The old man was dressed as she remembered, his brown robe full of patches and stains, his beard gray and resting upon his chest. He lightly strummed a lute while telling a story Rhoa had heard long ago. The man looked up. His gray eyes locked on her in surprise, his story stopping in mid-sentence. She approached to stand only a step away while resisting the urge to reach out and touch him just to see if he were real.
“Rhoa,” the man said.
“Salvon,” Rhoa muttered in shock. “You’re alive.”
22
Twist of Fate
Ten Years Ago
Nine-year-old Rhoa sat on a chair her father had crafted. The man had built every item in the shop. In fact, there wasn’t a piece of furniture in the upstairs apartment that had not been lovingly fabricated by his hands. She read aloud as her mother listened. Reading was among her chores, something none of her friends were forced to do. Rhoa had resisted and complained at first, but after a year and a half, she began to secretly enjoy the stories. They reminded her of the tales Salvon told – tales of magic, wonder, and adventure from another era. Some of those tales were even written in Hassakani, the language of her ancestors. Rhoa had been taught to read both languages and could speak each fluently.
Her mother sat nearby, leaning over a desk while recording numbers in a ledger. She was good with figures and calculations, another thing Rhoa had been forced to learn.
“Knowing numbers is important, Rhoa,” her mother often told her. “If you can’t count coins, you will find yourself cheated by those with an education. We aren’t wizards, so you can’t attend the University, but I can teach you what I know, just as your grandmother taught me all those years ago.”
Like the reading, figuring numbers was a challenge that grew easier with time. To the annoyance of her friends, Rhoa could now add and subtract most things in her head. She would turn ten in the next year, then she could begin an apprenticeship. Her mother hoped Rhoa would consider learning from her so she could help her future husband run a successful business. Rhoa’s father hoped she would turn to carpentry so she could work with him and take over his business someday. All she wanted to do was go out and play with her friends.
That very thought lingered in the back of her head as she finished reading a short story about a girl who had befriended a dragon. The idea of a giant, flying lizard excited Rhoa and filled her with a sense of wonder. The end of the story, however, left her more than a bit unsettled. She closed the book and turned toward her mother.
“All finished.”
“What did you learn?”
Rhoa considered the story. “Well, the dragon told the girl she could trust it, but then it ate her anyway. That wasn’t nice at all.”
“What did she know about dragons?”
“They eat people.”
“And what happened?”
“She got eaten.”
“Think, Rhoa. What does it tell you?”
Thinking about it, Rhoa said, “The girl knew the dragon’s nature, yet forgot to remain careful. The dragon did what dragon’s do and ate her. Even though the dragon was friendly, she should have been more cautious.”
“Very good, Rhoa. The same goes for humans. If you know someone is untrustworthy, you had better prepare yourself for them to betray your trust. You do that, and you won’t be hurt.”
Rhoa nodded, set the book aside, and slid off the chair. “Can I go out and play now?”
Her mother looked at her. With black hair, dark eyes, and coppery skin, her mother didn’t look much like other people in Fastella. Rhoa had heard tales of her parents growing up at the edge of the desert in Hassakan. Even so, Rhoa could not imagine a land without trees and life, a land beset by heat during the day and frigid at night. They had moved to Ghealdor before Rhoa was born, a place where wood was abundant and Rhoa’s father could apply himself as a carpenter without restriction. Wood in Hassakan was very expensive, and carpenters were rare.
“Come here,” Rhoa’s mother said with a broad smile. “Give me a hug.”
When Rhoa’s mother smiled, her beauty and compassion showed through, giving her daughter a warm feeling. She thought her mother was beautiful. People often said Rhoa looked like her.
Rhoa darted into her arms and squeezed, feeling loved by the embrace. Her mother let her go and gazed into her eyes.
“Don’t go causing trouble today.” Her mother raised an eyebrow. “It’ll be a while yet before the shop owners forget your last stunt.”
“I won’t, Mother.” Rhoa grinned. “The red dye was funny, though.”
A grimace appeared on her mother’s face. “The fountain is the water source for everyone in the area. Dying it red to make everyone believe it had turned to blood might be funny, but we need water to drink, cook, and do our laundry. Thanks to you, I have two tunics that will never be white again.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Rhoa turned away, weaved through the wooden furniture, and reached the work area at the back. Her father was there, creating a spindle with his lathe. When he noticed her, he released the foot pedal, the spinning wooden rod slowing to a stop.
“Hi, sweetness. Have you finished your studies?”
“Yes, Father. Mother said I could go out and play.”
“Very good.”
He held his arms out and she ran to him, hugging his midriff. Rhoa was small for her age, possessing her mother’s slight build. While her father possessed similarly dark hair, dark eyes, and tanned skin as her mother, he stood a full head taller.
The man released his embrace and smiled down at her. “Go and have fun, sweetness. Enjoy the freedom and wonder of your childhood. You only get the chance once. When you grow up, responsibility occupies your days, and it will come far too soon.”
She laughed. “You always say things like that, Father. I thought you love what you do.”
“Oh, I find satisfaction in building furniture.” He ran his hand down the spindle with a wistful look in his eyes. “Creating something from your own hands is rewarding, but I miss the way I perceived the world as a youth, when it was full of wonder and discovery and my imagination held no boundaries.”
“Well, maybe I don’t have to grow up. Maybe I can always look at the world that way.”
“I wish it were so, Rhoa.” He shook his head. “If you can find a way to avoid the cynicism the years bring, you will be luckier than the lot of us.”
“What is sinism?”
“Cynicism.” He chuckled. “It’s when you become bitter and find it difficult to trust others.”
Rhoa’s face twisted in thought. “The story Mother just had me read was about trust. A girl trusted a dragon when she shouldn’t have.”
“Well, trust is a complex thing. The trick is to decide whom you can trust and who might betray you. If you can manage that, you will be better off.”
Rhoa shook her head. “Growing up sounds complicated.”
He laughed again, turning toward the lathe. “Quite true, my sweetness. Quite true.”
The man resumed pumping the pedal and the spindle began to rotate. Rhoa turned and walked toward the front of the shop, nodding to a man entering. He wore a fancy black coat over a red doublet, and Rhoa assumed he worked for a wizard. Clothing like that was expensive, but only wizards wore robes and wizardesses dresses. Rhoa didn’t know why. She just knew it to be true.
The shop her parents owned stood at the corner where the street met the square where she often played. Her gaze drifted toward the sky while she waited for porters dressed in white to pass. They carried a palanquin of white and gold, the men and the object blocking her view of the square. To the east, the sun still climbed toward its apex. The moon blocked the edge of the sun, and the sky would soon grow darker. The full eclipse was still days away – an event known as the Darkening. Rhoa tried not to think of what it meant. It only brought her worry and nightmares, both of which she could do without.
Once the porters were past her, the palanquin turned and a blonde, teen
age girl poked her head through the curtain. With bright blue eyes and a silver tiara, the teen was both beautiful and daunting. Princess Narine, Rhoa thought. The curtain closed, hiding the girl from sight as the palanquin crossed the square.
Rhoa spied her friends clustered together near the fountain and headed toward them. The children were squatting in a circle. Before she even saw the bones, she knew they played Tali. Upon reaching the children, she squeezed in beside her best friend, Jilli, who had moved to Fastella two years earlier. Like Rhoa, Jilli had dark hair and darker skin than the other children. Her family came from a place called Anker. Rhoa didn’t know much about it, other than it was a city surrounded by jungle. Jilli said it was always hot and humid there, so the mild weather of Fastella was one reason she didn’t miss her old home. Rhoa was the other reason.
“Who’s winning?” Rhoa asked.
Jilli smiled at her. “Honey and Rickard each won a match. This one decides it.”
“Can I challenge the winner?” Rhoa asked in a loud voice.
Rickard frowned at Rhoa. “Quiet. I need to concentrate.” He held his hand out. Four small bones lay in his open palm. “Threes,” he announced before he tossed the bones.
Three fell into a tight grouping, while the fourth bounced away. With an upward toss of his fifth bone, called a taw, Rickard scooped up the three closely grouped bones and caught the taw before it landed on the street. The children cheered as he stood, holding his bone-filled fist high.
“You owe me a copper, Honey.”
The blonde girl handed him the coin, the expression on her face reflecting her reluctance to do so.
“Let’s toss, Rickard,” Rhoa said forcefully.
Rickard stood over a head taller than Rhoa and almost as tall as her father. When he turned toward her, he stepped close, looming over her in a threatening way.
“You don’t even have your bones with you.”
“I’ll use Jilli’s,” Rhoa said. “I don’t need my own bones to beat you.”
“Well, I was just going to leave. I haven’t eaten lunch yet.” He turned away.
Rhoa chided, “You don’t have to play me if you’re afraid.”
Rickard stopped, his back stiff. When he turned, his expression had darkened, his lips flattened into a line. “Fine. Let’s play. I won, so I go first.” Kneeling, he held his knucklebones before him. “No sweeps.”
He tossed the bones up, his hand shifting beneath them as they tumbled. Only two of five landed on the ground, the remainder captured on the back of his hand. A murmur ran through the crowd. It was the best opening toss Rhoa had seen from Rickard.
Rickard picked one of the bones he had caught. “Here’s my taw.”
He tossed the taw into the air, scooped one of the two bones off the ground, and caught the taw.
“Twos.”
Rickard held the taw in one hand and tossed the other four. They fell into a close grouping, making for another easy turn of collecting two bones with each throw.
“Threes,” the boy said before tossing the four bones into the air.
Three bones landed in a clump, while the fourth bounced two feet away. Rickard tossed his taw upward, scooped up the cluster of three bones, and caught the taw. He followed by effortlessly collecting the last bone with his next toss.
“Fours,” Rickard said with a grin.
It was a good turn, and Rhoa began to worry. She didn’t have a copper to pay him if she lost.
The boy tossed the four bones, which landed to settle in a circle about a foot in diameter. Rickard took a deep breath and tossed his taw up, higher than his prior turns. He scooped up one, two, three, but missed the fourth bone before snatching the taw just inches from the street.
“Ooo,” the crowd responded.
Judging by their reactions, Rhoa thought Rickard had the game won.
Rickard stood, not attempting to restrain his grin. “I made it to fours, with three collected cleanly. You’ll have to step up your game if you plan to win, twerp.”
Rhoa pursed her lips, her eyes narrowing as she stared at the boy. He is so full of himself, she thought. I’d like to shove the bones up his nose. She grinned at the thought.
Jilli handed Rhoa her knucklebones. Rhoa squatted and tossed five bones into the air, her eyes tracking each, her hand shifting beneath them as they fell. The crowd of children released another “Ooo” when none hit the ground.
“I go straight to twos.” She picked one of the bones from her hand and held it up. “Here’s my taw.”
Rickard frowned and gave a brief nod. With four bones still on the back of her hand, Rhoa tossed them into the air. When they settled on the cobblestones, the bones rested in two nestled pairs. She grabbed the taw with her right hand, tossed it into the air, and scooped up two bones before catching the taw. With the tight grouping, she handily repeated the process for the last two bones.
“Threes,” Rhoa tossed four bones up.
The grouping was not as tight as the last, which was fine since she needed to avoid bumping the bone she wasn’t trying to capture. Rhoa threw her taw a bit higher, scooped up three bones, and caught the taw in the same hand. Gathering the final bone was as simple as taking a breath.
“Fours,” Rhoa said, as Rickard’s expression darkened.
She tossed the four bones up, but two of them collided, both scattering in opposite directions.
A murmur ran through the crowd. Rickard laughed. “You’d better say a prayer to Gheald. You need a blessing of luck for this toss.”
Rhoa ignored the boy as she stared at the bones, noting the location of each. “Back up. I’ll need extra room for this throw.”
The children did as requested, the circle expanding. All fell still, every eye focused on the bones. Leaning forward, Rhoa placed her left palm on the street and bit her lip in determination. Her taw flew toward the sky, far higher than earlier throws. She scooped up the two tightly nestled bones before she stretched toward the third. After snatching the bone, she pivoted her body around her left hand, spinning and stretching to grab the fourth bone. Her eyes flicked up to locate the falling taw, and her hand flashed out to snatch it just inches from the street. With her fist squeezed tightly, she closed her eyes in a moment of relief.
Rhoa stood and opened her hand, holding it out to reveal the five small bones resting on her palm. The children erupted with cheers and exclamations of disbelief. Rhoa’s friends patted her on the shoulders as she handed the bones back to Jilli.
“I win, Rickard.” Rhoa held her palm toward him.
With a grimace, Rickard placed the copper into her hand.
“That was a wonderful throw, Rhoa,” a man’s voice came from behind her.
Rhoa turned and grinned. “Salvon!”
The old man smiled and sat on the edge of the fountain. “Did you think I forgot about you children?”
“It’s been an entire season since we last saw you,” Honey said.
The man set his lute on his lap. “Yes. I traveled to Pallanar for a stretch. Summers there are quite pleasant, and I thought it best to go while the weather was on my side.”
“What’s it like?” Jilli asked. “Does it truly snow in Pallanar?”
Salvon chuckled. “Yes. Winter is quite cold there. When I was younger, I spent a number of winters in Illustan. However, these old bones react poorly to frigid temperatures, so I now avoid the ice, snow, and cold like the plague.”
Rhoa knew little of Illustan save for one famous element. “Is it true? Do the walls of Illustan glow at night?”
Salvon nodded. “Yes. They glow pale blue. It is a wondrous sight.”
“And the sky?”
“The evening sky in the summer spins and dances with colored lights. If you travel farther south, to Hellman’s End, the sky remains illuminated throughout the night, and the lights above are mesmerizing.” He ran his hand down his long beard, tugging at it. “Winter is another story altogether. So far south, the shortest days will see the sun only an hour or t
wo before it sets.”
The idea of traveling the world tantalized Rhoa. She had never seen anything other than Fastella. Stories of other places stirred her imagination, but the pictures in her mind’s eye lacked the perspective of reality. The results were murky, ill-formed scenes. She longed to see them herself and fill her head with something real.
“Tell us a story about winter – a tale of snow and ice,” Jilli said excitedly.
Like Rhoa, most of the children had never seen snow.
“Well, let’s see…” Salvon gazed toward the sky in contemplation while tugging at his beard. His eyes lit up. “I know. Have I ever told you children the tale of Farwen Lagmar and the Hidden Valley?”
“No, Salvon,” Rhoa said as others echoed the same.
“Ahh.” The old man nodded. “This is a story from long ago, during the Second Age, an age of wonder, an age of magical beasts. In those days, there was no Pallanar. Back then, the land extended thousands of miles to the north, reaching the top of the world. A Maker named Farwen Lagmar lived in the great city of Galfhadden in the distant north.”
“Galfhadden?” Rickard said, his tone doubtful. “There are only eight great cities, and that isn’t one of them.”
Rhoa frowned at the boy.
“This story takes place during the Second Age,” Salvon explained. “The great cities of old are all lost to us, drowned when the seas claimed the lowlands.”
The man opened his mouth to say more and stopped, gazing beyond the children. Rhoa and the others turned to see what had captured the storyteller’s attention.
A squad of soldiers in gold-tinted armor and dark purple capes marched across the square.
“Taladain’s Dogs,” Rickard said.
It was the nickname for the Indigo Hounds, Lord Taladain’s personal army. The sight of them filled Rhoa with fear. There were stories of the Hounds, none of them pleasant. Those stories fueled her nightmares.
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