Journey to Hope- Chapter 14

Notes:

• This is my favorite chapter! 😊

• Yes, yes, I know that there is a huge canon breach here, (in some people’s opinions) and I am ready to defend it.

Chapter 14 Forgiven and Restored

Artham had started to hear the voices again, and he felt the feathery mist returning after the most of his joy had passed. He shook his head again and started stepping backward away from his family and from the Well. The painful memories that he had held at bay so that he could protect and help the Jewels came flooding back, and Artham bent over, clutching his head and mumbling again. He started to back into the forest. If he was going to have to fight another battle with himself, he didn’t want to be near his family. He knew that it hurt them to see him like that. He didn’t want to make them go through that again. He turned around and took one running step into the wood before someone caught him firmly by the arm.The touch jerked him back to himself, and he turned to see Janner, still grabbing his arm firmly. The company was standing behind Janner, and all eyes were on the two Throne Wardens. Janner’s face was full of love and determination and hope.

“Uncle Artham. Don’t run away,” Janner said. In the hand that wasn’t grasping Artham’s arm, he held the large nut, halfway full of Well Water. At Janner’s words, Artham relaxed slightly. Janner took a deep breath, for a moment unsure of how to proceed.

“Uncle Artham…” Janner paused and simply held out the nut.

“It’s your turn,” he finished. Artham’s eyes grew wide and he shook his head again. He started to back away, but hit a tree. He grasped it with his talons, making deep furrows in the bark. No! You don’t deserve it! It was for Esben and you FAILED! Artham whimpered and Janner saw the storm in his eyes start to churn and swell again.

“Uncle Artham, please-” You failed and now he’s DEAD! You should have been there! You are a COWARD!

“N-no!” The feathery mist thickened and Artham got confused.

“Not mor fee, can’t! It’s for Esben! ESBEN! No!” Janner’s eyes widened. He knew exactly what he had to do.

“Uncle Artham-”

“NO!”

“Wait, wait, I just want to tell you something. Come sit down.” Artham looked at his nephew’s pleading face and the faces of the company. He shook his head again, at the voices, but sank down to the ground under the tree. Janner took one of his hands and Sara, coming to Artham’s side, took the other. After a moment of hesitation, the whole company sat down.

“Uncle Artham, when I was with the Maker, I saw Papa. I saw Esben.” The entire company looked at Janner in surprise, but Artham most of all. His eyes got wide and the storm stopped for a moment in his shock.

“Y-you saw…Esben?”

“More than saw him. We talked and laughed and even got to sail.” Artham’s eyes were fixed on Janner’s face, and he hungrily took in every word.

“He gave me a message for you.”

“A message…for me?”

“Yes, Uncle Artham. He told me, ‘Tell Artham that I still love him. Tell him that I don’t blame him at all for anything that happened, from the fall of Rysen to my death. I don’t blame him. He has been the best Throne Warden a brother could hope for. Also, thank you for the song. Tell him to drink the Water. I know why he hasn’t all these years. It’s because he was trying to get it to me. He didn’t feel worthy. Tell him that I’m healed now, and happy. I’m better than I ever have been my whole life, and now it’s his turn. Tell him that I love him with everything in me.’” As Janner spoke, Artham’s eyes filled with tears.

“He said that? Esben said that?” Artham’s voice cracked with emotion as he looked desperately at Janner.

“Yes. Those very words.”

“A-and he’s healed?”

“Uncle Artham, he’s with the Maker. He couldn’t be better anywhere else. He’s completely healed. And he loves you. He wants you to be healed too.” Even Janner’s eyes began to fill with tears as he spoke to his uncle of his father. Artham dashed the back of a rough, red hand across his eyes, wiping away tears. He looked from his talons to the Water, still glistening in Janner’s hand.

“There’s something else too. Something the Maker told me. He said that his purpose for you is healing.” Artham bent his head, eyes squinted shut.

“Artham, everyone has forgiven you,” Nia said. “Now it’s time for you to forgive yourself. Drink the Water and become who the Maker intends you to be.” The voices were roaring full force now, stronger than ever, screaming at Artham that he didn’t deserve it. YOU DON’T DESERVE THAT WATER! YOU DON'T DESERVE THEIR LOVE! YOU DON'T DESERVE TO BE FORGIVEN! Artham sent up a desperate prayer to the Maker for help. He struggled for a moment as his family watched him. He summoned all his strength and pushed aside the voices. He looked up at his nephew, his eyes churning with the battle with the storm. He reached out his trembling talons for the Water. Janner gave it over and watched in expectation, eager to see how the Maker would transform his uncle. Artham’s heart began to pound and race as he lifted the bowl-like nut. He stopped when it was a few inches from his lips, gasping and twisting. The voices roared and thundered. COWARD! FALIURE! Strength that he didn’t understand suddenly pulsed through Artham, and though the voices crashed and roared, Artham took a deep breath and quickly lifted the water to his lips. He took a tiny sip and swallowed, and for one last moment the voices arose in a deafening cacophony, when out of the chaos, the still, small Voice spoke.

Peace! Be still. It was like a roar and yet a whisper, and that one Voice had absolute control. The other voices that had tormented Artham Wingfeather for years died instantly, never to return. The mist vanished, replaced by the Maker’s Light and Love. Artham Wingfeather was changed forever, but his heart and mind were not the only things. With a swell of golden light, his hair turned jet black again, darkening from the roots, and most of the scars on his chest and arms disappeared. His talons began to change. Golden light pulsed from inside them, and Artham watched in wonder along with the company. The terrible, curved talons began to recede. The rough, red skin began to smooth. Artham’s heart swelled with joy and gratefulness as he watched the hated talons turn back into strong, smooth hands. The light stopped, and Artham felt better than he had for a long, long, time, for almost ten years. He felt healed, and forgiven and restored. He felt a feather brush his face and turned to see that he still had his wings. They were even more beautiful than they had been before. The dark gray feathers shimmered like onyx and the white flecks and crimson eyelets stood out against the blackness like diamonds and rubies. Artham Wingfeather was not ashamed of his wings, nor disappointed that he still had him. The Winged Warden. The idea came to his newly clear mind. He thanked the Maker and relished being able to think normally. He would have to write a poem about this. Thank you Maker! Thank you! Thank you! Artham’s mind was full of praise and wonder and joy and thankfulness as he rose from his sitting position.

“Thank you Maker!” He cried aloud. His voice had lost its tense, high edginess and its nervous stutter and gibberish. He turned to his family and laughed, spreading his wings. Janner remembered the poem by Arundelle,

All children of the Shining Isle, rejoice!

A hero strides the field, the hill, the sand

With raven hair and shining blade in hand,

The wicked quake when lifts the Warden’s voice!

So fleet his mount and fierce his mighty band!

So fair his word and fine his happy roar

That breezes o’er the Isle from peak to shore!

So tender burns his love for king and land!

Janner knew he was seeing that Artham now. Kal shouted gladly and leapt into his uncle’s arms, and the rest of the family, including Sara, soon followed. Janner was alive. Kal was a human boy. Artham was restored. Leeli was healed, and so was Sara. Nia and Oskar looked better than ever, as if the air near the well had some rejuvenating effect. The family laughed and held each other in a huge hug, many with tears in their eyes. Their hearts were filled with hope.