sleep.”
“Good night, Tali,” I made myself say, though her last words had chilled me.
“ ’Night.” A pause. “You put your case well.”
This grudging praise was far more than I expected. “Thanks,” I said.
“Be quiet,” growled Sula again, putting her pillow over her head.
“Sorry.” I closed my eyes.
MIDWINTER MORNING, AND NOBODY ON THE LADDER. The cavern was shadowy; outside, the sun would be struggling up behind heavy clouds. It was hard to believe that only a year ago my father had still been alive and we had spent the cold season on the road. Midwinter had passed us by as we sheltered in some derelict outhouse or under some shallow overhang in the woods. As I began my climb, trying to keep the pace as brisk as Tali would expect, I told myself I would never forget how fortunate I was to have reached Shadowfell.
I came to the top of the steps, breathing hard. Tali liked us to head straight down again if we could, but today I went out onto the ledge. It was barely light. Rain descended in shifting sheets, moved hither and thither by the wind. I was not first here. By the rock wall stood Regan, gazing northward through the watery veils, his hands outstretched in private prayer.
I would have retreated quietly, not wanting to interrupthim. But Regan said, “It’s a momentous day. Midwinter, and our first meeting with the Folk Below. A milestone on our journey. Will you join me?” So I stood beside him, thinking how remarkable it was that out of the darkness of winter there always came the light of springtime.
“Rise up, brother sun!” Regan’s voice was strong and sure. There was no trace of uncertainty in it. “Bear forth your flaming torch! Banish the shadows. March forward in vigor, young and free, and lead us into a new day. Farewell to the dark. Hail to the light!”
“Hail to the light!” I echoed. The stirring words were most apt, not only to the festival day, but to our whole enterprise. Glancing at my companion, I saw that his face was bright with hope. It was a perfect reflection of the light he had invoked. No wonder he inspired such loyalty.
We stood there awhile longer, until the rain became intolerable and we retreated to the steps.
“You must have come up here in the dark,” I said.
“I brought a candle. The rain extinguished it for me; as a symbol of new light it was short-lived.”
“The prayer was good. I had planned to say one of my own, but I’ve forgotten the proper words.” We began the descent, Regan going first, I following. We went slowly; in my mind I could hear Tali saying, Pick up the pace! What are you, a pair of old women in your dotage?
“I doubt if the gods trouble themselves much about the words,” Regan said. “What matters is the intention. Only a few of us at Shadowfell observe the old rituals; most have become rather disillusioned over the years.”
“But you believe it’s worth going on in some small way?”
He did not answer immediately, and when he spoke, he sounded unusually hesitant. “Sometimes I wonder whether all a ritual provides is a comforting familiarity. Such observances lose their significance if few believe in them. For me, it still seems important to acknowledge the turning of the year. To celebrate the times of joyful plenty and to recognize the times of sorrow and hardship. A ritual makes it easier to understand our place in the grand plan of things.”
I would have liked to ask about his past, before he became a rebel leader, before Shadowfell began. But that was not the way we did things here. Regan knew far more of my story than I did of his, for before Flint had left for the east, he’d told Regan about our journey along the lakes and up the Rush valley, and how we had been friends, then enemies, then friends again.
“I’m not sure if I believe in gods,” I said as my knees started to protest at the long downward climb. “I know the Guardians are thought to be wielders of old magic and immensely powerful.
“Good night, Tali,” I made myself say, though her last words had chilled me.
“ ’Night.” A pause. “You put your case well.”
This grudging praise was far more than I expected. “Thanks,” I said.
“Be quiet,” growled Sula again, putting her pillow over her head.
“Sorry.” I closed my eyes.
MIDWINTER MORNING, AND NOBODY ON THE LADDER. The cavern was shadowy; outside, the sun would be struggling up behind heavy clouds. It was hard to believe that only a year ago my father had still been alive and we had spent the cold season on the road. Midwinter had passed us by as we sheltered in some derelict outhouse or under some shallow overhang in the woods. As I began my climb, trying to keep the pace as brisk as Tali would expect, I told myself I would never forget how fortunate I was to have reached Shadowfell.
I came to the top of the steps, breathing hard. Tali liked us to head straight down again if we could, but today I went out onto the ledge. It was barely light. Rain descended in shifting sheets, moved hither and thither by the wind. I was not first here. By the rock wall stood Regan, gazing northward through the watery veils, his hands outstretched in private prayer.
I would have retreated quietly, not wanting to interrupthim. But Regan said, “It’s a momentous day. Midwinter, and our first meeting with the Folk Below. A milestone on our journey. Will you join me?” So I stood beside him, thinking how remarkable it was that out of the darkness of winter there always came the light of springtime.
“Rise up, brother sun!” Regan’s voice was strong and sure. There was no trace of uncertainty in it. “Bear forth your flaming torch! Banish the shadows. March forward in vigor, young and free, and lead us into a new day. Farewell to the dark. Hail to the light!”
“Hail to the light!” I echoed. The stirring words were most apt, not only to the festival day, but to our whole enterprise. Glancing at my companion, I saw that his face was bright with hope. It was a perfect reflection of the light he had invoked. No wonder he inspired such loyalty.
We stood there awhile longer, until the rain became intolerable and we retreated to the steps.
“You must have come up here in the dark,” I said.
“I brought a candle. The rain extinguished it for me; as a symbol of new light it was short-lived.”
“The prayer was good. I had planned to say one of my own, but I’ve forgotten the proper words.” We began the descent, Regan going first, I following. We went slowly; in my mind I could hear Tali saying, Pick up the pace! What are you, a pair of old women in your dotage?
“I doubt if the gods trouble themselves much about the words,” Regan said. “What matters is the intention. Only a few of us at Shadowfell observe the old rituals; most have become rather disillusioned over the years.”
“But you believe it’s worth going on in some small way?”
He did not answer immediately, and when he spoke, he sounded unusually hesitant. “Sometimes I wonder whether all a ritual provides is a comforting familiarity. Such observances lose their significance if few believe in them. For me, it still seems important to acknowledge the turning of the year. To celebrate the times of joyful plenty and to recognize the times of sorrow and hardship. A ritual makes it easier to understand our place in the grand plan of things.”
I would have liked to ask about his past, before he became a rebel leader, before Shadowfell began. But that was not the way we did things here. Regan knew far more of my story than I did of his, for before Flint had left for the east, he’d told Regan about our journey along the lakes and up the Rush valley, and how we had been friends, then enemies, then friends again.
“I’m not sure if I believe in gods,” I said as my knees started to protest at the long downward climb. “I know the Guardians are thought to be wielders of old magic and immensely powerful.
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