In Hours of Grievous Hope: Ch. 2

Slightly Cryptic Instructions

Notes:

Yay, chapter 2! I don't know how many chapters this will have, but I don't think it'll be that much longer than my other revival fic. Probably about the same length^^

*****

Golden light swirled all around Kalmar, glittering specks of it lilting through the air like dust motes. The sound of trickling water, bubbling melodiously, reached his ears, and if he titled his head right he could just make out a sweet little brook winding its way down a long, glowing corridor into a pulsating light—

He gasped and dropped to his hands and knees in reverence. He held his breath and dared not look up and see anything other than the lovely ancient stones that dimmed in comparison to the glory and majesty of the Maker.

“Kalmar, My son,” came the amazing Voice of his Maker. “Please, rise. Walk with me.” A wondrously burning touch as light as a flutterfly’s wings, yet as commanding as…as…as Himself drifted onto his hand, and he felt it being grasped, then the sensation of being pulled upward to stand on his feet. 

Knowing he would never be able to gaze directly at the Maker without being blinded instantly from His shining radiance, Kalmar kept his head down as they walked together in that cavern of glowing beauty.

“Do you know why I have brought you here?” He asked, His Voice thunderously gentle.

Kalmar began by shaking his head, which in turn rattled a few questions into his mind. “How, though? Forgive me but, how am I here? We didn’t—”

What must have been a chuckle was the initial response, the pulsating light bobbing and shifting joyously along with the sound, and Kalmar couldn’t help but think how amazing a thing it was that the Maker, the all-powerful, all-knowing Maker of Aerwiar would laugh.  

“The purpose of opening the Fane with Word, Form, and Song is so I may speak with all of you,” the Maker said gently, almost gently enough that Kalmar forgot about the grief in his heart that said one of them was gone. “But I spoke with your father many times in the same way I speak with you now: through dreams and visions. You are with Me in the Fane of Fire in spirit, but physically you are still asleep in the meadow.”

Nodding, but unsure if he completely understood (who was he kidding, he was so dazed with awe that he barely understood anything!), Kal remembered the Maker’s earlier question. He felt his cheeks warming with embarrassment when he realized he had forgotten to answer. “I-I don’t know why You brought me here,” he stammered. “Will…will You tell me?”

“You are here because you are faint of heart,” the Maker answered him in the most compassionate Voice he had ever heard. “You are grieving. And you have forgotten that which I asked of you.”

A twinge of guilt bubbled in Kalmar’s heart, but the Maker’s tone of Voice had told him He didn’t blame him. He understood. Then a shower of confusion washed over Kal. “Wait,” he said suddenly, at the last minute remembering that looking up at his Maker while asking his question would be futile. Besides, He scattered so much glory and majesty that wherever Kalmar looked, he saw Him. “I did that! I did it as You said, and then Janner paid the price—” his voice broke at those words and he could speak no more.

There was a long stretch of silence after that, in which neither said a word. Kalmar dashed tears away from his cheeks and continued looking at the ground, watching as it transitioned from stones glowing with life and beauty to lush, green grass, thriving in a garden cultivated by the Maker’s splendor. 

He could not resist looking up to take in it all, for though he had seen and walked through the magnificent garden once before, no eye could ever capture the wonder of it in just a glance or even a hundred or a thousand or a hundred thousand glances. It was like another world in there, another perfect world filled with life and glory, where trees grew taller than the eye could see, disappearing into a cloud of mist, where flowers of all colors, shapes, and sizes bloomed perfectly with not a single blemish. Kalmar knew without being told it was just a snippet of the Maker’s World on Aerwiar.

It was a place where his grief about Janner and Podo and Rudric and his fears about kingship without his dear brother or grandfather to guide him drifted away into oblivion, where even when he thought of those things that would bring tears to his eyes did not do so, somehow filling him only with joy: joy that those he loved were at peace just like his for all eternity, and joy that he would have the opportunity to do the Maker’s Will and serve his subjects for as long as he lived.

“Kalmar,” the Maker said after what felt like quite a while. “Your work is not done.”

He resisted the urge to respond with, of course it’s not, though he did think it, and it was likely the cause of another one of the Maker’s chuckles.

“It will not be easy. Gather the Lost. Save them. Use My Ancient Stones in the way I intended.”

Furrowing his brow, Kalmar opened his mouth to say he had already received those instructions, followed them, and “the Lost” had already been restored, but the Maker had more to say.

“Take the stone used to restore your people and restore the others with it as well,” He continued. “For there are more. More are still lost. More are in need of rescue.”

“I don’t—” Kalmar protested, trying to convey his complete confusion. 

“My son, I know you do not understand. But I promise, you will. Trust Me. Obey Me. Follow Me. You will know in time.”

He awoke with a start, and the first thing he realized was that he was freezing. Kalmar shivered. He had forgotten how cold it was in the morning when it was barely spring, and especially when he had no built-in blanket of fur. There was an odd feeling in his heart, one of peace mingled with understanding and determination. An element of joy resided there, too, and even when it hit him that Janner was gone it did not die away. If anything, it glowed even brighter and more fiercely than it had before.

Kalmar glanced around and smiled when he saw Artham standing just a little ways off, his taloned-hands clasped behind his back. A tinge of worry fluttered in his smile — had his uncle stayed awake the entire night? Surely that was a terrible idea considering what they were about to do.

He paused in that train of thought. What were they about to do? He remembered…oh, he remembered the Maker! He remembered the night he had spent walking with Him in the Fane of Fire while not actually being there, and the instructions he had received. He remembered the confusion he had felt then and still felt in that moment, but now he did not mind. There was something lingering on the edge of his consciousness, something he needed to do or somewhere he needed to go to actually carry out the little that had so far been asked of him.

His eyes drifted about the misty hills around him, morphing land and sea to where it was impossible to tell them apart. He thought of the former Cloven and Fangs likely still sleeping soundly in the valley below, and he thought of the rest of the family, with the addition of Sara Cobbler, waiting in the ruins of Castle Rysen. Wondering if any of them had actually slept the night before, he almost missed the sound of new grasses swishing. He didn’t entirely miss it, though, and turned his head to smile up at Artham who stood, towering above him. 

“Good morning,” he said quietly, not because he thought he would wake anyone but because it would be wrong to defile the Isle’s dawn stillness with a sound much louder than a whisper. “Did you sleep last night?”

Artham started a bit, and there was a note of surprise in his voice when he answered. “I suppose not. I was watching you, though. Watching and thinking. Both of those are more important than sleep.”

Kal shook his head. “That’s crazy. You need sleep. You can’t do anything if you don’t sleep.”

“Well,” a note of sadness crept into Artham’s voice. “I’ve found I’m quite capable of it over the years. It’s not a problem.”

On hearing those words, Kalmar felt his mind buzz a little bit, as if there was something in them that reminded him of what he had to do. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, though. What was it? 

“Wait, can you say that last part again?” he asked urgently, and Artham cocked his head in response. “Please, Uncle Artham, it reminded me of something I can’t remember that I really need to remember.”

Smiling a little, Artham consented. “Sure, why not? I said, ‘Well, I’ve found I’m quite—”

“Wait, that’s it!” Kalmar said excitedly, jumping up from the grass, barely even noticing his clothes were somewhat wet with dew. “‘Well’!

Artham furrowed his brow. “‘Well’ what?”

“The Well!” Kalmar was nearly crowing at that point, all thoughts about not disturbing the peace of the land that early in the morning forgotten and considered complete nonsense. “The First Well! Janner and I— we found it! We found it in the Blackwood!”

Staring at him in what looked like a state of being completely dumbstruck, Artham did not say anything in response to that.

“Don’t you see, Uncle Artham!” Kalmar continued, feeling himself nearly vibrating from excitement and hope. “It can heal anything. It healed hundreds of years’ worth of damage to the Sea Dragons’ wings, and it healed our troll friend, Oood, and maybe it can…maybe it can bring Janner back, too.” He became quiet with those words, an atmosphere of solemness settling over him. There was something dreadfully sad about actually going to the First Well, but at the same time he felt as though the Maker was asking him to, like He was pushing him toward it, albeit gently, but still pushing. And the Ancient Stone that had caused Yurgen and Janner’s death was a part of it, too, he just didn’t know how quite yet.

“Kalmar, what if it doesn’t work?” Artham countered cautiously. “I want it to, I really do, but what if it doesn’t? What if it can’t or—”

“But why shouldn't we try?” Kalmar replied softly, his voice trembling. “If we don't, we’ll never know, will we?”

Artham stared at him for several moments as if he was studying every feature on his face and every glint in his eyes. “No, I suppose we won’t,” he said finally. 

Silence persisted for a bit longer, and Kalmar found himself digging the toe of his shoe into the grass and dirt with the awkwardness of it and with the uncertainty of what exactly he was supposed to do, before Artham announced in what sounded like the most resolved and determined voice he had ever mustered: “Well if we’re going to try, let’s go wake the others, shall we?”

“‘The others’?” Kal stared at him blankly. 

Artham laughed at that and clapped him on the back. “Kalmar Wingfeather, did you really think we would eave the rest of the family behind while going on a journey to see if we can bring your Throne Warden back to life?” 

Kal smiled. He supposed not. “I guess you’re right. I’ll get them up, and you go…maybe ask the Dragons if they can help us?”

His eyes twinkling, Artham nodded. “It would be my pleasure, my King.”

*****

Notes:

Remember, if there's anything that seems weird or strange or something that is clearly noncanonical, please let me know! And if you have any suggestions, I'd love to hear them!

Correct me if I'm wrong, but the family never found out that Artham wanted to heal Esben with the Water, right?