The Cloud-Capped Towers - VIII

by ~veritaslux

VIII – Farewell

Cysagh trudged up the hill, the rocky ground crunching under his boots. It had been two days since Perioc had invited him to join her to deliver the sword back to the elven queen, and Cysagh still hadn’t announced his departure. His things were in his pack, and he was ready to leave at a moment’s notice. But the fact that his parents were still in the dark played heavily on his mind.

He had decided that day, however, that he was going to tell them. He had made up a story about going to become an apprentice blacksmith far to the south, near the capital city of Arrilam, Mernagrat. He desperately wanted to tell them the truth, but knew that they would probably keep him from leaving, or become scared if that happened.

So as he walked through the door of the house, he let out a sigh as he knew he would be seeing it for the last time in weeks; maybe months. Cysagh walked into his bedroom, making sure that his pack and the sword were both ready. He looked around his room, scanning for whatever he could find that might be useful. He found nothing, so just stood there for a moment, reminiscing about the time spent in here. It was where he had learnt to write, and read, and where he had learned to make an arrowhead out of stone. A slight smile flickered onto his face, before he turned and left, pack in one hand, sword in the other.

He placed them down next to the front door, ready to go. All he had to do now was inform his parents of the story he had created. Cysagh walked into the kitchen, where his parents were talking, and he coughed slightly, to alert them to his presence.

“Hello, dear,” said his mother with a smile on her face. “Have some bread.” She offered the basket full of cut bread to Cysagh, who proceeded to take a slice and take a mouthful. “Are you alright?” she asked.

“Yes, sort of,” replied Cysagh, “Mum, Dad, I... I’ve got something to tell you.”

His mother and father saw the downtrodden look upon his face, and immediately began to look concerned. His mother spoke first.

“What is it, darling?” she asked, a caring frown on her face.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Cysagh replied, not wanting to alarm his parents. For a split second, he regretted complying with Perioc and considered staying at home. But then he remembered the feelings of boredom and wishes for adventures he had had since he could remember. “But I have something important to say.” His mind drew a complete blank, forgetting the story he had invented. He had secretly wanted to tell his parents, and now, he had decided, he would.

Cysagh started from the beginning, telling first of how he had found the woman fallen to the ground, and going on to talk of the sword found in the forest. He spoke of how Perioc’s quest had excited him and baffled him, and then talked of the jubilant moment when he met with her and she offered to let him join her on the journey to Ab-Montr.

“This is what I have always dreamed of,” said Cysagh finally. “Meeting other people, going on an adventure to distant lands... it sounds childish and stupid, but I finally have the chance to do it – I will see the elves! I could be in one of their epics!”

Cysagh’s mother looked alarmed, and her frightened gaze fell on her husband.
“Wh... What do you think?” she asked. “Personally, I don’t think it’s a good idea, he could get himself killed! And what about the elves? They could be barbarians! Not to mention the monsters!” she gabbled.

“Shh,” replied Cysagh’s father calmly. “I think it’s definitely incredibly dangerous; the roads are worse than ever... but who are we to deny our son adventure? And he’s got that woman with him; she sounds experienced enough to look after the both of them.  And who knows? He might even learn how to wield a sword properly!”

He looked down at Cysagh with a dim smile on his face.

“Son, if this is what you really, really want, then you may go with my blessing. But only go if you really want to.”

Cysagh’s mother piped in, her tears momentarily stopping.

“Like what your father was saying,” she said. “If... if it’s really what you want... then who am I to stop you? Go with our blessings...”

Cysagh was overwhelmed by how understanding they were, and a tear came to his eye as he realised that he might not see them again if something went wrong. He stepped forwards tentatively, with his arms outstretched, and embraced his mother and father each in turn. He broke off with them, and said quietly, “I’m going to be off then. Perioc said she’d meet me at dusk. Tell my boss that I’m not going to be back for a while.”

Cysagh’s parents followed him to the door, where he picked up his pack and put it onto his back, and picked up the sword. His father suddenly stopped him, and ran off to retrieve something. A minute later, and he had returned, holding a sword belt with two tiny emeralds set in the front.

“It’s modest,” he said, “but it was one of the first things that I ever helped to make when I grew up. The emeralds were the most perfect we could find in the forest. Use it to hold that sword.”

Cysagh took the belt, and buckled it around his waist. “It’s a shame I don’t have a sheath for it,” he said.

“Well, about that. I went out into the forest myself, looking for the sheath; it obviously has one. The moment I found this, I knew you were lying about the scabbard you found earlier.” Cysagh’s father pulled out a golden sheath adorned with three round emeralds identical to the one on the sword, formed into the shape of an arrow.

“But where did you find it?” asked Cysagh.

“It was at the bottom of the river. I nearly got swept away, but it was a fine price to pay for something as beautiful as that. Now go! The sun is already close to going below the horizon.”

Cysagh slipped the sword into its sheath, and clipped it to the belt his father had given him. He embraced his parents one last time, and then with finality, wished them goodbye. He opened the door, and stepped outside. He waved to them, and then with a faint smile, turned his back on them. He walked down the path which led to his house, and then back into the main street of Épyren, empty and quiet in the evening.

He continued walking until he had reached the far side of the village. He turned back one last time, looking at the place in its quiet beauty, framed by the thick wall of trees at the end that was Ab-Forteyna, and with that sight on his mind, turned and walked to the village perimeter.

Perioc was already standing there, dressed all in black, staring into the distance. The sun was retreating over the horizon, and as the last sliver of light disappeared, she turned to see Cysagh walking towards her, looking slightly sad.

Sweeping her brown hair out of her face, she offered a condoling smile.

“I know how hard it must have been for you,” she said. “But look to the future, where adventures amongst the forests, the rivers and the mountains of the elves await! Now, I trust you are ready?”

Cysagh nodded.

“Then time’s eternal movement shall not wait for us any longer. We must depart,” said Perioc solemnly.

Cysagh stood there for a moment, admiring her beautiful features, before breaking off and nodding once more. She motioned forwards with her hand, and then the two stepped forward, into their destinies’ inexorable paths.