The Guardian’s Echo

What Morning Brings: Penny

I woke up before the sun had fully cleared the trees. I didn’t open my eyes at first, I just settled into the ease of the morning. The fading scent of the iron-bark fire still drifted through the air above me, and I could feel the cool Highland mist. I was also wrapped in the distinct smell of Soren — leather, cold steel, and something a lot like cedar.

Slowly, I started to realize I wasn’t on my bedroll anymore. I was tucked against Soren’s side, my head cushioned by the muscle of his shoulder. The steady, heavy thrum of his heart beneath his gambeson beat softly against my ear.

I cracked an eye open, looking down at my hand resting on his forearm. In the dim dawn light, I could see our magic. The lavender light glowing from my skin and the stormy grey from his weren’t just touching. They had woven together into a literal braid of energy that encircled our arms. It felt like a visual representation of his promise to be my “chain.”

I knew I should move before he woke up to avoid the potential awkwardness of “protocol.” The Highland morning was freezing though, and Soren was a solid wall of heat. I stayed like that for a few extra minutes before finally dragging my eyes up to his face.

The sunlight was catching the silver in his hair, but I didn’t anticipate that he was already awake too. There was a moment of heavy silence, neither one of us moved. I didn’t offer an apology. An apology would’ve made it feel like a mistake. Instead, I offered a soft, sleepy, “Good morning, Soren.”

“Good morning, Penny.”

The seconds that passed felt like they stretched across lifetimes, then finally, I reluctantly pushed myself up. We had a small, quiet breakfast, eating the dried fruits that Philo and Rook had left behind, and a couple of the biscuits I still had from the castle. Soren seemed more attentive than usual. He checked the perimeter of our camp while the biscuits warmed over the fire’s remaining embers. Afterwards, we broke camp with a practiced rhythm that we’d easily settled into on the first morning.

Before we mounted the horses, Soren insisted on twenty minutes of footwork. “Practice makes perfect,” he told me, showing me a few easy steps. “It’s also good exercise. Wakes up the senses, and gets you alert.”

“Right,” I huffed, trying to keep up with him. My elven heritage might’ve been waking up, but where I came from, I was a middle-aged woman who hadn’t kept in great shape. I didn’t have the immortal longevity of a three hundred twenty-seven year old.

He stepped close to me to correct my form. One hand rested on my hip, and the other was holding my arm at the elbow. The air around us literally crackled. I had slept in his arms, my awakening magic was reacting to him, and as his foot shifted mine back, I realized I wasn’t just learning to fight. My energy was learning how to synchronize with his.

When we eventually rode out of the elms, the Highland landscape opened up. We came out of the ticket onto a high ridge, and I could hear a low, harmonic vibration. It wasn’t a voice like the one on the Path of Sighs. This felt more like an actual song that the stones themselves were humming.

In the distance, silhouetted against the mid-morning sky, the ruins of the Ashendor Estate began to appear. It wasn’t just a house, it was a fortress built into the side of the mountain. It was draped in the same “ghost vines” I’d seen before. The Estate was on a hill overlooking a small village.

Soren slowed Emberleaf to a steady walk, and Moonstride and I matched their pace. “The estate has been unbound for a long time,” he started, his voice low. “Rosariel was believed to be the last of her line, her parents never returned to the estate after she left. Therefore, without a guardian to anchor it, the house may be folded in different layers of time.”

My brows pulled together. I wasn’t entirely sure that I understood what he meant. “Like… previous events reoccurring in the house, all at the same time?”

He thought for a moment, then nodded. “In a way, yes. You may see things in the house that aren’t really there. Ghosts of the past. Just stay calm, and stay close.”

We descended from the high ridge, heading towards Runethorne Vale. Unlike Hillsong, which felt lived-in, this village looked like it was caught in a dream. The thatched roofs were overgrown with glowing moss, and the streets were paved with river stones that shimmered like pearls.

The song I had heard before started growing louder. Slowly, I realized the sound wasn’t coming from the buildings or the stones, but from the ley lines beneath the ground. The village was criss-crossed with faint, glowing veins of lavender and gold.

Soren wasn’t looking at the beauty of the village though. He was looking at the shadows. He kept his hand near his sword, his eyes scanning the empty windows of the cottages. Runethorne Vale was a ghost town — village — but it wasn’t scary or unsettling. There was a magical, unreal beauty, but I knew his mind was on the figure at the inn and the strange warning from the satyrs.

We reached the edge of a deep, misty gorge. Spanning it was the bridge I had dreamed of ever since the first time I’d read Grandma Rose’s journal. Two massive stone stags stood sentry at the entrance. Just as the journals said, their eyes were giant, uncut sapphires. In the current sunlight, they didn’t just sparkle. They seemed to pulse.

We stepped onto the bridge, and I let out a sharp gasp. For a second, the bridge was crumbling and grey, but then it flashed into a version where it was pristine and white ribbons were tied around the stag’s antlers. My mouth fell open as a vision of my grandmother in her youth — the thought occurred to me briefly that maybe she was much older than I believed when she passed. She stood by the rail, looking out at the water.

I’d seen pictures of her before the mortal world set in and caused her to start aging. Her first years in Chicago, her on her wedding day to my grandfather, the opening of her clock shop, her holding my father as a baby while his older brother looked at him with curiosity. This was the first time I’d seen her “young” in her world though. Where we came from.

Where she belonged.

I sucked in a shaky breath, feeling a strange sense of sadness mixed with joy.

Soren reached out and took Moonstride’s bridle, bringing us to a halt. “Penny, look at me,” he spoke softly, but it was enough to break my attention. “Stay in the now.”

He let go of the bridle and took my hand, grounding me. Anchoring me. The magic between us flared up again, braiding together. For a moment, the vision of the past melted into the present, then it vanished completely. “She stood right there,” I whispered, pointing at the now-empty air. “She was wearing a crown of mountain laurel. She looked so happy, Soren.”

He looked at the spot, his expression softening with a mixture of respect and sadness. “She was the heart of the Highlands. When she left, the music didn’t stop, but it certainly lost its joy.”

We crossed the mid-point of the bridge, and I looked down into the rising Silver-Run creek below. There was no “flicker.” But I did see a distorted reflection in the water. There was a dark shape that didn’t match the clouds above. It looked like a tear in the water’s surface.

I pressed my lips together as we continued across. I was afraid to tell Soren yet, afraid he’d want to turn back. My hand rested on my pocket where the key was hidden. The weight and shape was a comfort against my thigh. I looked up at the fortress-house on the hill.

The estate was waiting.