He folds back the door to our tent and fastens the fabric door open in front of it. We find that Wren is just a ways off with the driver, pouring over a map together and gently petting one of the horses that pulls our carriage. Relief is immediate; he seems at ease even if he is not directly with us right now. Chiron makes ready to break our fast, and I go back into the tent to fold up our bedding so we can again prepare to depart.
…
The ride outof Trinity and through the hills is bumpy, our carriage rocking and throwing us around on our benches constantly. No rest is truly found for us there. The closer we get to the base of the Caelestian Peaks, the colder the air grows. We make a stop to change into our gear and arrive at the spot where the land meets the first jutting rocks before even-fall.
Close up to the mountains like this, I feel small and insignificant by comparison. The air isn’t quite frigid, but Chiron warns us that it will get colder the farther up the pass we go. We decide to stop for the night in the cavern at the base of the mountain, building up a fire before night settles in on us. The fire heats the small space nicely, and our driver takes an hour or so to warm himself and water the horses before he makes the journey back to Nerine. We are left with only the gear that we can carry, that which we cannot was sent ahead to the capital with Jessah and the other attendants.
The Cavern is small, and the rocks that form it are icy cold to the touch. I pull my hand back from them and pull my gloves from the pocket of my cloak.
Not much conversation has passed between us today, and my worries that Wren is pulling back once more begin to build. The hollow feeling in my stomach over the last few days in Nerine becomes a nagging thing, eating away at my insides. He is not hostile, nor is Chiron. But it is quiet, and this silence between us unsettles me deeply.
Chiron places long, dry branches at the mouth of our cavern, blocking out the chilly winds that enter as much as he can. I am grateful for my woolen clothing now, while it is somewhat itchy and tight, they hold in warmth well.
“This space is small, and I’ve got a bed of coals going that should keep us plenty warm. But we should still sleep close together, in case it goes out in the night,” Chiron says, looking from Wren to me. Wren sits close to the embers, pen in hand but not writing anything. His journal is closed on his lap, and he nods his assent to Chiron.
Frustration grows in me steadily. If Wren would just open up about his brother and his life before the Isle of Men…Chiron would understand. I feel strongly about this. But it is not my story to tell.
“Do we have a plan for getting up the peaks? I’ve never really scaled anything like this, and I’m…nervous.” I say, looking between them both. Perhaps if I open up about my own concerns with our coming task, this will bring them both back into the present.
Wren lets his pen fall to his lap, looking to Chiron for direction on this matter. I am quietly pleased with this response from him.
“Thankfully, there is a path up to the place we need to reach. There is a spot between this mountain, where we are currently, and the next. That’s where the beacon is. But it is treacherous. My father told me once that both of the trials beforehand are mental, emotional feats. But this one? This one tests our physicality. This one will test our Trinity in truth.” His words resonate throughout the space with their gravity.
I think back to our previous two trials. And yes, they were entirely based on our ability to speak truth with one another. I fear that even more so than the perils of a mountain, we will struggle with truth now more than ever before. The bonds we share, while mostly a silent presence, feel heavy on my shoulders now. The strain of our bond is present in the cave with us.
When Wren speaks, he pulls me from my worries and thoughts with his practicality.
“The climb will be but a few hours, but the cold will be our biggest enemy, I suspect.” He fiddles with the pen in his hand now, not looking at either of us in the subtle glow of the fire.
Irritation grows in me. I look to Chiron, and he is looking at Wren. The expression on his face is wary, perhaps of starting yet another yelling match with Wren. I struggle with myself for a moment. I do not wish to argue this night. We have a long trek up the mountain tomorrow that will test our bodies and our bond. But this strain cannot go unchecked. We have to talk. I take a slow and even breath in and prepare myself for what comes next.
“I disagree, I don’t think the cold is our greatest enemy. I think whatever is happening between us…that is what is going to tear us apart.” Chiron and Wren are staring at me now, alarm in Wren’s eyes and sadness in Chiron’s.
I continue anyway.
“Wren, you need to tell him. Tell him why you pulled back from us. Give him the chance to understand your position, please.”
Wren turns his face from us both, the shadow cast by our fire plunging his features into darkness. Chiron’s jaw clenches, and my heart sinks. But indignation? It rises in my chest. Feelings I hadn’t quite recognized rise to the surface of my consciousness. Wren cannot keep partaking in this relationship only from a distance. We are not a performance given attention only when he cannot withhold himself. Before I can speak again, Wren turns his face back to us. A familiar anguish is etched once more into his features. I calm my growing resentment, waiting for him to speak.
He is quiet for a few beats of time, but when he opens his mouth to speak, his words ring out into the night. “My brother is dead. He died.”
Chiron’s expression morphs from frustration into puzzlement.
“I didn’t…I didn’t know you had a brother.” Chiron starts, the words slow and tentative. “What does this have to do with you leaving?”
Wren’s eyebrows rise on his face.
“I was never leaving. I told you that. I just…I had to know.”
Before Chiron can spark another heated exchange, I cut in.
“Chiron, please. Let him start from the beginning. Wren? Start from the beginning. Please?”
Another beat passes quietly between us. Chiron nods his agreement.
“I told Netta this the other night at the inn. I wanted to tell you, I did Chiron. But I wasn’t ready. Frankly, I am not ready now.” Wren starts, his voice is frustrated and low. Chiron remains quiet, patience written into his eyes for the first time for Wren in days.
“I had a brother. His name was Bran. He was smart, funny…the best brother. He wanted to be a scholar; he taught me to read. But it didn’t work out that way for him. He got sick, and he died.” Wren’s chin falls to his heaving chest. It seems so much harder for him to tell this story–his story, again.
