Read Online Legend of the Ravenstone by M.S. Verish - Free Book Online Page B

scents mingle with baking bread and cooking meat, for there is never an empty oven or a vacant hearth. Red meat and red wine are the backbone to hearty meals. A simple repast, mind you, may take hours—not to concoct, but to consume. To appreciate the bounty is to eat slowly and truly enjoy the flavors, and every meal is seasoned with good conversation. You may dispute politics, theorize on a theatrical performance, discuss the theme of a well-written book....
    “One can expect guests every day. Afternoon Chat is observed by all. No matter the activity, no matter the weather, one stops to drink his tea with present company. I recall the taste of mint with a hint of honey, thick, warm bread with goldberry jam...” Arcturus smiled and lifted his cup again. “One never hurries. It is in poor taste to hurry.” He swirled the contents of his cup, his gaze absent upon the drink.
    “Humans are always busy, rushing from here to there. They are tight-lipped folk with suspicion in their eyes. Their food, their wine, oh it is bland by comparison to Markanturian cuisine.” He glanced at Jaharo. “Your pardon, of course. I mean no offense, though I am inclined to be honest.”
    “No offense taken,” Jaharo said. “Of all the places I have traveled, I have never been to Markanturos. You paint a favorable picture.”
    “I am biased,” Arcturus admitted, “but I cannot say the journey would be worth your while. The borders, you see, are... Well, they are ‘closed,’ for lack of a better term. Markanturians have reserved their paradise for themselves and are quite unwilling to share it.” The last line was uttered with more than a little bitterness, and he downed his cup. “I am ashamed to admit this to you. It is an example of one of those unpleasantries that grow more unpleasant with time.”
    “I understand,” Jaharo said, “though I appreciate what you have shared.” He turned to Kariayla, who was lost in thought. “There is nothing to compare to a sunrise in the Haloan Mountains. There is the sea, the sky, and the mountains, and none more mystical than the others.”
    “You have been to Nemeloreah?” Kariayla asked, amazed.
    “I have passed through the region at the good graces of your people,” Jaharo said.
    “I have wondered what it would be like to fly,” Arcturus mused, his words sliding together.
    Kariayla thought of her wings and frowned.
    “It must be liberating,” Jaharo said. “To take to the sky and be free of the weight that anchors us to the earth.”
    “Yes,” she admitted. “It is.”
    “From where do you hail, my good man?” Arcturus asked.
    Jaharo smiled. “I consider myself a man of Secramore. There have been many places I have called home.”
    “But you have only one place of origin,” Arcturus said.
    “Which may or may not be synonymous with the term ‘home.’ I have a home for every season.”
    Kariayla regarded him thoughtfully. “How do you mean?”
    Jaharo turned his attention toward the map. “Have you ever had a special place to which you retreated when you were lonely, sad, or hoping to clear your thoughts?”
    “Yes,” she said. “Eruane’s Watchtower, we called it. She is the Spirit of the Storm, and this was her sacred shrine. It spiraled up the mountain to a niche at the top. When I was younger, I would sit there and pretend I could see the world.” She tugged a stray lock from her face and tucked it behind her ear.
    “What was special about the shrine?” Jaharo asked.
    Kariayla considered the question. “The best time to be there was at the onset of a storm. You could watch the clouds roll in like a great, dark wave, and when they crashed, the lightning was silver and bright. It was amazing and beautiful.”
    “Dangerous, I expect,” Arcturus said. “It could not have been a safe vantage for you, my dear.”
    “Eruane is my protector,” Kariayla said. “Her storms were a gift to behold.”
    Arcturus looked as though he wanted to say something, but