Page 38 of A Thousand Burning Ravens

“Will your vow of silence last a long time?” Again, he nods, so Myla continues. “My best friend died two days ago, and it is my fault.”

His eyes grow sad, and dirt covered hands reach out to grasp hers. His head shakes ‘no’ this time.

Myla smiles weakly and eyes him sidelong. “No . . . it is. And my father. He died, and I am not sad for that.”

The monk glances over his shoulder to where Bryar sits, pouring over a map, occasionally staring at the mountains. He tips his chin in question.

“Yes,” Myla answers. “My friend died helping him save me.” The monk’s hands tighten around hers, and he gives her a melancholy smile, followed by a final pat before he returns to his work.

“You seem like the sort of person who would have helpful things to say,” Myla says. “It is rather inconvenient you had to take a vow of silence during my visit.”

At this, the monk laughs, giving her a brief nod of agreement before pointing back toward Bryar, suggesting she talk to him.

Her cheeks flush, and she shakes her head. “Since you are sworn to silence, I will confess: talking to him right now does not seem to lead to talking.”

The monk’s eyes narrow but his face does not hold judgment. He wags his finger but continues to smile at her.

“Yes,” Myla agrees. “He is good to talk to though.”

The old monk cuts her off, wagging his finger again, and Myla realizes she does not understand what he is suggesting. Her brow furrows as she studies his face. Once more the monk points to Bryar, encouraging her to see. So, Myla observes. His eyes bounce across the map, moving back and forth searching. Then he looks up, studies the terrain before dropping the map to the ground, a hand pressing wearily into his brow. He looks worn thin and distressed.

Myla glances back at the monk, who she finds is studying her. “He is struggling too. You think I should talk to him?”

Pleased, the monk smiles and then promptly returns to his work, pointing to his own ears.

“I should listen.”

He nods yes, and then gathers a basket of weeds, taking them to discard on the forest floor, leaving Myla sitting in the dirt alone. Given the sadness of this morning, Myla has not had a moment to speak with Bryar. Last night cured nothing. Of course, they both knew it would not. But looking at him now, she sees how truly defeated he appears. Against the backdrop of the ancient and massive mountain he intends on climbing, even he appears small.

Myla stands and brushes the dirt from her linen dress. “It is just a mountain,” she says, teasing. “I do not think glaring at it will make it smaller.”

Startled, he quickly turns to her, flashing a half smile before retrieving the map from the ground. “Damn, I will need to come up with a better plan, then.”

Myla sits beside him, absently smoothing the wrinkles across her legs. “Something troubles you.”

He holds up the map, pointing to a location. “This is us.” She nods and follows as his finger moves to the tip of the mountain on the map. “This is the Seer.”

“Yes?” Myla acknowledges, confused where the problem lies. “I do not understand.”

“It is a long journey, Myla. In your condition—”

“Stop,” Myla whispers. “It is out of the question.”

“We need to be realistic,” he retorts, looking at her head-on. “Myla, you are with child. An important child, I might add.”

“Are they not all important?” Myla challenges him with a faint smile followed by a sigh, hoping he will not press the matter.

“You know what I mean. This child may be our only chance at putting an end to the Blood Stealer,” he insists. His boyish eyes, soft and safe as ever, bore into her and beg her to concede the battle. “It is too great a risk.”

Myla shakes her head fiercely and takes his hand, urging him to see how very determined she is. “I am coming, Bryar. I need to speak to the Seer.”

With a grimace of disapproval, Bryar averts his gaze, clearly not pleased with her. “You are stubborn,” he whispers after a moment with gentle eyes resting on her belly. “You must be careful. That child has the magic to free you, and I want nothing more than to see you free.”

“She,” Myla corrects with certainty, ignoring the exhilaration she feels at his concern. “She has the power to save us all. I know. I would not do anything to hurt her.”

“Are you afraid?” Bryar asks cautiously. “To raise her alone, that is?”

Myla’s eyes fall to the ground. Does she dare to admit it? Looking at him, his handsome and harsh features, and the way he looks to see and understand, not to simply look, persuades her to full transparency. “I am not afraid. I know I have everything she needs. I am hoping if we make it out of this, I will not have to do it alone.” She does not dare look at him. After last night, Myla feels it is important to raise the topic.