There were nods all around.
"Only as long as necessary," he amended Gwenna's remark.
More nods, though to Temken they still seemed to be agreeing with Gwenna. A day, maybe two. Just to rest, he told himself, though earlier he had not planned on remaining one night in the bayou.
"There are other Survivors. They are heading west- to warmer forests, we hope. But we'll be together," he finished weakly.
"We're already together," Gwenna said, though she did not sound certain of herself. Quick nods bolstered her confidence.
She stepped over to a large pot simmering over an open fire, a community cooking area, the charred ground showing the remnants of other fires. Someone handed her an implement, and she dipped out a ladle of broth, shocking Temken by not offering it to him first as a guest. Instead she drank deeply. He covered his surprise by wiping mud from the long braids hanging before his left ear, then tucked them back over his shoulder. Gwenna drank again, then handed Temken the ladle. As their hands touched she blinked in sudden confusion, as if suddenly at odds with her own violation of custom, but she shrugged it off.
Temken reminded himself of how long these Survivors had been cut off from others, of the conditions under which they currently lived. He nodded thanks to Gwenna, to the person tending the fire, and then pulled a deep ladle from the pot. He noticed the grisly meat swimming in the brown broth and decided that if he questioned its source he might not get a comforting answer. He slopped a bit over the ladle's rim, splashing it to the ground in an offering to Gaea, and sipped the rest cautiously. Over the ladle's rim he saw reactions to his libation-the briefest touch of surprise and even anger for his waste of good broth. To a forest people, he thought his ritual offering to the nature goddess should still be known if not commonplace.
"He'll need a home," the fire tender said, glancing about the village. "There might be room to squeeze him in over there." He nodded toward two huts with just enough spacing, away from the opening toward the bayou's heart.
Temken lowered the ladle from his lips. "I won't need a home," he said, confused.
He sipped again at the weak, fatty broth. Darkness wrapped about the area, but Gaea's song, dim but recognizable, pierced the gloom and brought back to mind memories of cleaner lands: the whisper of a breeze among willows, the creak of tree limbs rubbing over a clear, gurgling brook. Handing back the ladle to the tender, Temken glanced at Gwenna and drew in a steadying breath of the dank air.
"I'll be looking for more Survivors soon, on my way westward. I hope you'll come with me."
They met his invitation with frightened looks of concern and sidelong glances.
What had happened to him, back along the trail? It seemed an important question. Unfortunately, Temken had no good answer. Marsh gas, or simple fatigue? He remembered feeling ill. He remembered the shadow collapsing after the failure of his spell. He'd lain in the foul-smelling muck, looking to Gwenna. Her words, soft and despairing… We can none of us leave. Hadn't there been something more? He couldn't recall.
Gwenna remained rooted to her spot near the fire, watching Temken with a mixture of sorrow and despondency. She nodded to him as he looked her way, as if confirming his thoughts. Gaea's calls had led Temken to her specifically, not the village. She was the key, but how to turn it? The two stared at one another, the first searching, and the other becoming more pale and insipid. Rather than infect her with a yearning to quit the bayou, to return with him and bring her enclave, even now Temken could feel the pull to remain. They had no home, not really. Gwenna was correct about that. But did it have to be that way? Everything had its place in nature, hadn't it? He remembered the death of his spell, the orchid, and the sorrow it brought him.
We can none of us leave.
Why not? What was he missing?
Gwenna felt Temken press up to her, standing behind and reaching around to grasp her wrists in order to better control their movement. Eyes closed, she tried to follow his whispered directions, forgetting or placing aside all sensations but her reach for the land's mana. Forgoing sensation was not the difficulty, not for her- bayou living had made such a task easy. Only the warmth of his touch against her bare wrists offered any amount of distraction. But she couldn't visualize the bayou's life-giving side when her memories of the dank and dismal place fought against it. Even now its rotten scent clung to them, reminding Gwenna of the cold place of shadow where they had-chosen?-to live after Argoth's destruction.
Temken stretched her right hand forward. "There, " he said, voice soft but intense, "the living force of the bayou. Growing trees, plants, animals; the never-ending cycle of life. It's Gaea's song, as you heard it, before. "
She didn't hear it. And, if she understood his explanation, she couldn't remember ever hearing it, which could be a problem. Also she did not favor keeping her eyes closed, shutting off her best warning of the danger that the bayou could visit on them at any time. In her mind's eye, the darkness encroached upon them, drawing tighter every time they tried to call upon the magic of the land.
"I can't touch it, " she said, resigned. Deeper within her mind, she also knew that she didn't want to touch it and shouldn't be trying. She wouldn't have been, except for the reserve of energy that Temken seemed able to tap into for them both. "It's not there. "
"It is, " he insisted. "You've seen it once already. "
"It's not there for me, " she said, squirming within his embrace. Still, the memory of the orchid almost made her believe until the shadow's touch fell over her and dimmed the memory again.
Temken's grip tightened on her wrists. "It has to be, " he said. Then quieter, he observed to himself, "There must be a reason I was led to you first. "
From Gwenna's point of view, it was she who had come to meet Temken.
"I was sent, " she began slowly, then grew confused as if a dark shroud had suddenly been pulled across her mind. She saw no use in arguing the point. Frustrated and tired, she saw little use in continuing the exercise. "Let it go, Temken. Magic is just one more false promise. "
"Have you forgotten Titania? The Citanul druids?" He spun her around. "Magic is a part of our lives, just as it was then. "
Opening her eyes, Gwenna caught the expression of concern that had taken control of Temken's face. His eyes pleaded with her to believe-to try. Her gaze twitched away involuntarily, searching the darkness beyond the isolated clearing and finding the bayou's shadow looming over all the elves had built, dampening their lives.
"It didn't help any of us, " she said listlessly.
Eyes narrowing, the elf mage glanced back over his shoulder, following Gwenna's own gaze into the darkness.
"Let it go," she whispered again, tired and imploring.
"No." He didn't sound as certain of himself as before. His hazel eyes blinked their doubts. Then his voice grew stronger. "The potential exists within you and has to be the seed of your release. Try again." He guided her back around, keeping hold of her right hand, and moved up beside her, stretching his own right hand out ahead of them both. He glanced to her face and frowned. "You have to trust me, Gwenna."
Trust did not come easily in the bayou, but Temken's touch wore away at the despondency that blanketed their lives. The darkness rallied, forcing itself in on her, but a temporary breeze through the overhead canopy rustled leaves and branches and brought to her the faint touch of nature's song. Gwenna seized upon it and nodded to Temken, uncertain and apprehensive, then closed her eyes again, reaching out. This time she felt a familiar pull, as before when Temken reached into the bayou to bring forth the orchid. He was channeling the land's mana and allowing her to feel it course through him.