172) The Salvation of Eden, Chapter 8 -- The Present and the Past

McKlein returned at dark on the fifth day. They were laying on a collection of his weird rock-pillows on the floor, reading books of poetry they had found that, as far as they could tell, he had written himself, when he opened the door, unceremoniously stomped into the cabin, and poured himself a bowl of soup. It was still cooking on the stove, exactly as he’d left it. Strangely, the stove never seemed to need more wood, and the pots never emptied, no matter how much they ate. And they’d eaten a ton of it, given that it was their only source of food for five days straight. Kohra wondered what would happen if they just turned one of the pots upside-down. Would soup pour out forever?

         “Mmmmm, it’s coming along well,” he murmured, slurping it up. “In some places and times, you know, if you don’t slurp your noodles, it’s an insult.” He slurped even more vigorously. Kohra tried to keep a straight face, but ended up having to look away, like she was suddenly interested in the sketches on the wall.

         When he finished his bowl, he set it down on the floor, and promptly fell asleep, sprawling out right there on one of the ‘pillows’, his left arm sneaking out to pull another of the rocks close, like he was cuddling it. Kohra and Dom glanced at each other, trying to stifle their laughter. It didn’t matter; the old man snored vociferously.

         There wasn’t much to do, so they went back to reading, trying to enjoy the candelight and poetry, despite the wood-sawing competition in the old man’s nose. Eventually, they lay down to sleep as well and blew out the candles.

         Kohra lay awake in the dark, listening to the ebb and flow of the sonorous snoring, like it was a song. Maybe it is. Maybe everything is.

         The sky was just starting to brighten when she drifted off.

         She woke to the smell of pancakes and roasting nuts (acorns apparently, by the look of the shells on the floor). She rubbed her eyes, stretching. Galen was standing over by the stove, tending to a frying pan.

         Then she saw the chipmunk, sitting right there, not three feet from her, smack in the middle of the acorn shells. He was fully dressed in formal menswear, like a nobleman out for an evening at the theatre. He was even wearing spectacles. Patting his rather swollen belly, the chipmunk belched, a high-pitched squeal, and tipped his hat to her.

         She rubbed her eyes and looked again. The chipmunk was still there, spectacles and all.

         McKlein set a plate piled high with pancakes into the center of their roughly-arranged seating area on the floor. Then he brought other plates for each of them, forks, and a jug of syrup. He handed mugs of tea to Kohra, Dominic, and the chipmunk, although the chipmunk’s was in a much smaller, doll-sized teacup.

         McKlein finally sat down, bowed his head for a moment, then gestured toward the pancakes. “Tuck in.”

         His voice sounded odd, but Kohra couldn’t place it. It just wasn’t the same old-man-voice he’d had a few days ago. But she didn’t have time to think about it further, as everyone started serving pancakes, passing around syrup and berries, and generally chit-chatting about the meal.

         Once everyone had food and started eating, Galen straightened up to address them. “Ah reckon ya’ll wantin’ to know what ah found,” he drawled. This was definitely an accent Kohra had never heard before. He looked back and forth between the two of them, thumbs hooked into his belt, squinting like it was high noon on a bright day.

         “Please,” Kohra almost choked. “My mom and dad! My brother! Ms. B.! What did…are they…did you find out anything about them?”

         He sighed and shook his head, massaging his temples. When he replied, his voice had changed again, sounding like an erudite scholar who had forgotten how to communicate using everyday language.

         “Despite my best efforts, your most proximal maternal ancestral figure cannot be located in space and time. However, my efforts were constrained by the exigencies of the circumstances, having to rely upon functionaries, as it is imperative that I, personally, am not suspected to be connected to your family.” He gave her a knowing look.

         “Uh, I don’t know what you mean,” she replied.

         He paused again, massaging his temples like before. When he looked up, his voice was soft and musical, but feminine, like a kindly old aunt. “Yo’ mama’s a lovely woman, Kohra. Lovely woman with as good a head on’er shoulders as anyone this side of the SpineRidge Mountains, y’hear? Don’ worry yo’ pretty little head, child. And yo’ papa? He gon’ do you proud.”

         He paused again, massaging his temples. His next voice was high-pitched and reedy, with an outrageous accent, all e’s and zee’s. “Yore foddehr, EE’s joined zee’Rrrebels! But where your muddehr eeezz, I duu NOT knOW! Leeetle Coll, I duu not knOW eiddehr.”

         He paused again, massaging his temples as before, his forehead deeply creased, like he was in pain. When he continued, his voice had changed again, into a smoky belly-dancer from the Riverfolk of the EastLands. Having never heard of belly-dancers, let alone the Riverfolk of the EastLands, Kohra had not the faintest idea of the accent, except that it was ridiculously incongruous with the old man himself. “Ahhh’ve heard a few whispers in mah ear, dependin’ who’s askin’,” he breathed suggestively.

         Another pause, another temple massage. He took longer this time, keeping his eyes tightly closed. Kohra tried to not react, although this whole bizarre conversation was making her angry. Why was he doing all these stupid voices? This was her family he was talking about! This was the first news she’d heard in more than a week! She wanted answers!

         She thought maybe he had lost his mind. Maybe she should feel sorry for him. But not right now.

         When he spoke again, he sounded like his regular old-man-self, finally. “My apologies. It can be difficult to find my way back to the, uh, right person.”

         Kohra stared blankly.

         He continued, ignoring her confusion. “So, what I was trying to say, Kohra, is your family seems okay, as far as I can tell. Your father is with a rebel group, hiding in, oh, well, I guess I can’t tell you where he’s hiding….” He paused, looking around at the ceilings and walls, as though they might suddenly sprout ears. “Wouldn’t be much of a hiding place if I just went and blabbed about it, would it? Your brother, Colwyn, is with him.”

         Her hand flew to her heart. Col was okay!

         “He got wounded a bit, that night the Guard came to your house.” He put a hand on Kohra’s upper arm, gently, so that she looked into his eyes. They were very kind.

         “He’s a tough little guy. I’d expect a full recovery within a few weeks, even without any Healers, so don’t worry about him. He’s safe. Well, as safe as any of us.”

         He paused, his face darkening. Clearing his throat, he looked right into her eyes, his burning with a strange, green intensity, like the eyes of a wolf she’d once seen after it had been brought down. “Your mom, Kohra, I honestly don’t know. I can’t find her. She’s just, well, she’s gone.”

         Kohra gasped, tears immediately filling her eyes.

         Silence.

         Galen rubbed her upper-arm, as though he was trying to warm her. “I don’t think she’s…you know, but I can’t find her. And if I can’t find her, something weird is definitely going on.” He paused again. “I’m sorry.”

         Kohra stammered, “Th-thanks, Mr. McKill, uh, McKlein. Thanks for finding out what you could.” Dominic put a hand on her shoulder, but she didn’t meet his eyes. There’s no way she could keep her composure if she started connecting with Dom.

         At  least, Col and her dad were okay; she’d hang onto that.  And her mom?  She’d hang onto hope.

         McKlein waited a moment, then turned to Dominic, who looked up eagerly; Kohra realized just then how worried he also must be. Of course! She felt a pang of guilt that she hadn’t been more thoughtful.

         “Dominic, I’m sorry to tell you this, but your parents were taken for questioning, as were most of the families of the Connectors. They went into Anthor itself, into the castle. They haven’t come back, er, yet. I do, however, know that they’re alive. The families are all being kept in a closed wing of the castle. It’s…well, it’s like a prison, basically.” He paused for a minute to let Dominic process this. Dominic stayed silent, his face impassive.

         McKlein continued, “I’ll keep trying to find out more.”

         Dominic nodded; also not looking over to chance meeting Kohra’s gaze. It wouldn’t do any good for him to fall apart right now. And besides, what good was worrying?

         If you can’t see the target, then there is no target.

         Besides, it wasn’t as bad as he had feared, although it was obviously worse than he had hoped.

         He hated thinking of his parents being taken by the Guard. How could anybody out there really appreciate them? Understand how gentle they were? How could anyone even fathom what went on in his dad’s mind? The Guard had treasures in their hands, and they would have no idea.

         He knew his parents would be worried sick about him, far more than being concerned about themselves. They didn’t know where he was, or if he was okay. They probably didn’t know what was going on at all.

         Even worse, they had probably been fed all sorts of misinformation by this point, to try and get them to talk. Maybe they’d been told he was a murderer (which, well…kind of true now…), or more likely that he had fallen in with insurrectionists and terrorists. Or maybe they’d get really creative and tell them that he was being sought for his own protection, because Ms B’s kids were being kidnapped by the Scarves, or some such rubbish. 

         In any case, regardless of the rationale, he wasn’t worried about his parents being compelled to say anything.  Even if they did get taken in by lies and believe they were trying to help him somehow, the simple truth was that they knew barely anything about where he went, how he spent his time, or who he associated with.  Other than Kohra, of course. 

         Dominic had always possessed a vibrant wanderlust, and day by day, even week by week, they didn’t much know where he went or what he did. Especially once he’d started training to be a Ranger, he had largely kept his activities to himself. And after all, he was a man now.

         So, all his parents would be able to tell even the most determined interrogator was that their son was a bit of a loner and spent a lot of time in the woods. The only friends of his that they knew were Ms. B’s kids, and they were already taken, as far as his parents knew.

         He noticed Kohra looking at him with concern. He tried to look strong. He didn’t want her to worry any more on his behalf.

         But underneath the poised exterior, Dominic seethed with anger. He wanted to go back and put arrows in the throats of as many of the Guard as he could before they took him out. But what good would that do? It sure wouldn’t help his parents. Or Kohra. Ms. B. The Wild. Nothing.

         No, he had to do what he could to stay alive, stay free, figure out the next steps to take. He’d be no help to anyone if he was dead.

         Kohra felt a strong urge to say something, anything, to make him feel better. There are lots of platitudes that are normatively accepted as Good Things To Say, like “It’ll be okay,” or “I won’t let anything bad happen to you,” or “Everything happens for a reason.” But she knew Dominic hated things like that.

         So she respected the silence. Whatever a person is going through, the single biggest need they have, far bigger than avoiding pain or suffering, far bigger than feeling safe or certain, is to know they are not going through it alone.

         Our most fundamental need is for connection. That was one of Ms. B’s teachings.

         “I do have one question,” Dominic said to McKlein, after a long silence. “How can we help them? Our families, I mean. How can we make a difference?” He held McKlein’s gaze without looking away. Dominic would do anything to help his parents, dive right into the Hells, if that’s what it took.

         McKlein cleared his throat, nodding. “That’s a good question. There are definitely things you can do to help them.”

         “Tell us!” Kohra practically shouted.

         “You’re doing it, Kohra. The best thing you can do for them is keep yourself alive, stay hidden until we learn more, and in the best case scenario, find some trustworthy allies.” He grinned. “I’d say you’re doing pretty well so far.”

         He’s right, I know. I mean, what else are we going to do? Go take on the entire Guard and bust everyone out? Yeah, me and Dom, no problem.

         “What else did you find out?” Dominic sounded flat, but determined. “I guess the more we know the better. Tell us everything. Please.”

         McKlein nodded. Kohra was sure she saw a fleeting smile play at the corners of his mouth.

         “I’ll tell you what I can,” he assured them. Kohra had a strange thought – Why didn’t he say he’d tell us everything he knows? Telling us what he “can” is not the same thing.

         But there was barely time for this thought to register, and not nearly enough for her to act on it. McKlein was talking, and she didn’t want to miss anything.

         “First, the big picture. The big picture, I’m sorry to say, keeps getting worse. The kingdom is in full-blown crisis, but most people don’t realize it because all they hear is that they are at war with the Scarves. Every day, they hear about new atrocities committed by the Scarves and new victories by the Anthorrian army. And it’s working. The entire kingdom is rallying and supporting the war effort. But it’s a smokescreen, a distraction from what is really going on. But almost nobody understands what’s really going on.”

         He paused. Off to the side, the chipmunk chittered, catching his attention.

         He nodded sagely, sighing. “Aye, war, war, war — it’s all anybody talks about anymore.”

         The chipmunk raised his teacup for a cheers, downed it, then pointed rather pointedly his cup. Kohra noticed that the refill came from a wine jug, not the teapot.

         The chipmunk made a brief chittering sound and flicked his tail.

         “You said it, Faeron,” Mcklein shook his head sadly. “If only we all lived like animals.”

         He turned back to Kohra and Dom. “There’s no way you can go back. Not anytime soon. The Guard are everywhere — in town, on the roads, everywhere. The streets are mostly empty, especially at night, except for patrols. But yes, it’s very certainly not a safe place, for now.”

         “What about Ms B?” Dominic asked. “Is she ok?” Kohra wished in her heart for the answer to be positive.

         He shook his head. “I don’t know one way or the other. But,” he hesitated, then as though he was making a conscious decision, continued. “I am not supposed to divulge these things, but these are extraordinary times.”

         “What are you saying?” Dominic asked, confused.

         “Just know that she is very likely okay. She has…powerful friends.”

         Kohra laughed. “Oh yeah, she knows, like, witches or Goddesses or something. They probably magically transported her to some fairy kingdom.”

         His eyebrows raised. “You know about that?”

         “What?!!” she yelped.

         He laughed it off, like he was just joking, continuing before Kohra could think of what to say. “I’m hearing similar stories from all over Anthor. It seems that Connectors all over the kingdom, and their families, have been scooped up. Furthermore, there’s constant, heavy ‘encouragement’ to join the Legion, and practically every able-bodied person is finding it increasingly difficult to justify not signing up. Even the Druids have fled. Their Tree is silent.” The old man paused, wiping his brow. “Thousands of years, and now it’s silent.” He shook his head.
         “But,” Kohra protested, “Anthor, the King, bloody Hells, he can’t do this! Why isn’t the Council stopping him?”

         McKlein sighed. “The Council was compromised a long time ago. Don’t get me wrong; there are some good people still on it, but I think they’re only now waking up to the fact that they are powerless. And like I said, most people support the King. They believe he’s the strong leader who will protect them from the Scarves. Most people want to just declare all-out war and wipe out the Scarves entirely. It’s amazing what hatred and fear will convince people of.”

         “Did any other Connectors escape, like Kohra?” Dominic asked. Even though Ms B had told him he was one too, he’d never believed it. All he could do out-of-the-ordinary was shoot arrows pretty accurately. Okay, very accurately. But he couldn’t Shape!

         “Yes!” McKlein slapped his forehead with such vigour that Kohra jumped. “I almost forgot! This is the best part! There are at least two others who got away, I’m pretty sure. The young one, Reilly, the one they call the TreeChild? I have it from a good source that she was taken in by the Druids, wherever they are.”

         “She trains in their School!” Dominic shouted, .
         “She’s safe then” McKlein sounded confident. “You can trust the Druids.” Then added, under his breath, “Most of the time….”

         “Who’s the other person?” Kohra asked.
         “Yes, I’m fairly sure that Devona Hollands was smuggled out of Anthor entirely. Her family is well-connected; they’d have the means. But they’ve all gone into hiding too. So that’s all I know.”

         Kohra’s heart leapt with this news. Devona was one of “those people.” The ones who are just a bit sparklier than everyone else. She’d only known Devona a short time, but they quickly were becoming fast friends. Devona was as passionate as Kohra about the Flux, and she was also learning to read Old Elvish. They had lit their first candles together….

         There were just some people in life that you are “supposed to” have certain experiences with. Like, she was “supposed to” study the Flux with Devona; they were going to be Arch-Mages together! It was so easy to imagine them in the future, cracking open ancient secrets, and accomplishing…anything!  Together.

         “And Lenny!” McKlein cut into her thoughts. “Nobody seems to know anything about Lenny.”

         Kohra laughed. “Nobody ever knows anything about Lenny.”

         “This is GREAT news!” Dominic shouted again, spontaneously hugging the old man. “I mean….” He trailed off. “You know, considering.”

         Kohra put her arm around him. “Hey, we’ve gotta hold onto whatever good news there is. Thank you, uh, McKlein.”

         “Galen. My good friends call me Galen,” he said quietly, cupping his hands like he was sharing an important secret with them and didn’t want it to be overheard. Then he added, “But it’s an important secret; I don’t want it to be overheard.”

         “Okay Galen,” she whispered. “Thank you for…for everything you’ve done for us.” She hugged him, and he patted her back, affectionate if a bit awkward. When she pulled back, she could see tears in his eyes and a depth of emotion that surprised her. Why did he feel such strong feelings for them? He barely even knew them!

         The next little while was spent in silence, interrupted only by the fire crackling in the stove. Galen checked his pots, smelling each one carefully, then adding various ingredients from an enormous collection of little jars. “No more soup now,” he cautioned. “We’re past the broth stage and we’re going to start fermentation once it cools down. It won’t kill you, probably. But it won’t sit well with you either. Instead,” he brightened. “I’d recommend one of my fine bottles of moonshine!”

         He winked at Dominic, who laughed. “Uh, no thanks McKlein. I’m not really a moonshine man.”

         “How do you know how to do all this stuff?” Kohra asked. Then it was like she’d opened the floodgates, the questions that had been piling up finally bursting through all at once. “How does any of this make sense? Why do you have horses in the middle of the swamp? How do you leave this cabin without walking anywhere? What were all those weird voices you were doing? How do you know so much about what’s going on when you live way out here by yourself?” (At this, the chipmunk chittered loudly.) “Errr, when you live way out here without other people?” she added hastily. The chipmunk quieted down, seemingly satisfied. She continued. “What potions are you making anyway? And,” she paused, “who is the woman in the pictures?” She stopped, finally running dry of questions, at least for the moment.

         He smiled good-naturedly, his eyes shining with affection and good humour despite their deep lines of exhaustion. “I can’t tell you all my secrets, Kohra. Certainly not all at once. Let’s just say you can learn a lot over the long years of life, if you are lucky enough to be blessed with long years. But I’m not surprised you asked; irrepressible curiousity is one of your family’s great strengths. It’s in your blood.”

         “My family?!” She was surprised. “How would you know anything about my family?”

         He was clearly amused. “Oh, I know you, Kohra Pholtinus, third child of Jimain Carmyther and Galastria Pholtinus, grand-daughter of Horba and Griiyn Nordfolkken, themselves descendants of the now-legendary Yak Riders of the Snowfield Steppes. Your earliest known matriarch on your father’s side was Frijda Holmvolvven, who descended from the Fishers of the Rainbow Falls. But that, my dear, was a long time ago.”

         “You’re also grand-daughter, as you know, of Herbake and Maggie Altona, or Herb and Grace as most people called them. What you may not know is that Maggie’s family comes from a long line of farmers and soldiers, stretching back more than 1000 years. Her maternal line goes all the way back to your great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great,” (he stopped to count in his mind), “great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great, times two, and maybe a few more greats, grandmother, Susannah Springer, known by the people of her village as the Girl Who Leapt. Yes, I know you, Kohra. I know your family well.”

         She was too shocked to even stammer about how shocked she was. How did he know all these things? And, third child? Wasn’t she the first?

         And…what? She had never even heard of the Yak Riders or some Nordfolkken person, or the Rainbow Falls. It almost sounded like nonsense, like he was messing with her. It’d be the kind of thing that Dominic would think was hilarious.

         But Susannah Springer was real; she’d heard about her once, from her mother. “You know about Susannah?” she asked finally. “Mom told me once that yeah, our family goes all the way back to her. There’s some kind of story about her?”

         Galen nodded, smiling broadly, clearly deeply enjoying this moment, like he had waited for it for a long time. 

         “Yes, it was a very long time ago, about a thousand years. Your ancestor, Susannah, was a Lord, the only female Lord in her lands, which were once known as New Scotland. She was not called Springer originally; it wasn’t her blood-name, but her original name has long been lost to time.”

         “She was a Lord?” Kohra asked, surprised. “You mean my family was once of Noble blood?”

         He shrugged. “What counts as noble blood tends to change as the centuries pass. But in any case, she didn’t retain her Lordship for long. She was arrested for treason.”

         “Treason! I didn’t know that!”

         “Yes. She protested her innocence, but she was imprisoned in the southern tower of the infamous Lonestar Prison, now long forgotten and fallen into ruin. The windows of each cell overlooked the sea, and escape was believed to be impossible. Even if a person managed to loosen the bars of their little window and jump, they died, every single one, on the rocks below.”

         He paused, gazing at Kohra with a significant look, as though there was a meaning in this story that he wanted her to understand. “Except Susannah. She lived. Somehow, she lived. She was recaptured immediately, of course, but her miraculous leap so convinced the local magistrate of her innocence that he set her free. He gave her a new name, Springer, to forever reflect that she had sprung from her cell window to freedom. He believed it was a message from the Gods, that she played an important role in the grand scheme of things.” The corners of his mouth twitched with the faintest smile.

         Kohra felt “emotional,” although in that inchoate kind of way in which it’s hard to know what you’re feeling, just THAT you’re feeling. This woman, her own ancestor, set free due to an incomprehensible miracle. If it weren’t for the simultaneous convergence of her courage, the miracle of her survival and the magistrate’s willingness to submit to his faith, then Kohra would never have existed.

         The very fact of her being in this world, breathing her breaths, loving her loves, feeling awe, perceiving beauty, eating stew(!!!); all the experiences she’d had, none of it would have happened had some desperate prisoner so long ago it had practically disappeared into the mists of time, not had the courage to leap.