CHAPTER 1
The first thing Earwyn noticed as they travelled towards the mountains was the rising temperature. Without the breeze and mist of the shore, the air grew drier and the sun seemed to burn hotter.
The carriage lumbered along the road. It jerked over ruts in the road much less smoothly than a ship over waves. Earwyn stuck his head out the window and snuck a look at the driver. He was perched in his seat, reins in hand, chewing tobacco and spitting it out the side of his toothless mouth. Sorcha pulled her son back into his seat, which saved him from the mouthful of juice that was flying towards him.
She was worried that he was staring back towards Azmar, already homesick. "How are you feeling?" she asked, fussing with the scarf wrapped around her shoulders.
"Fine," he said. In truth, he was a bit hungry, and he wanted to stretch his legs. But was a quiet boy, and he sensed something of the anxiety his mother was feeling. Even though he didn't feel like it, he switched sides and moved to sit next to her, letting her put her arm around him. This way at least he could put his feet up on the bench across.
They sat that way for a long while. Staring out the windows, each lost in their own thoughts.
----
By the time they stopped at an inn, Earwyn's behind felt bruised and his bones ached. He felt disoriented as he followed his mother through the door. It was far past sunset, and the night sky was so shrouded in clouds that not a single star peeked through.
Sorcha bargained with the clerk, a heavyset woman with greying hair and a smile that twitched as she looked between mother and son.
"Where's your husband then?" she asked as she wrote in the ledger behind the desk. "Where've you travelled from?"
Sorcha cleared her throat and reached for Earwyn's hand. "We're from Azmar, my husband is at sea." It was true, he was at sea. Or rather, in the sea.
"Ahh, you're a ways from home," the woman said, setting down her pen. She would have asked more, but someone called out from the back room telling her to hurry. "Let me show you where you'll be bunking."
She rushed the two down a dimly lit hallway and opened a door. It was a large room, and if there had only been one bed it would have been very nice indeed. Enough for a small table with some flowers, perhaps some chairs and a cabinet for the luggage their driver would carry upstairs. A large window would allow the sun to wake them in the morning; if the curtains were drawn. If not, they might find themselves oversleeping.
Yes, this could have been a very nice room. But it wasn't. The floor looked like it hadn't been swept in weeks. Bunks lined the walls, and shoes were carelessly thrown at the base of them. Thankfully, most of the beds were empty, so there wasn't too great a stack to sort through in the morning.
"How old's the boy?" the woman asked, poking at his chest with a finger.
"Oh," Sorcha answered, tearing her gaze from the room. "Eleven."
Earwyn was sure they would turn around and leave. He'd rather sleep in the privacy of their carriage than this. Who knew if lice or fleas were hopping around on those mattresses.
"Well, normally I'd send him down the hall to be with the menfolk, but seeing as it's not a busy night he can stay with you." The woman's lip twitched again, and she pushed past them only pausing to shout over her shoulder. "Mind you, if he's any trouble you're out on your rear!"
Earwyn bristled and looked back into their home for the night. A woman snored from a top bunk. At least no one was staring. Sorcha stiffly stepped across the wood floor and motioned for him to follow.
They didn't have to worry about sleeping in. Earwyn couldn't fall asleep, there was both too little and too much noise. It made no sense, and it was all wrong. The straw mattress beneath him was itchy and rustled every time he moved. Clothes felt too tight, and the air too warm. He was glad when morning came and Sorcha awoke and they continued on their journey.
In the confines of the carriage, he could daydream. What was ahead? Already the scenery was changing. They wound their way up the mountain pass, then down the other side. The pressure in the air made his ears pop. He'd never been so high before, but he wasn't afraid to look down. Sorcha was, she shuddered and closed the curtains. She'd never left the sea before either, and new sights made her nervous.
----
A week later they reached their destination. It wasn't their chosen destination, but it was the end of the road. Their driver told them he would go no further. The forests were no place for the two to travel alone.
Vogdam was a small village. They didn't have many visitors. No one wanted to travel so far, and there wasn't a lot to see. Everyone who lived there was either a farmer or a diamond miner. There was no hustle like the docks, no babble of mixed languages or smell of imported spices. This place was tradition and hard work. It was like nothing Earwyn had ever seen.
The first thing he noticed was the difference in the sky. It was like he had been shrunk and stood in the middle of a bowl. The edges of the earth curved up and blocked his vision. Stately trees led up to the snow-dusted cliffs of the mountains. Around the village, fields had been cleared for farmland. All manners of vegetables were being grown. Tiny bells tinkled from goats' and sheep's necks as they romped on the vibrant green hillsides.
The houses were even foreign to Earwyn. Along the street, their shingled surfaces pointed high up into the sky. No gently curved or flat roofs like in Azmar. They were coarse and decidedly wooden. Miners weren't particularly fond of home decor, no carved door frames like the sailors loved or flags flying from rooftops. Not that they would have looked very nice lying limp against a flag post with no breeze to set them waving.
Sorcha wasted no time in finding their new home. It was small, deep in the woods and topped with sod instead of shingles. To Earwyn it seemed alive. Grass dotted with little yellow wildflowers grew on the roof. Ivies grew up the chimney and cobwebs clung to the windowsills.
The villagers thought it was an odd place to want to live. They weren't used to newcomers. This tall and willowy woman with clear eyes and pale hair was the buzz of the town. The women whispered about her behind their hands. She was certainly beautiful, but she also looked so sad. And the boy... They clucked their tongues about him. The only characteristic he shared with his mama was the dimple in his chin. His eyes were as dark as pitch and his hair barely a shade lighter in broad daylight. He looked angry, and shied away from their prying eyes and loud questions like a skittish colt. It didn't help that he'd been travelling for weeks and barely sleeping a wink. His clothes were rumpled and dark circles made his face look paler. Not a few of the village elders raised their eyebrows and whispered "that un' will be trouble".
One woman, who knew her way around better than anyone else, showed them a nice townhouse on the main street. It was sturdier, better located, and twice the price. It was surrounded by neighbours and only minutes from the small marketplace. There were flowers already planted by the windows, and furniture already in place for new owners.
Sorcha refused that offer, she wouldn't budge from the little cottage in the woods. She paid, signed some papers and shut the door on everyone. She and Earwyn were alone with the dust that billowed when they dropped their bags on the floor. The two of them had never seen a more beautiful sight. They closed their eyes and listened to the silence. For the first time in their lives, there was no sound of waves or breeze. Just trees growing and birds singing sweet songs that sounded nothing like the sharp calls of gulls.
