Eriale paled in horror, and Kestrel grunted and shifted nervously. Fineghal simply gazed at Aeron, his face inscrutable.
Aeron continued. "I touched a stone of darkness, something strong and evil beyond belief. It left its mark in the part of me that once wielded magic. In order to escape, I had to expunge what power I had. I... I can't wield magic anymore." As he spoke the words, his voice broke.
"If that was the price you paid for your life, count yourself lucky," Kestrel said at length. "You're here and alive. That's something to be thankful for."
"What will you do now, Aeron?" Eriale asked. "Will you go back to the college?"
Aeron shuddered. "No. I don't know if I can learn to wield magic again, and even if I was certain that I could, I don't want to go back there." He thought of Oriseus and his followers, standing in the black glare of the Shadow Stone. The city of Cimbar was too close to the shard. "No, I don't want to go back. What's done is done." He looked over to Kestrel. "Can you use another set of hands in Saden?"
"You're welcome to come with us, Aeron," Kestrel said. "There's always a place under my roof for Stiche Morieth's son. We've land to clear and trapping to look to."
"Kestrel's suggestion bears merit, Aeron," Fineghal said. Aeron had almost forgotten that the elven lord stood watching until he spoke. "However, I must remind you of the deception we enacted for Phoros Raedel's benefit. Saden is not so far from Maerchlin that he wouldn't hear of your return sooner or later. And I doubt that he would be glad to learn how he was fooled."
Aeron's heart fell. "So I can't go home."
Fineghal shook his head. "Not yet, I think. Give it a few months, perhaps a year or two. That's enough time for those who knew you in Saden to forget about you. Your appearance has changed since you left Maerchlin, and if I remember anything about growing up, it seems to me that a couple of years more should help you to vanish altogether."
"What do you suggest? That he sets out on his own again for years?" Eriale asked, an edge in her voice. "Where would he go? What would he do?"
"He could come with me." The elven mage shrugged and looked at Aeron. "I walk the Maerchwood still, and few humans mark my path. You are welcome to remain here, Aeron. You know the forest well, and I would enjoy your company."
"But my magic's gone," Aeron protested.
"The time of your apprenticeship's long past, I think. I ask you as a friend, not as your master." Fineghal swept his arm out to indicate the green and golden wood, alive with the early spring. "And if your heart is heavy, I know no better cure than the Maerchwood in spring."
Aeron glanced from Kestrel and Eriale to Fineghal, and back again. "If you'll stand my company, I'll come with you," he said. "I'll be able to visit my family?"
"Of course. Just take pains to avoid being seen in Kestrel's house for a while."
He weighed the elf's words for a short time and then agreed with a nod. "Thank you, Fineghal."
The elf lord rose and summoned Baillegh with a gesture. "Then let us be on our way. We're still too close to Maerchlin for my taste, and we have an empty grave to dig before we leave."
Thirteen
For the rest of the summer, Fineghal and Aeron returned to their old life of walking the forest from one end to the other, sleeping under the stars in a different place every night. At first Aeron had a hard time keeping up; his long months at Cimbar's university hadn't involved daily marches with the fleet-footed elf, and his ordeal in the plane of shadow had not improved his constitution. But as the weeks passed, he regained and then surpassed his old conditioning; he was now in his twentieth year, a wiry and athletic man, not a rail-thin boy.
Aeron did not speak of what had passed at the college or during the months of his trek through the western lands and the shadow realm, and Fineghal did not press him. Nor did Aeron attempt to wield magic. He was unwilling to face the consequences of attempting to shape the Weave into the form of a spell; the Shadow Stone's influence might still be present, and he did not want to risk allowing its malign power into his heart and mind again. He had survived it once, just barely, but he did not believe he would be so lucky again.
If Fineghal was puzzled by Aeron's new reluctance to pursue the magical power he had craved before they parted, he did not speak of it. Aeron was content to let matters stand. Sensing Aeron's reluctance to discuss his experiences in the college, Fineghal turned to an exhaustive study of the beautiful woodlands and glades of the Maerchwood, filling Aeron's mind with the elven knowledge of the forest and all that lived and grew within it. Aeron sated his insatiable hunger for knowledge with the mundane lore of the woodlands, avoiding his old studies and interests.
As Fineghal had promised, they visited Saden frequently, guesting with Kestrel and Eriale for the night before slipping away under the cover of the predawn mists. Kestrel had done well for himself in the freehold, and Eriale was the belle of the village. She was now eighteen, tall enough to look Aeron level in the eye and blessed with the wide, brown eyes of her mother and long, flowing chestnut hair she wore in a braid. At first Aeron was a little amused to watch the young men of Saden competing for Eriale's affections, since she was thoroughly independent and had no real desire to find a husband. She was the best archer in Saden, with the possible exception of her father. Aeron realized his foster sister could marry any time she wanted to, and it made him very conscious of his own solitude. Other than Fineghal and his family, he had no one to speak to and no friends of his own.
One day, when he and Fineghal hiked along a steep trail that looked toward the Smoking Mountains east of the woods, Aeron found himself thinking of Melisanda again. He tried to imagine where she was and what she was doing, and he couldn't seem to get her face out of his mind. After a time, he asked, "Fineghal, do you ever become lonely?"
The elf halted and turned to face him. "I've become quite comfortable with my own company." He shrugged. "I have friends. You, Baillegh, even Kestrel and Eriale, though I do not know them as well."
"You didn't answer my question."
The elf looked out over the distant peaks. It was a warm day, and the faint sounds of the forest rose lazily over the sunny hillsides. "I miss my people," he said slowly. "Once the Maerchwood was filled with the Tel'Quessir. The wood itself was much greater then, of course, reaching to the Chondalwood in the west and the Methwood in the east. The great court moved every day to a new place, and the fair ladies and gallant princes were countless as the stars in the summer sky. Everywhere I turn, I see their ghosts and I hear the echoes of their laughter. But they are gone."
Aeron looked down, a little embarrassed. Besides Fineghal's loss, his own loneliness seemed trivial. "You've told me before that many still live today, in other lands."
Fineghal nodded. "I visited with my kinfolk in the distant forest of Evereska for a time while you were away at the college. It reminded me of times long gone." He paused, thinking. "I believe I will join them someday."
Aeron glanced up at him. "And leave the Maerchwood?"
"Perhaps, although that day is not yet here." He turned Aeron's question back on him. "I take it that you wish for more company?"
"I had several good friends at the college. One was a beautiful girl called Melisanda. She came from Arrabar, in Chondath. I fell in love with her, although she didn't feel the same way about me." Aeron smiled ruefully. "She's back in Arrabar, I guess." He went on to relate the story of his infatuation with Melisanda, and after a long time, he realized that his tale was growing to encompass the sum of his experiences in the college. Fineghal was a patient listener, and from time to time he prompted Aeron into explaining things that Aeron would rather have omitted. Before he knew it, the sun was low on the horizon, and he had finished by telling how he returned to Castle Raedel. He felt better than he had in a long time, at peace with himself. Telling his story had lifted a heavy weight from his spirit.