《Song of Ruin》


 Prologue/Ascension

    It was the fifth day of the procession, and Enalla¡¯s eyes drooped from boredom. She was tired of having the Channelers carry her out in the palanquin and present her to the crowds of onlookers. Had she known that she would have so little time for herself, she might have tried to conceal her mark, rather than allow her Ascended state to be known and therefore dictate her future.


    She didn''t really feel any different with the mark than she had without it, and secretly she thought the entire process of ascension to be a little far fetched. But then, as her teachers had always told her, tradition was tradition. She could only guess that tradition made people feel safe, though she wished the way she was expected to present herself wasn''t so ridiculous. Every day, she was bathed and her dark hair was washed by the Channelers. Then, she was anointed with sacred oils, had the calendar patterns painted onto her olive hands with red ochre and charcoal, and finally she was clothed in fine silk and rings of glittering metals and jewels were placed on her toes.


    This was all done before her first bite of breakfast. By then, her stomach was usually rumbling, but to add to the absurdity of it all, when her food was brought before her, she wasn''t allowed to taste anything until her food tester, another Channeler, had come in to try it and be sure it was safe to eat. Then finally she could eat, but only if she did so gracefully, for shovelling food into one''s face is not Godly, no matter how hungry one is.


    Enalla shifted position on her stack of cushions. Today marked the midpoint of the ascension celebration. Five more days of this, and she at least could return to her lessons, though she would now have a constant entourage of Channelers with her. The other Mystic students might not treat her the same as they once did, but at least she could focus on her studies.


    Today, she was being presented to the crowds outside the library of Paliathese. The tall structure was the pride of the city, not only for its beautiful architecture but for the astounding collection of knowledge held under its roof. Perhaps she could convince one of the Channelers to fetch her a book to keep her from falling asleep during the proceedings.


    Enalla raised her hand to signal through the almost sheer curtain at Dremos, a member of her personal guard, and leaning forward slightly to be heard better, she spoke quietly, as was expected. A soft voice that still commands attention was required of her.


    ¡°Dremos. I have an important task for you when we arrive. If you are up to it, I would like you to bring me a book from the library. It doesn''t matter what it is about. Even something educational or about local history is fine. Are you willing?¡±


    ¡°Without question, I live to serve, Your Radiance.¡± Dremos spoke with conviction, but without daring to make eye contact with her. Of all the differences since her elevation, this was perhaps the strangest. The Channelers had respected her well enough before (as they did all Mystics), but now they would grovel and bow and scrape at her feet, and nobody other than the other Ascended would ever look her in the eye. Even stranger, she was now expected to look them in the eye, and consider herself as one of them, equal to them.


    Enalla shifted her weight again, trying to get comfortable on the pillows and blankets that had been scattered inside of the palanquin for her to sit on. The Channelers that were carrying her were bare chested, so that the wood of the palanquin would touch their skin directly. Any normal person would find this unbearably uncomfortable, but these were Wood Channelers, and so in fact they gained strength from the wood that was touching their skin. The Wood Channelers were given the honour of carrying Ascended when they were outside of the Celestial palaces. They were given this role because of their increased strength, endurance, and speed when carrying the palanquin. They also possessed a unique ability that proved useful when travelling for long periods of time. As long as they touched the wood, they did not need to eat. They instead took all the sustenance they needed to survive from sunlight.


    Enalla wasn''t sure she would have been so happy if the tables were turned and it was her that had that task, but Channelers spent their whole lives in training and service to the Gods. It was all they knew, and all they strove for. The greatest honour for a Channeler was to become a member of a God''s personal guard, but not all Channelers were successful, nor skilful or powerful enough for the task. It was possible that carrying her today would be the closest to interacting with a God that some of them would ever reach. Enalla touched each of their minds gently, and saw their pride and their hope. Perhaps the honour bestowed upon them today would gain them some renown.


    The palanquin lurched slightly as the Channelers slowed their pace. They were drawing closer to the Great Library. Enalla could hear the crowds of citizens cheering, music being played, and street performers clamouring for attention. Through the gauzy fabric hanging around her, Enalla could make out hundreds of figures. Most of them wore various styles of Erimosian national dress, but she could also see many foreigners in the crowd.


    These people fascinated Enalla. Why would they wear such heavy clothing on such a sweltering day? Enalla could spot three foreigners nearby, and watched them in awe. There was a tall man, with pinkish skin and shaggy hair the colour of straw. He looked as though he had travelled a long way, with the dust of the road staining his thick woollen trousers. Standing beside him were two women, each wearing long, wide skirts of dark wool, the fabric sometimes used in rugs and carpets. Their blouses were tight and buttoned up to the neck, and had sleeves that reached the wrists. Enalla thought they must be boiling in the strange garb, and so wondered whether it was a cultural requirement that they cover their skin. She had heard of places within the Erimosian Empire where covering the face was required of all those who were married. They would only show their faces in private to their spouses and their children. She surmised it must be something like that, as in this heat, nobody would choose to dress that way if they didn''t have to.


    The Channelers bearing Enalla''s palanquin slowed further, to climb the steps to the Great library without shaking or bumping her around too much. Ascending the stairs, Enalla had a better view of the vast crowds assembled before the pillars of the stone building. The city was alive and teeming with people, and the sounds, scents and colours were overwhelming in their variety. Decorative silks in many colours were draped overhead from the roofs to give the crowds some shade in the sweltering heat. Braziers dotted around the square burned various types of incense, the fragrant and intoxicating smoke from these wafting over to Enalla. She longed to climb out from her bundle of cushions and down to get lost in that crowd, to experience it as one of the other people enjoying the celebrations.


    The moment had arrived, however, when she would be presented to the clamouring masses who had congregated there. She wouldn''t address them, she would merely have the curtains pulled back on the palanquin, and her face would be revealed to all. She wondered if she should pull a face when they did it, but then remembered that none of the crowd would be brave or stupid enough to dare look her in the eye anyway, regardless of whether or not her face was visible. On the previous days, when she had been revealed to the citizens below, she looked down on a sea of bowed heads, and a few of them had even bowed themselves over so much that they were crouched, prostrating on the ground before her. She quite suspected that she would never get used to any of this.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    A figure drew up in front of the crowds, and with arms raised, stilled the music and the voices of all who gathered in the square below. It was one of the more influential Channelers, Hereon. Often, he would be the one to make declarations on the behalf of Mystics, and Ascended Mystics in particular, at gatherings such as this. Hereon was an Air Channeler, and so he was blessed with the ability to raise his voice much louder than the average person. He wore loose, billowing clothes, in order to facilitate the ease of movement of the air around him.


    ¡°People of Erimos. Paliathese citizens and visitors to our great and bountiful Empire!¡± Hereon called out over the heads of the gathered crowd. ¡°It is my great honour to present before you the most recent addition to the pantheon of Ascended. She was trained here in this eminent city since her skills as a Mystic were discovered, and recently her true power has been revealed.¡±


    He paused for effect and then swept his arm towards the palanquin dramatically. At his direction, Dremos pulled back the curtains of the palanquin and stood to one side, giving Enalla an unobstructed view of the amassed people. Hereon''s voice, augmented with his magic, thundered around the square, ¡°Her Radiance, Enalla the Gentle!¡±


    Enalla tried to push away her distaste for the title she had been given. Due to her young age, and the manner in which her Ascension had been discovered, she had been named ¡°the Gentle¡±. That name would belong to her forever, but she may gain more later as she undertook various deeds throughout her life. She only hoped that the name would not give other Gods the idea that she was a pushover.


    A sudden lurch in Enalla''s stomach told her that it was about to happen. This was exactly the wrong timing, but there was no controlling it once it started. She was aware of the cushions beneath her, and could faintly hear the cheers of the masses as a whisper, as though from far away. Her eyes no longer saw the fluttering banners, or the multitude of people she knew stood before her. She raised her hand towards Dremos, outstretching her hand in a sign that she had taught him to recognise as a signal that she was receiving a vision.


    She looked down from the palanquin. Strangely, in the vision, she was also sitting within one. The similarities between the vision and reality ended there, however. She was looking down from her perch at the top of the scruffy brown head of an adolescent boy. He looked unkempt, but had a muscular build and seemed to be full of health and vigour. He wore a plain, thin leather belt, indicating his youth, and the warmer clothing which was common to northern Erimos. His sandal clad feet were dirty.


    Enalla''s palanquin appeared to be in an entirely different climate, and from the boy''s attire she surmised she must be somewhere in the North, near the coast. There was a slight chill in the air, and the wind smelled of salt. They stood in what seemed to be some backwater town, and there was a crowd of commoners surrounding her palanquin.


    The boy was shaking, clearly visibly afraid, and wouldn''t raise his eyes to hers. She heard her own voice speaking. ¡°Lift your head, boy. I wish to look at your face... But perhaps you are afraid. Fear not. You will not be punished. I wish for you to look at me, so that is what you must do.¡±


    How strange. She sounded older. More self-assured. Cold. Enalla wondered how far into the future this vision must be, and what the relevance of this meeting was. It was surely important, especially for her to receive it on such an auspicious day. She wished that this future version of her would raise her hands so that she could clearly read the calendar marks, but no luck.


    The youth raised his head and trembled before her. He was physically large and powerful looking, yet there was something else, something fragile about him. Inwardly, Enalla groaned. This would be so much easier if she could read his mind. But that was not possible through a vision. She would have to wait until this chance meeting to see what he was all about.


    ¡°Yes, I thought it was you. I have waited a long time to see this face in person. You are important... Perhaps you will win us the war. We shall see if you were worth the wait. You will-¡±


    The vision abruptly stopped, and the sound of her own voice vanished, replaced by the uproar of the surrounding crowds. She had the presence of mind to close her eyes while she adjusted to being fully aware once again. Visions could leave even those marked as Gods disorientated. The heat of the midday sun beat down on her through the open curtains of the palanquin. She felt Dremos nearby, and the other Channelers tasked with her protection and conveyance. She focused on her own breath, as she had been trained to. A slow breath in. The air held still inside her for a few moments. A slow breath out. Enalla repeated this until her mind was not swirling. She always hated the ¡°overlap¡± following a vision. It could sometimes be hours before she felt like herself again.


    ¡°Close the curtain, please Dremos.¡± Enalla waited until she heard the quiet rustle of the gauzy fabric falling into place, and then opened her eyes. ¡°I need paper and a p- ...oh, I see you have anticipated my needs. Very good.¡±


    The requested items were being proffered to her by one of the other Channelers who had been assigned to guard her. Enalla could not remember if his name had been given to her. She took the paper and pen, and hastily scribbled down as much of the vision as she could recall. She tried to recount every word she had spoken exactly as she had heard her say them, noting the inflection, the tone. She sketched out the visible parts of the calendar marks on her hands in the vision. She noted every detail about the boy she had been speaking with, and each part of the landscape that she could remember.


    The part that she found the most unusual was the mention of a war. Which war? There hadn''t been any war predicted by anyone else''s visions, and they had been in peacetime for several lifetimes. Erimos had diplomatic treaties with its neighbours, even if they did not always agree on all matters. Which country were they going to be warring with? What would the other Gods make of such a prediction so early in her ascended life?


    Steeling herself for the inevitable dangers of announcing such a controversial prophecy, Enalla told Dremos, ¡°Please let Hereon know that I have just had a vision which the other Gods must be informed upon. The celebrations can continue, but I must adjourn for a short time while I speak with my... family. About what I have seen.¡±


    Dremos was gone from her side for a few moments, and when he returned to his post, Enalla could see Hereon again addressing the people.


    ¡°We are blessed today, for our most recently ascended, Her Radiance Enalla the Gentle has received a vision before us! You have all this day borne witness to a sign of divinity. Praise her! Praise her name, Glory be to Enalla the Gentle!¡±


    Hereon''s booming voice and commanding charisma seemed to echo through the crowd, rousing their spirits into rapture and delight. Soon, the air was filled with ecstatic prayer and applause. The street performers took this as a cue to begin dancing, juggling and playing music once again.


    Enalla placed the image of her mentor''s abode into the minds of each of the Channelers who were carrying her palanquin, or marching beside it. Usually she loathed to give instructions in this way but she had been told she must get used to wielding her powers lest she risk the other Gods seeing her as weak. She felt no discomfort from the Channelers at her invading their minds, only obedience and pride at being used as the tools of a God.

 Chapter 1: Terror and Tranquility

    Lathan walked quickly, palms sweating at the thought of being the subject of his father''s anger. He was in another one of his moods, and Lathan did not want to stick around and bear the brunt of whatever punishment he doled out.


    ¡°I had better at least make myself useful or he''ll be mad I left...¡± He saw the axe laying in its usual place in the yard and snatched it up, thinking about chopping some wood to get the forge fires started. They also used it inside the house, as coal was far too expensive to waste on the family¡¯s cooking fires.


    As Lathan rounded the corner, muffled shouts filtered from inside the house, followed by a scuffle, a thump, and then a quiet sob. Lathan sighed, ashamed of himself for his cowardice, but continued towards the woods, where he planned to chop wood until things calmed down.


    Ethan. Of course, Lathan knew that if he wasn¡¯t around, it¡¯d be Ethan, one of his older brothers. Ethan was his mother''s favourite son, and perhaps the most sweet natured and kind person Lathan knew. Ethan was not like Ronan or Lathan, who were both stocky and muscled like their father. He was small, thin, and not suited for work in the forge. Usually he helped their mother and sister with the housework and the other domestic tasks that, according to Father, were ¡°women''s work¡±.


    Lathan recalled the amount of nagging it had taken Mam giving Father for him to grant Ethan his belt, and even then, it wasn''t as wide and thick as most men''s belts. ¡°He''s too skinny for a proper belt, it''ll be a waste of good leather,¡± He had said. But Mam had worn him down, and now Ethan had his belt and could be considered a grown man, regardless of how he spent all of his time in the kitchen with the women. Lathan often wondered when Ethan would leave the house. He could go if he wanted to, now that he was a man, so why should he stay?


    Lathan ran to the woods, leaving the house behind him. He couldn''t go back just yet. He couldn''t bear to see what had happened this time. Perhaps it wasn''t so bad. Perhaps he only slapped him. Hot tears stung at his eyes as he arrived at his usual spot and began hacking branches off a nearby dead tree. Maybe he shouldn''t have left. He should have stayed there and took the hit instead of Ethan. Lathan felt miserable, but he channelled that misery into his work. He cut wood as though he would die if he stopped. Chopped until the feeling of wretchedness drained out of him and he collapsed to his knees, his arms aching and sweat dripping from his chin.


    Lathan returned with arms full of firewood and his stomach full of dread, but his Father seemed to be in better spirits. ¡°Ah! There you are, boy. I see you''ve been working hard for once. Good, now get the fires going. On top of our usual work, we''ve shoes to make for Old Corrin''s mare. He''ll be bringing her over later, so we''d better get moving.¡±


    Lathan was tired but he took his place at the bellows as his Father pottered about readying the iron and his tools. Ronan appeared quietly at the door and Father signalled to him that he should help get the fires going. Ronan obeyed wordlessly, and once the fire was roaring, he shovelled coal into the forge and then stood back with his thumbs tucked into his belt, looking to his father for further orders.


    Ronan was the favoured son. He was strong, quiet, and he followed instructions without complaint or chatter. The perfect son. He would inherit the forge one day, and Lathan would probably work alongside his brother until Ronan had enough boys of his own to work for him. When that happened, Lathan would be free to do what he wanted. Which was a nice way of saying he would have no place in the forge any longer. Maybe he could be a farmhand. Or a fisher? He was certainly strong enough for any hard work that was put to him, although he had his head in the clouds most of the time. It was in this moment, his mind wandering and thinking about what his future held, that he received a sharp blow across the ear.


    ¡°Pay attention, boy! Fire will go out if you''re lying about. Get on with it, come on!¡± Father hadn''t hit him hard, for he was in a good mood now. But Lathan thought he had better not test his good mood by being lax. He shook himself out of his wandering thoughts and focused only on the task he had been given. His arms protested; he was already tired from chopping wood. But he pushed on, pushed through it.


    He was given a brief reprieve when Old Corrin came to get his carthorse re-shod. Ronan and Father worked together in the forge, and as usual, Lathan was given the job of entertaining Old Corrin while he waited. ¡°Entertaining¡± Old Corrin was one way of calling it. Really, Lathan was the only one who wanted to listen to his stories, so he¡¯d be ushered through to the house and listen to the old man¡¯s tall tales while the older men worked on the shoes.


    ¡°Did I ever tell you boy, about the Singers?¡± Old Corrin croaked, leaning over the cup of siphe that Mam had given him, the steam billowing around his moustache. ¡°My grandson used to love this one before he went off across the sea.¡±


    ¡°Not yet, Mr Corrin. What¡¯s so special about singing? I sing all the time; nobody is going to tell a story about that¡­ Unless I sound terrible, I suppose.¡± Lathan said, and quieted when the wrinkled man raised a bushy eyebrow at him.


    ¡°The Singers weren¡¯t merely people who sang well. They were magic. They sang so well that their voices could affect the very fabric of the world around them. Some of them were almost as powerful as the Gods, even!¡± Even as he spoke, Old Corrin, always a superstitious man, held his fingers aloft in the sign of reverence towards the shrine in the house. The patrons of the hearth and of the forge stood staring down at them with their unblinking stone gaze. ¡°So, the Singers¡­ Well, this is an old story, boy. I only heard it once, but I¡¯ll never forget it, and neither will you.¡±


    By the end of the day¡¯s work, Lathan was exhausted. Father told him to get dinner in his belly and go straight to bed before he falls over. There was more work to be done in the morning. They had nails to make, and then after that he had the afternoon free as Father had business in town with the shipwright. Ethan bent over the cooking pot on the stove, stirring the simmering supper. His posture was feeble. He held himself in a way to make himself even smaller than he actually was. Looking closer, Lathan''s stomach sank as he saw a purple bruise blooming on his brother¡¯s cheek. As he received his bowl of stew from Ethan, Lathan couldn¡¯t meet his eyes, ashamed at the thought that the bruise was his fault.


    In the morning, Lathan rose early, wanting to get a head-start on the task he had been set, so that he could go down to the caves on the sea shore while Father was out. There was one in particular he enjoyed exploring while the tide was out. When the tide came in, it brought all kinds of fascinating things with it. Usually he found interesting crabs, maybe a pretty shell and some old rotten fishers nets. He''d bring the crabs home in a basket for Mam, and a shell for his sister Marnie to string onto a necklace or tie into her hair. Sometimes, he found broken pottery, a piece of green glass that had been smoothed by the sea, or even a shiny button. Those rare finds were his treasures, which he kept in a little pouch under his bed.


    Ronan would tease him about his childishness, but what Lathan really liked to do was to imagine that the cave was the hideout of a band of swashbucklers. He''d take a long stick, which he would make-believe was a sword. He was a pirate captain, and he¡¯d order his imaginary crew to bring the treasure there and bury it in the cave. Any stragglers or ¡°scurvy dogs¡± would have to walk the plank, or feel cold steel!


    That day, after making what must have been thousands of nails, he left the forge and made for the beach. Basket on his back, stick in his palm, he swung his arms as he marched himself down the shoreline. On arriving at his favourite cave, he was greeted with an unexpected but not unwelcome sight. He shook his head slightly, thinking that maybe his daydreaming had gone a bit too far and now he was actually seeing things, but no. This was definitely real. Before him, laying on the shore near his cave, was a small wooden chest. It was locked, so he guessed it must have something important inside. The chest was covered in seaweed, so Lathan thought it must have been submerged underwater for a long time. He poked at the lock, but it was stuck fast. It looked corroded, however, and so he gave the chest a hard kick, and the lock broke into two pieces.


    Lathan tentatively lifted the lid, and his shoulders slumped with disappointment. The chest was full of murky sea water. He was about to leave the mouldering box and continue into the cave, but then a cloud moved away to reveal the sun, and something glimmering in the water caught his eye. Real treasure! He tipped out the water onto the sand and his treasure was revealed to be a shining golden necklace with a pendant. This amulet was a large clear red gemstone encased around the edges with the precious metal. He felt drawn to it as he looked at it, and almost without realising what he was doing, he picked it off the sand and fastened it around his neck. The gemstone felt almost warm against his chest when it fell into the space between his shirt and his skin.


    It was strange, but at that moment, he felt complete. It was as though something had been missing for all his twelve years, and that missing thing had finally slipped into its rightful place. He touched the pendant lightly through his shirt and continued into the cave. His heart suddenly felt light, as though he could face anything and it could never hurt him.


    Later that day, Lathan arrived home with a basket almost over-spilling with crabs, and a pocket full of shells. After exploring his cave, he had run along the entire length of the beach collecting these, and by the time he returned, he still felt as energetic as he had on leaving home in the morning. Ethan was waiting in the kitchen for him with a bemused look on his face at seeing the full basket.


    ¡°Did you decide to not leave any on the beach or something? Mam, come look! Lathan¡¯s been busy today!¡± He laughed. Mother burst into the kitchen, with her arms full of dirty clothes ready to be washed. On seeing Lathan, she joined Ethan¡¯s chuckling, her face rosy with the exertion of doing her housework. Dropping the mound of fabrics into the washing tub with a gentle splash, she beamed at the sight of Lathan¡¯s proud face.


    ¡°How did you get so many? And why? We can''t eat all those! You''ll have to take at least half to Silas, see if he can sell them.¡± She said all this while her quick hands selected the largest and best crabs and threw them into another basket for cooking that evening. ¡°Go on then, get off with you. If you hurry, he will still be open. Make sure you get a good price for them, and maybe tomorrow you could get yourself some sweets. It''s been a while since you had a treat.¡±


    Lathan quickly emptied his pockets of his collection of shells before again taking up the basket. ¡°Those are for Marnie. Thought maybe she''d like them?¡±


    Mam looked them over and then gave Lathan a quick kiss on the cheek. ¡°You''re a good boy. I''ll give them to her. Now go. Time is wasting.¡±


    Lathan held the basket casually under one arm. It didn''t seem as heavy as he imagined it should have, but he supposed all the time at the bellows must be making him strong. Mam cocked an eyebrow at him and turned to prepare the crabs for cooking. Lathan exited the house through the kitchen side door and, upon seeing the sun beginning to set, decided he would run to the fishmonger''s in case Silas had closed the shop early.


    A sudden rush of energy flowed into him. He felt it as a warmth pooling around his chest and rushing into his heart and lungs. Lathan breathed it in, reached for it instinctively, and he felt it filling him like water into a cup. He felt it in his feet as he ran, as though they were lighter, faster. They were moving so fast that his toes barely even touched the ground. His breath caught in surprise when he realised how far he had run in what had seemed such a short time. He was just outside the fishmonger''s shop, and the white-haired shopkeeper was just closing up the door.


    ¡°Oh, Silas! Sorry to bother you, I see you were just closing. But I''ve got all these... I found too many, so Mam told me to bring them to you. Do you want them? I''ll sell them to you.¡±


    ¡°Where did you come from all of a sudden? I must be losing my wits.¡± Silas was startled for a moment, but he shuffled over to Lathan, looked into the basket, and raised his eyebrows. ¡°So many! You''ve been working hard. I can give you at least a couple of silvers for them, for sure.¡±


    Lathan knew he could do better than that. He knew Silas would charge more than double that for these, as they were all good sized and there were many of them. ¡°Make it two silvers and five copper and you''ve got a deal.¡± He held out his hand in the manner he had seen Father doing when conducting business in the forge.


    ¡°Aha! Very good. I see you''re a professional. All right. Two and four then. I''ll not go higher than that, you scamp.¡± Silas clasped Lathan''s hand firmly, before extracting the coins from a small belt pouch he had dangling at his hip, and placing them in Lathan''s palm. He took the basket of crabs from Lathan and set it down near the door. He gave Lathan a shrewd look. ¡°You know, you''ve got a good head for business¡­ I''ve no children to inherit my shop, and am not likely to get any¡­ and, if you remember, both my nephews went over the sea with the Corrin boy and his lot. So, if you find yourself no longer needed at the forge in a few years, come work for me. I''d be glad for the help.¡±This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    With that said, he picked the crabs up and disappeared back inside the shop. Lathan was left outside, looking at the door. Become a fishmonger? It was a logical thing. He would be good at it, and would get plenty of work here in Crabton Port. Lathan didn''t feel excited at the prospect, though. He was sure the smell of fish would become tiresome before long. He couldn''t picture jovial and kind Silas beating him, however. That could be as good a reason as any to work there. Lathan turned back up the path towards the forge and home, and began striding back in the direction he had come. The sun was just passing below the horizon, and The Mother shone a little brighter in the sky, its crescent shape sparkling through the orange clouds. The Child, as ever, was twinkling close to its parent.


    On arriving back home, the sound of Father bellowing sent Lathan¡¯s heart hammering against his ribcage. It sounded like business with the shipwright had gone badly and he was taking it out on whoever he could. Breath catching like a thorn in his throat, he quietly opened the door, taking care not to let the latch rattle too much. He crept inside, and took off his sandals, turning them to face outwards. Then, trying not to draw too much attention to himself, he slipped into the noisy room. He had almost made his way to his usual spot by the fire when Father noticed him. Suddenly, the room went quiet.


    ¡°Lathan. I see you''re back. Your Mam told me that for once you''ve actually spent the day doing something productive. Unlike some layabouts around here!¡± He snarled the last few words towards Ethan, who shrunk back from him and looked at the ground, while fiddling with his belt. He looked so small, so helpless. Lathan felt a sudden heat in the middle of his chest. It was as though he was an empty vessel, and strength was pouring into him, and he was drinking it in. His mind became still and calm, and he seemed to see every detail around him so much clearer. Every expression and movement in the room was a story he could easily read and understand.


    In this moment of absolute clarity, he saw his brother. Saw the old bruises underneath the new ones. Lathan saw the posture Ethan held, to make himself look even smaller and frailer, as though afraid of what would happen if he stood up straight. He saw his hands, chapped and sore from the hard work in the kitchen. The dark shadows under his eyes from lack of sleep, and the slightly too thin face, a sign that he was having trouble eating.


    Seeing Father as though for the first time, he saw the graze on his knuckles. He saw the blood throbbing through the veins in his neck and forehead, and the telltale stain on his lips that spoke of drinking. He saw the look of disgust on his face, paired with an aggressive stance, poised almost as though ready to launch into one of his tirades, or even to skip it straight to the physical violence.


    ¡°What happened in town today, Father?¡± Lathan spoke in an even and measured tone. ¡°Whatever it is, it''s nothing to do with Ethan. He wasn''t there with you. He was working hard helping Mam.¡±


    There was a moment of silence. An eternity seemed to pass, with not even the sound of breathing. It was so quiet that Lathan imagined he could even hear the heavy thudding of everyone''s heartbeats. The moment ended, and Father exploded in rage.


    ¡°How dare you, you little rat! I was praising you for a job well done for once in your life, and this is the response I get? You swine¡­ Get here right now. You may be almost old enough for your belt, but you aren''t too old to have mine.¡± Father spat. ¡°Do you know how lucky you are? I could have sent you to the army years ago, you miserable brat! Bend over, worm.¡±


    Lathan winced. Why had he said anything? What had gotten into him? He hadn''t been belted for a very long time, and the last time he hadn''t been able to sit down for weeks. But there was no going back now. At least it would take the focus away from his brother for a while. He hoped, at least. Lathan stepped over to the chair, as Father removed the elaborately tooled belt. It was made from wide, thick leather, with a heavy pewter buckle. As he leaned against the back of the chair and steeled himself for the beating, he wondered abstractly whether the intricate patterns in the leather would be imprinted on his skin afterwards.


    Crack thud. The belt landed across the backs of his legs. It stung a little, but nowhere near as much as he had expected it to. A slight breath of surprise emanated from Father, and he swung the belt again. Crack thud. It made contact this time with Lathan''s shoulders. He barely felt it, and wondered for a moment if this was some kind of trick, but he didn''t move. A quiet sniffle, Marnie was trying not to cry. Crack thud. Crack thud. Crack thud. Father kept on hitting Lathan, obscenities streaming from his lips. Another small sob from across the room. Mam was crying now. ¡°Doran, please! That''s enough. He''s learned his lesson now. Look, you''ve hit him so hard he can''t even cry out! Please...¡±


    But Lathan was feeling no pain. It was unusual. He supposed he should be screaming or weeping from the pain, but he barely felt as though he had been scratched. He could perceive a slight itch forming on his back, akin to the itch of an old scab that was almost healed. But beyond that, he felt nothing.


    ¡°Please stop! Doran, please stop it, don¡¯t hurt him anymore, pl-!¡± Mam cried out again, and then her protests were cut off by a loud slap. He had hit her. He never usually hits Mam. Or did he? Lathan stood up straight and turned to face his Father. The blacksmith was pulling back a muscled arm to strike at Lathan¡¯s Mother again. Time seemed to slow. Mam was cringing away from Father. Ronan was comforting Marnie, who cried quietly in the corner. Ethan had fear in his eyes. Anger boiled up inside Lathan.


    ¡°No!¡± he shouted, and pushed his Father away from Mam. He hadn¡¯t meant for it to be a hard push. Lathan didn¡¯t even know where this strength and fearlessness had suddenly come from. But he shoved his Father, who, being in his cups, lost his balance, and toppled head first onto the stone hearth. The patrons above watched on in silence as blood oozed from the broken skull of Doran the Blacksmith.


    ¡°You¡­ You¡¯ve killed him.¡± Mam said, ¡°Oh, no! No, no! They¡¯ll hang you for sure! The Mystic will want to read us and when they know it¡¯s patricide, that¡¯ll be it. Never mind that you were protecting me. Oh merciful Gods, how can this have happened?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯ll have to run away, won¡¯t he, Mam?¡± Ethan spoke up, ¡°I¡¯ll go with him. He¡¯s not old enough to make his way by himself, not even got a man¡¯s belt yet. Besides, he¡¯ll starve if he ever has to prepare food for himself.¡±


    ¡°Oh my poor boys, am I to lose both of you?¡± Mam said tearfully. ¡°Well, if this is how it must be... You look after your little brother, my Ethan. You keep him safe. Stay together and keep each other safe. But first, we will have dinner and you will have a few hours'' sleep. You need rest if you are to make a journey.¡±


    Mam nodded to Marnie, who served the family their dinner. The meal was eaten in silence, and after the consumption of it, the room emptied, each family member retiring to their bed.


    Tap tap. Lathan¡¯s eyes shot open at the small sound and sat up in bed to see Marnie at the door. Ronan was sleeping like a rock, his hulking form a lumpy mass of blankets from which a low snore emanated.


    ¡°Shhh, Marnie, what is it? We¡¯re sleeping¡­¡±


    ¡°Your back must be hurting you still, you dullard. Mam told me to come and put this paste on your back. It¡¯ll help.¡± Marnie tiptoed into the boys¡¯ bedroom and set the candle down on the small table beside Lathan¡¯s cot. Producing a jar of paste from a pocket, she frowned at Lathan. ¡°Were you sleeping on your back? Are you mad? Or just an idiot?¡±


    ¡°I feel fine Marnie. I actually don¡¯t think he hit me that hard. It didn¡¯t even break the skin. To be honest, I feel great. I¡¯m happy I stood up to him.¡± Lathan whispered. ¡°Though¡­ I wish it hadn¡¯t ended this way. I don¡¯t know what I¡¯m going to do.¡±


    ¡°You were bleeding, Lathan, I¡¯m sure of it. He whacked you hard enough to cut your back right to the bone! Let me have a look at you, at least. You found me some pretty things today, after all.¡±


    Lathan let out a sigh and pulled up his nightshirt, twisting his torso so that the candlelight would illuminate his back for Marnie¡¯s inspection. She was as stubborn as a goat, so there was no use arguing with her about it.


    ¡°But that¡¯s¡­ That can¡¯t be right¡­ I saw him hit you! He hit you really hard, Lathan!¡± Marnie¡¯s loud whispering disturbed the sleeping form on the other side of the room, who mumbled something in a half-sleep, and turned over before resuming the rumbling snores. Marnie continued, a little quieter; ¡°Maybe it¡¯s just a trick of the light¡­ Well, do you know where you will go? You¡¯ll have to go quite far away to avoid being caught¡­¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. But it¡¯s alright Marnie. I¡¯m fine. Thanks for worrying about me, but I¡¯m alright. You should go get some sleep. Night Marn.¡±


    ¡°Well¡­ If you¡¯re sure. Night Lath. Thanks for the shells.¡± She took the candle and the paste and crept quietly back to her own small room.


    Night fell heavily over Crabton Port, the shadow and the silence settling over the small fishing town like a thick blanket. The only visible lights in the darkness were The Mother and Child hanging overhead, and the warm flickering flame of a candle, barely visible through a window in one of the homes of the sleepy settlement. The wind was still and calm, and there wasn''t so much as the rustle of a leaf to be heard. In his bed, Lathan was sleeping soundly, and his last night to sleep under the oppressive roof of his childhood home was filled with pleasant dreams.


    _______________________________________________________________


    The shadowed forest warped and shifted around her as she ran. She couldn''t escape. It was right behind her. She wanted to look over her shoulder, but she was afraid of what she might see. Always right behind her, always following her. She could feel it, feel the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. The frigid wind screamed the cry of a wild animal, and her rain-drenched clothes clung to her legs, threatening to trip her and leave her sprawling in the mud. She had no time to lift her skirts up and so she forged on, stumbling through the dark.


    She could barely focus on her surroundings through the sleeting rain but frantically searched for a place to hide. Something caught her attention. A lumpy shape in the gloaming became a desiccated and hollow tree stump on closer inspection.  Lacking other options, she ducked off the muddy path and climbed inside. Her breath caught in her throat at the sharp pain as the rotten bark grazed her knees. Curled inside the dead tree, she shivered, wishing for this to just be over.


    Lightning flashed and for the briefest moment she had a clear view of her pursuer, a dark silhouette in the grey murk of the forest. A tall, thin figure, crooked and hunched over.  Unnatural was the elongated face that seemed to sniff at the air. It was a predatory muzzle like that of the monstrous beasts from ancient myth.


    "It''s not real. It''s not real. It''s not real," She sobbed quietly under her breath. "It''s not real. It''s all just a bad dream. It''s not real!" Lightning flashed once more, illuminating the shape of her pursuer again. This time its features were in stark contrast, as it had turned its long face towards her. Gnarled teeth in a shaggy and twisted jaw, small eyes that seemed to radiate hatred from beneath a stringy and dripping mane of tangled black hair.


    Lysette woke in a cold shivering sweat, with the sheets in a tangle around her legs. ¡°Another one¡­¡± She lay in her bed for a moment, her head beginning to throb. Covering her green eyes with her arm, she tried to ignore the morning sunlight as it filtered through the curtains. Her head ached and spun, and she lay unmoving while she tried to shake off the bad dream that haunted her.


    The sound of plates clinking from the kitchen next door told her that Granny was awake. Granny was always an early riser. No point sleeping when there was work to be doing, she would always say. Lysette sat up delicately, trying not to let the world spin about too much. She started when she saw her scratched knees.


    "How...?" She shuddered, remembering the dream. "No, no... I must have done this yesterday without knowing it. That''s all. It must be that."


    After having a wash, she got dressed and after a few moments of struggle with a comb, her dark hair was tied in a simple bun. Just because she felt ill was not an excuse to look unkempt. She tied on her pockets under her skirts, and an apron over them. Her blouse was buttoned high, an attempt to hide the disgusting birthmark she had always hated. Just another thing that made her different, set her apart from the other youths as strange. Lysette wrapped the new shawl Granny had made for her around her shoulders and opened the door to the kitchen.


    The warm and inviting scent of Granny''s cooking wafted into her nostrils. Fresh bread was steaming on the kitchen table. Yum, it¡¯s just come out of the oven, Lysette thought to herself. Granny was cooking eggs and bacon on the range. She gave Lysette a quick look and shooed her away. Granny made the nicest food, but she didn¡¯t abide having people ogling the food while she was preparing it.


    "Breakfast isn''t ready yet, Little Duck. If you want to make yourself useful, go draw some more water and you can clean the dishes, hmm? Tea''s brewing in the meantime, you can pour that out when you''re done, eh?"


    Lysette sighed, walking to the hall and collecting her shoes from the doorway. Sliding them on and lacing them up, she called through to the kitchen, ¡°Who are we seeing first today Granny?¡±


    ¡°Mathilde needs a check-up. She''s getting close now, hmm?¡± Granny''s voice answered over the sizzle of bacon. ¡°She''s about ready to pop, I''d say...¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll go check on the ladies while I¡¯m outside. I wonder how many eggs they¡¯ve laid,¡± Lysette mused.


    Granny''s house was small, but not so small that it was uncomfortable. It was a perfectly cosy and respectable house. She had two separate bedrooms, a kitchen, a connecting room they grandly called ¡°the hall¡±, though it was no bigger than a cupboard, and the aforementioned sitting room. There was a little outhouse behind the house, and the well was only a short walk away. The garden, though modestly sized, was well maintained, and Lysette helped Granny to grow many of the herbs she used for medicines there. There was also a small coop where they kept their chickens, and so they would always have eggs. When there was nobody who needed Granny¡¯s remedies or midwifery, they often went to the village market and traded eggs that they had pickled in vinegar for the things they needed.


    Grabbing her hat from the hook on the wall, Lysette unlatched the door. She closed it behind her, and shuffled down the path towards the well. The crisp spring wind threatened to tear her hat from her fingers as she fastened the ribbons behind her ears. Pulling her shawl close, she shivered, goose-skin crawling up her forearms. Another beautiful morning in the woods.

 Chapter 2: Harmony and Dread

    ¡°Rise and shine, pit-dog! Almost fighting time.¡± The guard rattled a metal rod against the cage bars, creating a cacophony of clanging, before sliding a small tray through a feeding slot with his foot. The tray held on it three things. A thimble sized cup of water, a small bowl of parritch, which looked gritty and unappetising, and the third, and most important thing. A tiny splinter of wood. It was about half the length of the nail on Balen''s pinkie finger. It wasn''t enough.


    ¡°Hey, what''s this? It''s even smaller than yesterday''s! I won yesterday; shouldn''t I get a bigger piece?¡± Balen shook the cage bars angrily at the guard and eyed the ugly man¡¯s wooden buttons with longing.


    ¡°Not how it works, sunshine. They want to know how little you need to draw from. It¡¯s not your job to question things. Just fight, and don''t die, and fight tomorrow, and don''t die then. If you impress them enough, they''ll give you a proper job to do... Maybe.¡± The guard picked his nose absently and turned to kick a feeding tray into another of the cages nearby.


    Balen turned back to sit and eat his meagre breakfast. He picked up the tiny sliver of wood between his fingers first and felt the trickle of power filling him. It definitely wasn''t enough. Shrugging away the aches from sleeping on the cold floor, he unwrapped the cloth from around his wrist and placed the splinter there against his bark coloured skin, wrapping the bindings back around his wrist, holding the wood in place. He took the tiny cup of water and drank a sip before eating his parritch. Unfortunately, his cutlery was metal, and the bowl and tray were some kind of earthenware. No chance of drawing from those.


    Balen thought maybe he could find something wooden in or around the structure of the stadium. The day before, he had not needed it, as he had been given a chunk of wood as long as his finger to draw on, but that had been taken from him after the fight. Maybe he could jump to the beams holding the structure up? He remembered the walls and ceiling being clad in some kind of strange material, but maybe he could break through it.


    Too many unknown factors. Would his opponent be given only a tiny sliver of their element, too? Or would they have more to draw on? Would they be in the same stadium as yesterday? Or a different fighting pit? Would they be given weapons or fight barehanded? Would he be fighting a veteran pit fighter or some of the fresh blood he had heard brought into the cells the night before?


    Balen finished eating, but his stomach protested the small offering. He even licked the bowl and the cup to be sure he didn''t miss a single drop. He then shuffled in his cage to the side closest to the small window in the dirt wall, and reached out from between the bars as far as he could, until his fingertips just touched the sliver of sunlight that was beaming in through the small space.


    He felt an instant relief. His stomach stopped complaining, and he felt a little more energy filling him. He felt the accompanying warmth in his wrist from the trickle of power he was able to pull through the wood, and the sunlight suffused his body, healing him of the hunger, aches and stiffness from being trapped in a cage for so many days.


    A scraping clang accompanied the door to the cells being swung open, and three Channelers came to stand before Balen''s cage. They all wore the uniform of Adeon''s army, decorated in various places with pieces of what could be assumed were their attuned elements. The two Metal Channelers, both had wire wrapped around their limbs, weaving into the fabric to touch their skin. There was also a Fire Channeler. A slender built youth with a sly look. Around his biceps he wore cloth wraps, which had been doused in oil and set aflame. Wrist wicks, they called those. Balen had met others who used similar. One of the Metals coughed loudly, to get the guard''s attention, and looked at Balen''s outstretched arm with one eyebrow cocked. He spoke to the Metal stood next to him, ¡°This one is clever. He could be useful. I will watch his fight today. If he impresses me, there could be more he could be doing for Lord Adeon''s cause than being part of this little experiment.¡±


    The guard slouched over towards the cage, keys rattling in his knobbly fingers as he looked for the correct one. He slid it into the lock, and turned it three times to open the cage door. ¡°D¡¯you want manacles for him, Sir?¡±


    The Channeler scoffed at this suggestion, indicating with a look that he doubted that three fully powered up Channelers would have any problem dealing with one Channeler who only had a sliver to draw from. ¡°I''ll assume that was an attempt at a joke. Very droll. Now, excuse us. We shall take this one to the stadium. It should be an interesting fight today I think.¡±


    Balen scuttled out of the cage door and stood before the Channelers, not looking any of them directly in the eye. Feeling a little emboldened by what had seemed like praise from the Metal who seemed to be the superior, he asked, ¡°The one I''m facing today, what kind of Channeler is it? Uhm... Metal Master? Sir?¡±


    The Channeler shook his head, with what he presumably thought was a patient expression, ¡°It''s just Sir to you. We don''t use those titles. They were given to us by those who would use them as a leash to control us. We reject them entirely. To answer your question, you will not be facing a Channeler today. We have found one of those foreign witches and we want to test her prowess, as well as yours. We know precious little about their Magic and how it works but our Lord is keen to make use of the power.¡±


    ¡°I''m fighting a woman?¡± Balen was a little shocked at the prospect. So far, all the fights had been divided by the genders, men fighting men, women fighting women, this way nobody ever felt that they had to hold back.


    ¡°Oh, don''t you worry, she''s nothing like any woman I''ve met. I only hope you last long enough out there for me to get a good glimpse of your skills. There will be more wood in the stadium for you, so you will be able to draw a decent amount of power at least.¡±


    Balen frowned, confusion clear on his face. Last long enough? The fights were to the death! Hadn''t the Channeler said he wanted to use him for something else after the fight? But if he expected him to lose against this foreign witch, how could he be any use? Balen shrugged off the confusion, wanting to focus more on the imminent fight. He couldn''t allow his mind to wander and think of other things. Now was the time to focus on survival.


    The Channelers led Balen through the dark corridors of the fortress, towards the fighting pits. The anticipation of the fight was building in Balen as he wondered where the fight would be held this time. There were multiple pits, each designed in a way to hinder specific elements from being drawn. There was a pit that had a floor and walls entirely made of metal, presumably to block Earth Channelers from either drawing power or burrowing beneath the ground, which was a favourite tactic of theirs. There was another fighting ring that was designed to dampen both fire and air - this one was sunken into the ground and filled with water. There were cage bars lowered over the pool that trapped the combatants inside with only enough space at the top of the pool to gasp a quick breath of air, or to hold one hand with whatever flame the Fire Channeler had been given above the water.


    A Foreign Witch. What powers did they have? Balen couldn''t remember much of what little he had heard from the tales of them. They rarely left their country, and were known for being a secretive people. Ingsmyrans... He had never met anyone from Ingsmyr, but he had heard that everyone there had magic. They were witches, though some more powerful than others.


    Balen felt a tingle up his spine as they drew nearer to the last of the fighting pits. He had not fought in this one before. His escort of Channelers drew to a halt before the huge metal door, and waited as a guard drew the bolts to let them open it up. Balen saw the inside of the room and his eyes widened. He felt a sudden longing to go into the room, so strong that he barely noticed the figure slumped in one of the corners.


    The entire room was made of wood. Walls, floors, everything. There was the usual viewing platform set high up in one of the walls, with cage bars protecting the one who always watched the fights. Balen must have moved as though to enter the room because the Metal Channeler who seemed to be in charge began to chuckle, ¡°I wouldn''t be so eager to go in there if I were you. But we shall see how you fare with all that wood. It is good that you are barefooted, yes?¡±


    The Channelers stepped to one side, ushering Balen into the large wooden fighting hall. He barely noticed the sound of the door shutting and the lock sliding into place as he instantly drew on the power from the wood under his feet. Warmth. Light. Power. Oneness. He felt whole once again. He trailed his fingers over one of the walls, drawing in as much strength as he could hold without overwhelming himself. There were no windows in the room, no way to draw sustenance from the light here, but he hardly felt that he needed it. His body had been starved of the Power, after being given so little wood to draw from for so long. Now, he felt it rush into him like a strong river current. He felt himself almost get pulled under and overwhelmed by it, but he turned his attention now to his opponent, keeping his focus there lest he get so distracted that he allowed her to surprise him.


    She was not a large individual, and she was strange to behold. She had deathly pale skin and her long, thick hair was a bright honey yellow. She seemed to be combing the top layers of it out with her fingers, and on further inspection, it seemed as though she had already woven the bottom half of it into an intricate style. Her hands moved quickly now, and Balen was mesmerised by how quickly she braided the top half of her hair. He wondered at how swiftly her hands moved, they were almost as fast as a Channeler. Balen was struck by a feeling of doubt. Should he wait for her to finish putting her hair up before they fight, or should he just get it over with and kill the poor woman? If it were his mother, she''d want to at least look nice at the end. Don''t think about her like that. He should just attack. But look at her, she''s just a tiny little thing... Size doesn''t mean anything. She could be strong. Let her finish her hair first... No, how her hair looked didn''t matter if she was going to die anyway.


    Balen tried to move forwards to strike at the woman, but felt his feet strangely numb to his commands. It was almost as though a Mystic held him still. The sensation was like that of running through syrup, becoming thicker the harder he pushed against it. He bent to place both his palms against the wooden slats that made up the floor in the room, and drew on more of the power. He would not be controlled. He would not be held. He would survive. Eyes blazing with the power, Balen lunged for the small huddled woman, fist raised, ready to end the woman as quickly and painlessly as he possibly could.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    A booming crack resounded through the fighting hall. Balen''s limp body was flung against the metal door head first, so hard that it rattled the hinges. The witch didn''t move, except to comb her fingers through the style she had just woven into her hair, allowing the yellow strands to fall back loose around her shoulders. A trickle of blood welled in Balen''s nostrils and pooled on the floor. He writhed for a few painful moments, and then was still, the spark of life faded from his hazel eyes.


    ¡°Is it enough? Will you now give me what I seek? Or are there more you first wish for me to kill?¡± The Witch had a small voice, but was sure of herself. She directed her question at the viewing platform. There were several figures there, watching what they had called a ''fight''. Though Balen had had an impressive willpower to continue to resist her magic for so long, the talents the foreign witch possessed were clearly far beyond his.


    A slow steady clap echoed from somewhere on the balcony overlooking the fight. It was accompanied by a low laugh. A tall, thin figure dressed in loose, flowing robes stepped into view on the balcony, his face sharp and sneering, ¡°The Braid of Inversion, if I am not mistaken? Remarkable. I am afraid that you will have to be our guest here for a little longer, my dear. There is just one other thing we need you to do, as payment for the weave pattern. I want you to create a tapestry. The materials for this will be delivered soon, but until then, we will be holding onto it.¡± He waved his hands to a guard, ¡°Fear not, it will not be long before you have what you so desire. Now, you will be escorted back to your apartments... If you are in need of anything specific... food, water, wine, a hot bath... Just ask one of the servants outside of your rooms, and they will answer your whims.¡±


    The guard swung open the door to the fighting room and shoved the lifeless body of Balen aside with his foot. He stood to one side as the Witch came to the door, seeming to almost glide towards him. ¡°Err... follow me if you will, madam.¡±


    There was a slow tapping, the sound of Balen''s blood dripping onto the wooden floor. The back of his head was a mess of shattered skull and bloody flesh. The slow tapping was met by another sound. The soft, slow footsteps of those who had been watching from the balcony. Five figures climbed down the steps to the hall outside the fighting room, and two of them entered the large wooden room to stand over the corpse of the young Channeler laid in a heap near the entrance. The tall man was accompanied by a sickly looking Erimosian woman. Her eyes were red from crying, and her hair seemed to have chunks missing, as though she had been tearing it from her scalp at the roots.


    ¡°Well, now, you know what to do. We want this one back. Do it.¡± The tall man''s voice was treacle-sweet, but the sweetness was a thin veil for the malice that radiated from him. Perfume to disguise a foul odour. He waved his long fingers over the still form of Balen, and waited expectantly, his face twisted in a cruel smile.


    The woman let out a little sob, and knelt down beside the corpse of the young man. She exuded exhaustion, and her hands trembled as they reached for the Channeler''s damaged head. Unsteady breaths wrenched through her as she called upon her power. The power of the Gods. The power of True Sight. The power of Resurrection. Her screams echoed through the hall as the power seared through her and into the corpse before her.


    The lifeless body shook, as though Balen were a puppet being dangled on a string. His deathly skin seemed to become renewed with life, and his eyes sprung open in a shocked expression. Balen heaved a dry and scratching breath, and rolled onto his hands and knees, coughing and sputtering. He lifted his head to look at the stranger who had been touching his head and on seeing the spiral mark on her cheek, gasped, before averting his eyes instinctively. It was a Goddess! A Goddess had touched him! ¡°What... Happened...? Where''s the witch?¡± He croaked, his throat somehow feeling dry.


    ¡°You died...¡± The Goddess spoke in no more than a whisper, sounding sad and resigned. She crossed her arms in front of her, and hunched her shoulders, as though trying to make herself look small. She slowly swayed backwards and forwards, as though she wanted to run but was forcing herself to stand still. She was a prisoner. Of course. A power like Resurrection was too useful to give up. Balen felt pity for the Goddess, though he tried to keep himself from feeling it. They knew what you were thinking, after all. Who was he, a lowly Channeler to feel pity for her, a Goddess? And yet she was pitiable. She looked weak. Tired. Resigned to her fate.


    The tall man led her out of the wooden room, and the three Channelers entered after they left. The young Fire Channeler grabbed him by the arms, pulling him to his feet. He leaned over Balen''s shoulder, and hissed into his ear ¡°Don''t try anything clever, kindling. I''ll set the place alight and you with it. Just you step out of the room nice and slow. Good lad. There. Good pit dog.¡± Balen felt his arms heat up uncomfortably under the rough fingers of the Fire Channeler. He played along and did as he was told. He''d rather not be burnt to a crisp. He remembered being in the Channeler Academy and seeing Fire Channelers raise their body temperature so high that they could melt metal with their hands. Wood Channelers didn''t heal well from being burned, no matter how much wood they drew on.


    Balen allowed himself to be shoved out of the room, and as soon as he stepped outside, the full oneness of the power left him. Only a trickle remained, beading into his wrist and hand. Barely even enough for him to notice, by comparison. He was led back down the corridors to the cells, and crawled back into his cage without question or resistance.  The Metal Channeler who had spoken to him before stepped forward to speak to him.


    ¡°I must admit, I was expecting something more from you. Though I believe you to have some promise. You were able to resist her mind attacks, were you not?¡± The Channeler said, ¡°I will be watching your progress more closely. I may have a use for you. Don''t disappoint me.¡±


    The Channelers left the prison room, leaving Balen alone with just his thoughts and the two other Wood Channelers in their own cages for company. They huddled with their backs to him, clearly not feeling talkative. Balen turned his back on them, and looked at the precious thing in his hand. He had managed to scratch a sliver of wood from the floor after the Goddess had resurrected him, and he had kept it secretly in his hand. When they took away the splinter he had been given in the morning, he would still have this little piece of precious wood to draw on. He just needed to hide it somehow. They''d search him, for sure, and probably his cage. So that was out.


    He was struck with an idea that could work. He sat cross-legged, and pulled his foot towards himself, so that he could see his nails. He tried not to make any noise or sudden movements, as the guard was dozing off in his chair. Balen didn''t want him to wake and see what he was doing. He placed the sharp point of the fragment of wood between his toenail and the skin, pressing hard until it pierced his toe, and the toothpick sized sliver slid under his nail. It hurt, and of course, he could not draw power from it while it was inside his flesh, but at least it was safe there. He drew as much power as he could through the tiny splinter tied against his wrist, to try and heal the flesh of his toe as quickly as he could around his secret stash of precious wood.


    _______________________________________________________________


    She couldn¡¯t quite make out the details of the seven figures, but their hazy silhouettes were definitely drawing closer. She looked in every direction, but in each one there stood one of the shadowy forms. The heat haze rose in waves from the sand, which stretched out as far as she could see. There was no way to run.  Even if she tried to run or hide, they would see her from miles away in this desert. They were getting closer.


    Lysette awoke to Granny shaking her gently. ¡°You were having a bad dream my Little Duck. There, now. I''ll go pop the kettle on and make some tea. You''ll feel right as rain before long.¡± Granny gave the blankets covering Lysette a gentle pat, and shuffled through the door humming to herself.


    Another dream. Would it ever end? Why couldn''t she ever be blessed with deep, dreamless sleep? Lysette shook herself. There was no use worrying about it now that she was awake. She had things to be getting on with. She threw off the blankets and dressed hastily before walking through to the kitchen, where Granny stood, pouring steaming tea into three mugs.


    ¡°Oh... Do we have a visitor, Granny? Or are you extra thirsty this morning?¡±


    Granny frowned, ¡°Hm? Ah, yes, one of the village elders is here, I think he¡¯s come about that sickness everyone seems to be talking about. You heard what happened over in Rannell? Four people died. I¡¯d bet he''s worried about that happening here, hmm. Those poor people...¡±


    ¡°Oh, Granny, I''m sure it won''t get so bad here. After all, Ardenne has you to look after it. Your medicines are the best there are. Ardenne will be fine.¡±


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s nice to hear it my Duck. Not many folks appreciate the wisdom of us old women. Now, I''d better go get this tea to Raul before he thinks I somehow managed to get lost in my own kitchen, eh, poppet?¡± Granny said with a wink, taking two mugs through to the small sitting room that was kept for greeting visitors and patients.


    Lysette took her mug of tea and buttered herself a slice of bread, and, not wanting to get in the way, retreated with it back to her own room. She had recently borrowed a book from Nora, the innkeeper¡¯s daughter, and she wanted to finish it quickly so that she could talk with her all about the dashing hero in the story. There was always a dashing hero. It seemed those were the type of books Nora liked. Dashing hero, goes on a quest to save the beautiful princess from the evil wizard. That was the usual thing. Lysette still liked to read them. She didn''t have any storybooks of her own, so she considered herself lucky that she had a friend who would share the stories with her, even if there wasn''t much variety.


    The wind outside the cosy cottage was picking up, and a smattering of rain beat a gentle patter against the shutters. Lysette made sure they were tightly fastened, and settled down in her little wicker chair to enjoy the new story. Whenever she read a story, she always felt as though she was right there with the characters in the book, watching what they were doing. Sometimes she even felt she herself was the hero in the book, using nothing but a sword and her wits to overcome great evils. Perhaps that was why she had such strange dreams. Granny always had told her she had an overactive imagination.


    Lysette had thought about that many times over the years, but she didn¡¯t remember ever reading anything about the strange people that appeared in many of her dreams. Some of them were horrifying, monstrous to behold. Others looked like her, with her dark hair and features, but their clothing and demeanour was foreign to her. Lysette flushed, embarrassed at the thought of the things her mind must have invented.


    Unchaste was an understatement when it came to some of the things she had dreamt. Women with painted faces brazenly flaunted bare shoulders and midriffs, wearing brightly coloured, almost transparent clothes that barely covered their modesty. Men with loosely fitting shirts tucked into wide leather belts that drew the eye temptingly towards their hips and strange shoes that were made of leather strips, revealing their muscular feet.


    In many ways, these dreams were the more pleasant ones. She didn¡¯t understand them any more than those in which creatures of dread would chase her, but they did tend to be less frightening. Sometimes these strange people would speak with her, and sometimes it seemed they looked to her for instruction, as though she were their Queen. Another thing she should keep from Granny. Common folk like her shouldn¡¯t dream of such lofty things. It was almost as immoral as the clothing that the people, including herself, wore in some of those dreams.


    Lysette shook the thought away, feeling the warmth of embarrassment creeping up her neck. She tucked her feet under her chair, and forced herself to pay closer attention to her book. The heroine of the tale, a blonde beauty with blue eyes and a soothing voice, had been captured. The brave hero was fighting through hordes of evil Magic wielding monsters to save her, with his faithful hound bounding along beside him. Something about that didn¡¯t quite sit right with Lysette, but she pushed away her own thoughts once again and focused on reading the story.


    The wind picked up speed as it rustled through the trees and over the houses in Ardenne. Gloom settled thick and heavy over the quiet village. Those who could, remained indoors. The farmers eschewed their ploughs, and the washerwomen didn¡¯t hang out their laundry. Instead, they sought refuge indoors. Fires were stoked up high, but flames could only ward off the cold of the night, not the horror to come.

 Chapter 3: Discovery and Disquiet

    When the morning dawned, Lathan was woken by Mam. Her eyes were dark holes rimmed with red from lack of sleep. She shooed him into the kitchen where Ethan was spooning parritch with sliced apple and cinnamon into bowls. Lathan ate hastily and hurried to his room to gather his few belongings. Mam was there already, packing spare clothes and a blanket into a travelling pack.


    ¡°Ethan is packing some food and supplies. If there¡¯s anything special you want to take, then you had better pack it yourself. I¡¯m going to make sure your brother packs everything you need.¡±


    ¡°Mam, do I really have to go? Can¡¯t we just pretend Father has gone away and left us? He has done that before, and comes back months later drunk and with debts to pay. It wouldn¡¯t be that hard to believe.¡± Lathan said as he added his little parcel of treasures to his pack.


    ¡°And then you walk past the Mystic one day and they see what you did? No, we can¡¯t leave it to chance. I won¡¯t let them kill you for this. You and your brother will make a start on your journey, then I will call the guard and tell them what happened.¡±


    ¡°Won¡¯t you be in trouble for helping me escape? I won¡¯t leave if it puts you in danger.¡±


    ¡°They won¡¯t kill me, I¡¯ll be fine,¡± Mam paused a moment before wrapping her arms around Lathan, ¡°My little boy. My sweet boy. I love you.¡±


    Once packed and ready to set off, the family joined in the kitchen, away from the cold grey body of their Father in the living room. It was time to say their goodbyes. Marnie stood knock-kneed, wrinkling her nose. She had tied the shells that Lathan had found for her into strands of hair on either side of her cheeks. They dangled, clinking as she smiled at him and stuck out her tongue, then gave him a quick hug. ¡°You both better not get lost and die of starvation. I¡¯ll be sad.¡±


    ¡°Huh, thanks Marn. You always have so much faith in me.¡± Lathan smiled, for once glad for her jibes. If this was the last time he would see her, he wanted her to be smiling.


    Ronan ruffled Lathan¡¯s hair affectionately. ¡°Well, at least now you won''t be always getting underfoot in the forge. Uh. If you can write to us, Mam would probably like it. Though, with things being what they are with the war... who knows if you''ll be able to send any letters. Or if they''ll even get here. Don¡¯t worry about the forge. That boy from the inn was asking for an apprenticeship, so I¡¯ll hire him. It was only a matter of time before I took over the place. I¡¯ll look after Mam and Marnie.¡±


    It was the most words he''d heard spoken from Ronan in a long time. His stoic brother had usually avoided speaking altogether. Lathan gave him an awkward nod. Mam stepped forward suddenly, placing her hand on Ethan''s shoulder. ¡°You keep your brother safe. Just both of you be careful, alright?¡± She squeezed his shoulder and then pulled him into a tight embrace. ¡°I love you so much. You were always such a good boy, but now you''re a man. You look after yourself and your little brother, you hear me? Now you had better both be going. Stick to the roads, it¡¯ll be safer.¡±


    The brothers left the family home, packs on their shoulders, and headed down the road towards the South. A thought struck Lathan, and he asked his brother, ¡°Did Father ever hit Mam before last night? I... I thought it was just us...¡±


    ¡°You aren''t around her as much as I am... I saw the bruises on the arms, the scratches... He broke one of her fingers once, you know? You were only little then. You probably don''t remember. I couldn''t watch it any more. So, I got in the way whenever he got mad. I did it to protect her. But I know how weak I must have seemed to you. You wanted to protect me too, didn''t you? You''re a good man, Lathan. I know you''ve not got your belt yet, but you''re a good man.¡± Ethan grasped Lathan''s forearm and looked at him with fire in his eyes.


    As they drew nearer to the centre of town, sounds of a huge crowd emanated from the direction of the town square. Occasional cheers, and singing, and music. It was like a festival day. But the festivals weren''t for months and months yet, so it couldn''t be that. He looked at Ethan, who just shrugged, equally clueless as to what was going on.


    Lathan followed the sounds slowly. From a distance, he could see the huge crowd gathered. When they got closer to the source of the commotion, Ethan pointed at a large group of men and women, who wore the military uniform of the capital. There were soldiers in the centre of the crowd. What''s more, standing among them were Channelers! Real Channelers! They must have come all the way from the capital! But why?


    Thoughts raced through Lathan''s head. Was the war coming here? But nothing ever happened this far North. It made no sense! Maybe they were there to take extra taxes for the war effort? But why bring Channelers? Usually they just sent an official with a couple of guards. No, this made no sense. Lathan was glancing around looking for someone friendly to ask what was happening, when suddenly, the crowd fell eerily silent, as though everyone had been put into a trance. Looking around, Lathan saw dozens of the Crabton Port locals simply staring ahead, some with an odd smile on their faces. Ethan had stopped walking, and stood staring at thin air wearing a vacant expression.


    A Channeler appeared in a blur next to him, as though he had somehow moved faster than possible for an ordinary man. Lathan jumped slightly, his heart beating rapidly. ¡°Wha-¡±


    He had no chance to ask his question, however, as he was abruptly lifted, and felt himself carried at an impossible speed away from his blank-eyed brother and towards the epicentre of the commotion. Lathan didn''t know what was happening, but he knew that he didn''t want to be involved. Part of him knew it was futile, knew it would not help him, but still he struggled. A sound of surprise emanated from the Channeler, as Lathan became a whirlwind of elbows, and managed to slip free from his captor''s grip. Feeling his chest becoming warm, he remembered the same feeling from the previous night. He felt the pull again, and tugged back instinctively. A rush of energy filled him. He didn''t wait around to see what the Channeler would do.


    Lathan ran. He dropped his pack, and kept on running. It seemed like it was only a few moments, but he was already about a mile outside of the town. But that was impossible, wasn''t it? In his shock at this realisation, he tripped, and fell, rolling several metres before coming to a complete stop. Lathan groaned, and stood, shaking the dust off of himself.


    ¡°Are you done running? What are you, a runaway? Why are you running from us, boy? Did your assignment not treat you well or something?¡± It was the Channeler. He had been following at Lathan¡¯s heels the whole time, and was holding Lathan¡¯s travelling pack under one arm. A low crackle of flames came from the Channeler''s left hand. Lathan tried not to look at the burning piece of coal he was carrying between his calloused fingers.


    ¡°What are you talking about? What assignment? I don''t know who any of you people are and you grabbed me. I ran away because you scared me... Uh... Sir.¡± Lathan was beginning to think that he had somehow gotten himself into a great deal of trouble. The last thing he needed was to draw attention to himself right now.


    ¡°You mean to say that you don''t know that you''re one of us? You just used Channeler powers running away from us. Surely you have been trained, maybe not well, but you''ve talent, there''s no doubt about it.¡± The Channeler had a measured and calm, no nonsense way of speaking. It was almost as though he were trying to calm a particularly skittish goat. ¡°So, boy. Did you run away from a school? You¡¯re kind of short, and I see you have a child''s belt still, so you mustn''t have passed your sixteenth yet. It''s alright, boy, my Goddess is a benevolent and wise one. She will not allow anything bad to happen to you.¡±


    Lathan paled at that, and fell back down to his knees. ¡°Your... G-Goddess? You m-mean... Th-there''s an Ascended here?¡±


    The Channeler looked sympathetic, and sat down next to Lathan on the dusty ground. ¡°Look, whatever it is that you''re worried about, she can help. I know her, and she will understand. Besides, what choice do you have? We''ve found you now. I''ll talk to her about getting you posted somewhere different, then you won''t have to run away again.¡±


    ¡°I... I''m sorry Sir, but I d-don''t understand. I lived here all my life. I was b-born in Crabton Port. I''m n-nobody special Sir. I''m just the son of the blacksmith here. All I do is chop wood, and feed the forge! I''m a n-nobody! You must¡¯ve mistook me for someone else!¡±


    ¡°If you live here, why did you have a traveling pack? Going somewhere? Well, easy way to find out...¡± The Channeler looked skeptically at Lathan, and took his hand, gently turning it palm upwards. Lathan flinched as the Channeler took out a sharp and cruel looking knife from a scabbard on his belt, but he didn''t dare try to escape again.


    The Channeler drew the tip of the knife across Lathan''s palm, scoring along his skin deeply. Blood immediately welled up in his palm, and Lathan drew in a sharp breath, but what he saw next, he barely believed. The wound began to close instantly. The scab formed as quickly as the blood had begun to pour out. The scab hardened, and then he felt an itch underneath it, and it flaked off of his hand. The skin underneath was shiny and new, as though he had not been cut at all. ¡°A... a trick! You''re a Channeler. You have magic powers. It must be a trick!¡± Lathan gasped.


    ¡°Not how it works, friend. You healed that all by yourself. You''re one of us, all right. You really didn''t know?¡± The Channeler stood up, offering Lathan an outstretched hand. ¡°Well, come on. It''s you she wanted to see, and it doesn''t do to keep a Goddess waiting. You can call me Flame Master Dremos.¡±


    Lathan stood and dusted himself off, briefly considering running again, but he pushed that fool idea away and began walking back to the town centre. ¡°I''m Lathan. Son of Lynn and Doran.¡±


    Before long, Lathan stood before a strange box with curtains around it. The four bare-chested Channelers carrying it stood as still as trees, as though they were statues of men, but the wind rustling through their hair and clothes gave them away. They were most definitely men, but very strange ones.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    ¡°You are honoured to be in the presence of Her Radiance Enalla the Gentle, the Herald of War. You may step forward, boy.¡± said Dremos.


    The curtains parted, and, trembling in awe, Lathan dropped his gaze. A woman''s voice resonated over his head. He was so nervous he barely understood the words, but the voice was the most beautiful he had ever heard. He wondered what kind of a woman could sound like that, the voice was almost musical, but it held steel within it.


    ¡°Lift your head, boy. I wish to look at your face... But perhaps you are afraid. Fear not. You will not be punished. I wish for you to look at me, so that is what you must do.¡±


    Lathan gulped and looked up at the woman sat in the strange box. She was younger than Lathan had supposed, but still older than him. He was an awkward child before her. Her dark waves of hair hung prettily about her face, and strewn about it were dozens of glittering jewels. Her skin was decorated with strange patterns and she wore the rich, brightly dyed silks of the Southerners. He drank in the sight of her, she was the most unusual person he had ever seen and she captivated him. He was still shaking, but he kept his eyes on her, even daring to look at her mark. It swirled around her left cheek and radiated down her neck onto her shoulder, which was left bare apart from some strange brightly painted markings that decorated and emphasised the holy symbol of her divinity. She really was a Goddess! She was a Goddess and she was talking to him!


    ¡°Yes, I thought it was you. I have waited a long time to see this face in person. You are important... Perhaps you will win us the war. We shall see if you were worth the wait. You will come with us to the capital. But first... You didn''t respond to my mesmerism earlier.¡± The Goddess appeared to be pondering something, and touched one of her delicate finger tips to her lips for a moment, ¡°You must have a rare talent for avoiding the effects of mind control. That is something of an issue, as many of my family will find this to be ...inconvenient. So, you will keep this talent to yourself. The Channelers here are loyal to me, and so they will not betray you, but do not betray yourself.¡±


    Lathan shifted uncomfortably under her watchful eyes. He cleared his throat uneasily, not quite believing he was about to refuse the demands of a God.


    ¡°I can¡¯t¡­¡±


    One of the Channelers seemed to take half a step towards him as though wanting to punish Lathan for his insolence but the Goddess must have stopped him somehow because he turned to her and bowed so low that his head touched the ground.


    ¡°Dremos tells me you are the son of the blacksmith? Is he here in this... square? Point him out to me. Bring him before me.¡± The Goddess''s lilting voice was soothing, but Lathan was not calmed by this request. His Father. His Father was dead. ¡°Why are you so afraid, boy? I have promised that you will not be harmed. Dremos, find me the boy¡¯s family.¡±


    A few agonisingly slow minutes later, Mam was marched into the square, sobbing and wiping her eyes with a cloth. Confusion and fear crossed her face as she weaved in between the people standing in the square, who were almost as still as the Channelers carrying the Goddess. Each and every one of them had a strangely happy expression on their face.


    The Goddess''s voice chimed over to Lathan, ¡°Ahh. I see now why you are so reluctant to leave. But do not fear. I will resolve this. Go stand with Dremos.¡±


    Lathan did as he was told, though he felt uneasy at what a Goddess ¡°resolving¡± something might mean. He watched as the statue-like Channelers moved swiftly, but gracefully towards Mam, carrying their holy burden on their shoulders. When the Goddess was directly in front of Mam, she spoke so gently that Lathan could not hear the words. After a murmured exchange with Mam, Enalla turned her gaze to the crowd.


    ¡°Ethan. Come forward.¡± She gestured to Ethan, who came out of his trance and gaped at the sight of the Channelers and the Ascended before him. Her raised hand beckoned him forward, and he shuffled towards the Goddess, wide-eyed and fearful.


    ¡°Do not be afraid. Nobody will hurt you. Never again. I have seen into your mother''s soul and I know the truth.¡± She silently ordered her seat to be lowered further, so that she could be level with Ethan¡¯s eyes. ¡°I know what you did. I know why, and it makes me proud of you, if sad that you had to do this, and for so long. But you are a good man. A good son to your mother. Loyal. Perhaps even more loyal than some of my Channelers here.¡±


    ¡°I-I''m n-not sure what you m-mean... Um. Your R-Radiance.¡± Ethan stammered, trying to keep his eyes lowered.


    ¡°Oh, I think you do... You were tired of seeing the bruises on your mother. So, you made sure all of his anger and all of his violence would be focused on you. Of course, you couldn''t stop him completely. This very moment she has painful welts on her legs from that belt of his. He never stopped hitting her. He only stopped doing it in places anyone would notice.¡± Enalla said. Ethan raised misty eyes toward the Goddess.


    ¡°You know what happened, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Yes I am aware of what happened. Lathan. Come forth. You must say your farewells. We are leaving as soon as we can. You will be pardoned for the incident. You both will come with us to Paliathese.¡±  Enalla''s expression had softened, but Lathan still detected a hard edge to her voice. She expected to be obeyed without question. ¡°I will leave you for the moment, to say your goodbyes. Return to me before it gets dark. We leave tonight.¡±


    _______________________________________________________________


    She struggled to stay afloat for a few desperate moments, the eddying tides of the stream threatening to pull her underwater. She spluttered and panicked as the cold water rushed up her nostrils. Some instinct of self-preservation gave her the thought to turn over onto her back, and she did so, trying to push away the panic and allow herself to float. Slowly, the fear flowed out of her body and she drifted gently away with the current of the water.


    Clouds hung tumultuous in the sky above her, and figures danced high above her within the storm. The faint sound of fires, shouts and metal clanking reached her ears, almost drowned out by the splashing around her. Becoming more confident in her ability to keep afloat, she kicked her feet, and pushed against the water with her hands cupped. Before long, she had reached the bank of the stream. She dragged herself to her feet, but couldn¡¯t put any weight on her left leg. Pain. Terrible pain. Looking down, a dreadful gash was spilling blood from her thigh and a red trail followed behind her in the still shallows of the stream.


    ¡°Ugh¡­ This looks bad¡­¡± She spoke, but a part of her felt some shock when hearing herself. She had spoken the words, but this wasn¡¯t her voice she was hearing. Had the water hurt her throat? Is this why she sounded so strange? Where was she? What was going on?


    Lysette shook herself, her mind must have been wandering. Her head swam, and her vision was murky and dark until she pinched herself to regain composure. By now she was quite used to waking up from strange nightmares, but this was the first time that she had had such a vivid daydream. Pain seared through her. What was that?


    Looking to be sure that Granny hadn¡¯t seen her daydreaming, she surreptitiously pulled her skirt up under the table so that she could check her leg. Glancing down, she saw it. A nasty cut ripped through the skin on her upper thigh, twisted and jagged, and bleeding. She stared at it in shock. ¡°Granny¡­ I..I-I don¡¯t know how this happened but I¡¯m hurt! Look!¡±


    ¡°What now, poppet? You playing a game with me to get out of crushing the rosemary I gave you to sort out? Hm?¡± Granny chided, as she walked to the kitchen table where Lysette had been mixing and crushing herbs for storing. ¡°Oh! Ohhhh! That does look bad, my Duckling! Hold on while I get you something. How did you manage to do that?!¡±


    Granny¡¯s rotund form wobbled around the kitchen gathering ingredients for a poultice, tutting to herself and shaking her head occasionally. ¡°Put pressure on it and lift your leg up. It¡¯ll slow the bleeding. You should know that by now, or haven¡¯t I told you anything? Hm?¡± She used the soft, calming but no-nonsense voice that she often would use with her patients when their injuries were very bad to stop them from panicking. Panicked folks¡¯ hearts beat faster, and then they bleed more, and that does ¡®em no good, she would say.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay Granny, I¡¯m not scared. I¡¯m sure it¡¯ll be fine. I don¡¯t know how I did it in the first place but it¡¯ll be fine.¡± Lysette said, not sure if she was trying to reassure her Granny or herself. She held her fingers tightly over the wound, a few drops of blood slowly seeping between them. Lysette lifted her leg and watched as Granny pottered about, taking a pinch of prepared herbs from her pestle and placing them in a clean cloth and tying it into a bundle.


    Granny rushed back to Lysette¡¯s side, the freshly prepared and fragrant poultice in her hand. She shooed away Lysette¡¯s hand, and inspected the skin there again. ¡°Well, that¡¯s odd¡­ it mustn¡¯t have been such a bad cut after all, Duckie. See? It¡¯s stopped bleeding. It barely even looks like there¡¯s a cut there now. I suppose the pressure must¡¯ve helped.¡±


    Lysette took the poultice from Granny anyway, and held it against her bloodstained skin. The pain had almost completely subsided. If it wasn¡¯t for all the blood, she would have said she didn¡¯t believe there was anything wrong with her leg at all. Granny fetched a clean strip of cloth from a basket and offered it to Lysette.


    ¡°Granny, what do you dream about?¡±  Lysette reached for the bandage, ¡°Only, my dreams are so strange, and sometimes¡­ Sometimes I dream when I¡¯m not asleep. I know people have daydreams but I didn¡¯t think they were supposed to be so vivid¡­ There must be something wrong with me!¡±


    ¡°Where¡¯s this come from? You¡¯ve just got an active imagination, poppet, that¡¯s all. Maybe it¡¯s all those books you read, giving you these strange ideas and fancies. You know, you don¡¯t really see many other girls and boys your age, maybe your mind is just filling in things that it thinks it¡¯s missing. I¡¯ll tell you what, it¡¯s the fair soon, why don¡¯t we attend it this time?¡± Granny said, ¡°You can talk with your friend, the nice one who gives you the books. Dora, is it? Nelly? Nora! That¡¯s it. Maybe you can have a little dance! There¡¯s usually music of a sort at a fair day. They¡¯ll have booked some Mosey troupe I imagine.¡±


    ¡°Thanks, Granny, I¡¯d like that¡­¡± Lysette said, tying the bandage around the bundle of herbs and her thigh.


    Lysette didn¡¯t have the heart to tell Granny that the thought of being around so many people wasn¡¯t appealing to her. They¡¯d all be there either ignoring her completely, or staring at her as if expecting to do something odd at any moment, the strange, ugly girl who lives with the wise woman. She would be the only girl there who hadn¡¯t been planning for weeks and weeks. The other girls would have planned everything they did, from what they wore, to who they would talk to and dance with. They wouldn¡¯t have planned for her being there, and she doubted that many would be happy to see her. There was Nora, who liked her well enough to lend her books and chat with her about stories, of course, but Lysette was sure that at the fair she would want to spend time with her other friends from the village. Lysette would enjoy the music, and the food was usually great at a fair, so at least she could look forward to that. She wouldn¡¯t let herself mope about just because she was being ignored or disdained. Granny wanted her to enjoy herself, so she would.


    A gentle knock at the front door. Granny wondered aloud who it could be, and went to answer it. The muffled conversation filtered through to Lysette, who had, after washing her hands, resumed the crushing and bottling of herbs at the kitchen table.


    ¡°Hello? Is something the matter, dearie?¡± Granny said.


    ¡°Yes. The Williamses¡­ They¡¯re all dreadful sick. It¡¯s awful. Please come quick!¡± A female voice drifted from the doorway. The sound of Granny collecting bags and a coat and shawl. Lysette walked to the herb shelf and picked three or four bottles, gathering them up for Granny. Pushing away a stray hair from her face, she brought the herbs to Granny in the hall.


    ¡°Thank you, Lyssie. I¡¯ll go visit the Williamses and see what I can do for them. Hmm, could you throw a few things in the pot for me when I get back? You¡¯re a love.¡± Granny finished buttoning her coat and threw her shawl around her neck, before taking the herbs from Lysette¡¯s patient hands and tossing them into a leather satchel.