Placing her hands on her knees, she tapped her fingers as scenarios ran through her thoughts. Unpleasant memories rose in her mind, a blur of visions and smells. There was a reason she’d been driven away from her past life—a mixture of truth, lies, and secrets had ruined her potential. Her assumed journey of life took a nasty turn. She rose to her feet, her brow furrowed with concern.
Grift.
You have a request?
Only a question. Have you seen Zaul recently?
Nay, are you concerned?
Slightly. I’ve heard from you and Ava but not Zaul. I might have to find him.
I can look—
No! Do not risk your safety and freedom. I want you with me, here in Paradise. I asked Ava to do something dangerous for me and now I am concerned about her. Don’t look—just come to the land.
Ah . . . you want to face this challenge head-on?
Yes, I will face this challenge, but first, I must speak to Novor Tur-Woodberry. He owns these lands and he should know who I am and what I have brought here.
You care about what he thinks.
Citrine crossed her arms, pulling a face at Grift’s remark. I am a guest in his land. Of course I care what he thinks, she retorted.
The connection to Grift faded, an empty roar as Citrine lifted her face to the sunlight. Ever since she’d stepped foot in the land, a deep love for nature coursed through her veins. She doubted she could handle it if anything happened to the Paradise she’d discovered. For a moment, she wondered if she should return to her cottage to freshen up before hastening to the house of Novor Tur-Woodberry. She bit her tongue in contemplation as she eyed the sun. Novor Tur-Woodberry was sure to be out surveying his land. He seemed to work tirelessly yet could always be found at home when evening fell. If she took the day, she still had time to gather herbs and complete the spell.
“Citrine,” a familiar voice called, an unspoken question ringing out.
Citrine spun like someone caught stealing, her face turning bright red. She hid her hands behind her back, hoping he wouldn’t notice the dirt on them, the wrinkles on her dress, or the way her hair hung wild and uncombed. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the leaves of a dandelion tangled in threads of her hair. She snatched at it as she spoke. “Triften?”
“Aye, I am surprised to find you here. Although, I must admit, I’m not sure of your daily habits. I went to the house of Novor Tur-Woodberry last night, but you weren’t there.”
“Ah.” Citrine kept her expression blank as she met his eyes. “Something came up.”
“Oh.” His eyes traveled over her body, taking in her shoddy appearance. “Is something wrong?” His eyes creased with worry.
“Nothing at all,” Citrine snapped. “I lost track of time and must hurry on now. Perhaps I’ll see you tonight.” Turning her back to him, she ran in the opposite direction, away from the questioning words, too quickly to see the look of complete and utter befuddlement come over Triften’s face.
12
Wind Lady
Novor Tur-Woodberry stood in the grove, watching the breeze frolic through the heavily adorned branches. A mischievous laugh sprinkled through the green leaves and white blossoms while the woodland animals came out of their homes to watch the show.
“Visitors,” whispered a chipmunk to a shrew rat. “The visitors are here.”
“Where?” a wet-nosed weasel asked a bright-eyed hedgehog. “I see nothing unusual at all.”
“It’s in the trees,” a bright-eyed bird told a grasshopper, and then, realizing the grasshopper was a dumb beast, ate it whole.
The wind whistled through the age-old oak trees as if it were the beginnings of a cyclone. Novor Tur-Woodberry alone stood unmoved as the winds rushed over him. His baritone voice lifted in laughter as he called out, “Welcome, visitor to my land. Don’t be bashful—show yourself!”
A sharp snap rang through the grove as if someone broke a thousand tree branches at once. The wind circled Novor Tur-Woodberry, who planted his feet and crossed his muscular arms over his broad chest. “Oh ho, why resist? We are all friends here.”
“Friends?” The cyclone whirled, turning into a solid mass and revealing the newcomer to the land. Wild hair trailed around her shoulders, bouncing up again as if coasting on an invisible breeze. Her arms were bare and brown and her eyes were bright and inquisitive. She glanced around the grove, noting the creatures who scurried in attendance, noses quivering as they observed her. Placing a hand on her hip, she smiled, her voice low and sensuous as she spoke. “Legend tells of your land, Novor Tur-Woodberry.” She dipped her head as if bowing to a higher being. “Long have I desired to come here and bring you a gift—the only thing missing in your land.”
“A gift is quite generous of you.” Novor Tur-Woodberry chuckled. “I sense a deeper discussion must take place. Come along and dine at my home.”
The lady held up a hand, her eyes narrowing as she shook her head, a laugh spilling from her lips. “Is that your way? Invite all guests to dine at your home? A magical realm I suppose where you pull thoughts and ideas from the heads of your guests and spin them into tales of your own creation? Just because legend speaks of you does not mean I am ready to enter your home. First, I wish to walk your land, to ensure it is as great and as good as legend tells. Only then will I reveal my gift.”
“Ah.” Novor Tur-Woodberry’s eyes twinkled. “You come with a challenge, yet I felt your presence in the land yesterday. What have you learned since you arrived?”
“Many things, but not enough. All I have seen lies on the surface. I must go beyond what is seen and understand the deeper mysteries of your land.”
“Some mysteries are not meant to be discovered,” Novor Tur-Woodberry said. “But come, I will show you the land myself. Walk through it. Speak with the inhabitants. Everything lives and breathes with life here, kept with my powers. The secrets you wish to find shall be revealed to you, while others will remain locked away. There should always be a limit to knowledge.”
The lady smiled. “Perhaps. You will always speak your version of the truth, but you are not the only one powerful enough to control this land.”
“Ah, you speak of things which should be discussed with a pint of ale and a pipe of tobacco. This conversation would be welcomed around my table.”
The lady raised a hand, brushing his words aside. “No doubt, but you forget. Your land is missing someone vital, and you haven’t realized your great need. The greatest Duneíthaír in all the land had something else.”
“You speak of the power of life and death—a power known to only the greatest Healer of the past?”
“Ah, so you know the tales.”
“You doubt my knowledge. I know that you are the wind lady and my guess is that you have come to grace my land with the gift of wind. One of your twin daughters?”
She smiled then, showing off a row of perfectly white teeth. Wind seemed to rush around her, caressing her hair and tugging at her sky-blue dress. For a moment, she blended into the grove, almost invisible with the sky and land.
“I am the wind lady, come from worlds apart. I come because my days are numbered. My winds are blowing eastward and an impossible call is pulling me onward, yet my heart belongs here in this land.” She cast her face to the side, eyes down as a pensive look came over her. “I will inspect your land before I reveal why I need your help.”
Compassion covered Novor Tur-Woodberry’s face, and he nodded. His tone was gentle as he spoke. “I hear you and I encourage you. Go through my lands, speak to those who live there, and let your mind rest at ease. There is nothing but welcome here for you.”
Although she appeared cryptic, Novor Tur-Woodberry knew her story. She’d captured the heart of a captain and spirited him away in the Monoxie Meadows. They lived happily for a time, giving birth to two daughters. Novor Tur-Woodberry guessed the wind lady left one of her daughters to roam the Monoxie Meadows while the other she hoped to leave in his land. From there, she and Captain Elid
ar would begin their final journey to the Pillars of Creation.
The moment shattered and a voice shouted, “Novor Tur-Woodberry! Novor Tur-Woodberry! We need your help!”
13
Lavender and Lemon
Citrine flung open the door to her cottage and slammed it shut, leaning against it as she caught her breath. Shaking her hair out of her face, she stumbled into the dark, making her way to the fireplace where day-old ash had gathered. During the night, the wind had thrust its way down her chimney, scattering soot and ash across the cool stone floor like a thief searching for treasure. High windows let in glimpses of daylight, making patterns in the floor. As much as Citrine loved the sunlight, sometimes she preferred to work in dim light.
Striking flint against a stone, she caught a flame and laid it on the fireplace among the charred wood from yesterday. Reaching for her basket and some additional sticks, she drew up short when she discovered her basket of herbs was not hanging by the fireplace. She tossed the sticks in hand into the fire, letting it sputter and flicker to life. She huffed, peering through the darkness to find her basket. “I had it yesterday,” she swore, running back through her memories and coming up with nothing. The strange waif who had given her the skull seemed to have taken her memories.
Stumbling to her worktable, Citrine riffled through herbs scattered there, an increasing sense of discomfort coming over her. It seemed someone had searched her cottage. Nothing was in its place. The herbs, parchment, rock, and candle were gone.
Soot smudged her fingers and when she tried to brush them off on her clothes, she turned them black. It was a moment before she noticed someone was pounding on the door.
Snatching up a lemon rind, she sucked on it as she made her way to the door, her mind distracted with the ingredients of the memory tea she needed to make. Flinging open the door, she peered down at the four-foot-tall creature who stood before it. It was one of Novor Tur-Woodberry’s Singing Men. If she recalled correctly, his name was Teak.
His cheeks turned rosy at the sight of her disorderly appearance. “Milady Citrine.” He almost gave a mock bow but paused before dipping his head, grinning rather rudely at her. “Seems I’ve interrupted you. Nevertheless, I was asked to check on you. You were missing at dinner last night and apparently you were expected.”
“Apparently.” Citrine bit her lip. Novor Tur-Woodberry had never sent someone to check on her before. “Well, as you can see, I’m fine.”
She slammed the door on his imprudence, glancing down at her wrinkled and now torn dress. She’d have to change. Her belly rumbled with hunger as she made her way through her disorderly cottage. The fire smoked into the room while she searched for the kettle to prop up on top. Her heart beat with a fury at the idea someone had entered her home and riffled through her personal effects.
She spit out her lemon rind at the sound of a thump on her door. Tossing it into the fire, she made her way back to the door, yelling, “I said I was fine. Leave me alone!”
She jerked open the door to Teak’s judging face. This time, she noticed a few of the other Singing Men in the distance waiting. “Errr . . . yes, I know.” He scratched his head sheepishly as if embarrassed to ask. “You are invited to dinner tonight at the house of Novor Tur-Woodberry. Will you attend?”
Citrine frowned. “I might be busy,” she admitted, although she was reluctant to miss an evening. As much as she wanted to speak with Novor Tur-Woodberry, she needed to figure out her situation, which was unraveling. “I have a question.” She narrowed her eyes at Teak, who had backed away.
“Eh?”
“Have you or Novor Tur-Woodberry or any of the Singing Men ever had a wife?” She spit out the words, her ears burning with the daring question.
Confusion crept into Teak’s eyes. “What do you speak of? We run the land. There is no time.”
“But you eat, drink, and relax every night,” Citrine insisted, unsure why she pressed the embarrassing question. “Undoubtedly, there have been visitors that caught your eye.”
“Perhaps there have been. We have lived many years, but all stories are told at the house of Novor Tur-Woodberry. You know this. So come tonight if you want to know more.” Teak stepped back, gave a jolly laugh, and turned to join the Singing Men. With a shout, they were off, marching through the land without a care in the world. As they faded from view, Citrine heard a song drift over the rolling hills, voices lifted in praise and admiration of the greatness of Novor Tur-Woodberry.
“Useless Singing Men,” she muttered. “If I had people sing about my greatness all day, I’d do something more with my life.” A hot surge of jealousy whizzed through her as she slammed the door, returning to search for her missing herbs.
A sprig of lavender appeared, and she lifted it, cradling the leaves as the teakettle boiled. Search as she might, she could not find any more lavender. With a sigh, she tossed her wrinkled clothes on the floor and poured herself a cup of tea. Brushing ash off the hearth, she sat cross-legged in front of the fire. She placed lavender leaves in the cup and hunched over it, breathing in. She needed to relax and clear her mind before she hunted for more herbs. She needed ginseng to bring back the memories of last night, plus the ingredients for her spell of protection were gone. She had to start over.
Drawing her knees up to her chest, she wrapped her arms around them and rocked back and forth as the scent of lavender seeped into her skin. Waves of panic floated around her, and she reached down a finger, drawing patterns in the debris from the fireplace.
Her past life flashed before her. Chocolate-brown eyes. Tender kisses. Laughing in the light until she thought her heart would explode from happiness. The herb garden and her beasts, secrets, lies, and joy wrapped together in one bundle until everything exploded. Impatiently, she brushed the angry thoughts away, destroying the rune she’d written in the ash. She needed to focus if this would work. Why couldn’t she remember? What if she had done something evil? Was the Master of the Forest coming for her? She’d kept up her end of the bargain . . .
A knock came at the door, breaking her concentration. Citrine stood, glancing around for some clothing to cover herself before shaking off the urge to dress. She strode across the floor, furious at the interruption. Heaving open the door, she shouted, “I told you to leave me alone!”
But there was no one there. A faint smell of sulfur slapped her in the face and looking down, she saw a long, curved fang. It looked like it was from a beast, ripped out of its mouth so hard the pink gum was still attached, flowing with fresh blood. Bending down, Citrine touched the solid tooth, her heart thumping in her chest. Her vision went dizzy. She squatted on her doorstep, tears gathering at the back of her eyes as a truth struck her so deep she didn’t want to believe it. “Zaul,” she whispered.
14
Kai’s Folly
Kai snatched two slices of bread and a thick slice of cheese off the table, tying it into a bundle as she headed for the door. Mother was busy selling loaves of fresh bread, and Father was at the millhouse, dealing with his customers. They were both exuberant about these tasks, Mother talking too much and Father proud of the technical way the millhouse worked. He was brilliant with inventions, and Kai wanted to show him something special and unique.
Her memories returned to the shining orb. Citrine seemed pleased and excited, yet she ran off before Kai could ask her more questions. What if it was an invention, a power she could use the way Father used the waters to create grain from wheat? What could she create?
Hastily draining the cup of goat milk, fresh and warm from the pasture, she left the house. Each afternoon, she went to tend the goats with the other children. They would not miss her if she took a few seconds away to make sure the orb was still there.
She splashed through the cool waters, her toes clutching the rocks as she skipped toward the cave. Her cheeks bulged with bread and cheese. Before she entered the cavern, she peered back at the village, but Triften was knocking on the millhouse door and the villagers seemed to
mind their own business. Satisfied they would not discover her, she swallowed the last of the bread and cheese and crept into the darkness.
The walls seemed to pulse, holding out invisible fingers as they welcomed their friend. She hummed as she moved, spellbound, toward the light, her heart lifting in awe as she stood before the beaming ball of light. It seemed to call to her, filling her mind and thoughts as she moved closer. Creeping forward, foot by foot, she held up a hand, daring to touch the orb like she’d seen Citrine do the day before.
The light pulled her in, shining brighter until she thought she saw tiny specks floating in the brilliance. What were they? Creatures of light? She brought her face as close to the orb as she could, listening to the hum of pleasure, almost like the purring of a beast. Gratitude spun around her like a warm blanket and she lifted a hand, questions rising on her tongue as she reached out to touch it. As soon as her hand touched the orb, it went numb and a suction pulled her in, close to the glowing beings as visions flashed through her mind.
Waves of light moved past her body like a current, pulling her in deeper. Glorious beings danced before her eyes and she heard a sound as sweet as morning dew above the purring hum. It was the song of the land, the tune that all living things carried through the ever-growing and flourishing land of Novor Tur-Woodberry.
A smile came over Kai’s face and a peace settled in her heart as she listened. An understanding filled her mind and she felt as if two hands reached out and pulled her into an embrace.
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