Page 39 of The Truth

“Are you going to tell me why you’re sitting here in the middle of the night?”

Salara did not turn from the lake. “This is where you took me the day I bonded with Vyrmír,” she said after a long silence. “You walked me past every statue and told me of their deeds and their actions, told me that one day perhaps I could join them if I was strong enough.”

“I remember.” Eltoar smiled at the thought. That had only been two years past. She’d seen but fourteen summers.

“This is where I come… when… when I don’t know where else to go.”

“May I ask a question of the heart?”

Salara grew a silent again, but eventually she nodded, sniffling.

“When I saw you earlier, you were full of joy. What has cast this sadness over you, young one?”

Before a word could leave her lips, Salara burst into tears once more and wiped at them furiously with her cloak. She swallowed hard. “Gathár.”

“Gathár?” Eltoar scanned his memories. “The young mage? Why would…” The realisation dawned on Eltoar. “Would you like to talk on it?”

Salara shook her head, the tears flowing once again.

“How about we just sit here?”

Salara nodded again, and fell back into silence, listening to the waters of the lake swashing against the rocky shore.

After a while, Salara spoke again. “Is there something wrong with me?”

“Besides your snoring?”

The beginnings of a smile threatened Salara’s lips but vanished almost immediately. “He said that I’m… That I’m… That I’m broken. That I don’t give him enough.” The sounds of the water filled the silence. “He said I’ll never be you and I shouldn’t waste my time in trying.”

“And what did you say?” Eltoar pressed his chin to his upper chest, looking across at Salara, his voice barely a whisper.

Salara shook her head. “I can’t even remember… it’s all fuzzy.”

Eltoar nodded slowly, then lifted his gaze to the lake. “Salara, there are people in this world who do not possess the strength of character that fills you. Today in the yard, you saw Aeson Virandr, saw his skill and his strength, and what did you do?”

“I…” She scrunched her face. “I don’t know.”

“You rose to meet him. You let his strength ignite your own, let his light be your permission to shine. You allowed yourself to become more.” Eltoar leaned back against the tree. “But there are some people who let fear control them. Fear of their inadequacy, fear of failure – fear of everything. They would rather diminish a person’s light than rise to meet it. That says more about their character than yours. You are strong, you are bold, and you are brave. And what’s more, you are kind and determined. You will be the light that others look to when fear becomes them. It is not an expectation I place on your shoulders, but a mere statement of fact. Gathár is a small boy who fears your heart because he knows he is too meek to hold it.”

Salara looked over at Eltoar, her eyes glistening from tears. She pulled her lips into a half smile, then leaned over and rested her head on Eltoar’s shoulder.

Eltoar closed his eyes, allowing that moment to fill his heart. And for just a second, he thought he could feel a second head on his opposite shoulder. And as long as his eyes remained closed, he could imagine Maquil sitting beside him.

After a few breaths, Eltoar let out a long sigh and opened his eyes, the dream of Maquil vanishing, swept away by the breeze while the moonlight shimmered on the silver-crested water.

“If a person loves you,” Eltoar whispered, not daring to move lest Salara stir, “they will thrive in the ocean of your strength. They will see you grow, and grow with you in return. Love, Salara, is like water to a tree. The more of it a person gives, the taller you will stand. Nobody who loves you will wish for you to shrink, and any who do have only love for themselves.”

Part Four

2 years before The Fall

Chapter Twelve

The Price of Power

City of Ilnaen – Summer, Year 2680 After Doom

The peace of flying could never be overstated. On Lyara’s back, Aeson was free. Free from the world, free from the weight of expectation. Free from his own mind. And there was no more beautiful time to fly than in the twilight. That was when Lyara’s scales came alive. Her scales were the night sky given breath, and in the twilight as the sun dipped into the horizon, Lyara looked as though she had stolen stars and painted them upon her body. Her wings were constellations, streaked with glistening colour.