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The Lost Stars ChronicleChapter 28: Out Of Orion
The Fellowship retired at three in the morning, hardly having enough energy to make it to one of the inns nearby. They slept until nearly noon, until they finally got up and enjoyed a hearty breakfast at the bar. Bjarn, Anardan, and Reno left soon afterwards to return to the Library, where they found Daner again seated at the little table they had found him at yesterday, reading his book. He looked happier then ever, hardly tired at all, unlike Hans, who lay with his face down on the table across from him, snoring into the wood. When he noticed them, Daner put down the volume he was reading.
“Good noontide to you! It seems as if you’ve slept well. Young Hans here’s been asleep all morning -- but he has an excuse. Take a look at what he made for you after you left last night.”
Daner produced a thick scroll of heavy paper tied with a leather thong.
“This is the complete translation of the scroll we found, as well as a map of the Neverwood and the surrounding lands, with every detail known to us included. He stayed up late compiling all the maps of the region we have into this parchment right here.”
Bjarn took the scroll, then opened it on the table. On the top was a neatly penned passage, and the bottom was an intricately detailed map written in black ink. After the trio scanned it for several moments, Bjarn re-rolled it and tied the thong.
“This will be invaluable! Give him my utmost thanks when he awakens.”
Daner smiled again, picking up his book.
“Come see us again before you leave tomorrow. You can thank him then.”
“We certainly will,” said Bjarn, “We’ll be leaving at dawn.”
The bright noon sunlight almost blinded them as they emerged from the cool, dim library. It was nippy, yet the sun warmed their heads and made them think of spring. It was a Saturday, Market-Day in Orion, and hordes of people were bustling about in the huge commons area. There was a festival feeling in the air; street performers did acrobatic leaps or played jaunty songs, while men outside the drink booths danced wild jigs to the music. The three couldn’t help letting their spirits be lifted slightly; this was one of the parts of city life that the Forestmen rarely knew. T he others were probably out as well. It would be good for them to have some fun and forget tomorrow, at least for awhile.
The three poked their way through the crowd, making their way to the street where vendors’ stalls lined the way. The first stop was the baker’s, where Bjarn ordered fifty pounds of a hard traveling bread called hardtack. After haggling with the baker, Bjarn paid him and arranged to have the hardtack brought to the inn where they were staying. In the next few hours, they bought dried meat from the butcher, lumber for a new sled from the carpenter, and some seasonings and salt for any stews they might make. Bjarn also ordered eight hardwood staves, all polished and cut to size for each member of the Fellowship. Reno also had the brilliant idea to procure eight pairs of sturdy snowshoes, which cost Bjarn most of his gold but everyone admitted it would be worth it, as their makeshift ones had fallen to pieces.
Back at the Inn that evening, Anardan took Luxus and Dractor to help him construct the sled. In their room, the other five talked about what they had bought while Shainya and Reno sat, a sewing box in between them, mending the company’s torn clothes. Every few moments, Reno would offer a muffled apology to the owner of the garment he was sewing when he missed a stitch, glancing embarrassedly at Shainya’s neat stitching. Voolmark unobtrusively nudged his torn cloak from Reno’s pile into the mound at Shainya’s feet, causing muffled laughter from the rest. It was good to laugh, for Chodan knew when they’d get to laugh like that again.
Bjarn smiled at Voolmark’s antics and went back to polishing his new bow. He had gotten it from a particularly skilled artisan in Orion, a Forestmen by birth, who made the constructed the best bows and fletched the finest arrows Bjarn had seen in a long while. The bow was two and a half feet long and gently curved. The bowstring was the finest doe’s gut provided by a local butcher, and provided 60 pounds of pull. The arrows were also very well made, with finely clipped feathers and a shaft sanded smooth. Bjarn had opted to buy the arrows that were void of metallic heads and were simply fire-hardened, for they were cheaper and work almost as well, though it didn’t look as impressive.
Soon work on the sled and the cloths was finished, and the Fellowship all settled down to one last night in a warm bed. The next morning after loading the sled and putting their and repaired clothing, the Fellowship stopped by the Archives to say goodbye to Hans Lentawl who had helped them so much. They all thanked him and he smiled and shook hands with everyone, but when Bjarn attempted to press some money into Hans hands, the young man pushed it away and said, “I don’t need that. Keep it. I had a great time with you guys, it was a nice break from bookkeeping and translating sickening Elfin love ballads.”
They all laughed, and Hans continued, “When you get out of the Neverwood, stop by and tell me what happened, will you?”
They promised, then turned to Daner Pluto. The wizard of old smiled gently and embraced all of them one by one.
“Best of luck, all of you.” he said at last, “I wish I could join you, but I have other tasks to attend to in other parts of the world.”
Daner gave the Sigh of the Elk, and Bjarn returned it. As the Fellowship turned away and began to trudge to the Gate of Orion, Hans called out, “Eth ae tomeo gwathea tod, frgatae una tedgo!”
Luxus turned and replied, “Ae metk gow tawnd, tomeo welvarndye!”
“What did you two just say?” asked Shainya.
“He said, ‘All quests come to an end, may yours be joyful as the morning sunrise.’ And I said, ‘Thanks to you, our quest will be’.”
Shainya smiled.
The Fellowship of the Pendants marched double-quick out of Orion. No longer did they look like ragged travelers; their old clothes were washed and mended, their swords polished, haversacks loaded with supplies. Each Fellowship member held an oaken staff bought in the city, the weak sunlight flashing off the polished wood. Bjarn strode in front, his new bow hung on his shoulder, looking like a true Forestman leader in his flowing cloak. Behind him strode Sir Dractor the knight and Voolmark the wizard, followed by Anardan the Forestman captain. Shainya, Reno, Aros and Luxus brought up the rear, the new supply sled trailing behind them.
They followed the old Crusader trade route west for several miles, then broke off the road into the wilderness, heading for the Neverwood and the Temple Of Lost Stars. The snows were three feet deep, and the cold so intense that they pulled their cloaks so tight around them that they could hardly breathe. They put on their snowshoes when they left the road, which made it much easier to walk with their loads. The forest was thick and, with the overcast sky, hard to navigate. When it was too dark to see where they were going, Bjarn called a halt for the night. As they huddled around the fire of dead branches, the darkness of the old forest seemed to be pressing in on them, suffocating. Many of the group felt shivers run down their spine for no apparent reason, their backs to the black trees. The Neverwood could be a dangerous place at night.
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