The Tale Teller

Ch 37

 In the morning light, The Castle of The Oír stood differently from the night. Its stones were still blackened, its height towering almost as tall as the trees strangling the once open clearing. It didn't look so threatening with a glimmer of sun on its walls, with the light feathering across the rooms they left behind.

Vaun had explored the building earlier. It had been with a hunger in his stomach so great that the twisting stairs, worn from footsteps of those before him, they had been like flashing images not really focused upon. He regretted it now as they turned from the building, the trees thickening until only its shadow remained.

He had explored enough to know that it was far from the castles of the stories. It was a modest square tower, rising tall with several floors. In places, the wood had rotted until holes allowed him to look above to the sky or below to the floor they had spent the night upon. The rooms had been empty of furniture, the only lingering mark of the building's history being the various paintings faded on the walls.

Vaun had come across one on the top floor, the paints vivid with colour as they sketched out rolling hills and mountainsides. A river had trickled by, and a boy and girl had sat tall upon two ponies who gleamed as white as the moon itself. The two had been dressed in simple clothes, yet their tunics were tied in more elaborate ways than what was fashionable today. Upon their heads were feathers and furs, things that reminded him of the extravagance of Faydura more so than the midlands. Behind them, wheat fields grew and towers sprung up behind fruit trees almost falling with the weight of their produce. It was an impressive painting, but one that left a heaviness on his shoulders.

To peer around this overgrown wasteland, it was hard to think of the likes of those who had once lived here, basking in the glory such paintings had shown. Vaun knew the stories better than anyone. He knew of the beautiful girls and the brave men, the children and the animals that had once run along paths just like the one they walked now. This moss-covered path, stones cracked and broken with browned weeds that tangled around toes - it wasn't made for such a world.

They walked in silence. Heads were down, focused on the uneven ground and what thoughts it provoked. The old man estimated the village to be less than half a day away, which left little time before their fates would be revealed. These may be the final hours to remember those left behind, the life they could have lead. It was a thought that brought Vaun an odd sense of peace.

He didn't want to die, but he had known for a while now that that day would come, far sooner than he had dreamed of as a boy. He had prayed for a few years settled with Celise. Perhaps they could have a cottage, a few children. Here in the west, he knew the chance of those dreams being anything more grew slimmer with every day. He hadn't been here long, but already Vaun was losing count to the hunger, the exhaustion, and the steam that twisted through the air cutting him from a conscious mind.

He wondered what The Bard, Ash, and Lorel were thinking. Where the young occupying their minds with memories of their families they may never again see? Was The Bard thinking of the riches left behind, the women he would no longer love? The west had changed him into a man Vaun had never imaged to be in him, perhaps beneath his confident surface, there was something, someone he had to miss as much as the rest of them.

The quiet didn't break until they reached the foot of the mountain and the climb began. The old man spoke of a tunnel that cut through the hillside to the northern flat of the country, a stripe that mainly consisted of coastland.

"How is any food grown in the sandy ground?" Ash had revealed enough clues for Vaun to suspect he had grown up farming. He knew the ground around the castle was unfit for the suggestions The Bard had been hoping for. When they had been promised food at this village, the boy raised a good question.