In Hours of Grievous Hope: Ch. 5

The Realization

Notes:

Some success will happen (and more Oskar!) 🥳

*****

Artham was back in a matter of minutes, along with the good news that he had indeed found Clovenfast; they were close, just heading in the wrong direction. 

Everyone was relieved at hearing that, most of all Kalmar. Slipping his arms through the straps of his pack, he felt a new fervor growing inside of him. The Ancient Stone resting on his back felt almost as though it was reassuring him that he was going in the right direction. And as Artham bent down to pick up Janner’s body, he did not feel a dreadful twinge of grief but a spark of hope. Something was right, so right that he found himself willing to trot forward and walk next to Artham, more specifically, right next to the bundle in his arms. 

A flicker of surprise crossed Artham’s face when he first appeared, but no words were exchanged until they had been walking again for several minutes. 

“I haven't seen you this close to him by choice since I came,” Artham noted quietly, his voice not containing even a hint of the distress it has held before. “Other than the ride here, of course, but I don't think you enjoyed that much.”

“The ride here was the first time,” Kalmar admitted, feeling a little guilty. “And I thought I would hate being so close. Turns out it wasn’t as terrible as I imagined,” he finished frankly, still feeling his throat burn as he said such words. 

He had purposely avoided being near Janner as much as possible, first taking the time to name everyone, more to distract himself from grief and distance himself from the reality of his grieving family than anything else. That hadn’t really worked, of course, since half the time the names he chose came from books Janner had read and ranted about. Keeping himself from crying had been a nearly impossible feat, as he remembered how many times he had begged Janner to stop. Now he only wanted to hear those tangents again. 

Then the night before, he had stayed among the ruins of Castle Rysen for as little time as he could, unnerved even by the knowledge that his brother was lying nearby and that if he went to shake him awake, nothing would happen. Going into the meadow had been an escape, too. 

So why was he willing to be close now? Maybe it was because not only was there a chance Janner would live again, but because they were actually making progress, successful progress, both in terms of reaching Clovenfast and the Ancient Stone. He wasn't sure why everything felt “right” with the Ancient Stone and fulfilling the Maker's task, but he was glad it did.

*****

Soon Clovenfast loomed ahead of them, and gasps of wonder and amazement peppered the air. Kal even heard Nia’s whispers of breathy wonder, her words and tone not marred by grief. It truly was a magnificent place, the stone village that looked as though it had been lived in and cherished, then put together with sincerity and dedication as all its occupants left to come to Anniera. It was still hard to believe, though, that just days before it had teemed with life and happiness.

“So I was thinking we could maybe camp here?” Kalmar suggested awkwardly, looking down at his hands the moment everyone turned their gaze on him expectantly. “‘Cause we found the Well after being here, so I guess it works as a stopping point. We could stay in one or two of the houses, or the larger area-thing where Arundelle used to be if anyone wants something bigger.”

“A house sounds lovely, Kalmar,” Nia said quietly. “Leeli and Sara, would you mind putting together a light supper for us?”

“Not at all, Mrs. Wingfeather,” Sara replied sweetly, while Leeli nodded.

“Thank you. And Artham, would you—”

“Of course I will,” he interrupted her, apparently reading her thoughts. Kalmar still wasn't sure what the question was, but once his mother began conversing with hand gestures and pointing toward a house, Artham nodding in response, still bearing Janner's body regally, he knew. Nia needed her oldest son laid to rest (temporarily, they all hoped) in as considerate a place as possible, and the last thing she wanted was for it to be haphazard.

Checking back into reality, Kalmar realized he was the only person not doing anything. Artham and Nia were preoccupied, Leeli and Sara were putting together supper, and even Oskar was at least writing vigorously with what looked like a lot of emphasis in his journal, muttering to himself and tapping his chin with his pen all the while.

That left him alone, separate. Apart from them all. The Maker was with him — he knew; he could feel His Presence — but other than that…he was alone.

Figuring there was nothing else he could do and hating to not do anything, Kalmar meandered over to where Oskar was writing about what was most likely their trip so far in great detail.

“Were you sure to include how I got us lost?” he joked in an effort to begin a conversation.

“Ah, Kalmar,” Oskar began, smiling. “As Lilian Tromp noted in her poem on the migration patterns of Lone Fendrils, ‘In the end we made it here / So that is what we shall hold dear.’ Don't worry; I myself have gotten lost many times and tend to not be hard on others who have done the same.”

Smiling, Kal shook his head. “I don't really mind if you include it or not. I just…I want someone to talk to.”

On hearing that, Oskar closed his journal and placed it in his lap, folding his hands on top of it. “Then let's talk, dear boy. What should the topic be?”

Laughing nervously, Kal allowed his gaze to drift around Clovenfast, both at the ancient majesty of the city as well as his family scattered about it. “I…don't really know,” he confessed. “It sure feels as though I don't know a lot of things.”

“As my father, Oskar Noss Reteep Senior, said to me when I was younger and worried because I thought all my friends knew far more than I did, ‘It is those who believe they know everything who know nothing, and those who believe they know nothing who will eventually know everything.’” Oskar adjusted his spectacles before continuing. “What I mean is uncertainty is not a bad trait, and eventually you will know and understand what you need to know and understand. All in good time, my boy. All in good time.”

Kal huffed exasperatedly. “But I need to know how to get things done now or else we'll never get anywhere! We’ll never find the Well! And we need to.” 

Oskar studied him for a few moments before speaking. “Then tell me something you do know. Sit down, take off your pack, and tell me about how you found the First Well before.”

“But it was just random,” Kal protested, even as he sat down cross-legged, slipping his pack off his back. It felt strange off his back, though, so he hugged it close to his chest instead. “I don't even know how I found it.”

“Ah, but the Maker does,” Oskar countered. “However, remember, we're not trying to figure anything out. I just want you to tell me the story, beginning when you left Clovenfast and ending at the First Well.”

“Okay,” he began, smiling a little. He rested his chin on the top of his pack and closed his eyes. “It was a lot darker in the Blackwood outside of Clovenfast than I was expecting…”

Over the course of the tale, something was nagging Kalmar's mind, the same thought over and over again. It was about the Cloven who were still too twisted to live in Clovenfast, and about how he had tried to encourage them with the idea of the Ancient Stones and failed miserably, sending himself and all of them into a frenzy that nearly got Oood killed and terrified Janner.

But it wasn't really the bad parts that kept bugging him. It was how eager the Cloven had been to hear about a chance of rescue, and how he had really promised it to them. He was trying to figure out if Arundelle and Cadwick had been sure to gather all the Cloven, including those lost in the Blackwood. He supposed not, as something like that would be quite a feat, a near impossible one, really. The Cloven wandering in the forest were crazy. They were in the forest for a reason. None of it was really their fault, but that was just how it was. Not to mention all the Cloven that might still be trapped in Castle Throg. All of them were lost. Grievously lost. Lost together and yet so alone. Lost—

His heart stopped and his mind stilled for just a second before the former began thudding and the latter began racing faster than it ever had before.

Were they the Lost the Maker had spoken of? Of course they are, he scolded himself for thinking anything else. But if they were the Lost then it meant—

“Kalmar, is that the end of it?” Oskar asked, distracting him from his thoughts for a moment and reminding him that he had stopped mid-sentence right at the very end of the story. 

“Oh, um, yeah. That’s it,” he replied haltingly. “The next morning Oood was gone. He had been healed, and went off to find the Well again. We thought he was dead, but he wasn’t.”

“Well, thank you for sharing this with me,” Oskar said, beaming, already opening his journal to begin writing in it again. “And I'm sure that if the Maker wants us to find the Well, He will show it to us. He showed it to you last time, did he not?”

Flashing him a nervous grin that was meant to convey “yes,” Kal swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, and clutched his pack holding the broken Ancient Stone closer.

*****

Notes:

Kalmar is slowly (though really not so slowly; it's been less than a day since the Maker reiterated His instructions) beginning to understand...

Writing Oskar was fun. His quotes add humor to things that are not humorous, which is nice 😁

And of course Sara isn't calling Nia "Mama," even though Nia did invite her to in this chapter from my previous AtE fic. Though most of that fic is void in this story, the first few chapters (1-5) are applicable.