Shocks rippled through her body, her muscles becoming tense as she repeated the name inside her head, Garth. Fhyre knew that her Garth and Ingharad’s father could not possibly be one and the same person, yet just the sound of his name brought back memories of his laugh, the way he held himself when he was worried about something, and the way he looked sprawled upon the ground with an arrow piercing his back. Fhyre’s fists clenched, her knuckles turning white from the pressure. Noting a feeling of pain in her hands, she glanced down to where her nails were digging deep into her palms. Focusing, she forced her self to relax her hands. Garth. Why did the sound of his name hurt so much? She closed her eyes, overcome once more with grief. Images began to flash through her mind of her years spent in the tower with Garth, and then of the beginning of their journey. She opened her eyes and stared at the ground before her, willing the images to stop because she knew what would come next.

She was jerked out of her reverie at the feeling of a cool hand being placed on her shoulder. She looked up to find that Ingharad had risen from his seat to come and stand beside her. A feeling of gratitude washed over her for what he had saved her from reliving.

‘I have caused you pain, I’m sorry.’

It was not until this moment that she noticed the low timbre of his voice and how his presence was comforting, while still imposing. She turned her face to look up to where his face was hidden beneath the hood of his large, black cloak. It struck her as strange that she never saw him beneath his cloak, it covered him so completely. She glanced to where she knew his hand rested upon her shoulder, but all she could see was his sleeve. She was tempted to reach up and push back his sleeve, just for a glimpse of him.

‘It is not your fault,’ she attempted a small smile in his direction, but failed miserably. ‘Sit, please. There is no need for you to feel guilt; you have done nothing that would warrant such feelings.’ Fhyre wondered at such words that emerged from her own mouth. She could not remember ever talking in such a way before this moment, but perhaps it was just the way she was feeling. Who, after all, could be fully themselves when they felt so lost?

She watched as Ingharad slowly, almost reluctantly, removed his hand from her shoulder and sat down on the chair that had been placed opposite to her own. It suddenly occurred to Fhyre that it was odd that Ingharad, a stranger until just a couple of hours ago, care about her. It seemed that he trusted her, despite the fact that he barely knew her. Ingharad had no way of knowing who she was, where she was from or even her reasons for being where he had found her.

‘Why?’

‘Why?’ he mimicked the question back to her, asking a question of his own.

Fhyre had not meant to speak the word out loud, but now that the question was posed, she truly did wish to know the answer, so she continued, ‘Why have you told me these things? Why did you bring me here? Why do you care? Why me?’

It appeared that Ingharad considered his answer before he responded, ‘I have told you of my life because perhaps at least one should know of me. I brought you here because you were hurt and alone, much as I am alone. You are the first that I have brought here. I care because I know pain. I do all these things with you and for you because you are you, and you have not yet asked why I hide beneath this cloak.’ She could feel Ingharad’s eyes upon her; it felt as if she was an open book, free for him to browse at his own pleasure. She shifted uncomfortably beneath his gaze, even though she could not view his face, she knew that he had piercing eyes.

A feeling of trust overwhelmed her, encouraging her to tell this person everything about herself, her life and Garth. She did not fight it.

‘There is a tower a couple of days walk from here; that is where I grew up.’ With every word she spoke, the urge inside her to continue increased. Fhyre told him of her life, beginning with her first memories in the tower, of Garth raising her, of the beginning of their journey which had been doomed before it had even begun.

She paused for a moment, allowing her mind to catch up with voice. It would be hard to finish, but it was easier knowing that someone was listening. She looked to where Ingharad sat motionless, waiting to hear her continue. She silently fortified herself against the onrush of emotions she knew was imminent, then took a breath before she told of Garth’s death and her own run through the forest before Ingharad had found her. Her tone was dull; she could do nothing more than state the facts. The wound was still too fresh.

Without thinking, she began to rub her forearms, as if she was cold. Small goose bumps had risen on her skin, she moved closer towards the fire. A small sound alerted her to movement; she turned, finding Ingharad standing behind her. Warmth swept through her, banishing the chills she had felt moments before when he laid a hand on his shoulder.

‘Come, there is something I must do.’ He beckoned her forward as he turned and headed back into the cave that served as his home. Fhyre was still in awe of the perfectly shaped shelves and tables that protruded from the solid rock. She followed as Ingharad headed towards the rear of the cave. It was distinctly darker than it was in the area that Ingharad obviously used as his living space. The cave seemed to continue for much further than it had first appeared. They turned a sharp corner, which revealed a passage that had previously been hidden from view.

‘Ingharad?’ Fhyre questioned, unsure whether she should continue. From where she stood, the cave roof seemed to become lower from there on in, and the passage seemed to thin, until there was only half as much space that there had been earlier, and then it continued to become smaller.

His only reply was to beckon her further, deeper into the cave. She was starting to believe that there was more to Ingharad than she had first imagined. Fhyre made to turn back, her doubts now to huge to ignore any longer. A large hand tightly caught hold of her arm as she took a step back toward the front of the cave.

‘Come with me, please.’ Ingharad seemed to be almost pleading with her.

It struck her as odd that someone whose appearance was so forbidding, could be so… human. His large cape covered his body completely, making it impossible to read his face or body, and yet his emotions seemed so clear. How could anyone this human wish to hide away from the world?

‘Ingharad… why do you want me to go with you? Where are we going? What is so important to you?’ Fhyre paused, studying Ingharad, trying to judge his reaction, but there was none. ‘I still have no reason to trust you. I told you everything about me, everything. You told me about your life, but still you have told me nothing. I know nothing about you, not anything that matters. Why should I go with you?’ Fhyre planted her feet to the ground stubbornly. She wanted to show him that she wasn’t going to follow him unquestioningly, and she certainly wasn’t going to move from this spot until she knew something.

He sighed audibly.

‘You will come because you must.’

Fhyre remained where she stood, staring at him obstinately, he was going to have to do better than that.

‘You know more about me than most. I told you before, I am not alone. There is another.’

Fhyre opened her mouth to question him, but was silenced abruptly by a large hand smothering her mouth.

‘Don’t speak. I will not tell you anything more until we get there.’ Ingharad turned back towards the rear of the cave and started walking. Reluctantly, Fhyre followed his footsteps.

He turned to glance back at her, his voice slightly mocking, ‘You talk much more than would be expected for someone who has spent all their life shut away in a tower with a deaf man.’ He returned his attention to the cave before him.

‘And you are pretty sociable for someone who claims to be a recluse!’ Fhyre muttered under her breath. Despite her reply, she did wonder just how it was that she seemed to speak so easily, never having spoken before that she remembered. The though niggled in her mind, teasing her, taunting her, but never giving her any clue as to how that could be. She firmly pushed it to the back of her mind, resolved to think on it later, when she might actually be able to answer the question for herself.

Cian shifted restlessly in his position seated on the stone floor. The cold stone seemed to slowly seep up his spine and into his bones, making them ache. Perhaps he should have taken Ingharad up on his offer of one of his wooden chairs, it would have certainly made his position now much more comfortable. Cian silently shook his head at his own thoughts. One such as he should not be concerned with earthly comfort, but his mortal body betrayed him in that respect.

Cian groaned softly as he stretched his leg out before him, massaging it, trying to stop the ache. The pain seemed to abate slightly and he fell back into his own thoughts. But one could dream, could they not?

The soft sound of feet approaching caused Cian to jump with surprise. As soon as he did it, he smiled wryly to himself, knowing that nothing should have surprised him.

‘I should have expected that, I knew they were coming.’

Perhaps Ingharad would make this visit interesting, but it mattered little to him now. Though Ingharad was a good friend, it was the girl he was interested in now. He stood and moved into the shadows, waiting for them to arrive.

Fhyre entered through the opening that had appeared in the cavern wall after Ingharad gestured her through before he followed. She clenched her eyes shut as the light of the sun suddenly hit them, blinding her momentarily. She opened them again after a few moments, and slowly they adjusted to the new light. She was surprised to find herself standing in a clearing, the entrance to the cave behind her, and trees all around.

What appeared to be another cave was situated to her left. She studied it before glancing back to Ingharad, knowing that this must be where they were headed. This cave seemed far more open than Ingharad’s home. The cave opening was wide and light seemed to enter it easily. The limestone of the walls seemed to be less damp, but she could not tell for sure until she got closer. Fhyre took at step toward the cave, then another, before glancing back to confirm that this was where Ingharad had wished to go. Fhyre entered the cave, Ingharad close behind; this cave was much less intimidating.

Slivers of light broke through holes in the ceiling, lighting their path through. The stone floor felt completely solid beneath her now bare feet, a relief from the gravely stones that had caused her pain before. The temperature was cool, but not so cold as to make her shiver; it was far more comfortable than Ingharad’s home. The soft sound of humming echoed off the cave walls, bouncing back towards the latest intruders, guiding them forwards to their goal.

Fhyre would have questioned Ingharad as to who was waiting for them, but she had now long given up on receiving any straight answer from him, and so had decided that if she did not want to be frustrated, it was best not to ask at all. A few moments later, they entered into a larger cavern, that then broke off and opened into the daylight again. A small fire burned to the side, casting flickers of light to dance up the stone walls. Daylight streamed in, brightening the open space, but only serving to make the shadows darker.

It was from these shadows that he emerged. He was not overly short, but neither was he tall, he appeared to be only slightly higher in stature than Fhyre herself, but his wiry build gave him the appearance that he was much taller than he really was. His coarse copper hair was cropped short, ending just below his ears, and his chin held faint signs of a growing beard. Clad in what seemed to be a cream coloured tunic, and loose fitting black pants, he appeared as what Fhyre would imagine any normal person would appear like. It was not until she looked past his handsome features that he noticed his eyes with glow a deep amber, and seemed to see right through her, into her. The feeling as if her inner soul was on display made her feel vulnerable, and Fhyre immediately became defensive.

“Ingharad,” the man stopped and stood before them, giving a quick nod to Ingharad. “I’m glad that you both have finally come, I’ve been waiting quite a while.” The man grinned at her, as if sharing a secret just between them. “Stone floors aren’t exactly the most comfortable thing to sit on.”

Fhyre took a sideways glance to where Ingharad stood beside her, his long cloak still covering every inch of his body, leaving nothing to be viewed by anyone else, but his full attention lay with the man before them.

“Cian, it is not as if you are forced to seat yourself on the stone floor, I have offered many times to build you a chair.”

The man, Cian, grinned. “Ah, but what else is their left for a man, but to complain? And to complain, I must have something to complain about, so really, my friend, my reasoning is quite logical.”

Fhyre now glanced between the two, confused at the conversation. This was the man that Ingharad had brought her to see? The one whom he would tell nothing about? Somehow in her mind, she had formed the idea that he would be some old, forbidding man who would dare to tell her future, and send her off on some farfetched quest, from which it would be almost certain she would not return. The effect of this man’s presence was quite the opposite, which, to Fhyre, was quite unexpected. Fhyre sighed inwardly, but then, wasn’t everything in her life in the past few days unexpected?

Despite this train of thought, Fhyre was wary of this man. Returning back from her thoughts, she realised that the conversation had progressed somewhat, both now stood before her, staring as they waited patiently for her attention.

To her surprise, Cian got to one knee before her in a bow, “My lady.”

“Why…?”

Cian looked up sharply, staring at her fiercely while addressing Ingharad, “She does not know?”

Fhyre watched as Ingharad shook his head in the negative. “No, Cian, she does not.” Ingharad’s reply had been terse. Fhyre wondered if he was becoming the ominous creature she had thought he was when she first saw him.

Cian stood once more, still watching her carefully. “I am Cian of Rhea,” he paused, giving the impression that she should recognise the name. Seeing no sign of recognition, he continued on. “I have been sent to give you a message, a message from your mother.”

“My…mother?” Confusion swept through her, something that seemed to be occurring quite often of late.

It was Ingharad who answered her question. “Yes Fhyre, your mother.”

She took a step backwards into the cave, shaking her head adamantly, her face now half kept in shadow. “My mother is dead.”

“No, she lives.” This time it was Cian who replied, taking a step forward to regain the distance that had been momentarily lost.

Fhyre continued to shake her head in disbelief, lifting her hand to wipe away the sweat that had begun to bead on her forehead. It could not be. It was not possible.

Ingharad stood back, giving her space. He understood, but that did not change what had to be dome. “Fhyre-“

“No.” Fhyre glanced at them bother nervously, before she turned and bolted back through the cave.

Cian made to follow her, but a hand placed on his shoulder held him back. “You may understand many things, my friend, but this is something even you cannot comprehend. She needs time. Too much has changed, everything she thought she knew is gone. Perhaps we should have left this for a time when she could handle it, but Fates has not allowed us that luxury. Leave her, she will not go far.”

Cian nodded his understanding. “I understand her more than you know.”