The Missing Traveller
Jadar Day

Silon’s Road wasn’t too different from the roads Alister had travelled the last week, aside from the dull roar of the Falls of Silon from the west.

When Alister commented on it, Eugene laughed. “And Sanctuary Falls is meant to be twice as big. What a sight that’d be, eh? Can you even imagine what the Eastern Falls must be like?

Alister took care to listen and respond to Eugene. He’d been far too wrapped up in himself since he left home. When he managed to avoid thinking of Rindor, he glanced at the skies in some vain hope Ronan would reappear.

But he found appropriate answers to Eugene’s chatter throughout their conversation, however brief they were.

They’d be in Delemor in five days, seven if they stopped in Ferronlow to see the arglebon ranches. In the middle of those five days fell Jadar Day, a celebration of Bulgandon and the discovery of the uses of jadar for light and heat.

Eugene left the decision to visit Ferronlow in Alister’s hands, and he agreed. Although Delemor—being one of the four largest cities in the Union—would be more likely to hold the answers to Lark’s note in its library, Ronan’s absence made Alister compliant. Without seeing the bird’s injuries, it was easy to dismiss the note as unimportant.

The two of them practiced Elin-tor every morning and evening. As it turned out, the staff Alister carved was a fine height to practice with, and Eugene also taught him about throwing and fighting with winged daggers. Alister learned the first form, Rolling the Boulder, under Eugene’s strict supervision. Every hand had to be perfectly positioned and poised, and tensed the right amount.

By the time Jadar Day arrived, thoughts of Rindor plagued Alister’s mind. Families there would turn out all of the light flasks in the town and meet in the town square, where each person released a floating lantern into the mist. When they all faded away, Mayor Sawyer lit the entire square with flasks of all colours. Gladwin Pyne, the innkeeper, set out all of his furniture in the town square and provided drinks. The whole town would dance and sing until midnight became early morning. They were probably in the midst of preparations now. His mother and father, Gale, Louis, Estelle…

He woke in another cold sweat after a vicious round of nightmares about Morgana. She’d screamed at him. She’d thrown him off the Mount. Ronan had been thrown off with him, unable to fly due to his injuries. He woke with a yell to an empty room; Eugene was already outside.

They practiced Elin-tor just before lunch, and Eugene was improving Alister’s accuracy by having him throw a winged dagger into an old tree trunk. He was to aim, and then strike the same place every time.

He was doing poorly.

“You’ve got to focus. Breathe. Wait. Strike.”

Alister narrowed his eyes. His hand clasped the winged dagger hard enough to make his knuckles white. It was impossible to relax. Had his family decided what happened to him by now? Did they assume he died along with Morgana, or suspect the truth? What happened to Ronan? Was he letting Lark down by not knowing what ‘eighty-three’ meant? Why did Lark send such a rutting cryptic message?

“Focus, Ali.” Did Eugene believe telling someone to focus was the best way to focus them?

He gritted his teeth and flung the dagger at the trunk, a whole blade span away from where he last hit it.

“Try again.”

Alister kept his jaw locked rather than snapping at Eugene as he yanked the dagger out of the wood. He couldn’t escape the images of his nightmare. Terry, Stella, Leona, Andrew…and Morgana. All screeching at him. Ronan’s screeches along with theirs’, reminding him of his failure to understand the message. He released the blade.

He missed again and stifled a curse. He couldn’t do anything right.

“Relax.” He couldn’t relax.

Alister drew a shaky breath in a vain attempt to calm himself. He bared his teeth and flung the winged dagger once more. It clattered down the path and came to rest at a bush.

“Ali?” The voice was alarmed. He must have spoken his thoughts aloud.

I’m a murderer.

Alister roared as he lunged to the old trunk and punched it. It didn’t break. He hit it over and over, from every angle, ignorant of the searing pain in his hand. Finally, he collapsed to the ground and shook with rage as his heart pounded in his ears. He punched the trunk from the ground with the side of his clenched fist.

“You’re going to hurt yourself like that!” Hands caught his fist, but Alister swiped them away.

“I don’t care!” Alister screamed through his teeth as he continued his attack on the tree. His hits hardened. “I should hurt! I deserve every ounce of pain that comes my way for the rest of my life!”

“Ali!”

“Why? Why would this happen?”

His face warped with pain, and finally he hit the trunk one last time. It crunched under his fist and broke. “What is wrong with me?” Alister whispered, his stare fixed on his hands. They were bleeding, but he didn’t care. Any pain he suffered would never compare to the death he’d caused. As long as he was alive, he was better off than Morgana.

Alister screwed up his eyes and fists. Tears fell down his cheeks. Last time he cried would’ve been years before for something which now seemed trivial. Being disciplined by his parents, probably.

The parents he left in Rindor, wondering whether their son lived or not. Wayra’s tearful cheeks as she searched desperately for him flashed through his mind, and he moaned.

A hand squeezed Alister’s shoulder. “I don’t know what you’re running from…but if you don’t face it head on, and come to terms with it…then it’ll be dragging behind you every step of the way. You’ve got to let go, Ali.”

Alister shook his head. “I can’t! If I do, then it’s like it never happened…like it’s not my fault. If it drags behind me for the rest of my life, then I’ll deserve it.”

“You’re clearly remorseful, aren’t you? There’s a difference between accepting responsibility and letting a mistake run your life.”

“You don’t understand!” Alister yelled and swiped Eugene’s hand away from his shoulder. “It’s not just a mistake, Eugene! I’m a—I killed someone!”

It somehow sounded worse said aloud. As if it could possibly sound worse than he felt. Alister watched Eugene’s eyebrows shoot up.

“It was an accident, but it was my fault.” His breath was shaky and shallow, his eyes wild. “She’s dust and ashes because of me.” He raised his voice to a yell. “So don’t you dare say I should let go, because if I do, then I’m no better than a murderer!”

Eugene was silent as Alister cradled his face in his shaking hands.

“That must never leave you. No wonder you don’t smile much.”

Alister didn’t respond, he just gripped locks of his hair in his fists. His great uncle Ian’s death and funeral interrupted the haircut Hattie was planning to give him, so it grew longer than what was acceptable in Rindor. Not that it mattered. Murder was also unacceptable in Rindor.

“I can’t even begin to understand how you feel, Ali. But it’s important to remember life goes on.”

“Not for her.”

Eugene sighed. “Maybe not, but you cannot keep dwelling on it. The more you do, the more you’ll obsess over it and let it run your life.”

“Why shouldn’t it? Morgana will never get to live the days I’m living. Why shouldn’t I dwell on that?”

“Everybody dies at some point. Sometimes it’s because of human error. I know it’ll be hard, but you’ve got to try and forgive yourself, and move forward. There’s a difference between forgiving yourself because you believe what you did was right, and forgiving yourself because you know it was a mistake.” He paused. “The only responsibility you have as far as I’m concerned is to live your life enough for two people from now on.”

Alister raised his head out of his hands to stare at the old man. “What?”

“I know if I were accidentally killed by someone, I wouldn’t want them to obsess over it for the rest of their life. If they’ve taken my life, I’d want them to live theirs enough for the both of us.”

“That’s gracious of you.” Alister turned away again. “I don’t know everyone would agree.”

“What about Morgana?”

Morgana. She used to sing songs in a forgotten language, though she was only fifteen, while she picked fruit in the forests. Fruit pickers were meant to count each fruit they collected, but Morgana would sneak Alister and the other woodcutters a handful. When her grandmother’s hands shook too much to sew, Morgana made winter coats for her family and many others. The one in Alister’s pack—now torn from the jaguar—was her handiwork. The Atwoods, like most of the families in Rindor, had good hearts big enough for more than just themselves. “Maybe.”

“Either way, you have to move past this. It’ll be hard, I’m sure. But the only way to deal with it’s to accept it. Learn from it.”

He only managed a whisper. “But how can I live with this?”

“Live or not, life goes on.”

Alister squeezed his eyes shut, and Eugene put his hand back on his shoulder. This time, Alister didn’t shrug it off. “I shouldn’t have run away.”

“What’s done is done.”

One last drop of moisture welled up in Alister’s eye, but it didn’t fall.

“Okay.”

That night, Eugene brought out two small bottles of wine and two tiny lanterns.

He grinned. “I don’t know what you do on Jadar Day where you’re from. But in Farmont we drink wine and feast, and in Materon we release floating lanterns.”

Alister hesitated. “In Rindor, we gather everyone in town and release floating lanterns too. Then we dance and celebrate.” He took a bottle and lantern from a stunned Eugene.

“Rindor, eh?” The old man’s grin widened. “You know, I’d narrowed it down to the lower elevations, but my bet was on Elseidan.”

Alister told him more about his home as they toasted to Jadar Day. The wine from Farmont tasted finer than any of the wines Alister had tasted before. He told Eugene of his own town’s traditions and what he would do. He avoided names—it was painful to speak of his friends and family, knowing he may never see them again—but he told the stories.

“That fair haired girl is undoubtedly fond of you, Ali.” Eugene examined the final drops of his Farmont wine.

Alister fingered the base of his own bottle. “Hmm. It doesn’t matter, now. She would probably never look at me the same again, even if I were to see her.”

Eugene shook his head. “You’re too hard on yourself.”

Alister shrugged, and Eugene changed the topic to his own stories.

“I visited Farmont when I was eighteen with my family. We stayed for spring, and I met Colleen. She’s a real beauty. Light hair and bright green eyes. We spent the whole spring together. She showed me around the city, and I told her of my town and played her the flute. Of course, I had to return to Materon. But when I was twenty-two I’d gathered enough coin to return to Farmont on my own. I thank the moon and stars every day she wasn’t married to another when I came back for her.”

He told the sweet story of their lives together, right down to their children and grandchildren.

“Speaking of your family, I was wondering…”

“That’s never a good sign.” Eugene laughed his monkey laugh. “Sorry, Ali, you left yourself wide open.”

Alister allowed himself a smile, and Eugene gestured for him to continue. “In Rindor, children are taught at the academy for histories and arithmetic, but learn their parents’ trade. Why does Youka study under your sister, rather than her own mother?”

Eugene’s own grin fell slightly. “Youka’s mother—Ama and my younger sister—died many years ago from a year-long illness. Ama cared for her as best she could, and Youka insisted on being of some help. But no herbal remedy could save Marin.”

“That’s awful.”

Eugene nodded. “It was a hard time. Ever since, Youka continued to learn under Ama. My sister would never say it to the young girl, but she enjoys having Youka around.”

The two of them skipped the Elin-tor practice, and instead released the two small lanterns into the fog. It was a windless night, so it took them minutes to disappear.

“Do you ever wonder what we’d be able to see if there were no fog?” Last time he’d thought that, he’d been underneath the Atwood’s house, moments before his life changed forever. “We were taught at the Academy about stars and the moon, but I can’t picture it.”

“I imagine it would be something magnificent.” Eugene stared out into the fog like Alister. “Even better than glow-worms.”

They slept soundly in the traveller’s outpost, lulled to sleep by the wine of Farmont.

“Only thirty more seconds.”

Alister strained his muscles. Monkey was the most challenging of the stances. It was still a struggle, even after six sessions of Elin-tor practice.

“Change.”

He shifted to Jaguar, the last of the stances. Next, Eugene ordered him to move straight into Rolling the Boulder, full speed. Doing the form fast was demanding. Focus on the breath. He tried to, but later in the day they’d be in Ferronlow. Alister had only ever seen two arglebon in his life, and they were both watching him with their peculiar faces from the stake by the traveller’s outpost. To see dozens…

His balance shifted too much, and he wavered on his heel.

“Focus on the breath. You’re getting distracted.”

Alister took a deep breath and cleared his mind. All that entered his mind was his surroundings. Trees rustled in the breeze, flocks of birds chirped away. His breath was silent. He’d grown used to the roar and fresh scent of the Falls of Silon far to his left, but when he cleared his mind, it became louder than ever. He was a rock amidst it all, moving from one solid stance to another. He stuck as a boulder would: powerful and unrelenting.

A screech came from overhead. It was familiar. Alister’s eyelids fluttered, a reflex to look and see, but he stopped them just in time. Eugene wouldn’t be pleased if he broke concentration.

“Whoa!”

Eugene’s yell opened Alister’s eyes, which widened at the crimson hawk which landed on his outstretched arm.

“Ronan.” Relief flooded through Alister’s body. He hadn’t realised how much he’d worried about Ronan’s disappearance until the hawk landed back on his arm.

“You know this bird? Does it belong to anybody?”

“Yes,” Alister said. His attention was on Ronan as he inspected the bird’s injuries. The cuts were the same as before, but each movement of his wing seemed to make Ronan flinch. Alister scowled. Ronan had injured himself further trying to replace him.

“What is all of this? Whose bird is this?”

“Lark’s.”

Eugene’s laugh was as humourless as Alister had ever heard it. “That’s a hawk, not a lark. Whose is it? How did it replace you?”

Alister tore his eyes away from the bird. “Ronan never forgets a face. He belongs to a man called Lark. He’s a travelling merchant. You haven’t seen him around Farmont or Materon? He has a wind-chaser and a kite.”

Eugene tilted his head. “Come to think of it, I do remember some merchant who came from out of town. Farmont’s a much bigger place than Materon, though. So why is he with you?”

Alister pressed his lips together and furrowed his eyebrows. He couldn’t hide the truth from Eugene, and he trusted the old man. “I don’t know. But he found me the day before I met you, with a note.” He explained everything he knew about Lark’s message—which didn’t take long—and how Ronan disappeared. “I think he might’ve flown away when I collapsed.”

“He needs some healing salve, for a start.” Eugene marched towards the outpost. Alister followed him, Ronan still perched on his arm.

“So why did he send Ronan to you?” Eugene sorted through his pack. “And he must have expected you to know what ‘eighty-three’ meant. Are you sure he’s never spoken about that number before? It must be important if Lark sent Ronan to you in such a state.”

Alister grimaced. How could he have brushed it off? “I know. I’ve been trying to figure it out, but I don’t know what it means.” His frown deepened. He hadn’t tried hard. Eugene handed him the salve, and Alister carefully rubbed it onto Ronan’s wounds.

“He’ll have to stop flying for a while for those wings to heal.”

Without Ronan, Alister had almost been prepared to forget about Lark’s message. But it seemed like Alister was Lark’s last resort. I need to figure out what eighty-three means.

“Ali?”

Alister snapped out of his speculations. Eugene had his eyebrows raised; it wasn’t the first time he’d said Alister’s name.

“Sorry. I was just thinking about what eighty-three could be.”

Eugene nodded and stroked his beard. “It’s an interesting thought, isn’t it? However, if we’re to make it to Ferronlow before midday tomorrow, we’d best leave now.”

Alister hesitated, his eyes on the wincing bird. Eugene was right. Lark’s message was important, far more important than he’d been treating it.

The ranches in Ferronlow would’ve been spectacular, he was sure.

“Perhaps we should go straight to Delemor. I don’t know what this message means. But if it’s important, then I’ve got to figure it out. Delemor is one of the four biggest cities of the Union. If there’s any information to replace, it can be found there.”

Eugene shrugged and broke out into a smile. “I’m fine with it. Just means I’ll be able to see my beautiful Colleen a couple of days earlier, doesn’t it?”

They mounted the arglebon and continued their journey along Silon’s Road. At midday, they road past the entrance to Renefar Pass, which led to Ferronlow. For most of the day, they discussed and debated what eighty-three could mean. Eugene held favour with the idea it was something at elevation eighty-three, but Alister shook it off. Nobody could enter The Madness, and Lark couldn’t have hinted at Alister to do so.

“I’m itching to check the history books in Delemor,” Alister kept saying, “I think it will have something to do with year eighty-three, whether from the beginning of this age or any other.”

Eugene snorted and explained why this wasn’t the answer. The day raced by, taken up mostly by their discussion. Ronan sat on Alister’s forearm the whole time, a reminder of the seriousness of Lark’s message. Alister stared at Lark’s Seal Card and the cryptic message—both damp from his visit to the Falls of Silon—for what must have been hours, as if he would be able to read between the lines if he looked hard enough. The dots on the paper looked more and more like blood. I’m getting paranoid again. But for him to send Alister such an important card…no reason was possible for him to do that unless he didn’t need it anymore. It conveyed danger, and perhaps that was the merchant’s intention?

At dusk, they stopped at a traveller’s outpost and practised Elin-tor, not letting the staff sparring stop their debate. It seemed they had gone through every possible meaning behind the number eighty-three, aside from looking in the history books or museums.

Telling Eugene about the note renewed its importance. Alister was determined to replace out. He couldn’t be sure, but if it were something sinister, then it all rested on his shoulders. Why did he send Ronan to me?