Table of Contents

- Prologue

- Epilogue

- Untitled

- Author’s Note

- Chapter 1

- Chapter 2

- Chapter 3

- Chapter 4

- Chapter 5

- Chapter 6

- Chapter 7

- Chapter 8

- Chapter 9

- Chapter 10

- Chapter 11

- Chapter 12

- Chapter 13

- Chapter 14

- Chapter 15

- Chapter 16

- Chapter 17

- About the Author

- Illustrators

- Thank you

HEART OF TIME

SKYE MACKINNON

CONTENTS

Untitled

Untitled

Author’s Note

Untitled

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Epilogue

Author’s Note

About the Author

Illustrators

Thank you

Heart of Time

By Skye MacKinnon

© 2017 Skye MacKinnon

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Skye.mackinnon@hotmail.com

Cover by Rebecacovers- Fiverr.

Illustration on back cover: Frances Quinn.

Published by Peryton Press.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

This book has been written by a Scottish writer, and as such uses British English spelling and grammar – so ‘mum’ instead of ‘mom’, ‘realise’ instead of ‘realize’, etc. If you’re from the US, please don’t mistake these for errors, it’s just a cultural difference (a weird one, I know).

Pronunciation

K’tuin – KEH-tueen

Nythea – Neh-THEEA

Oisín – Oi-SHEEN

Sa-Lia – SAH-lee-AAH

For my big little sister.

Instead of a tattoo.

PROLOGUE

No one knew where the girl had come from. She was found on the road, half-starved, cloaked in dirt, unable to utter a single word. There was only one other person who knew the story, and she didn’t speak of it until much later, when the events that would change the land forever began to unfold.

This is the tale that was forgotten, as it is still told in the story houses of Allembach:

O nce upon a time, there was a mother and her child, who loved each other dearly. They lived together in a small cottage in the rolling green hills of a faraway land, surrounded by sheep, whose wool was the means of the small family’s survival. One day, the mother fell gravely ill and had to lie in bed for months and months. The child, not yet a woman, but strong and healthy, tended to her mother in the most caring way, but there was little change in the woman’s condition. Time passed, and the cottage grew dusty and unclean, for the girl did not have the strength to care for both her mother and the little farm. The sheep were no longer sheared, and there was no money left to spend for food. The girl knew that they needed medicine to cure her mother, but they had neither the coin nor the means to get it. So they lived together in the cottage, which slowly fell apart, and the hills behind it no longer seemed green, but dark and unfriendly.

One day, the girl went to the market to buy food with her last few coins. She was half-starved, having given all the food she could spare to her sick mother. But at the market they laughed at her and told her she did not have enough money to buy anything. So she walked home, with hanging shoulders, thinking that now she would surely starve.

On the road she met a man, whose face was hidden under the hood of his long, black cloak. He asked her for the way into the village, and because she was a dear and friendly girl, she told him without hesitation. He thanked her and asked her if he could do something in return. At first, she shook her head, but the man persisted until she told him of her sick mother and the empty coin box. The man seemed to think, and said: “I know of a remedy that would cure your mother fully, and I have it here, in my pocket.” With that, he pulled a small vial from his cloak and held it high up into the sun. The girl was overjoyed and wanted to reach for the vial when the man put it back into his pocket and asked what she was prepared to pay for it, as giving directions into the village was not nearly enough for such a powerful remedy. The girl thought hard, but could not come up with anything valuable she or her mother possessed. When she told the man, he laughed, and said: “You have something that is worth more to me than any coin you could ever have in your pouch.” Without thinking, the girl cried that he could have it, anything, if he would only give her the vial of medicine. But then he grabbed her and stretched a clawed hand towards her chest. He sank his hand into her flesh and pulled out her beating heart, dripping with blood. “This is what I want as a payment, your heart, all loving and fresh and innocent. You will not die, little girl, for I do not want you to. You will live, your mother will be cured, but I have your heart. If we meet again, tell me if it was worth it.” And with a chuckle, he walked off, leaving the girl kneeling in the middle of the road, clutching her chest.

When the girl came home, she fed her mother the medicine, and colour came back in the mother’s cheeks, and for the first time in half a year she stood up from her bed. But the girl could not rejoice over her mother’s cure, for she no longer had a heart, and she could no longer feel for others.

The girl became a woman, but she didn’t notice it. She walked through her life empty and unaware, but only her mother noticed the change, for all the intimacy and love between them had gone, and they lived their lives next to each other, not together. And the mother was very upset by this, for she did not know that her daughter had traded her heart away.

The girl felt no love for anything, not for the sheep she had cared for so lovingly before, not for the green hills, which she had walked on all her childhood years, not for her mother, not even for herself. She did not feel anything, only once when she had to kill a sheep that had broken its legs she felt something, something terrible, stirring within her. And because she yearned to feel again, she sought out this feeling. In time, she noticed that the suffering and death of others would bring her a moment of release from the emptiness within her chest. So she began to kill bugs and spiders first, then mice the cat had brought in, a new-born lamb, and later even the cat. And it became an addiction, for even though she no longer had a heart, she remembered how it had felt. But her mother never noticed any of the cruelties her daughter committed in secret.

After several winters had passed, a young man rode by the cottage, who was sent by his father to find a suitable girl for marriage. When he saw the young woman standing with the sheep, he was struck by her beauty. In that moment he knew that he could have no other wife than her. And so he asked her, and she agreed to marry him, because she did not know what else to do. The mother was happy, for she hoped that her daughter would find happiness with the young man, who was well spoken and seemed to care a great deal for her daughter. And even though the man noticed that there was no love between him and his chosen wife, he thought to himself that love might grow with time.

And they lived together for some time, and even though there was no love between them, he was happy. One day the woman fell pregnant. Her husband was overwrought with joy, but in her, the deep dark feeling stirred whenever she looked at her swollen belly. When the child, a girl, was born, the husband often caught his wife looking at the baby with a dreadful look, but he pushed these thoughts aside, for he could not believe that his wife was evil. But she was tempted every time she saw her child, and in time the pressure in her became too much. So one day, she took a knife and went to the crib in which her daughter was lying. When she raised the knife high over her child, the husband, who had entered the room unnoticed, threw himself in front of his daughter. The knife pierced his heart, and with a final breath, he sank to the floor. Trembling, his wife let fall the weapon and fled the house. She ran as fast as she could, never looking back, and was never seen again in this part of the country.

Her mother, who had heard of the events, came and took in her granddaughter, and cared for her lovingly. But she was growing old, and with every day more of her former strength left her.

Then, one day the grandmother died, and the girl, old enough to walk but too young to survive on her own, left the house, for there was no one to care for her. She walked through woods, over hills and small streams, until she came to a road, where she lay down, for she had not eaten in many days. There she was found by some travelling folk, who took pity on her and took her in. With them she travelled far and wide, forgetting the place she had come from and the people she had known as a child. She became part of the travelling folk, never knowing how different she was from everyone else.

In the village she was born in, they never heard of her again, and they did not care, until later, much later, when the elders regretted not taking care of what had happened in the little cottage in the rolling hills.

And this is how the story begins…

1

Fifth War

Even though the Fifth War undoubtedly complies with the definition of war - ‘a state of armed conflict between different nations or states’ - some scholars argue that it cannot be called a war, as that term implies that both sides have an equal chance of winning. In the case of the so-called Fifth War, invaders from the Western Counties took over the former Elasia, now the Kingdom of Fer, and conquered and wiped out the unprepared Elasian people in such a way, that some scholars prefer to call the Fifth War the ‘First Obliteration’ instead. However, this term is unheard of in the present-day Kingdom of Fer as it is seen as treason against the current King Gynt of Fer.

- A Guide to Military History

T he creaking and groaning of the vardo was my lullaby. It carried me forth from the endless journey atop the wagon, soothing my mind and caressing my senses. From time to time, the vardo shivered when it reached yet another pothole, but Old Mare Lily dragged it along without pause. Her musky smell tingled my nose before the soft wind carried it off again. Birds warned each other of our passing through their territory, their song loud, but beautiful.

The sun warmed my entire body, and its strong rays sank through my eyelids. I squinted them shut further. There was a light breeze that tousled my hair, but I didn’t mind. All I wanted was for this moment to last forever.

I rarely got peace and quiet like this. There was always something to do, or someone to talk to. But today, I had the warm roof of the vardo for myself, and Mara had taken over the reins. I was so relaxed that my mind lingered in that fuzzy place between sleep and consciousness. When was the last time that I had some time for myself? Usually, even if there was no work to do, there was always someone who would disturb my thoughts. Cino was so full of questions that I rarely had the time to answer one before he came up with the next. Mara always fussed about me, asking how I felt or what I planned to do that day. Sometimes, I liked how she cared, but on other days, her mothering felt crushing. Although it was better to be around people than to be alone. I had been very alone once, so I shouldn’t complain about being among caring and happy people now. Still, I enjoyed this moment of peace and quiet.

Suddenly, someone knocked against the wagon roof, pulling me back into the presence. “Eee, come down”, Cino shouted from below. Not again. Ever since he had seen Mara use a broomstick to knock at the ceiling, he had been doing the same thing. I was tempted to just continue lying here, but I knew that he wouldn’t leave me in peace any longer. I rolled over, opening my eyes to the beautiful day. We were traversing the high plains that would lead us to the town of Hawkfair, where we would meet with other travelling families for the autumn equinox celebrations, before making our way to our winter quarters in the Free Cities.

There were no trees in this area, only windswept bushes and heather fields, divided into large islands by small streams. Still, the landscape radiated a strange beauty. In the distance, low hills formed a natural end to the plains. On their other side, the Eternal River flowed, never ending in either direction, cutting through the fertile land around it. I couldn’t see the river yet, but in my mind, I pictured it, the water dark blue with a hint of green, a short stretch of sand where the river meets the land, then lush green vegetation on the side. In the middle of the river, the water flows wild and fast, with droplets of white steam shimmering in the sunshine. River gulls sing to each other, and in the evening, once the birds have retreated to their nests, small crickets chirp in the brush.

As children, we would walk along the river banks, looking for treasure such as river glass and smooth skipping stones, or build castles out of the thick sand. Even though I was older now, I was still looking forward to sunbathing and relaxing to the soothing sounds of the water.

Sometimes, there were small rainbows over the river, spanning it in a way that bridges could not. There is only one stone bridge over the Eternal River, at the place where the river is narrowest, near the village of Ashenfields. In the spring, when the river swells and takes over the flat lands around it, not even this bridge is traversable. Then, the only safe way to cross it is the Old Ferry, hundreds of miles to the north. But in all the time I had travelled with the Ghorres family, we had never crossed the river. We never had a reason to do so, as the people on the other side are not as welcoming to travelling folk as they are on the Plains and the Free Cities. Old Mara said she once crossed the river long ago, to seek out new audiences and new tunes, but turned back after only a few days, having been turned away from inns and threatened by people in the villages. And anyway, there are enough places to visit on our side of the river.

“EEE!”, Cino shouted again. “Come down!”

I sighed when I heard Mara’s chuckle. I liked the boy, the youngest member of the Ghorres family, but sometimes he got on my nerves. I sat up and climbed down through the open window. It was warm inside the vardo, even hotter than outside. The air clung to the small room. All four windows were wide open, their red curtains gently swinging in the breeze. There was a fresh cake sitting on the shelf next to the kitchenette, baked with cherries that we had plucked from a tree by the road earlier that day. I was tempted to cut myself a piece, but I knew that Mara wanted to keep it for dinner. Instead, I slid onto the bench next to Cino, stretching my legs under the table.

He had cleaned his slate and set it out in front of him, next to a selection of chalk and charcoal pieces, carefully sorted by size. Not many travelling people would spend money on such items, but Luca had always been a little different from his kin. Back when I was Cino’s age, he had taught me to read and write, and now I was passing that knowledge on to his son. Even though right now I would have preferred to lie in the sun and do nothing, I still felt honoured that Luca had the confidence in me to teach Cino what he needed to know.

My student was looking at me expectantly. For a moment, I couldn’t remember what I was supposed to teach him today. My mind was still half asleep. Well, there was always a solution to that problem. I cleared my throat, and asked him, “Let’s see if you have done your homework. Which letter did we learn last time?”

Cino smiled and started to draw a large, shaky M onto the slate. The chalk made a rasping noise; he was still pressing it down too hard. Once he had finished the writing, he took his chalk-covered hand and wiped his blond hair out of his face. His pale blue eyes were looking straight at me; his stern glance reminded me of his father’s. One day, Cino would surely look like Luca does now, and like his father, he would be besieged by girls and women of all ages. At the moment, his face was caught up somewhere between childhood and adolescence. Over the last few months, his cheekbones had become more pronounced, but his lips still had a childish look to them.

“Try it again, and see that the last line is a little straighter.”

Again, he drew the letter M, this time a little quicker and with less pressure on the piece of chalk. He turned the slate towards me, proudly presenting his work. I envied his enthusiasm. Cino could rejoice over anything, even if it was nothing but repeating the same letter over and over again.

“Can you give me five words that start with an M?”, I asked him and watched him crinkling his brow as he pondered the task.

“My. Meat. Music. Mood. And … mother.” The last word he spoke under his breath. Then he looked at me, his firm glance holding a challenge. I smiled at him, ignoring his expression.

“Well done. Let’s see if you can write down any of those words. You should be able to spell at least two of them.”

While he turned to his task, his whispered “mother” echoed in my mind. It was pretty simple: Neither of us had one. I never had, at least I didn’t remember having one. My grandmother was my mum, she looked after me, she was the one I mourned. I never knew my mother, so why should I mourn her. But Cino, he knew his ma, he was loved by her in a way I never was. He used to be a mummy’s darling, always showing off when she was looking at him, always snuggling to her breast when they were sitting at the campfire at night. She had spoiled him a little, but as the youngest member of the Ghorres family, everyone had looked at them with both joy and pride. It should have been his mother teaching him his letters, not me, a stray they picked up on the road. But his mother was here for him no longer, having been bitten by a wild dog last winter, and succumbing to her writhing madness weeks later.

I wondered what was better, never having known your own mother, or being loved by one but then losing her. From the outside, Cino seemed to be doing fine, but sometimes, when he thought no one was looking at him, I could see the sadness in his eyes. By hiding his grief, he tried to be older than he was. I wondered if I was not doing the same.

“P lease welcome with great applause, the fastest girl alive!”, Luca shouted and the crowd clapped and cheered dutifully. I’d been waiting for hours, or so it seemed, and now my time had finally come. I straightened the folds of my simple blue dress one last time and took a deep breath. Almost time for me to enter. Luca had turned on his feet and now walked towards me, grinning widely. He winked at me, took a mock bow and walked past me, whistling softly.

I decided that I had waited long enough and entered the arena, waving and smiling at the audience. The tent was almost full. It was our first performance ever in Ashenfields, and the villagers seemed to have come with their whole families. I could see that some had brought baskets filled with beer and food, and many of the people watching me were in the process of eating noisily. I reached the middle of the tent, here I stopped and bowed in all directions. The sand under my bare feet gave me something to keep me grounded as I blinked into the bright lights directed at me. Slowly, and with as much drama as I could conjure, I walked towards the long rope ladder on the other side of the ring. Here, I made a show of testing the stability of the ladder, before swiftly climbing it. I was used to its swing and kept my body close to the ropes, without looking down on the audience. If they were looking up my dress, they would be disappointed - I was wearing tight breeches underneath.

Once I’d reached the small wooden platform, I bowed once again to the crowd. Then, I reached for the single red rose that I’d kept hidden below my dress’s neckline. I’d removed its thorns earlier that night so that I could grasp it with my full hand. The stem, not much longer than my hand is wide, was still wet from the water it had stood in and a little slippery to hold. Slowly, I increased my hold on it and closed my eyes. Centring myself, I started to focus on my own breathing. I could feel the air go in through the nose, feel the little hairs move in my nostrils, the coolness when it passed through my pharynx. I was riding my breath, no longer aware of my surroundings. The coolness spread when the air entered my lungs and my ribcage expanded in one fluid movement. Here, I left the breath and flowed on as nothingness, towards my beating heart, then up the aorta, running with the blood into my right arm, down all the way until the skin on my fingertips stopped my progress. I waited until all of myself had gathered there, then focussed on my index finger. I made myself sharp and long like a needle, and slowly forced myself out of my body, into the rose. It took some time to adjust before I could let my consciousness feel the shape of the rose, and fill it up completely.

Suddenly, I began to feel the loss of my thorns, the first sign of withering in my petals, the intake of air where there should be water. I felt it all, and with one practised movement, I made myself round and small and even smaller, pulling the essence of the rose with me, back through the tiny opening in my index finger. I expanded, filling up my human body once more, until I was back again where I started, except that I now I had the link down to the rose that was still in my hand. I opened my eyes, and suddenly the noise of the crowds reached my ears. I know I had only been standing on the platform for some seconds, but it felt like I had been up there for hours. I breathed in deeply, clutched the rose to my side and focussed on the task ahead.

I made the first step, and time slowed down. Seconds, molten into syrup, slowly floated by like leaves on a river. I concentrated, and the river slowed down to a gentle trickle. Time was slackened. Every second stretched like a rubber band, becoming longer and longer until it encompassed a full minute. Here, I stopped, and let the slow syrup wrap me in its flow. It built a comforting blanket that prevented me from falling off the rope I had just stepped on. The time-syrup around me was warm and pressed softly against my exposed skin. Walking through it took a lot of energy, but it was worth it - otherwise, I would never be able to walk on the rope. My sense of balance wasn’t very well developed.

Step by step, I crossed the rope. My bare feet ached from the rough core rope, so I tried to get it over with as quickly as possible. I didn’t need to spread my arms for balance, the time blanket holding me securely in place. I wished I could stay in this moment, relax in the warming timelessness, but the energy that I was sapping from the rose in my hand was quickly draining away. Stopping time was no easy task, and I didn’t want to use too much of my own energy while still on the rope. I might have fainted and I still had the scar on my leg from the last time that happened.

After thirty or so ells, I arrived on the platform on the other side of the tent. The cool wood under my feet felt refreshing, and I rested for a moment, before taking a deep breath and concentrating on releasing the time stream. I pictured a large golden clock in my mind, like the one on the town hall tower in Port Royal, its delicate hands being restrained by the shackles I put on them when I first stepped on the rope. Now, I removed them, starting with the smallest hand, and time began to flow more quickly again, accelerating, taking up speed until it was back to normal. The warming blanket was taken away from me, and I could feel a cold draft on my skin.

When I opened my eyes, a wave of exhaustion crashed into me, and I staggered backwards, leaning heavily on one of the tent poles. Below, there was a collective gasp from the audience. For them, I had just raced across the rope in a matter of one or two seconds. They would have seen nothing but a running girl traversing the tent quicker than they had ever seen anyone move. There were shouts and pointing fingers, as some children saw me on the other side. It took a while for the clapping to start, and even so, it was a cautious noise. I could feel the closeness to the Fer’an border in the wariness of the applause. Normally, the crowd cheered and clapped raucously, but here the worry of how their wonder would be interpreted dimmed the people’s enthusiasm. Well, nothing I could change about that. It would be different in the next place we stop, once we were further away from Fer and its backward beliefs.

I opened my hands and let the dust that once was a rose trickle down from between my fingers. She had served her purpose well, but still, I had used more of my own energy than planned.

Without looking down, I stepped onto the rope ladder that led to the ground and began to climb. In the background, music started to play and the three dwarves marched into the tent (they weren’t actual dwarves, just very short humans). The audience was glad to forget my questionable act and clapped loudly as the dwarves began to juggle their axes.

But I couldn’t have cared less. Why should they enjoy something that so obviously looked like magic, especially in a place like Ashenfields? We were too close to the Fer’an border here, too close to the Blue Militia and their everlasting hatred. With a sigh, I slipped out of the tent, leaving the laughter and the noise behind me.

“I told you so,” I told Luca accusingly, who was standing outside looking at the night sky. “You should know better than to have me do this here. Did you see their faces?”

“There were some who laughed.”

“And there were some who looked like they would run to the Militia as soon as the show has ended,” I retorted. Luca didn’t understand. He wasn’t the one who had to fear for his life in a place like this.

“You are overreacting,” he told me. “It’s still at least a day’s ride to the Eternal River, and another one to get to the bridge to Fer. We’re amongst friends here, especially in a place like this. They will not have forgotten the Fifth War, and all the sorrow it brought to the people in the Plains. Don’t worry, nothing is going to happen to you or any one of us. Go, get yourself some food from Mara and then go to bed. You look tired.”

That’s was so typically Luca. He was as calm as a deep pool in the mountains, nothing could stir him, nothing could move him. Sometimes I liked him for it, but today I wanted to slap him and tell him to wake up.

Instead, I walked away into the dark, towards the closest vardo. Light shone through the small windows of the wagon, and the smell of pea soup was getting stronger the closer I get. Before I could knock on the vardo’s door, Mara opened it, smiling.

“You look like you can use some food,” she said, beaming away, ignoring my grumpy expression. Even though Mara must had seen at least eighty winters, she had the energy of a young child. She ushered me inside, sat me down on the comfortable bench near the rear window, and put a bowl of soup in front of me. Its delicious smell made my mouth water. Mara’s cooking was one of the reasons why I still travelled with the Ghorres.

“How was the performance?”, she asked while cutting a large slice of bread for me.

“Dreadful. I’m sure some people noticed that it wasn’t just some trick. Luca is too reckless, having me do this in Ashenfields. It’s too dangerous.”

Mara smiled. “Weird, this coming from you. Normally you’re the one who’s reckless, sweetheart, not Luca.”

“But this time it’s not about walking on a rope or falling from some tree, this time it’s about the Blue Militia. They say they’re quite active here, even though this isn’t yet Gynt’s land. Doesn’t he care about what could happen if they find out?”

“I’m sure he does, child, but maybe you’re seeing the whole thing a bit too bleak. Nothing has ever happened after one of your performances, has it. So why should it today? Now stop worrying and eat your soup. You’ve lost weight again.”

I wanted to answer back, but I know it’s useless. When arguing with Mara, she always made me feel like a child that didn’t know any better. Frustrating. Instead, I turned to my bowl of pea soup. Maybe I was just hurt by the lack of response from the audience. Usually, in other places, I got a lot of applause, even standing ovations. Never had the audience been so quiet. Maybe I was confusing a lack of interest with caution. I supposed the success of my little act had made me vain.

With that thought in mind, I got up and bid Mara goodnight. Some days, I was so exhausted after the show that I went straight to bed, but tonight I felt like I wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway. When I opened the door, warm air pushed against me. The moon shone as a thin crescent, with stars twinkling beside it. In the distance, in the hedges that surrounded our camp, I could see the flickering light of hundreds of fireflies. They blended easily into the night sky; it was almost impossible to see where the shimmering insects ended and the stars began.

I walked towards the lights of the village, leaving vardos and circus tent behind me.

T he only inn in Ashenfields was brightly lit, with flickering candles poked in flower pots outside of it, inviting both villagers and visitors inside. It was the tallest building in the village, towering over the other houses that lacked the inn’s second storey. The noise of people talking drifted outside and added to the welcoming atmosphere. Just when I was about to enter, two large men spilt out of the inn, arguing loudly over something. I stepped around them and their stink of stale beer and quickly squeezed inside before the heavy wooden door closed behind me. The noise and smell of dozens of people pressed against me, and I swayed slightly, needing a moment to adapt.

“Come on in, princess”, an old man sitting by the door bellowed with a boozy breath. “Come and sit by me.” I smiled at him innocently, then turned away from him and walked towards the counter that sat proudly in the middle of the crowded room. Behind it, a plump man with a soiled apron that had probably not seen any soap in weeks, served the guests. With his red nose and bloated cheeks, he looked like he enjoyed drinking a pint or two himself. I squeezed myself through the crowd that the counter drew in like moths are drawn to a flame. In front of me, one man slipped from a bar stool and turned to the door, and I gratefully slid onto his vacated seat. The chair was still warm and slightly sticky.

I signalled the innkeeper and ordered a pint of the local beer, putting two copper coins on the counter. A moment later, he put a large clay mug filled with frothy ale in front of me. I took a large sip, enjoying the froth tickling the insides of my mouth. It wasn’t the best beer I’d ever tasted, but it wasn’t too bad either. The salty pea soup at Mara’s had made me thirsty, and sooner than I’d thought, I could see the bottom of my earthen mug. Once again, I beckoned the innkeeper to refill my mug. He smiled at me with yellowed teeth glistening between his pouting thick lips and exchanged my emptied mug for a full one. The beer was making me more relaxed. I leant back and listened to bits and pieces of conversation that floated through the air towards me, while still leaning over my mug. One man close by was complaining loudly about the continuing drought, while another was bragging about the girl he was courting in a neighbouring village. I was straining my ears to hear anything besides the usual tavern talk, but without success. There was no discussion of politics here, no news of the world outside this village. I turned back to my mug and slowly sipped the lukewarm drink and let my thoughts wander off.

“Why is a lovely young lady such as yourself sitting here all on her own? Want some company?” A raspy voice pulled me from my thoughts. A young man slid onto the bar stool next to me. I hadn’t even noticed its former occupant leaving. He was dressed all in black, his tight shirt showcased his broad shoulders and muscular arms. His face was made up of fine features, only his nose seemed a little out of place, long and pointed as it was. He wore a short dark blue cape over his shirt, more for decoration than for warmth. The man looked lost in this village inn; his clothes were made of finer materials than any of the patrons here possessed. His shoes were made from black leather, and they were strikingly clean. He couldn’t have travelled far in them.

“No, I’m quite alright on my own”, I replied, but he had already settled on the stool on my left. The innkeeper put a mug of ale in front of him, which he took without nodding thanks to the landlord.

“Have you noticed that you are the only lady in this place?”, he asked with a slight smirk. “If I were you, I’d be a little worried by that fact. You never know what might befall single women on their travels.”

My good mood vanished immediately. I didn’t like this man, and even though he did not seem too dangerous, I disliked sitting next to him. He took a big gulp from his mug, then looked me in the eyes. They were as dark as his attire, which made the white around the pupils as bright as starlight. His glance bore a challenge that I refused to take.

“You might be right about that. Luckily, I’m not travelling on my own. And now I’d prefer to enjoy my pint on my own.” I tried to sound strong and confident, even though I was a little unsettled by the stranger’s demeanour. He was right about the fact that there were no other women in the inn, but that was often the case in the places we visited. I wasn’t your usual female villager. Usually, I celebrated a successful show together with Luca and the other members of the company. I had even expected to find them here tonight, but maybe I was here too early. After my act, the dwarves would have done their juggling, then Marco would have entertained the audience with his fire spitting, and lastly, Luca himself would close the show by thanking the crowd for their coming and encouraging them to spread the word about our show. Usually, the latter would happen automatically anyway, especially in an area such as this, where the only evening entertainment could be found in the village inn. Word of our coming had always spread quickly. Sometimes, villages would prepare a place for our camp and fodder for the horses even before we had actually arrived. But not here, in Ashenfields. Yes, the tent had been full of people, but the atmosphere was not as cheery as usual.

The man on my left cleared his throat, pulling me from my thoughts. He must have said something, but I had no idea what. But I wouldn’t admit that to him. He signalled the innkeeper and reached over to take my empty mug. Before he could do that, I slid down from my stool, nodded at the innkeeper and turned to the door, without even gracing the black-clad stranger with a single glance.

Suddenly, there was a booming voice behind me.

“Here you are, Eee, I was looking for you. Mara said I might find you here. What are you doing here, all on your own?”

Luca was standing there, beaming away. From the corner of my eye, I saw the stranger slip away from the bar into the crowd at the other end of the room.

“I was just having a drink.”

“Or maybe more than one. You’re swaying a little, sweetie.” And again, Luca was belittling me. I was old enough to drink, I was old enough to go out by myself. Yes, I was fairly small and might look younger than I was, but that had nothing to do with my age. On days like this, I felt ancient.

“So, why were you looking for me?”

“I talked to Mara earlier, after she sold the tickets for tonight. She says that many people in the village would like us to stay for an extra day or so. They want to invite their friends and relatives that live further away from here. It seems they’ve had no companies come through here for more than a decade, and are hungry for some entertainment.” He shot me a wolfish smile. “And how could we refuse them that.”

I frowned while he chuckled softly.

“And what has that got to do with me?”

“Well, you might want to think about doing a different act tomorrow night. Not that yours wasn’t good today, but I’m thinking of putting together a slightly different show for the day after tomorrow. I’ve also told the dwarves to think about juggling flaming torches, or at least something other than their usual axes. Then we’ll not only have spectators from other villages, but maybe people who’ve already seen us will come again if we promise them some surprises. Agreed?”

“I guess I’ve got no choice. I’ll have to practice tomorrow though, and need the tent for myself for a few hours.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem, Marco and Cino can practice outside anyway. That’s settled then. Great.”

I nodded and turned towards the door, but he softly grabbed my arm.

“One more thing.” He leant towards me, almost whispering. “When you were doing your performance, I noticed some white highlights in your hair. You may want to dye your roots again before we get to Hawkfair. Now, tell me, how bad is the beer here?”

2

Travelling People

People whose lifestyle is nomadic. They are usually found travelling the Plains and the Plenty, with some reaching places as far as Silverhaven in Wildeshore. Generally, the travelling peoples spend spring, summer and autumn travelling the lands, and take up more permanent residences in the Free Cities during winter. Most travelling people consist of one or more families and their kinsfolk. Children are seen as capable of working together with adults on daily chores as well as participating in evening performances. Some travelling people rely on animals to entertain their audiences, while others resent this way of life and prefer to showcase the skills of their family members and other members of the cast. Originally, most travelling people stem from the Southern countries, some of which no longer exist, and therefore those families consider themselves at home on the road itself.

- The Definite Guide to the People of the World

O nce I left the inn and its stuffy air, my head became clearer. There were clouds moving across the sky, hiding the stars that had shone so bright earlier tonight. It wasn’t far to the camp outside the village, but there were no street lights showing me the way. There were small, stocky houses all around me, obstructing the view. They all looked the same. I stopped for a moment to contemplate the direction I had to take. I didn’t have a clue. I’d never found it easy to remember directions, but this was different. The memory of walking to the inn seemed irrecoverably lost within my head. Maybe Luca was right and I did indeed have one pint too many.

“May I assist you, young lady?”, a kind voice asked me. An old woman stepped out of the shadows around me, leaning heavily on a walking stick. Her white hair was tugged back by a dark blue kerchief, but a few strands had come loose and framed her lined face. She smiled, and cute little dimples showed on both sides of her mouth. In some way, her motherliness reminded me of Mara.

“I would be very grateful if you could point me in the direction of the travellers’ camp”, I replied politely.

“You’ve lost your way? You’re not the first one, nor will you be the last. Come, walk with me, my house is close to where you want to go.” With that, she turned without looking back whether I was following her. I smiled to myself. Just like Mara.

For her age, the old woman was walking pretty fast. After looking back one more time to see if Luca might have come out of the inn by now, I began to follow. When I caught up with her, she flashed me a smile.

“You look to be the same size as my granddaughter. She moved away from here last year, together with her fiancé. I’ve still got some of her clothes tucked away in a box, but I’m worried they might attract moths if they stay with me any longer. They could fit you, maybe you’d like to try some of them?”

I shook my head. “I should be going back to our camp. I’ve got to get up early tomorrow morning, there’s so much practising to do. But thank you very much for the offer.”

She sighed and turned her head to look me in the eyes. Her smile had gone and had been replaced by a sad frown.

“I understand. It’s just, with my granddaughter gone and her mother dead, I’m all alone in the house, with no company save a few chickens. Evenings alone can feel so much longer than those with company. My house used to be filled with noise and laughter, with children running around, skylarking and always up to no good. Now it’s empty and cold. I only use two rooms, the others are always shut, their closed doors reminding me every day of my loneliness. When children move out, they not only leave an empty nest. The emptiness brings a coldness and loneliness into the house. They take with them a piece of their mother’s heart, leaving a wound that will close but never stop hurting. The children will become mothers themselves, but they will not know of the pain until their own children leave home one day. It’s a pain that can be found in each new generation, yet every mother thinks she is alone with that pain. And now I have not only my daughter’s, but also my granddaughter's things packed in chests and boxes. Though I do not see what’s in them, there’s sadness and loneliness pouring from them whenever I catch a glance of them.”

She took a deep breath, steadying herself. When she spoke again, her voice shook a little less.

“But don’t mind the pains of an old woman. Let’s get you back to your camp. See the house up there, at the end of the road? Once we’re there, you’ll be able to see the lights of your campfire.”

Her words made me feel guilty. Yet I was tired and wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed go to sleep. But still, if it were Mara, I would not like to see her in this way. So against my gut feeling, I decided to go with the old lady. After all, it was just to look at a few clothes, how long could it take.

“I’m sorry if I offended you. I’m tired and I didn’t think. But I would love to have a look at those clothes, if the offer still stands.”

Her face lit up immediately. Smiling broadly, she offered me her arm and on we went.

At the end of the road, a large house beckoned. There was no light shining through the windows, but in the hedge around it were the flickering lights of fireflies. The garden looked untended, with weeds growing freely among the bushes. Even in the darkness, I could see plaster crumbling on the outside walls. The woman took a key out of her pocket and turned it noisily in its hole. The door cringed in its hinges when she pushed it inwards. Darkness welcomed us. The air inside was stuffy and smelled of dust. The elderly woman shuffled along from the hallway through a door on her left, feeling her way around the room. When she stopped, I could hear her busying herself with flint and steel, until a tiny spark shone through the room. Soon, she had a small fire going in the fireplace and ignited a small lantern for us. The fire’s flickering light illuminated the stone walls around us. There was only one window in this room, with a dust-covered curtain above it. An armchair was standing in front of the fireplace, next to a small side table. On the other side of the room, a shelf containing a few dishes leant heavily against the wall. It looked like it would fall apart any minute. The entire room seemed empty and unoccupied, except for a break in the dust line where we had walked.

When I had met the old woman, I had judged her to be a clean and tidy woman. If that was true, then she hadn’t set foot into this room in months. Then why would she go in here with me? There were no chests of clothes that I could see. Maybe they were in another room. I opened my mouth to ask her, but suddenly there was something weird about her. She was still standing in front of the fireplace, but motionless, with unseeing eyes. Her chest was no longer moving with the intake of a breath; her right hand held the lantern without any movement at all. It looked like she had just stopped.

And then, suddenly, the scratching started. A noise that came from above me, from the ceiling. I looked up, but there was nothing to see. It sounded like claws scratching on the wooden floor of the attic. Then, thin spirals of dust began to float down from the ceiling. I moved back to the wall, trying to keep both the frozen woman and the rest of the room in full view. Feeling my path along the wall with one hand, I slowly moved towards the door that would get me out of this frightful room. The old woman still hadn’t moved. My hand glided along the wooden panels that made up the wall, then there was nothing, finally, the door. Walking backwards I took a step back into the hallway. And felt something thin pierce against the space between my shoulder blades.

“If you move, you’re dead”, a harsh voice whispered behind me. A gloved hand was put on my shoulder, and I was shoved back into the room I had just exited. The fire was still flickering softly, but the old woman was no longer standing beside it. She was lying in a heap on the floor, unmoving. All colour had left her cheeks; she was as pale as the crescent moon outside.

I was pushed into the middle of the room. There was the sound of a second pair of feet behind me, then a man clad in black and wearing a woollen black cape stepped into view. He pulled the armchair further towards the fire, then sat himself down on it, not even wasting a single glance on the dead woman beside him. He lay the long knife he had been carrying across his knees. The fire’s glow danced on the bright metal and its reflection created a thin line of light across the man’s face.

“Welcome”, he says with a mocking nod of his head. “Thank you for joining us.” His voice was soft, almost feminine, yet his tone reminded me of sharp metal and cold ice. With a single fluid move, he threw back his hood. His pale face glistened in the fire’s shine, his dark eyes fixed on my own. There was no hair on his head, instead broad dark red stripes ran over his skin, ending in sharp spear-shaped ends just over his eyebrows. A single red line went down onto the root of his nose. His facial markings made him look wild and dangerous. His piercing eyes lay deep under his brows, his nose a thin sharp line dividing his face. There was a white scar on his left cheek, which made his smile look uneven and wild. He had shaved his beard off except for a thin goatee. He looked as terrifying as any man I had ever met.

In my head, I was trying to understand what just happened. Had I been careless? How had the old woman who had breathed and talked only moments ago become a cold and stiff corpse? There was no sign of life when I was looking at her now, and somehow her pale body seemed to degrade quicker than it should. Small stains were appearing everywhere on her body, some light blue, some violet. While I was staring at the old woman’s corpse, those blotches became bigger, they started to flow together, until all skin close to the ground was coloured in a mixture of purple and pink. At the same time, small blisters began to appear on her pale skin and her body seemed to grow. Her torso increased in size, her belly becoming more and more bloated. Her arms and legs swelled and stretched until she no longer resembled a human form, but a shapeless balloon. The stink coming from the bloated corpse was making me nauseous, and I would have swayed were it not for the knife held to my neck. When the stretched skin began to rupture at a multitude of points, I could no longer watch her sped-up decomposition. I closed my eyes. Still, tendrils of that horrible smell reached my nose, making me gag. Inside, I was raw and blistered from seeing the poor woman’s fate, and wanted nothing more than to curl up and cry. Better even, forgetting what I had just seen. But I knew then that the image of her bloated, oozing body would stay with me forever. There was a noise that sounded like air escaping a balloon, and after, the small popping sounds of her fingernails falling onto the hard wooden floor. I recoiled from thinking what her body might look like now. There were no distracting thoughts to be found within my head, only an overpowering fear of what might come now.

The old woman was dead, nothing I could do about that, as much as it hurt me inside. But I was still alive. For how long? I carefully opened my eyes, avoiding looking at what was left of the friendly old woman. Although, had she ever been there at all? Or had it all been a trick to lure me here, into this abandoned house, with no witnesses, and no one to help me. She had seemed all normal, like Mara. And then it struck me. She had seemed a little too much like Mara. The old woman’s daughter was dead, as was Mara’s. They were about the same age. They spoke in the same, flowery way. Was I trying to see a connection where there was none, or was there indeed a link that I had not seen before?

“One day, we will all look like this. A stinking puddle of fluids is all that remains. Our dreams, our hopes, our convictions - gone. No matter how long we’ve lived, no matter what we’ve done, in the end, we’ll all turn to dust.” The man looked at the old woman’s remains and smiled smugly. “Or slime.”

He turned back to me and looked me in the eyes. Somehow, he seemed to see straight into the depths of my soul. His cold and calculating look told me that he had deliberately waited for me to see what happened to the woman’s body. He was using her to showcase his power and ruthlessness. The message was clear: This is what happened to people that got in his way.

“Are you afraid to look at her? The lovely old lady that you trusted only moments ago? Come on, look at her. Look at what’s left of her.”

I resisted the temptation and continued to stare at him. I was as frightened as I had ever been, but I fought hard not to show it. Not to give in to that monster.

“Make her”, he said to the man standing behind me and motioned towards the old woman’s corpse with his head. When the other guy grabbed my hair in his fist, I became painfully aware of the knife point touching me between my shoulder blades. I didn’t think it had broken my skin yet, but the touch of the cold metal hurt. The man behind me pulled on my hair and shoved me forwards, closer to the fireplace. The knife left my back and was suddenly held to my throat. It pressed against my skin, and the new position made it clear that one simple movement could end my life. With his other hand, the man directed my head until I had the choice to either look at the rotting corpse or close my eyes. I decided to do the latter.

“I said, make her look at it”, the man repeated. This time, there was ice in his voice. There were fingers groping their way around my face, feeling for my eyes. The man was wearing thick leather gloves. Two fingers pressed against my eyelids, heedlessly squeezing my eyes. It hurt, but I did not want to open my eyes.

“Step back,” the soft voice said impatiently. The pressure on my eyes ceased. The cold blade on my throat disappeared. Blue dots appeared before my closed eyes, I swayed slightly. Without the touch of the man behind me, I seemed to be unable to stand. Too much had happened, too many unexplainable things. There was a tiny hope still in my mind, the thought that this was just a bad dream, nothing more. Just a bad dream. But the single drop of blood running down my throat where the knife had kissed me was proof that this was real.

Suddenly, there was someone touching my face again, placing one finger on my left brow and one on the soft spot below my eye. Someone with fingers as hot as glowing coals. I cried out and recoiled from the touch, but the fingers did not disappear. They were burning through my skin, hurting in a way that went deeper than a simple flesh injury. A second hand touched my face, with fingers crawling across my cheek until they reached my right eye. The pain was too much to take, my knees gave way and I fell to the ground, my hands clutching my burnt face.

“So you really are the one the gypsy boy talked about. You’ve got magic, yes, but I’m not sure you’re worth the trouble. You’re pathetic.” His voice came through a fog of pain.

I pulled my knees to my chest, making myself as small as possible. Yet I could still feel the burning hot fingers on my face. They were there, touching me, hurting me. I opened my eyes. There were no hands on me, no one standing in front of me, no one touching me. But I felt scalding hot fingertips burning on my cold skin. I made myself even smaller, trying to hide away from the pain. Dimly, I heard someone laugh in the background. I didn’t care. The pain was filling my mind, there was no energy to focus on anything else. Every passing second stretched into infinity, becoming as long as a day. Never-ending pain, this was my present, my past and my future. If there was a future.

Then, suddenly, the pain vanished. It left an aching feeling of emptiness. I could still feel where the fingers had touched my face, like a shadow left on a wall after the person it belonged to had left the room. I stepped away from the fogginess that inhabited my mind and cautiously began to extend my senses. The wooden floor I was lying on was cold, I could feel the small bumps below me where branches had once grown on a tree. My back was warmed by the small fire burning in the fireplace. It crackled as a piece of bark broke off from a log. The more I went back towards consciousness, the more piercing the penetrating smell of decay got. It filled my nose and mouth until I could no longer smell anything else.

Again, there was laughter. It was not a happy noise. Slowly, I managed to move into a sitting position. My head hurt, and I could still feel the echo of burning fingerprints on my cheeks and brow. I raised my eyes and looked around the room. The man who was obviously the leader of the two was still sitting in the armchair by the fire. He was leaning back against the softness of the chair, seemingly relaxed. The other man had moved and was now standing behind the armchair, his arms crossed over his chest. Finally, I could see his face: it was the black-eyed man from the inn.

With both men standing by the fire, a quick glance over my shoulder confirmed that the door was now left unguarded.

“You don’t have to look that way. You won’t be leaving without us, sweetie, I can promise you that.”

I mustered all the courage that I had left, and asked, “Why are you doing this?”

He smiled again. “What do you mean? Killing this old bitch? Why was I doing this? I hate to disappoint you, but it was just for a bit of fun. I was bored, and I needed something to do. Don’t look so shocked. She was old, she’s lived long enough. No one will miss her. Or do you mean, why did I hurt you? Well, you didn’t do what I’d asked you to. That wasn’t polite, was it. So you had to be punished. That’s understandable, is it not?” He grinned at me, a predator grinning at his prey before he rips out its flesh.

“If you mean, why have I lured you here, that’s just as simple. You did something there, in your little show, that mustn’t be. You know what I speak of, don’t you? You moved a little too fast, too quickly over that rope. It wasn’t natural. And it wasn’t legal. The King himself has forbidden it. And of course, doing something the King has placed a ban on must be prohibited. Unfortunately, this means bad news for you. The penalty for using magic is death. And as his representative, I am put in charge of enforcing the King’s laws.”

The king. There was only one king in this area, and that was King Gynt of Fer. But we were not in Fer now, it was still more than a two days’ ride to the border. Why would a servant of the king be in Ashenfields? Was it chance? Or had he waited here? It did not matter. He was here now, and I was in his power.

He would kill me. I had never thought about dying before. No, that wasn’t right. Once before, I thought I would not see the next day. Back then, I had been a child, half-starved, dirty and alone. It was a long time ago, but now my feelings echoed those that I had experienced all those years past. Again, I was alone, with no one to hold my hand in my last moments. No one would even know what had happened to me. Would they look for me? Or would they assume that I had run off, leaving them and thereby doing that what I had planned to do for years?

I did not want to die. But there was no strength left in me to keep on fighting. The King’s men were too powerful. I had seen what had happened to the old woman. The brute had made me watch her decay, and now I was wondering whether he would do the same to me. Would I become a pile of dust, lying in this abandoned house, with no one the wiser to what had happened?

Better to lie down now and die. Yes, that seemed like a good idea. I lay down on the floor, curled up like a cat in front of the fire, and waited for death to come. Forgetting all about the two men, I drew back into myself, getting smaller and smaller until I was a tiny flickering flame. I danced with the flames of the fire around me, getting closer and closer to them until I could feel their heat mix with my own. I let go, becoming one with the fire, burning without getting burned. There was no pain, no sorrow, no tears. I simply became something else. I left my body behind, and with it, all that I was.

But there was something holding me back, a small strand of ice that came towards me, like a glittering string. It began to wrap around me, quenching my flickering dance, until I could no longer move with the fire. The ice’s coldness hurt, and with that pain, I slowly became aware of my body again. The icy string pulled me back, further and further away from the beckoning flames, until with one final snap, I flowed back into my body. I lay there, hurting from some stabbing pain in my chest, unmoving. The strand of ice was still wrapped around me, cooling my mind. It felt threatening, yet I did not know what to do about that. The stabbing pain became bigger and bigger. Breathe, a chilling voice in my mind said, breathe. I opened my mouth and took in a big breath. The pain subsided. Panting, I rolled onto my back. When I opened my eyes, I was looking straight into the man’s eyes. He was bent over me, his face a grimacing mask.

“How easy it is to manipulate you. Have you no control over your abilities? Did no one teach you to guard your mind? Oh, I forgot. You’re an orphan.” He spat at the word, making it sound ugly and despicable. I must have frowned, wondering at what he meant when he laughed coldly.

“Pathetic. You didn’t want to die. It was me making you. I just wanted to see how far I could push you. And it seems that you are so weak that I can push you all the way, even to your death. It’s easy to plant a seed of thought into people’s minds, if you know how. And it was easy with you. Making you think that you had lost your way. Getting you here, following that woman. Convincing you that you should come in with her. Easy. Far too easy. I am already bored by your ignorance and weakness. But I am to get you to my master, and so to my master you shall go. And when I say go,” he smiled viciously and motioned to the other man who was now standing behind me once more, “I really mean be taken.” And that was the last I heard because the next second fireworks exploded before my eyes, and I was no more.

3

Blue Militia

After the invaders from the barbarian lands in the west had taken over the former country of Elasia during the Fifth War, a warrior lord by the name of Fer had a large castle built on the top of a large hill. He then crowned himself the King of Elasia, renaming the country as the Kingdom of Fer. When King Fer died, his oldest son became king, yet he died suddenly only days after his coronation. Some say he was murdered, some say he was weak and sick. The next heir to the throne, Prince Gynt, not only took over his older brother’s throne, but also created his personal honour guard, a group of soldiers and mercenaries that later become known as the Blue Militia.

The Blue Militia quickly turned to become a powerful police force that not only saw to the enforcement of their king’s will but also to deal with people that opposed him. One of the tasks assigned to the Blue Militia was the searching of magically inclined people. It is often said that their only purpose was to kill those magicians, but there are some who say that they only made them disappear, to be used in some other way. This is only speculation, and it has never been proven to date.

- A History of Fer, Jonas de Tourtur

T here are only fragments left of this journey. Waking up, breathing in the wooden smell of my coffin. The swaying movement of the cart I lay on. The scratching of the cloth that was over my eyes and in my mouth. The stink of my own waste that I was lying in. The noise of several men talking, yet the words always out of my reach. Once, the sound of water flowing, when we crossed the Eternal River over to Fer. The restless sleep, that seemed to come from nowhere and would only last a short while. The stale bread I was fed from time to time, the mucky tasting water they made me swallow. And always, the feeling of being on a mental leash, with icy barbed wire curling around the outer edges of my mind.

One evening, they opened the wooden coffin and pulled my limp body out onto the grass. They removed the gag from my mouth, bound my hands behind my back and sat me in front of a tree. My shoulders, hurting from the claustrophobic position within my wooden prison, leant gratefully against the trunk of the tree. Someone came and a metal spoon was pushed to my mouth. Hungry as I was, I swallowed the slimy mush they fed me, but far too quickly, the spoon disappeared. I was left sitting there, still blindfolded. I heard them start a fire, but its warmth did not reach me. The late summer evening was chilly and I was shivering in my short dress. I could picture me there, wearing a tattered, soiled dress, grime and dirt covering my entire body, my hair filthy and unkempt. What a sorry sight I must make. The rough rope that bound my hands chafed and scratched. Still, it was great to be outside again, being able to breathe the fresh summer air.

The cooler it got, the more my guards seemed to talk and drink. They did not come close enough for me to understand what they were talking about, but I was glad to have some privacy. The food and drink, though the aftertaste was making my mouth taste foul, had given me back some of my energy. Left to myself, I had time to think. The cool air seemed to drive away the fog that had cluttered my mind ever since I had been hit on the head at the end of that horrible night when they had captured me. At some point during the journey here, more men had joined the two others. By the noise and talk I heard, I estimated them to be at least five. The magician with the soft voice had travelled with us, his icy leash was a constant reminder of his presence.

Suddenly, I noticed that this was no longer the case. The band of ice around my mind was not as strong as it had been earlier today. It was still there, yes, but there were small fissures appearing. The leash was thawing. Maybe the sorcerer was no longer travelling with us, or he had become careless. No matter why, I would try and use this new development for bettering my situation.

I relaxed and carefully extended my conscience to feel for the weak points of my mental shackles. There were many to be found; some cracks were small, others almost large enough to severe the icy bond. When I touched them with my mind, it hurt slightly, but not enough to keep me from exploring them. There was one large crack, its edges thawing slowly. Soon, the band would break, I was sure of it. And when it did, I would be ready. My guards had made one vital mistake. They had sat me leaning against a tree. A tree.

Night had fallen by the time my bonds finally dissolved. I had used the past hours to convince myself that I did indeed have a chance to escape. And I had come up with a plan. I didn’t know whether I could succeed. So far, the only special skill I had discovered was how to slow down time. Tonight, I would have to try out something else. Ironically, the tricks the sorcerer had played with my mind had given me confidence that I might have the power to do more than to play with time. While he seemed to be able to conjure power from thin air, I relied on borrowed energy from plants. And my bound hands were touching the thick bark of the tree behind me.

I slowed down my breathing and focused on the cold air flowing into my lungs. Once I had found my inner centre, I began to ignore the world around me, retreating into myself. Calmness was all I aspired, being mirror-like lake in the midst of chaos. Slowly, I extended my senses. I could feel other people around me, and I carefully moved my mind towards theirs. Six consciousnesses burned like silver flames in the darkness. I could not make out their gender, but I assumed they were all men. It would be easy to quench those flames, had I got enough energy at my disposal. Instead, I pulled back and once again extended my senses, searching for the tree. I was looking for something as large as a tree, but there was nothing. The more I searched, the more I felt my energy being depleted. I turned my focus to the ground. There were flickering dots of energy, the half-squashed blades of grass on which I sat. Taking their life force would cost as much as it would gain. Still, there was no sign of the tree. I had never tried using a tree for energy before, there was no experience to fall back onto. I tried a new strategy. Centring myself on my own body once more, I felt my back lean against the tree trunk. There, our bodies touched, there I might have success.

In my mind, I imagined a tree, high and wide, a majestic crown of leaves around its branches. Its thick bark was its best defence against threats of any kinds. Its leaves were too many, I would not be able to get much energy from them. But down below, deep in the earth, I could feel its searching roots, spreading through the ground, changing their width from as thick as my body to as thin as a human hair. I chose one small root system and followed it up to where it met others. The root was tingling with water it had claimed from the earth, and I took this water from it, pulled softly until not just water, but pure life energy was flowing towards me, taking up speed until a stream of energy was washing over me. It threatened to overwhelm me, there was nowhere to store it. The hard-won energy fled back into the ground, leaving me tired and exhausted. This would not work.

I leant back against the tree trunk and took some deep breaths. My guards had forgotten to put the piece of cloth that served as gag back into my mouth. But calling for help was useless; it would only draw their attention to me. I tried to discern what they were doing by sound alone. Some were talking, another made some noise that sounded as if he was cleaning or putting away the dishes.

One more try, I told myself. Then I could sleep. Not now, one more try.

This time, I searched for the mind of one of the guards. I focused on the silver flame burning and wrapped my consciousness around it. Maintaining this state was wearing me out. With another tendril of my mind I went down into the ground, once more searching for roots. When I had found some, I slowly began to sap its energy. Instead of taking it for myself, I channelled it through my body until it reached the flame in my grip. Carefully and very slowly, I began to quench the flame until it flickered softly. Somehow, I instinctively knew that the man was asleep now. Killing them was not an option, I would not take the chance of killing one and then not having enough energy left to deal with the others. I pulled back and chose another flame to quench.

After making five of the six men fall asleep, the tree’s energy was almost depleted. I could feel it ache and shiver at the effort to transport water up the stem. Taking the tree’s last reserves, I quenched the last man’s flame. Just when I wanted to pull back again, the tree died. Its life force flowed into me, and with it came pain that slammed into me. Instinctively, I let it pass through me and into the man. He screamed, a high-pitch sound that made me shiver. It filled my heart with dread. I had done this; I had caused his suffering. Then, it stopped. I searched for his flame, but deep inside I knew: I had killed a man.

I needed to leave, now. I wiggled on the rough ground until my face touched the bark of the tree behind me. Pressing my head against the wood I managed to slide the blindfold up until I could finally see again. I spotted a knife lying next to one of the unconscious men and let myself fall forward until I was lying on the grass. Using my bound legs to propel me forward, I crawled until I reached the knife. A moment later, I had cut the bonds that secured my hands behind my back. Stretching my aching arms, I felt tired and worn out. But I could not stay there, I had to move on. Around me, there were five men lying on the ground, all looking like they had collapsed where they had stood or sat before. Their sleep seemed deep, but I took no chances and tiptoed around them, avoiding any unnecessary sounds. I picked up a sheath and belt for the knife and attached it around my waist. After a quick search of the camp, I had made myself a bag filled with dried meat, a few apples and a bottle of fermented wine. There were two horses that stood some distance away from the camp, bound to a lonely birch tree. They were stocky animals, not used for riding but for hard farm work. Their harnesses lay on the ground next to the cart. On the cart, a long box was secured with ropes; this was the coffin I had been kept in until earlier tonight.

If I took one of the horses, I would be much quicker than if I were travelling by foot. But horses were difficult to hide, and while I could change my own appearance, I could not change that of my mount. One of the men snored loudly, and I jumped. I had lingered here too long already.

I hung my bag over my shoulder and started to walk away from the camp. Assuming that we had really crossed the Eternal River and were in Fer now, I had to turn west to get back to the river crossing and therefore the way back to the Plains. Maybe Luca and his company had stayed in Ashenfields after I’d vanished, maybe they were looking for me. I had talked about leaving them for so long now that maybe they thought I had finally taken off. I wasn’t a child that they had to search for, I had seen twenty-five summers already. They probably assumed I had just dreaded to say goodbye. But then, I hadn’t taken any of my clothes or belongings. Surely they would be looking for me. Surely.

I looked up at the stars. Ever since I had been a child, sitting on the vardo at night with Mara, I knew my way around the night’s sky. Finding all four directions was easy if you knew which stars to look at. There were the nine stars that made up the bear, which during summer appeared on the southern horizon. Close by was the child, my favourite constellation. If you looked closely, the stars formed an infant lying curled up on its side. But tonight, I was looking for the serpent. Her stars shone brightly, the only thing more resplendent was the moon, a perfect half-circle. She would guide me on my way home.

I ran and ran until I couldn't run anymore. Then I walked as quickly as I could, dragging my aching body through the darkness. My bare feet had stopped hurting some miles ago, now numbness was spreading through me. But I continued on, driven by the sardonic smile of the magician whose laughter was echoing in my mind. On I went, and on, until I was limping, and still I walked, following the serpent in the sky.

With me, I took the image of the dead man lying on the grass, behind him the dead tree, its brown leaves splattered on the ground, its brittle branches swaying in the light breeze. I had killed today. What that would mean for me, it didn’t bear thinking about.

When traversing a spread-out corn field, I fell face forward onto the ground. The stubbles of harvested wheat plants pricked me; it felt as if a thousand knives were stabbing me. I was lucky that none of them hit my eyes. I couldn’t walk anymore, so I crawled. Until this day, I do not know how I had the energy to keep going. Maybe I instinctively used the energy of the plants around me, something that would save my life on several occasions later in life.

When I had crossed the field, I reached a small stream. Thankful, I crawled to its edge. With both hands, I scooped up some water and drank until my stomach would not take any more. Then, I let the cooling water run over my face and my arms. It took away some of the pain, but not my tiredness. I slowly managed to sit at the banks of the stream and let my legs hang down into the water. I lay back, feet still immersed, and looked up at the night’s sky.

Once, long ago, I had looked up at the same sky in the same despair I felt now. I sympathised with my younger self, as I relived that moment.

I had been walking all day, while all the time looking for food on the sides of the road. I had passed the last village days earlier, but when trying to steal some fruit at a market stall, I had been chased away by dogs and screaming children. That had been the last time I had met other people. I had avoided every settlement that I saw in the distance. I was alone and the presence of other humans would only make that fact even more unbearable. The road had become my home, the evening wind my grandmother’s embrace. I had lost everything. There was no one I could call family, no place to call home. Nowhere to go, but on and on. What I was looking for, I could not say. A better life, maybe, but how that should come to pass was hidden in the shining stars above.

One night, I was walking along the road, weary of any people I might meet. I was exhausted from stumbling over fields and through wilderness; using the road was easier. I could go on without having to concentrate on where I stepped. The repetitive movement of setting one foot in front of the other had become my lullaby, and my thoughts were flying freely. I could see me sitting at the evening table with my gran, eating simple but filling food. There would be a candle between us, flickering softly in the draft. Gran always left the windows and the door open, she liked to feel the evening wind on her face, as did I. There was no one living close by, no one who would disturb our togetherness. We didn’t need anyone else. Then, the scene changed. I was sitting in the stable, next to the warm body of Ilona, my favourite goat. The other goats were eating all day, avoiding us humans if they could, resenting the times we milked them. Ilona was different. She would lie next to me, breathing softly, listening to the stories I told her. They were simple tales that I made up, of princes and queens, of wild animals and mythical creatures. Others were stories my Gran had told me, and I repeated them when leaning on Ilona’s warm and comfortable side. Sometimes, when she looked at me from beneath her large eyelashes, I almost thought she understood every word I told her. When I had quarrelled with gran, I would go to Ilona to tell her of the chores I did not want to do, or of the hated salad Gran made me eat. Back then, my problems were simple, a child’s complaints in a perfect world. Thinking of Ilona made me smile. Oh, how I longed to be close to her, sitting in the straw in gran’s small stable, breathing in her motherly smell. I had not appreciated the simple, happy life my gran had provided for me. Now that I was alone, everything that had been seemed like a life another had lived. I was a different person now, yet I still yearned for the version of the past that still spooked my mind.

Caught up in the shadows of the past, I fell asleep.

V oices woke me. Before I could even open my eyes, strong hands pulled me up roughly and put me on my own two feet. They wouldn’t carry me. I sank down to the ground again, looking up at the grim faces of two men. My heart sank. They had found me. It had all been for nothing.

I  was bound and gagged once again. My cheeks hurt, I felt bruising creep over my skin. When the men had found me, they had bound my hands with rough rope, then dragged me along, not caring for my exhausted state. When I sank to the ground, they only slapped me in the face and shouted that I was solely responsible for how they were treating me now. I had killed one of their own. I had been a simple prisoner before, now I was their enemy. They dragged me on, using the rope around my hands as a leash. Halfway to the camp where I had made my escape, we stopped. I sank to the ground where I stood, sinking into a deep state of unconsciousness. When they woke me with a slap on my cheek, it felt like only an hour had passed since we had arrived in the clearing. There was a man on a horse standing by the two men that had found me, arguing loudly. When I tried to sit up, my muscles were screaming with pain. Rough hands pulled me to my feet. My chin touched my chest, my knees threatened to buckle. Exhaustion was all I could feel.

My throat was burning from thirst, but when I begged them for water, they only laughed. The man jumped down from his horse in one fluid motion, then walked towards me. I did not see his face, but I recognised his gait. The sorcerer was back. The urge to run filled my mind, yet I did not have the energy. I stood there, only half conscious, waiting for them to do with my body as to how they saw fit. I could no longer move.

The sorcerer lifted my face with one hand, then spat at me. “You have cost us enough time already. Bind her on the horse, we are late! And once we’re back at the keep, you’ll pay for letting her escape!”. The other two men came and I was lifted onto the horse and secured with ropes behind the saddle, my legs hanging to one side, my upper body on the other. The sorcerer jumped up in front of me, and on we went. With every step the horse took, the ropes that secured me cut into my belly. Yet I was numbed to the pain. Parting from my body, my mind flew freely up into the sky.

4

Free Cities

There are six cities that make up the Free Cities, namely Port Royal and Ritteltown to the east, Soledon to the north, Gooseburgh to the south and Allembach to the west. The sixth city is the Citadel, an island dwelling built on an extinct volcano. The Citadel can only be reached by cable car from Soledon and Gooseburgh, and due to this safe and almost impregnable position, the parliament that governs all six cities is seated here.

Each of the five cities surrounding the Citadel specialises in one or more trades, and goods and services are freely exchanged between the towns. Allembach is the city of artists and craftsmen, and in the winter, it plays host to multiple travelling families that enrich the city with their multitude of songs and shows. Gooseburgh is the domicile of the military. Its position close to the border of the Free Cities makes it an ideal place for securing the lasting defence of the cities’ union. Ritteltown is built on a thin tongue of land reaching far into the Boiling Sea. It trades in learning and knowledge, and its library is the largest on the continent. To the north, Port Royal is built on a similar headland. Thanks to its harbour, the port town has built its wealth by trading with places such as Colkirk or Silverhaven. Lastly, Soledon is home of the manufacturing industry and known for its superb smithies.

It is said that the Free Cities were once part of a larger empire, encompassing places as far away as Moon Island and Silverhaven. If that was indeed so, the land this empire was built on has since been swallowed by the rising sea.

- An Introduction to the Geography of the Continent, Sir Tom Delavell

I  woke to the sound of dripping water. My head hurt. When I tried to sit up, lightning exploded before my eyes. I sank down onto the cold stone floor. How had I got here? The past was a scrambled pile of puzzle pieces. I had tried to flee. I had used a tree for energy. And… I had killed a man. I recoiled from this thought. I was no killer. Was I? If I had not planned it, did it still count as murder? Or was it murder because I had taken the chance that someone could come to harm? My head ached, which made thinking coherent thoughts difficult. My body was heavy, my limbs frozen to the ground. I was in no condition to think. I stopped keeping the waves of tiredness away from me and they crashed into me until I was swept away.

I  opened my eyes. It was almost pitch black, wherever I was, and I was lying on something wet. I sat up, and a small wave of nausea washed over me. I swallowed hard and took a moment to settle my stomach. I was sitting on a wet stone bench, roughly carved into shiny black rock. My feet didn’t reach the ground. There was water dripping down from somewhere. I felt small trickles of water run over my back as I leant back against the stone wall. My clothes were damp and wet on some parts. I crossed my arms in front of my chest as I shivered in the cold air that moved all around me. There was a cool draft coming from somewhere.

Carefully, I tried to stand up. Out of the darkness, I saw thick metal bars appear in front of me. I stood and grasped two bars in my bare hands. I was a captive, with no way of escape. The cold metal only reinforced this truth. My fate was at the mercy of another, whoever that was. Never had I felt so helpless before. For want of anything else to do, I lay down again on the bench, trying to avoid touching the wet wall as I curled into a ball. Tears came into my eyes as I thought of the hopelessness of my situation. No longer was I Eona, the acrobat, the respected member of the Ghorres family. I was back in my old role. The girl without a home, without a family. The girl that had no words.

I was as thin as a skeleton when they found me, lying in a ditch next to the road. Other people had passed before, but none had noticed me. I was a pitiful thing, all skin and bones. My eyes were big in my haggard face. I hadn’t had food in days, and the water I had drunk the day before had come from a muddy puddle. While I was lying there, something happened to me. I left my body lying on the roadside and drifted away, slowly looking back over the corpse-like girl I had become. After days of hunger and starvation, I was suddenly free of pain and despair. I was free, flying away into the dawn.

They later told me that it was Mara who found me. She took my light little body and carried it into her vardo. There she held a wet cloth at my lips, and with each drop that reached my mouth, I was pulled back into life again. She fed me warm broth and rich porridge, but as often as not my stomach would spill out the food as soon as I had swallowed it. She lay me down in her own bed and covered me with a quilted blanket she had made herself. The other travellers told her that there was little chance of my survival. She nodded and went back to work. Often, she would sit by my bed and talk of days long past and stories often told, as much to herself as to me. As easily as I had let go of life the night she had found me, as hard I clung to it now. Mara instilled a will to live into me that was as fiery as her own.

Once I got stronger, she would sit me down next to her on the driver’s seat, safely wrapped in a blanket. From that time, I remember the smell of horse all around me, the soft cushions she had embroidered, the simple sounds of the vardo moving through the landscape.

Sometimes, Mara would ask me questions, where I came from, where my parents were, but I never answered. Ever since I had left my body for a few precious moments, the sensations of life were overpowering to me. Every passing touch overwhelmed my senses, leaving me powerless to react. And whenever I saw Mara’s kind face, I thought of my grandmother. Gran, whom I had loved so fiercely, but who had left me alone nonetheless. Who had cared for me all my life, who had shown me how to walk, who had taught me my first words. Maybe that was part of the reason for me not speaking. The only person I had ever spoken to before everything fell apart was my gran. There were no houses around ours, no other children to play with. Sometimes a travelling salesman would knock on our door, but then I hid and gran did all the talking. We had chickens in our yard and goats that gave us fresh warm milk every morning. From time to time, gran would venture into the nearest village, almost half a day’s walk, but I always stayed at home. She didn’t want to lose me, gran said. But in the end, it was me who lost her. She’d had a cough all winter. It would go away on its own, she said, but it didn’t. I held her hand when she was having coughing fits, and when it got worse and she was coughing up blood, I wiped her mouth afterwards. One morning, I found her lying still in her bed. There was a tiny smile on her lips. She looked at peace. I lay down beside her, like I did every morning, and fell asleep. When I awoke, her body had grown cold. Still, I stayed. I didn’t know what else to do.

The next day, she had changed so much that I got frightened. I had not cried over her death, as I still waited for her to get up when she was feeling better. But when I saw her sunken cheeks and splotchy skin, even at this young age I knew that she would not get up ever again. I packed some cheese and bread into my little backpack, and added a bottle of water mixed with elderflower syrup, just as I would if I went for a walk with gran in the summer. I took my small walking stick that I had carved the autumn before, stepped outside and locked the door. Until now, nothing had been different from a usual day. But now that I stood on the doorstep, it suddenly came over me, the despair over the fact that nothing would ever be the same again. I took a deep breath, and bravely willed the tears away. I would manage on my own. After all, I had already seen five winters.

Shouldering my backpack, I took one step, and then another, walking away from the house where I had grown up. I didn’t look back.

I didn’t know how many days passed. In my cell, it was always night. I lay on the hard stone bench all day, looking up at the dripping ceiling. Sometimes, I was brought simple bread and water and my waste bucket was taken away, only to be brought back emptied soon after. The first time someone approached the bars of my confinement was some time after I had been brought in. I had tried to still my thirst by collecting the water from the trickles that slowly flowed down the walls of my cell, but the water tasted foul and it was hard to get enough of it to even make just one sip. My hair was hanging down in tangled and dirty grey strands; the black dye had mostly faded.

The first thing I heard was the clattering of keys in the distance, then the sound of heavy footsteps was coming closer and closer. I moved back as far as possible, pressing my back against the wet stone wall. A dark figure walked past my cell, holding only a small torch whose flickering light threw wild shadows at the walls. There was some noise coming from further down the corridor, the sound of an inhuman hissing that was echoed back and forth through the cave. I heard him put down a metal thing down on the floor, then his footsteps turned and came back towards my cell. The figure stopped in front of my cell. It was wearing a hood that cast a shadow over the man’s face. From a bag, he drew a bottle of water and half a lump of bread and carelessly threw them through the metal bars. The bread landed in the middle of a dirty puddle.

Pressed to the cold wall, I waited until the man had gone again. Then I jumped and grabbed the bread, stuffing it into my mouth, careless of its mouldy texture.

Every day or so, this process repeated itself. It was my only indication of how slowly time passed. I grew accustomed to the dark, yet the wet air in my cell was making my bones ache. Soon, I was coughing whenever I got up, and with every breath I took, the wheezing of my lungs got louder. With every day, I lost more weight. My ribs became so pronounced that it hurt to lie on my side. On good days, I made simple stretching exercises or stood on my hands for a bit, more for the memory of better days than for staying agile.

But soon, I had no strength left for unnecessary movements. I would lie on the cold stone bench all day, willing my mind to fly away. But my sleep was light, I rarely dreamed, and if I did, it was of the travelling people that had become my family. It was too painful to think of them, to think of my old life. There was a wound deep within me, the scar of all my losses. Old Mara had mended the first scars long ago, but now there were new wounds that would not close. Once again, I had lost everything. I was nothing without other people around me.

I heard his footsteps coming down the stone corridor. I didn’t bother to open my eyes. He would bring food and water, something I yearned for, but eating only prolonged my suffering. I would die here, there was no question about that. They would throw away my corpse, and I would be gone, erased from the earth in a tiny moment. I could either continue to wait to die, or I could hurry the process by not eating and drinking any longer. My body already hurt in every place possible, and the pain of hunger would not make any difference about that.

The man paused in front of my cell. I awaited the familiar sound of the bread hitting the ground, but I waited in vain. Had they decided to starve me now, just as I had made the same decision?

“Get up,” a low voice growled. It was the first time I heard the man’s voice. It was raspy and sounded like it was rarely used. I stayed lying on the bench, too weak to lift my body from the wet ground. I heard the turn of a key, and with a penetrating creak, the door to my cell opened. He entered and took one step to stand bent over my bench. “You breathe, you alive,” he said simply. I slowly opened my eyes. Even this simple movement was almost too difficult to manage. Over me, a round face stared at me. His blue eyes were small and sunken deep beneath a thick brow. He had no beard and his bald head reflected the light of his torch. He looked like an overgrown infant, with his pouty lips and puffed out cheeks.

I closed my eyes again, weary with the effort of holding them open. My mind drifted away, ignoring the man standing bent over me. From a distance, I felt two strong arms lifting me from my stone bed and carrying me away. My head was lying on his arm, my unkempt hair flowing down, almost touching the ground. It had grown since I had been put in this dungeon, and I knew that the white of the roots would stand in sharp contrast from the black I had dyed my hair before we came to Ashenfields. Like a child held in its mother’s arms, the man carried me away from my cell. The rocking motion made me nauseated, but there was nothing in my stomach in the first place.

We went through endless corridors, passing doors, some open, some closed. At some point, we exited the cave system and were suddenly standing under the warming autumn sun. My eyes, not used to light anymore, burned, but I opened them anyway, blinking at the bright blue sky. We were traversing a courtyard of sorts, high buildings surrounding us. The man who was carrying me did not stop anywhere, except to open some doors and shut others. Soon, we were in a labyrinth of rooms, some big, some tiny. The whole place looked like a child had built it from bricks, not caring about everything being the same size and shape. After walking through a corridor that had a ceiling made from blue velvet, we entered a staircase, going up and up a flight of winding stairs, until we reached a round chamber. There were few windows, more resembling arrow slits than windows.

I was roughly put down on the floor. A soft carpet welcomed me, and I thankfully lay down on it. Here I could sleep.

“Sit her down over here,” a new voice said, emanating power and authority. Once again, I was picked up and moved around. This time, I was carefully lowered onto a large armchair. I leant against its soft backrest. I had not felt anything this comfortable in a long time. The comfort of my new surroundings made me tired, I started to drift off, my mind separating in thousands of threads. Keeping myself together was so difficult, I longed to just let go.

Don’t. Please, don’t.

I paid no heed to the words that somehow drifted towards me. I broke away, floating. I was a child again, running barefoot over grasslands, no, I was ancient, white hair framing my face, I was standing on the right side of a golden throne, holding up a crown, and then again I was running, this time over snowy fields, chasing a dark figure that fled from me, and while I was running, there was the sound of wings over me, then I was pushed to the ground, and suddenly I was a human no longer, claws were sprouting from my fingertips, I was jumping up, flying through the air, softly landing on crimson paws, I was -

Stop.

Suddenly, I was pushed back into my body. Pain made my eyes water. I was back in my miserable, hurting, abused body. Taking a deep breath, I opened my eyes. Colours flooded my mind. Used to the black shadows of my prison cell, the multitude of colours, shapes and smells overwhelmed me. There was a fireplace right in front of me, but instead of a gently crackling fire, there was a silver cage standing in the hearth. A masterful craftsmanship showed in the many embellishments and flourishes that the silver cage bars formed. Inside was an animal that looked like nothing I had ever seen. First, I thought it was a chicken, but it was a larger than that, the size of a large cat. While its legs, feet and body looked like that of a rooster, it had no feathers, but scales that shimmered golden in the light of the fire. Its wings were too small to be much use for flying, and its beak was long and curved. But the most peculiar thing about this strange beast was its antlers. They looked like those of a stag, but much smaller. They sprouted from the place just above the creature’s eyes. They were of a dark red colour, and its ends looked sharp enough to do serious damage. The animal was sitting on a nest made from a variety of materials, with wooden branches bound together by colourful strands of cloth. Its eyes were closed, it seemed to be sleeping.

“I gather you have not encountered an elvedritsch before”, the deep voice said behind me. I startled. Staring at this peculiar animal had made me forget about the second person in the room. “They are not very easy to catch. They are quick, but also very curious. Hunting elvedritsch is a skill that not many possess. You need several beaters who try to find and rouse the elvedritsch. They will then drive it to the catcher, who has prepared a variety of interesting things for the elvedritsch. I have heard that candles, sweets and a mirror are most effective. While the elvedritsch inspects the offerings, the catcher throws a sack over the animal. Elvedritsch are naturally scared of the dark, and won’t move while they can’t see. Once you’ve got an elvedritsch in a sack, it won’t even do so much as squawk. This one has been with me for quite some time. To my knowledge, she’s the first of her kind that has laid an egg in captivity.”

Now that he mentioned it, I could see a light orange egg peak out from her scaled lower body.

“Their eggs grow while they are close to their mothers. Soon, it will be large enough to hatch. I’m quite looking forward to that.”

He stepped into my field of vision, and I saw him for the first time. He was a tall man, dressed in a black suit. He was quite handsome, with his dark hair and slender figure. His skin was darker than that of most people in this region, but if it was from the summer sun or his parentage, I could not discern. Were it not for his piercing blue eyes, he would not stick out in a crowd. He was wearing no jewellery or other decoration but still looked striking in his simple black clothes.

He gave a small bow in my direction.

“I am sorry, I have not yet introduced myself. You may call me Lassadar. And what is your name?” He smiled kindly, and I felt the urge to tell him anything he might want to know.

“They call me Eona.” My raspy voice sounded foreign to myself. I had not spoken for a long time. Until then I hadn’t noticed that I had spent the last weeks in silence. My thoughts had been loud enough that I had not minded the silence.

“Welcome to my tower, Eona. Would you like something to drink - wine perhaps?”

He did not wait for an answer but went straight to a little shelf on the wall. He took out two crystal glasses and filled them quietly. He then offered me one of the glasses with a flourished move. Grateful, I took it, my hand shaking with the effort. The wine was excellent, although after living off stale water for so long, anything would have tasted good. When I put down my glass, I caught a glimpse of my own reflection on the polished silver. I was a skeleton, with huge, dark green eyes in a bony face framed by dirty pastel white hair. I had never been beautiful, but now I was just a shade of whatever I had been before.

Lassadar pulled a chair close to my armchair and sat himself down. He settled his elbows on his knees and leant his chin on his fingertips. Then, as if it only just came to him, he looked at me, and said, “I am so sorry for how you have been treated here. I only just arrived earlier today, otherwise I would have seen to your accommodation myself. But I put someone else in charge of my affairs here, and he must have misunderstood my orders. Don’t worry, he will be punished for how lowly you have been treated. Of course, from now on you will live in better quarters. I will have my own physician see to your needs. He will probably suggest that we start you on small portions of food, but soon you will be able to eat anything your heart desires. And once he says you are fit to travel, I will take you to my own dwelling on the banks of Lake Veilvar.” He paused and looked at me. I felt as if I had just been struck by lightning. His words were so beautiful; they were promising things that I had not thought possible. It made sense that someone as noble as himself would not have known of my painful time in a prison cell. Surely, he could not have known.

I took another sip of the wine. It ran warmly down my throat, making me feel light and happy. My seat was comfortable, and it was nice and warm in this room. Here I could stay, here I felt safe.

I must have fallen asleep because when I woke, I was lying in a soft bed. I was warm and comfortable, something I hadn’t been for a long time. I was wearing a simple nightshirt. All the grime and dirt that had covered my skin for weeks had gone. It was almost as if nothing had happened, as if I was lying in my bunk bed in Mara’s vardo.

The smell of freshly baked bread filled my nose, and hungrily I sat up. There were three pillows behind me, and one large, fluffy duvet keeping me warm. On my left, a tray with hot soup and a few slices of bread was waiting for me. I reached over and put the tray on my legs. I had not eaten in bed for years. The soup was delicious, small pieces of meat swam in the nicely spiced broth. I broke off a piece of bread and dipped it into the soup. It was a such a meal as I had not had in a long time. After a few spoons full of soup, my hunger was stilled. I had gotten used to much smaller rations of food, and this bowl was more than I had got in several days combined.

I put the tray on the little table once more and pushed away the duvet. The small window beckoned, I wanted to find out where I was. Unsteadily I stood up and moved towards the window. It took me a lot longer to walk across the small room than I had thought. I opened the window and a cool breeze flew into the room. I closed my eyes and breathed in the fresh air for a while, before leaning out of the window to look around. Vertigo overcame me. There was no ground, only water a long way down from where I stood. I was on a high tower, far below me waves crashed into black cliffs. This must be Lake Veilvar, the largest inland lake known to men. Gyntkeep, the homestead of King Gynt himself, lay on its shores. Was my room in the keep itself? Or was I in one of the other towns and villages that were built on the shores of the lake?

I leant out further to see more. The tower was built from the same rock as the cliffs down below. I turned to both sides, but I could see nothing but the rounded tower walls. The buildings I had seen when the gaoler had carried me to this place must be on the other side of the tower. In the distance, I thought I could see low hills on the horizon, but it may have been a trick of the light.

The window wasn’t a way out then. I looked around the room and thought why I would need a way out. The man I had spoken to, Lassadar, seemed nice enough. Why would I want to leave when he was giving me this lovely room, and food, and his attention.

There were two doors leading away from my room. I tried the larger one, it was locked. The other one led to a tiny room where a hole in the floor served as lavatory. Through the hole I could see the water below, waste would simply fall into the lake.

I left this small garderobe and sat back down on my bed, saving the little strength I had.

There was a short knock on the door, then a young man entered the room. He was dressed all in green; the colour of his loose shimmering trousers reminded me of moss in the dark shadows of a forest.

“I see you’re up already. When I looked in on you earlier today, you were still sleeping. How are you feeling?”

“Not too bad, I guess.” Which was a lie. I was feeling amazing. But I liked his mothering attitude. “Who are you, anyway?”

He gave me a shy smile. “I’m Healer Reaving. His lordship has ordered me to give you any assistance you need to get back to your usual healthy self. Which is why I have brought along some potions that will help you to get back your strength.”

He pulled out several small bottles from the leather bag he was carrying over his shoulder. Each one of them had a carefully glued-on label, filled with spidery writing. He removed the tray from the table and then sat out the bottles in front of me. I picked up the largest of them and tried to decipher the tiny handwriting.

“You can read?”, he asked, and when I nodded, he smiled. “That will make this a little easier. The potion you are holding is to increase the amount of nutrients your body absorbs from food. It will help you gain weight again quickly. You might feel a little drowsy after taking it, but this will pass quickly.” He gave me a conspiratorial wink. “Most ladies of the court request potions that have the opposite effect. But I won’t let you gain more weight than what suits you, don’t worry.

“Then, we have a potion to give you energy should you feel too tired or worn out. This blue bottle contains medicine that will help with nausea and vomiting that might occur if you eat too much too quickly, which I advise you to do, because you need to get some more flesh on your bones before the winter starts. The potion in this bottle is against your cough. And lastly, this one here is one of my favourites. It’s quite bitter, I know, but it will make you feel good. Nothing more and nothing less than that. You look like you could do with some happiness.”

His broad smile is contagious, yet I don’t know what to say to him.

“Thank you for your kindness”, I finally manage to say.

“Don’t thank me. I’m only doing what his lordship has asked me to.”

“His lordship, do you mean Lassadar?”

He pauses for a moment as if to think about what to say, then he replies, “Yes, I mean the man you know as Lassadar.”

With that cryptic answer, he leaves the room, slowly shutting the door behind him.

5

Lord Levatius Lassadar

Lassadar was the court magician (some have called him a sorcerer) of -> King Gynt the Wise. Nobody knows where he came from originally, save that his darker skin tone suggests his descent to be from the western counties. His first name is not known, nor is his age. He was known for his charm and sense of humour, behind which he often hid his sharp intelligence and - some say - his malice. He quickly rose to fame as the magically gifted protector of the king early in Gynt’s reign. The other tasks he was given by the king are not specifically known, yet there are rumours of Lassadar being called an assassin or the ‘King’s hangman’. It is also known that people who speak of or spread these rumours vanish and are never heard of again.

- Andros’ Chronicle of King Gynt’s Reign

Several days had passed by the time I was called to Lassadar. I had spent the last few days recovering from the time in the dungeons. I was brought meals three times a day, all of them delicious. Once Healer Reaving had learnt that I could read, he had brought me a book on herbs, one of his favourites, he said. I had never had a book for myself before, there had only been one in the possession of the Ghorres family, and that had been a selection of essays on the history of the travelling people.

I used the time my body needed to recover to read in Reaving’s book, which became the first encounter I had with the art of healing. Some herbs I knew as cooking herbs, others I had thought to be nothing but wild-growing weeds, and again others I had never seen or heard of before. On the second day, I asked my healer for some paper and ink to make notes on what I had read in the book. Gladly, he did so, and passionately offered to answer any questions I might have on the things I read. It seemed that he did not have anyone else who shared his passion for healing. Yet after noticing his discomfort during our first conversation, I did not want to strain our burgeoning friendship by asking questions about his master.

But now, Lassadar had sent a servant to ask me to join him in his study. It was the first time I left my room since I had arrived there. He led me up a winding staircase that began close to where my own room lay. It took a long time for me to climb the stairs, I had trouble breathing at every step.

The study turned out to be the same room where I had met him for the first time. This time, it was him sitting in the armchair. He stood up when I entered, and motioned me to take a seat on a simple, but comfortable chair opposite of his own.

“You look so much better today. I trust you have found everything to your liking?” He smiled at me, sure that I would agree. And agree I did. I told him how I was so very thankful for giving me room and board and sending Healer Reaving to tend to my physical needs. When I had finished, he cleared his throat. He picked up a little bell from a small table beside him and rang it. The servant, who had left once he had seen me to the door, reappeared.

“Find Lor and send him up to me”, Lassadar ordered. The servant bowed and left the room. Lassadar turned to me. Again, he was dressed all in black, yet his simple attire did not hide the quality of the fabric it was made from.

“When I saw you a few days ago, I promised that I would punish the person responsible for your mistreatment. This has not been done yet, as he was away from the keep, but now that he has returned, I thought you might like to witness what happens to people that mistreat my guests.”

I was not sure if I did indeed want to see this punishment, but when I thought of all the time I had spent shivering in the wet and dark hole they had kept me in, white-hot rage filled me. Yes, I wanted to see the person responsible punished. I wanted him to pay with pain for the pain he had caused me.

“While we wait, would you like to have a closer look at the Elvedritsch? You fell asleep last time before I got the chance to properly introduce you.” Without waiting for an answer, he got up and bent down to the cage that was still sitting in the empty fireplace. He drew a small golden key from a pocket and opened the upper part of the cage. The elvedritsch, who had been sleeping peacefully, lazily opened one eye and peeked at Lassadar. He smiled, and carefully lifted her from the cage. She protested noisily over being separated from the dark orange egg that was left lying on thick velvet scraps in the cage. Her little wings went up and down; she looked a little like a grilled chicken that had suddenly come back to life. With antlers.

Lassadar sat her down on the floor beside him.

“We need to give her something to look at, otherwise she won’t shut up. Could you pass me that little mirror from the cupboard over there?” I got up and walked over to the other side of the room. The cupboard was a magnificent chest of drawers made from mahogany and black ebony. Its drawer handles were made from gold in the shape of leaf garlands. On top of the spotless commode lay a small silver mirror. It looked old, its back had started to tarnish, yet it was still beautiful. I took it over where the elvedritsch was being held by Lassadar.

“Put in right in front of her,” he ordered. When I did, the fowl stopped struggling in Lassadar’s strong grip and began to curiously eye the mirror. Once he was sure that she would not run, the man loosened his grip and let her explore her new toy. Curiously, she put one of her bony feet on the mirror, exploring her reflection. She tilted her head to both sides, trying to see the effect that would make, and then opened her long beak, examining the insides of it with the mirror.

“You’d think this is the first time she does this,” Lassadar laughed. “I gave her the same mirror only yesterday, and still she is fascinated by it. Well, while she is busy looking at herself, we can have a closer look at her egg.”

We moved over to the cage again, leaving the elvedritsch to her toy. I had only seen a glimpse of the egg the last time I had been in this room, but I was sure it had not been as big nor as shiny previously. It was about as large as a man’s fist, and its smooth surface shone as if it had just been polished. Its colour went from light gold at the top to a dark yellow where it touched the ground. It was neither translucent nor opaque, but somewhere in between. When looking at it closely, I thought I could see a shape within the egg, but it might have been a trick of the light. I yearned to touch it and feel its smooth surface, but I did not know whether Lassadar would allow it.

As if he had read my mind, he said, “Go on, you can touch it. He won’t mind.” Wasn’t the elvedritsch female? Then why had he said ‘he’?

I stretched out one finger to touch the egg. The closer I got, the more it called to me. At the first contact, I pulled back my hand immediately. Questioningly, I looked at Lassadar, but he only smiled and beckoned for me to repeat my action. The egg had hummed. I lay my whole hand on it and felt the vibration go through my arm up into my shoulder. I closed my eyes, and opened my mind, looking for the egg that my hand still touched. When I found it, I could not believe what I felt. It was as if a golden flame burnt brightly within the egg. It was neither hot nor cold, the flame did not radiate any kind of warmth. While I was staring at it, the flame turned and looked at me. Startled, I opened my eyes again. Lassadar smiled at me.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” I simply nodded, feeling unable to speak. It had felt as if the egg knew me, as if we had met before. There was a familiarity between us that was unlike anything I had ever felt. I knew then that if I connected with the egg again, the thin bond that now connected us would become stronger, maybe even unbreakable. I was not sure if I wanted that. There was too much that I did not know. What would a bond to an egg mean? Would it only stay while the chick had not yet hatched? Too many questions, not enough answers.

“You have felt it.” It wasn’t a question. Lassadar knew.

“Yes.” I paused. “What does it mean?”

He smiled. “It means that we are alike. I feel it too, the egg is burning in my mind just as strongly as it is in yours. It means that Lor was right to bring you here. You have powers, some of which you don’t even know yet. If you hadn’t come here, these powers might never have come to light. You would have stayed ignorant of your own abilities, caught in the hamster wheel of repeating the same thing over and over again. I offer you a new path. Explore your powers with me, together. Let us push away the confinements of knowledge, let us learn new things together. This is why I’m showing you the elvedritsch and her egg - this is something new, something that not many people have seen before. We are pioneers, making our way out of the darkness and into the light of learning.“

He paused and looked down at the egg.

“The fascinating thing is that I don’t know what will come out of this egg. You see, elvedritsch are born in such a way that they cannot reproduce, at least not with one another. In this, they are like mules, born from the union of a male donkey and a female horse. When elvedritsch lay eggs, there’s usually nothing in there but stinking fluids. It’s like nature is mocking them by letting female elvedritsch lay eggs, yet never produce offspring. However, this particular hen somehow managed to lay a fertilised egg. I know you can feel the embryo inside, as can I. Yet whether another elvedritsch will hatch or something else entirely, I cannot say. I’ve never heard of elvedritsch eggs growing, either. This one here is something new. And I have to admit, I find it quite humbling to be the first to be able to witness the hatching of an elvedritsch egg.”

There was a knock on the door. Lassadar shot me an irritated glance and called for the servant to enter.

He was followed by a familiar man, dressed all in black. The sorcerer that had kidnapped me in Ashenfields, the man who had killed the old woman, who had strangled my mind with his icy leash, was standing only a few feet away from me. I jumped up and staggered backwards until I could feel the wall behind me.

“Easy, girl. He isn’t here to hurt you,” Lassadar said soothingly. He beckoned to the servant to go, then kneeled to put the elvedritsch back into her cage. When she sat down on her egg, I felt something tingle in my mind.

Lassadar sat down on his armchair and signalled me to sit down on the chair beside him. The sorcerer was standing by the door, arms crossed over his chest, unmoving. His face was a calm mask, hiding any emotion he might have, yet still he radiated weariness. His black clothes were immaculate, yet his boots were sprinkled in mud.

“Lor,” Lassadar said with a sigh. I was waiting for him to continue, yet he said no more. It was an uncomfortable silence, and each second began to stretch until I felt the urge to speak myself just to break the silence. Yet I said nothing.

Then, Lor bowed deeply, while keeping his eyes fixed on Lassadar. “Master, you called.”

This time, Lassadar answered. “Indeed I have. I came back from my travels to find our young guest here” - he nodded his head in my direction - “half-starved in the dungeons. Only by good fortune I arrived in time before she perished right under my eyes. You were in charge of her well-being, yet you failed me and her. Did I tell you to kidnap innocent people and drag them here, only to let them die in those horrible caves? No, I told you to find people that might be gifted in the same way as you and I am, and ask them to come here so that they may be taught in our ways, so that their potential did not go to waste. Yes, I hoped that some would follow my call, yet I didn’t ever think of forcing them. What would someone who is magically gifted, yet refuses to cooperate due to ill treatment add to our cause? I have not dared to ask young Eona here to assist me because I still feel indebted to her due to the mistreatment she suffered at your hands. So, what am I going to do with you?”

He left a dramatic pause. Lor stood still, his face a silent mask, not moving a single muscle. He didn’t look guilty at all; he was devoid of any emotion. Somehow, I envied his self-control. While I was looking at him, his eyes suddenly locked with mine. We were staring at each other, not able to look aside. I could feel his consciousness move towards me, trying to read me with more than just his eyes. It felt like he was extending his fingers, groping around in the darkness for my thoughts. The closer he got, the more afraid I got. I forced down the impulse of running away. I would have to learn how to fight him, running away could not always be an option.

Hide.

But there was nowhere to hide away from his disgusting fingers. When he touched my mind for the first time, a shiver run through my entire body. He felt wrong, he was a foreign body in my consciousness that needed to be removed. I could feel him expand his hands around me, looking for a way to enter. I felt all the cracks he could use, and somehow he seemed to read those thoughts, getting closer to a site of fracture. I knew that if he managed to gain entry to my mind, all would be lost. There was only one way out. I took all my powers together and repelled him, imagining a splinter being forced out of an open wound. I staggered with the effort, but it worked, his fingers had gone and within a fraction of a second, my mind was safe. I opened my eyes. Lor was kneeling on the ground, panting heavily. Somehow, the action of expelling him from my mind had had a physical effect on him.

“Well done”, I heard Lassadar say close to my ear. I swayed, suddenly conscious of how much energy this simple motion of defending my mind had cost me. An impenetrable fog closed in on me, and I felt my legs give way under me. I fell, but just before I hit the ground, strong arms were suddenly around my back and held me. Tiredness was a wave that threatened to carry me with her, yet the touch of Lassadar’s hands on my shoulders kept me anchored to the present. I was a flag in the wind, fluttering wildly, yet fixed to a post. Forces pulled at me from all directions, yet I was grounded to reality. After some time, they subsided. I had withstood the storm.

I opened my eyes. The orange colour of the sunlight that struck my eyelids told me that at least an hour had passed, yet Lor was still standing in the same position by the door where I had last seen him. Lassadar stood next to him, talking quietly. It looked more like a friendly conversation than the accusing speech Lassadar had held not long ago. Maybe he had already punished Lor, and then seeing the issue as over, pretending that nothing had happened. But Lassadar had sounded pretty angry earlier, I couldn’t believe that he would just ignore what Lor had done to me.

I yawned loudly to get their attention. Immediately, Lassadar was at my side.

“Feeling better?”, he asked with a worried look on his face.

“Yes, I must have nodded off. Sorry, I didn’t want to take up so much of your time.” I felt a little embarrassed. What would he think of me, having me falling asleep in his room for the second time now?

“No, don’t feel bad, you took no time of mine at all. In contrary, your display of your powers, untrained as they may be, quite impressed me. Forcing a man as trained in magics as Lor to his knees is quite a feat. Now that I know how strong you are now and how strong you might be once you’ve received some training, I am almost impatient to waste time on Lor’s punishment, if we could spend the same time instructing you in some basic ways of how to use your powers. Still, I promised that he would be held account over what he put you through. It’s no way to treat anybody, least of all an honoured guest such as yourself.”

When he called me a guest, my mind flew to the image of my locked door here in this tower, yet I ignored this nagging thought and willed it away. It was for my protection so that people such as Lor could not harm me. I had spent the last week in bed, too weak to move, too weak to defend myself. It was only logical to keep my door locked. Lassadar was on my side.

“… I’ll make it your choice.” Somehow I had missed part of the conversation. What was my choice? Surely not what I was thinking. Surely not Lor’s punishment. They didn’t know what I could do, I had killed a man. I was in no position to judge Lor, we were the same. How could I be better than him, having murdered someone in cold blood?

“I can’t - I don’t know the customary sentence…” My voice faltered. I looked around me. Lor was standing by the door, an amused smirk on his lips. Lassadar was looking at me expectantly, waiting for an answer that I could not provide him with. I searched my mind for reasonable punishments. I found none. What Lor had done was despicable and evil, yet so was any punishment that I could condemn him with. Don’t fight fire with fire, my old gran used to say. If I showed Lor kindness, would he see it as such, or would it count as weakness in his eyes? For some reason, I did not want him to see me as weak.

Lassadar must have sensed my predicament, for he cleared his throat and offered, “I can understand that you don’t know the laws in the Kingdom of Fer, and I won’t hold that against you. Let me tell you what sentence I might impose on the offences of deprivation of liberty and wrongful incarceration. While these might be penalised with the loss of a limb or the loss of a sense, he was acting under my orders, even though he misinterpreted them. Therefore, if I were to speak judgement over Lor, I’d say that the just punishment, in this case, is the loss of a small body part, such as a finger or toe. Would that be agreeable to you?”

Though I found these punishments more barbaric and gruesome than they would have been in the Plains or the Free Cities, they would be those that Lor was used to. He would not find me weak if I agreed with Lassadar’s propositions.

I took a deep breath. “Yes, it would. Maybe losing a finger will mean that Lor thinks twice about doing things that you have not ordered him to do.”

“Exactly. Although I might suggest changing the sentence to the loss of a toe. Sometimes, Lor might need all his fingers to do what I ask him to do.”

I did not question what this might be. Lor seemed to relax a little now that he was sure to keep both arms and legs. He even shot me a little conspiratorial smile. Ice cold hatred flooded me. He should be sorry for what he’d done, not smile. He should be afraid, just as I had been. He should fear me just as I still feared him.

But it was too late. Lassadar had already asked Lor to leave. After the door had shut behind him, he turned to me.

“Now that this unfortunate business has been settled, we can continue where we left off. I think I was just about to explain about the elvedritsch’s egg.” He turned to face the fireplace and shook his head as if startled.

“My, time has passed quicker than I had thought.” I looked at the wooden clock that ticked away on the wall over the fireplace. “You must excuse my rudeness, but I will have to ask you to continue our conversation at another time. I am expected at dinner in only a matter of minutes and must put on some proper clothes. The King does not like to be kept waiting.”

W hen I heard a knock on my door, followed by the turn of the key the next day, I expected a servant that would bring me to Lassadar so that we could continue our conversation on the elvedritsch as promised. Instead, Healer Reaving came in, carrying an armload of scrolls and a large bag. He used his foot to close the door, then put down his heavy load on the table that stood in the middle of the room. I was sitting on a chair by the window, letting the warm sunshine on my face. Outside, it was getting colder, autumn was close. Yet today was a beautiful day, and warm air filled my room. I had not been outside for a long time, and I longed to see a different scenery from the endless water below my window. I made a mental note to ask Lassadar if I could explore the castle a little, now that Lor had been dealt with.

Healer Reaving had begun to sort the scrolls he had brought with him. Some of them were new, the ink still vibrant, while others seemed ancient, the paper stiff and crumbling at the edges.

“I’ve taken the liberty to bring a few scrolls on healing herbs after you seemed interested in them the last time I was here.” He paused, seemingly embarrassed. “I hope I’m not bothering you, if I have misunderstood, you can tell me and I’ll leave you in peace. Sometimes I get a little carried away, and you’ve been the first that seemed interested in this, and …” His voice trailed away.

I shot him a big smile. “No, it’s wonderful! I enjoyed reading the book you brought, and I’m sure I’ll also have a great time looking at those scrolls. Sit down, make yourself comfortable.”

He breathed a sigh of relief, sat down on the other remaining chair and shyly smiled back at me.

“I thought we could look at them together, and I also brought some herbs for you to look at. It’s always better to see them in real life, to notice their smell and taste.”

He opened the large bag he had set down next to him. A wave of an assortment of aromas and scents shot out of it. He pulled out a bunch of yellow flowers and gave me one to look at more closely. It had five symmetrical petals and smelled a little like honey.

“This is verbascum, more commonly known as velvet plant. Its seeds are slightly poisonous and are sometimes used to paralyse fish, which makes fishing a little easier. I use its extracts for making a remedy for ear infections, and an infusion of its flowers for respiratory disorders. It was in one of the potions I gave you for your cough. I trust it has helped?”

I nodded, and curiously looked at what else his bag might contain. He smiled and pulled out another bundle of herbs. This time, it was dried green leaves. They looked familiar.

“Is this lamb’s tongue?”

He nodded with enthusiasm. “Yes, or as we herbalists call it, plantago lanceolata. In other areas, it’s known as narrowleaf plantain. Again, something that was in your cough medicine. But people use it for all sorts of things, like putting a plantain paste on itching insect bites or eating its thick root to ease a toothache. I’ve got a scroll somewhere that debates whether a salad made from plantain leaves helps against impotence. If you ask me, it doesn’t, but…” He suddenly stopped. His face had gone a deep shade of red. I couldn’t help myself. I laughed loudly. He looked at me, then grinned and joined in.

I hadn’t realised how long it had been since I’d last been laughing and joking around. It seemed like years had passed. I thought of Mara, Luca, Cino, all the people I held dear. They had become my family; they had cared for me when no one else did. I wondered what they were doing right now. They would be leaving Hawkfair soon, if they had not already done so. I loved staying in the town of Hawkfair. The people there were used to host multiple travelling families in late summer each year and celebrated the arrival of each company with evening dances and bonfires. Many families who lived in the small town were related to travelling people, and so it was not only a coming-together of travellers but also of extended relatives. Mara’s sister lived in Hawkfair, having settled down after she got pregnant the first time. Now, she had dozens of grandchildren running around, and last year, her first great-grandchild had been on the way. I imagined Mara sitting amidst all those children, telling stories of life on the road, giving out sweets, inviting the children to tell her their favourite stories in return. My thoughts went to what Lor had said when he had captured me. A gypsy boy had told him about me. Had it been one of the children there? Someone in the extended Ghorres family even? Not on purpose, I was sure of that. I didn’t have a grudge with any of them, and even though it had taken them some time to get used to the ‘findling’, they had all come to accept me into their family.

Maybe the Ghorres family had already left Hawkfair and was on their long and difficult way to the Free Cities, where they would spend the winter. Yes, it was getting cold outside, and they would try to take the mountain pass before the first snow. Allembach was the city we had spent most winters, the story houses there were famous and attracted not only travelling people, but guests from local towns as well as faraway places. Here, I spent most of my winter evenings, sitting in the warm bar of the Lonely Minstrel, listening to songs and stories, and sometimes even telling my own. Or maybe they would decide to winter in Rittletown. Now that young Cino was learning to read, Luca might want to show him the Great Library, or the dignified halls of the old university. I wondered who was teaching Cino now that I wasn’t there with them. Luca was always so busy, organising shows, helping out wherever he could, and I wasn’t sure if he’d take the time to teach his son. Maybe Mara took over Cino’s education. She had taught her daughter to read, even though back then this had been unusual. Now that her daughter had passed away, she might take the opportunity to pass her knowledge on to her grandson.

“Am I boring you?” I flinched, having forgotten all about Healer Reaving sitting there with me.

“I am sorry, I was just thinking about the family I used to travel with. I’m wondering what they are doing. I miss them, and I miss travelling outside, seeing the land and its people, traversing the Plains - have you ever been there during summer? It’s beautiful, the heather is in full bloom, the few trees that manage to survive there have shiny red apples, or ripe plums hanging from their branches, ready to pick. You would like it there, I am sure, all the herbs that grow by the side of the road, Mara taught me to recognise some of them, although I’m sure you would know exactly what they all are.” I stopped, caught in emotion. The young man was quiet, simply listening.

“Until now I hadn’t realised how much I miss the outdoors. I haven’t been outside for so long, and here I only see the lake, there’s nothing green here. Now that you’ve brought all these herbs, I want to see them where they grow. I want to smell their scents intermingling in the warm summer air, I want to feel them with my own hands, I want to walk barefoot over grass, I want…” There were tears in my eyes. I could not speak anymore without letting go, without crying in front of Healer Reaving. I crossed my arms in front of my chest, hugging myself.

There was a long silence between us. Then, timidly, he spoke. “Would it help if I ask his lordship whether I can show you the gardens? I’m sure they’re not as beautiful as the wild nature you’re used to, but they are quite nice. And I could show you my little herb patch. It’s not as big as I’d like it to be, but space is sparse in this castle, every square metre has to be claimed from the lake.”

I nodded, still not trusting my voice not to falter.

“And I could show you my laboratory. It’s nothing big, but it’s mine. I try out new recipes there and dry the herbs I grow. Sometimes his lordship brings back foreign plants and flowers from his travels and asks me to find out if they have any use to them. That’s one of my favourite things to do, experimenting with those new and unknown plants. I’ve written a few scrolls on some of them, not that anyone would read them, but still, it’s interesting to do. This one here is one of those his lordship gave me to study. I call it fairy’s wing. See here, those tiny purple flowers? They are actually much larger, but all rolled into minuscule balls. In the evening, they unfold, almost like wings, to catch the last rays of the sun. In the early hours of the day, they do the same, but this time to catch the morning dew. Then they fold up again, protecting themselves from the heat of the day. Quite fascinating, those flowers. But the important bit of this plant is its root. They’re really quite bulbous, and there’s a thick juice stored in them. I use it to glue together the edges of a wound, and only a thin scar will remain, much thinner than it would be if I used conventional methods. I’ve also noticed that injuries heal much faster when treated with the root juice of fairy’s wing.”

I smiled at his enthusiasm that had now replaced his earlier shyness. I liked him. Maybe this unplanned trip to Fer had its good sides, too.

6

Great Plains

The Great Plains, often called ‘The Plains’ for short, is a large highland area set between the Free Cities and the Kingdom of Fer. Its northern border is formed by the Snake River and parts of the Misty Swamp, while its southern border is made up of the deep woods of the Lonely Forest.

Their population is sparse, yet the people who settle there are known for their hardiness and assertiveness. There is no ruler of the Plains, each town or village rules itself, though it is known for villages to form co-operations with other dwellings, lending support if needed. There are also trade agreements between the Free Cities and some of the larger towns in the Plains.

When the former country of Elasia was overrun by invaders from the Western Counties during the Fifth War, which led to the forming of the Kingdom of Fer, the people of the Plains destroyed the only bridge that led over the Eternal River, thereby ensuring their freedom and independence. The bridge was only rebuilt a decade later after the Kingdom of Fer signalled that they had no interest in taking over the hard to settle lands of the Plains.

- An Introduction to the Geography of the Continent, Sir Tom Delavell

O nce again, I was standing in front of the large wooden door of Lassadar’s study. A young servant boy had brought me here and then left, telling me to wait until his master bid me in. I had been waiting for at least ten minutes now. The staircase was cold, and I was shivering slightly in my light summer dress. I had been given this dress when I had been moved into my tower room. Even though I was brought warm water to wash each in morning, I had not been given any new clothes to wear. Not only was the dress too light for this cold autumn morning, but it was also beginning to smell. I would have to ask Lassadar for another one. I didn’t like having to rely on him to provide me with the basic things I needed. It was not like living with the Ghorres family, where I had worked for my living. There, I had a fixed allowance paid to me by Luca depending on how many shows I took part in each month. Usually, I didn’t need a lot of money while we were travelling in the warmer months of the year, a few coins for a drink or a meal in local pubs, or money to buy clothes at a market. The rest I saved for spending during the winter, when we were staying in one of the Free Cities, where everything cost much more than in the villages of the Plains or the small settlements on Kinrock Beach. Most of my money I spent in the story houses of Allembach. I could sit there and listen to songs and stories for hours, slowly sipping on a large mug of ale.

And then there was the market of Port Royal, hundreds, thousands of colourful stalls selling everything I could ever imagine and more. Beautiful jewellery made from sea shells or rare stones, fabric twice as large as me and still lighter than a copper coin, candles that gave off the most unusual smells, exotic food from places I had never heard of, clothes in all the colours of the rainbow, knives made from folded metal, and more, always more than I could ever look at. Oh, the wonders of the Free Cities! I smiled as I thought of the small necklace I had bought for Mara last year, made from stones that were the same green as her own eyes. She had worn it together with small ear-studs of a similar colour. The year before, Mara had taken me to a small store in Allembach, where they sold jewellery made from wood. There were tiny beads, each of them shaped in a different way to compliment the natural shape of the wood. There was a tiny baby lying on its mother’s hand, a cat, sleeping with its tail wrapped around its body, a human face that stared right at you, a tiny flower whose petals were caught in the process of unfolding. In the shop, Mara made me choose two earrings, one a small piece of driftwood with a beautiful mixture of brown colourings, the other a tiny human figure, bending backwards like an acrobat. In the evening, Mara had pricked my earlobes with a long needle to allow me to wear the beautiful pieces of jewellery she had bought for me. My hand went up to my right ear. The hole was still there, but the earring was missing, lost somewhere between Ashenfields and this place. The left earring was still there. Somehow it had survived my ordeal. My fingers felt its smooth surface. The acrobat had gone, yet the driftwood was still with me. I had become driftwood myself, having been swept away from my origin, fighting with the waves that threatened to have me drowned, always ending up in places I did not expect. I could either give up swimming or try to ride the waves, taking what was offered to me and using it for my own gains. I told myself that I would not drown.

T he door opened with a creak and Lor emerged, leaning heavily on a wooden crutch that he had wedged under his right arm bend. He shot me a poisonous glance, then began to slowly limp down the stone stairs. At this pace, it would take him a long time to descend the spiral staircase leading down from the tower. I allowed myself a small smile.

I entered Lassadar’s study, expecting him to sit in his armchair as usual. Instead, he was standing by the window, looking out over the calm blue lake. I closed the door behind me and stayed there, not knowing whether I should sit down or approach Lassadar. He had bound his long hair into a simple tail that fell down over the space between his shoulder blades. There were a few strands of white contrasting his otherwise pitch-black hair. I wondered how old he might be. He had the energy of a young man, yet his knowledge and wit made him seem older. He had an ageless quality to himself, that was only reinforced by his charm and well-mannered behaviour.

Without looking at me, he began to speak.

“Lor has paid for his intolerable behaviour towards you. I prefer to deal with such things as quickly as possible so that they will not fester and become more than they originally seemed to be. He has learned his lesson, and will hopefully not treat you ill again. Now that this has been dealt with, I expect him to treat you with the courtesies that you deserve. However, I also hope that you will not bear a grudge against Lor. He is not a bad person, he simply misjudged my orders in this case. His help at numerous occasions has been invaluable, and I plan to use him again for whatever mission I see fit. Once we’ve established what kinds of talents you possess, I might ask him to teach you some of his own special powers. But let’s not worry about this now, we’ll have enough time to discuss such things when the time to do so has arrived. Today, I have a different thing to discuss with you.”

He turned around and smiled at me with his usual charm. With one arm, he beckoned me to sit down. Before he seated himself in his armchair, he poured two glasses of red wine and offered me one. Thankful, I took a big sip and felt the warming liquid run down my throat.

“Healer Reaving has spoken to me about how your health is quickly improving. I have to say that I am extremely happy to hear this from him, as I was quite worried about you when you first came here. He has also told me that you have expressed an interest in learning more about his craft, which I am willing to support if it does not collide with your other studies, of which I will say more later. Of course, if he has misunderstood your interest, I won’t force you to learn something you have no mind for.”

“Not at all, I would love to learn more about all the herbs he works with. He offered me a tour of his gardens and laboratory, which I would love to see if you would allow it.”

“Do you feel strong enough then to leave your room?”

I nodded. “Yes, thanks to Healer Reaving’s potions I have regained my strength faster than I thought possible. I have to admit, I am curious to see more of this place.”

“Good, then I will tell the healer to show you around his workplace. Yet I hope you will understand that I would prefer if there is someone with you when you start exploring the castle. It is easy to lose one’s way in the many rooms and halls here, especially as many of them look the same. Also, you don’t know the customs and traditions of our country, and this might lead to misunderstandings with the inhabitants of this city. Therefore, I’d prefer if you limit your explorations to Healer Reaving’s work areas for now.”

Even though I had hoped for the permission to move freely around the castle, I had to agree with Lassadar. I had no desire to get lost in an unknown place such as Gynt’s Keep.

“Now that all this is settled, shall we start with our first lesson?”

Eagerly, I agreed. I had been lazing around for too long, it was time to do something worthwhile once more.

“So far, I only know a little of what talents you might have. Lor told me that you managed to move incredibly quickly in that travelling show of yours. Then, you put five men to sleep, and killed a sixth.” He paused, looking straight at me. There it was, the thing I had refused to think about for the past few weeks. I had killed, I was a murderer. I was no better than any common thug. It had not even been an act of self-defence. They had not threatened to kill me; they were only guarding me. They had only followed Lor’s orders. A wave of self-hatred slammed into me. I cringed at the thought of the pale man lying there on the grass, unmoving, his dead eyes looking up at the night’s sky. Had he had a wife, a family? Would anyone mourn him?

“Eona.” He spoke my name softly, but firmly. Struggling to keep my emotions under control, I looked up at him, the pain showing in my eyes.

“You did what you thought was right. You felt threatened, so you acted on that feeling. Am I not right?” I wanted to tell him that it had been an accident, that the power I had taken from the tree had overwhelmed me, that I had lost control. But somehow, I thought that Lassadar would think better of me if he thought that I had planned his death than that it had been out of my control. He believed in me having magical power, and telling him that I had not been able to use them properly that night might dampen the impression he had of me.

“Listen to me. Let’s go back to the beginning. When did you first discover that you could do more than most other people?”

It was about four years after Mara had found me. I was still a thin little girl, but now it was not from starvation, but from training. I had discovered my talent for acrobatics, and spent my days climbing up the poles of the circus tent, or, if we were on the road, the highest trees that I could find. Luca’s wife Aman had taught me to cartwheel and backflip, and it had become the company’s running joke that I would prefer walking on my hands rather than use my feet. One day, when we had just made camp outside the small town of Dolen, I was sitting alone in a sea of heather and yellow gorse. The show was not until later that night, and Luca had given me and some of the other younger members of the travelling family some time to use as we saw fit. The others had left on the search for a village pub to spend their few coins on, yet I had sought solitude, walking away from the camp, up a low hill behind the village. After sating my thirst at a small stream, I had sat down to enjoy the warm sunshine. Far beyond the endless heather fields were the foothills of the mountains that made up the border between the Plains and the Free Cities. On some of the high peaks, I could see patches of white snow while other lower hills were covered completely in dark green forest. There were fluffy white clouds over the mountains, but from time to time a single ray of sunshine would break through and settle on the slopes as a small lake of gold. I let myself fall back onto the soft heather, looking up at the sky. Clouds were moving slowly in the wind, creating new shapes to look at. Around me, insect hummed and birds sang, and from time to time a blue butterfly crossed my field of vision. It was a fine day, and I rejoiced in its simple beauty.

I must have fallen asleep because the groping hands on my body were the first thing I noticed when I woke up. I opened my eyes, only to find a man’s face bent over my own. He was bull-necked and muscular, his turgid cheeks wore traces of too much drink, his beard was unkempt and sprawling across his face. He was smiling at me, while one hand slipped under my shirt.

“Stay still, little girl, I’m not going to hurt you.” His breath stank of beer and I leant my head back to escape his foul odour. His hand was feeling its way around my chest. He pinched my skin, hurting me. His other hand went down to my skirt, trying to pull it down. I screamed and tried to jump up, but his weight was pushing me down. My legs were kicking him, but he just put one large hand on them and I could no longer move. “Stop fighting me”, he said impatiently and used one hand to slap me in the face. My head flew to one side, my cheek burning. I saw stars before my eyes and nausea overcame me. I must have stopped fighting, because suddenly he was lying on top of me, his weight pressing me down onto the heather plants. In one last effort to get rid of the horrible man, I managed to get one hand free from under him and pulled at his beard. He cried out, and once again slapped me in the face. This time, a bright light shot through my vision and reality vanished.

When I woke, my body was screaming in pain. My left cheek was swollen, my muscles hurt from fighting the man and there was a heavy weight lying across my legs. Carefully, I opened my eyes and looked around me. A peculiar sight awaited me. I was not alone, the man was still there, yet he was unmoving, half-bent over me. His face was a mask of rage, frozen somehow. Not a single muscle was twitching in his face. It looked like he was suspended in time. I scrambled to get away from under him, but after crawling a few ells, I turned back to look at him. He had not moved since. It seemed an awfully uncomfortable position to be in, half-bent, almost falling over, but I was not pitying him. On the contrary, I enjoyed imagining his pain. While staring at him, there was another thing I noticed. Where I had lain on the heather, it had turned brown and dried, as if time had skipped a season and winter had arrived early. I could even see where my arms and legs had been. And while I was looking, more and more of the heather turned brown. The tiny yellow gorse flowers withered and fell to the ground. The brown blotch turned bigger and bigger. It looked so unnatural, that I began to run away from this strange place, ignoring the pain between my legs.

A shiver ran over me. I had thought this memory lost, hidden away in the deepest corners of my mind, yet here it was, as painful as before. I had never shared this memory with anyone before, and I would not do so today. I cleared my throat, deciding how much to tell Lassadar.

“I must have been eight or nine when it first happened. Someone had threatened to hurt me, and suddenly time stood still around me. He just stopped, frozen, unmoving. At first, I did not understand what had happened. I thought there was something wrong with him, I couldn’t imagine me being the source of this power. But I noticed that the plants around me had turned brown, that they had died while I was defending myself. It took years for me to make that link.”

“Nine is quite a young age to discover one’s powers. Lor was almost thirteen when it happened to him, and that’s the usual age, around the beginning of puberty.” He stopped, lost in thought. I took the time to drink some more of the wine he had offered me. It had grown warm, yet it was still delicious. During our travels, we would drink water from streams and rivers, sometimes mixed with elderflower syrup Mara had made. Only in the evenings, when we were camped near towns or villages, we might go for a pint of ale in the local pub. Wine was something that was reserved for special occasions.

“So you used the energy of plants to fuel your magic. That’s very … unusual.” He said the last word as if he’d never thought of such a way before. “Can you do anything without tapping the life force of plants?”

“I don’t think so. I can do some basic things, like using my mind to feel around me, but only for a short while, until my energy is depleted.”

“That is only to be expected if you are falling back to using the energy of plants each time you’re using magic. Being able to draw strength from yourself is like a muscle that has to be trained. The more often you do it, the more energy you will have to spend. So before we can start doing anything more substantial, you need to practice using your own energy. I want you to do this at least twice a day. This is not about learning anything new, so do something you’re good at.”

He smirked. “Although I would prefer it if you were not to make my servants fall asleep, they’re managing this fine by themselves. Do what you did at your travelling show, moving as fast as lightning. I must admit, I’m intrigued by how you do that, but I will be patient. First, we need to increase your resources, then we can start with teaching you new skills and improving the ones you already possess. I know this might seem boring to begin with, but it’s a necessary chore. Soon, we will be able to start with small exercises, like lighting a fire with the force of your mind alone, or creating water from thin air. Then, once these things feel easy and natural to you, we will move on to more substantial tasks. Once you get to a certain level, I will ask Lor to teach you his speciality, the control of the mind. But I have to warn you in advance, not many magicians ever reach this level of proficiency. There are only a handful that are as capable as Lor, and even less that have reached my stage of control. But don’t let that discourage you. I think you will be able to do well, once you’ve learned to reach the energy sources within yourself.” He paused, letting all this sink in. It was overwhelming to think of the possibilities he had just offered me on a silver plate. How had I earned Lassadar’s benefaction? Was there a price to pay that I did not yet know?

“Healer Reaving has told me you can read, so I have chosen one or two books that might interest you.” He looked at me with his piercing blue eyes. “There is so much to know, so much power to discover. Isn’t this feeling intoxicating, knowing that you have so much potential and that I can help you unleash it?”

Unable to speak, I nodded. I had never imagined being able to learn those things he promised. When I had first discovered my ability to slow down time, I had assumed that this was something everybody could do. When I discovered that this was not the case, I had thought that this one trick was all I had. Now Lassadar offered me a multitude of possibilities. I could stay here and learn, explore what I was capable of.

When I returned to my room, I discovered that someone had left the books that Lassadar had promised on my table. ‘One or two books’ turned out to be a pile of at least half a dozen. I had been overjoyed at the thought of having the herb book lent by Healer Reaves to read, but now I had several books, all to myself. When imagining all the interesting things they might contain, I almost forgot the circumstances under which I had come to be in this position.

A  candle was flickering on my bedside table, throwing wild shadows onto the whitewashed stone walls. It was late at night, my eyes threatening to fall shut any minute. A tray of food, still untouched, was waiting for me on the large table in the middle of the room, but I was too busy to eat. I was sitting on my bed, a thick book lay on my crossed legs. Its dusty smell reached my nose from time to time, making me want to sneeze. The book was ancient, its thick parchment pages held together by a cover of hard leather. On some pages, the neat black handwriting had faded so much that it was illegible. Yet I could not put the book down. It resonated with me in such a way that nothing else mattered, my surroundings forgotten, my hunger erased. This book was giving me more sustenance than food ever could. It told of the history of magic in a way that was not only exciting to read, but also giving me answers to question I had not even known to ask.

The book said that magic was something natural, something that used to be a common ability in humans. Once, people had spoken to their relatives that lived hundreds of miles away simply with the power of their minds. They hunted by extending their consciousness, leaving their own bodies to float through nothingness until they found the soul of an animal. They would simply sever the soul from the body, leaving the animal’s spirit to float away, not feeling any pain. The men and women who possessed this skill would then simply get up and look for the carcas they just killed. With nothing but a simple thought, they could ignite a pile of wood to roast the freshly caught meat.

It was a time of truth and simplicity because in a world where everyone would know their neighbour’s mind, lies were meaningless. In their free time, the magicians would focus on art and music, developing enchanted instruments, each one more beautiful than the next. There was learning everywhere, with knowledge passed to the next generation through books and songs.

Yet something happened, a change in the fabric of the world, that closed the large energy reservoir those people had drawn on. Suddenly, they were left to their own devices. Many perished, not used to living off the land without their magic. Those who survived were the physically strongest, not those that had possessed the most magical ability. They learned to hunt with their own hands, despising this bloody task, yet knowing that there was no alternative. While others had encouraged grain to grow by carefully supplying their crops with the limitless energy they could sap, they now had to fall back to ploughs and their own back’s work. Animals that they had kept by their side through talking to them in their minds, were now silent to their pleas to stay. They had to learn to build fences around their pastures and to train those animals they wanted to keep by their side. With the price of living off the land increased a hundred-fold, magic soon became a distant memory. Those who felt the once familiar pull towards the supernatural were quickly discouraged by their peers. The age of enlightenment was followed by a dark age, where survival was all that mattered. Each one fought for himself, letting their neighbours starve and friends perish. But through the years, people got better at living off the land. Some began to focus on crafts that were no necessity to survival, and beauty and elegance began to matter once more. And slowly, very slowly, people with magical abilities were born again. No one knew why or how one baby was gifted with magic while another one was not. The time when everybody had access to the power blanket beneath the earth had passed. Left was a world that favoured those that had no magic. Still, some of those that were born with peculiar gifts gathered in places of learning, entrusting their self-taught knowledge to books and scrolls. Others supplemented those books over the years, adding their own methods and abilities, to give the next generation an advantage over their own. Yet the magnificence of magical skills that had once been present in the world never again came to be.

7

Gynt’s Keep

The capital city of the Kingdom of Fer lies perched on a mountain overlooking the southern shores of Lake Veilvar. The castle itself is the seat of King Gynt and his court, while the space between the castle and the outer city walls is occupied by the common folk. The high stone walls of the keep have only been breached once, when the former Elasia was conquered by invaders from the Western Counties under the command of Fer, later to be crowned as King Fer the First, during the Fifth War. Following a tradition from the invader’s homelands, the capital city is named after the current monarch, currently King Gynt the Wise.

- An Introduction to the Geography of the Continent, Sir Tom Delavell

I  overslept on the day that came to be the first time I was allowed to leave my room and exchange its solitude for the hustle and bustle of the keep. The book I had been reading well into the night was lying next to me in my bed, still opened on the page I had last read. When someone knocked on my door, I jumped out of bed.

“It’s me,” I heard the familiar voice of Healer Reaving call out. “May I come in?”

“Just a moment”, I shouted back, already slipping out of my nightclothes and into the simple dress Lassadar had provided me with. In lack of a brush, I combed my fingers through my hair, putting on my slippers at the same time. I hastened to open the door to a smiling healer. He had donned a shimmering green robe which went well with his emerald eyes. He looked a lot more formal than usual, but his wide and open smile was all I had eyes for. He seemed genuinely happy to see me, and when I thought about it, I noticed that I felt the same. This would be a day to enjoy, I was sure of it.

When he led me out of the room, we turned right and down the stairs, instead of left and up to Lassadar’s study. On and on they went until we came to a hallway that we followed through. The windows on the right side of the room looked out over the lake, a familiar sight. A door led us outside into a wide courtyard. There were a few lonely trees standing around a large fountain in the middle of the courtyard. A mermaid was presenting her half-naked body, surrounded by large spouting fish. It was an amazingly ugly fountain.

I had expected people bustling around on their errands, yet we were here all alone.

Healer Reaving offered me his arm and together we strolled through a gate into a more beautiful part of the castle: the gardens. There was a multitude of flowers and herbs growing everywhere, with only a small path leading through the confusing array of plots. Sunflowers stood next to half-withered rose bushes, lavender grew in the same place as something that looked like beanstalks. And everywhere, weeds had conquered the space between the flowers. In a way, this garden reminded me of a wild meadow, somewhere no man had stepped a foot in for decades. It was attractive in an unruly sort of way. As we walked through the garden, I spread my hands out and felt the plants touch me reassuringly on both sides. A host of smells and aromas reached my nose and made it almost impossible to identify the individual scents. In the middle of the garden, there was a solitary bench, its wood looking rotten around the edges. Here, we sat down. I closed my eyes and leant back, feeling the autumn sun on my face, breathing in the multitude of scents. Insects were buzzing around the flowers, taking care of some last-minute pollination.

Healer Reaving’s voice broke through the orchestra of humming insects.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful!” I took in a deep breath. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s so unorganised and chaotic, yet still, it all fits together, in a way that is not man-made but natural. How I envy you to be able to spend time in this garden.”

“We can come here again, as often as you like and our work permits.” Our work. I liked the sound of that. Not that I would be of much help, with my limited and newly acquired knowledge of herbs and cures. Still, I would try.

“I only recently acquired the permission to use this garden, but I’m planning to bring it back into shape. Some plants will have to be removed, but there will be many new ones instead."

We sat in the garden for a while, with Healer Reaving explaining his plans. When the sun disappeared behind a colony of clouds, we left and walked around the stone wall surrounding the garden until we reached a building that looked like several stone cottages fused together.

He took out a large bunch of keys and selected a simple bronze one to open the thick wooden door to his laboratory. It opened without any sound. “I oiled it only yesterday,” he confirmed my suspicion. “But it’s weird not hearing it creak and groan, just like it always did. It’ll take some time getting used to.”

He motioned for me to go ahead. The large room was lit only by a small window that looked out over the garden we had just visited. There were a wood stove and a large work table in the middle of the room, with several pots of all sizes covering the stove’s fire holes. All four walls were covered by shelves and cupboards, reaching all the way up to the ceiling. A ladder was leaning onto one of the shelves, making access to the higher racks possible. The shelves were bending under the heavy weight of bottles, jars, earthen pots and other containers. In some of them, weird shapes were floating in a translucent liquid. When I went closer, I saw dead frogs and lizards swimming in glass jars, in another I thought to recognise a small chick, yet another held living mealworms, crawling over each other in the limited space of the jar. On the rack below the window, books and scrolls filled the shelves, sometimes stacked in such a way that it looked as if a single touch of the shelf would make them collapse. There was a string which spanned from one end of the room to the another, on which dozens of bundles of dried herbs were hanging. The mixture of their potent scent tingled in my nose. There were no chairs, only a low stool next to the stove.

Healer Reaving entered his laboratory behind me, holding a torch he had just taken from a holder in the alleyway outside. He lit dozens of candles of all sizes and shapes that were standing in every part of the room, then kindled a fire in the large wood stove.

“My father was a chandler, and I learned his trade before I started to apprentice as a healer,” he explained. “I’ve been experimenting with not only adding flowers to the wax as my father used to do to create the most delicate scents but also healing herbs. Sometimes I want a remedy to be taken continuously, yet I cannot expect my patients to drink their potions every few minutes. So I’ve come up with the idea of burning herbs together with the candle wax. These candles give off a steady dose of healing scents, yet I’m still experimenting with the amount of herbs I have to add. This taper here, for example, contains anise and coltsfoot-“

“For inflammation of the lungs?” I asked, remembering something I had read in the book he had lent me.

“Exactly right, well done. To this red candle I’ve added lavender and peppermint, do you know which ailment this is for?”

I thought for a moment. “Peppermint is for aches and muscle cramps, lavender again for aches and fatigue. So maybe for headaches or muscle pains?”

“Spot on. Although I would also give it to someone complaining of a continuing sadness.”

One by one, he explained the use of this candles to me. After a while, I asked him for some paper to make notes on what he was telling me. It was fascinating to think that these simple candles could not only help people with their pain but also ease and cure their ailments. It was a much more comfortable way of administering medicinal herbs, for both the healer and the patient.

“Would you like to see how they are made? It will take some time, but if you don’t have anything else to do today, we could make some candles together.”

“Of course! I’d love to try that, that is, if you really have the time to show me.”

In response, he put a large cast iron pot onto the wood stove. Using one of the lit candles, he kindled a fire beneath the fire hole on which he had put the pot.

“I am currently treating a patient suffering from a severe cold. I’m thinking of preparing a mixture of chamomile, marjoram and thyme and then add this to a beeswax candle. Other chandlers prefer tallow as their base material, yet I agree with my father that beeswax not only gives the candle a much better scent but also burns more purely, without producing a smoky flame. My father rarely had a choice and had to use tallow, as beeswax is very expensive to produce. For every ten pounds of honey that a beekeeper extracts from a honeycomb, there’s only one pound of wax. Therefore I’m quite lucky that we have a bee master here at the keep who provides me with fresh beeswax; although now that I’m not only making candles as a hobby but use them to burn medicinal herbs, I’m relying on travelling merchants to add to my wax supply. If they don’t have any on offer, I have no choice but to add tallow to achieve the quantity that I need for my recipes. Yet this candle is meant for a member of the king’s court, so I’m going to use only pure beeswax today.”

From a barrel standing in a corner of the room, he took a chunk of dark yellow beeswax and threw it into the pot to melt. The melting combs became bubbling gold on the bottom of the cast iron pot. Tiny bubbles broke the surface. The heat around the stove began to smell like honey and spring.

Reaving stepped onto a small stool to reach the bundles of dried herbs hanging from the ceiling. With a small knife, he cut off one small branch each. The intense smell of thyme and chamomile filled the room. He passed the herbs down to me and pointed to a mortar standing on his worktable. I started to pound the chamomile flowers, enjoying the strong scent that filled my nostrils. Once the yellow herb had been reduced to powder, I added the thyme needles and marjoram leaves. While I was grinding the herbs, Healer Reaving was walking around the room, gathering all the supplies he needed.

“Many people think that it’s the wax that makes the candle. Yet in reality, the most important element is the wick. It acts as a pump that pulls up the liquefied wax up into the flame to burn. The larger the wick, the more wax gets burned at once. However, if there’s too much fuel, the flame will flare and soot, and if there’s not enough, the flame will sputter out.”

He opened a drawer, filled with wicks of all lengths and widths.

“These ones are all made from linen threads that I twist together. I’ve also experimented with silk, yet I think the way linen wicks draw up the wax is more predictable.” He chose a suitable one and attached it to the middle of a wooden stick.

“There are two main ways of creating a candle from molten wax. You can either dip a wick into it again and again, each time forming a new layer of wax over the wick until you’ve got the width you want. Or you can drip wax over the wick. This is quite a messy method, as you must get the wax’s temperature just right - if it’s too hot, it won’t stick or melt the lower layers, if it’s too cold, it won’t flow properly and form lumps. Today, I’m going to show you the easier way, the dipping. Please, add the herbs to the wax now. It should be nice and soft by now. We’re going to wait just a bit longer until it drips off the spoon.”

While we waited for the wax to melt, he showed me some of the candles that he had finished earlier. They were beautifully made, some the shapes of pine cones, others formed pyramids or even balls.

“Why did you become a healer if you so obviously enjoy making candles?” I asked. He frowned and thought for a while.

“I didn’t really have a choice in this matter. I was chosen to become a healer, and if you’re chosen by his lordship, then there’s no way around it. Not that I don’t enjoy it, don’t get me wrong. It was just a shock, being taken away from home so suddenly, and offered an opportunity that topped anything I had ever imagined myself doing. I’m not sure you understand what it means to be chosen. My old life ended in a split second, on the whim of another.”

He stopped. “I shouldn’t be saying this.” He turned away from me and walked around the stove. With a large metal spoon, he stirred the wax, mixing the soft material with the herbs I had ground. When I looked at him, he avoided my glance. In silence, I watched him work. He tested the strength of the knot he had used to tie the wick to the wooden stick, then with a satisfied smile, he began to stir the wax again. The scent of warm honey rose from the pot. Somehow, it made me feel safe and comfortable. Yet the silence between us seemed to thicken the air until I could no longer stay silent.

“I know exactly what you mean. Being forced to live a new life without being able to say goodbye to the one you lived before. Not knowing which one is right. Feeling helpless as others control your life in a way that makes you feel helpless. Being blown away as easily as a leaf in the wind, without the chance of turning back. Is that what you feel? Because it is what fills my heart.”

He looked at me with a pained expression and nodded slowly. “Of course you know, I’m sorry. You’re probably the only one in this place who can understand. Still, I should not have said what I did. I enjoy being given the chance to help people in a way that I would never have been able to do as a chandler. I did not see it this way when I was brought here, and I suffered for my disobedience…”

His voice trailed away. I sensed a tale here that would make any poet’s heart beat faster. Yet I knew that he would not tell me his story today. Maybe someday in the future, once we had gotten to know each other a little better.

We looked each other in the eyes and understanding passed between us. No sense to stir up old wounds. Let’s focus on the present.

“The wax should be warm enough now. Yes, see how it slowly drips from the spoon? This is how it has to be. I’m going to stir it one last time to make sure that the herbs have dispersed properly. Now, take the wick hanging from the stick. The stick is going to be your marker, once it touches the pot, that’s as deep as you can dip it. Are you ready? Then slowly, very slowly, dip the wick into the wax. Now leave it for a second, then pull it up again. Slowly. That’s it. Now leave it outside for a moment to solidify, otherwise it will not stick. Here, using beeswax is an advantage as it cools much quicker than tallow. Still, it’s always better to wait a bit longer than necessary.”

He came over and stood next to me. With one hand, he reached to the wick I was holding and felt it between his thumb and index finger. “Feel this? Still soft, but it has a fairly solid feel to it. Just perfect. Now you can dip it in again.”

Over and over, I repeated the dipping, and slowly I could watch the candle grow in size. Colourful spots were shining through the yellow wax, the particles of the herbs that would burn once the candle was lit. It took a long time, but when the candle was finished and I felt its smooth surface on my skin, I was proud. My first candle. I silently vowed that it would not be my last.

Healer Reaving gave me a shy pat on the back. I turned to him, looking deep into his emerald eyes. He smiled, as did I.

“Thank you,” I said softly. He grinned at me. “My pleasure, you’ve been the first person to actually show an interest in what I do.”

While we were cleaning up his workplace, he suddenly coughed uncomfortably and half said, half whispered: “By the way, my name is Jon.”

T here was a knock on my door, waking me from my sleep. I had been with Healer Reaving - Jon - until deep into the night, discussing the uses of herbs in infusions and teas. Now that he had opened my mind to the multitude of possibilities that his craft offered, I hungrily drank any sip of knowledge he offered me. Never before had I seen this burning passion for learning in me. Even though I had enjoyed doing acrobatics in the Ghorres’ evening shows, rehearsing old and new tricks had not been as satisfying as the information Jon offered me.

They knocked again. Expecting the servant bringing my breakfast, I called for them to come in. Instead, a tiny woman entered the room. She seemed about my age, yet she was at least two heads shorter than myself. Her silky ginger hair hung down to her waist, bound together into a long ponytail by a simple silver clasp. Freckles covered her button nose and cheeks, moving as she gave me a wide smile. She was carrying a small notebook in one hand and a pile of cloth tucked under the other. Despite her size, she filled the room with her presence.

I jumped out of bed, embarrassed that a stranger would find me so.

“No, don’t bother getting dressed, I need you just like you are,” she said with a clear voice that reminded me of the chime of little bells. I must have looked at her in a strange way, because she began to laugh loudly, her ginger hair flowing over her small back.

“I’m Nia, the seamstress, sweetie, here to measure you for some new clothes. Tell me, what’s your favourite colour?”

Still slightly embarrassed at this unexpected visit, I shrugged. “Green, I suppose, or red. I’ve always preferred strong colours; I wouldn’t want anything in pastel shades or white.” I didn’t say that it looked ridiculous if I wore my white hair over clothes of the same colour. Then I remembered that my hair was dyed black, even though I was sure its natural colour shone through at the roots. The last time I had covered my silver-white hair with black dye had been two or three weeks before that fateful night in Ashenfields. I hadn’t seen my hair in its natural colour for fifteen odd years. Ever since I had joined the Ghorres family, Mara had helped me hide the striking white colour. I was born like that, and when I had still lived with my gran, it hadn’t mattered. There was no one around to think it strange, yet once I had entered civilisation after her death, I had resented all the curious and taunting looks my hair had attracted. During the last few years, I had resented having to dye it so regularly, but Luca and Mara had convinced me that it was for the best. A child with colourless, white hair was something that was not natural, not normal, and people’s suspiciousness could quickly turn into violence.

Nia made me stretch out my arms and began to take my measurements. For the length of my arms and the width of my shoulders, she had to climb onto a chair to reach high enough. And all there while, she was babbling away. I liked her gaily manner, her unconcerned way of talking. She told me that she had only just succeeded her former mistress, under which she had apprenticed for several years, but now that the older woman was suffering from a stiffness of the joints, she had taken over her position as head seamstress at the keep.

“When I was younger, I never thought that I would one day occupy such a position. My father left our family just after I was born, he accused Ma of witchcraft and that it was her fault that I was born too small and half-dead. Yet my mother nursed me back to health and raised me just like she would any normal child. And when I was thirteen, a rider from Gynt’s Keep came and told me that I had been chosen to work as an apprentice seamstress at court. It came so sudden, I had to pack my things and leave for the keep within a day, yet I was so overjoyed that I couldn’t wait to start my apprenticeship. I had always loved knitting and handicrafts, and making this passion my profession was something I had only dreamed of before. I would not have been able to get an apprenticeship with anybody else due to my size. Yet King Gynt does not care about size, looks or origin, the only thing that matters to him is skill. People are right to call him a wise king. But I’m babbling. Tell me something about yourself while I write down your measurements.”

I had to smile, I couldn’t help it. Her bubbly and friendly way lifted my spirits.

“First, I have a question for you. If you don’t mind me asking, what do you mean that you were chosen by King Gynt? Another person used exactly the same expression, but I don’t know what is meant by it.”

“You’re not from Fer, are you?”

I shook my head. “I don’t really have a place where I’m from. I’ve been living with a travelling family ever since I was a child. And even though I’ve been to many places far away, we’ve never traversed the bridge over to Fer. That’s why I’m a stranger to its customs.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll soon have learned all you need to know. I don’t think Fer is very different from other countries. Except that we are lucky to have Lord Lassadar as an advisor to King Gynt. He is blessed with the skill to find people who have potential in specific crafts. I don’t know how he does it, but somehow he chooses the right person for every vocation, even though sometimes the people he chooses have never tried out their hands in that craft.”

“But what if the person he chooses doesn’t want to become what Lassadar wants? What if they don’t want to come to Gynt’s Keep?” I had spoken without thinking. The look she gave me confirmed my uneasiness.

“Now that is a question I don’t have an answer to, and believe me when I say that this doesn’t happen often.” Suddenly, her tone of voice had gone cool and distant. It was as if the sun had disappeared behind dark brooding clouds.

While she packed up her things, I was left alone, searching for words that would make her smile at me again, but I found none. Without saying goodbye, she left, pulling closed the door behind her.

Why had I destroyed the comforting flow of conversation between us with that ugly question? Wasn’t Lassadar helping by choosing a vocation for you if you were talented? Would letting all that talent go to waste not be much worse than being given the opportunity of a good education and a job at court afterwards, with the only cost being to live away from where you had been brought up? Many people came to Gynt’s Keep in the hope of finding work here, of bettering their circumstances.

Even while I was looking for excuses for Lassadar’s choosing, there was a nagging feeling deep inside me that told me that I was deceiving myself if I only chose to see the good sides of the king’s advisor.

8

Elvedritsch

An elvedritsch is a birdlike creature found in the woodlands and highlands of the Lonely Forest, nestled in between the Plains in the north and Nythea in the south. It is sometimes described as a chicken with antlers, but it is often ignored that instead of feathers, its skin is scaled and that its beak is longer and more curved than that of a chicken. Their wings are short and render them unable to fly over long distances or to great heights. They build nests, preferably in the crowns of willow trees. Their origin is shrouded in mystery, yet rumours say that elvedritsch originate from crossbreeding chicken or geese with captured forest spirits. They are sterile, and cannot produce live offspring.

- Labando’s Mythical Beasts

I  had not seen Lassadar for more than two weeks and was beginning to wonder why he had not called me to see him when a servant asked me to follow him up the tower. I had spent the past few days with reading and accompanying Jon to the gardens or his laboratory. After watching him make his candles with both the dripping and the dipping method, I had begun to make my own. They were rarely as straight and smooth-surfaced as his, but he assured me that they would still suit the purpose. More and more nobles now requested his healing candles for their ailments as an alternative to ill-tasting remedies, which had the unwanted effect that the amount of beeswax the beekeeper could provide was never enough for making all the needed candles. We now had to resort to a mixture of beeswax and tallow made from cow or sheep fat. These candles had the disadvantage of smelling unpleasant, which we tried to counter by adding more pleasant smelling herbs and flowers to the mixture. By the end of the week, I had the feeling that I was actually helping ease Jon’s workload. While I made candles, he could focus on creating potions and other remedies, as well as tending his herb garden.

I enjoyed spending time with him in his laboratory. He was quick-witted and easy to talk to, and would laugh and joke around as often as he would ponder seriously over how to treat a patient in the best possible way. I had not had any contact with his patients, whom he visited twice a day, leaving a nurse in charge during the rest of the time. He described the small infirmary wing to me as a calm and bright place, where the patients were tended to by a nurse and her assistants. There was a small artificial waterfall flowing from a pipe on the ceiling down over a large salt stone, disappearing beneath several flower pots. Jon swore by the refreshing properties of salt stone; he said it not only made the air more humid but also had a calming effect on his patients’ tempers. The infirmary was only for the keep’s staff, members of the King’s court were treated in their own chambers unless they were so sick they had to be tended to around the clock.

While Jon made his calls to his patients, I spent the time practising my magic control in my own room. As Lassadar had ordered me to do, I tried to enter the time syrup without any help from a plant’s energy. At first, it was a strange feeling to not rely on a flower as I had all these years, it felt as if I was missing a step in my usual routine. Instead of making myself small and enter the rose to sap its energy, I now tried to centre myself within my own body, using my own resources. At the beginning, I wasn’t sure how exactly to find these reserves, but after reading the books Lassadar had given me, I became better at it. I imagined a deep blue lake surrounded by high mountains, their reflection shimmering on the cold water. It was a beautiful sight, and I enjoyed seeing it again and again. To use this reservoir within me, I pictured a tiny stream running away from the lake, leading straight into the labyrinth of my mind. I simply had to open the locks that were preventing the lake’s water from running into me uncontrolled, and afterwards close them carefully. The main difficulty was to estimate how much energy I would need for the task at hand, and then only take that much, because once energy was taken from its usual place, it could only be expended, not returned to its previous state. The first time I tried to slow down time, I took too much energy, yet it was still not enough to stay in the time syrup for more than a second or two. Afterwards, I sank into a deep sleep, only waking up the next day, still lying on the floor where I had sunk down. When I wanted to access my power later that day, the lake only contained about half as much water as it had the day before. After this event, I proceeded more cautiously. The more I practised, the better I got and the deeper the dark blue lake became. By the time Lassadar called me to him, I could slow down time for about three minutes without feeling too exhausted afterwards, half as much as I could do with a rose. What a pity that Lassadar had not taught me years ago when I had first discovered my powers. I could have trained using my own energy for years, not days.

I  was wearing the new clothes Nia had made for me. They were made up of a simple green skirt and a black silk blouse, yet of better quality than anything I had ever possessed before coming to Gynt’s Keep. Nia had brought them up to my room, unusually tight-lipped and distant. There was a light bruise on her cheek. When I had thanked her for her troubles, she had given me a short smile and left. Now I was wearing her creation while sitting in Lassadar’s study. He was not here, but I had been told to wait inside this time.

While I was waiting, I was looking at the elvedritsch, whose egg was now so big that she only leant on it from one side. Last time, she had still managed to sit on it, but that was no longer possible. When she noticed me, she gave off a bright chuckle, then once more looked at the bright bars of her cage. It was not clear whether she saw them with her inherent curiosity of whether she was aware that she was a prisoner behind those metal poles. The first time I had looked upon her egg, it had been of a light orange colour, but now it shone in a dark red. Its shell had grown thick and was no longer semi-translucent. It was almost half as high as the elvedritsch mother herself. Now I understood why it grew after having been laid, otherwise the hen would not have been able to cope with something that size within her. How much bigger could this egg get?

“I think it looks like it might hatch soon”.

Lassadar had entered the room without me noticing. I stood up from my kneeling position in front of the cage and turned to greet him. He was dressed in a colourful fabric so sumptuous that it took my breath away. His shirt was a bright emerald green, yet the wide sleeves shimmered green and yellow like a reptilian’s skin after rain. His long black trousers only made the green more spectacular. On his head, a golden circlet that would befit a prince resided over his black hair, and from one ear dangled a long golden earring shaped as an loosely plaited ball. Jon had explained to me once that only the most trusted loyal subjects were given such an earring to wear before the king. He had known of only one other person to have been given this piece of jewellery by the monarch: the king’s late wife.

“I’m coming straight from the King, he’s been giving out land charters to some of his favourite nobles all morning. Not that they need any more property, but it’s just another way to keep them happy. Tell me, have you trained your control as I’ve asked you to?”

While I told him of my progress, he disappeared behind a folding screen in a corner of the room. When he stepped back into my view, he was clad all in black once more, the fancy clothes discarded behind the screen.

When I had finished, he stood up from his armchair and motioned me to do the same. “I told you last time that I am particularly intrigued by your ability to slow down time. To be perfectly honest, this was the reason why I invited you to the keep, in order to learn how you do this.” I swallowed hard at his wording; I had certainly not been ‘invited’ by Lor. Yet I knew he did not mean it, with his kind smile and his attentive nature.

“Can you only enter the ‘time syrup’, as you called it, alone, or can you take someone with you?” It was clear that he was the ‘someone’ mentioned.

“I have tried it with some people from my travelling group, yet it did not work. Actually, I couldn’t slow down time while someone was touching me, it was as if they were somehow grounding me to the normal time stream. Yet I have never tried it with someone who also possesses magical power.”

“Then let’s try it now, to satisfy both our curiosity.” With a conspiratorial grin, he offered me his arm, and I took it. Concentrating, I closed my eyes and felt my way through my body until I reached the cool lake. Opening the locks ever so slightly, I reached for the steady stream of energy that was now flowing away from the reservoir. Once I had established this link, I imagined a great clock, it’s heavy bronze hands moving slowly over the face of the clock. I stretched out my arm and took hold of the smaller hand, stopping it in its path. Yet when I tried to lay it in shackles, as I always did, it broke free of my grip and continued to tick. Again I tried, and again I failed. I did not get a proper grip on the hands, and time continued to flow. I opened my eyes. Lassadar look held a mixture of fascination and disappointment.

“I felt what you tried to do, yet I do not know why it didn’t work. Maybe I have to do the same myself, to be able to slow down time together.”

He paused, then closed his eyes. His brows were pulled together into an intense frown; I could feel his concentration fill the room. I waited, but nothing happened. After a while, he opened his eyes again. I could see from his expression that he had not expected to fail. He took a deep breath, then smoothed his face. Instantly, the anger and frustration had vanished. I envied his self-control.

“I would like to try it one more time, but this time, I want to link minds with you to see exactly how you do it. I won’t touch you, so you should be able to succeed. I will be a, let’s call it a silent passenger, and will only observe, not meddle. Is that agreeable to you?”

Unsure about what I was committing myself to, I nodded my head. When he closed his eyes, I did the same. First, I felt nothing out of the ordinary. Then, I began to notice a tendril of awareness that was extending itself in my direction. My first instinct was to reject it, to pull up my walls and hide behind them. But it was only Lassadar, he was not my enemy. If I wanted him to teach me, I would have to trust him. I opened myself to his fumbling mind. He came closer until our minds met. I knew then that he was too close, that he could invade my mind without having to fear my resistance, but when he stopped, hovering at the edges of my consciousness, I pushed away that thought. He would not hurt me; he was only here to observe. He lingered there, bound to my mind by only a small link, small enough for me to ignore.

Once again, I drew energy from the cold lake only to use it to put shackles on the hands of the big clock I imagined in my mind. This time, they put up no resistance. Time slowed down to a trickle, and the air thickened around me until it had the consistency of syrup. It was a warm blanket which I pulled around me like a cloak until the syrup pressed against my skin. Clutching time to my chest, I moved around the room, taking the time to look at everything my eyes fell on. It was a tidy study, without any clutter filling the surfaces as it would have had it been my room. Books filled the shelves lining the walls; a large bureau covered with a range of quilts and ink pots occupied one corner of the room, the folding screen Lassadar had changed behind earlier another. Opposite the only door was the fireplace that contained the elvedritsch’s cage. She was looking at me. While I moved towards her, she cocked her head to one side, as if wondering whether I was worth her attention. I looked at the lifeless figure of Lassadar, still standing in the middle of the room, next to where I had been when I stopped time. He was not moving. Yet the elvedritsch hen was staring me straight in the eyes and began to give off a clucking sound, as if to prove that she was not affected by my magic. I went to my knees in front of her and opened the hatch of her cage. With a quick hop, she jumped out of it and lay her head on my lap. Still, she was cackling, as if trying to tell me something. Until now, I had thought her as mindless as any other chicken, but the look she was giving me now told a different story. With her head, she motioned me to look at her egg, at least that’s what I thought she was trying to communicate. When I stretched out my hand, there was a tug at my mind, but I slammed up my defensive walls and ignored it. Cautiously, I lay one hand on the crimson egg. Warmth shot through my arm and straight into my heart. I gasped and pulled back my hand, shocked by the intensity of the sensation. Lassadar’s tugging at my mind became stronger, but when I turned back to look at him, his body was still standing in the same position as when I’d last seen him. Instinctively I repelled him, just as I had done with Lor once. The pulling stopped, I had rid my mind of his presence.

Without regret over the lost connection, I once more turned to the egg. This time, I carefully placed both hands on its sides. It had grown so much that my hands did not meet on its opposite side. Again, warmth spread through me, filling my entire body. My hands vibrated slightly on its humming surface. Last time, the effect had not even been close to the strength it now showed, but I didn’t know whether that was due to the egg’s growth or the stopped time. A wave of tiredness suddenly washed over me, reminding me that my energy reservoir was close to being depleted. Still, just another moment alone with the egg. I extended my senses towards it, but this time, instead of a brightly burning flame, I only felt the guarded walls of a consciousness that were beyond that of a simple elvedritsch. There was something else sleeping within this egg, something intelligent.

Before I could investigate further, my energy ran out and I was pulled back into the present.

Behind me, Lassadar moved. Time was flowing normally again. “Why did you break the link? Didn’t you feel me nudging you?”

Without knowing it, he offered me a way out. I chose ignorance. “I didn’t feel the link to you anymore just after I stopped the hands of the clock from ticking. I must have used too much strength and severed the link by accident. I’m sorry, I will have to practice my self-control more.”

Not sure whether he would believe me, I put on an innocent face. “Did you manage to see how I did it? When did the link break?”

“I more felt than saw anything. I will try to replicate your method another day, it’s getting too late. I will see you to your room and we will continue our lesson tomorrow.”

For some reason, I was glad that he hadn’t seen me investigate the egg.

The ship was sailing through the night sky reflected on the sea’s calm surface. Stars made way for its wooden body. The slapping of the waves was the only sound far and wide. I stood on the bow, looking out over the sea before us. The absolute darkness was frightening and calming at the same time. Suddenly, the ship rocked to one side, and I fell to the ground, scrambling to find something to hold on to, but there was nothing but air beneath my hands - and suddenly I was flying, the wings on my back were beating strongly, and I went higher and higher towards the stars and –

“W ake up, miss.” A thin voice was beside my head. I was so tired, I needed sleep. I sank back into the warmth embrace of my dream, but the wind I was flying with suddenly shook me, until my wings hurt, and I had trouble staying in the air. It shook and shook until the dream left me awake. I sat up, looking at a small boy, his face lit up by the torch he was holding. “You are to come to Lord Lassadar immediately.”

I yawned and threw the duvet to one side and got out of bed. When I stepped to the chest that held my clothes, the boy called, “There’s no time, miss. He said you have to come now, without delay.” His voice shook with fear. I sighed and turned to follow him.

Lassadar’s study was brightened by several torches and candles. The window to my left was open and I was shivering in the cold air in my thin night clothes. I was kneeling on the floor, staring at the crimson egg that was lying between me and Lassadar. He had removed it from the elvedritsch cage and placed it on a heap of soft fabric to secure it in an upright position. The elvedritsch hen was circling her egg, rubbing against it with her right wing. There were some thin cracks on its top, from time to time I could see something press against them from the inside.

“Have I told you that I don’t even know what will hatch from this egg? I’d be very surprised if it was another elvedritsch, as it is well known that they cannot produce live offspring. Maybe a normal rooster impregnated this elvedritsch hen, but what the product of that union might be, I have no idea.”

He was interrupted by a tiny wet nose breaking through the cracks. The elvedritsch mother was cackling excitedly and tried to break off the shell pieces around the little snout. Lassadar shooed her away, but said kindly, “Let it do it for itself.”

Spellbound, we watched the black nose appear again, pressing against the hard shell of the egg. This time it was strong enough to completely break through its confinement. Below the black wetness of the snout’s tip, there was red fur, soppy from the egg’s fluids, end then the eyes, dark and big in the small face. With another push, the head was out of the egg, looking around its new environment. It was a deer’s head, yet instead of brown, the fur was as red as the shell from which it had hatched.

“A deer!”, Lassadar exclaimed astonished. “How does a deer get into an elvedritsch’s egg?” I had no answer for him, I was just as surprised. Of all the possibilities I had come up with, this was not one of them.

The elvedritsch cackled questioningly at her young, and it turned its head to look at her. They stared at each other, and the young deer stopped his efforts of trying to escape his confinement. Then, the elvedritsch bowed her scaled head and began to pick at the egg’s shell. This time, Lassadar left her to her task. Once she had a piece of shell in her beak, she pulled at it with a powerful movement of her head, until it broke free. Piece for piece, she helped make a larger opening for her child, until it was big enough for the little deer to climb out.

It pushed to one side of the shell until the egg keeled over. The deer emerged from its shell.

It wasn’t a deer after all. Its head was that of a fawn, with large eyes and ears, between which I could already see a hump where antlers might sprout from in the future. On its back, the red was patchy, with yellow spots shining through the crimson fur. Its upper body also resembled that of a deer, yet its hind legs looked like those of a rooster, with scales resembling those of the elvedritsch hen and claws that gripped the floor where it lay. But the most astonishing characteristic of the young fawn were the red wings that were folded together on its back. They were wrinkled and as wet as the rest of its body, yet when he tried to stand up, he unfolded them and let us see their beauty. Thousands of tiny feathers made up the wings, their orange, red and yellow shades made it look like a fire was burning on them. The more he stretched, the more the wrinkles disappeared, leaving a smooth surface. The little fawn staggered onto its legs, stood for a second or two, then the unequal legs gave way under him. He lay on the ground, his little snout on the floor. He was breathing quickly, his belly showing the movement of every breath. After taking a moment to recover, he tried it again, this time first erecting his forelegs, then lifting his hips and stretching his hind legs. He stood, swaying, until he took a first wobbly step, which left him lying on his belly once more. This time he stayed there, moving his legs under his body to make himself more comfortable. His mother lay down next to him, warming him under a scaled wing, a proud look in her golden eyes.

“A peryton! Of all the magical beasts there are, this is the most elusive, the most mythical of them all! I didn’t think they existed! There are a few legends and tales, conflicting and inconsistent, yet they tell of a beast combining the physical features of a stag and a bird. Never did I think that this bird might be an elvedritsch!” Lassadar’s voice was full of awe and wonder. Inside, I agreed with him. The little thing was astonishing. At the sound of Lassadar’s voice, he opened his big eyes and looked up at us. First, he turned his head to the man opposite of me, then he shook his head slightly and turned to me. The huge brown eyes looked straight at me. I stared back. I saw an intelligence waiting behind those watery pupils. This peryton was not simply a beast like any other. It was more than that, though I could not say what brought me to that conclusion. His look was firm and steady, and when I cautiously smiled at him, he inclined his head.

Hello.

9

King Gynt the First (the Wise)

Second son of King Fer. He was born to King Fer and his wife Queen Lucia in the first year after the end of the Fifth War as their second son and third child. Despite being a younger son, he was raised in the same way as his older brother, the Crown Prince. He was educated in diplomacy, foreign languages and the customs of other countries, as well as in physical skills, where he excelled, and the arts. Early on, he was known for his quick witted tongue, his excellent swordsmanship and the ability to lead others and form them into an optimal team.

When his father, King Fer, died, his older brother Fran was crowned the new king of Fer. Yet his reign was short, only lasting a score of days, until he died, some say under mysterious circumstances. Prince Gynt ascended the Fer’an throne immediately and has ruled Fer ever since. He has initiated several important changes in the Kingdom’s laws, including the founding of the Blue Militia, the appointment of Lord Lassadar as his top advisor, as well as the so-called ‘choosing’ of talented young people to join his staff and household. It is rumoured that his title, ‘ King Gynt the Wise’, has been a product of Lord Lassadar’s influence over bards and poets, who are paid a certain sum of money for each time they add ‘the Wise’ when the king is mentioned in their songs and poems. However, this has not been proven to be fact.

- A History of Fer, Jonas de Tourtur

T he little peryton had fallen asleep. His legs were hidden under his small body; his head was pressed on his flank. From time to time his ears, looking too big for his head, twitched. In the fireplace where the elvedritsch’s cage had stood, now a lively fire burned. The flames danced around the room, being reflected on the scaly hind quarters of the little peryton. I was tired, yet too excited to go back to sleep. I was sitting on the floor, as I had when the peryton had hatched and leant my back against the front of the armchair behind me. Its wooden frame pressed against my spine, yet I accepted this as the price I had to pay for staying awake. The first morning light flowed into the room, its pale orange light painted the eastern window frame. Soon, the new day would arrive, letting the long night seem like just another dream. Birds began to sing softly in the distance; a lake gull cried her joy over the breaking dawn.

The elvedritsch was laying on the floor, warming the peryton’s tiny body. His fur was no longer wet, now it stood in all directions. I longed to touch him and run my hand through his fur, but I was afraid I might wake him. He was simply beautiful, with his scarlet fur and scales, his large eyes, his dark little nose. Only his hind legs looked out of place, with their claws and thick upper thighs. With his dissimilar legs, it was admirable that he had even managed a single step earlier.

While I was looking at his sleeping form, I was debating whether I had just imagined him saying hello in my mind. I must have. There was no way a deer, peryton, whatever he was, could break through my mind’s walls so easily. I had gained in strength while I’d been a guest of Lassadar’s. He had shown me a way to access my own power resources without having to rely on sapping energy from plants. He had pulled me out of the dungeon, where - had Lor had his way - I would surely have starved or died from sickness. I owed him so much. But now he was looking at me with a deep and critical look, one that made me avert my eyes and look somewhere, anywhere as long as it was not his accusing face. I had done something wrong, yet I could not remember what this had been. When I tried to grasp it, the memory slipped through my hands, disappearing into the unused corners of my tired mind. Maybe I was just too tired. Yet at some point, Lassadar would confront me. Better to get it over with then. But I was lost for words.

Sleep, a voice told me impatiently. No think.

And I was happy to comply.

At the beginning, there was thought. And hunger. Slowly, the hunger subsided. I floated, drifting in the darkness. Dreams came, fantasies of worlds long lost. Memories that were not my own. They flowed through me, saturating me with knowledge I had not learned, places I had not visited, friends I had not met. Suddenly, I was not alone. There was First, who had been an accident of nature. He was new, unplanned, unaffected by the past. Everything he did was something that had not been done before. He experimented and created his own habits. The next ones were the opposite, relying on the life First had lived. They took his memories and used them for their own gains. Then, there were those that tried to separate themselves from the burden of a shared past. They were unsuccessful. The next ones learned from the mistakes of everyone before them and through that became better at being themselves. Then, there was me. I was at the end of a long line of beings, and their memories all culminated in myself. While I was being washed over by new waves of memory, I decided that it was a heavy weight to carry. Then there was silence. The flow of memories subsided. I could not move, yet my mind was busy exploring itself. There were fragments of other lives mixed with my own unsure thoughts. Had it been me who flew over the ocean until there was a new, undiscovered land where I had found a plentiful place, one that later became the mingling grounds for others of my race? Had I carried the young, blind prince of Elasia on my strong back, telling him of the beauty of the nature that surrounded us? Had I stood under icy waterfalls, looking up at the night’s sky? The water had been cold, yet refreshing, washing away the sweat on my fur and the dust on my scales. It had been a moment of beauty, the stars twinkling in the high up sky, the water rushing over my ears, eliminating any other sound that might fill the night, drops of reflected moonlight dripping down from my antlers. Suddenly, I felt someone calling me. With a sigh, I left the memories behind and sent out my awareness, looking for the mysterious noise that had startled me. I found nothing. Again, I felt around, looking for another consciousness. And suddenly, it was there, right in front of me, so close that I could hardly believe it. Like a great balloon, the mind was floating upwards, leaving behind something that I could not grasp, something essential. I heard a heartbeat, getting slower, fading away. The mind bubble was disappearing, and somehow I knew that it mustn’t. It felt so familiar, so close, so like me. I wrapped myself around it, hugging it closely and carefully began to nudge it back into the body that was lying there all alone. I whispered to the awareness, calming it’s red fears, soothing it gently. Yet suddenly it began to struggle, breaking free from my grip. Don’t. Please, don’t, I asked it, but there was no reply. I kept my hold on it, not letting the mind escape, even though it fought to disappear. The closer I held it, the more I felt it. The walls around it were crumbling, and I could see inside, watching pictures unfold, a child running over grasslands, an old woman standing beside a golden chair, a young human chasing a dark figure over snowy fields, there was a sense of urgency, this person had to be stopped, and I spread my wings and followed the pair, getting closer, until I stretched out my claws and lifted the black man up into the air, flying away - with a large effort, I stepped back into myself, leaving the dream that was not my own. The mind balloon was floating upwards; I had lost my grip on it. Again, I extended my awareness and wrapped myself around it, again and again, until it could not escape. Still, it fought me. Stop, I told it, and the struggling ceased. Gently, I pressed it downwards, into the body. With a snap, it was gone, one with its host. And I was alone again.

I was freezing. Shivering, I opened my eyes. I was curled up on the wooden floor, with no blanket to protect me from the cold morning breeze that swept through the open window. I’d had a weird dream, yet when I tried to remember, it slipped through my fingers, until it was no more. I stretched my arms and legs to become more awake. Lassadar was no longer in the room, I was alone with the sleeping elvedritsch and her newborn fawn. The little peryton was awake and was observing me with wide eyes. Its fur and scales had lost their wet look, and his bones were no longer as visible as they had been just after its birth. I smiled at him. “Good morning, little one.”

Good morning.

Startled, I stared at him. His large eyes were fixed on me; I could almost feel the intensity of his gaze. “Can you understand what I’m saying?”, I whispered as if someone might laugh if they heard me talk to the strange little creature.

Of course. Food?

He yawned, then stretched his front legs. His fur shone dark red. Staggering, he came to his feet. His hind legs were trembling slightly, but he managed to stand without falling. His crimson scales were rippling at every movement, sending waves of dark red over his hind quarters. He took a careful step in my direction, and when he didn’t fall, he tried another, until he reached me. He lowered his head and rubbed it against my leg. Instinctively, I extended my hand and stroked his back, feeling his warm fur under my skin. His heart was beating fast, and with every breath he took, his little belly expanded.

Belly rub!, he demanded, and I complied with a smile. I could feel his ribs sticking out under the red fur. When I tickled the place where his fur gave way to scales, he sighed softly, and rubbed against my fingers, encouraging me to continue. His scales were soft and warm, their plenitude of red shades forming beautiful patterns. The scales on his thighs were the largest ones, about as big as my smallest fingernail, while the ones on his belly and back were tiny, creating a smooth surface. With one finger, I rubbed the place between his big ears, where two small humps promised the future growth of antlers and caressed the outer folds of his warm ears. He closed his eyes, enjoying the attention. When I stopped, he nudged me with his head, and demanded, More!

While I was continuing to pet the fawn, my thoughts wandered off, centring on Lassadar. Why had he just left us here? Where was he? What plans did he have for the elvedritsch and her young? And, the most important question of them all, could he also hear the peryton’s thoughts?

Food! The little fawn looked up at me.

“I don’t have any.” When I heard my own voice in the quiet room, it felt wrong. The peryton wasn’t using his voice, but his mind to communicate with me. Could I do the same? Hello, I thought, but there was no reply. I closed my eyes to concentrate and felt for the feeble link that bound me to the peryton. It had been there for a while, I was sure of it, but for some reason, I had ignored it. When I had laid my hand on the egg, it had hummed, not a physical, but a mental hum. When I had first been brought to Lassadar, half-starved and sickly from spending weeks in the dark, cold prison cell, there had been a voice that spoke to me. Back then I had thought it my exhausted mind playing tricks on me, but now I wondered whether it had been more than that. And the dreams I had those past weeks, dreams of wings and flying and the night’s sky, dreams so vivid that they stayed with me long after I had awoken from my sleep. Dreams that I might have shared with the peryton. I focused on the link and sent a questioning thought its way.

Hello?

Food!, he answered impatiently.

Then come on, we’ll find some.

I stood up and looked around the room. There was a tray of biscuits on a sideboard, but when I offered one to the fawn, he looked at me with disdain.

Real food!

I took one for myself and continued my search of the room. Besides the elvedritsch’s cage, I found a bag of pumpkin seeds. I offered him a handful. Questioningly, the peryton took one with his soft mouth touching my hand, chewing the seed slowly, before shaking his head.

Then let’s try the kitchen.

Carry!

He looked up at me. His legs were trembling; he was not practised enough to stand on his unmatched legs any longer. Carefully, I placed one hand under his soft belly and lifted him up. He put his legs under his body, leant against my chest and looked around curiously, now seeing the world from a new vantage point. He was so small and light that I could easily carry him with a single hand. Slowly, not wanting to frighten him by any sudden movements, I walked to the large door that led to the tower’s spiral staircase. The door was locked. I knocked on the hard wood with my fist, until I could hear the key turn in the lock. A guard opened the door, frowning.

“What do you want?”

“I want to get some breakfast for myself and Lord Lassadar’s new pet here.”

Not his pet!

I didn’t mean it like that, but you won’t see any food otherwise.

The guard looked at his partner, then gave me a short nod. “I’ll ask his lordship.” He closed the door again and locked it.

We were left alone, staring at the door. Lassadar had probably wanted to protect us from the curiosity of the guards or simply turned the key out of habit.

Wrong thoughts!

Why?

But I did not get a reply. The peryton had closed his eyes and was snuggling to my chest, breathing slowly. Not wanting to wake him, I sat down on the armchair and put a pillow on my lap to support the arm the peryton was lying on. Watching the fawn’s chest rise and fall with every breath, I leant back, waiting.

T he peryton was eating noisily, crushing salad leaf after salad leaf between his small jaws. The guard had brought a large plate with a multitude of foods for the fawn to choose from. At first, it seemed like he couldn’t decide on what would be tastiest, but after nibbling on some vegetables he began to eat hungrily and noisily. He ignored the pieces of raw meat in the middle of the plate and instead focused on vegetables and salad. For me, the guard had taken a warm loaf of bread from the kitchen, together with a piece of old crumbly cheese. The bread was delicious, its moist texture made my mouth water even while I was satisfying my own hunger.

After we had eaten, the peryton looked at me. Mum wants food, too. It was weird to think of the elvedritsch as the fawn’s mother, she looked so different from him in any way. I filled a small bowl with the pumpkin seeds beside her cage and put it in front of her sleeping form. When I approached her, she opened a single golden eye and looked at me lazily, before starting to pick at the seeds. Her large curved beak was ideal for gobbling up one seed at a time. Having sated her hunger, she walked over to her son, who was lying on the floor, leaning against my leg.

Does she speak to you in your mind? I asked him.

He sent me a feeling of regret.

She only feels. I know her hunger. I know her happiness. Not more.

I reached out to the elvedritsch, but I encountered only a general feeling of her presence without an access to her thoughts.

She’s tired. Me too.

You’ve slept the whole day!

Sleeping good for you, he told me wisely, before nodding off again. I stayed in my sitting pose, not wanting to wake him by getting into a more comfortable position. I waited.

W ake up!

The urgency in the peryton’s thought made me jump out of my dreams immediately. Lassadar was staring at me, a slight smile to his lips. “Here you are, I thought you’d be in your room.” How kind of him to wonder about my whereabouts. How could a noble lord such as Lassadar care about me?

He locked the door!

I pushed the thought aside. Lassadar’s smile got wider, and he held out a hand to help me up. I took it, and he pulled me to my feet. The peryton that had been leaning on my thigh shot me an annoyed look, then staggered into a standing position, flapping his delicate wings. He was still swaying slightly but already looked much more stable on his feet than he had yesterday.

“The King has asked me to bring you to him, he has a task for you. I brought you a more fitting dress, you can use my screen to get changed. There’s no time for you to take a bath, the King doesn’t like to be kept waiting. Come on, get dressed. I’ll look after the little peryton there while.”

He shooed me behind the screen, passing me a long green dress. Its fabric was more delicate than any I had ever seen, it was as light as a feather, yet opaque and not too thin. When I put it on, I noticed that the fabric ended just above the décolletage, leading over to fine lace that covered my shoulders and arms. Thin emerald twines were embroidered on the lace, making the fabric seem less transparent and at the same time more revealing. When I looked at the mirror that stood behind the screen, I held my breath. It was the most beautiful dress I had ever seen. And now I was wearing it, me, Eona, the travelling girl, the acrobat, the nobody.

“Ready?”, Lassadar asked impatiently. With difficulty, I tore my glance away from the mirror and stepped out from the screen.

“It suits you. Seamstress Nia made it, she’s one of my best discoveries. I found her living in a tiny village, ostracised by her fellow villagers for her height, yet the talent for tailoring was burning brightly within her. I had her brought here to Gynt’s Keep to apprentice with the old tailor Hughes, whose fading eyesight meant that he could no longer work as efficiently as he used to. He taught her all he knew and look where she is now, making clothes for the king himself. Such a talent, wasted where she was before. But I digress, we should leave immediately. Take the peryton, the king wants to see him too, the little beauty. We’ll leave the elvedritsch here, he’s already seen her.”

With that, he left the room, expecting me to follow. I took the yawning peryton in my arms and hurried to catch up with Lassadar. Down the spiral staircase we went until we stepped out into the bright courtyard that led to Healer Reaving’s garden. Instead of going there, we turned left through corridors and rooms, ignoring the people that bowed to Lord Lassadar and shot curious glances in my direction. The peryton was turning his head from left to right, and back again, trying to take in as much as possible of this alien world. I didn’t know the route Lassadar was taking us, but he was walking fast, and I had trouble keeping up. No time to look at the rooms and people around us. Healer Reaving had only ever taken me to parts of the castle that were largely deserted; we’d meet servants from time to time, but they were usually hurrying along, ignoring us. Now, I saw well-dressed nobles standing in small groups, discussing important matters, arguing, at least that was what it looked like. There were pets at their feet, large dogs, a cat or two, and one old lady held a spotted rabbit in her gloved arms.

No peryton.

Are there many of you?

Used to. Now, don’t know. Can’t feel any. Not close.

“Hurry up”, Lassadar called. He was standing by two guards, gesticulating wildly. They stood in front of a large golden door, at least three times as high as myself, with roaring lions embedded in the glazing tiles. The guards were both dressed in dark blue garments, one had a sword sheath and a long curved knife hanging from his broad belt, the other was leaning on his lance. By the time I reached Lassadar, one of the guards had disappeared behind the golden door, the other one was eyeing me curiously, yet his face stayed a professional mask.

“Lord Lassadar, what a pleasure to see you! I might come up to you later today, I’ve got some news you might be interested in. And who is that charming young lady beside you?” A broad-shouldered man had detached from a small group of nobles standing to the left and was approaching with wide steps. His whiskers were of a pure white, yet his sparse hair was as black as the night. Sharp eyes under heavy brows were scrutinising me. Despite my opaque dress, I felt naked under his look.

“What kind of creature is that?!”, he shouted dramatically, drawing the attention of the entire room to myself and the peryton. Lassadar took a step towards him, putting his body between me and the man.

“It’s nothing that concerns you, Valter, nor any others but the King. Tame your curiosity, and step back. You’re frightening my companion.”

Lassadar’s voice was icy, and it had the desired effect on Valter. He gave a short bow and retreated to his group of nobles, yet still kept looking at me and the peryton. I turned away from his curious stare. Luckily, we didn’t have to wait for long. The guard returned, beckoning us to enter. The large golden doors opened for us. I had expected to enter the throne room, yet before us lay just another waiting room, but this one was void of any people. There were a few heavily decorated chairs lining the walls, cowering under rich tapestries that depicted a unicorn in different poses.

“While we wait, have a look at this story. First, in this tapestry, the hunters enter the woods. Look at all these plants in the background, all that detail! Healer Reaving has been studying them, trying to discover which plants and herbs our ancestors found important enough to immortalise in this way. Here, on the second one, the hunters attack the unicorn, driving their spears into its innocent flesh. See the fear in the unicorn’s eyes, how it tries to get away from the men and their hounds. And here, in the third tapestry, it finds its strength, fighting its pursuers, stabbing one of their dogs with its beautiful horn, its alicorn, as some call it. But it’s wounded, and its strength leaves it. Here, look at this one. In the top left corner, they stab it again and again with their lances, until it dies, the last unicorn. Then they put it onto a horse, a simple horse. What a fate for the most beautiful beast, for the king of all equidae, being carried off by a mere sumpter. Look at how the nobles stare at the dead unicorn when they get him to their castle. I’ve always been intrigued by this couple here. The lady offers her arm to a lord, she smiles at him, full of love, yet her other hand touches the horse that carries the dead unicorn, making it look like an accidental gesture, diminishing the value of the unicorn. She makes love between humans look more important than the pursuit of all that is noble and beautiful. For her, the death of the unicorn is meaningless. Sometimes, I just want to erase her from the tapestry, burning her out of it, until she begs for mercy.”

He cleared his throat, stopping his flow of words.

Said too much, the peryton commented. I glanced down on him, comfortably snuggling against my arm. His fiery colouring was in a sharp contrast to the emerald green of my dress. He was looking up at me, his dark eyes glistening. Even though his thoughts were simple, I could feel his intelligence waiting behind those mirroring eyes. He was only a young fawn, who knows what he might grow up to be in a few months or years. How long did it take deer to grow to their full size?

No idea. Not a deer.

I smiled. Yes, you’re not a deer. You’re a very special little peryton. So special that the King wants to see you.

And you.

Yes. For whatever reason that may be.

“K  neel”, Lassadar whispered. I complied, bowing before the King of Fer, pressing my knees onto the thick red cushion that lay on the stone floor in front of me. Lassadar was beside me, holding the peryton. He had protested when the lord had taken him from my arms, but Lassadar seemed unable to hear his complaints. However, I could, and I had a hard time not smiling.

Big man stinks. Too high up. Want back!

But now that we were kneeling in front of the King, he had fallen silent. Guards had asked us to step into the throne room, leaving the tapestries behind us. I had only had a glimpse of the King sitting in his splendour before I had dutifully lowered my eyes and kneeled.

“You may rise”, a deep voice, pleasant and polite, said. I complied, and from the corner of my eye, I could see Lassadar do the same. I shot a careful glance towards the man on the throne. He was thin, his spidery arms leaning on the sides of the golden seat, one of them holding a scroll. He did not look at us but was busy reading. That gave me some more time to observe the sovereign of Fer. His grey hair fell in thin strands beneath his heavy crown, his lined face was as peckish as his body. He was clad in a heavy fur-trimmed cloak so broad that it made him look even thinner, the blue velvet matching Lassadar’s outfit. His shoes were golden, with black laces, their tips pointed. His fingers were heavy with rings, and around his neck fell a heavy golden chain. He did not look as I had imagined the King. There was no flesh on him, he was all skin and bones hiding under his opulent clothes. But when he lifted his dark eyes to look at Lassadar and myself, I could see the force of royalty in their strong gaze.

“Lord Lassadar. Eona. We need your help.”

10

He was just a little boy

No older than his peers

When he took up the king’s own spears

And used them as his toy.

He was just a little boy

No fear did he contain

When he put spear in soldier’s brain

And never he was coy.

He was just a little boy

No beard yet graced his chin

When hangman took away his skin

And found no longer joy.

- The Tale of Leown, traditional folk song

“I t is not that we don’t like magic. That would be unwise. It is rather that we don’t like magicians roaming around the country, poisoning people’s minds, taking money for predicting fortunes that never come to pass, selling concoctions that will do more harm than good, and pretending to have powers they have not. Most magicians can’t even light a candle with their thoughts. What we want is to protect our people from those charlatans. Because if people know that only magicians authorised by King Gynt the Wise have real magic, they will not fall for the tricks and treacheries of pretenders. They will not spend their money on worthless potions, nor will they trust their advice. We only want to protect the people, that is all.”

What King Gynt said made sense. Of course, there were charlatans everywhere. I had known one of them once. Some years ago, Old George had travelled with the Ghorres. At night, he went under the name of ‘Sallathar, the ebony wizard from Dulesia’ and sold salves to the inhabitants of whatever village we performed at. He prized himself as a true magician, who was not only blessed with healing powers but could also foresee the future. He even gave his customers the guarantee that if one of his concoctions didn’t have the effect intended, they could give them back for a refund. But of course, his wares came with specific instructions, such as having to wait until the next new moon to drink his most potent love potion or never mentioning the syrup that promised to increase fertility to another soul. By the time they noticed it didn’t work, we had long moved on.

He took great pride in finding feasible excuses as to why customers could not use their newly bought drinks and salves immediately. Sometimes, when sitting around the campfire at night, we others would help him formulate extravagant recipes that he would write on the bottles. Ground unicorn hair, a piece of the heart of a drowned witch, oil from a nut that only grew in the most remote corners of the Lonely Forest. Yes, we had great fun coming up with these ingredients. In reality, most concoctions were nothing but river water mixed with mud, or fir needles, or if Old George was feeling generous, a spoonful of honey. Of course, most people we met in the villages couldn’t read, so they had to trust his word to what was in the bottles. But for those select few that had learned their letters, he managed to write the most beautiful labels. Old George had been a charlatan, but he hadn’t been evil, just greedy.

Yet I could understand why the King would see such doings as a threat to ordinary people, whose superstition might cost them some of their hard-earned coins. It was his job to protect those of his subjects that were illiterate or did not know any better.

“It follows that if we want to control the people who use magic, we need to offer them a good education, and an efficient training to discover their talents and skills. In return for this service, all we ask is that if the magically able has a talent that might be of use to us, that we can employ this talent for the good of all our subjects. That’s only fair for all the resources we invest in their training, don’t you think? This is exactly what we would like from you. Lassadar has started your initiation into the world of magic that he himself is at home at. People say that we despise magic, yet how do they explain our highest advisor being magically gifted? If we hated magic that much, Lassadar would not be welcome at our court, let alone be close to our royal ear. We think you already know the reason why we do not like to leave magicians free to practice their art as they wish.

“Magic is a tool like any other, yet a hundredfold more dangerous. It can be used for good or bad, but while a cooking spoon can be used to stir a delicious broth, the evillest thing you can do with it might be to use it to hit the unruly apprentice. Not a lot of harm can be done with a spoon. Yet magic has many more facets to it, and therefore it has to be controlled more strictly. That is why we must put a restriction on it, like we do on other weapons. Take swords, for example. Our father was wise enough to see that while a sword in a guardsman’s hand might do a lot of good, yet if taken up by a madman, it can also do a lot of evil things. This is why smithies across the kingdom are only allowed to fabricate swords and other weapons if they have a special licence granted by ourselves alone. And even if they do possess such a licence, they are not allowed to sell their weapons to anyone but our guards and soldiers. Imagine all the lives that have been saved by that law.”

And all those lost by people not able to defend themselves.

Startled, I looked at the peryton that was still on Lassadar’s arms. It had been the longest and most coherent thought from him yet. Lassadar was also looking down at him, a pained expression on his face. Had he been able to hear the peryton’s comment? So far, he had not given any sort of sign that he was able to understand our thought communication.

“Are we boring you?” The King’s booming voice interrupted my thoughts. Embarrassed, I lowered my eyes.

“No, your majesty.”

“So then, Eona, will you place your skills at our disposal?”

I was lost for words. I had not expected this, at least not this early. I turned to Lassadar. He gave me an encouraging nod and smiled. I summoned up all my courage and addressed the king.

“Yes, your majesty. Although I have only just started my lessons with Lord Lassadar, I don’t know if I will be of any use to you.”

“I am well aware of that. Let that be at our consideration”, he rebuked me. Of course, I should not have said that. The King knew best.

He clapped his hands, and one of the guards entered the room.

“Send in the prisoner”, King Gynt commanded, and the man left to follow his orders. The king turned to the scroll he was still holding in his hand, his eyes skimming the words on it.

“We have been sent a message from an outpost of our blue militia, telling us of a man that shows great signs of magic. When we invited him to come to the keep to improve his skills, he resisted and while trying to escape killed one of our most loyal soldiers. Of course, we have to punish him, yet he is still valuable to us. Therefore, we have concluded that we won’t cripple his mind, as would usually be our punishment of choice, only his body. Still, we don’t want him to turn completely against us and our cause, so we have come up with an idea. Lord Lassadar has told us of your skill to slow down time itself, a very peculiar thing to be able to do. Now, while we have the prisoner whipped, we would ask you to slow down his experience of time, so that he feels the pain of his punishment longer than he would usually do. Certainly, you will understand that while this might cause him extra pain, it won’t leave as many marks on his body. We will only sentence him to fifty, not to the usual hundred lashes, if you manage to make the pain last longer for him. Therefore, you can use your skill to do something good today, even if it’s just for a prisoner.”

Before I could even think about the implications of the king’s order, the large door opened and two guards entered, a thin man between them. He was being dragged along, his legs too weak to support his starved body. Blond hair hung in thick strands over his face, hiding his eyes from me. His clothes were in tatters, no more than rags. The two guards stopped beside me and Lassadar, and bowed, then dropped the man on the cold stone floor. He didn’t move, yet his chest lifted and fell with each laboured breath. For a second, I heard Jon Reaving’s voice in my head, reciting all the herbs that would help this man, but this was not a case for a healer. It was a case for a torturer.

Don’t do it, the peryton pleaded.

I don’t intend to. Not long ago, I was in the same situation as him, being kept in the dungeons like an animal. Nothing the King says can change that. I won’t help him make this poor man suffer even more.

Good.

Another man entered the room, carrying a large whip in his hand. Black leather encased his large shape; the upper half of his face was hidden behind a mask, highlighting fleshy lips over a badly shaved chin. Bowing deep to the king, he carried a footstool into the middle of the room and with little effort, lifted the prisoner’s upper part of the body onto it. With a practised movement, he tore away the rags from the man’s back, exposing his skin. Without the shirt, I could see how thin he was, his skin was stretched over his protruding ribs. How long had he been in the dungeons? Had he been there at the same time as myself? Back then, I had sometimes heard the muffled cries of other people, the quiet mutterings of prisoners gone mad, the hopeful cries for help of those new to their fate. It had been worse than the endless sound of dripping water that followed me even into my dreams. Worse than the days I went without food. It was not the sound of their cries, but the imagination of what was happening to them, and whether it could happen to me. I shivered with the thought of how hopeless I had been, how prepared to die by refusing to eat the sparse meals I was given. I had been as close to death as I had ever been before. I could still feel the coldness inside of me, the icy feeling of desolation and hopelessness, huddled up within myself. The fearful and lonely Eona that had been imprisoned still existed within the pampered, well-fed Eona that I was now. I thought she had gone away, leaving me with my books and new found self-confidence, but seeing this man lying on the floor, arms stretched out over the footstool, waiting to be tortured, was too much. The memories crashed into me, and for a moment, I was no longer in the king’s throne chamber, but back in my cold prison cell, shivering in the dark.

Safe. You’re safe. Not in past. Come back.

Softly, the peryton’s voice carried to me, giving me a lifeline that I grabbed. Slowly, I began to notice my surroundings once more, leaving the memories behind. Lassadar was staring at me, a strange look on his face. The King was talking to the torturer whose contented smile was almost too much to look at.

“Are you well?”, Lassadar whispered. I nodded, feeling unable to speak. The only thing I wanted right now was to leave this hall and go back to my own room, to be alone with my thoughts. I felt raw, injured by the sudden wave of memories that had overwhelmed me in a way I had not seen coming. Crossing my arms in front of my chest, I pinched my upper arms in a desperate try to anchor myself in the present.

“Eona, you may begin now”, the King ordered. “We will wait a few minutes for you to prepare, then we will order the flogging to be carried out.”

What should I do now? I would not help the King torture this poor man, yet I could not outright refuse without drawing his wrath to myself.

I nodded and closed my eyes, pretending to focus on slowing down time. Instead, I felt for the man’s consciousness. High walls towered up in front of me, impregnable, but beautiful. Their black stone shimmered slightly. I called out in my mind, trying to make him know that I was there. A tiny tendril of awareness came through the castle gate, carefully trying to sense my intentions.

I’m not here to hurt you. They want me to stop time so that you will suffer increased pain, but I won’t do it. I will try the opposite, making time faster for you so that it will be over more swiftly. However, you will have to pretend that you’re in great pain, or we will both suffer for our disobedience. Do you think you can do that?

I felt assent emanate from the walls.

I drew back into my own body and focussed on my breathing, before accessing my power reserves deep within. The mirroring lake was as beautiful as always. I basked in the view of it before imagining a large clock. Instead of shackling its hands, as I would usually do, this time I willed them to go faster. They took up speed faster than I wanted them to, and suddenly a minute was as short as a second. Panicking, I stopped the clock once more, leaning against the flow of the hands with all my strength. I felt my energy leaving me, but once the hands had stopped their run around the clock face, I could breathe again. I opened my eyes. The torturer had not yet started the flogging, he was looking expectantly at the king, waiting for a sign. Lassadar was looking at me, his face an unreadable mask.

“It didn’t work, I don’t think I can make time slower for anybody but myself.”

“I think you haven’t tried hard enough,” Lassadar said gravely. “Try again.”

I nodded obediently and closed my eyes once more. Before I could centre myself, I suddenly felt a sharp pinch on my right forearm.

Ouch! the peryton complained. I opened my eyes, but there was no one touching me. I looked up at Lassadar, who was smiling slightly while holding the peryton in his strong grip. Two of his fingers were encompassing his right foreleg.

Did he hurt you?

Yes!

“I’m sorry,” Lassadar then said, “I must have gripped the little thing a bit too tightly. He’s still so thin, there’s no flesh on his bones yet.” Indeed, Lassadar was right, the peryton was very fragile. Yet I hadn’t realised that our link went deep enough that I could feel his pain. I would need to think about this later.

“Try again,” the King commanded, sounding slightly irritated.

Once more, I reached out for the calm lake within me and began to divert some of the energy inside it. This time, I first extended my awareness until I felt the consciousness of the prisoner, then wrapped myself around it, until I encompassed him completely. Again, I imagined the large clock and its ever-moving hands. Keeping my hold on the prisoner, I began to increase the hand’s speed.

But why was I doing something that did not comply with Lassadar’s wishes? Surely, I should do what he wanted, after all that he’d done for me. Surely, he knew what was best, he was much wiser than me. I began to slow the hands again, and more, and more, until they were creeping around the clock face, no faster than a grapevine snail. I felt a slight nudge of the peryton’s thoughts, but they came from far away and I pushed them out of the way. This was more important, this was something that I did for Lassadar and the King. It was right. I began to feel the time syrup surrounding me, a thick mixture of air and frozen time, warming me. Feeling how far the syrup extended, I noticed that the prisoner was also enveloped in it. We were in this together. Through the fog, I could hear voices talking, but my time stream was too slow for me to hear them. We waited for a long time, I had almost forgotten what for, when the flogging began. The sound of the whip cutting through the air was like a high-pitched humming that was stretched out in time. When the leather hit the prisoner’s skin for the first time, he did not make a sound, yet his consciousness, still in my mental grip, cried out in pain, so close, that I could feel it too, not as intense as he did, but enough to make me wish for it to stop. But there was no end to it, slash after slash went down on the poor man’s back, and with each stroke, I felt more of his pain. Soon, he was crying out, both in his mind and his body, and with each hit, it became more of a screech, one that went right down into my heart and filled me with despair. I lost count of the strokes, needing all my energy and resolve to keep the clock hands restrained.

Suddenly, there was no more energy to draw from, I had depleted my reserves without even noticing. The shackles fell from the clock, and the link between the prisoner and me broke. The pain left, yet I remained curled up on the floor, unable to move as wave after wave of tiredness washed over me, drowning me, until I was drifting, not quite awake, not quite asleep. And still, there were the cries of pain that shook my heart, yet with each stroke, they were getting more and more quiet. Drifting, I found the link to the peryton, half-severed, but I could not remember how that might have happened. I had no energy to mend it, but I tried to reach him through it anyway. There was only silence. Then, a tiny voice, as bewildered as it was accusing.

How could you do that?

I  woke up in my soft bed, having had a horrible nightmare that I could not remember. The autumn sun sent a few lonely rays of light into my room. I had slept all night, but I was not waking up refreshed. My body hurt, and my mind was foggy somehow, my thoughts scrambled and troublesome. Something had happened, yet whether it had been a dream or reality, I could not say. Ever since I had helped Lassadar and King Gynt with the torture of the prisoner two weeks ago, I had slept poorly, either being unable to fall asleep in the first place or being haunted by nightmares that I could not remember. The lack of sleep made me short-tempered and irritated, and even though I knew that sometimes I was not behaving as I should, I didn’t care. For the last two weeks, I had been invited to Lassadar’s study once, sometimes even twice a day, and he had tried to teach me more control of my magic. Tried, because I had made little to no progress. I could not light a fire with my thoughts alone, trying to levitate items only made my head hurt, and even though I had hated to disappoint Jon, healing was something else that I had no talent for. He had taken me to the hospital wing and explained that some magicians were able to mend flesh and bones simply by laying their hands onto the injured area. I had tried, really, I had, but nothing had happened. I could feel the injury beneath my hands as a throbbing red pain, but I couldn’t heal it, only observe the pain the patient was feeling. When Jon had introduced me to a patient with severe burns stretching from his hip all the way down to his feet, I felt the burnt flesh as a heat simmering beneath his skin. I had laid my hands on it, imagining cool air coming to ease the heat, but suddenly, the flames beneath the injury had grown bigger, the heat had increased, out of control, until the man had cried out in pain. I had stepped back, shocked by what had happened. It had been an accident, in my rational mind I knew that, but still I accused myself of causing the poor man more pain than he already had to suffer. That had been the last time Jon had taken me to see his patients, and I was glad that he hadn’t. I was a liability; it was far too easy for me to cause other people pain. As punishment for myself, I refused to allow myself to spend some more time with Jon in his laboratory or herb garden, even though my heart yearned for his company. He was someone who didn’t expect anything from me, not like Lassadar, whose pressure and impatience were taking their toll on me. It was easy to talk to Jon, we always found something to talk about. There were no uncomfortable pauses in between topics with him, no ambiguous statements, no ill feelings between us. But I didn’t deserve his company. I was evil, I had killed a man, tortured another, and caused pain wherever I went.

The only thing I seemed to be good at was influencing time. I could make it slower or faster, and as the recent event in the King’s throne room had shown, I could also meddle with other people’s perception of time. I thought of the times I had used magic in the past. Always, it had involved slowing time, except for the one time I had managed to make my guards fall asleep. And, a spiteful voice in my head told me, the one time I had killed a man. No wonder I had nightmares, I deserved them. Did the guard that I had killed have a family, a wife, maybe even children? What were they doing now, bereft of their father, husband, breadwinner, were they starving somewhere? Did they know how he had died? He had done nothing wrong except for following orders and being at the wrong place at the wrong time. Had he volunteered for that mission? Yes, I had not planned to kill him, but I had also not regretted it much when it had happened. It had been an accident, I had lost control over my own powers. I had sworn to myself then that I would learn to control them so that such an accident could never again happen. Yet where was I now? Not able to do anything a proper magician should know, making no progress at all. Yes, the power reservoir inside of me had increased, and I no longer had to rely on plants for energy. But how did that help if I couldn’t even do simple tasks like lighting a fire. Lassadar always sounded optimistic and encouraged me. He said that we would find other uses for my magic. But what uses would that be? Torturing even more innocent people? Killing for the King?

Stop it. Thinking makes sad.

I startled. The peryton hadn’t spoken to me for the past two weeks, ever since I had helped with the flogging of the prisoner. I had still felt the feeble link between us, but when I had tried to initiate a conversation, he hadn’t responded. Lassadar had taken him into his room, and I only saw him during my lessons, but rarely had time to do more than look at him. I yearned to take him in my arms, to pet him and explain to him about how it had not been my intention to torture the prisoner. But I was never alone with the peryton, Lassadar was always there, always jealously guarding the little creature. He had grown a lot during the last two weeks. He was almost three times the size he had been at the beginning. His fur and scales had a healthy shimmer to them, especially when light reflected on his smooth scales. His thin body had filled with muscle and flesh, his ribs no longer protruded as strongly as they had when he had hatched from his egg. His legs had become more muscular, and I had seen him walking around the room a few times, parading his smooth gait and his sure footing. His wings had grown strong and flexible, and he often flexed and spread them, yet they still looked too small to support his weight. However, if they continued to grow at this pace, he would soon be able to fly.

Fly with me.

I would love to, one day.

Soon. He sent me an image of himself, but much bigger and older, as tall and as noble looking as a stag, but with an eagle’s wings, strong and beautiful. His crimson scales rippled with every beat of his wings, and his large antlers were shimmering in the moonlight. He was flying through the night, with only the moon and stars to guide him. His broad back was bare, yet there would have been enough space for me to sit on him, flying. It was such a beautiful image that I had to smile, and for the first time in two weeks, it was a genuinely happy smile.

How have you been? Is everything alright?

I’m bored. Dark man never talks with me. He’s always busy.

Dark man? I already imagined who the peryton might mean with that, but it was so nice to be talking to him once more, that I tried to keep the conversation inflow, even though the peryton’s thoughts were still quite simple.

Lassadar. He’s a dangerous man.

That he is, but only to those who oppose him.

Do you?

Of course not! He helped me, he saved me! I would never stand against him. Why should I? He’s been supporting me, teaching me, giving me a place to live when no one else would. He’s helping me explore my powers, and I’m grateful, no, honoured, that he himself teaches me.

Good teacher? I thought I could detect irony in the peryton’s thought, but I pushed that feeling aside. A talking winged deer with a sense of humour? Weird.

Yes, it’s not his fault that I can’t do anything. It’s not his fault that everything he tries to teach me is too difficult for him.

It isn’t?

Of course it isn’t! I’m sure he’s a great teacher, at least for everybody else.

I’m sure he is. Again, a touch of sarcasm. It showed me that I didn’t know this little peryton at all.

I’m not little. At least, not in my mind. It’s just, that sometimes I forget that the limits of my small body do not confine my mind in the same way. I have the memories of generations and the dreams of ages. I have lived a thousand lives; I have flown to all four corners of the world. I have seen the most amazing and the most terrifying things that you can’t possibly imagine, I have loved and I have hated, I have lived and I have died. I am not little. I am as large as anything you will ever know! You are little, human, not me.

He paused dramatically, letting his words sink in. There was nothing left of the cute little deer’s thoughts. This was the speech of an adult, of someone wise beyond the peryton’s years.

How have you changed so suddenly?

I have never been different. I just didn’t know if I could trust you. When I hatched from my egg, I was in surroundings that were unfamiliar to me. I had expected to see the green forests of my ancestors where my parents conceived me. Instead of warm meadows and peaceful glades, the first thing I saw was a house of stones, cold and unfriendly. Had I not felt the presence of a kind and gentle soul before, I would not have hatched in such a place. I would have stayed in my egg until I had returned to the forests of my kind. Yet when a peryton egg is near a special soul, it will imprint on this soul, a process that is irreversible. We can only imprint once in our lives, and it always happens before we hatch. It happens before we have eyes to see, before we have ears to hear, before we can be deceived in any way. We imprint based on what we feel. And we always trust our feelings. As should you.

It’s not always easy, I objected.

Assent came from the peryton. No, it is not. And it shouldn’t be. Otherwise, what would be the purpose of feelings? They are not something that can be black and white, right or wrong. They are linked to yourself, your innermost essence, and depend on your experiences and memories, yet still, they are independent of all that. They cannot be put into words because they are purer than words ever can be. To be able to feel means being able to live. Trust your feelings. I do. And this is why I am going to tell you something secret. Something, that I will not tell many people.

What is it?

My name. I’m going to tell you my name. I’m sure you’ve wondered about that. Don’t deny it, you thought about what you might call me, back when I hatched in front of you. But I am not a pet that can be named by a human. I am a peryton. I chose my own name. And here it is: Oisín. I trust you not to give it away, as it is not yours to give. The name of a peryton is something special, something that we do not divulge easily. I will not tell you now why this is so. Maybe one day, when we know each other better.

Tears welled up in my eyes. Through our link, I felt what it meant to the peryton, to Oisín, to share this secret with me. I felt the honour and the trust he put in me, and it warmed my heart. When had I last felt such a bond between myself and another person? Back with my grandmother? Now, with Jon, the healer? No, it was different with him, he was nice and I really liked him, but when we talked, we seldom got to deeper topics, rarely left the realms of small talk and chit-chat. There was a bond between us, but more one of camaraderie and the exchange of knowledge, not one of the heart. This was something new, something special.

You said you didn’t trust me at first. What changed?

I felt your anguish and guilt over what you had done. Being able to feel guilty means that you have a conscience. Showing remorse is the first step towards betterment. And I didn’t say that I didn’t trust you. I said that I wasn’t sure if I could. It was about me, not about you. I had felt your touch when I was still inside the egg, and I felt that a link had been created between us when you first came close. I expected you to be different. When I hatched and I saw you, I knew it was you, the one I had imprinted on. But I also saw that you were human. No peryton I know of has ever imprinted on a human. It’s something unheard of, something new. My kind bonds with elves, not with humans. Elves know us, and we know them. We have a long shared history that binds us even closer together. There is no such thing between me and you. I have my history, it was shared with me through the fluids in the egg I slept in, I have the memories of generations of perytons, most of which perished long ago. I have their knowledge and their skills. Yes, I will still need to learn and to practice my skills, but it will be much quicker than it would be without those memories. Elves are alike in this way, they have shared memories too, but as to how this is done, it is not my place to tell. Anyway, you are human, and I have bonded with you. It is strange, but we will have to live with it.

He paused, waiting for me to reply. It was a lot to take in.

I’m still not entirely sure what you mean by ‘imprinted’. I can feel the bond to you, I’ve felt it ever since I touched your egg, but to what ends does it exist?

To what ends? To share our life, of course. A peryton chooses his companion, not the other way round. It’s a partnership, although words don’t completely grasp the intensity of the connection that will be between us. The bond between us will only get stronger, with each day that we spend in each other’s company. The exchange of thoughts and feelings will get easier, until it happens automatically, without any effort on our part. Our bond will be something deeper than even that of a married couple. At some point, we will be able to share our energy with each other, although that is something that must be practised very carefully, as it is very easy to deplete the other’s reservoir without even noticing in time. Usually, a peryton and his companion would be taught by their elders on how to do this and other things, other advantages that our bond brings with it. However, as there is no one here to teach us, we’ll have to see if we can manage it all on our own.

Could Lassadar teach us?

Lassadar?! Why should a dark magician, maybe even a sorcerer, be suitable for that purpose? I’ve been wondering why you’re so infatuated with him, why you cannot see this other side of him, and -

I interrupted him, I had to.

Lassadar is no sorcerer! How can you say that? Do you not see how noble and generous he is, how he not only took in myself but also your mother and you, feeding you, carrying you around on his own arm, serving your every need? Are you not grateful to him?

Is a prisoner grateful to his executioner?

It took away my breath. Through our bond, I could feel that he meant what he said, that he believed his own words. Was he really so prejudiced to interpret Lassadar’s doings in a negative way? Surely, he should see that the King’s advisor was a gentle man, a wise man, who was doing everything in his power to serve the king. Yes, the King might have some faults, but there was a reason why he was called the King Gynt the Wise. And his wisest decision yet probably was taking on Lassadar as his first advisor. The magician could not only protect the King with his skills, he could also choose new servants that were most suitable for their field of work, just as Jon had been chosen to be trained as a healer. Was that not a good thing, one that made Lassadar even more honourable and wise?

Don’t compare him to an executioner. He is too kind, too gentle to ever hurt a man. I am the one who has killed and caused pain, not him.

But was it not him who made you help the king torture that prisoner? He chose you to do evil in his name. And making other people do your dirty work is even more despicable as doing it on your own, as you inflict great damage on those people’s souls. But enough of that, I don’t want to argue with you while you’re still tired. I have told you my name, but you have not told me yours.

I thought you had already heard it being said while we were together with Lassadar or the king.

I did, but that is not the same as hearing you say it. A name has a special power over us, and it is only when we are given it by the person it belongs to that it unfolds its greatest power.

Well then. My name is Eona.

11

The Calendar of the Kingdom of Fer

The Fer’an Calendar resembles that of the Free Cities in most aspects save a select few. Both place the first day of the year at winter solstice, which is the time at which the midday sun appears at its lowest altitude above the horizon. Winter lasts until spring equinox, spring until the midsummer solstice, summer until the autumn equinox and autumn until the winter solstice. (In the Free Cities, spring is also known as the warming season, while autumn is called the cooling season).

There are several festivals specific to Fer and celebrated throughout the year, many of which have their origins in traditional legends and mythology. One example is Isoan, usually celebrated about one month after spring equinox. It is said that Isoan was the noblest horse that ever walked the earth, so noble that no man ever dared to ride on his back. One day, Isoan was galloping across a field of wheat and in a proud celebration of his own speed and agility, he did not see a young maid that was working in the field. When the noble stallion jumped over a stone amidst the grain, he landed heavily on the young maid, whose name was Laevah. He injured her so badly that she could not walk back to her home. Isoan pitied her and as a self-imposed penance, he bowed down low so that Laevah could crawl onto his back. He carried her home, and on the way, he fell in love with the innocent girl. As a token of his admiration, he let her cut three hairs from his long tail, which she braided and wore as a necklace. With that, he left her. Soon afterwards she found that she was pregnant, and when she gave birth to her child, she found that he was as noble, as beautiful, and as wise as Isoan himself.

Every year at Isoan, young girls who are not yet married braid themselves a necklace made from the tail hair of a stallion, in the hope of not only attracting a handsome partner but also of becoming as fertile as Laevah. It is said to be good fortune to hold a wedding at Isoan, and many say that the children that stem from such a wedding will prosper in the best way possible.

- A History of Fer, Jonas de Tourtur

Sparks were flying high into the night, dancing with each other before they disappeared. One of them drifted up until it met a red lantern, but it went out before it could ignite the thin paper. The bonfire was burning brightly, its flames reaching high into the night sky, flickering and reaching out, higher and higher. The flames licked at the stars, or so it seemed. More and more wood was brought forward to feed the fire’s unrestrained hunger. The circle of people dancing around the bonfire became bigger, as more dancers joined the crowd. Their dark silhouettes in front of the fire’s bright shine were all I could see from my vantage point on top of the roof. Music drifted up to us, a lively tune dominated by a fiddler’s energetic play.

“Isn’t it beautiful,” Jon said beside me, leaning back until his back touched the warm roof tiles on which we sat.

“Yes, it is. It reminds me of the performances we would do with our travelling group. Sometimes, in the summer, we would start the show late in the night when everything was dark. There would be no light in the tent, it was all pitch black. But then every act had something to do with light that would brighten the ring for just a moment before the tent was filled with darkness once more. Marco did his fire-spitting as usual, but in the dark, the flickering long tongue of fire that seemed to come out of his mouth was even more impressive, as his entire body stayed invisible in the dark until the moment he breathed fire. The dwarves would juggle flaming torches instead of their usual knives or rocks, faster and faster their juggling would go until it looked almost like two flaming circles interacting with each other. I would walk the tightrope holding a balance pole that was alight on both ends, giving the audience the impression of two flaming lines racing over the rope. It was a difficult performance, as us artists didn’t see where we were going, so everything had to be practised over and over again until we could do our acts blindly. Yet it was always worth the effort.”

“It sounds like you had a good time with the travelling group.”

“I did, yes. At the beginning, it was all so strange to me. I had been brought up in a rural area, there was nothing entertaining there, a village pub was the only place you could go to meet other people, but of course, I was only a child and would not be allowed into the tavern anyway. My only friends were the goats we had, or I would play with the little chicks my grandmother kept in a pen behind the cottage. My grandmother was a friendly woman, yet living and depending on her own had made her somewhat strict. Having fun was something she found unnecessary, at least most of the times. In the evenings, she would tell me stories and fairy tales, but that was the only form of entertainment I got. Now imagine, suddenly stepping from the peaceful and reclusive life of a country girl into the crowded and busy life of a travelling family. When I was picked up by them, I was so shy at first. I would hide in Mara’s vardo all day, staring out of the window, curious, but so shy. Whenever someone else approached our wagon, I would hide under the table or under my blanket. I was just not used to being around people. It took a long time for me to get comfortable being around the other members of the Ghorres family. They were so loud, so overly dramatic, so self-obsessed. I just didn’t know how to deal with that. But slowly, I warmed to them and got used to the noise and crowded conditions. Although it took years until I was confident enough to be part of the evening show. Before, I had helped Mara with the cooking or would tend to the horses. I felt I had to give them something back - they had picked me up from the side of the road, I had been half-starved, and they brought me back to life. So I wanted to earn my keep, I wanted to become a part of the family. And I think I did, in the end. It took a long time, and even on the night of the last performance I did with them, I still felt somehow excluded, as if I was not on an equal footing with the other members of the travelling company. Yet now that I think of it, I’m sure that it was not their impression. For the Ghorres family, I was a part of them. It was myself who thought I should be excluded, and therefore I behaved as if I was. Sometimes, what you think you are and what you are can be two very different things. Anyway, I miss them, especially when looking at the people down at the fire. They remind me of the carefree, life-loving attitude that was so typical of the Ghorres family.”

“Do you want to go down there?”

“Maybe later. Right now, I just like to watch them. It’s so nice up here. It feels like we are a part of the celebration, yet still, we have our own space. Down there it’s so loud, we probably couldn’t hear each other’s words anyway.” I lay back next to Jon, looking up at the stars above. From time to time, sparks from the bonfire made their way across the night sky, dancing with their brighter counterparts, until they disappeared quietly.

We had come up here onto the roof when the sky had still been drenched in orange and red colours, with clouds illuminated by the golden light of the parting sun. The overlapping glazed roof tiles were still warm from basking in the afternoon sun, even though the air around us was rapidly cooling. I had wrapped myself in my light woollen cloak and watched the last preparations for the Autumn Fires being carried out in the large courtyard below. Men arranged large benches around the walls of the open space, while others put up paper lanterns on ropes above the ground. Boys were carrying faggots to the bonfire area and placed them around the already prepared cone of large pieces of timber. Before, others had carried kindling to the fire pit, which was surrounded by large stones that not only kept the logs and branches in place but also served as a safety barrier for the dancers that would later begin to circle around the fire. Around the kindling, men had built a large tripod made from thick, strong logs, that made up the basic structure of the bonfire. Then, they had filled the space between the logs with thinner branches and pieces of wood, until it looked like a perfect tepee. Even unlit, it was an impressive structure, twice as high as myself.

On one side of the courtyards, small stalls had been built, offering drinks and refreshments. There would be more stalls outside the keep, where the main celebration was happening. This was the keep bonfire, where the nobles and maybe even the King himself would celebrate the Autumn Fires. Outside, in the town, there was a larger fairground, with not only one bonfire, but several. Jon had told me of the market stalls there, where merchants from far and wide sold their wares. He had bought candles that supposedly came from the distant kingdom of Nythea. They were large and heavily scented. Jon had been baffled by the strength of the scent they gave off, and planned to experiment with them to find out how they were made this way. It was a project that seemed to excite him greatly. He had also spoken of traders selling jewellery and beautiful fabric, wooden toys and colourful flower garlands that were supposed to last two weeks. Some merchants had travelled for more than a month to come to Gynt’s Keep. The Autumn Fires was one of the most important celebrations in the Fer’an calendar. Many people no longer knew what the purpose of the festival had been originally, for them it was just a reason to be happy and to celebrate - or to get drunk. Jon had prepared himself for an increased intake of patients within the next few days.

“Most of them come with minor injuries from fights or falls, bruises or contusions, but sometimes, they arrive with broken bones or bigger wounds. Last year, I had several men with stabbing injuries; they had started a fight with a group of acrobats, not knowing that their speciality was the juggling and throwing of knives. They gave me a lot of grief back then, taking up time I should have spent with people who were actually sick, those that were not owing their pain to their own stupidity. This year, I’m prepared for all eventualities. Some nobles have one drink too many and then come to me, expecting a cure for their hangover. I might have some herbs or potions that might help, but most of the time I keep that a secret. Otherwise, I would have people coming to me all day asking for a hangover relief, before going to the tavern again to get a new one. Of course, some nobles I have to treat, I would be a fool to do otherwise. Those with influence are used to getting what they want, and will get dangerous if they don’t.”

I had wanted to see the celebrations outside the keep, but Lassadar had refused to grant me leave to exit the castle. Too dangerous, he had said. There were too many people, too many strangers, and who knows how many of them had come here with ill intentions. I had been disappointed at first, having seen the preparations for the festival going on for days. The kitchens had prepared as much food as they possibly could, the tailors and seamstresses had been busy creating the latest trends in clothing for the nobles to showcase during the celebrations, the musicians had practised without pause or consideration for those wanting to sleep at night. Yet after some consideration, Lassadar had allowed me to visit the Autumn Fires within the keep, as long as I didn’t go on my own. The next day, Jon had asked me if I wished to accompany him to the festival. I was sure that Lassadar had put him up to this, but I didn’t mind. It was easy to be around Jon, there was always something to talk to him about. After he had discarded his shyness and self-doubts that had made longer conversations difficult in the beginning, when he had been continuously asking me whether he was taking up my time or whether I was interested in what he was explaining to me, it was a pleasure to be with him. He was an uncomplicated fellow, never complaining, never arguing. Having spent years of my life with a travelling group of dramatic and self-absorbed artists, it was refreshing to talk to someone who was not thinking about himself or his performance all the time.

“Would you care to dance?” He was still lying beside me, his head turned to look straight into my eyes. A small smile played around his lips, showing off the dimples in his cheeks. I sat up, looking at the spectacle below. The fire was still burning strongly. Its thick smoke rose in a straight column, no wind reached the courtyard to change the smoke’s path. Most people were standing around the stalls, drinking from large tankards or eating one of the many delicacies that were offered by local and foreign cooks. Some were dancing around the fire, in pairs or alone, to the music of a small group of gleemen. One was playing the flute, another the cromorne, the other some kind of large string instrument that I didn’t know. They were playing a merry tune, one easy to dance to.

Dancing had been one of the first things I had learned when I joined the Ghorres family. For them, it was something as essential as walking or breathing. Dancing was in their blood, and they jumped at every opportunity to do so. There was no system to the dance of the Ghorres, no steps to be learned, only a universal movement to music. It did not matter to them if you looked foolish or clumsy, as long as you listened to the tune and followed its path. At night, after the show had ended and everyone had come back from the taverns, those who could play an instrument would get it out and start to play. Once one had picked up a tune, the others would join in, adding their voices to the sound of the instruments. We would sing and play and dance, sometimes all night until the first sunlight would appear on the horizon. The Ghorres were a free folk, and times and schedules meant nothing to them. If everyone slept until lunchtime after dancing all night, so what. At some point, everyone would wake up and all would work together to pack up the tent and move on to the next village.

“If you don’t want to, we can stay here, or go somewhere else. Whatever you prefer,” Jon’s voice called me from my thoughts.

“I’m sorry, I was just thinking of how we used to dance at night. I would very much like to dance with you. But before that, let’s go down, I’m thirsty. I saw them carrying large casks up from the King’s wine cellar. I’m sure they’ve got a few nice vintages down there. Not that I would know anything about wine, but it must be good if it’s been kept in the royal cellar.”

We both got up and I followed Jon to the top of the roof. He was spreading his arms for balance, carefully placing one foot in front of the other. I was more at home up here on the roof, having walked on tightropes ever since I had been a child. The tiles were cold under my bare feet. It took me a second to notice that I had forgotten my shoes, they were still where we had lain on the roof. I scrambled down again and found them in the rain gutter where I had put them earlier. Calling to Jon to wait for me, I took one last look over the scene before me. I was standing in a sea of roofs, their smooth glazed tiles reflecting the sparse moonlight. In the distance, where the roofs ended, I could see the bright lights of the town’s fairground, illuminating the night with colourful lanterns and the shine of the bonfires. Just below the roof I was standing on, smoke was rising from the fire and orange light was flickering on the walls of the courtyard. The sound of the fire, mixed with music and the chatter of people drifted up to me. The crowd was getting thicker; more and more people were streaming into the courtyard. Other musicians had joined the ones we had seen earlier, and the tune they were playing now sounded foreign, but infectious. I turned around and climbed up the roof to where Jon was waiting, all the while walking in step with the flow of the music. This was a beautiful evening, and I was going to enjoy it.

When we stepped out into the courtyard, most people had started dancing to a popular tune, The Contest of the Songbirds. The flute was taking the role of the birds, chirping and tweeting to the deep accompaniment of the cromorne and a bladder pipe, while a drum was keeping the beat. I smiled at Jon and began to hum along. With a grin, he joined in, his voice a beautiful tenor. Together we sang, our voices complimenting each other. Even though his was untrained, every note was in place. Around us, the crowd moved towards the fire, and we let ourselves be swept with it. When we reached the circle of dancers, we joined their dance. The nobles were dancing formally, observing every dance step they had learned, but I just let my body move as it saw fit, shaking my arms, turning and turning, swirling my skirt. I became one with the music, and I let it take me away, not thinking about how I was moving, but just dancing, dancing, until the tune ended, and another began. And on we went, turning around each other, clapping to the beat of the music, letting go of formality and control. We became part of the mass, circling the bonfire like moths, never stopping, dancing through song after song. Then, when one tune ended, the silence stayed, not broken by a new piece of music. We stopped, panting, our bodies tingling with the echo of dancing through the night. When it became evident that no new song was going to be played, we left the circle around the bonfire and approached the stalls on one side of the courtyard. Jon edged his way through the people leaning heavily on round tables in front of the wine seller and got us two tankards of red wine. Thankfully, I took one of them and drank greedily until half of it was gone. Only after my thirst had been stilled, I took the time to observe the fine taste of the wine. It was indeed a good vintage, fruity yet slightly dry. I had to smile. Here I was, a country girl, pretending to know something about fine wines.

“What are you smiling about?” Jon asked me after taking a large sip from his tankard.

“I’m just so happy. I’ve danced, and I’ve talked, and I’ve lain on a rooftop, all in one evening. I’m enjoying this change of my usual day to day routine.”

“So do I. I wish we had celebrations like this more often. And this year, we’re pretty lucky, last year it was pouring rain all night, they had trouble keeping the bonfire alight.”

“It’s all perfect. Yes, we are lucky to be here on such a fine evening. Look, there’s something happening over there, where the musicians stood earlier. Do you know what these people are doing?”

“No idea, let’s find out.” He took my hand with a familiarity that surprised me. I followed him through the mass of people to one corner of the courtyard. Several people all dressed in gold had appeared there, standing together, talking. Then, one of them, a heavy cloak hanging from his broad shoulders, took a step forward, addressing the crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please, make some space for Alesso’s performing troupe! We have been asked by King Gynt, may he live long and prosper, to prepare a special play for the lords and ladies of his court. This play has never been performed anywhere else, so please sit back and enjoy the spectacle!”

At his last word, a drum began to play softly in the background, played unseen somewhere within the courtyard, the beat starting slowly, then becoming faster rapidly. While the man had been speaking, the other members of his company had disappeared into the crowd. The announcer left through a doorway, leaving an empty space in that corner of the courtyard. A second drum joined the beat of the first, adding to the suspense. Then, with a loud drum roll, a man entered through the doorway, his face hidden behind the hood of his black cloak. In his hand, he held a longbow, beautifully carved at the ends, and on his back, he carried a quiver sporting several white-feathered arrows. He stopped, looking at the ground, not revealing his face. From both sides, two of the gold-clad men we had seen earlier closed in on him, brandishing shiny swords. When they were within arm’s length of the man, they stopped.

“Halt, stranger!” one of the golden men called out, his voice carrying across the courtyard. The silence of the audience was only broken by the crackling of the bonfire. His partner cried, “You are surrounded! Lay down your weapons and yield!”

Swords drawn, they approached the man. One pointed his sword at the man’s throat. “Yield!” he shouted, and his call was taken up by another, hidden within the crowd, and another. “Yield!”

The black-clad man turned towards the sword, not lowering his bow. There was no arrow on it, but his agility and grace betrayed the speed in which he could take one from his quiver.

“Why are you threatening me?” he asked in a low, deep voice. “Leave a simple wayfarer such as myself in peace. I have done nothing wrong.”

The second guard held his sword to the man’s waist as he answered, “We know who you are! We have searched far and wide for you, and now that we have found you, we will not let you flee again! Now, drop your weapons or we will force you.”

“I’d like to see you try,” the man roared, and suddenly he threw himself up to his full height, towering over the two guards. With a fluid motion, he drew an arrow from his quiver and suddenly, one of the guards was lying on the ground, red fabric pouring out of a hidden pocket. Soon, he was covered by the fabric and moved no more. The other guard struck out with his sword, intending to strike a killing blow, but the sword met the hard wood of the bow and suddenly, the man in black was brandishing a knife, which he thrust into the ribcage of the guard. He went down, and again there was red fabric pouring from the wound. He writhed in pain, but his movements soon got slower and with a final rattling breath, he died. I had seen other theatre companies use fabric instead of fake blood, but in comparison to this performance, the other groups had looked amateurish.

The victorious man threw back his hood, and screams of exclamation came from the crowd. His skin was painted red and yellow, flames seemed to lick on his face. His clothes beneath the cloak were similarly coloured as if fire was devouring his broad stature. Suddenly, the arrow on his bow ignited, and with a practised move, he shot the arrow into the air. High above the ground, the arrow exploded. Fireworks of every colour flew across the night sky, illuminating the darkness around it. Golden sparks were raining down over the crowd, to the ‘ohs’ and ‘ahs’ of the masses.

The man, stepping out of the cloak that was now lying on the floor, addresses the cheering crowds.

“I am Alef the Great. I have single-handedly unified the Western Counties, and while there are still some” - he pointed towards the lifeless figures on the ground - “who oppose me, they will soon learn better. I will crush them and their families until there is no one left of them. And to do this, I will seek the help of a most reclusive being, that many call mythical, but of whom I know that it exists. Some may call my venture foolish, but I will prove them wrong. I will soon return to these lands accompanied by” - the drum roll got louder and faster - “Noyr, the firebird!” At the last word, he thrust his bow into the air, and with that movement, his garment seemed to explode into flames. The crowd cheered.

From somewhere, the announcer’s voice carried across the room, while the man began to walk around the bonfire in circles, pretending to cross vast distances.

“Alef travelled far and wide in his search of Noyr. He crossed many mountains and lands until he reached the banks of the sea. On a beach, he saw large cliffs reaching up as high as any mountain. At the top of the cliff, there was a cave, and even from down below, he could see the flickering shine of a fire coming out of the cave. At first, Alef called out to the firebird.”

The man stood still, looked up and shouted, “Noyr, I have come from a distant land to worship you! I beg of you, come down so that I can adore your beauty!”

There was only silence. Alef put down his bow and took off his quiver, placing them on the ground. Then, he approached the highest wall of the courtyard, while the watching crowd moved back to give him more space. Without warning, he began to scale the smooth wall. From my position, I could not see how he did it, and from Jon’s expression, I could read that he didn’t either. Higher and higher he climbed until he reached the rooftop. Somehow, there was the shine of a warm fire on the top of the roof, but I could not see any flames. “Noyr, I have found you!”, called the man from his high position, his voice carrying surprise and satisfaction. Everyone was staring up at the roof, where the actor had disappeared to. Then, suddenly, two large wings appeared, burning brightly, and when they got closer to the edge, I could see that they were attached to a man, as brightly dressed as Alef. His arms were his wings, and his feet were the bird’s tail. From down below, it looked as if real flames were dancing across his entire body. He beat his wings, and sparks filled the night. He gave off a shrill inhuman cry and threw himself off the roof. A collective gasp went through the audience, many backed away from where the man would fall onto the ground. But he wasn’t falling, he was flying. His large wings beat strongly, and with every beat, the firebird flew higher and higher, until the roof was far away. I couldn’t believe what I had just seen with my own eyes: A man had taken flight, with wings of fire. He circled over the courtyard, slowly coming lower again until he once more landed on the rooftop. Alef stepped into view, standing next to the firebird.

“I have found him, and with his help, I will protect the Western Counties forever, and once they are safe, we will expand our realm, until every single subject of mine will have their own plot of land!” The crowd cheered. Of course they would, they were mostly nobles that had been given land by the King.

Alef reached out for the firebird and embraced Noyr. He spread his wings and jumped off the roof, gliding down over the crowd. Many people crouched down in fear, evading the beat of the firebirds large wings. Softly, they landed. Alef stepped away from the bird-man, bowing in front of the audience. They, some of them still rattled by the sudden closeness of the firebirds burning wings, began to clap, until the applause became as loud as thunder. When it ebbed away, Alef stepped back, and the firebird came into full view. As I had thought when I had first seen him on the roof, there was a man between the wings, dressed in a close-fitting suit of flaming feathers. The flames were real ones, yet they seemed to do no harm to the man nor to the fabric of the wings. When he stepped into the light, my heart nearly stopped. It was Lassadar, standing there as the proud firebird, extending his beautiful wings high up into the sky. He was wearing red and yellow makeup, concealing his fine features, but there was no doubt that it was the king’s advisor himself. He bowed in front of the audience, and while his upper body was close to the ground, his wings went up and crossed elegantly, their flames flowing into each other to form a burning triangle of feathers and sparks, transforming his bow into a piece of art. The crowd would not stop clapping. Only when I heard Jon cheering enthusiastically next to me, I noticed that I wasn’t clapping, but simply staring at my teacher. This was not only part of a theatre play; it was a presentation of his power. He could fly and he could create flames that were harmless to himself. I yearned to run to him and touch those wings; wings that somehow looked familiar.

When Lassadar stepped back from view, the announcer took his place. “Alesso’s troupe has been performing this play for you in honour of King Gynt the Wise, our noble and courageous king who can trace his lineage all the way back to Alef, the greatest hero that ever lived!” He then bowed to a window on his right, and into view stepped the king himself, smiling and waving to the crowd. They went mad, applauding and cheering wildly.

“That was amazing!” Jon exclaimed, his face lit up. “I wonder how he did that. If only everybody was immune to flames, that would make my life so much easier. Burns take so much time to heal.”

“Let’s get another drink before everyone gets the same idea,” I suggested, and together we made our way through the crowd to the wine stall. This time, it was me who ordered the drinks, while Jon was reserving us a place at one of the tables. While I was waiting for the tankards to be filled, a man slipped into the space to my left. When he ordered some ale, the voice sounded familiar and I turned to look at him. His face was in the shadows, but when he took his drink and turned to leave, I could see his features.

“Dyllon! Is that really you?”, I shouted and smiled at the man. He returned my smile, but it did not reach his eyes. He was dressed in a fine leather jacket; the material looked more expensive than his usual clothes. His shows had to have done well recently for him to be able to afford such a jacket.

“Eona, funny meeting you here. How are you doing?”

It sounded more like politeness, not like a question. This was so unlike Dyllon that I frowned and could not help asking, “Are you all right? What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, I just didn’t expect to see you here. Are the other Ghorres with you?”

I shook my head. It would take too long to explain. “I’m here on my own, what about you?”

“So am I. Look, I have to go.” He turned and disappeared into the crowd without even saying goodbye. I took my tankards and with a shrug, I returned to Jon.

“Who was that?” he asked me.

“A friend, at least I thought he was, but he behaved so weirdly just now. I’ve known him for years, he’s part of a different travelling family with which we usually spend the winter in the Free Cities. Dyllon is about my age, so we always did a lot together. All his brothers and sisters are a lot older, I think he was quite grateful for my company. We explored Allembach together, showed each other our little hideouts and special places we had discovered. We wouldn’t see each other during the year, but whenever we met back in one of the Free Cities for winter, it was as if we hadn’t spent any time apart. He was almost like a brother to me until…”

My voice trailed off. The rest of the story was not as easy to tell. Because everything had changed one winter, not long ago, when he took me to an abandoned cottage near Ritteltown. It was a cute little place; it reminded me of my grandmother’s house. There were only two rooms, and the roof was leaking, but there was also a small cellar where Dyllon had discovered a barrel of homemade cider, still good to drink. We had no mugs with us, so we drank directly from the tab, using our hands as cups. The cider was good, and soon I had that warm fuzzy feeling in my belly that you get when you drink enough alcohol. I leant back against the rough stone wall, closing my eyes and enjoying the feeling of warmth. Dyllon did the same, but when he sat down, his shoulder touched mine. A shiver went through my arm, but I stayed where I was. My mind was slightly foggy, I only now felt the full effect of the cider. I told Dyllon that I was drunk, and he laughed and leant his head onto my shoulder. It was comfortable, sitting next to his warm body. His hair brushed my cheek, tickling my skin. I closed my eyes and relaxed. I felt his head move away from my shoulder and I assumed that he tried to get more comfortable, but suddenly his hot cidery breath met my own and his mouth touched my lips, softly, as if accidental, but when I did not respond, he pressed his lips against mine. I was too shocked to do anything. We were just friends, nothing more, right? He was almost like a brother to me. I hadn’t given him any signs that I wanted our relationship to change into something different, had I? I turned my head, evading his wet mouth, but he followed my movement, his lips creating traces of spittle on my face. Then, his tongue was pressed against my closed lips, looking for access. When they found none, his teeth brushed my cheek, until they arrived at my lips, and softly bit them. I tried to turn away, but he bit me again, hard this time. I felt the taste of copper explode in my mouth. I pressed my hand against his chest, pushing him away. I was furious.

“Why did you have to do that? How dare you!” I threw the words into his face.

He only smiled. “I know you wanted it, and you still do. Don’t pretend to be so innocent, you’re not. Now stop talking and enjoy it.” With a sly smile, he came closer again, but this time I did not let him. With both hands, I pushed him back, but his smile only got wider, and he threw himself at me, squashing me under his heavy body. “So you like it rough, do you. I’ll admit, that’s what I prefer too, so let’s get started properly. Keep fighting me, that’s so much more fun!” This wasn’t Dyllon. With a cruel laugh, his lips found my face again, and this time, he bit me so hard that I cried out in pain. His body pressed mine to the ground, but I fought him, my hands scratching and beating against his broad chest, but the more I tried to hurt him, the more he laughed and the rougher he got. I pulled back my head, trying to escape his disgusting wet mouth, but he followed, his tongue slivering snake-like over my skin. With a jerk of my head, I banged my forehead against his nose, and I felt it give way. Warm blood ran down his face, dripping onto my skin. I could feel the hot liquid run into my hair, and I shivered with disgust. Dyllon’s groping hands had left my forearms to cover his bleeding nose, and I used the opportunity to get away from under him. I scrambled to one side, but suddenly his hands were holding my legs, pulling me back. Instinctively, I kicked out, my foot making contact with a soft part of Dyllon’s body, and the grip around my legs softened. I pulled away from him, finally managing to get up. He was still clutching his nose with one hand, the other was placed protectively over his belly. He looked at me, hatred boiling behind his eyes. When I reached the stairs that would lead me back out into the open, I turned back to look at him one more time.

“I thought we were friends, Dyllon, but you’ve just shown me that you don’t care about that. Think twice next time before you harass me. It will only end in pain for you.” The words were spoken way more confidently than I felt inside. Indeed, I was rattled and shaken, but I would not let it show, not in front of him. I left him lying on the cellar floor and ran up the stairs and through the ruined remains of the cottage, and all the way back to Ritteltown. On the way, I found a little stream, in which I washed my face and hands, but even when the clear water took away the blood and the dirt, I still felt stained.

“And what happened to change that?” Jon asked, pulling me out of the memory.

“He thought I wanted him. I didn’t. So we fell out.” I tried to keep my tone neutral, but it wasn’t easy. Too many feelings welled up within me, threatening to choke my voice. “Before we parted, we only exchanged the necessary words, never mentioning what had happened. It seemed as if our friendship that had lasted for so many years was completely destroyed by the events of one single hour. But on the day when our two families left the winter quarters to get back onto the road, we talked, and he apologised for his behaviour. I thought we might get along again the next time we meet. I think I’ve forgiven him, but right now he seemed so distant, so different, that I think he might not be interested in us becoming friends again.”

“Well, to be honest, it’s his loss and not yours. If he doesn’t want to be around you, then you should accept that and be thankful for it. I know you haven’t told me what exactly happened between you two, but from reading your face while you were speaking, I think I know. And if I am right, then you should be happy not having to be around him. Let’s speak of nicer things. Hasn’t this evening been beautiful?”

I smiled at him, taking his hand.

“Yes, indeed it has. I think it has been the most amazing night I’ve had in a long time. But it’s getting colder, shall we stand closer to the bonfire? We can take our wine with us.”

Together, we walked towards the fire. The crowd had become less dense; many people had left after the play had ended. The musicians had taken up their instruments once more and were playing a delightful jig, while some of the younger people were dancing in the glow of the fire. We just stood there, looking into the flames. The fire had lost in height and intensity, but it was still giving off enough warmth to banish the cold. Autumn would soon end. The chill of the night already had a touch of winter in it. I huddled against Jon, leaning my back against his warm body. He lay a hand on my shoulder and left it there, steadying me. Together we warmed ourselves and watched the dancers circling the flames. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the heat of the fire on my face.

“Healer Reaving! Is Healer Reaving anywhere?” A booming voice filled the courtyard. I opened my eyes and stepped away from Jon, looking for the origin of the call. Jon was waving to a man that was hurrying towards us. When he stopped in front of us, he panted heavily.

“There’s been an accident, Lord Valter had been gravely injured, you must come immediately!” Jon gave the man a short nod and turned to me.

“I have to go, but you stay here and enjoy yourself. I will find you once I’ve seen to Lord Valter.” With that, he left, leaving me alone in front of the fire.

12

One may look up the dead bird’s wing

One may compare the winter to spring

One may lift up their voices to sing

But one will never bow to the king.

One may stare at the mysteries unseen

One may cut off the shoots not yet green

One may live up to things that have been

But one will never bow to the queen.

- Traditional folk song, likely to have originated in the Plains during King Fer’s reign

L or was no longer limping. How long had it been since he had lost a toe as a punishment for the unjust treatment of myself? It seemed like years had passed since then, since he had left me in the dungeons to rot. Now, as he came out of Lassadar’s room and saw me waiting in front of it, he smiled contemptuously.

“See who we have here, Lassadar’s pet. I thought he would have tired of you by now, usually he only keeps his pets for a short while until he’s getting bored. But you’re still here. Interesting.”

I met his glance and smiled politely. “It pleases me to see you no longer limping. Has the wound healed nicely?”

“Indeed it has, especially as it never was a wound. But no, I shouldn’t have said that. Lassadar likes to keep his pets in the dark, feeding them only so much information as to satisfy them. Now, what will you do now? Confront him? Argue with him? Believe me, that’s not possible. He controls you, you see, and in a moment, you will forget what I have just told you. But here, I will tell you again and again: He never cut off my toe, it was all an act. Remember that!” And with a crazy laugh, he passed me and began to walk down the stairs, snickering nastily.

But I will remember. The peryton’s voice chimed in my head.

Oisín, are you alright? I haven’t heard from you in days. I tried to talk to you last night, but I think you were sleeping.

I was not, but I will not tell you what happened. Not yet, anyway. You would not understand, nor believe my words. But now, something else. Do you trust me?

Of course I do.

Then do this for me. Remember, who did you just meet? Who came out of Lassadar’s study?

No one. I only just got here.

No, think again. You saw someone, you spoke to him. Remember.

I am trying to, but I can’t remember something that never happened. A servant asked me to come up here, and I did. And then I knocked and Lassadar called that I should wait for a moment. And then, the door opened - no, it didn’t, did it? Oisín, what are you doing to my head? It hurts! Waves of pain were starting to pound against my skull and dizziness washed over me. A headache was numbing my thoughts, making it hard to concentrate.

It’s not me doing it, Eona. I’m trying to help you, but I don’t know how. I can see the net of thorns around your mind, but they are so sharp, I cannot touch it, nor remove it. Its roots have burrowed far down into your thoughts, and if I try to pull them out, they might hurt you. I know what’s wrong with you, but I cannot do anything against it.

What do you mean, a net of thorns? There’s nothing around my mind, my walls are still up, I would feel if there was something threatening me.

Oh Eona, I think you’ve been deceived. But hush, straighten yourself, he is going to open the door.

I heard footsteps nearing the door, and then it opened. A familiar face stared at me. Dyllon. What was he doing here? Again, he was wearing expensive clothes; garments he wouldn’t have been able to afford last time we met. Without a word, he squeezed past me and began to walk down the spiral staircase, leaving the door open for me to enter. Lassadar was standing by the window, looking out over the lake. Rain clouds were hanging low on the horizon, and a strong wind was creating rippling waves on the water’s surface.

I turned to look at the elvedritsch in her cage, but the cage had gone from the fireplace.

Where is she? I asked Oisín, who was lying on a velvet cushion on the floor beside the armchair.

I will tell you later. He looked like a dog waiting for his master, lying on the cushion with his legs hidden beneath his body. Around his neck was a silver collar, set with tiny rubies, complementing the crimson colour of his fur and scales. He had grown since I had seen him the last time, he was about the size of a greyhound, and his large feathered wings seemed more suited to carry the weight of his body then they had before. They were folded together onto his back, one of them slightly higher than the other.

“Good day, Eona, thank you for coming up here,” Lassadar said, turning away from the window. “Would you like a glass of wine?” This question had become a tradition for my sessions with the King’s advisor. I always accepted the lovely wine he offered me, it’s sweet note was refreshing and delicious at the same time. He poured me a glass and motioned me to sit down on a chair. He took his place in the armchair beside the peryton. With one hand, he reached down to pet Oisín’s head, as if he was a simple dog and not a mythical peryton. Lassadar leant back and looked at me.

“I’ve got a task for you again. There’s been an attack on the King last night. No, don’t worry, he wasn’t injured, the guards and Lord Valter, who had been with the King when the assassination attempt happened, stopped the assailant in time. The attacker himself was wounded, and in his great grace and wisdom, the King allowed his enemy’s wounds to be treated. Now he wishes to make an example of the assassin and asked me and you to work together for this. Just like the last time, you will slow down time while I will inflict pain on the attacker to get her to give us information. It will not be an easy task, understandably. However, I trust you will fulfil your part of it with your usual obedience.”

I swallowed. It had been horrible enough the last time, and I still felt the acidic guilt eating its way through my conscience. But it was the King’s wish, and I had to obey his command. He was the King of Fer, after all.

“This highness has commanded that the punishment will be executed later this afternoon. Before, we have some time to practice a bit more. Are you still doing your exercises?”

I nodded. Twice a day, I reached down to my energy reservoir and practised my control of that energy. I had become better at estimating how much of my reserves I would need and had not wasted it as I had at the beginning. With each day, the reservoir became bigger. Despite that, I still couldn’t do the simplest tasks with my magic, like lighting a fire. It was frustrating to read about what magic was possible, but never being able to put it into practice. All I could do was manipulate time. Which wasn’t much use in most situations.

“Today I want to see if you can manage some basic ways of reading other people’s intentions. Most magicians cannot read the thoughts of others, but some manage at least to recognise the most basic emotions that swim on the surface of another’s mind. Of course, reading the mind of another magician is almost impossible, as they usually have good defences in place. However, it is fairly easy to see what ordinary people are up to without them even noticing. I’m going to show it to you, and afterwards, you can try yourself, ok?” I nodded, already getting myself in the right mindset. He dragged his armchair closer and placed his hand above my own. When Lassadar closed his eyes, I did the same. I opened my mind to him until I found his probing flame. It had become easier over time to connect with Lassadar. At the beginning, it took a lot of time and effort to link minds with the magician in order for him to show me how a certain thing was done. When he showed me his skills, it always seemed easy and effortless. Yet afterwards, when I had to try it on my own, it never worked out at all. Therefore I wasn’t all too enthusiastic about reading another’s mind, as I was sure that it would only lead to disappointment once more.

Lassadar took the tendril of thought that I sent towards him and wrapped it around himself so that I could feel and see what he was doing. I felt him accessing his own power reservoir before he expanded his mind, leaving the study and focussing on the corridors and rooms below. Instead of seeing other peoples’ minds as flames, like I usually did, for Lassadar they resembled grey shades, floating through the air. Their outline wobbled and shifted all the time, making it hard to recognise the shapes. Lassadar focussed on one shade, then discarded it and move on to the next. On and on we went, moving past hundreds of shades. It was a journey through a grey and eerie world, as cold as ice water. I recognised a few of them, like the contour of the big-bellied cook that floated past us, followed by the silhouette of one of the young servants that sometimes brought me my breakfast. Finally, Lassadar stopped in front of a young woman’s shape. I could feel him using some of his energy to wrap it around the woman again and again until her figure started to become more solid and less shaky. Slowly, her features emerged, until I could see her face. She was sitting on her own, holding something in her hand, yet whatever it was, it was made from even thinner fog than the people around her. Lassadar closed in on her and pressed himself against her body. Suddenly, with one flowing movement he stepped into her, his mind stretching around her. There was only calm then, the cold of our surroundings disappeared, and slowly, I could feel emotions drift into Lassadar. There was contentment, happiness and satisfaction. It seemed easy to read her feelings, they poured out of her, unstoppable. Yet it was not enough for my teacher. His mind seemed to press against the woman even more strongly, and I began to wonder if she was oblivious to what was happening to her mind. The more Lassadar pushed, the more thoughts flowed from her. They were not coherent sentences, more a mixture of feelings and images. She was happy because she would see her fiancée later on. She had just eaten, a picture of steaming vegetables and a thick sausage came from her mind. Slowly, Lassadar untangled from the woman, pulling back further and further, until with a snap we left the shadow worlds and arrived back in our bodies in Lassadar’s study.

“Did you see what I did there? Was it enough information for you to try or shall I show it to you again?”

“I think I can try. But the woman, did she really not notice anything?”

“They don’t usually notice, and if they do, it’s more a feeling of unease that lasts just a moment, nothing they can trace back to me. Have you ever felt like someone was watching you, and then you laugh about it, pretending that it was just a silly childish notion? That might have been someone trying to read your mind. Or, as I told you earlier, your feelings, which is much more likely. And reading other people’s emotions only tells you so much. But now, let’s see how you will get on. Close your eyes, and reach out. I’d advise you to start with someone close to this room, that will make it a lot easier for the beginning. I’ll let you try for yourself, my presence might distract you.”

Aware of his examining glance, I leant back once more and focussed. Very slowly, I extended my senses, searching for other people around me. First, I only saw Lassadar, his golden flame burning brightly right in front of me. Close by was a dark red flame, even more intense than that of my teacher. I approached it carefully until I could hear Oisín’s thoughts.

Don’t look at me, ignore me. Try outside the door.

I followed his advice and reached out, extending my mind, letting it grow bigger and bigger, until I left the confinements of the room. As if from a vast distance, I heard whispers in the dark. Focussing on them, I slowly drifted towards them. There were two very different flames next to each other. One was almost as bright as Lassadar’s, but a little smaller. The other one was burning silver instead of golden, flickering faintly like a candle in the wind. I started with the golden flame, wrapping myself around it. Yet when I got close enough to reach out for it, the flames began to burn more brightly, sending sparks my way. It was hot so close to the fire, and the closer I got, the more the flames were leaning in my direction, until they were licking at my mind, scorching me. Pain erupted in my head. I pulled back until I was out of reach of the vicious flames. Once I stopped to focus on them, they got smaller again, until there were no longer fiery fingers fumbling for me. Taking a moment to catch my breath, I moved back a little, observing the two flames. They were leaning towards each other, the golden one dominating the silver. Small golden sparks were flying through the air, hitting the silver one from time to time. Time for another try. This time, I reached out for the silver flame. More careful after my first painful encounter, I took my time approaching the silver fire, yet even when I got closer, they did not change their flickering rhythm. Slowly, I wrapped a tendril of energy around the flame, careful not to quench it. Still, no reaction. I began to wrap more and more energy around it, until the flame was caged by a net of fibres. What had Lassadar done next? Somehow, he had stepped into the shade of that woman. Preparing myself for the pain, I went forwards, touching the fire, and on, until I was in the middle of the flame. There was no pain, only a tingling sensation as the silver flames licked harmlessly on my mind. And suddenly, there were images and voices, washing over me like waves over rocks. A soldier wearing the azure armour of the Blue Militia was looking at me, grinning, then he passed me a purse tingling with coins. The scene changed into a beautiful landscape, in the foreground a cottage, with several tilers scrambling on the roof. There was a girl standing in the door, waving happily. Again, a new image came crashing into me. The wine stall at the Autumn Fires celebration, the red-nosed landlord handing me a tankard of white wine. I heard something and turned my head, and suddenly, I looked into my own eyes. There I was, holding two mugs of wine in my hands, smiling. Dyllon. It was Dyllon whom I met that evening. I was looking at Dyllon’s thoughts. His gaze followed me as I walked to Jon. Then, Jon was called away, and I was standing there all alone by the fire. Never losing sight of me, Dyllon moved towards a guard that was standing in one corner. I could not hear his voice clear enough, but he was talking to the guard, pointing towards my lonely shape by the fire. The guard nodded and answered, looking slightly confused. Instinctively, I pulled more energy from my reservoir and wrapped it around Dyllon’s mind. The whispering conversation became louder and louder until I could make out individual words.

“… Lassadar’s pupil, which means that I can’t tell you anything. You have to beg an audience with his lordship, but I can tell you in advance, he doesn’t just talk to anyone. You’ll have to have a real good reason, otherwise you won’t even get to talk to his assistant, Lor. Now bugger off, let me do my job.” The scene dissolved into Lor’s sneering face. His laughter made my blood run cold with fear and hot with rage. Lor was Lassadar’s assistant? Surely, not after what he had done to me, it couldn’t be.

“So it was you who blackened that bitch? Hilarious, and now you’ve returned to claim her?”

I shook my head. With Dyllon’s voice, I said, “Not to claim her. To make sure that she pays for what she’s done. She’s a witch and she put a spell on me, as revenge. I want to see her burned.”

“I like your attitude. And let me guess, she bewitched your manhood?”

I – Dyllon – nodded grimly. “I wanted to give the bitch what she wanted, what she deserved, but she ran off and ever since, I’m unable to…” I cleared my throat uncomfortably. “Will she burn?”

“At some point in the future, yes, for sure. But the question is when. At the moment, my master still has some use for her, although what that might be, I don’t know. But once he’s finished with her, she will burn, like all the others. You can be sure of that. And I will stand there and watch her turn to ash. She has cost me a lot of time and effort, and seeing her slow and painful death will be a delightful sight.” A sly smile played on his thin lips. I couldn’t take it any longer. With one strong jerk, I removed my link with Dyllon, returning to my body. When I opened my eyes, I noticed there were tears running down my cheeks.

I saw what you saw. Don’t tell him anything, Oisín urged me.

“Why are you crying?”, Lassadar asked gently. “Because it didn’t work?”

He gave me an excuse, and I took it. I nodded, pretending to be downcast and despaired. “Can I leave? I need some time for myself.”

“Of course you can. Just wait here for a moment, I’m going to get a servant to accompany you down to your room.”

He went to the door and spoke with someone outside. Just before the door closed, I caught a glance of Dyllon waiting there impatiently, stepping from one foot to the other. The urge to slap him, to beat him bloody, to hurt him, surged through my body, and the only thing that stopped me was needing to hide the fact that I knew. Lassadar couldn’t find out that I was aware of what had happened. I squeezed past him and ran all the way until I reached my room.

Dyllon had betrayed me to the Blue Militia. I didn’t know when or how, but he had. It was his fault that I was no longer with the Ghorres family, that I no longer had control of my own life. I had done nothing to him, except not wanting to sleep with him. Was that a reason to want somebody dead? I didn’t buy his she-bewitched-me theory for a second, he could not be so childish as to actually believe that laughable story. Then I remembered the scene where a soldier had given him a large purse. Of course, it was the money that Dyllon wanted, he had always been greedier than what was good for him. As children, he had once incited me to steal a knife from a market stall, which he then sold on to a friend, spending the money on beer, not for both of us, but only for himself. How could I have been befriending this egotistical snitch?

You are not defined by the behaviour of your friends, but how you react to it.

Thanks, Oisín. What am I going to do now? Confront Dyllon? Ignore him?

It’s not about Dyllon, Eona. It’s about Lor and Lassadar.

Why?

Lassadar has you under his control, and you don’t even know it. You think your mind is safe from intrusions. That is a lie. He sits in there like a parasite, feeding off your strength and your thoughts, yet giving you the illusion of independence and willfulness. You have been deceived, Eona. He is not your friend.

How do you know?

Let me show you.

Suddenly, I was looking out of the peryton’s eyes. They were focused on his mother, the elvedritsch, who was looking at him through the bars of her cage. She doesn’t hear me, he told me sadly. Otherwise I could have warned her not to trust him. Lassadar approached the cage, carrying a candle to light the dim room. It seemed to be evening, there was no sunlight flooding the room as it usually did. The elvedritsch was looking up at Lassadar, curious and carefree as always. He put the candle on the ground and opened the cage, reaching for the elvedritsch with both hands. He took her out and settled her on his lap. Her eyes never left his golden necklace. As usual, curiosity had taken over her sense of fear. Lassadar’s hands petted her golden feathering, soothing her. With one hand, he reached behind his back and pulled out a knife from a hidden sheath. Oisín saw the danger and got to his feet, but when he tried to ran to his mother, he was pulled back. The silver collar I had seen earlier around his neck was connected with a thin, but strong chain that hung on a brass ring nailed to the floor. The peryton called for his mother, but she only looked at him for a heartbeat before becoming obsessed once more with Lassadar’s golden necklace. The sorcerer had produced a chalice that he put on the floor, beneath the elvedritsch’s throat. He gently scratched her neck, and she rubbed her head against his fingers, cackling happily. While Lassadar held the knife at her throat, Oisín was trying to escape his bonds, almost throttling himself by pulling at the chain. The sounds he was making hurt my soul, he was bleating and roaring, trying to tell his mother to look out, to escape, but she was only looking at him confusedly, not able to understand what he was trying to tell her. Then, at the moment that Lassadar chose to cut her throat, she locked her eyes with his, and the love she felt for her child reflected in the tears that ran down her lifeless body, disappearing in her golden feathers. Blood welled from her throat, running down into the chalice that Lassadar held to the wound. With every drop of blood that escaped his mother’s body, Oisín’s heart hardened. He would never again bond with another creature, he would never again be hurt by the connection he felt to others. Then he remembered the human girl that he had imprinted on, and his determination changed. He would not let her down. He would free her from the grips of the sorcerer, and protect her as he had wanted to protect his mother. Together with the human he would avenge his mother, and then they would be free, they could return to where the other perytons lived, to the places of learning and beauty that he knew from his dreams. There, they could live in peace. But first, the sorcerer had to die. He lifted his tear-filled eyes, only to see Lassadar drink from the chalice. Blood was running down his chin, dripping onto his robe. He tilted his head back to drink the last remaining drops of elvedritsch blood in the chalice. Then he wiped his mouth with his sleeve. In a single fluid movement, he stood and turned his back to Oisín. Something happened to his body. It was shifting, there were growths on his back and shoulder blades, getting bigger and bigger, while his arms seemed to disappear, then the stretched cloth of his robe ripped, exposing golden feathers growing on the sorcerer’s back. Further they grew. The torn robe fell to the floor. Lassadar was naked, yet his entire body was covered in feathers, golden and shimmering. He flexed his large wings, then opened them. They were magnificent, yet the colour of the feather tips was as red as the elvedritsch’s blood. As if spellbound, Oisín watched as Lassadar stepped to the largest window of the room and opened it. Cool air ruffled his feathers. He put his legs over the ledge, and then he was gone. I could feel the peryton’s hope that the sorcerer was gone for good, that his body would fall into the lake, never to be seen again. But it was not so. Suddenly, he could see the winged figure of Lassadar fly across the sky, beating his wings as strongly as a full-grown peryton would. Oisín turned his eyes away from the window, avoiding to look at the puddle of blood in which his mother’s body lay. He flexed his own wings, spreading them, then beginning to beat them up and down. He knew how to fly; he had flown with others of his race in his memories and dreams. He crouched down, then jumped up, his scaled hind legs propelling him high into the air. But he had forgotten the leather collar around his neck. The chain pulled him back down and then his flight became a fall. He turned in the air and landed heavily on one wing. He felt a tendon snap, then his head hit the ground. Everything went black.

Oisín’s sorrow filled me like an empty vessel until I could take no more. I stepped back a little from our connection, resisting the stream of emotion that threatened to overwhelm me. I took in a deep breath, steadying myself.

How do you stand it? I asked him, tears running down my face.

There was a pause. I don’t. But in a way, I have to be grateful to have an injured wing. The physical pain distracts me from my loss, at least partly. He sent me an image of his opened wings. One of them was folded in the middle, like a straw bent by the wind. The wrongness of it filled me with hatred for the sorcerer whose fault this injury was. Lassadar was not my friend. How had I ever believed this to be otherwise? How could I have been so stupid? I searched my mind for remnants of the link he had forced on me. I could find none.

Don’t be deceived by him again, Eona. The link is still there, it still holds, even though it’s frayed. But I promise you, we will find a way to break it, once and for all. And then we can escape.

13

Nythea

Not much is known about the hidden realm of Nythea, separated from the northern countries by the deep woods of the Lonely Forest. Only a few humans live there, while most people are K’tuin, a race that - according to legend - originates from the union of Kaleissa, an elf and her mate Fridric, a human. K’tuin are different from the people of the northern countries not only by their looks but also by their values and society. For example, K’tuin women share their home with up to four men or women and the children that stem from these or other relationships. Girls are preferred to boys as it’s a matriarchal society. Many K’tuin are gifted with magical talent.

Nythea is not a kingdom in the traditional sense but ruled instead by a council of elders, made up of the oldest women from each family. Nytheans rarely leave their lands and generally avoid humans, although there are tales of a few human women who have been accepted into their society by the K’tuin.

- An Introduction to the Geography of the Continent, Sir Tom Delavell

T he assassin was a woman. She was kneeling on the ground, her slender hands bound behind her back. Two guards flanked her, each had a hand pressed down on her shoulders. Long red hair fell to her thin waist, and even though it was filthy and dishevelled, its ginger colour was striking. She was wearing nothing but a rough shirt made from sackcloth that barely covered her tall body in a decent way. Another strip of sackcloth was bound around her head, gagging the woman. Peeking out from below her gag I could just make out two elegant, pointy ears. She was one of the K’tuin, the Elven folk. They rarely left their home country of Nythea; what was she doing here?

Her head was hanging low, I could not tell whether she was conscious. It was surprising how even in this degrading position, her body radiated beauty and agility.

Lassadar was standing beside me, observing the King. Gynt was sitting on his pompous throne, looking down on us and the prisoner.

“She has not only threatened us but also grievously wounded our friend Lord Valter, who is still in a critical condition. Her malice is so great that she would use a happy celebration such as the Autumn Fires to carry out an attack on her king. Now we want her punished. Death is too good for an enemy of Fer. She has to suffer, and we want to see her suffer. There is no bodily punishment available that would satisfy our need for vengeance. Therefore we have decided to give her to you, Lord Lassadar. You have proven your excellent control over the minds of the enemy countless times before, and we ask you to do with her as you see fit. Your young assistant will increase her pain by slowing down time, just as she did once before. Start now, while she is still conscious, so that we may learn how she was able to get into our chambers.”

The King leant back in anticipation of the coming spectacle. How had I not seen him for what he really was before? He took pleasure in causing pain. Even now he was smiling as he imagined the suffering his words would bring to the red-haired woman. He was not King Gynt the Wise, but the Brutal, the Unjust, the Hater.

You’re pushing against your bonds, Eona! Keep doing it, you’re taking back control!

“Let’s begin,” Lassadar said and stretched out his hands towards the woman, his fingers clawing the air. I had no choice. Did I?

My teacher had closed his eyes and I could feel him wrapping himself around the woman’s mind. Her soul was a glittering golden flame; she had magic. The flames were licking against Lassadar’s bonds, refusing to be quenched. She was fighting against the sharp vines with which Lassadar bound her, but I could see that her power was rapidly leaving her. Soon she would be drained and would have no way of protecting herself from the might of the sorcerer. In her current condition, she was too weak to fight him.

Help her, Oisín prompted me, stand against him.

I felt for the clear blue lake within me and took a large portion of its energy. With it, I put shackles on my inner clock to slow down time, just as the king has asked me to. However, I did not wrap the timeless cloak I had quickly weaved around the woman. I threw it over Lassadar, who was busy pressing the thorns of his mind into the mage’s helpless soul. They were ripping holes into her walls. Countless perforations in her defences made it easy for him to enter her mind. I knew that if I focussed on her, I would be able to hear her scream. I fastened the cloak around him, severing him from the thorns he had sent out to torture the woman.

Lassadar stopped, his body and consciousness trapped under the cloak I had woven from not-time. I could feel him fight my hold over him and knew that soon he would be able to free himself. He was so strong and my energy was depleting rapidly. I felt the woman freeing herself from Lassadar’s painful embrace. I sent her some of my energy until her flame started to burn brighter once more. She pulled off vine after vine until her bonds had gone. She sent me a tendril of thought, made up of golden flames, as pure as starlight.

Thank you! What now?

We flee. Can you walk?

I will try.

Good. I can only give us a few seconds’ head start. It has to be enough. While talking to her, I had woven another cloak of timelessness. The weaving had been Oisín’s idea, a few weeks ago when I had complained that I could only influence time for one person. He had suggested imagining building a blanket that would cover a greater area. Since then I had practised this new skill. Now, it showed its use.

I felt Lassadar’s struggle against the cloak getting stronger. We would have to hurry. I took the blanket and threw it over the guards that were flanking the woman. They too stopped, frozen in time. But everyone else was able to move, and move they did. There was no time, we had to run.

Now! I cried, and she staggered to her feet, hindered by her bonds, while I was already running towards the exit. I wished I could have burned away the rope binding her hands, but as always my magic didn’t do what I needed it to.

With effort, I pulled the heavy door open. The woman went through first, her hands still bound behind her back. I followed - and suddenly there were arms around my chest, keeping me from running. I kicked and scratched wildly, trying to escape whoever was holding me. “Scream, little girl, scream for me”, Lor whispered. I had forgotten all about him being in the room. I should have woven another blanket. It was too late now. His fist crashed into my face. I screamed, blood filling my mouth. Another hit knocked the wind out of my lungs. I fell to the ground, but still, I was trying to get away from the people that were trying to restrain me until something hit my head. Dizzy and suddenly powerless, my body went limb. The last thing I heard was Lor whispering in my ear.

“You will burn, bitch. Soon, you will burn.”

I  was driftwood, floating on a river of molten gold. The waves that carried me like a child in its mother’s arms lifted me up, high into the dark sky, showing me the stars in the night looking down on me, before pushing me down again, deep into the cold water. The icy liquid filled my mouth and my nose, squeezing the air out of me. The water ran down my throat and entered my lungs. I choked, but with every breath, I took more water into my mouth. Suddenly, drums began to beat in the distance, coming closer and closer, and slowly, with each beat, water was drawn out of my body. My lungs were free again, free to breathe. Gasping for air, I surfaced, drawing in deep breaths. I opened my eyes, but there was only darkness around me. I closed them again, and another wave carried me off into nothingness.

I  dreamed. Shadows were chasing me, driving me towards the edge of a cliff. I was running, running faster than I’d ever run before, racing to escape the darkness behind me. The ground was smooth and black, like darkened steel. I wasn’t breathing, and I didn’t need to. There was no pain, no life, only fear. Fear was the whip that was making me run to my death. There was a single solitary tree at the edge of everything, its branches a mere skeleton. On the thickest and strongest branch hung a rope fashioned into a noose. It was waiting for me. I was so close to the edge, so close to the tree, and still the shadows were chasing me, almost touching the heels of my feet as my steps became less sure. There was a choice to make, one that the wraiths behind me were forcing me to make. The noose or the long fall down. I couldn’t see what was below the cliff, or whether there was another land on the other side of the abyss. Still I was running, my feet were flying over the black ground, and then there was the tree in front of me, dead and white and full of thorns, with the noose moving in a wind that wasn’t there. No, I would choose neither. I would not give in to fear. One more step, and I reached the rope. The shadows behind me stopped running, forming a circle around me, waiting for me to kill myself. But I would not. I would not. With shivering hands, I opened the knot at the top of the noose, straightening the rope into a long coil. Taking one last breath, I wrapped the rope around my hands, took a step back and then began to run the last few ells towards the edge of the cliff. My right foot touched the black ground one last time, then I was flying, flying over the abyss, the rope the only thing protecting me from falling. The farther I flew, the more the rope stretched, the thinner it became. But still it was holding me. Below me there was only darkness and behind me the shadows cried for me to return, to be punished for my insolence. Then the rope ended. It cut into my hands as the momentum of flying carried me further away from the dead tree. I let go of the rope and spread my arms as suddenly there was nothing between me and gravity. I fell, faster and faster towards the darkness. There was no ground I could see. On and on I fell. Wind was grabbing at me, pulling my hair and slashing against my skin. There had been a plan once, a way of escaping the inevitable, but I could not remember. Falling was all I could think about. Soon, there would be nothing but death. Soon, everything would end. Falling is nothing like flying.

Fly! Oisín’s voice was loud and clear, coming from all around me.

Where are you?

Fly!

When I looked at my arms, they transformed. Feathers sprouted from my skin, as beautiful and shimmering as those of my peryton friend. They began to form wings, and then I was no longer falling, but flying, taking off into the sky, leaving the shadows and darkness behind me. With every beat of my wings, I grew stronger. Exhilaration pulsed through my body, giving me the strength to fly higher and higher. Grey clouds were floating above me, and within a few strong wingbeats, I reached them. Cool water droplets rained down on me as I flew through the clouds, drenching me. Soon the fog around me became brighter, the grey turning into white. Then a single ray of the sun pierced the clouds, like an arrow that was pointing towards my final destination. I followed the light. The clouds turned into tiny droplets that together became a rainbow bridge leading me on. Then the sun was there, its bright light warming and drying my wet body. The heat of the burning sun gave me new strength, and I flew towards it, leaving behind all the dark worries and thoughts I had ever had. The sun was beckoning, and why would I resist its call. It promised happiness such as I had never known. Salvation was within the fireball in front of me, and I wanted it. The warmth around me became heat. Beating my wings became more and more difficult as I was sweating. Thirst tingled in my dry throat. Behind me there was darkness, in front of me there was fire. There was no end to the suffering. There was no peace. Unconsciousness was a blessing.

A  cold hand was lying on my forehead. The coolness of it sank down into my skin, spreading, until my muddled mind became more focussed. Fragments of a dream I could no longer remember were washed away. Now I could sleep. And sleep I did.

I  was drifting. Floating in nothingness. Nothing to hold on to. I was breaking apart.

A hand reached for me. Fingers were wrapping around my own. Come with me. I was pulled from the fog.

H er golden-red hair was like a halo around her face, a stark contrast to her striking green eyes that were looking down at me. The pointy tips of her ears were islands within the red sea of her hair. Her forehead was wrinkled with concern. Slowly, I managed to focus my glance. My head hurt like hell, and with each breath I took it throbbed even more painfully. I lifted a hand to my face. There was dried blood clinging to my nostrils. My lower lip was split, I could taste the cold iron in my mouth. Once again, I was in a prison cell. I looked around me. There was a small window on the wall above me, more of a hole than a window, throwing little light onto the dark stone floor. Rusty iron bars cut the blue sky into four equal squares. A lake gull was flying across the sky like a paintbrush over blue canvas. Her cry came into our cell in pieces. One side of the cell was made of iron bars looking out into a dark corridor. The wet stone walls around me seemed to close in on me, and nausea made me gag.

“Are you all right?” The woman’s voice rang with an accent I could not place. She was huddled against the wet wall to make space for me on the stone bench. “The bastards brought you in here half drowned, apparently it wasn’t enough to beat you in the throne room, they also had some fun waterboarding you. Although drowning would might have actually been a kinder death than what they plan to do with us.” She frowned, then shook her head forcefully, as if determined not to let the thoughts of our execution trouble her mind.

“My name is Sa-lia of the Kaleissa clan, but most people just call me Lia. What may I call you?”

“Eona.” I grimaced, my split lip throbbing as I uttered that single word. No long conversations today. The world was spinning. Closing my eyes helped. Slowly, I sat up and leant against the stone wall for support. The cold wetness immediately penetrated my dress. I looked down on me. I was still wearing the dress Lassadar had presented me with. There were long gashes in it, the hems were frayed. It clung to me, pulling any remaining warmth from my body. But there was no other option. I opened my eyes again. This time I looked further than the dress. Blueish bruises were covering my skin. I could almost see them grow larger while I inspected the damage the guards had done. I was only grateful that I had been unconscious while they had beaten me. The pain was enough; I didn’t need the memories as well.

Nausea hit me again, but it was no longer overwhelming me.

“Take a few deep breaths. Do you want some water?”

I nodded. A mistake. Pain flashed in my head.

Lia stood up and walked towards a bucket that was standing by the cell’s door. She came back with a wooden mug filled with water. I tried to take it from her, but my hands were shaking too much. Instead, she held the cup to my lips. Greedily, I drank. The water tasted stale and muddy, but it was better than nothing. After my thirst was quenched, I looked at Lia, who was now sitting on the stone bench beside me once more.

“Is there a way out?”, I asked, then grimaced. Talking hurt.

We don’t have to use our bodies to talk. Her voice resonated in my mind. I could feel a trace of humour in her flaming thought that made me smile, but when I felt the iron taste of blood in my mouth once more, I soon regretted that. We’re in a force bubble. We can use magic within, to talk to each other, but as soon as we try to influence people or things outside the bubble, the energy is absorbed instantaneously. I tried to open the lock, hoping that it might have been inside the bubble, but they were thorough. It isn’t surprising, really. They know what you can do, and have probably made a guess about my own powers. Magic won’t help us to get out. Nor will sweet-talk and persuasion. No, for now, we have to stay here. She smiled. At least they put us in this cell together. Having a companion makes all the difference, don’t you think?

I nodded. How can you talk to me this easily?

I am K’tuin. It’s how we communicate even before we learn to speak. Thought-talking is so much more efficient than having to use your mouth, don’t you think? It’s quite a bit faster and I can do this - suddenly I saw a picture of a large tree, growing higher than any I’d ever seen, its branches disappearing into the sky. There were giant roots around the trunk of it, some building arches and circles that had been transformed into tents with the help of smaller branches and man-high leaves by the K’tuin. An evening sun was throwing warming light onto the scene. People wearing colours of the forest were walking around the mossy ground beneath the tree. Peace eradicated from the image. Then, it disappeared as suddenly as it had come.

Home, Lia smiled. I hope I will see it again one day.

I’m sure you will. I smiled back at her. What did the King say? She tried to attack him? Somehow I couldn’t imagine that. She seemed too nice. Then I remembered that the king wasn’t nice at all. He’s evil. I still didn’t understand why I hadn’t been able to see that before.

So, you attacked the King?

Her expression changed. The smile left behind anger and fear.

I never got to him. Someone else did before me. Only I didn’t know and… had I known I would never have injured him, but how should I have known that he was on my side… I can show you.

She sent me an image of herself sneaking along a corridor that I don’t recognise. Old portraits and tapestries of former kings line the walls. They look like they come from a time before the Kingdom of Fer was established. Before the invaders took over Elasia. The light of Lia’s torch flickers across their faces.

I found out about this way into the castle from a scholar, a human, that had sought refuge among my people. He had worked at the castle, but when he discovered something he shouldn’t have, he had to flee. This corridor had been bricked up, but he broke through when he was looking for a hiding place from the King’s soldiers. You can imagine his surprise when he not only found a safe place to hide but also one that would lead him outside of the castle complex. During my entire journey to Fer, I was hoping that they hadn’t discovered this way in. And luckily they hadn’t. Although they might have by now.

The corridor seems endless, but then the image she’s showing me changes and I can see her standing in an empty courtyard, one that I have been in before. The evening air is filled with the noise of people celebrating in the distance. It must be the night of the Autumn Fires. There’s a small fountain in the middle, Jon showed it to me once. It’s close to the King’s quarters. She turns around and I can see where she came from: beneath the ivy that is covering one of the walls, there’s a small opening that must lead into the corridor.

Lia looks around, carefully arranges the ivy twines over the secret way in, then extinguishes her torch in the water basin of the fountain. Darkness surrounds her like a cloak. From a sheath on her back, she draws a long curved knife. She slips through a door at the other end of the courtyard. Carefully, she progresses through several rooms, all of them deserted. Everyone is at the celebrations and most of the servants get the evening off during the Autumn Fires. No one stands in Lia’s way until she reaches a splendid looking golden door. Two unicorn statues are standing at both sides of the door. She tries to open it, but this time, she is not as lucky. The door is locked. She takes a deep breath, then sings a single plangent note. The lock clicks open. I have heard rumours of the exotic magical talents of the K’tuin, but singing to open a door was something so weird that I didn’t know what to make of it.

Lia slips through the golden door and enters the King’s reception room. She looks around carefully, but just like in the other rooms, there are no people. How strange that there would be no guards so close to the King’s private quarters. Even during the Autumn Fires celebrations, this struck me as unusual. I could see from Lia’s thoughts that she was thinking the same. Was it a trap? She closes the golden door behind her and begins to explore the room. This is the place where the King receives his guests and advisors if he is not using the large throne room in which I had first met Lia. Everything is decorated to impress visitors and allies alike. Decadent tapestries and paintings cover the walls, chairs upholstered with red velvet line the sides of the room, a golden throne is dwarfed by a large stained-glass window on the other side of the chamber. A colourfully painted screen hides one corner of the room. The ceiling is made up of dozens of carved wooden faces, some human, some mythical creatures. There are two heads whose wood is lighter than the others. Both are wearing crowns, these must be King Gynt and his late father, King Fer. Gynt’s eyes stare down on Lia, their gaze hard and piercing. I wouldn’t be surprised if he suddenly blinked and stared down at us from the ceiling. I look away, trying to ignore the feeling of being watched. One tapestry catches my eye. A woman stands leaning against a column, her black hair touching her waist. She is looking away into the distance, as if keeping watch. Her slender body presses itself against the column. A thin silver diadem hugs her dark hair. Her dress is made after a fashion I have not seen before, with a starched collar around her throat, tiny emeralds forming a belt around her waist and a skirt made from a material that shimmers slightly. The tapestry is beautiful.

The K’tuin woman crosses the room with large strides. She stops in front of the tapestry. She stretches out one hand to touch it when suddenly there’s a voice behind her.

“Stop right there!”

Lia whirls around, her knife cutting through the air. With a clang, it meets the shining blade of a sword. A man has stepped out from behind the painted screen. I recognise him but don’t know where I have seen him before. He is dressed like one of the palace’s many nobles, with expensive cloth accentuating his broad muscular shoulders. His large whiskers are white, yet his sparse hair is pitch-black. If he wasn’t so frightening, I might compare him to a badger.

Lia stares at him, her eyes meeting his in a silent battle of wills. When I look into his piercing eyes, I remember where I know him from. It was the first time I saw the king, with the young peryton in my arms. One of the nobles came and talked to Lassadar. Valter, that’s his name.

“What are you doing here, K’tuin?”, he grumbles.

“None of your business”, Lia hisses.

“You’re in the King’s chambers. Of course it’s my business. Now tell me, or I’ll have to kill you.” He looks as if he’s rather looking forward to that option.

Instead of giving an answer, Lia takes a quick step back and pulls her knife away from Valter’s sword. In one fluid motion, she brings the knife up again, stabbing at her opponent’s sword arm. But Valter is too quick and with the longer blade of his sword he has the advantage. He blocks the knife and turns his sword slightly so that its blade shifts that of Lia’s weapon. Her wrist turns automatically, following the movement of her knife. Just before her hand is twisted too much to hold on to her blade, she opens her mouth and sings a single note, not as high, but just as plangent as the one earlier. Valter stops moving for just a second, but it’s enough for Lia to escape from his sword’s oppression. Again, she jumps back, but with each step back, she is getting closer and closer to the wall. Soon, Valter will have her cornered. She must have noticed the same thing, for as her opponent hacks at her with his sword, she dances aside, as light on her feet as a doe. The fight becomes a dance, her jumping back, trying to keep out of reach of his longer blade, him following, trying to find an opening in her defences. I watch them, helpless. This is just a memory; I can’t do anything to interfere. I’m just an observer.

I continue watching their fight. The heavy carpet is muffling their steps; the only sounds are their breaths and the twang whenever their blades meet. Neither of them manages to get close enough to hurt their adversary, but with time, they both seem to tire. Lia’s movements get slower, and Valter’s sword strokes become less vicious. They are equally matched, but Lia has a clear disadvantage because of her shorter blade. When the sword grazes her cheek, I cry out even as she stays silent. As blood trickles down her face, her gaze becomes more determined.

“You’re wasting my time,” she shouts at him, panting.

“And you mine”, he retorts, taking advantage of her not concentrating for a second. Another gash appears on her left upper arm, but it’s just a scratch, it’s hardly bleeding. This second wound is only making Lia dance faster around him. She begins to stab forwards more quickly while moving around him. Once, twice her metal blade reaches his skin. Then she begins to hum in time with her movements, and somehow, she becomes even faster. Her music becomes louder, and her dancing form blurs slightly as she dances around Valter, finding openings in his defences. She seems twice as fast as the nobleman, and soon, he is bleeding from several gashes on his arms and shoulders. His expensive clothes are ripped and sweat runs down his face. Still, he manages to defend himself, but he is no longer in the offensive position. Then, she makes her final move. As he raises his arm to block a feigned blow, his belly stays unprotected. Lia ducks under his sword arm and stabs into his muscled abdomen. He cries out in pain. The blade slips from his fingers. His knees buckle, and he sinks to the ground, clutching the wound in his stomach. Blood gushes from between his fingers, dripping onto the thick carpet. Stunned, he looks at Lia, who is standing bent over him, her face lined by exhaustion.

“You wanted it this way,” she tells Valter. He only grimaces and curls up into a ball. Blood is pooling around him, seeping into the carpet. Lia is looking down at the wounded man, and I can see a mixture of pity and annoyance on her face. Then, she seems to think and the anger turns into rage.

“You just destroyed my plans! Couldn’t you have bled on something else? Now everyone will know that something is wrong, even if I drag you away, the blood will tell. I won’t get another chance like this, I won’t get close enough to the king again, they will be more careful in future.” Her voice trails off, as Valter looks up at her, incredulous.

“You wanted to kill the King?” he groans.

Lia just looked at him. He sighs.

“Look,” he pants, his face contorted by pain. His left hand points to his shoulder. Lia pulls away his shirt and gasps. On his skin, there’s a mark tattooed: The letter ‘E’, surrounded by flames and underlined by a thin sword.

Valter looks at the K’tuin woman, smiling sadly.

“We’re on the same side.”

14

O mother of life

Your arms are reaching high

Holding babe and child

Giving us everything

Until we die

At your feet.

- famous K’tuin poem, translated by Helgor Antraut

H ad I known before, everything would have been different. Lia sighed, her eyes glistening. He wanted to do the same thing as I. Kill the King. But we collided and fought, and now neither of us managed to kill Gynt. He’s still alive, and I’m in a cold, wet prison cell. She leant back against the stone wall.

So what was your plan?

It was quite simple, really. Sneak into the King’s chamber and hide until he came in after the festivities ended. Then surprise him and kill him. Easy. Except that after I wounded Valter, the guards would not have let him out of their sight. The blood on the floor would have alerted them. I tried to get back through the hidden corridor, but when I exited it the King’s sorcerer was waiting for me there with a group of guards. I was captured. You know the rest.

I nodded. There was only one thing I didn’t understand. What did that tattoo mean? On Valter’s shoulder, the letter E?

E stands for Elasia. It’s the mark of the Elasian rebels. I haven’t seen it in a long time. Back during King Fer’s reign, when he crossed the mountains from the Western Counties to conquer Elasia, there were people who rebelled against him. Elasia was a peaceful country, its people were completely unprepared to Fer’s conquest. It was a brutal takeover, many died. Fer’s soldiers killed, pillaged and raped their way through the villages until most people were too afraid to speak out against the new regime. Instead, they kept their heads low, paid their taxes and otherwise tried to ignore the foreign rulers. But a few did not accept Fer as the absolute King that he fashioned himself as. They met in secret and became something of a guerrilla organisation. They fought Fer’s soldiers where they could, burning supply trains or stealing tax money. With time, the rebels split into two branches: Those that were content to hinder soldiers in the villages, and those that aspired to sever Fer’s brutal rule at its roots by killing the King himself. There are rumours that those rebels were involved in the death of crown prince Fran, Gynt’s older brother. Only those that were prepared to kill for their cause got their symbol tattooed. I didn’t know any of them were still active in Fer. After they failed to assassin the King, many of them decided to leave the country and look for a better place to live. Valter must have been one of those who stayed. And well-hidden he was, a nobleman, close enough to the King without arousing suspicion. He must have thought I was protecting Gynt when really we ought to have fought together.

Where is he now? Then I remembered. King Gynt had mentioned Valter being gravely injured.

They found him half-dead and brought him to a healer. If his tattoo doesn’t give him away, they might believe that he was trying to stop me from entering the King’s chambers. I hope so. It might prove invaluable to have an ally so close to the Gynt. Though I can’t understand why Valter hasn’t acted before. If he’s really a noble, he must have had scores of opportunities. Why now?

She looked at me with a questioning look, but all I could do was shrug. I didn’t know any more than her. On the contrary. She was talking about resistance, about rebels and assassinating the King, while I had been living in the palace for weeks, never questioning Gynt’s and Lassadar’s authority. And why was that? I did not usually trust this easily. On the contrary, it had taken me months to get comfortable speaking to the Ghorres, and they were a lot friendlier and more open than most of the people I had met here. And back then, nobody had kidnapped me. Where did that trust come from?

T he answer came to me the next morning. I woke up, thinking that I was under attack. It felt as if a knife had been thrust into my belly. I drew in air, groaning as pain exploded from my stomach. My hands found the skin over the searing pain, but there was no knife, no blood, no wound. Fire spread through my body. I had never felt pain such as this, the red-hot agony flowing through my veins.

“Eona,” I heard Lia say, her voice distant. I wanted to reply, but the pain wouldn’t let me form any coherent thoughts. Wishing for unconsciousness, I let myself fall, but there were shackles of pain binding me to the present. No escape from the pain. No way out.

A moan escaped from my lips. I was curled up into a ball, my hands protectively on my stomach. Cramps were shaking me every minute or so, and I was shivering from both the cold and the pain that was still burning deep inside me. Lia moved closer to me and held a mug filled with stale water to my lips. Thirsty, I drank. Water ran down my chin and onto my ragged dress, but I couldn’t have cared less. All I could think about was the pain, this endless aching pain that would not let me in peace. I wanted to thank Lia for her kindness, but just then, the next wave of agony crashed into me.

I resurfaced from the pain for a second and took a deep breath, gasping in as much air as I could. Suddenly something was pushed down my throat and instinctively I swallowed. The pain returned and everything disappeared into black agony.

H ours later, the pain decreased in intensity, but still, it was almost too much to bear. My eyes hurt from the endless tears that had been running down my cheeks, my lips were chafed, thirst burned in my throat. And still, there were knives poking around in my guts; just when I thought the pain had gone, the stabbing would start again. I shivered uncontrollably, my skin was rubbing against the cold stone all around me. What a way to die, I thought.

A t some point, I must have fallen asleep - or did I pass out? I didn’t know. When I woke up, the sun’s bright light was filling the little cell. I looked up and saw a cloudless blue sky outside the barred window. What a beautiful day.

Only then did I notice that my head was lying on something warm and soft. Lia’s thighs. She had one hand resting on my forehead. Her chest rose and fell with every slow breath. With her eyes closed and her face relaxed, she looked even more beautiful. Red hair framed her high cheekbones and made her skin look pale, but not in a bad way. On the contrary. Her red lips stood out from her white skin, just the right shape to touch, to… what was I thinking? I didn’t even know her, but somehow I felt drawn to the K’tuin woman.

Instinctively, I reached for her with my mind. I expected to see a golden flame-like with other magicians I had encountered before, but instead, there was a green and brown cocoon in front of me, branches and leaves woven together tightly to form a protective hut. There was a distinctive organic look about it. Flexible twines moved like snakes, leaves shook without wind, branches rubbed together like lovers. Lia was K’tuin, not human, maybe that was why her mind took a different shape.

When I came closer, the twines seemed to move towards me, as if they were curious. Only when one of them almost touched me did I notice that they had sharp thrones growing everywhere on them. Behind the branches flickered a golden fire, its flames burning brightly. She did have one after all. But the twines were preventing me from getting any closer.

Looking for something?

Her voice seemed to radiate directly from the flames. I addressed them in return.

Sorry, no. I was just curious.

You do know that this is not very polite? Sharpness tinged her voice.

I pulled back and opened my eyes, only to look into her bottomless dark green pupils.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” It was weird, using my mouth to talk to her. I was so used to the mental communication by now.

Well, now you know. She smiled at me, all forgiven. Are you feeling better?

Yes, the pain seems to have disappeared. Though I have no idea what might have caused this. It seemed a little intense for a stomach bug.

Indeed. I might have an idea or two about the cause of it. She sat up straight and stretched her arms. Realising that I was still lying very close to her, I leant against the stone walls instead of her thighs. I felt cold now that I was no longer touching her warm skin.

In one fluid motion, she slid from the bench and stood in the middle of our small cell, stretching her entire body to one side, then the other, flexing her joints. She was slim, but I could see hard muscles move beneath her sack-like clothing.

When she was done with her exercise, she drank some water from the bucket, then offered me some. The bucket was full again, someone must have filled it up while I had been sleeping. There was no food, but it was likely that I wouldn’t have been able to keep it down anyway.

Without a warning, Lia picked up our conversation again.

I think you have been poisoned.

Somehow, it made sense. The pain had come from nowhere, and it had been a lot worse than any normal physical pain I had experienced before.

But how did they do it? Didn’t we eat the same food in here? Drank the same water? So why didn’t you get sick?

She frowned.

Maybe it wasn’t a poison as such. Maybe it was withdrawal. My mother is a healer, well known for her skills and knowledge. Once, I remember her treating a man with similar symptoms as the ones you showed. He was crying out in pain for days, and there was almost nothing my mother could do for him to ease the pain. In the end, she gave him a strong sleeping draught, which gave him a few hours of respite, enough for his body to gain strength to endure the agony. Later, the man’s former sleep-companion confessed to having given him a love potion daily for years. He had rejected her for so long that for her this seemed to be the only way she could bind him to her. You must know, in K’tuin culture, we don’t often have permanent relationships as you humans have them. Instead, women can choose to stay with their partners for as long or as short a time as they want to. Most men don’t refuse an offer of companionship, on the contrary, they are honoured by the attention the women give them. But anyway, this man had been fed a love potion without even knowing for so long that when she stopped giving it to him, his body could not cope without it. It took over a week for the physical pains to lessen, and much longer for the psychological damage to be undone. Your pain reminded me of his. Does that make sense?

It did. Now that I came to think of it, I could remember all the times that Lassadar offered me some wine in his study. Even the first time we met, when I was half-dead after spending so long down here in the cells, he had poured me a glass of that red wine he kept in a beautifully carved cabinet. Had I ever refused? I didn’t think so. It had seemed impolite at the time. There had been some days when Lassadar hadn’t invited me to his quarters, but on those, food had been brought to me by servants. How easy it would have been for them or the sorcerer himself to pour something into my glass. Now that the pain had gone, I felt different somehow, different from how I had felt before the withdrawal. My mind seemed sharper, more alert. What had Lassadar given me?

Lia seemed to read my mind. When I first met you, in the king’s throne room, when you reached out for me, your barriers were fragile, like walls crumbling from old age. I didn’t think about it at the time - there was too much else going on - but now it seems to me that they might have been influenced by whatever the sorcerer poisoned you with. I could see his hold over you, grabbing you from behind, never letting you see his influence, but never letting you go either. Maybe this stopped you from questioning him. But unless he tells you the truth, we can only speculate.

I nodded, wondering whether I would ever find out. It was unlikely that Lassadar would just tell me. He probably wouldn’t even meet me, let alone admit that he had poisoned me. Still, I made a mental note to figure it out. Along with finding out what had happened to Oisín. I had tried to reach out for him, like I usually did, but there was nothing but silence. It was as if he had disappeared from this world. Although somehow, I was sure that had he died, I would have known. No, that was not a topic I wanted to think about. The peryton had to be alive.

How long have I been sick for? I asked Lia, who had sat down beside me once more, to distract myself.

A few days maybe. I’m not sure. A guy snuck into here after a day or so and gave me a pill for you to swallow. At first, I didn’t want to give it to you but you were so ill. He mumbled something about candles-

“Jon,” I exclaimed aloud, regretting it instantly as my throat began to burn. He’s a healer I spent a lot of time with. I can’t believe he actually came.

He seemed very scared and ran off as soon as I’d given you the pill. Soon after they took me away for questioning, and - well, let’s just say, they weren’t all that gentle. I must have blacked out myself at some point. Her thought-voice was laced with pain.

Did they hurt you? A protectiveness welled up in me that felt very unfamiliar, but… good. What did they want to know? Did you find out what are they planning to do to us? A thousand questions were whirling around in my mind.

They asked me how I managed to enter the King’s chambers, where I got the information about the secret passage. That sorcerer, Lassadar, was particularly interested in that. He is powerful, but I have my own ways of protecting myself from his mental grip. It wasn’t easy, but he didn’t get any information from me. I cannot afford to have him know the identity of our informant. But I’m sure they’ll try again. Next time, I will be weaker, and they won’t stop until they know the truth. I fear that at some point, I will be unable to conceal it from them. And once they know, I will be worthless. They will kill me; my body will be thrown down into the earth and I will never join my ancestors’ treesong. My soul will perish, unable to find its way back to Nythea. Even though I did not understand all that she was telling me, I could feel her sadness behind her thoughts.

And yes, they did hurt me. But it could have been a lot worse. And we K’tuin heal fast, soon there will be no traces left of their doing. And what about you? What does the King want from you? Why hasn’t he killed you already? I’m sorry to be so frank, but after you helped me, they will see you as a threat, too. And people that oppose the King don’t seem to live long in this country. She gave me a questioning look, but when I did not reply, she stretched her arms and legs and shot a longing glance towards the small window.

I stayed silent, unable to answer her question. I had no idea why I was still alive, it wasn’t logical. I didn’t know why Lassadar had taught me for the last few months and then discarded me like this. Hadn’t I been his protégé, his favoured student? Even though I knew it was wrong, that this feeling might have only been due to being poisoned, I was still feeling left alone by the King’s aide. He had helped me, I had wanted to help him, wanted to do well for him, but suddenly I was sitting in a prison cell with a strange woman. Again, my life had changed within a tiny moment, and there was nothing I could do against it. I was confused and didn’t know whether to believe what my mind was telling me. If Oisín was right and Lassadar had deceived me all this time, how could I ever trust my own thoughts again? And were they truly my own even now, or was he in there still, like a leech that doesn’t leave its prey even after it has filled its slimy, disgusting body with blood.

A  knock against the bars ripped me from my thoughts. A face I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to see again was leering at me.

“What do you want, Dyllon?” I spat, barely containing the urge to try and hit him through the bars like a crazed, caged animal.

He smiled at me with cold eyes. “I just wanted to check on my prize. You see, Master Lor promised me I could spend some time before your execution. You look shocked, dear? You didn’t know you were going to burn?”

“No, I didn’t know I once counted a monster among my friends.” I glared at him. If only I had access to my magic. He wouldn’t smile then. He’d run away screaming, if I let him. Which I wouldn’t. He’d suffer, like he had made me suffer.

Lia had got up and put an arm around my shoulders. Knowing that she was there helped me relax a tiny bit. This time, I wasn’t alone with the creep. Looking at him now, I could see no trace of the friend I had once had. Gone was the cheeky smile, the friendly crinkles around his eyes. In his place was a stranger who was staring at me with a hungry, cruel look.

“Maybe I can persuade the sorcerer to let you stay with me a bit longer before you’re executed. Wouldn’t you like that?” This time I spat in his direction.

He frowned. “Luckily it won’t matter what condition you’ll be in when you arrive at the pyre. I’ll have some fun with you, I promise. And if you don’t lift your curse, I’ll just have to find other ways to get pleasure from you.” I cringed, not wanting to imagine what kind of things he was thinking of.

Lia began to laugh. Both Dyllon and I turned to stare at her. She winked at me. “You cursed him? Does that mean he can’t…”

Catching on, I grinned. “Yes, that’s what he says. Imagine him taking a woman to his room: they kiss, undress, she gets flushed and then she looks down and all she sees is…“

“Something hanging,” Lia snickered. “And I bet it’s nothing big either.”

“I wouldn’t know,” I said. “I never had the desire to look at it.”

“Stop it, you whores!” Dyllon shouted. We looked at him and broke into laughter again as his face became a shocking shade of red.

Lia turned to him, her smile disappearing and her eyes becoming vacant. “I see…” she sighed in a deep, unfamiliar voice. “I see this human, alone and broken. He will never have another woman. He will be despised. He will be shunned. He will be laughed at. He - “

Dyllon ran. I looked after him, my mind reeling. Loud giggling made me turn around. Lia was bent over, trying to catch her breath between bouts of laughing. “He actually fell for that!”

I joined her laughter. “That was brilliant! I almost believed it myself. Lia, the oracle.” I threw my arms around her, hugging her tightly. “Thank you, Lia,” I whispered. Noticing that we were touching in all sorts of places, I stepped back, slightly uncomfortable. It was just an innocent hug, right?

Lia grinned at me. I was sure she knew what I’d been thinking. But she didn’t say anything. Instead, she sat down on the bench and patted the stone next to her. "Now that this particular entertainment has passed… I don't suppose you know any games that don't need cards or dice?"

Memories of after-show celebrations sprang into my mind: drinking around the large bonfire, playing games with the children, listening to the stories of the adults, and telling my own made up tales. "We could play truth or dare, but there are not a lot of opportunities for dares in this cell."

"How about we do just truths? I say something and you have to guess if it's true or false?"

"Why not. But I start." I grinned. "I was once hit by an axe."

Lia's lips curled into an evil smile. "Can I examine you for scars?"

I blushed and shook my head.

"Then I'll go with false."

"It's true. I was hit by an axe but only by the hilt – it gave me quite a bruise but the dwarves were so apologetic that they made me their famous rum punch. Everything's better after rum punch." I licked my lips while thinking about it.

“Well, whatever you say, it can’t be as good as my mother’s homemade elderflower gin. Once my brother and I snuck into her pantry and stole a bottle. We both got terribly drunk, and then my brother’s magic became a little too wild. Have you ever seen a drunk tree? Well, until then I hadn’t either. It took the Elders hours to calm down the rampant trees my brother had let loose.” She giggled and I joined in. It was good to laugh after all this time spent in misery. Not that we had left our state of misery yet, but I ignored that thought and focussed on the wide smile on Lia’s face.

"My turn. I've petted a unicorn."

"Definitely false. There are no unicorns."

"Oh well, it was worth a try. I wouldn't be too sure about them not existing though. I mean, most people think perytons only exist in stories, and here you are, bound to a peryton."

My heart sank when I thought of Oisín, chained up in Lassadar's office. "Are there many magical creatures living in Nythea?"

"Mainly nymphs; dryads in the trees and anthousai in the flower meadows. Most of them are quite friendly, but some of the dryads who inhabit ill and damaged trees become darkened, even crazed. My brother has to deal with those quite a lot. Do you have Kelpies here?”

I laughed. "Kelpies? They really exist?"

"Of course, our rivers are full of them. Mischievous little beasts, if you ask me, but some have the power of foresight, so we like to keep them happy. Some of our most important prophecies were told to us by kelpies."

My mind wheeled. Nythea really was a different world from all the places I had visited. I couldn't wait to see it. If we got out of this place alive.

T hey came for me the next day. Two brutes, heavily armed, their muscles protruding from the gaps between the armour pieces, came to the cell door.

“Stay back,” one of them barked at us. Lia gave me a reassuring smile as if to say that those men could do us no harm. But they could. With a click, the door opened. The two guards stayed outside, glaring at us through the iron bars. Another figure stepped out of the shadows and entered the cell. Lor. Instinctively, I leant back against the cold stone wall. But there was nowhere to hide from the cruel smile that played around his thin lips.

“Get up, girl,” he snarled. His eyes burned with hatred. With my entire body screaming for me to stay where I was, I stood up and crossed the small space between the stone bench and the iron bars with two steps.

“Turn around,” Lor commanded. I did, looking into Lia’s reassuring eyes. She nodded to me. Be strong. Rough hands grabbed my wrists and twisted my arms behind my back. Cold metal touched my skin as Lor forced my hands into manacles. They were too tight, the iron chafed against my bare skin.

They dragged me out of the cell and along a dark corridor. Every few steps, there was a torch on the wall, making shadows dance over the black stone, but in between, there was only darkness. By the time we reached the end of the passage, my naked feet were hurting from all the times I had stumbled. We turned left, into another dark tunnel. On and on we went, the men dragging me, through more corridors, all of them with only torches to illuminate the dark stone. At the beginning, I tried to remember the route we were taking, but soon I gave up. All the passages we traversed looked the same. It was a labyrinth that would make escaping difficult. If we ever managed to get out of our cell.

The tunnel ended in a large cave. Stalactites were hanging from the ceiling. The room was glowing in an eerie blue light, but I couldn’t see where it was coming from. Water was dripping somewhere in the distance; we must have been somewhere inside the mountain Gynt’s Keep was built on.

“W ould you care for some wine, dear?” Lassadar was sprawled out on a stone throne, somehow looking more regal than the King himself. Shadows were dancing on his face. He was no longer trying to hide the darkness behind his eyes.

“No thanks,” I spat. The sorcerer laughed.

“I can see you missed your last dose. What a pity. You were doing so well.”

Lor snickered behind me. “You did do a rather splendid job with this one, master.”

“Apparently I didn’t control her as tightly as I thought,” Lassadar sighed. “Well, if the carrot doesn’t work, the stick should do it.” He waved his hand and a guard appeared beside the throne. The sorcerer whispered something into the guard’s ear, who bowed and left the cave. Silence fell. My manacles were so tight my arms were starting to tingle from lack of circulation. I could hear Lor breathing behind me; he was so close we almost touched. Disgust welled up within me. It had all started with him, and somehow I knew it would end with him. Lassadar was twiddling his thumbs - yes, he actually twiddled his thumbs. How could he be so nonchalant about what he’d been doing to me, about what he was going to do to me now?

The guard returned, carrying something large in his arms - only when he stepped into the blue light I saw that it was the peryton. He had grown since I had last seen him; he now resembled a medium-sized dog - with the body of a deer, rooster and some other animals thrown into the mix.

Oisín? I sent him a probing mental thought. There was no reply. He didn’t even lift his head. OISÍN! I shouted in my head. Still, no response. Could he not hear me? That hadn’t happened before. He had ignored me a few times, but surely he wouldn’t do it in this situation. I shot him a closer look. His head was leaning heavily on the guard’s arm, and his eyes were half closed. His furry red chest barely moved whenever he took a breath. And now that the guard was coming closer I thought I could see wet patches on his fur and scales. Anger filled me.

They had hurt my peryton.

It hadn’t been enough to kill his mother, now they had hurt Oisín. Without thinking I reached out for my power to lash out at Lassadar and Lor. But there was nothing. When I felt for my reservoir I found it frozen. Thick ice covered the magic. Carefully I extended my mind to touch it but jerked back when freezing ice was thrown back at me. I gasped in shock.

Lassadar only smiled. “You didn’t actually think we’d let you access your powers? If you did then you’re stupider than I thought. Your shackles are spelt, and as long as you’re wearing them you won’t be able to do anything. But if you ask nicely, I might remove them later on.” I must have looked at him dubiously because his smile only grew wider. “With the right incentive, I’m sure you’ll want to put your powers to good use. I thought I could manipulate you enough to help me, but your sympathy for others got in the way before I could weaken your mind enough to get full control. No matter, I’m sure I’m going to enjoy this little inconvenience.”

A sudden shove from behind forced me to my knees. I could feel skin break when I hit the rough stone ground and barely managed to suppress a whimper.

“Your little pet has also been given some jewellery,” Lassadar smirked and pointed at the collar that was now strangling Oisín’s furry neck. He managed to lift his head a little and gave me a defeated look. Rage boiled up in me. “And Lor has been itching to give you yours.”

Without warning, cold metal closed around my neck. Before I could even lift my hands, Lor had collared me. Coldness poured into me where the collar touched my skin, while energy was pulled out of me with every breath I took. I swayed, my vision going blurry for a moment. Was Oisín’s collar doing the same thing to him? No wonder he was so weak.

Slowly the nausea passed and I could see clearly again. Lassadar was staring at me with cold blue eyes.

“You look beautiful, dear.” Lor sniggered from behind me. “Now, let’s get down to business. Lord Lassadar over there has finally allowed me to play with you. He tried it the nice way and you failed. Now we’ll try it the fun way. Fun for me, that is. For you - not so much.”

His hands started to massage my shoulders. I shied away from him but was too weak to even get up from my kneeling position. Lor’s hands wandered down, caressing the collar, then further down until he reached my breasts. One of his hands slid under my dress and pinched my skin. His sharp fingernails drew lines on my skin. When I tried to move forwards, away from his probing fingers, his other hand slapped my cheek from behind. I whimpered as he squeezed my nipples. Even with Dillon I had never felt so violated.

“Are you ready to listen to Lord Lassadar yet?”

I nodded weakly, looking up to the sorcerer on his throne. He was enjoying this.

“You see, I am dying,” Lassadar sighed dramatically. “I’d rather avoid that. So when a little bird told me of your particular talent, I knew I needed to have you. You’ve proven that you can slow and speed up time, but can you reverse it? I think you can. And I’m sure we can give you enough of an incentive to do so.”

He smiled at Lor.

“You’d have to take my collar off for that,” I smirked, pretending to be a lot braver than I was.

“Clever girl. That’s what the peryton is for. If you even think of attacking me or Lor, he will suffer. Is that understood?”

I nodded, trying desperately to find a loophole. I couldn’t give him what he wanted, but I also couldn’t let him hurt Oisín. I could kill myself, but then there would be nothing to stop them from killing my peryton. But what if I…

“Take off the collar and I’m going to try.”

“You’re not going to try, my dear, you’re going to succeed.” Lassadar gave a nod to Lor and the collar sprung open. Energy flowed into me. I could finally breathe normally again. The world suddenly looked a lot brighter. I glanced at the man carrying Oisín; he was now holding a knife to the peryton’s throat. I wondered if Lassadar had planned this all from the beginning. But how would he have known that the peryton would bind to me?

“Get started,” Lor grumbled behind me. I closed my eyes and felt for my magic. My reservoir was no longer frozen, but it had so little energy in it that it resembled a puddle rather than a lake. This would suit my purpose.

“I’m going to weave the blanket now,” I warned the two sorcerers. I didn’t want them to think I did something that might make them hurt Oisín. I took thick strands of energy and began to weave them together. In the past, I had used strands as thin as possible as not to deplete my energy to quickly. Today I wanted the opposite to happen. When I had finished the blanket only a few drops of energy were left inside of me. Perfect. I carefully moved the blanket towards Lassadar. I didn’t want to startle him. He was too dangerous for that. When I had wrapped it around him, I sped up his time slightly, just enough that he would feel that I was doing something. Pushing my final bits of energy towards the blanket, I began to sway.

“I cannot hold it,” I shouted, hoping that it sounded genuine. At least I didn’t have to fake the waver in my voice. The final drop left my reservoir. I collapsed to the floor. The blackness came to take me into her arms like an old friend.

The last thing I heard was a whisper in my ear.

“Your mother would have been disappointed.”

15

In the beginning, there were the Great Trees. Their branches spanned the world and their trunks reached the clouds. Their roots worked the Earth so that other plants may grow.

- Extract from “The Beginning” by Win-ta-hun

I t had been at least a week since either of us had last been taken from our cell. We were brought water every day, and a piece of bread most days. If we were lucky, they emptied our bucket when they brought us water. When they didn’t, we left it in one corner, close to the bars, and sat as far away from it against the wall opposite. It wasn’t a large cell, but there was enough space to give us some respite from the smell.

I had got to know Lia well. Spending all day together in a prison cell does that to you. She had listened to my sob story and I had heard about her life in Nythea, the land of the K’tuin. She lived with her brother and two friends. All four of them were part of the Nythean defence force - the country didn’t have a large military force and mainly trained their people in defence rather than offence. The K’tuin were a peaceful and secluded folk and had no enemies as such. But since the Fifth War, when an equally peaceful country had been conquered without warning by invaders no one had ever heard about before, the K’tuin council had decided that they needed to be able to defend themselves if the need ever arose.

Lia specialised in reconnaissance. One of her skills was the ability to partially change her facial features, including shrinking her ears down to human size. This made her ideal to infiltrate human settlements to gather information.

Her brother Lu-an was a forest mage like many of the magically gifted K’tuin. He drew his power from the woods around him, but unlike during my first tries with magic, he had complete control over how much energy he took. When he used his magic for the good of the forest, he never even killed a single blade of grass in the process. He took only as much as he needed, and gave back much more in return. He spent his time wandering, listening to the stories that the trees were telling him. As thanks for the tales and the food the forest provided him, he served it in any way he could. From time to time, the older, more aware trees sent him to help a wounded animal, to bring water to new shoots that were still too feeble to extend their roots deep enough during the hot summer months, or to spread the seeds of a dying tree so that his offspring would prosper in the best places. Besides that, his job was to choose young trees to become the next Eldertrees. Those he tended to with extreme care until it was time for them to be brought to Roundstone, where the council gathered in the shade of the oldest trees in Nythea.

Lu-an spent a lot of time in the woods and often didn’t come home at night, preferring to sleep in the forest. While all K’tuin had a strong connection to nature, Lia said that her brother excelled in communicating with the plants and animals of the forest. The council regularly asked him for advice and despite his age - he was only a year older than Lia - he was well respected.

This couldn’t be said for Aspen, their warlock friend, who was known to be moody and something of a troublemaker. “But in reality, he’s just one big cuddly wombat,” Lia laughed when she told me about him. “A hot wombat, if you ask the girls in town. You should see them drooling when he walks past with his sword on his back and leather straps crossing his chest…”

The fourth of the group was Eldor, the human who had given Lia the plans of Gynt’s Keep showing the secret corridor. She didn’t say much about him and changed the topic whenever he was mentioned. All I knew was that he had fled Fer and been taken in by the K’tuin a few years ago. Now he was training the K’tuin warriors in how best to counter human attacks. He had been in the Fer’an military himself so knew exactly how they fought and what their weaknesses were. Without even knowing him I felt intrigued by this human living amongst elves. Why go to the K’tuin to escape from Fer? Why not settle in the Free Cities or somewhere in the vast Plains? Again, Lia seemed reluctant to tell me.

All four of them were living together in a cottage close to the woods - for Lu-an’s sake, who needed to be close to the forest. Lia said he became rather grumpy whenever he spent too much time away from his trees.

After a while, I just had to ask, "Are you in a relationship with the men?"

She looked at me, then laughed. "What a strange idea! No, they're not my type." I frowned, until she clarified, "I prefer women."

Why did that make me happy? I had never- "Have you ever been with a women?"

I blushed and shook my head. It wasn't something I had ever really thought about. Sure, in the Free Cities I had seen a lot of female couples, but in the Plains, it was frowned upon. And I had never met anyone that would have made me consider being with a woman. But now... those summer-meadow-eyes and that tiny dimple on her left cheek...

"Have you ever been with a man?"

My cheeks were burning by now. "Yes, I’m not a child.”

“I never said you were.” Lia smiled. Not condescendingly, just a friendly, comfortable smile. "Do your people not speak about such things openly?”

“They do, but not the women, at least, not most women.”

“That’s strange. How will you find out if someone is a potential mate if you don’t ask them questions about their experience?”

I didn't think my face could get any hotter. Sure, the travellers had told their share of lustful tales; stories of their exploits and dreams of their perfect sexual encounters. But Luca had always tried to shield me from that. Just like the swearing. He didn't mind me drinking, but wouldn't tolerate any kind of cursing. "Just because you live with travellers doesn't mean you have to behave like the stereotype, Eona," he used to say.

Right now though, I wished I was more experienced. Compared to Lia I felt far too innocent. I was twenty-five, after all. Most other women of my age were long married with children. Maybe I had stayed with the Ghorres for too long. It had been a safe, familiar place; one where I didn't have to worry about hiding my magic or pretending to be someone I was not.

“Is it true humans only take one person as their mate?” Lia smiled, ignoring the fact that I had been vacantly staring into space for a while.

“Yes, and usually it’s a man and a woman. I’ve heard it’s very different with the K’tuin.”

Lia laughed, and the cell brightened for a moment.

“We love, that’s all, it doesn’t matter who we love, or how many. There are as many different relationships as there are stars in the sky. My mother has three male mates, one of which has fallen in love with another female. Now all five are living in the same house, together with two of my siblings. K’tuin see relationships as fluid, but sacred at the same time. No one should judge someone else for having a different taste in love. In the end, it’s all about fulfilment.”

“What about the children? Do you know which of your mother’s husbands is your father?”

“Children are brought up together by all the adults in a household. No one cares who your parents are. I’m not quite sure about my father, but I don’t really want to know anyway. I have three fathers, one mother and an auntie. What else could I need?”

She left me speechless. I hadn’t realised the K’tuin were that different from humans. I found their ways rather strange. And that said a lot; after all, I had grown up with travellers who didn’t always follow convention. But at the same time, I saw the opportunity in the ways of the K’tuin. Not having to bow to rules and expectations, just loving who you fall in love with. It sounded great – with the slight downside that you first had to find someone to love. I sighed. So far I had been very unlucky with that.

L ia and I were talking quietly when a shout echoed through the corridors. There was the sound of metal; swords? More shouts, loud and panicked, then it was quiet. Instinctively, we moved closer to each other until our shoulders touched. Someone was running towards the cells. None of the other cells in this section were occupied. They were coming for us.

Lia took my hand and squeezed it hard. I could feel her tremble. Pretending to be braver than I felt, I squeezed it back, shooting her a weak smile.

Then, a shout. “SA-LIA! Lia! Where are you?”

Lia jumped up and pressed herself against the bars.

“I’m here,” she cried, waving into the darkness. A tree trunk ran into the light, stopping in front of the iron bars. Well, if I say tree trunk, I mean a man as broad as a tree, and just as brown and green. He was dressed in simple earth coloured clothes which were covered in vines. It looked as if the plants were still living or had only recently been taken from the forest. They hugged his legs and arms and even wound themselves around his chest. The leaves attached to the vines moved gently with every breath he took. I had never seen anything like it. It was as if he was part of the forest. He had the pointy ears typical of the K’tuin which stood out against his short black hair. He was gorgeous in a soft, wild sort of way. His intense green eyes were fixed on Lia, not wanting to let her out of his sight for a second.

With a simple flick of his wrist, a vine detached from his arm and slithered through the air until it reached the lock. A moment later, the lock clicked. Apparently moving plants didn’t count as magic and weren’t stopped by the force bubble that had been preventing Lia and me from escaping.

“I was wondering when you were going to show up,” Lia laughed and threw herself into the big guy’s arms. He bent down to hug her back, stroking her hair with one hand. Despite all the fear, surprise and elation coursing through me, I noticed a tiny strand of jealousy touching my heart.

“Eona, meet Lu-an, my brother.” Finally, he looked at me and his emerald eyes widened ever so slightly. “Lu-an, this is…”

I screamed. Pain hit me from all sides. I curled up into a ball, willing the pain to go away. Of course it didn’t. When was life ever easy.

There were voices around me but I didn’t have the strength to listen. I was pain and it was eternal.

Strong arms picked me up from the floor.

The last thing I heard was Oisín shouting my name in my head.

I was torn apart. My mind and my body were moving in different directions.

My eyes opened and my mouth spoke. But it wasn't me. There was a blackness inside me that had taken over my body. All I could do was wait as my face contorted into a mask of disdain.

“Don’t leave yet, darlings. I’ve only just started having fun with you.”

Even though it was my mouth speaking, I recognised the voice. Lassadar.

Lia and Lu-an started at me in shock.

I - no, Lassadar - cackled at their confusion. “You didn’t think I’d just let you escape, did you. She’s mine, and with a bit of work, she’ll finally fulfil her purpose. I’ve not spent all these months preparing her for you to take her from me!”

Lassadar-me got up from the floor and raised his hands.

"I'm sorry, Eona," Lu-an said quietly. Before I knew what was going on, I felt a sharp pain at the back of my head and everything went black.

"She's so cold. Look, she's shivering. What's going on?"

Slowly I opened my eyes. Except that I didn't. I could see my eyes were still closed. My pallid face was staring - well, at me. I was hovering above my body, looking down. I blinked. And blinked again. I was blinking without my eyes. Hysterical laughter forced its way up my non-existent throat. I took – floated – a step back. We were no longer in the dungeons. My body was lying on a mossy forest floor, surrounded by Lia and her brother. But I wasn’t in my body. I was on my own. Whatever that meant. My mind - my soul, maybe? - was looking down at the scene. I had no shape. It wasn’t like I had a nebulous copy of my body, no, I seemed to be without any kind of substance. My head was close to exploding at the thought that I was nothing. Then I remembered I had no head. Lia put her hands on both sides of my face and closed her eyes. A tingle ran through me, giving me hope that I wasn’t entirely disconnected from my body. Yet.

"When you broke the collar she was still connected to Lassadar. I can feel her energy, but it's feeble, blinking in and out as if she's not quite here. We need to get her home, fast. The Elders will know what to do."

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Lia? We don't know anything about her. For all I know, she could be a spy for Lassadar, pretending to be a captive with you just to get information.”

Lia huffed. “That would make it rather easy for you, wouldn’t it. Leave her as collateral damage, then take me home, being the hero who managed to save his sister from the clutches of Lassadar. No, Lu, it’s time to man up and not just think of yourself!”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know that, Lia. What’s going on with you?”

“I’m sorry. It’s just… I really like her. There’s something about her, something special. We can’t leave her here. If you want to go, then go, but I’ll stay.”

“I would never leave you behind, and you know that. We have to move though, we’re still too close to the Keep.”

He got up and walked to one of the trees at the edge of the clearing. I followed him, leaving my body with Lia. It was safe with her. Lu-an put his hands on the thick bark of the tree and closed his eyes. His lips moved, but there were no words spoken. The tree groaned, and slowly one of the thick branches lowered itself to the ground. It moved and contorted and twisted until the branch had morphed into a sort of large basket. With a clonk, the basket detached from the branch. Lu-an gently stroked the bark and whispered a thank you. He carried the basket over to Lia and my body. Neither of them had moved, although Lia was now holding my hand. I wished I was able to feel it.

The basket turned out to be a carrying backpack for my body. There were holes for my legs, and straps that fit around Lu-an’s shoulders like a backpack. My head lolled from side to side. I had never felt so weak and helpless in all my life.

They set off, walking at a brisk pace through the forest. They walked in a straight line, not hindered by brush and branches. All of nature seemed to step out of Lu-an’s way - reverently, not frightened. I could see now why he was one of the K’tuins’ strongest forest mages. He was one with the forest and was accepted by nature as one of them. His hands would stroke the ferns reaching up to touch him. Flowers turned their faces into his direction, and the moss he stepped on immediately sprang back to its previous height. It was an impressive sight.

I floated beside them, listening as Lia retold the story of how she was captured. I cringed a little when she started telling her brother about me. She didn’t reveal all of what I had told her about my previous life, just enough to prove to him that I was no threat, and was as much a victim of Lassadar’s as Lia was. Listening to her voice was soothing, and almost made me forget that I was not listening to her with my ears, but with whatever I was now.

It was night and we were camping in another clearing. Lu-an had lit a fire but had then disappeared into the forest. I followed him for a bit, watching as he walked among the trees, laying his hands on their bark. It seemed like he was listening to them. I felt like an intruder in a world I did not understand.

Returning to the clearing I found Lia wrapped around my body, protecting it from the outside world. For the first time in days, I could feel my body again. Not enough to move, but enough to feel her warmth. Her hand played with my hair, her fingers running through the white locks, and her cheek was pressed against my own. Her skin was so soft; I wanted to turn my head and press my lips against it, taste her. I strained against the emptiness around me that kept me from returning to my body. If Lassadar could possess my body, why couldn’t I? I was locked out from my home, without a key and all the windows barred. I could look in but I had no way to break the glass. Lassadar was the one with the key. I needed to find him.

Her lips moved to my ear and I could feel her hot breath on my skin. “Come back to me, Eona,” she whispered. “I need you.” Then those lips went in for the kill. She kissed my cheek. “I love you.”

16

K’tuin society is governed by the Council of Elders, made up of twenty men and women. Requirements to become an Elder include: services to the community, being of sound mind, not having committed any crime, being vouched for by five members of the community (not relatives). Whenever an Elder retires, the remaining members of the Council select a new person to join them from a pool of applicants. While these decisions are rarely unanimous, at least three-quarters of the Elders have to approve for a candidate to become an Elder.

- Who are the K’tuin? Thomas The Elder

I  flew across the country searching for the man who had done this to me. Time was on my side; I had wrapped myself in a cloak of it. I’d be back before Lia could get up. I needed to be back in my body, I needed to tell her how I felt. We hadn’t travelled far from Gynt’s Keep, so it didn’t take long until I was hovering outside Lassadar’s tower window. I could see him sitting on his massive armchair, looking into the fire.

Glad you could join me. Come in, make yourself comfortable.

I entered his room through the window. I could have probably flown through the walls, but the human in me resisted against that. Being without a body was strange enough, thank you very much.

Oisín was lying in a corner, seemingly unconscious. He had grown again since I’d last seen him. I wondered how big a fully grown peryton was. The metal collar was cutting into his throat. Rage bubbled up in me as I saw my abused little peryton. No more. I knew the collar was preventing him from talking to me, but I tried nonetheless.

Oisín?

No reply.

I turned to Lassadar. I was ready. When I was done with him, he would harm no one ever again.

Are you seriously going to fight me? Lassadar asked. You don’t stand a chance.

I didn’t deign him with a reply.

I closed my non-existing-eyes and found Lassadar’s golden flame. It flickered brightly; an inferno waiting to be unleashed. I wrapped myself around it, screaming in pain as the flames licked at my mind. He was so strong.

You want to burn, little girl? Burn then, burn for me.

Through the agony, I remembered why I was doing this. Why the pain was worth it. With practised moves, I weaved a time cloak and threw it over Lassadar’s flame. They wavered a little, then fought against the cloak. I poured all my energy into it, securing it as tightly as I possibly could. It still hurt, but it was no longer agony.

This won’t work on me. I am too-

I stopped time. The shackles I had put around the hands on my inner clock were shaking, but held. Now to the task at hand. With my last burst of energy, I released the clock hands and sped up time. They raced across the clock face, spinning faster and faster. I allowed myself a glance at Lassadar’s body. It was ageing fast. His black hair turned to grey, then white. Wrinkles appeared on his flawless skin, destroying his ageless appearance. His bright blue eyes became milky, unfocused. It didn’t take long for him to look like an old man.

His flame still burned bright, however. His body may have aged, but his spirit had lost none of its energy. He was still struggling against my grip on him. I threw myself against the time cloak, willing it to stay in place. Finally, the golden flame began to shrink. Was that a flicker? Lassadar’s body crashed to the floor. His limbs had become thin, almost skeletal. Thin skin stretched across his skull. A few teeth had fallen out. In old age he hadn’t become a friendly looking grandfather. He finally looked how he felt like on the inside: disgusting, raw, evil.

But Lassadar hadn’t given up yet. With a mental roar, he broke free from my grip. I was flung back, out of his mind. While I gathered myself, he tried to get up but his aged body was too frail. He let out a frustrated groan as he fell back onto the ground.

I couldn’t help it. I laughed. Lassadar, defeated by the very own magic he helped me develop.

Suddenly I was yanked towards him. Panicked I looked at myself and noticed a black sheen covering my spirit-self. He could see me. A mental claw gripped me and pulled me to Lassadar until he was holding me in front of his sunken face. I wiggled and fought against the claw. How was he still this strong? His energy should be just as depleted as mine. He squeezed and I could feel myself flicker. Could I die in this form? Could he kill me?

A wing sliced through Lassadar’s back. His eyes bulged. Thin red blood spilt from his mouth. He looked at me with astonishment. Then with one last evil glance, his eyes closed and his head fell to his chest. Lassadar was dead.

I looked behind him. Oisín was breathing heavily, his wing still extended. Blood was dripping down from gleaming sharp spikes that had formed at the edges of his wing. As I watched, they retracted until only red feathers remained. He shot me a wary glance and folded his wing back on his body. He looked like he was close to fainting.

With the last drop of energy in my reservoir, I willed Oisín’s collar to open. I didn’t know how I did it, but somehow it worked. Clearly, I was going to have to look into all the things my magic could do.

Thank you. Now get back. You’re running out of time.

17

Where the flowers grow

Where the sunshine lives

Where the trees unfold

Is my home.

Where my lover lives

Where he steals my kiss

Where we share a bed

Is my home.

Where he touches me

Where he pleasures me

Where he moves in me

Is my home.

- Song heard in The Wicked Woman in Ritteltown

L assadar was dead.

He no longer had control of my body, but somehow I was still floating. The fight with the sorcerer had depleted my energy. There was not enough left to weave another time cloak. I had to make my way back in real time.

However, a spirit - was that what I had become? - was fast. I didn’t need to stay on the ground and be hindered by walls and trees. I could fly.

I soared up into the sky, trying to remember the route I had taken to get here.

It only took me a few hours to get back to where I had left my body. But it wasn’t there. Neither were Lia and her brother. The clearing was empty, but in the centre of it, a circle made of leaves and branches caught my eyes. It was around five feet in diameter, large enough for several people to fit inside. I floated closer to the ground. Tiny dandelions were growing among the grass. It took me a moment to realise that they formed shapes - feet! Two people had stood in the circle. I had heard about portals, but they usually needed fire to work. No scorch marks here though. It seemed Lu-an’s magic was one of a kind. But where did this leave me? They could have travelled hundreds of miles without me knowing where to. All I knew about Nythea was that it was to the south of Fer and the Plains. That was probably the extent of most humans’ knowledge. The K’tuin were a secretive people who didn’t venture out of Nythea much. They were the topic of many songs and tales, sure, but those didn’t come with maps attached. I sat down inside the circle, willing it to jump to life. I didn’t know anything about how portals actually worked. Was there a spell you had to know? Was this one primed to Lu-an, so nobody else could even use it?

I sat there for a while. The task of searching for them seemed overwhelming. Maybe I should just stay away from them. I had already caused the two K’tuin so much trouble. Maybe it was better if my body just died. I didn’t know what would happen to me when that happened, but I was willing to find out. I was tired of fighting. When I had been in the dungeon with Lia, her will to survive had been infectious. Now that she was gone, I noticed how indifferent I really was about it all.

But then I remembered how she had cuddled my body. How she had whispered those all-important words. How I needed to tell her I loved her.

I felt a tug in my mind. Someone was calling for me. I followed the call, flying into the air. I was going home.

Despite flying as fast as possible, it took me two days to reach the forests of Nythea. From above they looked like an endless sea of trees, stretching far into the horizon. After flying over the forest for what seemed like forever, I finally felt a tug towards the ground. When I broke through the foliage, a peculiar sight awaited me. A large house was sitting in a tree. Not made of trees or anything like that, but just a normal house that was up in a tree rather than on the ground. It looked like a giant had picked it up and simply dropped it on the next available tree. A large wooden balcony in front of it turned into a stretched-out staircase that went all the way down to the ground. It looked beautiful in a quirky sort of way.

There were a few wooden tables and benches in the clearing below - and on one of the tables lay my body, surrounded by four people. I recognised Lia’s golden-red hair and Lu-an with his vine clothing beside her. The other two people were men, one human and one K’tuin.

“She’s fading,” a voice said sadly. Lia. I wanted to comfort her, finally take her in my arms, but then I remembered that I had no body. “We need to do something. I would have never got out of there without her.”

The K’tuin had one hand on my brow, the other on my chest. I had lost weight since I had last seen my body. His eyes were closed and his forehead was a mess of creased lines of concentration. Even so, he was beautiful. In a very rugged sort of way. His black hair was cut short, leaving his elven ears in full view. Tattoos twirled on his skin, disappearing under the fabric of his black leather top. Maybe this was Aspen, the K’tuin who was living with Lia. The muscles on his arms certainly made him look like a warrior.

At my feet stood the human man. He would have looked boyish with his blonde unruly hair and his beardless cheeks had it not been for his strong angular jaw. He was younger than the others but not by much. I guessed that this had to be Eldor, the human who had found refuge here, who had told Lia how to enter Gynt’s Keep.

The K’tuin man lifted his hands off my body. “There is something missing in her… like a hole in her heart. I can see where her spirit usually sits, but there is an extra space there, empty and dark. I think that is why Lassadar managed to possess her. He took advantage of that and buried himself within her. Now he has left, but I’m not sure she’ll be able to return to her body as long as that hole isn’t filled.”

“How do we fill it?” Lia asked, her voice more hopeful than it had been for a while.

“I don’t know. If someone could take Lassadar’s place, not possess her, but link with her somehow-”

“I’ll do it,” Lia interrupted. I wanted to hug her. How did I deserve her devotion?

“No offence, Lia, but I don’t think you’re strong enough. You’d have to give up too much of your essence. You don’t want to control her like the sorcerer did, so you can’t put too much of yourself into her heart. Maybe if there were several people who each link themselves to her we might be able to fill it. I don’t know how many we’d need though; I’d say at least three or four. Lassadar must have increased the size of the hole in her heart, she wouldn’t have been able to survive with it being empty otherwise.”

Lu-an stepped forward and put one large arm around Lia’s shoulders. “I volunteer. My sister may not be alive if it hadn’t been for her.”

“Then I will do the same,” Eldor said quietly. When everyone looked at him in surprise, he shrugged. “You two took me in when I had nobody, so I guess if you want to help her, I should help you.” Lia jumped over to him and gave him a hug. Eldor smiled uncomfortably. He turned to Aspen. “Will the three of us be enough?”

Aspen frowned. “It should be. Only one way to find out. And we have to do it quickly before it’s too late.”

All four of them put a hand on my chest. Usually, I would have been embarrassed for them to feel my breasts, but this was too important for anything as menial as that. Closing their eyes, they followed Aspen’s instructions. I focussed my sight on their magic. Two golden flames, one silver, and one… green. That had to be Lu-an. The biggest golden flame sent seeking tendrils to the other three, encouraging them to move towards it. Once they were all close together, they twirled around it each other, becoming a colourful flaming braid. On the top of the fiery column a new, tiny flame began to form. It separated, colours swirling, and began to slowly float down - and right into my heart.

My body gasped and bent at the spine, contorting and shaking. I could see Lia trying to hold back her tears. I was looking down on it, waiting for something to happen. Just when I thought it had all failed there was a sharp pull and I was sucked into my body with so much force that everything went black.

F our pairs of eyes were looking down at me. Two green, one brown and one a warm gold that made me think of liquid sunlight. Slowly their faces came into focus. Aspen. Eldor. Lu-an. And Lia. I smiled up at her. Her face came down towards me, lips first. I felt her kiss my cheek.

I could finally feel again.

W hen I woke again, Eldor was sitting by my bedside. He held a book in his hands but wasn’t looking down at it. His eyes were looking into space, deep in thought.

Unwilling to startle him, I sent him a careful thought. Hello.

He jumped, staring at me in shock. “How did you do that?” he shouted. “How did you get inside my head?”

I must have looked a little scared because when he turned back to me, his gaze softened. “I’m sorry. No one has ever been able to do that with me. The K’tuin have tried but I don’t have any magic, so I didn’t think it was possible…”

“It’s ok. I was a little surprised myself when Lia first talked to me in my mind.”

He gave a short laugh. “Can you… can you read my mind?” He tried to be nonchalant about it all but I could see how unsettled he was under the surface.

“No, I can’t. All I can hear is what you send to me. Try it.”

Eona? His mind-voice was beautiful, like deep bells and birdsong.

Yes. I smiled. So you’re Eldor?

Yes, did Sa-Lia tell you about me?

Only good things. I hear you’re from Fer?

Aye, but let’s not talk about me. How are you feeling?

Like a wild beast mangled my body. But I’ve been without a body for so long that I don’t mind the pain. It shows me I still live. I gave him a brave smile, but he got to his feet.

“I’ll get Aspen, he’ll be able to take some of the pain away.”

Before I could tell him not to leave me alone he was gone.

A spen was huge. He filled the room with his presence without even stepping through the doorframe. He stood there for a moment, looking at me until I realised he was waiting for me to ask him in.

“Please, come in.” I smiled at him but he didn’t smile back. I wasn’t offended though. He didn’t seem like a person who gave out free smiles.

Eldor said you were in pain. Where does it hurt?

A bit of everything. My chest hurts when I breathe, I’ve got a headache and I feel too weak to properly move my limbs. Oh, and I’m really thirsty.

Has no one given you water? He looked at me as if I was to blame for that. I didn’t want to get on his bad side. His stare was frightening.

Without a glance back he left the room, returning a moment later with a wooden cup and a glass carafe. He set them down on the bedside table and put an arm around me, pulling me up and propping me against the large pillows behind me. I didn’t even have time to protest.

He filled the cup and held it to my lips, ignoring my protests that I could do that for myself. When I had finished drinking he put the cup back on the table and gently - gentler than I had expected for a man of his size - laid a hand on my forehead. Warmth washed through my body and I instinctively closed my eyes. His healing was tender, careful, pleasant. When his hand left my skin, I sighed and curled up in bed. I was tired but in a comfortable, nice way.

Aspen walked away quietly. When he was almost out of the room I called to him. I know what you did.

And what was that?

You didn’t just help the three repair my heart. You gave me a part of yourself. I paused. I don’t even know what to say. You don’t know me and still… thank you.

He looked at me with held back emotion.

“You’re welcome,” he finally said gruffly, and left.

L ia stormed into the room.

“I heard you’re awake! I’m sorry I didn’t come any sooner but I had to report to the Council, and they wanted to know all the details, and...”

Shhhhhh, it’s ok. I smiled and patted the duvet next to me. She smiled back at me and hopped onto the bed.

Are you feeling better?

Yes, Aspen did a great job. I hesitated.

What? she asked.

I don’t know if you realise but I could see and hear you most of the time I was outside of my body. I felt you hug me. I felt you kiss my cheek. And… I sat up and turned towards her, cupping her face with my hand. Now I would like to return the favour.

I looked into her green eyes to seek permission. She granted it. I leant in to kiss her. My lips met hers in an explosion of sensations. Hers were so soft, so pliable. I gently sucked on her bottom lip. Delicious. Her mouth opened and her tongue nudged my lips to do the same. She invaded my mouth and I retaliated, soaking up her taste and enjoying the warmth of her mouth. Out tongues met and danced. She felt like home.

When we both broke apart, gasping for breath, I hugged her.

“Thank you for saving me,” I whispered into her ear.

She chuckled.

Anytime.

EPILOGUE

O isín’s collar flew open and he could finally breathe again. The peryton hadn’t stopped growing in the weeks since he had been fitted the collar, and it had started to slowly choke him to death. But now he was free and Lassadar was going to pay. But first, his human needed him. He had only seen a glimpse of her when she confronted Lassadar, but she hadn’t looked good. Her spirit was frayed at the edges from being so long without a body. He had seen it before, in his ancestors’ memories. He needed to get to her, fast.

The peryton launched himself into the air, ignoring Lassadar’s body on the floor, and jumped out of the open window. Freedom, finally. He had never flown before, but he could draw on the collective knowledge stored deep within his mind. The memories of hundreds of generations of perytons were his to remember, and all of them had once taken their first flight. His muscles weren’t quite sure what to do, but after a few unsteady flaps of his wings, he managed to soar rather than fall. His right wing had healed well, although it still felt different from his healthy left wing. His kind healed fast though, and it wouldn’t be long until he would no longer be able to feel the injury. His red fur warmed quickly now that the sun was shining down on him. The only time he’d been outside before was when one of the humans carried him to the cave. He’d been half conscious back then from the effects of the collar. But no longer. He was free. He was strong. And he was going to stay that way.

A few strong flaps of his wings brought him higher up into the sky. The wind caressed his body like Juhnaa once did with her tongue - no, that wasn’t one of his memories. He shook his head. With all those other perytons’ lives stored in the back of his mind, it wasn’t always easy to stay in the present. Later, when he was resting for the night, he would re-examine that memory…

There were shouts down below as guards noticed him flying over the keep. None of them had ever seen a peryton before. Well, he had seen enough humans to last him a lifetime. Oisín toyed with the thought of swooping down on them and playfully shoving them from the castle walls, but then he remembered he had to get to Eona as fast as possible. With a last look at the place of his birth, he turned south, towards Nythea.

He was coming for her.

His human.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

So, this is it, the first book in the Ruined Heart series. I hope you liked it as much as I liked writing it. It has taken me four years, but I think it’s been worth it. Eona grew older at the same time as me (and I may have left her in a dungeon for two years because she couldn’t figure out how to leave. Oops).

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Skye MacKinnon tells stories about science for a living - but at night she writes fiction, mainly fantasy. When she's not writing, she's out and about with her camera, or spends time with mythical creatures and the odd vampire living in her kindle.

Usually, there's tea and cake involved.

She lives in Scotland with her two overly spoilt house rabbits and a few hundred self-obsessed characters constantly asking her to tell their stories. One day she will. Promise.

ILLUSTRATORS

This book wouldn’t be as beautiful and unique without all the illustrations I was sent by extremely talented artists from around the world.

Pat Chatterley

Wildlife and Children's Illustrator. Patchatterley.com

Grace Connor

Studied Communications and Media at Goldsmiths College and Fine Art at Saint Martins School of Art. Co-founder of 'My Eyes, My Eyes!' underground cinema group 1995 -2001 Available for illustration and animated music video.

Kerry Davies

Freelance artist & illustrator based in Hessle, near Hull, East Yorkshire, UK. He has worked on various artwork projects including illustrations, paintings, wall murals, portraits & greeting cards. He is available for commission work. You can see some of his artwork on his Facebook page www.facebook.com/KdArtUk or email him at kdartuk@hotmail.co.uk.

Jules Drake

Annabel Inneco

Agnieszka Krzesińska

http://ryuvhiel.deviantart.com/

Peter Moonen

www.pmoonen.nl, petege.deviantart.com

Frances Quinn

https://www.facebook.com/theArtofFrancesQuinn/, http://echdhu.deviantart.com/

Arizona Tape

http://www.arizonatype.com/

Imogen Walters

Instagram: @Latoyia_art

THANK YOU

I started this book four years ago, and many people have helped me along the way – far too many to name without boring you.

So, the quick version is, thank you to my family, friends, illustrators, beta readers, rabbits and fellow writers. You are all amazing and this book wouldn't exist without you.