Prelude to a Hero (Chronicles of a Hero 1)

by Jaime Buckley

“What do you think of Sanctuary?” the High Elder asked, stopping at the peak of the bridge to look over the last light in the valley.

  “Did you find food?” He tried to draw Wendell out of himself.

  “Uh-huh,” Wendell responded, distracted. Stopping beside the High Elder he looked across the valley, also. High above them Elämä moved through the expanse of space, blotting out the last rays of the sun—a silent call to the glistening crystals of Erimuri to cast a soft blue glow over the white city. Twinkling lights gently lit the streets and paths. It’s so beautiful and peaceful here.

  The distant orchards were now fading into the shadows. His attention was drawn to the market where kind people fed a complete stranger. Remembering the small red door surrounded with flowers his gaze lingered on the block of homes near the far side of the park. His stomach full of butterflies, he raised his hand to cover the grin on his face.

  “Today was wonderful,” he said looking over at the Elder. “Amazing actually. I’ve never had a day like it.” But one thought nagged at him. “My mom and Evan would have loved to meet the friends I made today.”

  “Especially Kyliene?”

  Wendell smiled. “Still, I’m worried about my mom.” There it was, the one fact that denied him contentment. “A month is a long time to be away.”

  The High Elder looked at him, surprised. “You won’t be gone a month.”

  Wendell stopped short. “What? Really? How??”

  “You have been here almost two days, but many generations have passed since you were born. You have time.” Now that he had Wendell’s attention, he resumed a brisk pace towards the keep and the waiting Council members.

  “Generations?” Wendell ran after the High Elder. “That’s lifetimes!” Shock, confusion and realization battled for control of his face as he entered the torch lit terrace. He looked to the High Elder, “How long could I live here and not be missed?” Wendell shrugged, admitting, “Well, too much?”

  The High Elder smiled, not answering, but looked questioningly past Wendell’s shoulder.

  From a far corner of the terrace three robed men briskly approached. Two wore white robes, while the third, his face hidden in the shadow of his hood, wore black. Two nodded in polite acknowledgment to the stranger as they passed by, but one turned deliberately and looked right at Wendell, their eyes meeting. His stare was intense, curious, accusing. In the torchlight Wendell could see he was very young, probably even younger than himself. What’s his problem? Confused, Wendell looked down at his feet.

  The High Elder turned from Wendell to address the three. “Gaidred?”

  Bowing slightly, the one in black spoke clearly in low tones. “High Elder, we have yet to hear from Tiell and as we discussed in Council meeting our situation becomes grave. In light of this, Brother Tursin and I would like to offer our services.”

  Looking to each one and then back to Gaidred with serious furrows in his brow the High Elder said, “Continue.”

  “We would like to go to Tämä-Un to discover why he is delayed. Do you feel that it would be wise?”

  Watching as he slowly paced in front of them, stroking his beard, the three elders waited patiently for the High Elders response. He weighed the consequences in his mind. Shea had come to him earlier in the day speaking of a dark presence he felt in Sanctuary. Then later as the Council convened Shea was not the only one. Something cunning had breached the defenses of the city and was moving from valley to valley…as if it were searching. The Council’s combined efforts to identify and locate it had been frustrated and now Brother Tiell was long over due.

  Wendell was uncomfortable observing the anxious tension weighing on them. Quietly, he shifted his weight from one foot to another, keeping his hands at his side, his fingers fidgeting with the ends of his tunic. Trying so hard to be quiet he even held his breath in spurts, exhaling slowly through his nose to muffle the sound of his breathing.

  Again the young elder looked at him with aggressive eyes questioning him. What the crap is his problem? Wendell quickly turned his head away as if he didn’t notice but he could still feel the burning in the back of his neck. He can’t not like me. He doesn’t even know me.

  “Tursin?” The High Elder motioned for the exceptionally broad elder to join him at the edge of the terrace. “I ask that you rely on your instincts. What do your heightened senses tell you?”

  Everyone looked to Elder Tursin. Gripping the balustrade with his pale hands, large round eyes peered through the darkness with the clarity of an owl, ears twitching. He sniffed the air, detecting the odor of brimstone nearly imperceptible upon the wind. Tursin’s breathing deepened and slowed until he stopped moving altogether. No one spoke, all eyes waiting upon him.

  “Evil descends upon this valley,” Tursin finally whispered, breaking the silence.

  Decidedly, the High Elder turned to include the others. “As it has been spoken, wisdom would dictate we remain together, united and alert. Tiell must be retrieved immediately and Sanctuary fortified without delay.”

  Suddenly shadows stretched across the terrace as a bright light appeared in the sky. It fell like a luminous drop of liquid upon the Prime Gate, silently striking the center eye of the platform. The runes on each black claw that Wendell had peered at so closely, pulsed to life in a patterned rythm, glowing red, unmistakeable even from this distance

  “Thank the Makers, Tiell has returned.” The High Elder, exhaling a sigh of relief, nodded to himself in satisfaction. “Now that we are whole, we can—”

  Wincing as if he had been struck across the face, he stopped short. In his eyes flashed a moment of terror as a gut wrenching scream ripped through the night. Immediately, five heads whipped around to look out across the valley. It was too dark to find where it was coming from, the echo vibrating through the valley made it impossible to pinpoint.

  “Kyliene!” Wendell barely heard the High Elder’s distressed whisper.

  No! Worried, he looked to the elders.

  “TIELL!” gasped Tursin, diving headfirst over the balustrade into the darkness.

  The searing screech of an eagle in the night, jolted everyone into motion, running. The elders darted across the bridge, the young one taking a split second to send another piercing glance back at Wendell. A second scream seizing the night was hauntingly and abruptly silenced propelling Wendell forward, sprinting after the elders.

  They followed the silhouette of the eagle as it circled the park, diving toward the Prime Gate. Running through the trees Wendell’s thumping heart faltered when the deafening roar of an enraged beast assaulted his wits. Stumbling, he instinctively raised his hands to his head before seeing the others continued on unfazed.

  Wendell frantically scanned the park as he came into the clearing. No Kyliene, he exhaled a sigh of relief. Next to the base of the Gate a black grizzly bear stood enormous and erect, growling at an equally enormous green man crouching opposite him. Lying in between them a torn heap of white cloth, caked in blood and dirt and a man’s head barely visible between the folds.

  Green? Alarmed, Wendell shuffled sideways, wanting to get a clear view of the bald giant’s face in the shadows. Hissing aggressively, it shook a long hammer gripped in his hand, challenging the bear. Already blood and a clump of dark fur stuck to the spike end of the weapon. A gaping wound in the giants left shoulder, bled down heavily tattooed skin. His bulky arm limply flapped against his torso, smearing the oozing black liquid across its dirty leather jerkin and trousers.

  Taunting, the giant made a shallow lunge toward the body between them, feigning with the hammer. Bellowing, the bear warned its enemy to stay away.

  “Ha!” the mocking laugh of the giant was barely audible before it roared back. Lunging quickly he swung the hammer with full intent, but it never met its mark. Dropping forward protectively over the fallen elder, the bear’s agile paw slashed across the enemy’s torso, tearing through clothing, flesh and sinew, sending the hammer spinning across the grass just a few feet from where Wen
dell stood.

  As the giant stumbled back Gaidred saw his opportunity. Reaching into the folds of his sleeves he threw a long slender knife with one fluid motion. Tumbling silently through the air it stuck true through the giant’s throat. In pained anger it roared and flung itself into the light to find its new enemy.

  That misshapen head, angular features, unusually thick black eyebrows reminded Wendell of another monster. He recoiled at the sight of the morbid green face. Like Dax. But this one was much bigger and had seeping boils and odd hairy growths littering its forehead and down the left side of its face. Protruding from its lower jaw were two long, sharp teeth. It snarled as it stumbled again, but did not fall. Gurgling, the black liquid sputtered out of its mouth and down its chin.

  With a single, downward blow, the bear struck the head of the giant. There was a sickening crunch on impact and the body fell lifeless to the ground.

  Wendell watched nervously as the bear lumbered over to its fallen enemy, rolling the body over with an immense paw. It hovered a few moments sniffing and studying the grotesque face and then stood upright. As it stretched Wendell heard bones shifting and popping, realigning themselves, claws softened into fingers as black fur lightened and retreated through open pores. He stood there gaping as the transformation, that took only seconds, completed into a white robe and Elder Tursin.

  Tursin walked slowly across the grass. He knelt on one knee while thoughtfully picking up the blood stained hammer, turning it over in his hand. Wendell watched him, inwardly cringing at the red stain growing over his shoulder and down the left breast of the white robe. Tursin, noticing Wendell’s stare, smiled reassuringly.

  “Come,” he said softly as he leaned his head toward the others.

  Tiell, who was unconscious, had been rolled onto his back so Gaidred could carefully examine the wounds. Both eyes were swollen shut, his bottom lip bloated and opened at one corner, torn nearly an inch toward his chin. Wendell noticed his hands as the High Elder knelt beside the body, taking one gently upon his lap. The fingers were disfigured, darkened at the joints and bent in the wrong directions. These did not look like battle wounds.

  “Shea,” called the High Elder. The young elder quickly knelt down at the side of his father. “We will need Jiin,” he whispered. “Gather our brothers as quickly as you can.” With a nod of understanding Shea jumped up and sprinted right into Wendell, knocking them both off balance.

  Recovering more quickly than Wendell, who actually landed on his backside, Shea offered a hand to help him up. Wendell was hesitant at first, He still looks irritated at me, but took the offered hand.

  Impatient for the imprudent delay, the High Elder hesitated to watch for the knowing look of confirmation to cross Shea’s face.

  Even after Wendell had stood Shea held firmly to his hand, standing immovable as lightening flashes of certitude fired through his mind. Dax dragging someone by the hair—a stranger suspended in the air while the Ithäri penetrates his chest—the stranger lying on the floor naked. Nothing else. No past, no future, no connection. Terror gripped Shea’s soul.

  Puzzled, the High Elder watched the stone cold blankness on the young elder’s face. Shea visibly struggled to compose himself, while instantly he knew of his father’s rash irresponsibility. Looking at Wendell horrified he dropped his hand, and then to his father in anger and then to Wendell again, completely stupefied.

  Wendell did not understand this exchange and he looked back and forth between the two elders troubled.

  Tiell’s moaning brought them back to the task at hand. “Shea! We will discuss this later,” the High Elder shouted. “We need Jiin, now!”

  Shea, who had not taken his eyes off Wendell, turned to resume his errand and raced up the path.

  People began gathering in the park. Wendell’s anxiety grew as he listened to their intense whisperings.

  “What happened?”

  “Who was screaming?”

  Someone pointed accusingly at Wendell. “I saw Kyliene walking to the park with him.” He flinched, wide-eyed.

  “Is someone hurt? Should we help?”

  “What is that?!” a young lady said in disgust.

  “That’s a Vallen, my dear. Our enemy. Foul creatures!” answered an elderly man.

  “Is it dead?”

  “I thought the enchantments were supposed to keep them out,” a fearful woman waled.

  “Take the children home—this is no place for them!”

  “How…how did that thing get through the Gate?!?”

  “It’s a sign!” yelled a man.

  “It’s the sign of the Gnolaum I say!” cried another.

  Wendell could hear the muffled sobs of a few who were afraid and confused.

  And then a timid voice asked a quiet question that silenced the crowd, “Has Mahan escaped?”

  The High Elder glanced briefly at the growing crowd, before looking to Gaidred who nodded with understanding. With a gentle expression on his face, he opened his arms wide and walked toward the crowd.

  “Friends, calm yourselves and be at peace! Yes, I, too, believe this is a sign of the Gnolaum, for the time has come for his return.” Gaidred glanced pointedly it seemed at Wendell who felt that familiar sinking in his gut again. His voice was firm and soothing as he walked among his fellow citizens, placing a gentle hand on a shoulder or gripping a forearm reassuringly. “Remember, these valley’s were created for our protection as a gift because of the faithfulness of our ancestors with a promise that we, as a people, will survive the evil that will scourge the world and decimate the races. We were never promised we would survive the evil unscathed.” Gaidred paused to take a deep breath.

  “If the Lord of Darkness has escaped that prison built for him, it matters not.” Gaidred’s eyes once more lingering on Wendell before sweeping across the crowd.

  Now HE’s looking at me! Wendell complained.

  “Generations have lived in peace and prosperity for hundreds of years since he was banished by the Hero. The Ithäri is the key. We are strong. The Ithäri has always won. The Gnolaum is coming. We will vanquish this evil and triumph at the last!”

  Is he talking about me? Wendell could hear his heart pounding in his ears. Oh, crap! I hope they’re not talking about me.

  Coughing lightly, Elder Tiell began to stir. Struggling to take a breath, his free hand gripped a fistful of cloth his side as his body shuddered.

  “My dear brother, this is a great shock,” the High Elder spoke fervently.

  Tursin came to kneel opposite the High Elder at Tiell’s side, the deep furrows in his brows darkening his scowl. “Who did this to you?”

  Tiell coughed again, harder this time and winced as blood appeared at the corner of his mouth. “Vallen.” He tried to smile, causing a fresh crack in his dried lips, “I will live. Thus I am, to return and report.”

  The High Elder smiled tenderly. “Not now, my friend. Rest. Jiin will be here soon to ease the pain.”

  Ignoring the High Elder, Tursin pressed on firmly. “Vallen? In Humär?” his expression now incredulous.

  Tiell nodded weakly. “The Prime Gate at Tämä-Un is being watched,” he groaned. “Four Vallen.”

  “Trolls,” the High Elder scowled under his breath. Blinking hard, his jaw became rigid as he became aware of grinding his teeth while his mind flooded with questions. “It seems the enemy has found new paths into the human lands once more.”

  Tursin and the High Elder exchanged worried glances. “The Gate…showed no signs…of activation,” Tiell whispered haltingly, breaking the silence with his slow, breathy speech. “The King is…safe for now…I locked…the Evolu out of Tämä-Un. ”

  The High Elder exhaled a sigh of relief. Nodding his approval he turned his attention once more to the misshapen hand, limp and motionless on his lap.

  Lifting his arm to pull back his robe, Tiell flinched, grunting as muscles rebelled and his hand fell back to his side.

  The High Elder leaned forward and gently lifted t
he torn garment back. He revealed a broken arrow shaft protruding from Tiell’s shoulder. It was black and dirty. Tursin groaned. He was one of a few that knew the Vallen left their arrows to rot in vats of their own blood intending to spread disease to their victims who did not die by the arrow alone.

  Tiell gulped, “Surprised me as…the gate closed…Could not protect…myself.” He paused, laboring to breathe. “Forced to run.” He smiled weakly. “Trousers…would have been…convenient.”

  All three elders chuckled knowingly at that.

  “Uh…guys? I don’t mean to bother you, but…” Wendell stammered pointing to the overturned body of the Vallen. “Is it supposed to do that?”

  The body rose unnaturally from the ground, pulled chest first by invisible strings, sputtering and its limbs convulsing. It was a gruesome sight as its left eye dangled from a fractured socket, splintered bone puncturing flesh as brain matter fell to the ground, the bear inflicted wounds mushrooming the raw black meat.

  Anyone nearby quickly started backing away.

  “Look!” called several from the crowd.

  Elder Gaidred turned to face the Vallen. “It is here.”

  “The intruder,” growled Tursin as he jumped to his feet.

  “Get the people back!” shouted the High Elder, rising from Tiell’s side. But it was too late. The possessed giant lunged, snatching a young girl with bouncing black curls from the crowd. Its filthy hand wrapped around her slender neck like a vice. Struggling and kicking wildly against the beasts legs without effect, her eyes were pleading. Her tears streaked down her face, as her complexion turned a deep purple, her lips were gasping for air.

  “Kyliene!” Wendell shouted as the giant pulled her tight against its blood drenched tunic. He pushed forward but was immediately restrained by Elder Tursin’s strong arm and Elder Gaidred’s stern look. The giant also looked at Wendell, a sadistic grin on its mangled face as drops of blood trickled from its chin onto Kyliene’s cheek.

  “You have nowhere to run, creature,” goaded the High Elder. “Let her go and we will let you live.”

  “That’s not what it wants, Delnar,” a raspy voice called.

  All eyes turned to see an old man in grey robes and a wide-rimmed, pointed hat emerging from the crowd. Leaning heavily on a gnarled walking staff, he was followed by Dax and a young boy in red robes. He’s not blue!

  “Kyliene!” cried the child, pushing against the restraint of the firm grip of a wrinkled old hand.

  “Stay still Caleb,” the old man whispered, moving the boy into the arms of a woman behind him.

  The old man, followed by Dax, moved to stand near the High Elder, elbowing him. “Looks like you found your unwelcome visitor.” The High Elder spared a grateful glance in the old man’s direction.

  “It doesn’t want to live?” questioned Dax, swaying on the balls of his feet, ready to spring forward.

  “No,” responded the old man, “or it wouldn’t have animated a body so damaged.”

  With a widening smile it licked the blood from her soft face, a lusty grumble in its chest. Kyliene cringed.

  Wendell heard running behind him and quickly turned. Shea was returning with the rest of the Council. Quickly assessing the danger, they spread out around the Prime Gate, placing themselves between the enemy and the crowd. Several of them drew closer, hands on weapons hidden beneath their sleeves.

  The old man glared as he leaned forward on his staff, studying the giant. “Let her loose, velpä, and I’ll gladly send you back to your foul master.”

  “I shall be with my Master soon enough, Chuck,” it swallowed roughly, “and all the…” he paused to look at Wendell and hissed “secrets I have collected in Erimuri will be his.”

  Gurgling in its own blood the Vallen laughed as it pulled the knife free from its throat. Turning to stare at Wendell he hissed familiarly, “You were warned, boy. Now, those who love you will suffer.” The words struck him breathless. Wendell panicked, Where have I heard that?

  The giant flinched as a small rock struck the collapsed skull.

  “LET HER GO!” screamed Caleb, looking for another rock around his feet. “Uncle Delnar, why don’t you do something!?” he cried trying to pull away. “HELP HER!!”

  The old man took another step forward. “Be forewarned, demon spawn—there’s enough knowledge here to keep you alive and trapped indefinitely.”

  “Then let me secure your wrath upon me!” it choked. Holding Kyliene’s body firmly against its torso he grabbed her head and yanked. There was a sharp snap and she went limp.

  “Noooo!” he cried, but it was too late.

  Kyliene’s body was casually tossed at the feet of the wizard as screams erupted through the crowd. Her tear stained face rolled to the side as the last breath of life ascended into the night.

  Wendell stood motionless, head tilted with an uncomprehending stare. How can this be? Please get up, Kyliene. Please. Drowning in emptiness, he fought to keep a grasp on reality. But, he could not hear beyond the thumping in his ears, his thoughts were sluggish and unconnected, his eyesight veiled and dull. Wendell tried to focus on the dragging movements so far away now.

  He was watching through a long foggy tunnel. The old man reached out a hand making a gripping motion in the air, willing the valley to yield up its roots and bind the murderous invader. Obediently, the roots beneath them speared through the grass, wrestling free of the earth, it curled and wound itself around the Vallen. Thrashing violently as large roots entangled the giant, it was forced to its knees.

  “He’s all yours,” the old man yelled to the High Elder, shaking his walking staff in the air. “Kick ‘em in the tenders!” he growled.

  Unrelenting, the possessed Vallen smirked, foolishly glorifying in his victory. “You did not have to bind me. I will let you kill me!”

  Slowly, each step thoughtful and deliberate, the High Elder approached the giant and with a voice of strong conviction began, “No, this Vallen body will not serve your purposes and transport you to your master in its death. You will not make a sacrifice of the Iskäri in Erimuri by divulging any secrets.”

  Choking on his heartache he paused to clear his throat, composing himself, “You have killed one of our children. You are treacherous and cannot be allowed to return to your master. It is therefore your unfortunate lot to suffer the pain of a million deaths as every molecule of your body and spirit repels another and tears away while being consumed in unquenchable flame. You will pay, not only for her life but the generations stolen from us that were to be hers.”

  Turning his head slightly he addressed his fellow Council members. “Elders, we must imprison his mortal substance, that his pain may not be alleviated in separation but compounded in its restraint, until he is no more.”

  Wendell tried to shake the growing fog in his head, rubbing his eyes. He wanted to see this. The robed Councilmen gathered around the Vallen in layered circles, three, then five and then six, each placing his hands on the shoulders of the elder on each side.

  As they gathered, the High Elder leaned in to the Vallen, “You think you know pain?” he whispered softly. He shook his head, “I assure you, you do not.”

  Leaning in closer, “But you will.”

  Anxiously Wendell watched as the Council closed their eyes in united concentration. The air around them stirred, radiating heat that couldn’t be contained in the circle. Dax grabbed the sleeve of Wendell’s tunic, to which Wendell reacted with fierce objection, flinching, attempting to pull free.

  “Oh, get a grip already, will ya?” Dax said irritated. Wendell was annoyed at being out-matched still and struggled against Dax pulling him back a safe distance to stand near the old wizard,.

  Glaring at the little monster, he yanked his sleeve from Dax’s grip with a huff and then Wendell turned to the old man, “What’s happening?”

  The increasing wind whipped around those too close to the circle, biting and pushing them away. The Elders had taken wider stances as the wind escapi
ng at their feet was circulated high above them before being funneled forcefully back into the center of the circle. The ground shuddered under the force and pressure, light flared from the point where the Vallen knelt. Yet there was no sound—other than the howling vexation of the wind.

  “Something I never thought I’d see again.” The old man’s eyes never left the spectacle before him.

  Finally glancing over at Wendell, Chuck smiled. A gentle smile and knowing eyes that dispelled the fog and a sense of self-assured peace washed over Wendell. He immediately felt at ease.

  “Chuck,” the old man said cheerfully, holding out his wrinkled hand. “I have other names, but they’re usually not very nice, from people who don’t like me much. You can call me Chuck. And you are?”

  “Wendell,” he said, shaking Chucks hand.

  Chuck looked at their hands, rotating Wendell’s wrist slightly, “Hmm. Firm grip. Good. You’ll do nicely.”

  “Excuse me?” Wendell was confused.

  “I said they’re throwing him back into the melting pot,” uttered Chuck. “Core elements can be used by the Universe for something else. A world, stars, a bookcase…even pancakes!” He thought for a moment, rolling his eyes and vigorously licking his lips, “Blueberry and chocolate chip pancakes…love those. ”

  Great. I found the local loon. Wendell looked back at the ring of elders, “Good. That foul creature deserves it!”

  “Deserves it?” Chuck looked at him puzzled.

  “He killed Kyliene.”

  Chuck turned fully to face Wendell placing a hand on his forearm. “Careful, son. Judging is a tricky business. Kyliene’s death is tragic, yes—but she’ll live on, able to progress in another form. This poor fool will never have such a chance.”

  Bursting from the center of the ring a shock wave thrust through the park and across the crystal lake, misting the surrounding buildings. And then all was still.

  Except for the sobbing of a young boy. Caleb had broken from the crowd and through himself, sobbing over the body of his big sister.

  Chuck reached out and gently put a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

  “Go away!” Caleb slapped the wrinkled hand away, glaring up through a river of tears. “You could have helped her!!” he cried. “Why didn’t any of you help her!? I hate you! I hate all of you for not saving my sister!” Dropping his head into his arms, “Leave me alone!”

  Wendell looked on in silence, unable to look away from Kyliene’s body, while the emptiness once again consumed him. He couldn’t cry. He wanted to, hearing the mourning of friends and loved ones around her frail body. He felt paralyzed—helpless, scared.

  Brushing past Wendell, the High Elder knelt at Kyliene’s side, leaning down he nuzzled his face in the curly black tresses. He inhaled the sweet scent of the silveen blossoms before tenderly kissing her head. Tormented eyes were transfixed on his weeping nephew and he rested a trembling hand on the back of Caleb’s neck, pulling him in closer.

  “Nana approaches, Father,” Shea quietly informed as he knelt opposite the High Elder.

  Guided by the fat baker Wendell had met earlier that day, Moira shuffled through the parted crowd, a white sheet draped over one arm. Her face was grave, eyes swollen from tears already shed.

  Guided to Kyliene’s head, Shea lifted his hand to support her as she knelt. Her gnarled hands reached out to run her fingers through Kyliene’s hair.

  Reaching for her grandson, Caleb eagerly grasped his Nana’s hand, bathing it in tears. “Strength, my Caleb. You are the last of this house,” she choked, gripping his hand firmly. “Strength to our family, strength to our people.”

  Her head held erect, she looked about in blindness for those she knew would hold compassion and support for her plight. “Who will help a daughter of Iskäri?” she asked boldly.

  Standing, the High Elder removed Caleb, stepping back to make room for the necessary preparations, motioning for Shea to do the same.

  Wendell counted as twelve women came forward each offering, “I will help my sister,” as they wept. Sliding their hands under Kyliene’s body, they gingerly lifted her as Moira took the brilliantly white fabric from her arm and gracefully rolled it across the grass. The women gently laid Kyliene down, wrapping and tucking the edges to completely cover the body.

  Moira placed her hands on Kyliene’s head and wailed, “Never would I have thought this cloth we wove together would have been used for anyone but I!”

  Caleb rejoined her as the people gathered around them. Kneeling in silence each Iskäri placed their hands on the shoulders of those in front of them, creating a web of arms and bowed heads, every one reaching into the center to Caleb and Moira. Each whispered prayers for the last of a family line, offering up all the love and strength of their people. They wept as one. A daughter of Erimuri had been taken.

  Wendell stood next to the High Elder. His heart pulled at him—to kneel down with the people who had accepted him so readily and mourn the loss of his friend. But he felt empty, like a fading echo. Why didn’t I do something? His hand went to his chest feeling the small ridge under his tunic. Could I have done something to prevent this!? The idea tormented him. Isn’t this what you’re for? Should I have done something? An irrepressible rage was kindled in his chest, What was I supposed to do?

  “I’m sorry for your loss, Wendell,” whispered the High Elder.

  Alone in the dark, all at once, Wendell silently choked as a tear rolled down his cheek, but he never made a sound.