Highwater and Glass

The Red Falcon, Chapter 6 - Eloise

Eloise did not mourn the passing of Horus Morningshire. Nor did she regret her actions in regards to his death. It was better for the well-being of Oran, she believed, to have him gone. Horus was selfish and powerful, an element of chaos that was ultimately destructive to the world. She had seen the burden of Horus rest upon the shoulders of her friend since she met him. Now, traveling behind him, the burden of his death weighed heavier still.

Oran was a distance from her. His eyes couldn't bring themselves to linger upon hers. He needed time to process his thoughts. But time was not a luxury in which he would indulge. The river was ahead of them, wide, deep, and swift. The splintered remains of a bridge sat on either bank. It was just as well that the horses had run off; there was no path their hooves could cross.

Eloise caught up to Oran as he crouched beside the river. He was whispering something and stirring the surface with his first two fingers. She couldn't be certain at first if he were speaking Arcaén or an epitaph for the fallen. But soon, a ribbon of ice crackled across the surface. It grew until it was wide enough to traverse, though thin enough to allow the passage of water to continue underneath.

"It will only last a moment," Oran said to her quietly and he began to cross.

She followed behind him, matching his pace. As soon as her foot hit earth on the other side, the ice bridge broke apart and floated off in sections. She could help but wonder if this were by design, or a weakness in the spell due to the energy he had previously expended.

"How are you feeling?" she probed.

"I'd prefer not to talk about it."

He continued to look off, into the trees, at the earth and sky. Anywhere but her face.

"Of course," she said. "I was only curious about your energy. You've used a lot of magic."

"It has flowed in and out of me without sapping too much of my strength. I have a way of powering through when there's a task at hand. How are you?"

It was a troubling question to have returned to her. Horus's death notwithstanding, she had slain two assailants with an axe and an arrow. One was only a boy. The other was visceral. She had pulled the axe from his chest and wiped the blood from her blade. She still had blood on her hands. It was everywhere, speckling her tunic; dirt clung to the splotches on her boots. It was best not to relive the moments or focus on the details, she discovered.

"Good," she said. "I am also powering through."

It wasn't long until they could see tower. It was built of blackened stoned, wide and cylindrical; at three stories, it was quite stout. It peeked up over a vineyard, rows of tall trellises covered in vines with dried golden leaves and deep red flagon-shaped fruit.

The tower became obscured again as they entered one of the rows. Eloise found this unsettling. A strategic enemy could prepare an ambush in such an environment. Oran, meanwhile, appeared unbothered, stopping instead to study a fruit just below his eye level.

"Vaticine," he said to her. "It's an ingredient used for scrying. It's said to aid in foreseeing the future."

Oran whipped his head away from it in the direction of a sound. Footsteps. Someone was running towards them. Eloise readied her axes. But with the rustle of leaves, a child rounded the corner. She was barefoot in a tattered beige dress. Her honey brown hair was a tied into messy braids. She looked to be six years old. She stopped short when she saw them, confused, but not scared.

"Oh. You're not Fernon."

"No. I'm not," said Oran.

"He said he'd come back. He left with Horus."