An old man’s lesson by the hearth.
“If I don’t ask, I might never know,” said the boy. “That’s what Papa says.”
“Do one and the other,” his grandfather replied. “Ask—and listen.”
The cold winter wind howled outside the roundhouse.
Cold draughts slipped beneath the door, swirling through the smoke hole, but near the fire, an old man and his grandson sat watching the flames.
“Tell me about Sylvandria, Grandpapa. I want to hear your stories. What else is there, outside of here?”
“Now, no one really knows where Sylvandria lies on the globe of Zalara,” the old man said, bouncing the boy on his knee.
“The Aranwyn — or the Eldern, as the common folk call them — were here long before our ancestors ever reached these shores.”
The boy settled, wrapped in his grandfather’s heavy blanket.
“They came here from who knows where? Some say they cover the world; others that these are all that remain of a once-seafaring people.” The old man laughed. “Who knows?”
“Grandpapa? Who does know?”
The man laughed. “No one. The Treacherous Sea stops anyone from going too far. The wind and sea play tricks on any boat, turning it around and sending it back where it came from.”
“We get visitors from outside sometimes. But most are mad and speak of spending months at sea with no sight of land. Then they are thankful to be washed ashore—and then are heartbroken to find no way to leave. Stranded here forever.”
“Have you met one? A visitor?”
“A long time ago. He brought exotic things with him. A trader he was—spices and fabrics. He did well but died still searching for a way to get back to his family.”
“Mama said you used to travel. Did you go far? Did you ever visit Sylaven?”
“Yes, I travelled all over. I lived in Drakmere, but I’ve been to Valoria, up into Oakshade and on to Sylvahaven—or Sylaven, as some know it now.”
“I did some work in Sarim, too. A bit off the main track, but it was nice enough. And when I was done, I came home again. I took the long way—up further north to Lorien, down through Riverfall, Sylvabrook, and across the plains of Ardana.”
“How long did it take? Did Grandmama go with you?”
“Full of questions today, aren’t you?”
The boy said, “If I don’t ask, I might never know. That’s what Papa says. But Mama says keep quiet and listen.”
“Well, do one and the other, and you’ll do well. And no, your Grandmama didn’t come with me. I met her on the way. I stopped for a few nights in Sylvaglade. And when I left a few months later, your Grandmama came with me.”
“What are mountains like? Are they really big? Do they really have snow on top all the time?”
“Well, that depends on which mountains you mean.” He ruffled the boy’s hair. “The Hills of Drakmere—you’ve seen them… they’re just little lumps, really. A bit craggy, and locals like to call them mountains, but they’re not. The Southern Reaches are proper mountains, but still don’t get snow all year round. Not much to the west of them, seeing as there’s no easy way over.”
“If I could go, would I be the first? Could I be an adventurer?”
“I dare say you could! And maybe—not the first—but maybe you’d find a way.”
“So what mountains have snow all the time?”
“Well, I never visited, but Ravea can have snow falling in summer, I’ve heard.”
“That’s silly, how can it snow in summer?”
“See, Ravea is so high up in the tallest of mountains, at the top of a long valley. It might snow there, but it never lasts—not even in winter. A strange place, Ravea; full of strange people, I’ve heard.”
“So, it must be the Sylva Mountains with the snow,” the boy stated.
“And you would be correct. I crossed the Sylva Mountains from Riverfall through to Sylvabrook. We even followed the Sylva River from near the start. Did you know the river is nearly three hundred miles long from start to finish? It’s very long.”
“What are Riverfall and Sylvabrook like? Are they big? And full of people?”
“Riverfall is spectacular. But who would build a city on top of a waterfall? It’s so noisy, and everything is wet all the time. But Sylvabrook is the jewel of the land. Sylvahaven is nice, with its palaces and parks. But they say that Sylvabrook was grown by magic.”
“Does it look like a big tree?”
“No, no. But there are no gaps in the stone walls. No wood holding anything up. Only new buildings use wood and bricks with mortar. And the palace tower—where the Grand Old Enchanter lives—is so tall that if you stand at the bottom and look up, you can’t see the top!”
“Can I go, Grandpapa? Can I see?”
“When you’re older, you can do what you like. Travel the realm and see everything, if you want.”
“I’m going to get a boat, and see what’s past the bad sea. And I want to climb the Southern Ranges, too. And I want to see snow in summer.”
“And if you’re going to do all those things, here are some more you can try. Visit the city of Celestoria, that has no road to it because the sands move too much. Or the iron mines of Thyra. Cross the sweet flower meadows of Ardana, or bathe in the hot pools of Thorndyke.”
“Can I really? Can you come with me to show me?”
“No, lad, I’m too old to leave Drakmere now. Find a friend—or a lass—to take with you. But come and see me before you do, and I’ll make sure you have some money to spend.”
The boy smiled and snuggled up tighter. “Thank you, Grandpapa. I love you, Grandpapa.”
“Of course, you need to be careful out there. In the deep forests of Oakshade and Thornridge, it is said that wolves hunt in packs. And in the Sylva Mountains, dragons fly. And if the Treacherous Sea doesn’t turn you back, there are sea monsters that will eat your boat.”
The boy murmured.
“Find a pretty girl, and take her to Valoria. That’s where they grow flowers of every kind. There are even plants that don’t grow anywhere else, because they came as seeds from across the sea.”
The boy slept.
The old man joined him, dreaming of his past life and all the things he’d seen.