Jewels from the Dark

Darach stepped lightly around a fallen tree, his foot falls barely making a sound. Anticipation churned in his gut. He had made the decision not return to Grian without Laoise. He knew that might mean he would never return home, but he believed it was worth it at this point. He had to find her.

He shook his head and muttered under his breath that this was ridiculous. He was holding onto a boyhood crush on his best friend who had been missing for years. What if she did not return his affection? What if the intervening years were insurmountable? What if who she had become – in order to survive – was no longer who he knew her to be, once upon a time?

He knew he had created a version of her in his mind, which was pieced together from memories and dreams. It would not likely resemble who she was now. He prayed for the strength to let go of that version and accept who she was – if they ever found her.

Lorcan whistled low, signaling that he had found something. Luan and Darach answered, and within a few moments, all three men were gathered around a pack tucked up against a tree. “Look!” Lorcan said, excitement bleeding over in his tone. He motioned to a specific spot on the bundle, illuminating it softly with the small flame he carried.

Stitched into the bottom corner of the pack was the deep green image of an oak tree. Darach could hardly draw a full breath. The pack was a raggedy old thing, but he recognized it immediately. It was one of the first he had filled and left behind after Laoise was lost. The tree was his mark, the brand that he and Laoise had devised together when he decided on a career as a tailor. He had told the brothers about the tree he had stitched into that pack, hoping Laoise would see it and remember.

As an adult, he had indeed become a successful tailor but had also branched out into creating supplies for wanderers. He often worked on packs, sails, cloaks – anything that could help those making a treacherous journey find comfort and ease. This pack was one of his first creations, even as a boy. He had filled it with the things he thought Laoise would like – sweets, a flask of water, a few cans of her favorite fruits. Memories came flooding back. He had also tucked in a box of aye-flame embers…

On the day he would leave the pack, he had been hurrying through the Liminal Border ready to go deeper into the Wood when he ran into an odd traveling merchant. She had many items, including bowls of dancing flames, on her cart. Those flames caught his eye and he came to an abrupt stop. The woman moved toward him, slowly, and said, “The aye-flame itself is the heartbeat of hope, especially for Lost Ones.”

Darach swallowed hard and asked how she knew about Lost Ones. She made a sound like rasping wind tearing through a dry grain field and said, “We all know about Lost Ones, boy…those who wander far from home, taken by the Waste Wind to the Void.”

Darach held onto what she had said about the “heartbeat of hope” and reached for a small bowl of flame. The old woman grabbed his hand and told him the price. He did not have enough. Instead, he turned his hand over, opening it to show the móna (coin) he carried. He desperately asked for whatever hope that amount could buy. In a blink, she scooped the móna into her pocket and replaced it with a small wooden box in his palm.

The woman’s voice rang out clearly this time as she stared intensely into Darach’s eyes. “For the Lost One that finds them, these aye-flame embers will be enough to keep the heartbeat of hope alive for as long as they remain aglow. But once the last one goes out… Light help them…”

Darach shivered now, as he had then, remembering her words. He opened the pack and his heart began to sink. He saw the same aye-flame ember box inside the pack. Had it all been for naught – had Laoise not found the embers after all? He took a steadying breath and gently pulled the box out. As he turned it over, he noticed an ornate mark – an owl – carved into the wood. Now his heart leapt into his throat.

“Laoise found this,” he could barely get the words out, his throat too tight. “Laoise found it!”

“How do you know?” Luan asked.

“This owl – it was her mark! We used to joke about going into business together – ‘The Owl and the Oak’….” Darach’s voice trailed off, overcome with emotion. He gently touched the carving with his thumb, tracing the outline of the owl. He then caught the latch and opened the box. No embers….

Once again his heart sank. The embers were supposed to last out here in the Shadowlands. They were never supposed to go out – they were from the aye-flame! Instead, the metal lining of the box sat empty. Darach rummaged through the rest of the bundle, finding old scraps, but nothing else of what he had once placed in the pack. When had Laoise last held this pack? Did she still hold any hope, with no apparent embers, out here in the darkness?

“Light and Shadow, protect her…” he muttered as he stuffed the relics into his own pack. “Let’s go. At least we know she was here, once upon a time. Let us not lose heart – or hope.”

Darach sounded far more certain than he felt. Then he moved forward, Lorcan and Luan close behind, pushing deeper into the thick darkness.