Chương 101: 97 • A STRANGE REFRAIN

66 A STRANGE REFRAIN 🙜 A breeze creaked through the branches of the lowland forest, shuffling a carpet of last autumn's leaves and papery bark. Ember drew slow breaths of the crisp morning freshness, drinking deep of pine pitch and loamy musk. The battered arming sword he had haggled for wages garnered by an odd task here and there rested comfortably on his hip, and a brown cloak trailed along the forest floor, tattered and dulled from a winter of wear but lovingly fastened over a moss-green surcote.

He knelt beside a stream not far from where they had made camp. It tumbled down the wooded hillside, and after quenching his own thirst, he set about replenishing their flask—it had been brimming for some time now, but he cherished the chill of the water as it rippled past his fingers, murmuring cheerful tidings of spring and the coming warmth…

He had become more attuned to the music of things, after spending so long in the presence of one who knew a thousand melodies, or perhaps it was the thread between their souls which supplemented his senses.

With Ky's eager tales of her own spellweaving and many long hours of sitting and listening or, more often, softly singing together, searching for the essence of something he did not yet understand, Ember even fancied he could hear what she heard, now and then—the soft fey rhythm of raindrops pattering on boughs above, the discordant premonition of thunder not yet sounded, the faintest melody of an old branch creaking in the wind.

It was in one of these reveries which he now found himself when a sharp whistle pierced the rustling stillness of the forest. Ember sprang up, snatching the sword from his belt and running silently uphill on leather-clad feet, pausing every few steps to crouch and observe his surroundings, reaching out with his mind and letting the pull beckon him from afar. The invisible knowing connected them always, tugging him gently in the direction of Ky, if he thought about it— wanted it—hard enough.

Thus it was not long before he caught sight of her green cloak, tucked away amongst the scraggly forest undergrowth and caught lightly across the mossy stone she crouched behind. Ky glanced over her shoulder, eyes hidden in the darkness of her hood, and pressed a finger to her lips as he crept alongside her. She pointed to a hunched figure trudging away down the wagon-rutted path—even from this distance, it appeared to be a broad-shouldered man with a walking stick and an old pack strapped to his back.

Ember squinted, one hand on Ky's arm. A curved sword adorned the man's belt, and as the stranger moved closer he recognized the wide-brimmed hat sitting low over his eyes.

"Hunter!" Ky startled and tugged her hood further forward as he grasped her hand, pulling her to her feet. The man turned round, thumping his hat down on his head as a sudden gust of wind threatened to blow it into the trees.

"Boy!" he shouted affably, leaning on his walking stick. Ember scampered lightly onto the path with Ky close behind. He thought for a moment whether it would be wiser to tell her to keep hidden, or at the very least keep silent—but it was only Hunter, after all. Even a winter of travel and misadventures had not sufficed to tarnish his boyhood enchantment of the wayfarer; Hunter had still been everywhere, and seen everything there was to see, as far as Ember was concerned.

"Hullo!" he cried excitedly, when he was near enough to be properly heard without the woodland echoes.

"What are you doing this far west of the mountains?" Hunter shook the walking stick at him before resuming his original posture, and Ember realized that it was a different walking stick than he had carried with him last.

"Always so quick with the questions—finally left yer little valley, did ya? I wondered how long it would take…" It had been no more than a full turning of the seasons since he had glimpsed the rugged wayfarer setting off for unknown lands, but as Ember approached he noted a marked change in appearance.

The sword was no longer stuffed in his pack, for one thing, but hung present and ready at his hip—a notched and wicked-looking blade unlike any he had seen in the valley or the towns he had passed through; his cloak was more tattered than Ember's, his eyes more haggard still, and there was a quickness about his movements and an alertness to his manner where before he had never much cared.

"Found a friend, have you?" Ky stepped behind him and he heard a shuffling of cloth as she fastened the gloves he had procured for her in Ridgefell. Hunter's dark eyes flashed.

"I am Ky," she said simply, muffling the musicality of her voice." You… are the hunter?" They had decided it would be alright to continue using the first part of her siren name, and adopt the traditional moniker of Embersworn; nobody would know what the simple sound meant, and it would save them the headache of accidentally using the wrong name around the wrong individual. Likewise, Ember had relinquished the surname of Jarelson, for he had become his own man: he was, now and forever, Ember Kysworn.

"The hunter," Hunter repeated, some amusement prickling the words.

"Ha! The Hunter, eh? I'd answer to that! And you are…?"

"Ah—oh, I…" Ember blushed furiously as he wondered how to articulate their relationship; then he wondered if he would always blush this way.

"This is my wife." The scent of flowers suffused him as she reached around Ember to grasp his elbow in tight fingers, and he fought away a twitching smile at her sudden shyness. He had spoken so much of Hunter and his tall tales that it must be akin to meeting a man from a myth. In his own way, Ember reflected, he was a man of many myths—wandering through distant lands, gathering songs as he went, and never staying in any one place for long.

Perhaps he was a bit of a myth come to life everywhere he went, to the folk who knew him well and strangers alike. That is, if anyone could claim to know Hunter well… Hunter affixed his gaze upon the cloaked figure which clung to Ember's arm.

"Be that true?"

"Yes," she said primly, lifting her chin.

"He is my Ember now." Hunter swooped down with shocking agility and snatched a field marigold where it grew beside the thoroughfare, one of the few that hadn't been lost to the frost and chill of an early spring. He twirled it between his thumb and forefinger, beard twitching.

"Ain't that something, then," he said glibly, staring at Ky.

"Any a'soul might be seeing who's the lucky one of the pair." Ky did not refute his words aloud, but stepped to Ember's side and slowly slipped her fingers through his, lifting her chin and looking quietly at Hunter. His beard twitched again and he held the flower up to his eyes, squinting at the sunny petals.

"Well," and that was all. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. He expected the stout wayfarer to bark a laugh; instead, he stepped closer and bowed very low—Ember had never seen him lower himself before anyone in all his life.

"Lady Ky Embersworn," he murmured, as if he had been presented with a noblewoman from the noblest house in all the lands he had ever wandered.

"Hunter Nomanson is pleased as ever to make your acquaintance. The honor is my'n. And you could not find a better nor more stubborn fool than he."

"I've told her much about your adventures," confessed Ember, an awkwardness reddening his cheeks again, "and to be entirely truthful, she has been hoping to meet with you ever since the day I first spoke your name." Ky dug her concealed claws into the crook of his arm.

"It is a true thing—long have I wished to meet with you." Hunter's chest puffed out slightly, and Ember quickly stifled a laugh behind his hand.

"That so?" She stepped closer to him with an earnest hum, a curious tilt of her head—her river-wet feet soaking through the soft boots and strips of cloth bound around them, and the hem of her cloak still dripping. This time it was Ember who caught hold of her elbow, suddenly concerned. Hunter's keen eyes flashed over her figure again. Ember protectively wrapped an arm about her shoulders.

They had left Ridgefell in something of a hurry, fleeing before the rumors of an unfortunate encounter wherein she had been compelled to wield her voice could spread, and it would have been far more disastrous if Ky had not calmed their fears with her words; he could not bear to lose Hunter's friendship in like fashion. That would be entirely worse, somehow, than being run out of Sisters Valley altogether.

"Have you any companion?" Ky asked him readily a with childlike innocence, sweeping a tress of hair out from the cloak and letting it spill across her shoulders. Ember widened his eyes at her, but Hunter released that barking laugh he had been expecting and settled back on his heels.

"I am a man of many companions, though none who walk beside me." The creases around his weathered eyes looked strained, and Ember noticed that the smile did not reach his gaze.

"I'm sorry," he apologized on behalf of Ky's forwardness. Hunter shrugged, grinding his walking stick into the road.

"Not all tales have blest tidings, young sir."

"You are young," said Ky gently, "and the seas are vast. You will find your blessing yet."

"Hah!" grunted Hunter, obviously amused, but he tipped the brim of his hat to her, and Ember—who knew him well enough to tell—thought he glimpsed the beginnings of a smirk under his graying beard.

"Perhaps I will, at that. And now, I'm off to see your superstitious friends in the valley, Ember. Shall I carry them news of our meeting?"

"I'd rather you didn't," muttered Ember.

"Sure, now?" There was a canny interest in the words which made Ember reluctant to reply.

"It's a long story; they're no friends of mine." Hunter raised a brow, twirling the flower between his fingertips.

"That so?" A sliver of a grin broke through his craggy face, though it made him appear somehow more dangerous than before.

"Now, that's a tale I'd like to hear! But another time, I'm afraid. I'd like to make Ridgefell before dark. It's been a long… day." In a moment, he had caught up Ky's hand in both of his, tucking the flower into her gloved fingers, and—before Ember could say or do anything (or indeed think of anything to do or say)—planted a kiss on her knuckles. When he pulled away, a wrinkle between his brows had deepened, and the set of his mouth was grim.

"What brings you back to the valley?" Ember asked quickly, fumbling for a distraction. The grimness was banished with a cheeky grin.

"Oh, this'n that, this'n that." And Hunter winked at Ky. It slowly dawned on Ember: "Isabel?"

"If she'll have me."

"Truly!" Hunter scratched at the back of his head.

"Have me for tea, leastways." Ember laughed outright, amused by the notion of the haggard wayfarer knocking on Isabel's door with a bunch of scraggly wildflowers hidden behind his back—and like as not she'd answer it in her apron, with her hair flying away from her braids and that perceptive glint in her eye that had sent many a would-be suitor hurrying on his way.

"Has she any idea of your… intentions?" He whistled a few bars of a strange refrain instead of answering. Ky looked up, suddenly. Their eyes met, hers in the dark of the cloak, and Hunter's dark in the daylight.

"Beware of whistlin' after sunfall," he advised, with an edge that made Ember rest a careful palm on the hilt of his battered sword, "and keep a watch at night."

"Any particular reason you chose to impart these words of wisdom?" Ember inquired softly.

"None whatsoever." His tone had shifted back to his usual brash cordiality, and now he shrugged as if it mattered not a whit.

"Farewell, madam." And he struck up the road at a brisk pace, back the way they had come.

"Keep an eye on that one, Ember, my boy!" Before Ember could think overmuch about the words, Hunter set up a merry whistling tune, and then began to sing. Ember could just make out the words as he walked away…

"Oh, dream of cliffs above the bay yon white sands shining bright— think not that I be coarse nor cold to flee by morning's light. Aye, t'will be my footprints there up on that sandy shore a'wonderin' wheres I vanished to, wonder evermore…" Ember stared after his receding silhouette as he walked into the light of the rising sun, spellbound by the hoarse voice and soft, inhuman melody—a meeting of two worlds in his mind.

"Wait!" Ky cried suddenly, a note of power in her words. Hunter looked back at the two of them, one hand resting loosely on the swordhilt.

"Where are you hearing of this song?" A long spell of silence followed her entreaty, and Ember held his breath. At last, Hunter doffed his hat again, and smiled.

"Away upon the salty seas, long, long ago…" And he whacked a bush with his walking stick and carried on his way.

"I like your hunter," said Ky after a short while, as he disappeared over a rise in the path.

"He is kind and wise."

"And a salty old rogue, but you're perhaps the first besides myself to see his finer qualities. It's a shame the townsfolk sent him away so often," grumbled Ember.

"Maybe a quiet life isn't for him, but I sometimes wonder if he longs for hearth and home when the weather turns foul."

"When we are having a nest of our own, you must tell him he is welcome there."

"Eh?"

"You mind the company?"

"Not in the least," he laughed.

"I'm only surprised that you took such a liking to him." They strolled in mutual silence for several minutes, enjoying each other's company and pondering the departure of the strange wayfarer. He hesitated, mulling over his next words.

"A nest of our own?"

"Yes," she murmured.

"Someday."

"Ky…" He stopped walking, and turned to look at her suddenly.

"Are you happy?" Ky stared up at him for several moments, the only sounds the rushing of the stream nearby and the wind catching the hem of her plain dress. Her eyes were big and thoughtful, and a faint smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, making him blush again. He wanted to ask her if she truly longed for a place all their own. If, sometimes, she secretly wished for pretty dresses and shiny things, or the ocean depths where he could never follow.

For a life where he was not bound to the secrecy of her affections, and she was not shrouded by silence for the sake of his kin, and they dared to linger long wherever they pleased, unafraid of being run off in the night watches. Before he could speak another word, she pressed her smile to his. He found that he had nothing else to say after all. THE END