In Lost Dreams the Four Were Bound

35 - Davnian - Research

Davnian was weary from exertion and study. After the encounter with Nerin and his cohort, Neris had found him with his eyes shut, drawing heavy breaths against the walls of the great tree. Wearing her black corsetry and hose, she had urged him upwards. In those short moments, he had relayed what he had seen and felt, leaving her at a loss. Their time back at the infirmary had been quiet. He spent the rest of the morning poring over the diaries and manuscripts of Hyun Emri, followed by an attempt to understand the near-illegible scrawl of Nerin Delvori. All of it was a lot to take in and had left him with a bitter taste in his mouth, coupled with a gloomy outlook on life.

The emotional baggage, pleading, and resolution expressed by the former was a story as old as time. Violence begat violence. Eventually, it culminated in a gambit that had cost Hyun and her followers their lives, joy, and what little happiness they could muster. Not that her actions were without reason. The Grannas had sought not only to push them from their lands but also to eradicate the forest talvuo. They could have left, but it would have cost them their heritage.

[Despite that, their culture is all but broken,] Davnian mused as he leaned over his onetime bed. Massaging the place between his eyes, he let out a long sigh. Neris hummed in question of his exasperation, but he waved her off. Adding to the congestion of thoughts was Elis's arrival at the strange village. The dates, the amount of time, the very nature of the place bothered him. [I'm getting nowhere.]

[There's not much to glean,] the other whispered, sounding like the crackling of embers throughout his mind. [Even the specific details leave things amiss.]

Nerin's words had given him the faintest of insights, but only if he combined them with what he had gathered of the Emri's last rite before abandoning their ancient name. In his journals were ranting and ravings about the number four. Four women. Four vessels of nectar. Four seals upon which the sealed magic of the forest could be released. Four cries for salvation. Four calamities to answer the call.

Shifting in his seat, Davnian stretched his back right then left. His recovery since his tryst with Neris had been phenomenal. Even the meager scraps left within the infirmary had been enough to satiate and regenerate him. A single cup of water was all he needed to rehydrate.

Turning his gaze from the last journal, he looked past Neris and into the daylight of the village. With his blue eyes fixed on the passersby in the distance, he focused his attention on any irregularities. On the great terrace across from his quarters, he spied many talvuo setting up tables and seating. As Neris had relayed, there was to be a grand ceremony tomorrow, and everyone was abuzz with excitement. Clay ovens had been erected on smaller nearby terraces, on which small, smoldering pyres were being stoked. The evening would be a feast of merriment and fervent desires, and the next day would be the solace culminated of flames spent.

"Your frustration is showing," Neris said from her perch as she stoppered a bottle of nightshade.

"Madness, broken hearts, and whimsy are all I've gathered. Ceremonies, rites, and tragedy. It's all quite trite, lacking the detail I need to understand what we could be facing." Davnian was cold and dismissive as he spoke of the many words that he had just surveyed.

"Is there anything of interest? Anything that stands out?"

"Nothing I haven't mentioned. The woman's journals are full of regret, longing, passion, and loss."

"I see," Neris turned toward him, wiping her hands with a damp cloth. "Women can be boorish about their feelings, can't they?"

"Pain and tragedy are not boorish, but they can be overwhelming."

"Now imagine being the one burdened by them."

Neris was right in that. Davnian did not understand taking those feelings out of context. Without bearing her tragedies himself, he would not have understood Neris's either.