An English teacher's epitaph

 

Find the cat

 

Art and the Universe

 

Chapter 10: The Drowned Throne (spoiler alert)

Spoiler alert: this chapter gives a few things away about the grander story, thus if you haven't yet reached this point in reading my Lore, it will nudge you into reading what comes before with a different viewpoint. That may not be a bad thing, but consider yourself warned :)

An ancient seat has the power to destroy

  

From the cesspool of Silas Island into the underworld of Two Town, the battle continues. As epic storms batter the continent, men, women and children succumb to soltakin touch and darkling blade.

It is time to reveal the hidden half-race from under the sands of the Vall Peninsula; Valaris needs soldiers as much as she needs hope. It is time also to face Margus in his lair and throw down the gauntlet.

Arrayed against his might is the small team of defenders, among them Taranis of the Guardians, Vannis of the Valleur, and Torrullin, a man with a dual nature, who as often fights the darkness rising within as he fights to protect his world. Visions plague Torrullin; he struggles to find himself when fate appears omnipotent, and love ever beyond his reach.

The extinct Gosa volcano erupts as sacred sites implode, creating earthquakes and tidal waves. A monster surge races to the site of an epic confrontation before an ancient and powerful golden seat.

The Valleur Throne is about to assume ultimate status. Will it save or conquer their world?

CHAPTER 10

 

To wish for a different life is to deny the one you already have.

~ Arun, druid

  

Silas Island

THEY WALKED ALL day, dodging deluges and rotten missiles, skirting dogs and rats and unnamed piles of fur and other matter, turning ever away from mean-spirited people. Only once did they see a cat, the feline mangy and filthy, but well fed on the rat population. For the most part Silas inhabitants ignored them. Where trouble appeared imminent, they simply walked away. It rained without cease.

Nightfall found them on the beach at the rendezvous point. The dirty shoreline was deserted. The incessant rain lessened into an intermittent drizzle, but a strong wind bit hard. Torrullin and Taranis sat in a hollow surrounded by scrub; while the beach was empty, it was prudent to take no chances. The emptiness made it a likely area for darklings to come and go.

When they had settled in for the wait, they relaxed enough to drink wine and nibble on biscuits and apples. The night possessed a strange quality, starless, moonless. It shivered the hairs on the back of necks, but they were the first to admit it had more to do with their states of mind than real danger.

“This is your seventh life; Rayne was the sixth incarnation, right?” Taranis asked once they were as comfortable as they could expect to be. “I know something of Rayne’s life, and we have discussed your birth life, but what of the other five? Will you tell me?”

Torrullin mused over what Saska would say, her probable derision for his so-called subversion of innocent babes. He never thought of it that way, always choosing those who would have died had he not possessed them. Always those personalities remained part of him. Saska’s scorn touched a nerve, however, and he wondered now about the inherent selfishness in rebirth.

“The first was a babe from among the street folk of Tetwan. I returned there after my travels, perhaps to convince myself I chose the correct action. In a sense it felt right to reach for immortality in the place I was born, akin to affirmation. I did not return with that intention, for I was unsure, and had failed before. I searched for a sign, and did I find it? No, not unless you count the innocent I found dying at my feet one morning. I cannot and will not explain it to you, to anyone, how this transformation works. I shall not tell my son one day, if that gift is due me, for he would be the last person I consider deserving of this terrible knowledge. I shall never do it again.” Torrullin glanced sideways at his father. Taranis nodded without speaking. “This babe had no father and his mother died giving birth. He lay whimpering weakly …” Torrullin paused to draw breath, remembering the shock, then fear, his uncertainty, and then the terrible resolve.

Taranis noticed the tremble in apparently relaxed hands. In the dark, so complete, he found he could see his son, and knew it as a property of magic. How Rayne had changed.

“The street people looked after their own, thus I knew, with my essence to help, the babe would survive if discovered in time. I tempted fate even then, testing immortality, for that innocent could have succumbed. He did not; he was found an hour after the transformation, and thus for the second time I grew up on the shores of Ren Lake. Eventually I became King of the Beggars, for I had the ability to charm purses away from the wealthy. Now I know why, but back then it was astonishing.” Torrullin gave a small grin. “I lived in underground comfort with henchmen around me, and more women than I could handle. Quite a life, liberal. My name was Shane, and when Shane turned thirty-four, I came along. The awakening was gradual and easy. Only when it was complete, did I know who I was, and that I was immortal. I did not remain in Tetwan long then, and travelled from place to place, always moving on when questions arose about my apparent agelessness. I learned all I could of Valaris’ sorcery during that time, and it was not easy, most being hidden. Shane ‘died’ at nine hundred and thirty.”

Torrullin passed a hand across his face and glanced again at Taranis.

Taranis leaned back against the dune, arms crossed for warmth, listening intently, to not only the tale, but also the tone. There was sadness and it reminded him of Millanu. The first incarnation was quite shocking, from a soul’s perspective. He looked at Torrullin as the silence drew his attention. “If this causes old wounds to …”

“… heal, father. Talking, finally, brings acceptance.” It was an unexpected gift.

“Good.” Talking about Millanu achieved something similar for him.

“The new babe was an aristocratic child, descended in direct line from Malin Drew, our so-called Founder. Both his parents died in a flu epidemic, and he was too weak to survive. He subsequently came to manhood brought up by a close relative. Mason Drew knew life of ultimate luxury, and when Mason’s guardian died when he was twenty-two, the spoilt young man inherited riches beyond measure. He squandered a fair amount before thirty-four, the idiot. I hated Mason’s cosseted lifestyle and in the next ten years gave most of it away to deserving folk. No altruism: I just wanted it gone.”

Torrullin shrugged. “As Mason, doors were open. I studied the known history of Valaris, read voraciously and delved archives closed to general society at the time. I left Winnish at about fifty with enough money to live frugally, and travelled again, searching out anything that pointed to the Valleur, changing my name from time to time. Mason died at one thousand and ninety; I had had enough of him.”

Taranis gaped. Many had wondered how the Drews vanished from history.

“The Drew line was finished, and I cannot say I am sorry. The Drews, historically, had every advantage, but in later centuries rested on their laurels rather than help Valarians forward; I found that abhorrent. Mason’s guardian insisted I wed and have a child with another aristocratic girl. I met her, a young woman from Gasmoor, of a definitive family. I turned the offer down not long after I inherited; even Mason, cosseted as he was, knew marrying for convenience would not make him happy. Soon after awakening I realised I probably could not have children, being immortal, and thus chose to give it all away. The Drew line went out in style.”

Taranis remarked, “That line only ever had sons, one per generation. They were bound for extinction already in my time.” Torrullin nodded. Taranis added, “You mentioned earlier you would not tell your son about the transformation process - you’re not sure whether or not you are able to father a child, are you?”

“I have seen sons in my future. I have also sensed one boy, but theoretically I cannot.”

“I wish I had seen you in my future back then,” Taranis murmured, before inserting, “The Siric are case in point exceptions when it comes to immortal birth. It may be possible. Ask Vannis, Torrullin.”

“Then I open a real vessel of woes, don’t I?”

“Saska cannot have children.”

Torrullin closed his eyes and said nothing.

Taranis prompted, “Nothing is that certain, yet. Go on with your tale.”

“Interesting times - a beggar and an aristocrat. I despised the constant hiding; trying to avoid people whose grandparents knew me. The next innocent was an abandoned child on the steps of a church in a tiny hamlet east of Farinwood. More than the others, there was a real chance he would not survive, even with my help. The priest who found him named the babe Fundor, meaning Foundling. Fundor went from home to home, never knowing love, never belonging. Poor Fundor, he was unhappy, and knew he was different, for I was closer to him than the other two during the forming years.” He shrugged as he went on, “Thirty-four rolled around and, viola, Torrullin entered, as unhappy as the luckless Fundor. It was liberating, for I had no ties to anyone or anything whatsoever. I learned to travel to other worlds and would go for centuries, to return to Valaris changed, and nobody would remember me. It was a workable formula, and I studied intervening history in detail upon each return. I studied with sorcerers universe over, and my power grew. Fundor lived until a thousand four hundred and thirty-nine. He achieved much. During his lifetime Drasso came to Valaris, and you, but I was offworld. Perhaps my path would now be different had I recognised you then.”

“Maybe,” Taranis confirmed.

“Valaris was different. The clans were no more, except the scatterlings in the north. The Forest was a barrier, huge tracts of land were destroyed, the air was foul - you know the history. I did not like the new Valaris, so Fundor ‘died’. I could accustom myself to a changed way of life with the eyes of a child. The new babe was genetically and physiologically close to the original me. In fact, from him on, I deliberately chose close to my original image. I wanted to be Torrullin, and look like him.” Torrullin shook his head. “Valleur arrogance. Anyway, the fourth babe was a pirate child, and probably why Raken and I get on well. His name was Renos, and his mother was a pirate’s mistress, a beautiful woman. The babe was born at sea and there were complications. His parents thought they would lose him, but he surprised them, of course. Fundor at the time was a seaman on the ship, and ‘fell overboard and was lost at sea’. Renos’ father was a real blackguard, but he loved his son. Renos grew up aboard, with both parents, and had a good life. Unlike Fundor, he was blessed in love, and I could teach Raken a thing or two about piracy.” Torrullin smiled in remembrance.

Taranis chuckled. “You liked Renos, didn’t you?”

“He was an adventurer with no sense of fear. I had my own ship by the time I turned eighteen …”

Taranis noticed the shift in pronoun; Torrullin obviously identified greatly with the pirate boy.

“It was a fantastic way of life, utterly free. After my parents died, I sailed the oceans. The Forest was no barrier, but neither side believed tales of the other. As Torrullin, I headed my ship to the west, the Great Western Ocean, unchartered territory, a huge challenge. I desired to sail until I reached the eastern coast of the continent, to circumnavigate the globe. I had travelled the universe, but had no idea whether there were other continents out there. Isn’t it strange how a trajectory can be ingrained to such an extent I never had the proverbial bird’s-eye view?”

“Happens all the time,” Taranis said. “The Guardians have tales how they never saw this or that, despite repeated visits to here and there.”

Torrullin grinned. “I guess I could have lifted high enough to see how the globe was pieced together, but where was the challenge in that? I sailed, but mutiny found me. No one wanted to go that far, and I had to turn back. I went again, alone, a few years later to much talk of being insane. I went around - I believe I am the first to circumnavigate and survive - but no history book carries the claim. There are no large landmasses out there, but there are islands, thousands of them, some large enough to found cities upon.” He frowned. “Valaris is not like other worlds, is she? Most others have multiple continents or are entirely made up of islands.”

“Our continent is an island,” Taranis murmured. “Only larger.”

Torrullin inclined his head. “One could look at it that way.”

“It was formed volcanically a long time ago, thus bedrock is magma in origin,” Taranis said. “That makes it an island. Ask Llettynn sometime, considering the Siric are responsible for the creation of this world. It was created violently, not with the march of time.”

Torrullin nodded. “That puts a whole new spin on it.”

“It certainly does, and also explains why there was no slow evolution here of a sentient race. Never mind that; you were talking about Renos sailing around.”

“Yes … islands. Thousands uninhabited - but one. A crazy old man did what I had, just sailed west. His ship foundered and he swam ashore the nearest spit of land, saving as much from his ship as he could. He never expected rescue, or even to speak to another before he died out there. From him I learned survival, nature, medicine, endurance and courage. He did not want to go back, although I offered repeatedly; he was happy. I stayed on after his death, content to be alone.” Torrullin was introspective. “There I honed other skills, such as swimming. I swam from island to island, studied the sea and its creatures, practiced rituals and spells until they were second nature, and learned how to harness the elements, especially the storm’s ferocity, as the Valleur have always done. When I finally set out west again, my ship was rotten. Centuries went by unremarked. Renos’ tale was never told. I stole another ship and did it again. Renos lived long for I was happiest in his skin, all of one thousand eight hundred years. I had been alive then for more than four and a half millennia; it was time for change.”

“You are but thirty and a bit younger than I, but with so much experience and ideas.”

“There was nothing romantic about it and you were fighting the fallen, doing something worthwhile. Learning, studying, training and experiencing does not equate to that.”

“And today you are the Enchanter,” Taranis said.

“Some consolation.”

“It was your destiny, and you cannot now change the past. You are here with me, fighting fallen as I am.”

“It scares me.”

“Goddess, it does me. You never get used to it.”

They grinned at each other.

“After Renos, there was one other before Rayne,” Taranis prompted.

“His was the shortest time. Ultrain lived to five hundred and fifteen. He was born in Farinwood to ageing parents. I chose him because of his features, and because he stood to inherit his father’s inn. I hoped Ultrain would teach me about the human race, and what better place than an inn in Farinwood where you get all kinds? Renos was a loner, Fundor withdrawn, Mason set apart, and Shane hid from authorities, and these traits held true even after awakening. Ultrain was to belong, move amid people, be with them, and know them, because the others had shown particular lack there. You must realise, for the first thirty-four years of each life, those identities were exactly what they were fated to be without my interference, and those personalities shaped the new Torrullin. In other words, I learned even during each period of ‘sleep’.”

Torrullin sipped from the wineskin. “Shane caused me to be wary of authority, and he was a taker, uncaring, a lover and a thief. Mason caused me to disrespect money, to waste away a fortune, to trade on ancestry, to think I am better than others are, and to take good fortune for granted. From him I learned what not to be. Fundor was so unhappy it still affects my thinking - I run from emotion all the time. Renos was a free spirit, and today I am still most comfortable on my own. Ultrain; by all the gods, he was a vicious character - not evil, just downright offensive. You know the type, a bully who enjoys pulling the wings off a butterfly. Let us just say, I discovered how not to treat people from Ultrain. After my awakening, well, it took many years to subvert his crude identity, and I shudder to think what he left me with despite my efforts. It was during his time I went to Xen III, and there I discovered what not to do to a planet, and how fortunate Valaris was in escaping the trap that is technology. I visited other worlds also - many - I think to escape the meanness Ultrain cast over this one for me. Then came Rayne, a babe abandoned by a teenage mother, adopted in Galilan … and the rest you know.”

“But Rayne was different.”

“Yes. Rayne became a sorcerer openly among his peers. The others never dared, not on Valaris. Each ritual he learned, he already knew. Torrullin simmered under the surface all the time, and every power event brought us closer. With the others - except Fundor, although he was not near Rayne - I hibernated, separate in the first thirty-four years. Not Rayne. He is a part of me now, as I was a part of him. He did not shape me, I shaped him.”

“Is that not strange for rebirth?”

“I know nothing of the science; what is right or normal is merely guesswork.”

“What do you feel then?”

“All right, it is strange.”

“Explanation?”

“If Fundor was closely connected, due to state of mind, maybe Rayne was near due to circumstances. Vannis foresaw him.”

“Destiny?”

“I guess.”

“You don’t strike me as a person who deals in destiny,” Taranis murmured.

Torrullin laughed. “Two new moons ago I would have agreed with you.”

“It’s different now?”

“It is definitely different now.”

Taranis inclined his head, about to analyse that, and stiffened. He spied movement further down the beach. After a moment, he relaxed. “The others come.”

“I know.”

“Torrullin, I know this has been harrowing …”

“Cathartic.”

“May I ask one more thing?”

Torrullin smiled. “Why not?”

“You said you began selecting babes genetically and physiologically close to your original self.”

“How did the original me look?”

Taranis nodded, his mouth dry.

“Need you ask? Look at my eyes; they are yours. My skin is like Vannis’ and I am sure you have seen my mother in me somewhere.”

“Yes.”

“I am Torrullin.”

“It’s impossible,” Taranis breathed.

“This body is the same as my birth body.” Torrullin laughed - an astonished sound. “I have the same birthmark on my left buttock, and I have the same scar on my right upper arm where I fell onto a rusty spike on one of Ren’s jetties as a child.”

“But how?” Taranis breathed.

“I can only surmise in Rayne I was to fulfil the prophecies - I know I was dominant in his upbringing. This is my final incarnation; believe me, it is. As the Enchanter it must be necessary for me to be the Torrullin of first birth.”

“How do you explain it, though?”

“I cannot unravel it. Great sorcery? Time travel? Something we cannot understand? Or was Rayne in some convoluted way a descendent of mine? Although I know not whether I can father a child or not, I did sow my golden seed in my real youth. Is it a realm shift? A paradigm we are unaware of as magic practitioners? Does it matter, Taranis? It cannot, not now. It is as it is.” He stopped as the others called out. “Maybe I walk a road that has no end, no beginning, and maybe I was all the others before myself … who knows?”

“That cannot be, Torrullin. That would deny even immortals death.”

Torrullin said nothing, looking away.

Llettynn called out, and Taranis replied before turning back. “We are out of time.”

“Thank you for asking, and thank you for listening.”

“Do you mean that?”

“I do.”

“What is it?” Taranis asked. Torrullin was not looking at him, as if he hid something profound. “Have I done wrong?”

“You have done everything right. On this walk alone you atoned for centuries of my self-doubt, and I thank you for it.”

Taranis swallowed. “I am happy to hear you say so, but I know you are hiding something right now.”

“I have said enough.”

“Please tell me.”

Torrullin debated a moment, before gripping Taranis’ wrist. “I know not where this road leads, but instinct warns it goes beyond time and reality, beyond being the Enchanter. I sense I shall lose all of you, and I shall be alone into eternity, true, deathless Eternity.”

“Gods, Torrullin …”

Torrullin released his old and inhaled sharply. “I am sorry. One day at a time, not so?” Alone, or will the dark man be my companion?

Llettynn jumped into the hollow, and the opportunity to delve that terrible notion was lost.

THE DROWNED THRONE

17 books!

Now on pre-order for $1.99

(price will go up to at least a dollar per book after it goes live, equalling a minimum of $17)

Pure story! All the extras have been taken out of this boxset edition to deliver just the story :)

HOUSE OF VALLA

A Golden bloodline through the Ages. Indeed, for the Valleur are also known as the Golden, the race of Master Builders ruled by the mighty House of Valla. From then to now, into the future and back, the Vallas transform not only Time but also alter the dynamics for all civilisations.

Nemisin is First Father, or so he believes. Vannis is known as the last Vallorin … until Torrullin Valla steps forth. He changes everything; the House of Valla will never be the same as Torrullin battles darklings and dragons, a Darak Or and a Warlock, witches and soul takers, a Timekeeper and the evil lurking in his own family.

House of Valla brings together 17 volumes in the Vallas’ history. Prepare for the long haul, for this is a mighty tale …

Don't forget! House of Valla on pre-order

 

HOUSE OF VALLA

Pen and Sword

 

A Estudante

 Clicked 'publish' on the Portuguese translation of the Student last night. Available soon!

Yup, this works for me!

 

Who doesn't get imposter syndrome?

 

The nine lives of a cat

 

Cats: interdimensional beings

 

I like ...

 

Now in Review: Farochin audio book

 

Grief-stricken over losing his wife in childbirth, Karydor commands that his son be drowned. Carers choose to hide the new-born instead. The child, when his father realises his terrible mistake, vanishes without a trace.

Ages later, suffering cycles of rebirth to walk in the same time as his son, Karydor discovers the identity of the man his son becomes and, in need of atonement, sets out to ease his path through life, hoping for a future when he will be able to look him in the eye without guilt.

On Farochin, a world where the terraform is about to fail, Karydor, Kristyn, Echayn and Fletcher team up, hoping to save the world from the influences of FARA, the godhood responsible for the failure.

A god, however, is not easily undermined.

A world is not effortlessly rescued.

A father will step into that arena, though, because of the love he bears his son. This is Karydor Danae’s atonement.

A person is a fool to become a writer

 

Groke

 

Chapter 10: The Kinfire Tree

 

Kin is Everything

 

We return to the Land of Skies. One battle is already behind the team, the disastrous events upon Ardosia; time now to concentrate on the stability of Valaris, or the same fate awaits her.

Hidden from humankind are fourteen sacred Valleur sites, built upon nodes of power. Vannis Valla advocates unveiling them to restore balance to the earth, which will aid in the fight against Margus. The Darak Or has other ideas, and unleashes his soltakin …

In the north, Averroes discovers her true past and she and Kylan run the Maze gauntlet. Kisha, Mordan, Cristi and Samson prepare the clans of old for eternal night. In the south, Vannis, Rayne and Saska, along with the charismatic little Falcon, Phet, move from site to site. Taranis and the Guardians delve arcane ritual in the Dome to find the answers to the ending of soltakin, while expecting Infinity to bring her Darkling Horde into the mix. Meanwhile McSee, unmasked as traitor, meets the crazy Lanto and they hatch a bold plan, involving a pirate and ancient loot.

Rayne begins the internal battle that will change all. It began for him on Ardosia when he touched Vannis only to release blue sparks between them. The ruling house is almost extinct. How, therefore, does a Valla recognise the blood for the future? By the blue flame of trebac. Kinfire. The legendary Vannis is kin, but there is more in store for Rayne than the reality of this profound connection.

The Kinfire Tree has many branches hidden in its foliage, a condition Rayne suspects, a greater truth he must reveal …

 

CHAPTER 10

 

Do not shoot the messenger! Ill tidings have warning! Listen!

~ Awl, author of Tattle’s Blunt Adventures

 

Northern Valaris

Meth Peninsula

San village

TO THE WEST, across the Bay of No Name separating the Vall Peninsula from the Meth Peninsula, Mordan, Cristi, Samson and Kisha entered the main village of the San. Cristi led them through massive wooden gates, which, in living memory, had never closed.

The San were her people, but she was somewhat nervous about her reception. She vanished from their lives without warning other than the strange semi-conscious state before her disappearance. She answered the summons from the Maghdim Medaillon, how to explain that?

How to explain Rayne? Taranis? Vannis? Annihilation beyond a Rift? A Darak Or bent on snuffing out every living entity on Valaris? How to explain the populated south, when it was contrary to every belief the clans harboured?

The north was hillier and less colourful than the south. There were fields and farms, orchards and the like, although produce, as Samson pointed out when confronted by the fertility of the southern lands, grew slower and with less success. Countless streams laced the land, but there were no large bodies of water and only three watercourses were worthy of being called rivers.

All clan villages were enclosed, with one main gate as access. The San enclosure was a wooden fence constructed of logs as thick as a man’s waist and towered three times the height. Other villages used natural barriers also, such as cliffs, mountains and ravines, but all were surrounded. For generations the gates nevertheless stood open. The paranoia after Drasso gradually eased.

Within, every family maintained abodes, from where they left each morning to tend the fields, or to the task earning their place in the village. Each evening they returned. One day in every eight was a rest day. At night, only travellers walked the paths that connected villages and clan holds, but travellers were few.

As Cristi entered, most were out, it being a few hours to sunset. Inside were those who tended fires, fed domestic animals, cared for the sick and elderly, and taught the young. The Bellwether would be listening to petitions, greeting travellers, and dispensing advice.

It was towards his hut she headed, the others following. The Bellwether was her uncle, her late father’s brother. Her mother would be nearby, as she tended house for him.

To her right, old man Marsh bent over tending his herb garden, but the poor soul was so deaf he did not hear them go by. As they twisted through the huts, they encountered children let off from lessons to go to their chores before the supper fires began. They vanished screaming and would no doubt shirk duties until the last possible moment. Ahead they heard a woman’s voice remonstrating about duties before fun, all to no avail. Cristi smiled. Janine sounded as harassed as ever.

“Cristi, that you?” a young voice asked.

A boy peeked from a window in the hut directly ahead, his mouth full of half-chewed bread. He vanished and, seconds later, flew through the open door, spitting as he ran. His red hair was an untidy mess and Cristi burst out laughing.

“Yes, Leo, it’s me!”

“Where you go?” He came to a skidding halt, eyeing the three strangers behind her. “Why you go? No say ‘bye?” His bottom lip jutted out.

“Sorry, love.” Cristi sank to her knees and took him in her arms. “I had something to do and there was no time to come give you a kiss, but I’m here now. Will you forgive your naughty cousin?”

He hugged her. Letting go, he ran, shouting at the top of his little lungs, “Aunt Berna! Mom, come see! Cristi’s back!”

He vanished between the huts as a woman appeared in the doorway. “Cristi?”

Cristi was rueful - so much for a dignified approach. Up ahead she heard a crash like that of breaking glass, and a muffled oath. “Hello, Leen … I think my mother has …” and she broke into a run, vanishing as Leo had. The other three followed more sedately, with Leen.

 

THEY ENTERED THE public space, well-trampled and well-used, set roughly in the centre of the San village. This was the heart. There was a huge fire pit, and great trunks lying in a square served as seating. Kisha, seeing it, blinked back tears, for it reminded her of her father. She realised she had not thought about him in days.

Across the clearing Cristi’s mother enfolded her, both crying. An older man sporting a big smile waited his turn. By his bearing, the three companions knew him to be the Bellwether. Leo was there, the bearer of good tidings, and loving it.

The Bellwether noticed the three. “Berna, Cristi brought visitors.”

Mother and daughter parted. Cristi waved them closer.

Already a small crowd had gathered behind Leen.

“Leo!” Leen called out, knowing her son would soon make a nuisance of himself. “Come here!”

The boy shook his head. The Bellwether looked down, and Leo changed his mind. Cristi grinned and her visitors smiled.

“Go now to your tasks; we will gather at sunset to share Cristi’s news,” the Bellwether ordered. “Jack, will you see the pit is lit?”

Berna led the three strangers into the Bellwether’s spacious hut, whilst he enfolded his niece in an embrace, whispering, “What happened to you, my girl?”

THE KINFIRE TREE