Through Ages of Weary Fulfillment: Ch. 3

The Beginnings of a Trek

Notes:

I'm so sorry for the delay! We've been traveling and I haven't been able to post. Things might be wonky for the next two weeks 😅

*****

They cleaned up any mess from breakfast and put the bowls, pot, and utensils into the pack they were originally in (Nia’s), which Artham promptly seized, and, with a twinkle in his eyes, nimbly climbed up a tree and tucked it securely between some of the higher branches for a reason he had yet to reveal to them. 

Part of Janner was surprised that his uncle still had the same agility he had had when he was a Cloven or fully melded, but Nia gave him (and Leeli, Sara, and Oskar) the answer to his unasked question. “He’s always loved climbing trees. Excellent at it, too.”

There was a hint of nostalgia in her voice, as if she were seeing a different place, a different time, a different Artham, perhaps even a different version of herself. Yet the memory of such a thing that surely involved Esben in some way did not bring her grief, only happiness. 

Janner wondered if she, or any of them, for that matter, would ever be able to remember Kalmar in that way, with joy and laughter rather than with burning throats and stinging eyes.

“It’s up there so toothy cows don’t get it,” Artham explained once he had joined them on the ground again. “And I can put the cloaks up there, too, if you like, Nia.”

She nodded, glancing at the pile of cloaks she had folded almost as soon as everyone was awake. Leeli and Sara had offered to help her, but she had declined in what Janner supposed was the most polite manner possible. “Yes, please. And thank you. Just, leave the thinnest one down here, alright?”

All the cloaks gathered in his arms, Artham came over and handed the thinnest to Janner. “I believe this is for you,” he said with a wink before scaling the tree once more, this time using only his right arm, unhampered by cloaks.

Janner resisted the urge to sigh and put it around his shoulders, making sure the clasp was secure. Admittedly, he didn’t really mind the gesture because he was cold. At least it was familiar: his Durgan cloak. He wondered if he would ever be able to train with the Durgan Guildlings again, or if it was pointless to hope. Then again, did he even want to if Kal wasn’t there? Kal was the reason they had trained in the Durgan Guild anyway, and though Janner had hated it at first, he had grown to love it far more than he ever would have enjoyed Bookbindery. Those memories (some good and some quite painful) were all thanks to his brother. How many times had he complained to Kal about how it was his fault he was stuck doing something so miserable? Had he even ever apologized? Janner knew he had felt guilt in his heart over the matter, but he couldn’t remember truly saying anything. Now he would never get the chance.

“Janner?” Sara’s gentle voice pulled him out of his thoughts, and he blinked his mind back to awareness.

“Sorry…what is it?”

She lowered her voice a bit. “Everyone is ready. We’re just waiting for your word.”

Janner felt his face flush, and he guessed seeing some sort of color in his cheeks was the cause of Nia’s smile. He had never truly realized how awkward Kal had felt when everyone stared at him, waiting for him to tell them to do something. Janner took a breath and, while purposely avoiding Oskar and Nia and Leeli and Artham’s gazes (but not Sara's), said, “Sure. Let’s go.

*****

The first bit of time they spent picking their way through the Blackwood, following the somewhat-cleared path past the mouth of the slope that led to the Deeps. Artham, Sara, and Oskar took the lead explaining what had actually happened around that mouth and down at the bottom of the slope, the latter popping in largely for exact quotes at relevant points in the story. 

That recount took them all the way past the patch of flowers they had accidentally grown with the Water by giving a bit too much of it to Oood and a stretch beyond even that.

Out of breath long before but trying to (and succeeding in) hiding it, Janner eventually asked for how long and what distance the had walked.

“Only for about twenty minutes,” Artham answered promptly. “And less than a mile. I was going to suggest that we break, though, maybe so you can make a guess with me as to which way we’re going to go next.”

Nodding, Janner made his way toward his uncle, stepping over and on top of underbrush and ferns and rocks and roots when need be. Artham had stopped right next to a boulder that looked wondrously like a seat and was somehow even covered in delighted, green moss. He barely resisted the urge to sink down on it, since if Artham wasn’t sitting, maybe he shouldn’t either. Not only that, but everyone knowing how exhausted he felt was the last thing he wanted.

His worries were assuaged the moment he reached Artham’s side, when he called out, “Janner and I are going to go a bit ahead to look, alright?”

No one looked particularly convinced, so haltingly, Janner added, “I didn’t actually go to the Well…Kal did. And this is the place he left from…so we might need a little to figure out the right direction…from here, that is.” He felt his cheeks warming and wondered if anyone had noticed the breathless, quiet gasps he had taken at random intervals.

No one said anything, though, and, his hand on Janner’s back, Artham led him just a stone’s throw away to a spot concealed from the rest of the party by a thick stand of bushes and trees.

“Sit,” he commanded, pointing to a spot on the grass, and Janner gratefully sunk to the ground, letting out a breath of relief.

“Thanks,” he murmured in between shaky gasps. “Do…do you actually—”

Artham held up a piece of pinkish fruit to his face that had appeared out of nowhere. “Eat this, please. I know you don’t want to eat, but you need to if you want to get to the First Well. And maybe once we get there, consider drinking some of the water.”

His cheeks now truly burning, Janner held out his hand, dismayed at the way it trembled uncontrollably. Artham placed the fruit directly in his palm, clearly not trusting him to keep a firm hold on it. “It’s an orzeer. It’s not very sweet, but it’s good and food and I want you to eat it.”

Janner still wasn’t very hungry, but not eating wouldn’t get him anywhere. Before taking a bite, he asked if Artham actually needed to know which direction to go. His uncle glared him into trying the orzeer before answering, though.

“Yes, because preferably we won’t have to wander around in these woods for hours. For that matter, you can’t wander around in these woods for hours. Please, Janner, I…I need you to stay alive and safe and as well as you possibly can considering you look like you were starved in the Deeps for a few months because I care about you and we all care about you, and also, I think your mother might come after my head if I let another one of her family members die.”

Artham had started rambling with the second part of his explanation, becoming more and more nervous, though not in a crazed manner like he had for so long. It was normal nervousness, normal concern. It was the normal worry of a Throne Warden. 

Janner could have seen it as annoying, having everyone constantly trying to micromanage him and act as if he would fall apart if someone looked at him the wrong way. But the truth was that he knew how feeble he was and that not only was their concern and borderline franticness well-placed, it was the culmination of the horrors these past few weeks had thrown at them. 

That was without even mentioning that Nia simply worried and fussed out of grief, and Artham fussed because…well, because of the reason he had given. To Janner, that made sense. He had been a Throne Warden, albeit for a brief period of time, and was still. He felt that guilt, that concern, that responsibility, that weight constantly. Even though Kalmar was gone, he still felt it. He still felt the pain of it.

He wondered if Artham felt it for Esben, Kalmar, and for him. He wondered how one man could carry that much weight on his shoulders.

While those thoughts had run through his head, Janner had obediently eaten the orzeer fruit, not finding it particularly appetizing but continuing anyway. Not that he had found anything he had eaten since he had come back very tasteful.

“Now that we’ve taken care of that,” Artham began, the usual twinkle in his eyes again. “Do you know which way Kalmar went?”

Janner took a breath and studied the forest ahead. It all looked the same: trees, trees, some underbrush, and more trees. He tried recalling what direction Kal had set off in during his search for the water, but the trouble was that he had smelled his way directly to the Well, not simply walked in a straight line. Of course, if he had picked up the scent correctly, presumably he had walked in a straight line, which meant they had a higher chance of finding it, at least in their own power.

“Anything?” Artham asked patiently.

Janner shook his head before closing his eyes. “Not yet,” he murmured as he tried picturing Kal and his grey, furry body and his pointed wolf ears, his tail twitching as he sniffed the air and then bounded off into the forest. 

Eyes flying open, Janner pointed, not quite straight ahead, but slanted a little to the left. “That way. I think that's the way he went. At least, that's what I hope.”

Artham nodded resolutely. “Wonderful. Now we're going to sit here until you're actually strong enough to walk.”

“Uncle Artham,” Janner protested. “I…I don't think that's going to happen anytime soon, at least not for the long term.”

“Well, you have two options then,” Artham held up one finger. “One: you walk up front with me while I support you, discreetly, of course; or,” (his second finger popped up) “Two: we find a walking stick that's the right height and weight to where it works and isn't dragging you down in addition to helping you walk.”

Janner considered the two carefully. The first one was somewhat obvious, but it could be written off as the two of them simply leading everyone else in the (hopefully) right direction. The second was also obvious, but no excuses existed. Plus, it would take time to find the right stick and he would likely need Artham's assistance later anyway. “The first one, I suppose,” he said slowly. “But please don't make it obvious. I don't want Mama to worry.”

Artham looked at him, his eyes grieved. “Janner, your mother will always worry, and there's nothing you can do about it. Now she wants to worry more than not, because it distracts her from all the loss.”

Janner stood up and clasped his cold hands together. “That doesn’t make her worry any better,” he murmured.

Placing an arm around his shoulders, Artham gave him a gentle squeeze that Janner felt throughout his body. “We all cope with grief in terrible ways,” he noted as they walked back toward the others. “On our own, at least. With the Maker's help...that can change. We just have to ask Him. I think you already know that, though.”

*****

Notes:

Now we're about 20 minutes closer to the First Well! Yay!