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I graze the words. If more valefolk knew this song, maybe we could find a way to fight the kaligorven. Maybe it would give them the courage to stand.
Lo, there will be a coming day
When bird, beast, man shall see,
For all the darkness will fade away
And all of the Vale will be free.
Thus grows the ever bright’ning day,
From the fields to the ne’er ending sea,
And the Light of Life will shine on all,
For rich and whole we shall be.
I can hardly breathe as I come to the end of the song. It speaks of—no,promises—a day of freedom. Could such a thing ever come to pass? Can I find the faith to believe it?
But my soul screams for a more pressing question to be answered. Why do I know these words?
My eyes travel to the gravestone.
Father made it himself, even though his skills lie more in building with stone rather than carving it. I remember him going to great pains to find a secluded spot, clearing away debris and rocky boulders. The memorial was completed years after her passing.
At first, it bothered me that he chose to commemorate her here, so far from the other graves in Utsanek. But now that I no longer depend on him to chaperone me around the Vale, I’m thankful for the secrecy and the solitude of this place. It is mine.
I’ve never asked him why he doesn’t visit it anymore.
The thread of my thoughts leads me right back to my mother. Did she teach me this song? Did she take care to sing it with me until I knew every word, every note by the age of four? I do not know. If it was her, why can I sing every verse of this song but not remember her voice?
The longing for her is a gnawing pang of hunger that can never be satisfied. Oh, how I wish she was with me now. Would she be able to help me understand this gift? Or maybe we would discover its meaning together.
The knot of pain tightens within my core. I set the book on the stony ground and rub my arms. Pressure builds behind my eyes. When I blink, tears spill down my face.
I don’t understand any of this. Why this gift, why now? How can it be of any use? Maybe in the hands of someone more powerful, or someone who has the whole of Utsanek on his side, it would be. But who am I? A motherless girl with a broken father.
A strangled sob reverberates around the dell. I bury my head in my hands, and my shoulders shake.
I have never felt so alone.
Elyon, my inner being moans,where are you?
Like a soft caress, the wind passes over my brow. The voice of Orlagh flits through my mind.
I am more and more convinced tha’ he’s more’n just a story mothers whisper to their bairns as they fall asleep. He’s keepin’ all things together, an’ he’s workin’ it all according to his purpose.
How can she be so sure? What evidence can there be in the middle of this unending night? It feels like my world is falling apart, like the true day will never come.
There is no one I trust more in this world than Orlagh, but I don’t know if I can take her words and make them my own.
The pages flap in the cool breeze. An abrasive sound escapes me as I suck back the fluids issuing from my sinuses. I lean forward and still the papers with my fingertips. My lips part as my eyes fall on a familiar image. I pull in a sudden breath.
An eight-pointed shape, the rays alternating in length, with long ones at the top and bottom—identical to the pendant of the necklace.
I run my fingers greedily across the verse on the opposite page.
At the dawn of the world’s birth,
