Novor Tur-Woodberry nodded as he spoke. “Here, there is the power of good without evil. Peace without chaos. And the song of life that holds this world together. My land and the Boundary Line Forest are opposites, planted side by side to keep the balance. Yet all has changed now, and I do not blame you.” His eyes twinkled at Citrine, understanding her anxious thoughts. “Citrine, can you find the Master of the Forest again?”
Citrine closed her eyes, going back to the moment and reaching out. Morag.
Citrine. The tone was hollow in her thoughts.
You must leave, she begged.
We cannot speak this way.
Why not?
Trust me. Come.
Are you by the river?
Aye. Be warned. If you come, there is no turning back.
I do not leave my beasts.
So you say.
She broke off on the unkind note. Novor Tur-Woodberry waited while Tor Lir examined her as if he’d like to pry open her skull and take her abilities. She shuddered, curious about what power he possessed, especially if he was not mortal. “If we can find the river again, I can find the Master of the Forest.” Although she wished no such thing, the Master made her skin crawl. She did not want to meet him again.
“I would like to go with her to find the Master,” Tor Lir said to Novor Tur-Woodberry.
“What will we do when we get there? You don’t know what he’s like. What if he tries to kill us?” Citrine snapped at him, her temper rising. The look on his face said he thought it was all an elaborate game.
“We will determine what happens when we get there. Don’t you have beasts you need to set free?” Tor Lir rejoined.
“Yes.” Citrine glanced to Novor Tur-Woodberry for help.
“Let’s leave in the morning,” Tor Lir suggested. “In the meantime, are the people of this land safe?”
Novor Tur-Woodberry rose to his feet. “Leave the people of the land to me. They are my responsibility. You two must assist with something else. This is why you’ve come to my land. If my Singing Men and I leave, we lose our power. We cannot go to the forest and confront the Master of the Forest, but you can; and if you want to help, it is your quest. I have gifts for you, for the forest is deep and treacherous and you are not prepared to face monsters with what you have now.”
Citrine took a long sip of wine. There was more she wanted to say, especially about the light Kai showed her and the bone-white tree growing in the center of the land. She was unsure how to proceed with the odd male in their presence. More than anything, she desired a word alone with Novor Tur-Woodberry before she forsook his land.
The Singing Men hummed the dark tune to a ditty, and harp music struck up in the room. The roaring fire burned lower, and the room shifted into a cavernous hall.
“Follow me,” Novor Tur-Woodberry said. Reaching up, he pulled a latch behind the fireplace and opened a massive door into a cool hall.
24
Hall of Wonder
Torches flicked into being with yellow lights pulsing on either side of the yawning hall. A wide stone path led into the darkness. Citrine gazed in awe at the endless cavern, stretching onward and moving upward without end. She crossed the threshold, cool stone gracing her bare feet.
“I did not know this place was here. From the outside, your small cottage does not look like it hides a treasury,” she exclaimed in surprise.
Novor Tur-Woodberry chuckled. “There are many mysteries you haven’t seen yet. Rare circumstances require visitors to see the treasury, but you have come here unarmed. I have no choice.”
“I thought I saw vague shapes flickering when I came down the slope,” Tor Lir admitted. “Is it unusual to have a home like this?”
Citrine snorted. “You have much to learn about mortals.”
“Lack of knowledge does not mean I am unintelligent,” Tor Lir reprised her, his eyebrows drawing together, stopping just short of a frown. “I am quick to learn and understand, but everything is new. I don’t know yet.”
“Nor should you, but you have a mind open to knowledge, so you will gain wisdom.” Novor Tur-Woodberry admonished Tor Lir as he led the way down the stone path.
The torches seemed to light themselves as the three moved forward and extinguished themselves when they left the direct path of light. When Citrine looked up, she was sure she saw faces in the flames, staring at her.
“Those are the flame-creatures,” Novor Tur-Woodberry explained, his deep voice echoing off the walls. “They prefer to live down here, coming and going as they please. There are only ten, which is why the lights go out behind us. They are flying ahead to light our path.”
“Like the Iaens of Shimla who light the glade for the great dance,” Tor Lir murmured.
“Aye, like that,” Novor Tur-Woodberry agreed.
Citrine frowned, feeling left out of a mysterious secret. “What are Iaens?”
Novor Tur-Woodberry glanced to Tor Lir, inviting him to answer the question. A guarded look came over Tor Lir’s face, as if he did not want to speak. “Iaens are secretive. I am not sure how much I should relay to you,” he answered.
“Are you afraid I’ll use your knowledge to barter?” Citrine snapped, irritated. “I trusted you with my greatest secret—perhaps that was a mistake.”
“Tor Lir, I would encourage you to speak freely with us, but to guard your secrets with others. As your gut tells you, we seldom know the motives of mortals. You would be wise to be careful who you trust.” Novor Tur-Woodberry turned toward Citrine. “Iaens are the immortals of Shimla. As a whole, you may hear them called Iaens or Idrains; however, there are different species. For example, the Green People were influential in the war between the mortals and immortals.”
Citrine noticed Tor Lir’s eyes narrow, but just as quickly, all expression left his face. In the flickering lights, it seemed as if she had imagined it.
“There are many other species,” Novor Tur-Woodberry continued. “A few include the Rainidrains, the Falidrains, and the Jesnidrians. They each are unique, just as the four people groups of the Four Worlds have their unique traits. There was a time when the Iaens grew in number and were abundant throughout the land. Since the war, they keep to themselves, hidden in forests, no more to bind their fate to the mortals.”
“What species are you?” Citrine asked Tor Lir, her curiosity about his history piqued.
“I am all,” he said, his eyes remaining on the torchlight, the reflection glowing in his green eyes, like the Green Light and the sun at daybreak. “I am the first and last of my kind. There is no one like me. That is all I will say.” He shut his mouth into a grim line and his eyes darkened.
“Eh, you both shall have plenty of time to discuss later, I wager.” Novor Tur-Woodberry nodded at them as they approached a flight of winding stairs. “Watch your step—we descend to the treasury.”
“Novor Tur-Woodberry, I would like to point out, amidst the interruptions you never explained, who wants to kill me?” Tor Lir asked, his voice muted against the walls.
Citrine jumped at the unexpected question, her heart beating faster as she trailed her hand over the wall, hugging close to it. The other side of the staircase was wide open, a precarious place to fall to, what she assumed would be, her death.
“Aye. What I have to say is for both of you, but concerns you, Tor Lir. Citrine, because you travel together, you must be aware.” Novor Tur-Woodberry’s voice turned grave. “This message concerns your future, a joint future regardless of what takes place here. There is a zealous sect, a spin-off of the Order of the Wise and the Wise Ones. As you know, the Order of the Wise died out long ago, although the descendants of the Wise Ones still live and breathe. After the war between the mortals and immortals, watchers and rulers took up reign in the west. Their purpose is to guard against the rise of the immortals and keep those with great power from abusing the freedoms of the mortals. They call themselves Disciples of Ithar. They search for individuals with unique powers and take them, keeping them und
er guard so they cannot release chaos and war on this world. There may come a time when they find out about you and seek to kill or consume your knowledge and power. Watch out for them.”
“Disciples of Ithar?” Citrine felt a mixture of fear and anger roaring within her. “Who came up with such a terrible idea?”
“Terrible?” Novor Tur-Woodberry asked. “Seek to understand, and you will know. You did not live through the war, during a time when the power of the immortals was unleashed and they wrought a great massacre on this land. They slay all the elders of time, leaving only the youth who lack knowledge to pick up the pieces. There was only one wise enough to see beyond their conniving actions: King Idrithar of the Torrents Towers. Alas, he disappeared ten years ago and there is no word of his whereabouts. Only his disciples follow in his legacy, and there is a reason for that.”
“A reason?” Citrine snapped, losing her temper at last. “There is a reason they seek unique people with unusual powers and try to kill them? That is evil!”
“There is much good and evil left in this world. How you will navigate the dark desires of mortals and balance the greater good is up to Tor Lir now. I beg you, as situations arise, seek to understand from all sides before choosing. Remember, life is precious, but deception is abundant. In choosing to save many, you may destroy the entire world.”
“Certainly it is not as deep and drastic as you make it seem?” Citrine asked, cowed before Novor Tur-Woodberry’s great knowledge and power. Someone who’d lived hundreds of years would know more about the world she lived in. Her twenty-five years seemed short considering Novor Tur-Woodberry’s years. She turned to Tor Lir, realizing she wanted him to agree. Silence met her. There was a dark glint in his eyes, and she could see he was considering Novor Tur-Woodberry’s words.
Novor Tur-Woodberry chuckled as they approached the bottom of the staircase and the torches around an archway lit up. “Do not fear, but beware, for darkness surrounds us. We are all given a choice to choose between darkness or light. It’s a choice I want you to know of, regardless of where your adventures take you. I can only tell you so much—you must take the words I have given you and choose what kind of action you will take in life.”
“You sound as if we are going away forever.” A sorrow pierced her heart, and she reached out, intending to touch Novor Tur-Woodberry’s shoulder. She felt a deep yearning to stay in the land and remain in Paradise. “I only want to go to the forest, find the Master of the Forest, and return here, to stay with you.”
Novor Tur-Woodberry turned to meet her gaze and his eyes were gentle. He nodded at her. “I understand your desire.” Then turning, he lifted a ring of keys from his belt and unlocked the arched door. It swung open with a creak and pure air flowed out. The torches gave a little shriek of joy as they went dark and the flame-creatures rushed to light up the room.
Citrine felt her heart drop and her eyes fell to the stone floor, examining them as if they had rebuffed her. Someone had carved a myriad of intricate runes into each square block of stone and covered the treasury with a rich history spun with imagery. Citrine’s eyes widened as she examined the treasury. She’d never seen one before and had nothing to compare it to, but as with everything else, the home of Novor Tur-Woodberry held its own secrets.
Tor Lir walked to the middle, turning in circles as he examined runes while Novor Tur-Woodberry drew up beside Citrine. “We will speak more after this,” he murmured. Citrine could not decipher whether his words carried a promise or a dig for more information. She scratched the back of her neck, wondering if he knew she hadn’t been completely truthful with him.
The treasury was a circle with glass walls at each corner, which created round turrets where cases of weapons and armor hung. There were long swords with curved blades, short knives for hunting and skinning, and great axes for cutting. Some weapons were simple while others were decorated with gold, silver, and mysterious runes. There were long bows and arrows with colored tips, boots made of leather, and shields hammered into squares and curved shapes. A heartbeat of power centered in the middle of the room, thick with a warning against the misuse of the weapons there.
A waist-high rectangular block sat in the middle of the treasury with an ax carved out of marble and riddled with runes resting on top. Novor Tur-Woodberry walked toward the block. Running his thick fingers down the broad side, he grabbed a latch and pulled. A drawer opened, a row of short blades lay inside, some with straight edges, others with curved edges. “Now tell me, what kind of weapon do you prefer?”
“I’ve done well with the bow and arrow,” Tor Lir said, gazing at quivers of arrows hidden behind a wall of glass.
“Bows and arrows are for cowards.” Citrine couldn’t help the jab that slipped from her lips. She moved to join Novor Tur-Woodberry. “I prefer knives.”
“You look as though you prefer hand-to-hand combat,” Tor Lir remarked as he joined Citrine and Novor Tur-Woodberry.
“I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty,” Citrine retorted, unsure why she let him ruffle her feelings.
“Weapons are given for different reasons.” Novor Tur-Woodberry held up a hand. “If the two of you argue like children, you will not achieve your goal. A bow is called for in case someone attacks you from afar while knives are better if anyone sneaks up on you.” He lifted two blades, the length from his wrist to elbow. The blades were curved while the handle was a deep ivory, almost white. “Citrine, there are grooves in the handle that make it easier to grip. See what you think of these.”
Citrine took a knife in each hand, considering the weight and balance. Holding the blades toward the gray stone floor, she backed away. A hot rush poured through her veins as again she recalled the Master of the Forest, the buried skull, and Zaul’s fang. Anger roared through her and a piercing cry echoed through the air as she lifted the blades over her head and twirled them with her fingers. She stamped her foot, fighting against the urgency to run and rip everything from its place. A fierceness came over her body and her eyes narrowed as she returned the knives to their neutral position, blade down. “Yes, I would like these.” She returned to the block where Novor Tur-Woodberry took the blades and sheathed them into cases of leather.
He handed her a belt, a twinkle coming to his blue eyes. “They are yours.”
She smiled at him before recalling Tor Lir was with them. The glow faded from her cheeks as she watched him study the runes on various weapons. “What are these?” His fingers traced the rune on the handle of a knife.
“There is a rich history of lore associated with runes and symbols.” Novor Tur-Woodberry reached out a hand and ran his fingers over the ax. “Citrine is familiar and attuned to the ways of nature. Alas, we do not have the time to discuss further tonight. For now, pick a bow and arrow for your journey, and a hunting knife. Your chambers await you.”
Tor Lir gave a quick nod as Novor Tur-Woodberry handed him a bow and quiver of arrows. He tucked a knife into his belt as the flame-creatures hustled to the archway, their voices whispering into the night. Citrine watched them, and a cold shudder went down her spine. Closing her eyes, she reached out with her mind, seeking her beasts.
25
Silver-White Heart
The wind howled. Novor Tur-Woodberry raised his eyebrows in concern as he held open the door to a chamber. “Tor Lir, rest here tonight. The sunshine will wake you and you may be on your way to the forest on the morrow.”
Tor Lir nodded at him and then Citrine before entering the room. The door swung shut behind him, leaving Novor Tur-Woodberry and Citrine alone. “Come,” he beckoned to her, sensing the anxiety that churned through her. “You wanted to speak with me?”
Citrine opened her mouth, a retort about to fly from her stubborn lips. Yet instead of speaking, she returned to the fire and curled up on a chair. Tucking her feet under her, she leaned forward and rested her chin in her hands. Novor Tur-Woodberry sat across from her.
“There was a message for you,” Novor Tur-Woodberry began, rubbi
ng his hands together. They felt empty without the comfort of his pipe, but he’d smoked enough for one day. “A pair of foxes brought them, one white, one red. Do you know any foxes?”
Citrine shook her head, her jeweled eyes guarded as she waited for bad news. She seemed to sense it coming and steeled herself against the impact.
“They said to tell you that Zaul is trapped, the barrier is down, and the Master of the Forest is coming. What do those words mean to you?”
Citrine blinked, fury behind her eyes. With one slender hand, she moved strands of bright hair away from her face. Novor Tur-Woodberry noticed that in the flickering firelight, her vibrant hair took on a rather orange color. She shrugged. “I’ve already told you. I made a deal with the Master, and now he is coming for your land. I don’t understand why, and we already have a plan in motion to stop it.”
“Is there nothing else?” Novor Tur-Woodberry leaned toward her, gathering the hints of lavender that lifted from her body. There was something she wasn’t telling him, confirmed by the way she dropped her eyes and shifted her gaze to the fire.
“Nothing else.” She fell silent, fidgeting with the hem of her dress. “I don’t understand.” Misery replaced her bravery. “This is your land—you are the most powerful being here. How can the Master of the Forest threaten you? You’ve been here for hundreds of years.”
Novor Tur-Woodberry sighed at the question. “Like I told you before, the balance is shifting. Things are different now. I perceived there would come a day when I was no longer needed in this land, and it would be time for me to go. That time is now.”
He felt a bittersweet nostalgia as he said the words once again, and the thought of leaving and going to his final resting place brought a sense of peace.
Citrine bent her head, her hair hiding her face from him before she shook herself out of her reprieve. Her eyes were shining when she looked at him, and he noted the stubborn tilt of her chin. “Kai, the miller’s daughter, showed me something in the caves, a big white ball of light, and it spoke to me.”
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