The female looked as if she might utter another rude word but thought better of herself and plopped down with a sigh, holding out her hand for a golden goblet of bright-red liquid.
22
Laws of Balance
Citrine glared at the lanky male as she took sips of the bold wine. It tasted rich with hints of chocolate on her tongue. A calmness came over her, greater than the feeling the scent of lavender gave her. The male’s emerald-green eyes were cold and emotionless as his gaze lingered on her, as if she were some unwanted refuse in his path. He was young with long black eyelashes, an angular face, and roughly cut black hair. If he had the hints of a beard, she might think him handsome, but the vibe she got from him was eerie and unusual.
She couldn’t place him among the people groups, either. There were four main people groups in the South World. Crons, a people group of a short stature and a fair complexion known for their lust for adventure. Tiders, such as herself, who lived at great heights given their long and limber bodies. Trazames, who were farmers, and Ezincks who were dark-skinned and preferred forests. In the future, Citrine hoped to find a tribe of Ezincks and study with them. Their healers crafted unusual spells from herbs, and Citrine knew some spells she’d forgotten were from the Ezincks.
She took another sip of wine to keep her frustration from rising and to avoid blatantly staring at the male. He was tall like a Tider and something about the way he sat, holding his shoulders straight and examining her with his emotionless eyes, made her feel sick. Her heart beat faster and her fingers twitched in discomfort. She couldn’t pin down what it was, but she did not like him.
His eyes left hers and returned to Novor Tur-Woodberry, who sat back in his chair, stroking his great beard while the firelight highlighted the gold in his rich brown hair.
Citrine felt her heart turn over as she looked toward Novor Tur-Woodberry. When her eyes drifted back to the male, she saw the perfection in his body and a slight glimmer. In the firelight, it looked like a faint pale-green shimmer surrounded him, almost unseen in the flickering light. Shaking herself from her unorthodox observation, she returned to the task at hand.
“Novor Tur-Woodberry.” She addressed him with respect. “I’ve just come from the village. Kai, the miller’s daughter, went missing today. The villagers spent all afternoon looking for her. She was wandering in the caverns and fell and hit her head . . .” She lapsed off, glancing at the green-eyed male, wondering how much she should reveal with him here. “I’m sorry.” She broke off. “I can’t talk with him here.” She pointed an accusing finger. “Who are you?”
“This is Tor Lir,” Novor Tur-Woodberry rumbled, speaking for the male as if defending him. “I’ll allow him to answer your questions.”
Citrine lifted her chin as she met the cool gaze of the male. “I suppose that’s not your real name.”
His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Why do you say that?”
Citrine shrugged, somewhat cowed. “I only assumed, because it was the topic of a recent conversation with a Trespiral.” With a huff, she turned back to Novor Tur-Woodberry. “We don’t have time for this. I need to speak with you. Alone.” Her eyes begged him to adhere to her request.
“Tor Lir is not used to the realm of mortals, and he is seeking a guide into the world.” Novor Tur-Woodberry addressed Citrine, ignoring her request. “I believe you would be the right guide to show him the way of the world.”
“A guide!” Citrine leaped to her feet, aghast as she glared from Novor Tur-Woodberry to Tor Lir. “I can’t be a guide! Who do you think you are?” She glared at Tor Lir, baring her teeth.
His eyes were cold as he met hers, a semblance of hostility just behind them. “I come from the forests of Shimla, the haven of the immortals. I uphold the balance between good and evil. Something is wrong here, and I will discover what my role is in mending the uneasiness gripping the land.”
Citrine sat down hard, all the air going out of her at his words. She examined him from head to toe again as memories of her flight through the Boundary Line Forest consumed her. She recalled a dream, or what she hoped was a sleep-soaked dream, of white creatures with lidless eyes. Forgotten words pressed on her memory. “There is an imbalance between good and evil. Her actions will help keep the balance.”
“What about him? His purpose is to keep the balance.”
She shuddered, her voice coming out just above a whisper. “Who are you then? If you’re not a mortal?”
A flicker of uncertainty appeared in his cold eyes, which shone like jewels. Citrine shivered, reminded of the legend of Treasure Hunters, Jeweled Ones who wielded extraordinary power once they found the stone that matched their eye color. Surely Tor Lir was one. “I’m not sure yet, but I intend to find out.”
His words sounded like an omission of truth. Citrine watched him shudder, a smirk almost coming to her face, yet she caught it in time. She held up a finger. “To clarify, you were born among the immortals and you lived there until you left?”
“Yes,” he assured her. “I have a purpose I will complete. And who are you? If you are to be my guide, I’d like to know more about you.” He grinned at her, a cunning grin, like a wolf.
Citrine sat back, reaching for her wine and taking a sip to avoid looking into those odd eyes. She sneaked a glance at Novor Tur-Woodberry as she pulled the goblet away from her lips. A drop of red wine dripped down onto her lap, staining her bare leg with its juice.
“My name is Citrine. I am . . .” She paused, for her speech was not prepared and she was unwilling to share her true nature. “New to this land,” she finished.
“Where were you before you entered this realm?” Tor Lir leaned forward, his deep eyes inquisitive.
“It’s not a realm,” Citrine snapped, somehow annoyed with him. He was cold and uncaring, and she did not want to look at him again lest his coolness seep into her skin. Yet all the same, her eyes examined his angular features as if chiseled from stone. She could not help but wonder who he was and what kind of power he held. “I came from a village beyond the wood where they cast me out.”
It sounded strange admitting that truth out loud.
“Why were you an outcast?” Tor Lir’s eyes turned dangerous, and she did not want to talk to him anymore.
“Perhaps it is time to turn the conversation to things at hand,” Novor Tur-Woodberry interrupted, rescuing her from dark thoughts of the past. “Tor Lir, please explain what led you here, aside from your intuition. We can return to our previous conversation another time.”
Citrine detected a hint of disappointment in Tor Lir’s eyes. However, he opened his mouth and smooth words poured from his guileless lips. She leaned toward him, curious about him as he spoke. He related his journey south from Shimla, elaborating when he discovered a dead body and was chased by a strange beast into the forest. Citrine raised her eyebrows in disbelief when he talked about the bone-white creature that came to him and led him out of the forest. Only, he was captured by the Singing Men and taken deep within Novor Tur-Woodberry’s land. When at last he finished and his lips grew silent, Citrine found her fingers gripped her chair, as if something froze her in place. A horror wormed its way around her, and despite her thoughts, she could not help but assume it was her fault the land of Novor Tur-Woodberry was in chaos.
Before she could speak, Novor Tur-Woodberry took his pipe from his mouth and stared into the flickering yellow tongues of fire. “It is as I thought. My time is over, and I must leave because the world is at peace and I am not required. The land will miss me, but they don’t need me.”
“What?” Citrine shrieked, the scream dying in her throat at the terrible words from Novor Tur-Woodberry. Tears rose in her eyes, unbidden as she stared at the Singing Men. Their expressions were somber as they stared at the fire, nodding one by one as if they regretted knowing the truth. “But you can’t go,” Citrine begged, her fingers turning white. “Your land is a haven. What will happen when you leave? Evil is rising to take over this land. Are you g
oing to let it?”
Novor Tur-Woodberry took his pipe from his mouth and faced her, his eyes deep with kindness and understanding.
But it was Tor Lir who responded as if a vision graced his mind. “The great war is over. There is a shift in the balance, but too much goodness abounds and leaves no room for chaos. If peace is to last in this world, then this sanctuary, this Paradise, must perish. All is good and great in this realm—a land such as this is not needed.”
Fury rushed through Citrine at Tor Lir’s words, and she wanted to reach out, find his neck, and wring it. Her fingers twitched, begging to do her will and bring misery to the emotionless, uncaring guest.
“There was a time when I hoped this land would always be kept by a powerful Duneíthaír, but I cannot see the future.” Novor Tur-Woodberry spoke up, his voice calming Citrine’s murderous gaze. “The land is ripe for chaos, and I feel the time is now. Tor Lir is right. My time is up.”
“What will happen to this land and the people who live here?” Citrine wanted to shout and scream and cry all at once. How dare they take Paradise from her. How dare they let this happen to the land when they had the power to stop it.
“The land will die.” The bleak truth dropped from Novor Tur-Woodberry’s lips and a somber air filled the room.
“Can you stay longer?” Citrine whispered, her face a mask of sorrow. A heaviness dragged her down as her world caved in on her once again.
“My time is at an end.” Novor Tur-Woodberry lifted his pipe, puffing methodically as he stared into the fire.
“What of the Creator who sent you here? Surely he will grant you grace,” Citrine pressed, setting her goblet of wine on the arm of her chair in a precarious way.
“Perhaps. There are bigger matters at hand than the beauty of Paradise. Perhaps because of the peace, my land is not needed.”
“No,” Tor Lir interrupted. “It’s because of the balance. There is none. Since the war, the balance has swung to the side of good and there it rests. We need chaos in the land, or it will end. The fall of a great land such as this will bring balance.”
“Who cares about balance?” Citrine demanded, glaring at Tor Lir, ready to rip his tongue out. “There are people who live here!”
“I care about balance. I am the keeper of balance.”
“Why does it matter!”
“Because there must be order.”
“Why?”
“It’s why I have come. I don’t know why. I have a strong feeling.”
“Can’t you change the balance?”
“Change? Why would I change the laws of balance?”
“To save this land!”
“I can’t just come in here and change the balance. There must be equality between good and evil.”
“No. There shouldn’t! Isn’t that why the White Steeds fought the war? Not to bring balance and equality between good and evil but to save life. Why won’t you save the land? Why won’t you risk it?”
“It’s not my purpose.”
“Well, maybe it is and you’re so befuddled with propriety you don’t know it yet!”
“Perhaps there is a way,” Novor Tur-Woodberry mused. “Citrine, my time is over, but we can still save the people. Although Paradise will fall, we can halt evil. I invited you here for a reason tonight because I know you did not enter this land by chance. Perhaps now is the time to share with us what you know.”
23
What Citrine Knew
Ava. Citrine reached out for threads of connection. Come.
“What are you doing?” Tor Lir’s question broke her concentration. “You look like you’re talking to someone.”
Citrine frowned at him, her heart pounding. She took a deep breath, meeting Novor Tur-Woodberry’s kind eyes. Would he cast her out if she told him the truth? Would he do what her past lover had done? “I am an Enchantress.” Saying the words out loud somehow made it true, and she realized she was proud of her secret heritage.
“The Enchantress,” Novor Tur-Woodberry stressed, encouraging her to continue.
“Did you know?” The strength of her voice dropped away as she held his gaze, awe and wonder at the respect in his eyes. There was no hate and no need to drive her away while burning everything she cared for.
“You have a unique future, but my vision is not clear,” Novor Tur-Woodberry went on. “However, I know you are the strongest Enchantress who has ever lived. Much like Marklus the Healer was the greatest healer of all time, standing between life and death.”
“Pardon me,” Tor Lir said, a glimmer of curiosity in his emerald eyes, and something else that seemed like lust. “What does that mean? What abilities do you have?”
“I am a friend to nature,” Citrine explained. “I have a unique bond with it. I respect nature, and it hears and answers my requests. I understand how to use the various plants and runes for healing, knowledge, and other skills as required. I also have beasts.”
“You control beasts?” Tor Lir stared at her in surprise while Novor Tur-Woodberry and the Singing Men fixated their gazes on her.
The room grew silent, the quiet music in the background fading away. Only the flickering fire provided the slightest noise.
“Collect. I collect—not control—them and they obey my wishes. It is respect for respect.” She was sure Tor Lir understood nothing about respect, and her lip curled at him. “I only collect exotic beasts with the same eye color as myself.”
“Citrine.” Novor Tur-Woodberry took his pipe out of his mouth. “There is something special about your gift. What else happened to you in the forest?”
Citrine paused, reaching out for more threads of communication. Grift. Get out of the forest. Come to Paradise. It’s too dangerous.
There was no response.
“I’ve seen this happen before,” she admitted, speaking to Novor Tur-Woodberry. Vulnerability rose and the words she’d refused to tell another living soul came spilling out. “It happened in the village I lived in before I came here. Crops were dying, animals turned up dead with strange bite marks, and children disappeared. The villagers were superstitious—they blamed me and drove me out. But it wasn’t my fault . . .” She trailed off. Her tone sounded desperate and defensive. It felt wrong to defend herself among the first who gave her the decency of believing her story. At least, she hoped the respect in Novor Tur-Woodberry’s eyes meant he believed her tale.
“Do you know what happened to the village after you left?” Tor Lir asked.
Citrine shook her head, her eyes darkening. “No. And I don’t care.” The lie left her lips too quickly, and she dropped her gaze to the fire to keep her chin from shaking.
Memories took her back to her flight through the forest, and when she hid in a hollow log to rest. White beings with snakes for hair and tentacles for arms stood where she had rested. They spoke of things she did not understand. Narrowing her eyes in memory, she sought to recall their words, but they were lost to her, just like her memories the night she buried the skull. Since nothing came back to mind, she spoke the words she knew would change everything. “I met the Master of the Forest.”
Tor Lir leaned forward. Citrine recognized the lust for adventure dancing in his eyes. He desired a quest and a purpose for his life. He wanted an escape from the humdrum and to dive into something exciting and bigger than him. He desired knowledge and praise and something else she could not quite put her finger on. “The bone-white creature told me it serves the Master of the Forest. And you’ve met him?”
“Yes.” Citrine lifted her chin, answering the unspoken challenge.
“Under what circumstances?” Tor Lir asked.
“I was lost in the wood. I made a deal with him to help me find a way out.”
“Of the forest?” Tor Lir crinkled his forehead in disbelief. “I’m sure you would have found a way out.”
“Are you judging me?” Hot blood rushed to her ears. “You have no place to judge when you were lost in the forest yesterday and had a bone-white creature le
ad you out. You don’t understand my circumstances!”
“Aye.” Tor Lir held up his hands, signifying peace while his emerald eyes laughed at her temper.
“Tell us more,” Novor Tur-Woodberry interrupted, soothing the air with his questions.
“I followed a river, you see . . . because of my ability to tame monsters. One of them told me where to find the Master of the Forest.”
“Why didn’t you tame the Master of the Forest?” Tor Lir’s eyes glinted as if he could pull her thoughts from her mind.
Citrine frowned at him, her tone becoming hard again. “My abilities don’t work like that. The Master of the Forest is an undead creature. He . . . it . . . can’t be tamed. There are certain circumstances my abilities cannot transcend.”
“Interesting.” Tor Lir sat back, still watching her. “How do you tame your beasts?”
She didn’t want to talk to him, and yet, she did. It was an odd feeling and a combination of relief at being able to talk about her unique gifting. “It’s all free will. I establish a metaphysical link with them and we communicate in our minds. They swear allegiance and then they are mine.”
“Perhaps the Master of the Forest is the same way.” Tor Lir cocked his head. “Perhaps that’s how he bends the forest to his will, and we must take that ability from him. Perhaps he means to take it from you.”
“I very much doubt that.” Citrine denied the thought, terrified she considered it. Tor Lir’s words would ring true. “If he wanted my power, why did he let me go? He asked me to cause chaos wherever I go.” She bit her lip as soon as the words left her mouth, but it was too late. Surely they already knew the chaos in the land was her fault, and when they discovered she’d buried the skull that gave the Master of the Forest more control, they’d drive her out.
“Chaos is only a distraction,” Tor Lir mused. “There’s something deeper he wants. What is here? What does this land have that no one else has?” With his last words, he turned to Novor Tur-Woodberry.
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