The Prophet of Edan by Philip Chase

Author:Philip Chase [Chase, Philip]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Fantasy
Publisher: Philip Chase
Published: 2023-06-20T16:00:00+00:00

The hollow pain in Dayraven’s belly prodded him awake. Even more than usual, the elf-shard’s whispers had cast a pall over his dreams. He willed away the lingering echoes of despair. Then he remembered. Worry for Imharr. The loss of Urd and Faldira hit him in the gut far harder than his nightmares could. It was a weight he could not shed. For a long while he lay still, but at last he summoned the courage to open his eyes.

In the greyness just before dawn, Sequara’s beautiful face lay inches from his. Her eyes were closed and her breaths steady and slow. She still slept with one arm wrapped around him, prompting a sad and gentle smile from him.

The comfort of her presence pulled him away from the overwhelming despair. For a brief moment, he wished the morning could last longer to prolong their embrace, but he remembered his grief and his duty. Trying not to waken Sequara, he extricated himself with slow movements, leaving his brown robe covering her. Moving made him realize how sore and stiff he was, especially in his back and arms from the rowing, and from sleeping on the boat’s hard planks. His hands still stung from the blisters.

As he got to his knees, Sequara stirred and groaned with a troubled frown on her face. He had never seen her looking so vulnerable save in her childhood memories, and for some reason he found this glimpse into her almost overwhelming. He swallowed and, stopping his hand as it reached out, repressed the desire to stroke her cheek to comfort her. Only with difficulty did he tug his gaze away from her. We have great trials ahead. Keep focused. Balance and detachment.

He looked up. Orvandil sat at the tiller. The Thjoth must have steered the boat through the night without waking anyone. He made his way aft, ducking under the sail and avoiding Gnorn and Abon’s sleeping forms, until he reached the Thjoth. “You should have wakened one of us,” he said quietly as he sat on a bench.

The Dweorg and the shaper snored.

“Look at those two sleeping babes.” Orvandil smiled and nodded toward Gnorn and Abon. “I’ve no heart to wake them. Besides, does me good to be at the tiller again. Reminds me of my roaming days.”

“We’re in for some roaming now. Where are we?”

“We sailed northward through the night along Asdralad’s eastern shoreline. Soon we should make land and enter the forest of Yalawyn. In the light we’ll find food and fresh water to fill our flasks. None of us has had anything to eat since yesterday morning, and there’s been little enough to drink. We’ve had some hard labor since then.”

Realizing how weak he felt, Dayraven agreed. “Sounds good. No need to wake the others yet, I suppose.”

They approached a forested spur of land, behind which Dayraven guessed there lay a small bay.

Orvandil steered for it. “Looks good enough. We’ll land after we pass this clump of trees.”

The air was still, and the sun began its ascent above the horizon of the endless sea as they approached the spur of land.

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