Page 59 of The Divine Shallows
“I believe you,” Elowyn replied sincerely. “I overheard the table behind us discussing it too. Aunora, right?”
“Yes, her name is Aunora. She’s not much older than us, maybe fifty years or so. She’s gained quite a reputation in Orwyn. After she received her final Mark, she set out to travel with a troupe of musicians, performing all across Neramyr. And from what I’ve heard, she always performs as a soloist. Quite impressive, isn’t it?”
“Absolutely. And she’s a divine sorceress as well? Do you know when she completed her Trial of Caena?” Elowyn’s admiration for the esteemed performer only grew as she learned more about her. She couldn’t help but wonder if Aunora’s troupe ever sought to perform in Eriden, though she doubted her father would have entertained such a request.
“She completed her Trial three seasons ago,” Draeden confirmed. “Word spread like wildfire when she announced she’d be traveling with a troupe of performers across Neramyr. Usually, divine-blessed fey assume positions that employ their newfound magic or serve the realm in some way. But not Aunora; she chose music. By virtue of her Mark, she’s still sworn to protect the realm’s folk, but we’re living in a time of peace now. There are other divine fey tasked with keeping danger at bay. I find her inspiring.”
“I agree,” Elowyn murmured, considering the extraordinary choice Aunora had made. She couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have the freedom to choose her own path. If not for hertitle, would she have pursued a simpler life, perhaps as a florist like those she saw in the market? Would she have engrossed herself in scholarly pursuits in the library? Could she have even become a musician herself? “I think what she did was brave.”
“Brave. I like the sound of that,” Draeden said, reaching for Elowyn’s hand and intertwining their fingers. “I’m grateful you’re here, Elowyn. Being with you brings me more happiness than you realize.”
Elowyn felt her cheeks warm at his sincerity. “You make me happy, too,” she replied earnestly. Draeden had a way of making her feel complete, filling her with warmth and calmness with just a glance or a touch.
As the room fell silent, Elowyn noticed two large attendants from the music hall stepping onto the stage. They carefully brought forth a stunning instrument, one of the most beautiful harps Elowyn had ever seen. They positioned it on the stage, placing a cushioned stool beside it before stepping back and leaving the platform.
Elowyn’s gaze traced the contours of the harp’s neck, its wood coated in gold lacquer, appearing sleek and distinguished. Ivory-painted swirls embellished its surface, depicting images of the moon and stars against a backdrop of a golden night sky. The strings, like strands of opulent silk, lay within its body, promising rich and luxurious sounds.
The room fell into near silence, anticipation palpable in the air, as patrons awaited the next performance. Then, with a suddenness that caught Elowyn’s breath, a slender sorceress emerged from behind the stage curtains. Her golden eyes met Elowyn’s, and she felt a surge of awe at the sorceress’s powerful yet graceful presence.
The Darkmaw sorceress possessed a heart-shaped face and deep claret-red locks, half of which were pinned up with golden hairpins, falling down her back. Draped in layers of flowing chiffon, she moved with a confidence and poise that captivated the room. Her bare arms and exposed skin revealed the intricate ivory markings of her divine Mark.
With ease, she settled onto the cushioned stool, the chiffon of her skirts spread around her like petals falling from a flower. In position, she prepared to weave her magic through the strings of the golden harp.
Whispers of awe and reverence filled the room as Aunora took the stage. Elowyn could hardly believe her luck at witnessing such a renowned performer. Every eye in the music house was fixed on Aunora while she gracefully lifted her arms, poised above the harp’s strings. The room fell into hushed silence. Aunora released a breath and plucked the first flawless chord.
The harp’s ethereal notes floated through the air, captivating Elowyn like a feathered seed of a dandelion caught in a gentle breeze. Each note Aunora strummed released an ethereal, airy tune that stole the breath from Elowyn’s lungs. Aunora’s fingers danced masterfully along the plane of strings, plucking and pulling in powerful controlled movements. She closed her eyes blissfully as her fingers danced along the threads with perfect precision, letting her artistry command the cords for her.
Aunora began to play a ballad for the room.
As she played, a story unfolded in Elowyn’s ears, painted vividly by the haunting melody—it began as a seraphic song of a mother and child.
The harp’s melody transported listeners to a morning many moons ago, when spring flourished, and a weeping willow swayed gracefully in the gentle sunlight. Beneath its verdant canopy, a mother sat, cradling her swollen belly with tender hands. A cry escaped the mother’s lips, groaning as she welcomed her newborn daughter into the world under a full moon.
The mother was alone—still many miles away from home—only venturing forth to harvest the juniper berries that were bountiful this time of year. Her child was not yet due for weeks, but nonetheless, she thanked the Goddess her child came safely. Soon, exhaustion crept upon the mother, her eyelids weighing down like anchoring stones. “Just a short rest,” the mother whispered to her daughter, pressing a kiss to her brow before falling into an inescapable slumber.
The harp continued to unfold the story in an illustrative aria; vivid notes began to thrum in powerful patterns, leaving Elowyn transfixed as each emotive clef drifted from Aunora’s fingers.
Upon awakening, the mother found herself under a sky devoid of stars. She blinked, clearing the remnants of sleep from her eyes, her thoughts immediately turning to the bundle cradled in her arms. A radiant smile graced her lips as she uncovered the cloth to caress her newborn’s face, her tender fingertips brushing gently across the soft skin. Yet, when she cupped the infant’s face, a scream tore from her throat, disbelief and denial washing over her. The infant was cold to her touch, its chill piercing her like a steel blade. The mother’s wails filled the air as she desperately called out to her newborn, but only deafening silence answered her plea.
Clutching the bundle tightly to her chest, the mother bellowed to the heavens, her sobs filled with grief.
She pleaded with the spirits of the feylands to spare her child, kneeling as she prayed to the stars for aid, yet the vacant sky offered no response. Begging the wind to breathe life into her newborn’s lungs, she watched in despair as it waned and dwindled away. Turning to the soil, the mother implored the fertile feylands to lend vitality to her child’s soul, only to be met with indifference. Forlorn, she sought strength from the rippling river, but it also paid her no heed.
She wept in anguish as each spirit disregarded her pleas and prayers. A final skyward cry for her lost child erupted from her throat, laden with desperation. At this, a spirit awakened from an endless slumber—the mighty willow beneath which she sat began to rouse.
The willow spirit considered the mother’s plea, but only once first light dawned the horizon, did it break its silence. Gazing upon the mother, still as stone with vacant eyes, the willow called back the wind to whisper the terms of a bargain to her.
The wind enveloped the mother, bearing the words of the mighty willow’s bargain. Upon hearing the words, the mother’s eyes widened, and with unwavering courage, she agreed to the tree spirit’s terms. Accepting her answer, the mighty willow’s branches lowered, tenderly cradling the silent bundle within its embrace. The mother knelt before the towering trunk of the willow, bowing deeply until her nose almost grazed the blades of grass below.
Observing the lifeless infant, the mighty willow sensed the absence of its soul in this realm. Harnessing the blazing energy of the rising sun, the willow illuminated the feylands in search of the child’s wandering soul. Directing the wind’s whispers, it instructed all it encountered to seek answers to a lost aura, adrift and unanchored. Commanding the river’s currents, it tasked the waters to scour the seas and guide the child’s soul back into this realm.
As hours stretched on, the mother's hope began to wane. “Patience,” the willow reminded her, steadfast in its search for the lost soul of her child. With the sun sinking low on the horizon, despair gripped the mother once more, tears streaming down her cheeks. Moved by her sorrow, the willow warbled a lulling lullaby, soothing her troubled heart. Lost, the mother surrendered to the willow’s gentle melody, finding comfort as her tears dried and a sense of ease washed over her.
She then gazed up at the midnight sky and drew in a sharp breath, beholding a scene of countless flickering stars. At the willow’s bidding, the wind carried another message to her, and with joyous cries, she embraced the news.
The mighty willow revealed that her child's soul had returned to this realm, though it would take until morning to reunite with her newborn. Overflowing with gratitude, the mother thanked the willow profusely. The willow reminded the mother of their bargain and she nodded simply. Acknowledging her acceptance once more, the willow summoned an ancient, potent magic from its roots. As the land’s vitality surged around her, the mother felt an arcane form of magicenveloping her, overwhelming her senses. Growing faint, the world dimmed around her, and she slipped into darkness.
The golden harp’s strings continued to sing the bewitching ballad of the mother, child, and willow. Elowyn found herself forgetting to breathe, consumed by the heart-wrenching tale.
