A cold wind blew, making him shiver. He pulled his woolen blanket tighter around him, wishing he’d thought to bring warmer clothing. Having never ventured out of Safeway and the shadow of the Sanctuary over his twenty years of life, he’d never felt the sting of a northern night. In the south, the first week of autumn was like the last week of summer, with the heat of day persisting late into the evening. Sure, he’d been told of the northern winters, of snow and frost and how it seeped into your bones. And he had always bobbed his head, believing he understood. Now he knew how great a fool he’d been, thinking he could understand such a thing through mere words. Here, camping just off the Gods’ Road in the woodlands a few miles north of Mordeina, the moon was like an icy sun casting frigid blue light through the branches of stunted trees.
A silken hand caressed his knee, and Roland glanced to his left. There sat Brienna, her crystalline eyes staring down at him. Her hair was pulled back from her face, bunched in a glossy tress that cascaded over her shoulder, revealing the fine contours of her cheeks and dainty nose. She was quite beautiful in a strong yet youthful way. Roland adored her and thought her far more welcoming than any of the other elves he’d met. He especially appreciated her untamed spirit and bright eyes, so totally unlike her usually calculated brethren. She seemed to be the perfect match for Jacob.
“What’s wrong?” Brienna asked. “You’re trembling like a woodpecker’s jabbing at your soul.”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “I’m worried about my master. He’s been gone for too long.”
Brienna laughed. “Jacob’s fine, Roland. He’s a resourceful man.”
“But the wolves.…”
“The wolves hold nothing over him.” She had that sly look about her, a playfulness Roland had often seen. “The creatures of the wood tremble in his presence. He is the most perfect creation in the land. I think he’ll be fine.”
“And I think you give the man too much credit, Brienna,” mumbled Azariah, stirring from his rest. The Warden lifted himself up on his elbow. The light of the fire cast a haunting shade of red on Azariah’s normally pale complexion, making Roland shiver once more. “As timeless and perfect as he is, Jacob is only human, and like all of us he can falter.”
Brienna eyed him devilishly. Her relationship with Azariah often baffled Roland. Though they obviously enjoyed each other’s company, they constantly passed barbs back and forth. Rarely, if ever, did they agree on anything. About the only thing they had in common was their mutual admiration for Jacob.
“You’re no more human than I am, Az,” Brienna jested. “Actually, I’m not sure you even know what you are.”
“I very much know what I am,” replied the Warden, sitting up straight and throwing off his blankets. “I am Azariah, brother of Judarius and Laconia, son of Azekiel and Caterina-”
“Yes, but what world were you born on, Azariah? Was it here with the rest of mankind? No, I don’t think it was. You’re a Warden of Ashhur. You’re as far from a human as I am.”
Azariah glared at her, but he could not keep a straight face. Brienna grinned, and the Warden erupted into a hearty bout of laughter, which the beautiful elf was quick to join. Roland chuckled as well, and he noticed that the chill that had been weighing down his bones seemed to be ebbing.
When the laughter died down, Roland sat there grinning, poking at the fire with a long branch. He was glad Jacob had asked Brienna and Azariah to join them on this mysterious journey into the north, after passing his mentorship of Benjamin Maryll to Judarius. Whatever their flaws, both his travel companions knew how to lighten the atmosphere and set his soul at ease. The only thing he regretted was that the feeling never seemed to last. Soon his nerves stirred again, just as the crackling of the flames reemerged, along with the chirping of the insects and the rustling of the leaves in the breeze. The coldness came back to him as well, and he inched closer to the blaze, his face scrunched into a grimace.
Azariah and Brienna exchanged a frown.
“And still the boy is ill at ease,” said the Warden.
“I’m just cold,” said Roland.
“Come here,” said the elf. “I’ll warm you up.”
Brienna inched closer, wrapping an arm around him. He smelled the alluring aroma of her jasmine-scented skin as a strange feeling washed over him from the inside out. It was similar to the one he got when he stood close to Mary Ulmer, a girl of undying faith who never seemed to notice how his mind turned to mush each time they spoke.
“The boy doesn’t need warmth,” said Azariah. “It’s fear he faces, and before it he’s clueless as a newborn babe.”
Roland squinted at the Warden over the flames, his pride stung.
“I’m not some child,” he said. “I’m twenty-old enough to be a man now.”
Azariah laughed. “Are you a man? It takes more than age to make a man, boy. What pain have you suffered? What struggles have you overcome? What scars mar your body? Right now, you are a tree stripped of bark. I’d hearken to guess that none of the wards of Ashhur’s Paradise have grown up yet.”
“Shush, Az,” said Brienna, shaking her head. “Don’t do that to the boy.”
Azariah ignored her, leaning in closer, the reflection of the flames dancing off his irises. “Tell me, Roland, what do you feel right now?”
Roland cocked his head and stared back at him, unsure. “I…I don’t know. It’s like my body won’t do what I tell it to. Back home, if it’s hot, I tell myself not to feel it, and it gets cooler. When it gets cold in winter, I do the opposite. But here…no matter how hard I tell myself it isn’t that cold, I shiver and shiver. I keep seeing the wolves ripping apart that carcass, and the shiver becomes a quake.”
Azariah stared at him with those penetrating eyes. He’d always understood people, more than any of the other Wardens.
“You see more than just a wolf and a deer, don’t you?” he asked. “What is it that flashes before your eyes when you close them? What nightmare won’t let you sleep?”
Roland bowed his head. Shame worked its way into his gut, a feeling of weakness that was unrelenting.
“I also see Martin Harrow’s body,” he said. “I see his mother and father weeping. I see Ashhur standing over them as they buried him in the dirt, telling them their son is in a better place…but when I see their faces, I know they don’t believe him. But how? How could they not believe him? Ashhur is their god, and he created us all. Why do they doubt?”
His shame grew, and he blurted the words out before he lost his courage.
“Why do I doubt?”
Azariah shifted onto his knees. He was one of the shortest Wardens, and yet his height was still impressive.
“Ashhur speaks the truth. Martin is in a better place now, lounging in the golden plains of Afram, the void in which the gods mold an afterlife for their people, drinking wine with his great-great-grandparents. It is natural for you to doubt, and you should feel no shame. But belief in the truth is often thwarted by the great killer of hope, a foe you know so terribly little about.”
Brienna sighed.
“What is that?” asked Roland.