She had left early in the morning, just after sunrise, making her way through the now familiar woods, back to the place where the gate had been built. Although it had been only days ago, it seemed like years. If one thought about this, that was something of an accomplishment, quite a deceptive trick for time to play on an immortal.
Oh sure, she had heard the rumors, the whispers, all the obscure references to these woods. Do not go in there; Aeron had heard this said both in the tavern and the nearby town. Something is in there. No one ever really said what, there was no specific something named in those warnings, just the few mutterings about something evil, something bad. Aeron had shrugged it off, she had faced a great deal of “bad” in her day; there was not much that surprised her anymore. Well, not a lot surprised her at this point; now and then, something came along which did.
Two completely different individuals, both of them coming to this land for two entirely different reasons, one bound by vengeance, one bound by a sense of duty and loyalty. One of them very young, life seen through eyes that had not yet seen nearly as much of the world and time as the other. But somehow, along the way, their paths had crossed and merged, and become a completely different road, one neither of them had expected or could have anticipated. It was just another one of those unexpected little twists; the kind life threw at you when you were looking for something completely different. Maybe, for once, just for once, the road ahead would be less dark; there would be fewer ruts along the way. Inwardly and secretly, Aeron truly hoped this might be the case.
She paused by the spot on the ground where her son had died, the place she had held him in her arms, cradled him at the end, as she had done in the beginning. It was quiet here now, peaceful, with only the faintest sense of sadness in the air. She could not have known it would linger for years to come, an articulation of her grief made whole, given substance by her own sorrow and sense of loss. Others who came this way would know, they would feel it and wonder.
The rose in her hand slipped from her fingers, one from the gift given by another, and fell to the ground. She did not speak, did not whisper, only stood there quietly for a time, thinking her private thoughts and allowing the memories to wash over her.
It was poetic irony. She had lost her son because of a choice, the choice to fight for something unobtainable. Perhaps, just perhaps, if Aeron had not been who she was, he might be alive and quite happy. Maybe this was just some sort of rationalization on her part, or maybe it was the simple truth. Maybe, in the end, he had become what he was, because she failed him. Then again, perhaps this was all part of some grand scheme. That was an odd reflection to have, coming from a woman who had repeatedly denied the intervention of fate in her life.
She shook her head to chase away all such morbid thoughts. Now was not the moment, there would be time when it was all done. The words slipped from her lips, a language she was quite sure no one in these lands had ever heard spoken. Brilliant blue and incandescent white raced over the crude arch in the wall, power hummed in the air, and Aeron passed beneath, into the midst of the magical conflagration. If someone had been standing in viewing line of the gate, the other side would have revealed a far, different place. Rugged, forbidding mountains reaching for the sky, white tips glistening in the sun, despite the season. It was a wilderness in every epic sense of the word, wild, untamed and majestic, a place that caught the eye and seduced the soul. The beauty of the landscape camouflaged the dangers, both natural and preternatural, waiting for some unwary traveler to come along. In the distance, settled on the face of a mountain, was a small fortress, a guardhouse for the watchtower. The spire below rose up from the river running at the base of the mountain peak. Crystallized stonework reflected the sunlight back at an onlooker in near blinding brilliance. And somewhere down the river, sat a massive stone keep, vast, dark and brooding, it’s halls and chambers teemed with life nonetheless. The place was surrounded by elaborate and well-tended gardens, and beyond the gardens, a thick, primeval forest stretched onward for miles. What abominations roamed beneath the canopy of those trees, had now become part of the local folklore, myths which grew with each retelling. Stories told at night over fires and ale, tales to entertain the travelers, truths twisted into mythic legends by the superstitious folk who lived in the vicinity.
Here she went, back to her home. But not to stay, not after all that had happened she could not go back. Not after the death of her son. That had been the turning point for her. No, she went back to close a door she needed to close, for until this was done, Aeron could not move forward into the unknown future.
Behind her, power stretched into a thin horizontal line, converging the play of blue and white light with it. A moment later, it all snapped and the crude arch was nothing more than just that. A rudimentary stone arc, each side supported by on an old stone wall.
