“Aye, I know you’re hurting, girl,” he said. “’Tis a sad day when you must leave those you love.” Tom spoke to himself as he found his footing along the slick rocks below the falls. “First, the young man your eyes light up for goes away, and then the child Elida must be left behind. But mostly, there’s your mam and poppa. Folks you’ve missed for many a year, now to be missed again.
“I would like a new cart and two brave oxen the like of Bess and Barley. But barring those, ’tis my wish for a good horse, with a keen nose for finding food and spirits. And a game of stones along the way would be good. I never cared much for witches, and I care less now after the battle, but if we must save the world from their evilness, old Tom is game for the trip.” Tom thought about his time with the Pentaras and realized his words had become more cultured, more like the elves. For a moment he denied it, not wanting to put on airs, but truth was truth. Old Tom had changed.
Eliandor saddled Bulrose, his newest black Baldron stallion, and fed him a handful of oats. The stable was busy, with three packhorses being readied for the trip, and three of the seven sisters choosing their mounts. Miralda chose a black four-year-old mare, while Willow preferred an older gray stallion. Winona chose a feisty, pinkish roan mare from the herd. The horses were willing, Anola said after the others asked her to speak in equine language. She too wanted to go on the journey, but her mate requested she stay, and help him build their new home in the wood.
At the last minute, another horse was pulled from the stables and readied for the trip. Young Sean refused to listen when the older ones advised against him going.
“You’re a child, Sean Vale,” Miralda said kindly. “Your life is ahead. If you follow our path, you may lose it.”
“I’m going, as I said before,” he repeated. “Bree needs me to watch over her. We take care of each other. She’s my sister, not like Elida, but still my family.” He cinched the straps on his saddle as Eliandor entered the stable and stared at him.
“So, you are going, I hear.”
“Aye, lord councilor, I can’t stay behind when she needs me.”
“And what of your sister? Who will watch over her?” Eliandor asked.
“The ladies will see she is well taken care of,” the boy answered stubbornly. “Lida doesn’t know me anyway, so where’s the worry? Let them coddle her into wellness. She knows I’m going, but has no care. I won’t be a burden,” he added, changing his tactics. “I’m handy to have around, and a good hunter. Besides, if you say no, I’ll have to go along by myself, following your trail.”
The councilor knew when he was beaten and gave in, realizing he could someday regret his decision.
Saying goodbye was difficult. Mathena and Lyman, like all parents whose children leave of their own accord, held sadness inside, and bravely wished the travelers well.
“Grandfather, bring my child home when she is done saving our world,” Mathena said at the last. “We have only had her for a little while.”
“I promise to do my best to bring us all back,” Eliandor said grimly. “This is not a mission of mercy, and I cannot predict its course. We may all return soon, yet wisdom tells me there will be many trials. Some in our party may suffer. Hold tight to your faith, Granddaughter, and say your prayers to the Creator, for his benevolent watch. There lies your hope.”
Breanna said goodbye to her mother and father, a difficult task, for she wanted them to forbid her to go, to say she must stay in the protection of the forest. For so long, she had cried for her mam and poppa, and now they were back together, she was being pulled away again. The witch Yahmara had ruined her childhood, and now held the key to the world’s, and her, future. In Breanna’s heart, she knew she had no choice.
“Mam, is it always so difficult? Making the right choices hurts in the worst way.”
Mathena put her arms out, and hugged her daughter who had been chosen to save the world.
“Living locked away as we were, on Nore Mountain, we were safe except for the creatures who shared the land. I and my sisters accepted the protection of the tree, and we quelled our desires to use what was given us. We were safe, but we did nothing for others who were in the world. We grew older, but our lives were colorless and without use. You are using what has been given to you. I know you don’t want to leave the comfort of being a child again in the arms of your parents, but you are much, much more than Breanna Ascroft. You have been chosen by the Old Ones, the ancient elves who sat in treetops and managed the world.”
“I don’t understand, Mam. What do you mean?”
Mathena held her tighter and explained. “When you were a babe, the memories of the seven were given to you. All of them in one child seemed too great a burden, for when your grandfather passed the gifts to me and the others, we were each given only one. But each gift came with a message from the ancient ones. A champion would be chosen in the world’s most desperate hours, and we must share all the memories with her. Our grandfather knew this many centuries ago, but he didn’t know his family would give birth to the child until you were here. When you were born, messages from the past found their destination. The Old Ones had chosen you long before any of us breathed the air of this world.”
Breanna was shocked by her mother’s words. “But I’m not even important, Mam. I’m just a Qay girl who isn’t very smart sometimes. How can I be chosen?”
“I understand how you must feel. After you were taken from us, I almost lost belief in the prophecy. I thought you had been killed, and everything we had been told was a lie. For how could you be chosen, if you were no longer alive? That thought saved me, and kept me from giving up. Surely something so powerful from our ancestors could not be wrong, and you must have survived whatever things they did to you. I was heartbroken, but my faith returned. The Creator would never allow the elements of evil to rule the world. My Breanna was alive somewhere, waiting until it was her time. And now…it is your time. The battle we fought in Parth was only a prelude to what must be faced.”
“And I must face it?” Breanna whispered.
“Yes, child, you must. I would rather rip my heart out than to lose you again, but I know this is much more important than just you or I, or even the elves of Pentara Wood. We are all included. The very survival of the life we all know is at stake.”
“And one unimportant girl must save it?” Breanna’s shoulders slumped, and her head bowed. Too much startling information had come through her conversation with her mother. That the elves needed a victor against the Spectre was astounding. How could she ever live up to such an expectation? How could a mere girl contain chaos?
“I know you must find this too much to take in, but it is all true. This is why Grandfather is involved. He knows you must be taught how to use the memories.”
“But Mam, I am learning how to use them. I know I’m still not very good, but why do I need someone else to show me what I will learn in time?” She sat up straight, seeing an end to the discussion. If it was only the memories she must perfect, that could be done in Pentara Wood.
“There is more. I…will leave it to the councilor to explain.”
Breanna looked up to find her grandfather watching her face, judging her mood by her expression. She smiled and paid him respect by standing in his presence.
“No, sit while I tell you a story. Mathena, you may find interest in the tale yourself. When Orowill, my ancient grandfather, was a boy at Pentara Wood, the land was untamed. The forest had overgrown, and fierce creatures ruled the low paths. From his first remembrance, there were stories about an old, wise elf who held communion with the beasts, both fierce and gentle. It was said the ancient lived in a red heart tree in the Tangled Forest, a forbidden place to young elves.
“Orowill was a curious soul, and brave. He was also disobedient, as you will find out very soon. When he heard the tale of the old one who lived alone, he could hardly wait to see for himself. On a fine spring day when the blossoms from fruit trees covered the limbs and blew down as a many-col
ored carpet upon the floors of Pentara, Orowill jumped on the back of his steed and, in secret, proceeded to Tangled Forest to find the old elf he had heard so much about.
“Spring passed, and then summer’s heat descended upon the young adventurer who had become lost in the maze of trees. No matter which way he traveled, Orowill could never find his way from the stand of gnarled oaks in the midst of the forest. He traveled east for days only to return to the same part of the arbor. The forest floor provided him food and water, and the leafy beds where he slept each night. The young elf grew respectful of the trees and spoke to them often. He learned to gather gentle animals together and speak their language. The large meat eaters were dismayed and afraid of the creature who was carried about on the back of a four-legged beast.
“Orowill grew from an impetuous, inconsiderate young elf into one even the kingdom of the forest respected. Meanwhile, his family believed him dead, and grieved for him as though his funeral pyre had been lit, and the youngster’s soul sent onward to Faydor in the land of Starnight. Four years went by, and Orowill’s maturing day came and went. Another year advanced and passed him, and then suddenly, the young elf who believed Tangled Forest was his home was called to show himself at a distant place he had never seen. The voice on the wind explained nothing except the command for Orowill to appear.
“A half-year passed before he found the voluminous red heart tree, but strangely, Orowill remembered being in the place where it grew many times in his quests to leave the Tangled Forest and return home, but the giant red tree had never made itself visible before.
“The elf rode his stallion to just under the tree’s canopy and dismounted. Orowill was apologetic, though full of questions. ‘Is anyone here?’ the young elf asked as he waited patiently.
“‘Yes, come up and talk,’ a voice said. ‘Have no fear, Orowill. You have proven yourself to be an honorable and worthy subject’.
“Orowill saw nothing in the canopy, but he heard the voice and obeyed. Steps had been cut into the bark, and he climbed them without consideration of what waited. So much time had passed since he had heard another elven voice that he was pleased and eager to meet with anyone.
“‘Seat yourself,’ the mysterious voice said. Immediately, a steaming cup of bark tea appeared before Orowill, alongside plated fruits and nuts. ‘Eat, worthy Orowill. Refresh yourself before your journey to your homeland. For this day you will see your family, and they will shed tears of joy over your return.’
“A large joint between two limbs was fashioned into a comfortable seat, and Orowill did as he was instructed. He sat down and partook of the refreshments. Very soon he found his eyes closing as he relaxed in the midst of the tree. When he awakened later, night had fallen and his body felt renewed and ready for travel.
“‘Before you leave, Orowill, take these gifts from your ancestors,’ the voice of the tree elf said. ‘They now belong to your family, and are to be given to those who will use them wisely. When the time is right, those who have the gifts must share them by creating memories within a child from your line. A babe in the beginning, the child will grow and, at the right time, must take the gifts as her own. She will come from your descendants, because you have proven yourself to be worthy. In all these years you were apart from your kin, Orowill, you have become patient and wise. Your knowledge has grown, and your kindness to all living things has let us see your heart. It was no accident you came. We called, and you answered. Go now, and take what has been given, for a terrible time is coming when these gifts will be needed. But be cautious, young elf. Protect them wisely, for the time has not come to give them to your kin. Time in this forest is not counted as you keep records.
“The voice continued, ‘When it is time, when the world of men and elves is at risk, and a champion is needed, memories alone will not sustain her. She must take the gifts from those who carry them, and use our power to aid. Beware, Orowill, the future is bleak, and unless our chosen comes forth, the world will be destroyed by evil forces from the underworld. Every tree is not healthy, nor will every branch survive. Some will fall, and others will wither or stay immature. Be cautious, young elf, and keep these gifts safe from those who would use them wrongly.’
“Orowill awoke from his rest, and found a bag woven from leaves. In it were pieces of fruit from the tree. Eight lay waiting to be consumed by those he might choose, but in his haste to return home, all Orowill could think about was seeing his family again.
“A lifetime passed and my old great-grandfather raised his family, and then his son, my grandfather, inherited Pentara Haven. The woven bag with fruit remained in the possession of Orowill, for he had forgotten what he carried, and had laid it aside. Arwing, my father’s father, became the new councilor when Orowill grew frail after an arrow pierced his chest. The story of his stay in the Tangled Forest was told to Arwing, and only then did the old elf recall the forgotten bag and its contents. Arwing searched for the bag but never found it.
“Many centuries came and went and my father, Wellanor, became councilor. He knew the story of the leaf bag, but he had not seen it, for the past two generations had never found it. One day when I was as tall as my father’s sword scabbard, in the midst of playing a game with some of the other children, I hid in my grandfather’s closets. The game had a prize for the one who could conceal himself best, and I dug beneath the piles of armaments and battle clothing stored near Orowill’s childhood possessions. As I buried myself in the mail and decorated shields, I found a hidden door, and inside it, an old woven bag containing what appeared to be pieces of fresh fruit.
“Afterwards, when the game was done and I had won the prize, I spoke to my father, who then spoke to his own father. Both of them took the bag from its hiding place and wondered what they were to do with it. Orowill’s memory was dulled by age, but he recalled the instructions from the voice in the tree. Finally, my father told me to hold on to it until such time as I believed there were those who should receive what was inside.
“You know the rest of the story. I gave the fruit to the eight I had chosen and they found it to be pleasing and fresh. When it had been consumed, certain abilities came to each of the eight recipients. The Old Ones who made this plan knew without a doubt what child would receive the memories, for within each gift they planted instructions. When Breanna was born, each of you, except Yahmara, shared your memory with her as you had been told.”
The councilor spoke directly to Breanna. “Now you know the reason Yahmara wants you so badly. She is the branch that withered, for she refused to share her gift, as the Old Ones instructed. If she can destroy you, she will destroy me and the power of the ancient elves, and avoid their retribution for disobedience. The Spectre has his eyes on the world and wants to claim it for his own. Yahmara believes in the demon master’s lies, and is his slave, but she also holds his power. She must be defeated, and pass the gift to you, or the Spectre will dominate all those who breathe above ground.”
Eliandor quieted and eyed his listeners. In a moment, he continued, “She who holds all of the magic has the power to return the evil one to his underground prison. If not you Granddaughter, then who shall save us?”
******************
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