“Well, what could I do?” she asked. “I was so certain about this name.” She felt faint as she recalled the incidents with the spirit in the forest and the strange frog Dorhen had caught. She desired to do right by her son in any way possible. By giving him his name, had she damned him instead?
Her father frowned as she worked her throat against a rising soreness. She wanted to see her mother, though how warmly would her mother receive her? She put her face in her hands, fighting some tears.
A strong male voice called from the west side of the forest, “Orinleah!”
A cold shock ran down her spine. Daghahen.
Her father scowled. Orinleah twisted around. Had he followed her? Was he angry?
Marching toward her in his tall, weathered boots and knee-length tabard from the human lands, Daghahen shot a wary glare at her father. Orinleah winced as he slid his hands around her. She had no one else to turn to. But since Daghahen offered his embrace, she took it, laying her head on his chest. He squeezed his warm, wool-clad arms around her and stroked her hair. She’d hoped to escape from this very saehgahn this morning. Now it appeared he’d come to her rescue. Orinleah’s head clouded up.
“Who hurt my Orinleah?” he asked, his warm voice rumbling in her ear.
His fingers grazed the back of her hand and across her collarbone. He finished by touching his fingertip to her forehead as he often did. “Toss them behind you,” he said, an old line adults recited to children when they faced a problem.
His gestures filled her with warmth and calm. She slipped her arms around his waist and sighed until he peeled them away.
“Now let’s go home.” He picked up their son. With Dorhen perched in one arm, he wrapped his other around her shoulders and guided her away.
“Daghahen!” her father roared from behind them. “Take the child but leave her!”
He didn’t respond.
“Daghahen!”
Orinleah had no intention of choosing her old home over her son. When she glanced back at her father, her husband tightened his grip around her and they walked back home.
Daghahen returned to his practice for one more day and returned to collapse on their bed. The world around him disappeared for a while until he registered the sensation of someone prodding his back. He jerked upright and found Orinleah beside him. He sighed and lowered his head to rub his face.
“Orinleah,” he said, and leaned closer to her. He took her face in his hands, savoring the sight of her. Her eyes darted between his. “I’m sorry. Listen…” He closed his eyelids as a filmy, hazy side effect from one of last night’s spells pressed on them. He forced them back open, urgent to formulate a plan. “We won’t stay here long. We’re going to get away. Understand?”
“Why? What’s going on?”
“Please listen. Trust me. Oh damn, I’m a fool. Orinleah…” He lowered his head, the door to his consciousness closing. Some of those side effects were murder. This was no time to sleep. Daylight showed through some cracks in the walls. He moved his hands from her face to her shoulders. “I’m going to fix it, all right?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about anymore. I haven’t understood you for a while.”
His eyes closed again. Last night, the stars had warned him that Lambelhen drew close. The constellation of the Cloven-Headed Man, the one always attributed to Daghahen and his brother, had appeared straight across the sky, east to west, from the Open Door. The Gallows aligned between them, which always warned Daghahen about incoming danger. The Adoptive Parent, a constellation of a tall figure holding a smaller figure’s hand, rose in the east behind the Cloven-Headed Man. Lambelhen might be out looking for Dorhen also.
“I’m going to explain it to you…on the road. Get Dorhen ready.”
She reached toward his lapel, where one of his bloody bandages showed. He took her hand before she could inspect. “I’ll explain it all to you very soon. You’ll be better off knowing…”
He drifted off into a dream.
Dorhen sniffled and swallowed to make himself stop crying.
“From now on, you’ll listen to Mother, won’t you?” Mother scolded while she rubbed a cold yellow ointment on his hand.
“Yes, Mother. The frog, it was so pretty and shiny.”
“But it was hot, wasn’t it? I told you it needed several more hours to cool after coming out of the kiln. You didn’t listen.”
Mother had helped him make the little frog out of clay. She painted a special watery clay mix on it and pushed it into the fire after fanning it all day. Some cups she’d made went in with the little frog. When she pulled the clay things out earlier that evening, the frog had turned a beautiful, shiny dark green with little pink specks on its back.
“I worried about him all night, Mother.”
She giggled. “It’s a clay frog, guenhighar. He would’ve been fine. A few hours’ wait was all he needed. Now look at your hand. You’re an impatient saeghar, aren’t you?”
“Sorry.”
She wound a strip of cloth around his palm. His fingertips hurt too. They were turning white and puffy. “Don’t be sorry. From now on, you’ll listen to Mother. And you understand fire now, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
When Father came out of the bedroom, finally, Dorhen wiped his eyes on his sleeve. He didn’t want Father to see him cry. “Father,” he said, standing to meet him as squarely as he could while Mother worked on his hand, “can you take me fishing soon? I’m old enough now.”
Father stayed busy, pulling an old sack from the trunk and going to the cupboard to shove all the dried mushrooms and spices they owned into it. Father didn’t bother pausing when he said, “Of course you are.”
“What are you doing?” Mother asked.
“I told you to get ready. We’re leaving.” He finally gave his attention to Dorhen. “We’re going on a trip. There’ll be tons of opportunities to learn how to fish when we’re out in the wilds.”
Dorhen threw his hands in the air. “Hurray!” Mother jerked his bandaged hand back down and continued wrapping his fingers tighter than before.
“We’re leaving tonight,” Father continued. “We’ll be gone for a long time, so I’m counting on you to be tough. Let’s see your arm.”
Dorhen pushed up his sleeve and flexed.
“Perfect!” Father slapped his hands together. Mother took his hand back again. “But you’ll get better. You’ll work on yourself and be the best you can be. Won’t you?”
Dorhen balled his free hand into a fist and raised it high. “Yes!”
“We can’t leave,” Mother said over his enthusiastic response. “I recently finished the new dishes. We haven’t eaten today. And Dorhen burned his hand.”
“Saehgahn have been known to travel with worse injuries, my dream. Go on and pack some extra clothes now.”
“He’s not saehgahn yet. It’s getting late. We’re not going anywhere until Dorhen eats. Let’s talk tomorrow.”
Father tied his best knife to his belt. “Tonight,” he said.
“After he eats, he’ll be sleepy. Who’ll carry him?”
“Me!” He took a breath. “Trust me.”
Mother bit her lip. “Fine. We’ll leave tonight. But we’re going nowhere until he eats, and we’re out of everything. I’ll need to dig some potatoes.”
Father put his hand out really fast. “Stay. I’ll go get some potatoes. You stay back and hurry with the fire and the water.”
“I’ll go too, Father.” Dorhen tried to run forward, but Mother still held his arm and she squeezed it, holding him back. “Mother, can’t I go?”
Her eyes grew big, and they shifted to Father and back. “Mmm,” was all she said. She stood and marched toward Father, threw aside his tabard, and took the knife off his belt. “Without this, you can.” Even though she said it to Dorhen, she stared at Father hard. Then she leaned down to look Dorhen in the face, and said, “I can hear from far, far away. If you need me, shout as loud as you can, understa
nd?”
An excited tremor rattled his throat. “Yes, Mother!” He ran over to put on his belt and shoes before joining Father’s side.
“Be quick,” she said to Father.
“Exactly what I intend, my dream,” he said back. “Let’s go, saeghar.”
“Wait.” Dorhen returned to his mother’s side as she sat alone by the hearth, pulling her shawl tight around her arms. “Don’t be so worried, Mother.” He kissed her cheek. Her eyelashes fluttered before she reopened them as he leaned back again. “I’ll be fine. I can carry a lot of potatoes, and while I’m out, I’ll scout the area. I’ll keep you safe.”
He turned back to Father. “Father, Father,” he said as they went out the door, “look at my injury. I didn’t even cry!”
At the place where the potatoes grew, Dorhen got to work digging his hands into the dirt like Mother had shown him long ago. He knew what kind of plant to look for to find a potato underground.
After digging the first one out, he said, “I’m gonna bring home a hundred potatoes. She’ll be happy… Father?”
Father hadn’t joined him yet. He stood motionless, staring at the barrier posts with the bird feathers and rocks dangling from them.
“Father?”
Father’s hands shook. He rushed forward to inspect one of the broken posts. It leaned over with a split at its middle.
“Dorhen,” Father said.
He waited for whatever Father would order. “We can fix it,” Dorhen said.
Father lifted him and ran. The run jostled him all the way. He got dizzy after a while. The trees rushed past them and far into the dark distance over his father’s shoulder. He’d dropped the potato he’d found, and now his hands dirtied up Father’s yellow hair.
“Why are we running?”
Father breathed fast and didn’t answer any questions. Talking was too hard to do while they ran anyway. The potato patch was kind of far away from the house, so it took a long time to run back, though not as long as walking.
Father was wheezing when they finally arrived. He stopped in the bushes before entering the yard and held Dorhen’s hand firm, keeping him from running toward the house.
A soft blue light hung over the entire house like a draping sheet, making the whole house glow in the dark.
“No,” Father whispered. “Dorhen,” he said and leaned down, “stay here. Hide.”
Father started saying strange words after he said to hide. He stepped over the twigs and through the bushes, saying those words Dorhen didn’t understand. A few seconds later, Father’s left hand glowed a soft pink color. Dorhen couldn’t help but stare. How did he do that? Father approached the house very slowly and reached for the door. When he touched the handle, a bright wave of fire spread across the whole house from his glowing hand.
Father had set their house on fire.
Dorhen screamed and lunged out of the bushes. “Mother!”
Father leaped backward and landed on his bottom. His mouth gaped open, his eyes staring when Dorhen got close. Dorhen went to the door, but flames danced all across the wooden surface. The door handle burned like the clay frog, and he jerked his hand back.
“No!” Father yelled. He shoved Dorhen toward the bushes again.
“Father, what did you do? Why did you do that?”
“Hide, I said!” Father ran around to the other side of the house. The roof drooped for a moment and then caved into the house with a thunderous shout amidst the roar of the flames. It fell in with Mother trapped inside.
Before Dorhen could run toward it, another person grabbed his shoulder. The person who approached behind him was standing in a cloud around his feet. Long, long hair trailed all the way to the ground. Mother had once told him older saehgahn grew their hair longer. This one’s hair was blue!
“Who are you?”
The new person put a finger to his lips like Mother did on nights when Father came home late. The blue-haired person stretched out his hand. “It’s not safe here. Follow me.”
His voice was soft and soothing and louder in Dorhen’s ears than the burning house. His shiny blue eyes made Dorhen stare. He tried to turn back to his house as it crumbled into nothing but a big bonfire with Mother inside—trapped inside like his frog in the kiln—but the stranger’s eyes glimmered more.
“Take my hand, Sufferborn.”
Once again, Dorhen tried to look at his burning house, but more voices, not his father’s, shouted through the trees. “Get the child!” They wore red cloaks and held knives in their gloved fists.
“Hurry,” the blue-haired stranger said, extending his hand toward Dorhen’s chest. Dorhen tore his gaze away and viewed the scene behind him. The red-cloaked men were running toward him, one with a looped rope in his hands.
Where had Father gone? He wanted to call for Father, but there was no time. Before the scary people approached, Dorhen gave the stranger his hand. The cloud around his feet expanded and swirled around Dorhen too, hiding the hot, fiery chaos that used to be his home.
Chapter 1
Her Sin
Sixteen years later…
May the One Creator forgive me… I sinned again.”
A throat cleared and a voice resonated in the small wooden space on the other side of the grate. “Our Creator is patient. He will hear your confession and award his forgiveness.”
“I did a bad deed… Well, it was good, I believe, but bad.” Her voice choked off. Words whirled around in her head.
“Is that you, Kalea?”
“Yes.”
“What will you confess?”
Twittering birds sang outside the thick walls. A cool spring breeze gusted through the open lattice window above her confession booth, flushing out the musty smell with fresh spring air.
Kalea cleared her throat. “I…” She twisted her canvas apron between her sweaty hands. “I’m sorry about one thing I did. Not the other.”
“Hmm?”
She cleared her throat again. “I went to the market in Tintilly. They sent me for a bag of wool. But when I arrived, I stopped to look at books, hoping for one of the Lehomis books.”
“The Questionable Tales of Lehomis Lockheirhen is forbidden.”
“I know. And I’m sorry, but that’s not what I have to confess…” She twisted her apron tighter. Better get it over with…
Kalea scanned over the vendor’s collection for the telltale gilded arrow stamped on the spine. People rushed behind her, going both ways. On any trip to the market, she fought the temptation to look for one of those books. Her family owned one of the installments. Her father used to read to her most nights before bed about the handsome and funny elf named Lehomis who got himself into strings of hilarious mishaps and adventures. Her family only owned the first volume, so she had never found out if he lived happily-ever-after. She never got tired of hearing his early adventures, though, until her parents put her in the convent by Hallowill Forest after her tenth birthday. Since it was a banned title, she could never take one of those books back to the convent, but how could a few moments’ reading hurt if she found one right now?
“Ah ha!” a man’s voice roared.
“I’m sorry!” She dropped the book she’d picked up. Novices were required to wear their allotted tabard and blue cloak when outside of the convent. Any superior clergy member could catch her looking at non-religious books out here.
“‘Bout what, dame?” the bookseller asked, peering up from the book he’d been engrossed in.
Sighing, she twisted around. People were clustering in tight across the road, shouting and pointing. She pushed through the crowd to get closer.
One of the farmers working a table stacked with leafy green vegetables held a stranger by the wrist. Dressed plainly in a dark blue tabard, brown hood and mantle, and brown and grey leggings with worn shoes, the stranger stood about a hand taller than Kalea. He was long-legged and thin. Sweaty brown hair hung over his face, half-obscuring it. His teeth were clenched shut under his tight lips. Without c
ocking his head, he watched the towering farmer next to him. Bystanders were asking what had happened.
“A thief!” the farmer said. “Not only a thief, but a Norr elf.”
Kalea put a hand over her mouth. In this town, numerous elves had been bound and dragged off to the jailhouse simply for entering town. Kalea hated it when these things happened.
“Ye know what happens to thievin’ Norr elves bringin’ their wicked sorcererin’ here? Do ya?”
The elf squirmed and tried to pull away. The crowd swarmed in closer.
“Where did he come from?” someone asked.
“He’s been walkin’ around invisible,” the farmer said, “using none other than sorcery right here in our decent town, until I caught his shadow disturbin’ the look of the air. Not to mention he’s a thief trying to steal my peas. And bad at his trade, to boot.” The farmer swatted the thief’s head, swishing his hair aside.
He was an elf! Pointed ears and all. Kalea had never seen one so close before. His smooth face glistened in the morning sun. His cheekbones were chiseled high; he was beautiful.
The townspeople shouted for the nearest guard. Kalea squeezed a little closer, reaching for her coin purse. If she could pay for the food he had tried to steal, the farmer might relax. The elf would still be arrested, but no one should get hurt because of this!
A rock whistled over Kalea’s head and cracked against the wall behind the elf. He’d bent over to avoid it. When he lifted his head back up, his large eyes were glazed. The sweat on his cheeks sparkled and his eyes flashed a color no human could flaunt. He was young. Maybe he hadn’t known how poorly he’d be treated here. Kalea’s stomach knotted like a length of beads. The Kingdom of Sharr didn’t get along well with the Sovereign State of Norr, and stray elves were prohibited in most places. They were usually imprisoned and ransomed back to their country, but this one might die before the guard could catch him if these people struck him hard enough.
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