The Missing Traveller

Eugene confessed later in the day he’d stalled leaving in the hope Alister would join him on Quadren Road to Wenmire.

“How long were you going to wait?” Alister shifted his weight on Ama’s arglebon, Fog. The birds were strange-looking creatures, and even odder to ride. Their long legs scaled the slope of the cliff with ease. The closest to pets animals got in Rindor were the monkeys, too cheeky to help much with the fruit picking.

“I’m not sure, really. But I did have all of Fog’s riding gear ready, didn’t I? Had a bit of a feeling you would choose to come with me.”

The brief rush of excitement which blazed in Alister from running off with Eugene died down as he remembered why he left Rindor in the first place. Although Eugene’s chatter about his family and travels was a fine way to drown out his unpleasant thoughts, the old man also tended to ask him personal questions. This led to Alister deflecting them and keeping his mouth shut for a while. He swept his eyes around Quadren Road every five minutes or so for any sign of Ronan. Where did he go? The note from Lark weighed on his mind. What did it mean? Where did Ronan go? How desperately did Lark need Alister?

Alister’s silence wasn’t enough to stop Eugene.

“I’ve been wracking my brains trying to figure out where you come from, Ali.” Eugene squinted at him. “A young man travelling on his own, I’d say you were from Clarendome—or maybe Colremer? —on your Henlaen Pilgrimage. But, no, you haven’t got the light hair of those who come from the western meridians. Hmm.” He raised his eyebrows at Alister, who looked away. “We’ll be travelling for a long while together, my dear boy. I’m sure you’ll tell me at some point.”

“Don’t count on it.” If news from Rindor came, Eugene would know who he was. However cryptic Lark’s note was, it was easier for Alister to think on that, rather than on Rindor and Morgana.

Eugene sighed and reached into his pocket. “Well, if you aren’t going to talk, then I hope you like Berlot’s Seven Sonatas.” Alister furrowed his eyebrows at the unfamiliar words, and the old man drew out a deep brown vessel flute shaped like a large bean. He took a breath and played music in light, airy notes with a bass undertone.

Alister took a deep breath, his eyebrows pulled down on his forehead, and allowed the music to fill his ears. Eugene played a deep, ancient sonata for a few minutes, until it slowed and swayed, reaching a disjointed end.

Eugene took his mouth off the flute. “That was Berlot’s sonata of the first ten elevations. He calls it Unyielding.”

“You mean the elevations of the Union?” Alister had been determined to maintain his silence, but he was curious. “But the only towns in the first ten elevations are Renburg and Bulgandon. Is it about them?”

Eugene shrugged. “Berlot lived and died nearly one hundred years ago, didn’t he? But not before he wrote a sonata for every ten elevations of the Union. I’ve always heard it said those in Bulgandon are a stubborn lot, haven’t you?”

“Hmm.” Alister was always careful with how much knowledge he gave away of certain places, especially towns nearby to Rindor. Eugene would piece it together sooner rather than later.

“I’ll bet my arglebon here my niece told you about the performances Materon’s hall puts on every week? Youka loves them. I think she wants to be a musician for them someday; she’s been playing those keys since she was old enough to!” The old man threw his head back and laughed his monkey laugh. “Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes! Last autumn, for Jadar Day, they put on a dance and musical performance which featured Berlot’s Seven Elevation Sonatas. It really was quite spectacular, wasn’t it? A full orchestra sounds much better than just my little flute. Perhaps if you’d stayed in Materon, they’d have done a similar performance this year…”

Alister listened idly about the Sonatas until Eugene put the flute back to his lips to play the second of the seven musical numbers, called Roots. The music intended to capture Rindor and the other towns in elevations ten to twenty, and it brought an ache to Alister’s chest.

Home.

The song reminded him of his father, more than anything else. Ewen was everything a man from Rindor should be: proud, strong, and ever-adapting. He never once yearned for adventure and other places like Alister had.

Alister’s expression must have been more sombre than usual, because Eugene paused when he finished Roots.

“You look like you’ve just heard a dead man’s voice, Ali!” Eugene laughed, but despite his smile, his eyebrows furrowed in concern.

Alister forced his face into a neutral expression. “It’s just…good music. I haven’t heard Berlot before.”

Eugene was so taken aback, he seemed to nearly fall off Juggle. The arglebon’s legs tottered and she let out a squawk, trying to recover her balance. “Never heard Berlot? Why, he’s one of the most famous musicians in the Union, isn’t he? Wish I could claim he was from Materon, but I believe he was a Tarlan man who found his fame in Bastium.” Eugene squinted at him. Alister shifted in his saddle; the man was too easily piecing together where he was from. “You must be from the low elevations or the outer meridians. Nobody who lives near the centre of the Union would be caught not knowing who Berlot was.”

Alister was silent. Eugene sighed and looked back at his little flute.

“You know, Ali, I don’t know what you’re afraid of. We’ll be travelling at least for another week and a half, you’ll have to tell me about yourself eventually, won’t you? Besides, I’ve already decided you’re a fine young man.” Eugene winked at him. “Even if you don’t say all that much.”

“Thank you.” But a fine young man wouldn’t have made the mistake he did. He wouldn’t have run away after. A true Rindor man would stand up and face the consequences. Alister was nothing more than a coward.

Eugene grew used to Alister’s silence, so before long, he played through the remaining five sonatas. Alister caught no more than a string of words about each; Illumination for the studious and religious towns near Clarendome and Grandeur for the highest elevations, including Bastium.

The salve and nectar Ama had given him did their job; by the time he and Eugene stopped at a traveller’s outpost for the night, his cut looked weeks old. Alister didn’t mind the sleepy stupor the nectar put him in; it was a fine alternative to dodging Eugene’s questions.

The next morning, Alister eyes snapped open to an empty room. He shook from his dream; it was the same as his first night. No matter what he did, he couldn’t stop the house from falling, or the scream. The nightmare recurred all night.

Alister peeled the sweaty sheets off and peered around the room. Eugene’s belongings remained, but the man himself was nowhere to be found. Alister stood, his legs still quivering, and hobbled through the open door.

Eugene hadn’t left. He stood at the edge of the cliff in an odd pose, balanced on one leg with the other poised and suspended in front of him. His eyes were closed, and his fists together in front of his bare chest.

“Aren’t you cold?” This was the first of many questions Alister intended to ask. Eugene stood motionless even at his voice, but took a sharp breath and lowered his leg to the ground. He turned to Alister and opened his eyes.

“I’m keeping warm.”

Alister raised an eyebrow, at his comment as much as the man’s curved tattoos around his shoulders. They were similar to his own. “How?”

“Being Marked helps. If Ama felt my forehead now, she’d sit me down and force feed me one of those horrible nectars of hers to fix my fever.” Eugene tilted his head. “But haven’t you ever seen somebody practise Elin-tor before?”

For the first time that week, Alister was curious enough to ask his questions. “Isn’t it some kind of torenn?” He pulled out a term from his mind he’d learnt years before at the academy. Torenn included traditional and modern styles of self-defence and attack. Alister didn’t remember much else about the subject.

Eugene nodded. “Elin-tor is the most common torenn. I’m surprised you didn’t recognise it!” He turned back towards the cliff, his face towards the great expanse of fog. This time he spread his legs wide apart and bent them, while keeping his fists together. “I practise Elin-tor every morning, my dear boy.” He took a deep breath in and exhaled. “It’s a fine way to wake my old bones up. And it helps me to sleep better if I’ve practised it during the day.”

In Rindor, all he’d heard about torenn was the definition. Nobody learnt how to fight beyond hitting sticks together as children. He’d learnt so much about the Union in the past few days; Elin-tor, Berlot’s Sonatas, different architecture, and a culture of the arts. It’d only taken one town higher than Rindor to learn this. How much more would he know by the time he stopped travelling, wherever that may be? A smile twitched the corner of his mouth. Perhaps he’d be in Bastium, and the fact it was built on a huge plane would become ordinary to him. Or he would figure out what Lark’s message meant, and be called to go on some adventure. For the first time since leaving, he was excited.

“Hey, that’s the first I’ve seen of a smile out of you, Ali.” A huge grin plastered across Eugene’s face.

Alister blinked. If he thought leaving Rindor was for the better, it meant he was glad he’d caused the death of someone. It was his responsibility to remember them.

His smile faded.

Eugene sighed, his eyebrows turned upwards. Alister could tell the old man pitied him, and he didn’t care.

“How about I teach you some Elin-tor?” Eugene’s eyebrows waggled. “Perhaps it’ll take your mind off whatever you keep dwelling on.”

Alister’s opened his mouth to decline. He didn’t fancy getting up before the sun to exercise. Walking from Rindor to Materon on foot was painful enough. Elin-tor did intrigue him, however.

“Hmm. I doubt it.”

The old man gave him the pitying look again. Alister couldn’t help but scowl back. “Why don’t you give it a try?”

The excitement bubbled up again. Him, learning torenn? Never in his lifetime did he expect to learn to fight. Why would he? Inhabitants of the Union had no reason to learn to fight since the Age of War ended over three hundred years ago.

“Okay.”

Eugene almost skipped over to Alister in his enthusiasm, chuffed.

Before they left the outpost in the morning, Eugene taught Alister the eight basic stances of Elin-tor. Some, like the Boulder stance, were straightforward. Others, Monkey and Wyvern in particular, made him regret his pride in the speed he’d mastered the others. Eugene told him again and again to clear his mind to balance, but his shaking legs drew all of his attention. Minutes holding the stances were more like hours. Eugene didn’t take pity on Alister’s recent injury, only promised him some of Ama’s healing salve afterwards. Even worse, he insisted they practiced without their coats on.

“Most torenn teachers will make you go shirtless, and wear only thin cotton pants.” Eugene barked a laugh. “I’m being kind. It will teach you to resist extreme temperatures. Find the warmth inside you.”

“Easy for you to say.” If only he could use sura as Eugene could. The old man was likely running a healthy fever as they spoke, as he had the warmth of sura inside of him. Aside from that, the tattoos which marked Alister’s upper arms weren’t meaningless. They were supposed to be only for the eyes of his wife, one day. He’d laughed about the tradition with Gale and Louis, when they were all marked at the age of sixteen, but now he’d left Rindor, the tattoos somehow seemed less silly. If he couldn’t live in Rindor anymore, he could at least uphold one tradition. Eugene clearly didn’t mind about his own tattoos, as he often practiced bare-chested.

By the time Eugene announced they were done for the day, Alister was grateful to have the arglebon to rest his legs on.

“Wenmire is fantastic.” Eugene spoke through a mouthful of breakfast bread. “There aren’t many places in the Union you can swim, or eat freshly grilled fish, are there? They’ve stalls all throughout their town square, selling the fish cooked with dozens of different spices! Of course, the caves themselves are wondrous. You’ll never see so many lights in your life, I guarantee it! Especially not glow-worms. It’s how I imagine stars would be. What do you think, Ali?” He heaved a wistful sigh. “If only this fog didn’t blot out the sky. I’d like to see—”

Alister tuned Eugene out. He listened to Eugene’s voice, not his words, and cast his eyes up the slope, in the direction Wenmire would be. According to Eugene, it was only a day’s journey away.

Alister cocked his head. Something was different: Eugene had fallen silent.

“What?” He surprised himself by speaking first.

Eugene looked at him with the expression again. Pity.

“You know, Ali, I know you’ve been beating yourself up about something.” Alister didn’t respond, only scowled. “After all, why else would you be so defensive about your past? I just want to let you know you don’t have to run from it.”

Eugene was wrong. It pained Alister to imagine the consequences of him returning home, no more than one week after he’d killed Morgana. The Atwoods would still be in mourning.

“I used to be too stubborn to talk about my problems, but Colleen always manages to get it out of me. And you know what? You’ll hardly hear me admit it to her, but sharing the burden lightens the load.”

He wouldn’t be so willing to hear my problems if he knew he were talking to a murderer. Alister stared hard at his hands, which gripped the reins of Fog’s bridle tight.

“What do you say, Ali? I know you don’t want to talk about it, but it does help.”

Alister gritted his teeth and drew a deep, deliberate breath. “I’d really rather not.”

Eugene sighed and took out his flute once more. “As you wish.”

The old man played more melodies on the vessel flute. He stopped between songs to strike up another conversation with Alister, filled with pauses which awaited his response. Eugene stopped his direct questions, but the expectant looks and hesitations made up for them.

When they stopped for lunch, Eugene squinted at Alister as he munched on his sandwich. After averting his gaze from the man’s stare for most of his meal, Alister put down his own bread.

He threw his hands up. “What are you staring at?”

Eugene didn’t as much as blink when Alister rounded on him. “You said you didn’t want to talk about it. I’m only trying to figure it out myself.”

Alister’s sandwich became squashed in his fist. “Why must you know so badly?”

Eugene shrugged. “It’s less about me needing to know, and more I believe it would help you to move on.”

And I believe it would help you to run away screaming, Alister thought grimly. To Eugene, he shook his head. After one last prolonged stare, the old man gave up and changed the subject.

As they left their lunch spot and rode closer to Wenmire, Eugene told Alister more about the town and its food. Many types of grilled fish sold there, and they all had different flavours. The idea of eating a fish turned Alister’s stomach. He’d seen illustrations of fish; why would anyone eat anything so slimy and scaly?

“Trust me, it’s delicious. Grilled, fried, battered…however it’s prepared, the people of Wenmire know how to cook fish! Last time I passed through, I think I had trout? It had this amazing seasoning…”

So grateful Eugene hadn’t continued to press him for information, Alister listened to the man’s description of the fish. He was still not convinced it would taste nice, and was even less convinced about riding in a boat over a huge body of water deep enough to drown in, even if it meant he could see the glow worms.

The pause in Eugene’s interrogation didn’t last as long as Alister hoped. After Eugene described the glow-worm caves to Alister once more, the questions continued.

“I don’t understand what makes you so reluctant to tell me.” The calm tone of Eugene’s voice only aggravated Alister more. “I’ve lived many more decades than you, and I’m sure whatever it is you’re running from, it’s not as bad as some of the things I’ve seen.”

Alister gave a hollow laugh. What could be worse than what he’d done?

“And whatever it is, it’s best to just get it off your chest. It’s unhealthy to keep things all inside. It will help if you talk about it, and that can help you to move on—”

“No, it won’t!” Alister’s yell made Fog stumble and squawk to find her footing. He’d had enough of Eugene’s constant stream of questions. The old man hadn’t stopped asking them the day before, either. “It won’t help! Nothing will help!” He glared at Eugene. “I don’t want to talk about it with you, or with anyone. If you keep bringing it up, I won’t go with you any farther than Wenmire. I don’t care how curious you are for a piece of gossip you can jabber about to the next traveller who joins you.”

He looked away from Eugene to avoid his expression. His friends back in Rindor would’ve been shocked; Alister never snapped at people.

The laughter vanished from his voice. “As you wish. I won’t bother you further.”

At once, Alister regretted his harsh words. What is wrong with me? He scowled. His mother would be disappointed.

They rode in silence until dusk, as Alister allowed his self-contempt to consume him. He watched the man practice Elin-tor again from inside the traveller’s outpost.

It was a strange cycle of guilt and shame that kept him from talking to Eugene. Was he such a terrible person he couldn’t even apologise?

They only exchanged the necessary words the next morning, after Eugene had gone through the more advanced practises of Elin-tor himself.

“Wenmire is half a day’s journey.”

Alister nodded in response.

The day was warm for late autumn, but Alister’s bitter thoughts plagued any hope of him being in a good mood. He found himself going over the events at Rindor in his mind, again. Why didn’t Lark come? The travelling merchant hadn’t missed a date in the six years Alister knew him, and now he sent Ronan in his place with a cryptic note. Before Ronan disappeared.

Rindor. His father would always talk about how fine a whittler he was. His mother would make sure to sit down with him and a cup of tea every week to chat with him. Gale and Louis were always up for some mischief around town. The way Estelle smiled at him had made him think just maybe, she thought of him fondly as well.

Alister’s frown deepened. Eugene was wrong. If he hadn’t run from Rindor, no-one would ever treat him the same way again. How much more would they hate him than he hated himself? He’d face all of it if it would bring Morgana back.

It was a long day. Eugene managed to keep his mouth shut until they reached the end of Quadren Road, where the passage delved into the Mount. They arrived at the main road of Wenmire.

“I’ll be at the inn. It’s the farthest building from the entrance to the town square. Feel free to look around.”

Alister dismounted Fog, and Eugene took the two arglebon up the stairs at the entrance to the town. Alister grimaced. Why had he acted like such a fool and offended Eugene?

Quadren Road emerged from the Mount, and Alister cast his eyes around Wenmire. It wasn’t so different from Materon at a glance. Buildings were built halfway into the cliff face, and narrow pathways weaved throughout the town. The difference was Wenmire’s houses and stores were many stories high on the cliff face, barely protruding.

The passageway Alister walked on was carved into the Mount, rather than added with wooden panels as it had been in Rindor and parts of Materon. He drifted across the path, taking in the view. He passed dozens of stairs on either side, which travelled straight up or down into the buildings. How many times had he longed to travel throughout the Union? Here he was in Wenmire, and his thoughts plagued by shame.

Grilling fish and shouts of hawkers hit his senses before the sight of the town square did. He turned the corner, where clusters of people dabbled about a square which spanned various levels, connected by short flights of stairs on either side. It was nothing like Rindor’s slanted wooden panels. Only thirty or so elevations up, and already Alister noted a clear difference in the quality and fortune which had been put into Wenmire compared to Rindor.

Alister walked by the hawkers. He could’ve sworn some of them gave him a dirty glance after looking him up and down. He shrugged it off and bought several packs of grilled trout and shrimp with some strange looking vegetables he’d not seen before from a rude hawker. Perhaps Eugene would appreciate them.

He frowned at the thought of exploring Wenmire on his own. He would apologise at the inn; not speaking to Eugene for a day was already childish enough without it extending to two or three more.

Alister turned west, towards the constant roar from the Falls of Silon.