cook delicious dishes. There wasn’t just steak Toru detected when he breathed in the pleasant smells. They must have made some hearty stews, and spices now abounded, and the smell of rich berry wine, not the aged kind, but the much sweeter freshly squeezed kind, tickled his nostrils, infusing his bones with the anticipation of worldly delights.

He moved quickly and quietly over the granite floors. Moss and sundry sprouted through the old slabs still, but the air of desolation that had greeted him when stepping inside the castle for the first time was no longer there.

Lakan’s private quarters were on the highest floor, and Toru wondered for a moment, as he took the winding steps up to the tower, why his brother had chosen such a place to spend his nights. It felt more like something that would be used for punishing a wrongdoer, but as the door opened in front of him and Lakan welcomed him, he understood why.

The room was large and there was a smaller door that had to lead to a closet or some other facilities. Right in the center, the royal bed was large enough for two, which meant that Lakan intended to take a mate at some point. Thick furs covered it in a big pile, and the sturdy oak frame had small scratches on it that attested it had served what must have been several generations of Niverborg rulers.

On both sides of the bed, nightstands stood, and on them, high thick candles in brass contraptions painted the room in a welcoming yellow color. Toru took in the heavy furniture, the bookshelves sighing under the weight of many books. It looked like his brother was an avid reader or even a scholar of sorts, as the large desk by the window was also threatening to collapse under the number of books there. He’d have to ask his brother to allow Duril to go through all those manuscripts. Surely Duril would love to do so.

But all these, while pointing out the facets of a brother he barely knew, were not the most important. No, the large windows that allowed the unobstructed view of the entire realm, as far as eyes could see, were the actual giveaway of why Lakan must have chosen that place.

From there, the ruler of Niverborg could see everything moving in his or her lands. How many nights must Lakan have spent, pondering over that vast expanse of white, searching for a way to save it?

“How do you like it? It should have been yours,” Lakan said.

Toru turned toward his brother. Only then, he noticed. “Your eyes!” he exclaimed.

“Yes, that is one of the things I wanted to talk to you about,” Lakan replied.

Instead of the serene blue from before, icy like the lands stretching out the window, Lakan’s eyes were now golden and looked as if fire lurked in them.

“I believe they make you look more like me,” Toru said and searched around for a mirror. There was a small, round one on the wall opposite the bed.

He took Lakan’s hand and they stepped in front of it. “I suppose I’m just not accustomed to them,” his brother said. “When I looked in the mirror, I thought there was someone else staring back at me.”

“It must have happened because of Drahlung,” Toru said. “When I defeated him, he turned into a golden rain. It covered you from head to toes.”

Lakan nodded thoughtfully and walked over to his desk. There was a book open on top of the others and there had to be something there he deemed worthy of sharing. “Come take a look,” he said.

Toru moved over, but he already knew that the chances of him recognizing more than a few letters, let alone words and complete sentences, were slim. He was about to start apologizing and explain that he didn’t know how to read, when his eyes fell on the book. From the sprawled yellow pages, Drahlung stared back at him, his maw opened wide, that acid like spit dropping from his fangs.

“What is this?” he asked his brother.

“I would like to know, too. Drahlung seemed like nothing but a story to scare the little ones and make them go to sleep. Until now. I will read you something. Forgive me if my knowledge of the old language is spotty. My mother taught me what she could. What she knew.”

At the mention of Elpis, Toru remained tongue-tied. Duril had told him that the following day he would explain to Lakan all that had happened, so as not to shadow the happiness they all felt today.

Lakan turned the page, making those hypnotic eyes disappear from view and cleared his throat. “With the fall of Drahlung, the nights will darken, and the days will dim,” he began. “A duty for the king is this, to protect the soul of the guardian, even with the price of his own life.”

“Is it like a prophecy? Have you read this text before?” Toru asked, intrigued by what Lakan was telling him.

Lakan shook his head. “I’ve been reading for as long as I remember being alive. This one, I had to unearth from the bottom of an old chest. What pushed me into searching for it in particular, now of all times, I can’t explain. And what’s even stranger,” he hesitated briefly, “it appears that now I can read the old language a lot easier than ever before. Normally, I would have had to ask my mother’s help to decipher it.”

They both remained silent for a moment. “Drahlung was a guardian,” Toru said slowly. “He didn’t really behave like one. Is there more in that book?”

Lakan nodded. “Yes. So far, although we both know that he’s no longer alive, the forest appears to have come alive. Why would a prophecy so dark be written down in such a fashion? Should I prepare for worse?”

Toru frowned. “Don’t start to tell me I shouldn’t have saved you and let that creature have his way.”

Lakan turned toward him, and his eyes expressed nothing but gratitude. “No, I would never do that. Call me a coward or any other name, but I’m glad to be alive. I only want to learn how to protect this place and my people.”

“Read what else the book tells you.”

Lakan perused the page in front of him again. “The trees will grow legs and move, tearing themselves from the ground that feeds them. If Drahlung falls, Niverborg is doomed.”

“It doesn’t look to me like the trees have started moving.” Toru walked over to the windows and looked outside. The forest seemed unmoved, serene, and a kind moon was rising over the land of snow and ice.

“I will read further,” Lakan announced. “His golden eyes are meant to watch over the good of Niverborg. Once they close, everything will end.”

“Yes, this text does appear to be quite ominous,” Toru agreed. “But it looks to me like it must have been written by someone who liked Drahlung or something. Who’s to say it’s not some kind of lie written in there?”

Lakan closed the book and showed him the cover. There was something written there, right in the middle, but Toru just shrugged. “I have no idea what it says.”

“It’s our father’s name,” Lakan explained, and his fingers slid over the golden letters. “Aneros. Everything points out that he must have written this book, only that it’s not possible. He didn’t live that long ago, and this book is at least several centuries old.”

“Could it be another Aneros?” Toru asked.

“It’s the only reasonable explanation. It’s just too bad that Elpis is not here anymore.” Lakan sighed, and his eyes drifted for a moment, taking in the sight outside the window. Out there lay the lands he loved so much. “I would have asked for her advice.”

Toru scratched his head. His plans had been to take his friends and embark on his path of finding Te’cla, but now, it looked like they needed to stay in Niverborg for a while. “There’s a heart of the forest, and Claw knows how to speak to her,” he said.

“Can he ask her about this prophecy?” Lakan looked hopeful as he asked that.

A short gust of wind blew through the open windows and made the light of the candles waver for a moment.

“But I guess that can wait until tomorrow,” Lakan said and closed the windows, shutting out the chilly wind.

With the wooden shutters obstructing the view of Niverborg, the room felt a lot warmer. Probably, Lakan didn’t mind the cold and kept them open more often than not, because he snuffed the fire in the fireplace with a small enchantment falling from his lips.

“Tonight, we’ll have a feast to celebrate my brother,” Lakan said with a smile.

“Do you have a mate?” Toru asked.

Lakan placed the book with the prophecy on the table. “Not yet. We were barely surviving. I suppose there wasn’t a good time to fall in love.”

Toru nodded with importance. “I love Duril. And Varg and Claw.”

Lakan placed his hand on Toru’s shoulder. “Then I should call you lucky. You have three lovers, while I have none.”

“I am,” Toru said proudly. “Just know this, Lakan. Claw will get the truth out of that old trunk. And if that prophecy becomes real, we will fight it together.”

“Fight trees uprooting themselves?”

“There’s a trick to fighting everything,” Toru said with conviction. “Like how I did when I fought Drahlung.”

“I was unconscious, but people say you sprouted wings,” Lakan said. “You are, indeed, a special tiger. You can even fly.”

“I don’t fly, normally,” Toru explained as they climbed down the winding steps, Lakan holding a torch, although they could both see in the dark just fine. “It was only this one time, because I needed to defeat Drahlung.”

The prophecy in the book announced dark times ahead. But they didn’t explain a thing about why Lakan’s eyes now burned golden. Toru had witnessed it, how Drahlung turned into that rain of gold which had fallen on Lakan. The snow had washed it away from the white tiger’s hair and skin and clothes, save for his eyes.

***

Varg was always happy to see people coming together, and there was hardly a happier bunch than the one gathered around the long wooden table in the main hall. It was so hard to believe that they had had such a meager and somber meal just the day before in that council room, while here there was only joy, and wine, and food so good it melted in their mouths, making their hearts grow fonder.

“I would like to say,” Claw began, “that the people of Niverborg appear to be excellent cooks. This mushroom stew is like nothing I’ve ever tasted before. What’s the secret?” he asked one of the young white tigers at his left.

Varg leaned forward to hear the answer, too. The young male tiger explained effusively how only certain herbs that grew there could give the stew that hearty flavor.

With Claw on his left, he had Duril to his right, but Toru had been asked to share the head of the table with his brother, so they couldn’t speak to him over the ruckus in the main hall, where everyone had a story to share and new hopes to brew.

That, however, was not in the least unfortunate. From his seat, he could examine everyone at length, and he particularly enjoyed watching Toru, how happily he laughed, and how he seemed to share that joy with his brother. At one point, each of them grabbed a hefty drumstick and raced to see who’d finish first.

He shook his head in mirth. Such were the joys of being young and discovering bonds with others you didn’t know existed. Thoughts of his pack, of how the young ones played with each other, drifted in, uninvited. On occasion, he allowed the sadness to wash through him so that it didn’t become too much, but tonight was a happy occasion. He sighed from the depths of his soul.

“This wine has the quality to make one feel nostalgic,” Duril remarked.

“Do you think so?”

“It’s sweet enough to make everything seem better, but you can’t just ignore the memories that seemed enticed by it.”

So, the healer must have felt the same as he, drawn by remembrances of the past, not always the happy kind. “I suppose it is a choice we’re allowed to make,” Varg suggested. “We can either let our souls be dragged away by sadness, or we can enjoy the sweetness of old memories, the best that came of them.”

“That’s very wise,” Duril commended him. “Toru’s so happy to have a brother. I feel happy for him, too.”

But there was something that seemed to be bothering them both, and, as unwilling as they were to let that feeling take over, they were too wise to ignore it.

There would be time to think over such things, but not tonight, when they were supposed to celebrate Toru’s victory over a creature such as Drahlung, a victory needed to save his brother’s life.

***

Duril believed it fitting he should be the one to tell Lakan about what truly happened to Elpis, with no one else present. As a healer, he knew that tears weren’t easily shed by the proudest people, and that such matters had to be handled delicately.

He also had a reason to ask Lakan for an audience. Toru had told him, before drifting to sleep the night before, that the young ruler of Niverborg had a room full of books.

Lakan offered to show him his collection right away, so now they were alone, in a room situated at the highest spot of the highest tower. Duril looked through the open windows at the new day rising over Niverborg. Everyone else was still sleeping, having imbibed too much of the fresh wine served at the banquet.

“Has Toru had time to tell you about that prophecy I shared with him?” Lakan asked.

“No. He was quick to sleep, having eaten so much. I would like to hear about it from you, then. But first, I must tell you something about your mother.”

Lakan sat at his desk and invited him to sit on a lavish armchair facing it. As Duril recalled that fateful day with all its details concerning Elpis, his face grew grave. Once Duril stopped talking, he got to his feet and began pacing the floor with large, measured steps, his hands linked behind his back.

Duril had noticed the change in the white tiger’s eyes only now, in the light of day. They were golden, similar to Toru’s, but not quite. That was another thing he wanted to talk to Toru about, and not only him. They would have to confer with each other soon, as a group. The astonishing things that had happened, from discovering a country like Niverborg severed from the world by what looked like a mere whim of fate, to Toru’s defeating a creature as powerful as Drahlung, there was a lot to take in. And, of course, they needed to consider the next leg of their journey. Although no one had yet examined the grounds, there was a high chance that Niverborg was no longer separated from the rest of the world.

“She cried herself out over me,” Lakan said, his voice strained. “I don’t believe I’ve always been the best son to her.”

“I doubt it, sincerely,” Duril intervened. “She loved you dearly.”

Lakan nodded and moved over to the open windows. His shoulders were hunched, his eyes cast down, and Duril kept his silence, knowing better than to intrude on the white tiger’s pain. “From a young age, she told me that the fate of Niverborg rested on my shoulders. I didn’t want to hear about it. I wanted to play, and race, and hunt. But she kept on pushing the truth on me, a thing I didn’t want.”

“To grow accustomed to one’s duty, suffering is needed. And acceptance doesn’t come easy.”

Lakan seemed to ponder over Duril’s words. “Did you lose your arm? Or were you born this way?”

“I lost it,” Duril replied.

“Did you feel rage over your loss?”

“I was helpless and blind with it,” Duril confirmed. “But I believe one’s strength comes from how much they can endure, too.”

Lakan nodded, more to himself. “Indeed. Elpis endured a lot. For me. How in the world can I repay her sacrifice?”

“By living the life that she hoped for you.” Duril stood and walked over to Lakan. He placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “She wanted this place to survive, with you at the helm. And now, look.” He gestured at the sight outside the window. “You’re where she wanted you to be.”

“Then why don’t I feel victorious?” Lakan asked in a pained voice. “Is it because my brother was the one to save us all, not me? I try to chase away such petty thoughts, but they still come back to bite, like little wild dogs.” At that, Lakan clenched his fists tightly. “Listen to me, Duril. I know you’re Toru’s favorite, of all his lovers. I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Anything, of course.”

“Convince him to leave. I shouldn’t have showed him the prophecy in that old book. I should have understood it was my burden to bear. Last night--” he stopped abruptly.

“What happened?” Duril encouraged him gently. “You must have told Toru about this prophecy because you knew he would be able to help.”

“I thought so, and I was full of hope when I went to sleep last night,” Lakan said. “But in my dreams, Drahlung came.” Duril waited. Lakan appeared reluctant to say more for a while. “He burned me with his fire, tormented my flesh. It felt as if he was struggling to get out of me. This fire was burning from within.”

“You suffered much because of him. Toru tried to take you through that ring of fire. Even though you were unconscious, you must have felt the pain. There’s hardly greater torment than feeling fire devouring your body.”

“And yet,” Lakan said and showed his hands, “there’s no sign of all that pain. How could that be?”

“Wounds heal, even those we don’t see with our own eyes,” Duril explained. “Don’t push your brother away because of things too difficult to grasp on your own.”

He had a feeling Lakan wasn’t telling him everything. But he couldn’t press him for more details, given how new their acquaintance with one other was.

“I will have to consider this carefully,” Lakan said gravely. Then he raised his head and changed his voice into that of an obliging host. “Toru tells me that you’re a scholar and there’s little you like more than reading. Please, feel free to look around. Any book you may find useful, take it to your quarters to read at leisure.”

The audience was more or less over. “Do you believe it would be possible to lend me the book with prophecy?” Duril asked.

“I would lend it to you. Only that it is written in the old language of Niverborg.” Lakan took the book that sat on top of the rest on his desk and offered it to Duril.

Indeed, the symbols engraved on the cover in fading gold were impossible to read by his unknowing eyes. With regret, Duril gave it back. “You’re right. I wouldn’t be able to read it. Do you happen to have some sort of book that helps with learning the old language?”

Lakan seemed surprised at his request. “I don’t think anyone thought of writing such a book. What I learned, I did so from my mother. And, as I told Toru, I suddenly appear to have a much greater grasp of the old tongue.”

“Do you happen to know how this knowledge came to you?” Duril inquired.

“Unfortunately not. All that had happened since Toru, you, and the rest of your friends came here is hard to understand, I’m afraid.”

Duril nodded, his head full of thoughts. He would have to talk to Toru at length about the prophecy, about what was happening to his brother, and all that entailed. It appeared that the next step of their journey would have to wait.

***

Toru smiled happily as he saw Duril stepping into the garden where he, Varg, and Claw were relaxing after the afternoon meal. Although it seemed like a bad idea to have a garden in a land of snow, as Niverborg was, from under the heavy snow some of the trees in the royal garden sprouted green and even had a few fruits here and there. They were like nothing he had seen before, but he was happy to learn about them. Claw proved to be the expert in examining the trees and tasting their fruits, and he was just explaining to them about how the strong oils found right under the peel of those fruits could cure various ailments, especially those caused by the cold.

“Duril, we were just talking about some fruits you’d like because you can use them in your potions,” he said.

His lover moved carefully and he appeared to be deep in thought. “I’ll harvest a few,” he said. “I just came from seeing Lakan. Can you enlighten us about that prophecy he’s talking about, Toru? Last night, we were too busy with the feast, but it appears that this omen troubles Lakan greatly.”

Toru took a deep breath and began explaining to them about what Lakan had read to him from that book and how the forest may start moving at any given moment, if there was any truth inside it. “I don’t see how that can happen,” he added. “Drahlung is no longer here, as I defeated him.”

Duril furrowed his brow. “There’s something else. Lakan asked me to convince you to leave Niverborg.”

That gave Toru pause. “But why? If that book lies, there’s no danger, and we will just spend some time here filling our bellies and living a sweet life. And if it doesn’t, we’ll put all that forest back with its roots in the ground, where it belongs. Why would he push me away?”

“Last night, he had a very unsettling dream. Have you seen his eyes? They are golden now, like yours.”

Toru nodded.

Varg intervened. “Wait, how did that happen?” Claw seemed just as curious, and he had abandoned the examination of the tree fruits in favor of being part of their conversation.

“It might have to do with Drahlung,” Duril said. “What are your thoughts, Toru? You were there, you were the one to defeat the mighty creature. What happened exactly?”

“As I was squeezing his neck, he told me that I would come to regret my decision to have my brother live. But I think he was just lying,” he pointed out.

Varg appeared to be troubled, and so seemed Claw, as well. “Somehow, I worried that it might not have been that simple to get rid of the creature,” he muttered under his breath.

“A guardian, he is called by that old book, right?” Claw asked.

Toru nodded. “And Lakan told me that he thought Drahlung to be something from a fairytale for children, and nothing else. But now, since he read that book, he fears that the prophecy will happen.”

“We must go talk to the heart of the forest again,” Claw suggested.

“I was thinking the same thing,” Toru added. “That old trunk must know about the prophecy and if it’s real or not.”

“She’s not exactly friendly,” Claw said. “Dragging the truth out of her may not be easy.”

“We could wait it out,” Toru suggested. “While we do, I’ll have the chance to get to know my brother better. And I’ll also convince him that it’s a bad idea to send me away when I can very well stay here and help.”

“We also want to help,” Varg said. “But I also agree with Claw that we should seek answers. Too bad Elpis cannot help us. Maybe she knew a couple of things about such prophecies.”

“That could have been so,” Toru admitted. “Lakan said that his mother taught him the old language of Niverborg. So, she must have known a lot of things. Also, there’s the matter of the strange name written on the cover of the book.” When he noticed his friends looking at him with curiosity, he realized that he needed to explain. “Lakan told me what it said. The name of the author, it’s quite strange. It’s Aneros. The same as our father’s name.”

“That is strange, indeed,” Varg agreed. “How old is that book? Your father must have written it before leaving for Nelsikkar, and that couldn’t have been that long ago.”

“Just as I thought. So it must have been another Aneros,” Toru said. “And Lakan believes the same. Still, why would anyone be named the same as my father and write some ominous, annoying book?”

His question was met with apologetic shrugs.

“Whatever it is, let’s not just sit on our asses,” Claw suggested. “The path we followed yesterday will take us to the heart of the forest once more. We will use all our persuasion to get the truth out of that old biddy.”

Toru pondered for a few moments. “Did you tell Lakan about his mother, Duril?”

“Yes, I did. He must be grieving right now.”

“Then, do you think we should let him be? I thought of asking him to join us. I don’t want him to believe that I never let him save his people and his lands.”

Duril nodded in agreement. “That is a wise way of looking at things, Toru. If he were just a simple soul, I’d say let him grieve. But Lakan needs his strength back to be able to rule.”

“Then I’ll go to tell him that we’re going to visit the heart of the forest.”

“And he will also be able to see his mother,” Varg added.

***

Toru climbed the winding stairs two by two, eager to get to his brother. He knocked briefly on the door, and heard the rustling of clothes behind it. When there was no answer, he pushed it open, a bit too forcefully.

Lakan was standing by the fireplace and staring at him wide-eyed. There was a smell of smoke in the air, and the fire was burning too brightly.

“Sorry for bursting in like this,” Toru said.

“Don’t worry. Did you want to see me about something?” Lakan moved away from the fire with a guilty look on his face.

“Yes. We’re all going to see the heart of the forest and ask her about this wicked prophecy.”

“Do you believe she’s going to offer you any answers?” Lakan questioned.

“We’ll make her. And we want you to come with us.”

Lakan stopped in front of the open windows, his back to Toru. “Duril told me what happened to my mother. She is there, isn’t she?”

“Yes,” Toru replied.

“Then I would like to see her and beg for her forgiveness.”

“Why would you beg her for that?”

Lakan didn’t say a word. The silence stretched between them. Toru was about to call out for his brother to answer him, when Lakan turned. “Then let us go. I would like to put all these worries to rest so that you are free to go.”

“We thought of staying for a while,” Toru said. “Or am I not welcome?”

Lakan smiled and shook his head. “What a thought. You will always be welcome in Niverborg, Toru. This is your home, too.”

“We will find a way to save it then, together,” Toru said with conviction. “And since you know that old language now, I was thinking. What if you can talk to that old trunk using it? Maybe that will melt some of the ice inside her.”

“I can certainly try. After you.” Lakan gestured for him to walk out of the room.

***

They all kept a respectful distance, as Lakan knelt in front of the ice statue, her arms raised in supplication, her eyes teary, her mouth opened in a silent plea. He placed his head against the cold knees and whispered something they didn’t catch or understand.

“What is the meaning of this?” the voice inside the trunk demanded, all of a sudden.

Duril felt some of the grudge from before returning at the sound of that voice. “We come for answers.”

“You brought this with you,” she replied.

They all knew what she meant by it. Lakan didn’t appear to pay her any mind for a while. Duril was about to open his mouth to defend him, when the young ruler of Niverborg stood to his feet.

Strange words poured out of his mouth. Duril didn’t understand them, but he understood the grief and anger behind them. The voice from the old trunk replied in the same unknown language, harsh and void of any empathy.

And then, Lakan raised his hands and when they realized what was going on, it was too late. Fire burst from his open palms and the old trunk exploded, spreading itself in thousands of embers.

TBC

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