Chương 104: Chapter 9: New Paths - Part I

Kaelen POV The evening sun hangs low over the western walls by the time Havlar finally leaves the Garden. He pauses at the old gate, one hand resting briefly against the weathered stone arch before looking back toward us.

"I'll have the eastern watch doubled for a few days." I nod.

"I thought you might." A faint smile touches his lips.

"Looks like you've had time to know me enough."

"I have." His gaze lingers upon the Grove one final time. Upon the people moving quietly beneath their branches. Children weaving between the flowerbeds. Merrow sorting freshly gathered herbs beneath a canvas awning, Ciara listening to whatever it is that she is teaching. Aibell listening intently as Lorcan explained something about one of the younger Heartwoods. For the first time since Father's Aldren's arrival, Havlar's shoulders seemed to relax.

"Keep growing," he says.

"I'll worry about everything outside the walls." Then he is gone. The Garden falls strangely quiet, peaceful. For several moments, none of us speaks. It is Garrick who finally breaks the silence.

"Well." He folds his arms across his chest.

"That could have gone worse." Lorcan lets out a quiet laugh.

"I wasn't entirely convinced Father Aldren wouldn't attempt to arrest me again."

"I was," Elyrion says calmly. We all look at him. The elf shrugs almost imperceptibly.

"He had already realized his mistake. Priests rarely enjoy repeating one in front of witnesses." A smile tugs at the corner of Garrick's mouth.

"I'll take your word for it." The conversation fades naturally after that. Each of us seems to drift into our own thoughts. The Grove answers with its usual quiet rhythm. Leaves whisper overhead. Someone laughs near the vegetable beds. A breeze carries the scent of damp earth and flowering herbs through the Garden. Garrick breaks the silence again.

"I've been thinking." I glance toward him.

"That worries me." He snorts.

"It should." I smile despite myself. He studies his hands for a moment before looking back at me.

"I can sense it. The mana but I don't understand it and I certainly can't control it. But it's there." His expression grows thoughtful.

"It feels like trying to listen to a conversation through a stone wall. You know someone is speaking. You just can't make out the words." I nod slowly.

"Then perhaps that's where you begin, listening." Before Garrick can answer, Elyrion speaks.

"You won't learn alone." The elf steps away from the nearest Heartwood, his weathered travelling staff resting lightly across one shoulder.

"If you'll permit it..." His eyes settle upon Garrick.

"... I'll teach you." Garrick blinks, "You?"

"I know a little about sensing mana." A faint smile crosses Elyrion's face.

"And considerably more about wielding a sword." Garrick chuckles, "I've carried one for most of my life."

"I noticed." The smile never leaves Elyrion's face, "So did I." Lorcan coughs discreetly into his fist. I'm fairly certain he's hiding a grin. Garrick narrows his eyes.

"Is that your way of saying I'm doing it wrong?"

"No," Elyrion answers without hesitation.

"It is my way of saying you've reached the point where experience alone is no longer enough." If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. The Garden grows quiet once more. Then the elf adds, almost as an afterthought, "I serve my Grove as its knight." Garrick frowns.

"The Grove's... knight?"

"Yes." Something clicks; I look at him.

"You're a Groveknight." Elyrion inclines his head.

"I am." The admission hangs in the air. Neither Lorcan nor Elyrion treats it as remarkable. To them, it is simply the truth. Garrick is the first to recover.

"You've been one this entire time."

"I have."

"And you neglected to mention it?" Elyrion considers the question for a moment.

"You never asked." Silence. Then Garrick exhales through his nose.

"I suppose I didn't."

"I thought it obvious."

"It wasn't."

"No," Elyrion agrees pleasantly.

"I see that now." Even I can't suppress a quiet laugh. The sound surprises me. It feels good to laugh again. Elyrion rests both hands atop his staff.

"If you're willing, Captain, I'll teach you to sense, I'll teach you to listen and once you've learned those…" A glimmer of quiet confidence appears in his eyes, "... we'll see whether you truly know how to use that sword of yours." Garrick smiles. A real one this time.

"I'd like that."

"So would I." I look between them and feel something inside the Grove settle into place. Garrick POV I lose count of how many times Elyrion disarms me before the sun disappears behind the western wall. Each one feels different. The first comes when I commit too much weight to a downward cut. The second because I react a fraction too slowly. The third because I spend too long watching his sword instead of the movement of his shoulders.

By the fifth I begin anticipating the same correction, only to discover he has already abandoned it in favor of another. The result never changes. My sword ends up somewhere in the grass. Elyrion retrieves it each time with the same quiet patience before handing it back without a word. Another opportunity to begin again. The Grove has grown quieter as the evening wears on.

Most of the children have drifted back toward the old manor where supper is already being prepared, while Merrow and Ciara finish gathering the last baskets of herbs before the light fades completely. Somewhere deeper within the Garden, I hear Aibell laughing at something Lorcan has said before the sound is swallowed by the rustling leaves overhead. The peace should make concentrating easier. Instead, it does the opposite. I hear everything. Not with my ears, something else. The Silverwood, the Heartwoods.

The countless threads of mana stretching between them. Ever since Communion, they never truly disappear. Sometimes they fade into the background enough that I almost forget they exist. Then the breeze shifts through the branches, or sunlight catches the leaves just so, and suddenly I feel them again. Not as something I see, but something I cannot quite stop noticing. It reminds me of standing watch through the night. After enough years, a man stops consciously listening for danger.

He simply knows when the forest grows too quiet. Mana feels strangely similar. Elyrion waits while I work through the thought myself. Only when I look back toward him does he speak.

"What are you listening to?"

"The Grove." His expression remains unreadable.

"What about it?" I hesitate.

"I don't know. I can feel it. I just..." Finding the words proves harder than expected.

"... can't understand it." A faint smile appears on his face.

"Good." I stare at him, "Good?"

"You've already realized the mistake."

"What mistake?"

"Trying to understand." He bends to retrieve a fallen branch from the ground before placing it upright between us.

"When a bird sings..." His fingers lightly steady the branch.

"... do you understand every sound it makes?"

"No."

"Yet you still know it is there." I nod slowly, "You don't listen because you expect words."

"You listen because you expect meaning." His hand leaves the branch.

"It is the same with mana." I glance toward the Silverwood.

"So, I stop trying to understand it?"

"No." He shakes his head.

"You stop forcing it to become something familiar." The answer lingers in my thoughts. It reminds me uncomfortably of every lesson I have ever given a new recruit. Half of them spend their first weeks trying to become experienced soldiers overnight. They grip the spear too tightly. Watch every shadow. Think about every footstep until they exhaust themselves. The better ones eventually stop trying so hard. Only then do they begin improving. Perhaps mana is no different. I close my eyes.

The Grove answers immediately with presence. For the first time since entering Communion, I stop trying to reach toward it. Instead, I let it exist. The countless strands of mana no longer feel like a hundred voices speaking over one another. They settle gradually into the background of my awareness, no different than the wind brushing across my face or the smell of damp earth rising from the flowerbeds after evening watering. When I finally open my eyes again, Elyrion is watching me.

"You felt it." It isn't a question. I nod.

"I stopped listening."

"No." A rare warmth enters the elf's voice.

"You finally started." He steps back several paces before drawing the slender blade resting at his hip. Its polished steel catches the last rays of the setting sun.

"Again." I retrieve my own sword. This time, I don't watch the blade. I watch him. For the briefest instant, I think I understand why Kaelen smiles whenever someone says the Grove has chosen a path for them. Some lessons cannot be explained. They can only be walked.