Caeden

Prologue

The early morning sun was moments away from bringing the day as the man quietly opened the kitchen door for his morning walk. Edwyn enjoyed this time of the day, when all was quiet and the worries of the day hadn’t yet woken the inhabitants of the manor house from their peaceful slumber. He breathed in the crisp morning air and gave a sigh of contentment; it would be a glorious day. The man walked alongside the rows of kitchen herbs and wildflowers the cook had planted towards his favorite place to watch the sunrise. As Edwyn climbed the small hill that overlooked the garden wall, he was surprised to notice a figure already sitting on the crude wooden bench at the top. Drawing closer, the man smiled with pleasure as he recognized the dark form in the dawn light.

“You’re up early if you’ve beaten me to the sunrise, my son.”

The young man turned away from the breaking dawn to smile at his father. The likeness was unmistakable. Both father and son had simple but strong features: clear blue eyes that shone when merry yet stormed over when angry, set deep into a chiseled face marked by lines of worry and laughter in both the younger and elder. Both men were well built and looked as if they could both wield a deadly blade, as in fact both had done in past days; yet their calloused hands were gentle and their arms were not unaccustomed to giving great bear hugs. In fact, the only differences one could see between the two was the amount of wrinkles around the eyes and the generous amount of salt colour in the tawny shades of Edwyn’s hair and beard.

“Actually, Father, you could say I’m up rather late.”

“You’ve been up all night?” Now that the sun had broken over the horizon, Edwyn could see his son more clearly. Caeden did indeed look as if he had spent an uneasy night, still dressed in the clothes he wore for traveling into the neighbouring villages, now looking more unkempt than usual.

“Were you out traveling late yesterday? We didn’t see you at the table last night.”

“No,” said Caeden, “I was back before supper. I just couldn’t sleep, something has caught hold of my mind and I can’t shake it.”

The father nudged his care-worn son over and sat on the bench next to him. “You must have been preoccupied indeed to skip a meal. You’re usually the first one to sit and the last to leave.” That brought a smile to Caeden’s face for a moment, but one that didn’t reach his eyes. Edwyn sat silently with his son, wordlessly watching the sun spread over the surrounding villages on the lower slopes of the mountains. His son would talk when he wished, or else he wouldn’t have come out to his father’s morning spot. The early birds were warming up their carefree melodies when the young man spoke.

“I went to the village closest to the Dark Forest yesterday.”

“Ah, that stubbornly superstitious one at the base of the mountains, Leaffig?”

“Yes, that’s the one.”

“Dreary little place.”

“They’re so wrapped up in fear, Father. Fear of the Forest, of each other, of anything strange to their set ways of life.”

Edwyn nodded silently, a sad furrow creasing his brow. “But, Caeden, you’ve been there many times, and have never come back this troubled before.” Caeden sighed, stood up and began to pace on the path before the bench and his father. Now Edwyn could see how agitated the young man really was. “Tell me, son, what’s wrong.”

The young man paused, looked at his father, and with a deep breath plunged into his tale. “I had a dream about Leaffig; you remember, I told you about it at breakfast not a week ago?” Edwyn nodded.

“You seemed upset about something. Wouldn’t eat much of your breakfast that morning either,” he said with a slight chuckle.

Caeden started pacing again, talking and gesturing with his hands as he marched. “I was in Leaffig, facing the center of town, and all the people were going about their normal daily activities. But something was different, they were all moving so slowly, dragging their feet as if something weighed them down. I looked at their feet, and saw that all of them had shackles bound around their ankles. I went up to a woman and asked her, ‘dear woman, why are your feet shackled?’ She looked at me as if I had said the grass was purple, and cackled at me. I pulled aside a young boy and asked him the same thing. He called me crazy and ran after his friends, if you could call it a run, it was more of a shuffle. I went and stood by the well in the center of the village and shouted at everyone, asking why they were bound, and asked if didn’t they want to be free. But I was met with silence. I then realized that except for the voices of those I had talked to and myself, I hadn’t heard a single noise in the whole village. Suddenly, I heard a soft sound, like a muffled whistle, behind me. I turned and looked, and there where the well bucket should have hung was a cage, and in it a tiny sparrow. The bird had been locked up by the townspeople, because they couldn’t find any shackles small enough to fit its feet. The bird tried to sing, but every time it did, a villager would come and smack the cage, frightening the bird into silence. Right before I woke up, I saw something golden in the bottom of the cage. It was a key, and somehow I knew it was the key to unlock all the shackles of the villagers.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about that dream all week. So, yesterday morning, I grabbed my traveling gear and walked down to the village, just to prove to myself that the people really weren’t imprisoned. When I arrived, the people ignored me as usual, tending to their own business; except for the children, who usually come running, begging me for a story.”

Caeden paused in his pacing to smile at his father. “They’re so courageous and bold in their trust of complete strangers. When does this...this…atrocity of closed-mindedness towards things we don’t know or understand invade our precious and limited childhood? If only we were all as open and loving as children.”

Edwyn smiled at his son’s short tirade. “It’s because you tell them wild and crazy adventure stories that they flock to you. And honestly, I don’t think you ever really grew up, Caeden, so you really fit in with them well.

Caeden’s eyes twinkled for a moment as he grinned at his father’s jest, but then turned thoughtful again. “I felt like I was looking at the town with new eyes though, Father. No, the villagers weren’t bound and shackled by iron chains, but by the talismans around their necks, their ridiculous sayings and motions to void off the dragon, and the fear in their eyes bind them just as tightly. They aren’t free to laugh and joke and sing. Oh, to hear that town sing again! Do you remember, Father?” Caeden sat again next to Edwyn. “Do you remember the sounds of the wooden flutes and harps that would rise up from the valley every winter and spring solstice?”

“You have a very good memory, son, if you can remember back that far. You must have been two or three years old when the last festival was interrupted by the dragon from the depths of the Dark Frost. Ever since then, the villagers haven’t made music again, or even laughed or shouted, for fear the dragon will hear and come back.”

“But Father, you killed that dragon that next spring! Why should they fear any more?”

The older man sighed. “They believed the lies of that old crazy hermit. He told them the dragon had a mate, and that it wants revenge. Nothing I or any of the other hunters could say would convince them. We did not see any other evidence of a mate in the forest. But the fear had already taken a strong hold on them.”

Both men were silent for a while, each deep in their own thoughts. Presently Caeden spoke into the stillness.

“I saw her, Father. I saw the little sparrow.”

When he didn’t say anymore, the old man turned to look at Caeden. Surprised at seeing unshed tears in his son’s eyes, the man asked, “The little bird in your dream? Son, what about a little songbird is moving you so?”

“She’s not a bird, Father; she’s a little girl in the village. I’d never seen her before yesterday. I was sitting at the well with the children, when I saw peeking around the fishmonger’s barrel a pair of large brown eyes. I saw little more than that, but I got a vague impression of an old face on a child’s body, hidden under layers of dirt. But her eyes, they were so expressive; it’s like they were talking to me, telling me the secret things of her heart. She was drawn into the story I was telling, Father. It was like she was traveling to those far off places with me, so great was the hunger in her eyes for adventure. The fishmonger saw her just then and thought she was stealing a fish.”

The young man’s voice caught with angry passion; he stood up and began pacing once more. “He started hollering at her, calling her a thief, a useless urchin, and other things I don’t want to repeat. The depths of fear and pain that came out of her eyes broke my heart. I could see that this wasn’t the first time she had been treated like nothing.”

“What did you do?”

Caeden sighed and relaxed his clenched fists. “Nothing. By the time I stood up to defend her, she had run off down the alley. I asked the children who were with me who she was, and no one knew. They had never seen her before. I finished telling my story, and after sending the children off, found a washerwoman who had come up to the large well to draw water for her family. I asked the woman who the little girl was, and she said that the ‘runt’ was Zipporah, the eldest daughter of the smithy and his wife. She said that the little one never said anything or made much noise when she was in the village running errands for her mother. Called her a hard worker though, said that the girl’s mother works her to death running errands while she looks after her younger children. The washerwoman admitted to never seeing Zipporah run around with the other children like a little girl should, laughing or playing. She cowers away whenever other kids her age come near. I asked her where the smithy was, and she told me not to go there, as it was the closest home to the Dark Forest, and what with the bellows and fire it was like as not the dragoness would come there thinking it was her mate. She kissed her talisman and pointed the way, turning back to her washing. I thanked her and started walking through the village. I didn’t get very close before I heard the voice of a very tired and exasperated mother calling to her kids to be still. Round the corner came barreling two overly-dressed, plump children, fighting each other over a toy. They were quickly followed by the mother, who seemed frustrated with the little urchins, but she talked sweetly to them, and told them to apologize for running into the story-teller and to run along. She herself seemed pleasant enough as she apologized and invited me in for dinner. I declined the offer, saying I needed to head to my home village soon.

"We parted pleasantly enough, but as I turned to leave, I heard the woman’s voice change drastically as she hollered to the girl Zipporah within their hovel. Honestly, Father, if the washerwoman hadn’t told me earlier that she was the woman’s daughter, I would have made the poor child out for a slave. The little thing came out of the kitchen covered in soap suds, apparently from washing up the dishes, and stood there shivering with fear, or it could have been from the cold, her dress was in tatters and far too short. Her mother scolded her for being so slow with the chores that morning, and then piled more chores on her to finish before supper. Oh, Father, the despair and exhaustion that was in her eyes! but she softly said, ‘yes, Mother,’ and walked back into the hovel. It broke my heart, and fired up anger within me. But what could I do? All they know me as is the traveling story-teller who comes by every once in a while. I had no right to tell that woman what to do with her children.”

Edwyn grunted. “That was very wise of you, Caeden. Truth be told, I might have backed you if I had been there with you, and would have marched up to that woman and…would have made an utter fool of myself, because nothing could be said that wouldn’t sound like a scolding washerwoman.” Edwyn sighed with frustration, for the passion that lit Caeden’s eyes on fire had been passed down from generations of strong men, and his father was by no means the least of these.

“I’m sure that little Zipporah was the bird in my dream, Father. The desire for freedom was so strong in her eyes, but she is the most caged of them all.”

“And if your dream was true, she might hold the key to freeing the rest of the villagers from the shackles they won’t acknowledge.”

“Yes! And who knows what else she may do with freedom given to her.” Here the young man knelt down at his father’s feet. “Please, Father, give me permission to rescue this little sparrow from her cage?”

The proud father smiled down at his son and placed his hand on the tawny mane that seemed on fire in the warm morning sun. “Yes, my son, you may set out on this task. Do you know how you’ll go about setting the little one free from this metaphor of yours? It’s not as easy as fighting a dragon-at least you can shoot arrows at one of those.”

His son chuckled at the joke and reassured the man. “I’ll let you know my plans before I carry them out, Father.”

“Good! Well, it’s about time you had something more exciting to do around here than sword practice and eating me out of house and home!”

The men’s laughter was broken by a subtle cough behind them. “Good Morning, Baxter!” said the men.

“Good morning Sire, Your Highness. I didn’t want to interrupt, but I thought that since Prince Caeden hadn’t any supper last night, he might be interested to know that the cook is almost finished making breakfast.”

“Excellent!” said King Edwyn. “Help your father up, Caeden, my knees aren’t what they used to be.”

“That’s preposterous! You almost beat me up the stairs to the tower library yesterday!” laughed the prince as he pulled his father off the bench.

“Oh, that was just practice,” said the king as he patted his son’s back.

“Practice? For what?” Caeden said incredulously.

“For beating you to breakfast this morning!”

With that the king dashed off laughing down the hill towards the kitchen door, with his protesting son hot on his heels, leaving Baxter behind to roll his eyes, muttering to a perched sparrow, “Sometimes I wonder if they realize they rule the whole kingdom, or even if they realize they’ve grown up.”


Chapter 1

“Zipporah!”

The young girl cringed at the high-pitched screech of her mother. Drying her hands as she ran, Zipporah frantically ran through the list of things she may have forgotten to do that would have her called away so soon from the laundry. The boys were fed and with their father in the smithy, little Sophyrah changed and laid down for her nap, which would now probably be short lived due to the sudden shriek of the blacksmith’s wife. Dishes washed, the meat stewing over the fire…that must be it, thought Zipporah, the fire has died down and the stew getting cold. She began to mentally calculate the risk of stopping to grab an armful of firewood when the call came again.

“Zipporah! Where are you, girl?”

Zipporah put on an extra burst of speed until she reached the door of the hovel, where she paused, smoothing out her dress while she caught her breath. She lowered her gaze, stooped in the low doorway and approached her mother, trying to still the fearful twitch of her fingers by burying them in the folds of her soiled skirt.

“Where have you been?! I’ve been calling you for the last half hour, have you gone deaf?”

“No, Mother. I was out by the river washing…”

“Did I ask you for an excuse? Here, take Sophyrah, she’s woken up and has soiled her underclothes. There is a man here, same one who came a few days ago, the one Khael and Donwyn mowed over.”

Zipporah’s heart skipped a beat while she walked over to her screaming sister’s crib. The story teller! If she was lucky, he might stay for dinner and she would be able to listen to his wonderful tales, maybe even finish the one she had heard the day the fishmonger ran her off. Zipporah pinched herself and returned to listening to her mother’s rambling.

“…don’t understand how a man who dresses so respectably, even for a traveler, could not afford to pay up, but your father has agreed to exchange the work for tutoring lessons for the boys. The sword will take some time to mend, so he should be here for a few weeks, and I expect more effort on your part to make sure this place stays spotless! And furthermore…”

Zipporah let her mind wander again while the tirade continued. She knew well what company meant: less food for her, more work around the house to do, keeping Sophyrah with her at all times so as not to get in the way, more laundry, more dishes, and all to be done in less time than she was usually allowed. The young girl sighed as she finished cleaning up her sister. There would be no time to listen to the stories, no time to let her mind wander to the far off places she imagined were out there somewhere. No, best to push those thoughts aside. Here in the hovel at the edge of the Forest there was no room for hopes or dreams.

Picking up the infant, Zipporah turned back to her mother, who was still ranting, but mostly to herself by this time. “Yes, mother, I’ll make sure it’s all just as you say.”

“Good! It’s about time. I’ve let you get too lazy. Now take your sister and go finish the laundry, I want a clean and dry tablecloth on this table tonight, and the guest will be taking your bed, so make sure you put the spare blankets on it tonight.”

Zipporah strapped Sophyrah into the makeshift carrier sling and left the hovel. She was halfway to the stream and the abandoned laundry when a runaway tear fell slowly down her cheek. She hastily wiped it away; it was no good to cry, just a waste of time and energy. Shaking her head and pushing the emotions away, Zipporah looked down at her sister, who had fallen asleep to the slow rocking rhythm of Zipporah’s stride. A rare smile pushed its way onto the young girl’s face as she gazed on the innocent face.

“You are so very blessed, Sophy, not to care about anything that is going on around you,” Zipporah sighed as she kissed the infant’s forehead. Carefully taking off the sling, she placed the little one down on some soft moss far enough from the spray of the stream and went back to her work. Soon she was lost again in the steady rhythm of scrubbing and beating out the dirt, and almost unconsciously began to softly hum a beautiful melody while she drudged along.


Chapter 2

Once Upon A Time: the part you've never heard

Once upon a time there was a brave knight. Or at least that's how the story goes. You know the drill, somewhere a lady-fair, maybe even a princess, has been kidnapped by a witch/dragon/seven little men in tights and put in a tower/cave/glass coffin. The brave, daring, and charming knight hears of her distress and solemnly vows to rush off to rescue the poor helpless maiden fair and win her hand. Off he sets on his noble steed towards the tower/cave/glass coffin and waving his sword about for a while, defeats whatever hideous creature has dared to imprison his one true love. He rushes up to the beautiful princess, and with a kiss, banishes all evil spells; then whisking her up onto his steed, they ride off into the sunset to live happily ever after. Sigh, tear, what a great story... If it was true. In my opinion, it's just a load of hogswallop. See, I'm what one may categorize as a "princess", as my father happens to be the king of a rather large plot of land called Scotland. Minor detail. And as I'm the eldest daughter (well, actually, the only daughter, really the only child), that means whatever lucky lad gets hitched to me becomes the next king. So my father's held tournament after bloody, boring tournament trying to see what young man will catch my fancy. They all make pointless promises and rediculous romantic gestures, then go beat each other upside the head until they're all carted off the field. All except one, who's somehow, by divine providence most likely, still standing (I've always thought that the great Lord All Mighty has a cheeky sense of humour; call it irreverence, but its an endearment between the two of us: He is cheeky, and I laugh), But the poor beknighted fool can't see out of his blackened eyes, and while trying to renew those wonderful, romantic sentiments he had vainly spouted earlier, spits blood out from the now gaping hole where his front teeth used to be. Yeah, that'll win my heart over and set my stomach all aflutter with feelings of love...gag me. What really is the point of tournaments, anyway? Is it practice for life as a king? Will the "brave" knights spend the rest of their days, after winning fair maiden's hand of course, go and run pell mell on their horse towards an opposing foe who is also running full speed towards them, brandishing wooden blades and javelins? If my father's life is any example, I don't think so. The times I've seen him needing to fight at all was the very few (thank You, my Providence!) scirmishes that arose when bands of raiders came to steal our cattle and grain during a hard winter. Why don't we have tournaments that find out who can plant a row of grain faster, or who can find water first: by digging a well or by creating an irrigation system that will water our crops when the summer heat brings no rain? None of these so-called suitors are actually suitable for ruling, at least in my opinion. I tried to tell my parents this brilliant idea once. It was funny actually. I laughed about it later. Seriously, you should have seen my father's face! It turned the color of an overripe tomato. I almost laughed right then, but my very prudent mother glared at me, and that was enough for me to turn the snort into a cough, a dainty one, of course, behind my lovely lacey handkerchief that I made..alright, one of my silly handmaidens made. Haha, get it, the handmaiden made the handkerchief, haha...oh never mind. anyway, where was I, oh yeah, my dad turning into tomato soup. So he gets all somber and fatherly, gives me the "now young lady" bit, and proceedes to tell me that it is vitally important that they find a suitable young man for me, who will able to protect me in the ways young princesses need to be looked after. I looked at him confused (I was only 5 at the time) and asked him why. He sputtered and fumed, and looked at my mother and asked her why a 5 year old is so preoccupied with crops and wells and such. Mother only looked at him with a look that I've now come to interpret as the "she's-your-daughter" look, and quietly took me out of the room to let father fuss a bit by himself. Back in my room (the one on the south-east side of the castle, with a huge bed and about 50 windows to let in the morning sunshine, oh, and I guess it could be classified as a tower, but that's another minor coincidence), Mother told me all that amazing silliness that is the wonders of being one of the female race. But in-between the lines of femininity that was gushing from her mouth, her eyes were telling me something different. I read that she was actually quite proud of me for thinking of our subjects as more important than waving around a silly wooden sword, and that she rather thought the same thing about the subject, but as a dutiful mother and queen, must continue her inherited duty to mankind and her husband, the king, who was just being protective of his only child. But somewhere in that conversation, it did enter my brain that the way things are supposed to go is that women need to be rescued, and the men are the ones that do the rescuing, most of the time by waving around a silly sword. I thought that was a bit silly, and so over the next couple of days I read through all my books to find a story that didn't involve the princess needing to be wisked off her feet by a handsome prince. I couldn't find any. Why is it that in all the fairy tale stories you hear, the poor, helpless maiden is, well..helpless?

Elswyth

A long time ago, in the forgotten day and age of fairies, dragons, and other such myths that are only real to the childlike heart, there lived an elven princess. Now, this was not your ordinary princess, such as the typical myths and legends tell, one of long flowing, golden hair whose very tresses stole the hearts of every prince charming in the land, nor one of a beautiful, captivating voice whose very whisper of a song would melt the hearts of every wicked witch who threatened her existence. No, this was a very plain princess, who despite her common features was very uncommon indeed. This daughter of kings appeared as any normal elven child, one full of laughter and curiosity and simple adoring love. But there was always something that set her apart from the other children, something whimsical and aloof. At times, a faint sadness would tint her grey-green eyes, as a wisp of a wind would flow through the long strands of her earth-colored hair, though no hint of a breeze could be felt. It was as if she were miles away, though she stood in the midst of the crowd or ran through the playgrounds of the villages. For this was no ordinary elven maiden, this was the princess of the wood, a mystical dryad: daughter of the trees. At the time of her birth, her two very common elvish parents, who also happened to very uncommonly be king and queen, were overjoyed that an heir to the throne had arrived. The entire kingdom was invited to bless the princess with gifts on her name day, (including the not-so-good fairies of neighboring kingdoms, for this king was not so common as to ignore the mistakes of human kings and risk another vexed witch placing a curse on his beautiful daughter). However, long before any of the honored guests had arrived, one altogether uncommon looking personage appeared. It was the ancient elf-fairy, Etain. It was said the Etain had the blood of the ancient fairy-gods of legend, and could bestow magical gifts to those who were most pure and untouched by the evils of the world. How Etain had arrived before anyone else was a mystery, for her home lay in the forests of the northeastern most part of the kingdom; she would have had to start her journey long before even the queen knew an heir was to be born. And so it was, for before the little princess was a half hour old, a quiet knock was heard on the door of the queen's bedchamber. "Come in!" roared the elated father king, eager to tell anyone about his beautiful new daughter. The heavy oak door groaned open, and a tiny, grey head peeped out from below the door knob. "Is she here yet? Oh, of course she is; silly of me to ask. Where is the dear child?" With that, Etain hobbled into the room and approached the crib at the side of the queen's bed. Too stunned at the forwardness of the little elf-fairy to do anything, the king and queen silently watched Etain pick up the infant and cradle it in her arms. "Ooh, aren't you such a dear! Yes, you are the one. And it looks like I got to you just in time," Etain cooed as she brushed the curls of golden hair away from the babe’s blue eyes. “Yes, this little one will be a blessing to all who come to know her, but the road will be hard indeed. She has been chosen to walk the road of sorrow, for not only will her own tears pain the deepest part of her soul, but she will also carry the sorrows of others. This is not a curse, but a blessing; for though the way is paved in pain, she will have the strength of heart to bear these burdens. Her courage and strength will bring justice to her people and joy to her land. She herself will also feel happiness in greater depths than those around her, for as she allows the sorrow to well up in her heart, it will open it up further to allow more joy and love to come in as well. But she can not do it as she is now, a mere elf maiden. So my gift to you, dear princess, is the gift of the willow people. Your life will be one of weeping, so I will make you as the river willow, with a strong heart of wisdom and love, and a place of refuge and peace for those who take shelter under your branches." With that, Etain leaned over and kissed the princess, breathing into her the life of the forest. Still stunned at the prophecy of the elf fairy, the king and queen watched Etain place the baby in its cradle and silently leave, giving a tiny curtsy before closing the door. The king continued staring at the door, his face slowly turning pale with rage and horror, until he heard a sobbing gasp from his beloved queen. He turned to see the new mother holding a willow sapling over the princess’ cradle, as if to strike the child with it. Rushing to stop her and protect the babe, the king found himself staring into an empty cradle. The queen was by now cradling the willow twig and sobbing, repeating over and over again in crazed tones, “My baby, my child!” Before the king’s amazed eyes the sapling transformed into the shape of the infant princess, whose eyes, now alive with an earthly grey-green tint, were slowly pouring forth rivers of tears that streamed down her straight, brown locks. “It’s because her mother’s sorrow that my daughter weeps,” thought the king, and he realized the gift of the elf fairy was not imagined. His precious elven daughter now had the blood of the willow coursing through her, and had become a dryad maiden. Through his own tears, the king proclaimed: “Her name shall be Elswyth, for she is an elf maiden from the willow. We will try to keep the truth of her blood a secret. She must be taken away to a safe place, where sorrow cannot reach her, and where she can be among the elves, her true people. May she find her identity as one of us, and forget this dreadful curse of the elf fairy.” For the king had already forgotten the words of Etain, proclaiming a blessing and not a curse for the elves of his kingdom through the passionate heart of the little princess. Elswyth was taken in by a blacksmith and his wife, who lived in the flat meadow land in the southwestern corner of the kingdom. It was a barren land, good only for grazing cattle and sheep. For miles upon endless miles not a tree could be seen, only the wisps of smoke coming from the underground hovels of the elves. However, every so often, if one was out in the wee hours before the morning, a young willow sapling could be seen at the back of the blacksmith’s forge, its branches shuttering silent in an absent breeze, as if the tree itself was crying. No one but the blacksmith and his wife knew of Elswyth’s true nature, so no one ever suspected it to be her. And no one but Elswyth herself knew that the weeping willow only appeared after hours to hide the tears that had threatened to pour down her face during the day. For though the king and queen had tried to send their beloved daughter to a place that was free from sorrow, the sadness still found it’s way into Elswyth’s heart. Sometimes it came with fear after a heated argument between the blacksmith and his wife. Other times it would arrive on the wings of loneliness as the other children in the village laughed at her tendency to listen to a non-existent wind rustling the leaves of an unseen forest. But the deepest sadness would come whenever the blacksmith’s wife would tell her to forget the forest and be a good little elf. For no matter how hard she tried, Elswyth could not deny her dryad heart. Oh, how she longed to feel the river flowing over her aching roots after a long hard day in the field, and how her heart sang when she would feel the rustling of the unseen breeze flow through her branch-like hair! She thought that because the blacksmith and his wife knew who she really was, there was more freedom to be a dryad in their home. But time and time again, the wife’s sharp reprimands would cut at Elswyth like an ax. Slowly, Elswyth walled in her true heart, fearing that the continual barrage of sorrow would eat away at her like a colony of termites. The strength prophesied by the elf fairy was now being used to bind up the dryad in a locked garden by will of the pretend elf princess, who only longed after the happiness of being whole. Elswyth could not be both dryad and elf, and in the suffocating blacksmith’s hovel below the earth where an elf was all that could be accepted, and elf is what Elswyth tried to be. The late night shutters of a river-less river willow was all Elswyth allowed her true heart to emerge, and then to be seen by no one but herself. How could she ever explain to her people that she was not truly an elf, but a lonely, sorrowful dryad? As it was, Elswyth the elf was misunderstood and in her mind already hated by her own people; how much more they would reject her if they found out the truth. So from the village she hid her heart, and from her adopted parents she hid her tears. Elswyth would become the perfect elf maiden all desired her to be, all except herself. And thus the years passed. As Elswyth grew older, she soon forgot the reasoning behind her need for elvish perfection. It was simply an unseen, unnamed force driving her every thought, word, and deed. The forest breezes still shook her branches, but she had forgotten what to call them. Her roots still ached for the cool river soil, but she could never identify the cause or reason for this longing. Elswyth simply knew both were considered very wrong, and that she needed to avoid those feelings at all costs. This only piled on more guilt and shame, for her heart still longed so deeply to be completely dryad. But her elvish mind ruled over her heart, and the condemnation of her adoptive parents ruled her mind. Daily the blacksmith’s wife reminded Elswyth of the evils of her wild heart, and constantly berated her for acting so dislike an elf. This only made Elswyth try harder at being perfect, but to no avail. For no one can deny their own heart for very long, no matter how hard they try. In the village it was easier for Elswyth to be a perfect elven maiden. Because of the way the children of the village had misunderstood her dryad behavior when she was younger, Elswyth learned to avoid contact with the other elves. While her classmates and peers played and talked with each other, Elswyth remained in the background, often hiding in the corner to avoid detection and remain at peace with her own thoughts. True, her shyness left her heart aching with an intense loneliness others could not fathom, but in her mind the loneliness was far better than the humiliation of being misunderstood and ridiculed. For there was nothing worse to Elswyth’s mind than not only feeling a sorrow beyond her years but also having the whole world reject her for her true identity. If they wanted to reject the fake elven self Elswyth portrayed, there was no loss, for Elswyth herself hated and despised the perfect elf she was becoming. But if the elves rejected her true, dryad self, she would be to the core utterly despised and rejected, with nothing left worth loving. Hiding away the dryad gave Elswyth a small glimmer of hope that there was something still left to her that she at least could love, when no one else was looking. Her late night transformations into the weeping willow were still her constant comfort, an hour of the day where she could shed the lies that had been her covering through the day and let her true self grieve at being the only one of her kind. Or so she thought. In the fall of Elswyth’s twenty-first year, a young traveler appeared in the village. “An elf of some importance,” the villagers said, or so they naturally assumed. For he was none like they had ever seen before, with earthy grayish-green eyes instead of the otherworldly blue, and short brown hair instead of long blond tresses. In fact, the people of this remote village, to their recollection, had only seen one other elf that did not share their same features, and suddenly began to give more thought to that shy little elf maiden that lived in the blacksmith’s hovel. The day he arrived, Elswyth was walking down the crowded main street, running errands for the blacksmith’s wife, heeding little of the commotion around her in her frantic desire to get out of the path of others’ probing eyes. Keeping her own grey-green eyes fixed on the dust covered street, Elswyth could not see the traveler coming nearer until he was just about to pass her by. Suddenly, a group of laughing children raced through the street, almost knocking Elswyth’s groceries out of her arms. Looking up after them with a smile, Elswyth didn’t notice that the forest breezes were again blowing through her hidden branches, as they often did whenever she felt joy in her childlike dryad heart. The soft wind subtly blew her long hair into her face, and Elswyth quickly brushed it aside in sudden acknowledgment of the nonexistent breeze, glancing around the crowded street hoping no elf had noticed. Her frantic surveillance suddenly ceased at the sight of the weary traveler in front of her. He as well had stopped to avoid the rush of children, but had remained very still for a moment or two longer, closing his eyes as if in delight. Elswyth’s eyes rested on his the moment they reopened, and a puff of wind blew a short lock of his hair into his eyes. With a smile and a short bow to Elswyth, the traveler continued on his way. Elswyth stood in the middle of the street, frozen in shock, her wide eyes slowly staring at the traveler’s back as he walked into the hostel at the end of the street. It couldn’t have been a normal wind, for no winds blew in the meadowland of the southwest, and the elves walking the crowded street surely would have noticed. No, the wind passing over the stranger had been the same wind that stirred her own branches. Elswyth woodenly walked back to the blacksmith’s hovel, errands forgotten as her thoughts raced faster than a river rapid. The wife’s protests at the half-empty basket fell upon deaf ears as Elswyth threw its contents on the table and dashed out behind the forge to her safe place. She sat alone with her thoughts until the stars were shining forth their full brilliance before heading back into town, towards the hovel that housed the one being who could answer the deep questions of her heart. She had almost passed it before she realized that something foreign graced the barren landscape with its majestic presence. It was the soft rustling of branches not her own that roused her from her crowded thoughts. As the hushed noise slowly formed themselves into words, Elswyth stopped dead in her tracks, fighting the urge to panic and retreat into willow form. “I was hoping you would come tonight,” the soft voice said. Elswyth turned her head to gaze in amazement at the large oak tree that had appeared out of nowhere. As she stared wide-eyed, the tree changed before her very eyes, so seamlessly that she wasn’t sure exactly what was happening until the elvish figure of the traveler stood before her. “Who are you?” The question pulled itself from the depth of Elswyth’s being before she could stop it. “One who has searched long and hard for you. Your elvish parents hid you well by sending you father away than most of our kind could travel. Most dryads cannot live far from water, you know. I’m surprised that you’re still able to feel the forest breezes, as I assume you did this afternoon.” “Our kind?” gasped Elswyth. “Well of course. You are the dryad princess, Elswyth, are you not?” “You are mistaken, sir. It is true that I am known as Elswyth, but I am an elf, not a dryad. There are no such things as dryads.” “My lady, your name states otherwise. If you are truly Elswyth, then you are the willow elf, princess of two peoples. I have been looking for you ever since the lady Etain returned to our home in the north after your name day. The dryads have long awaited the day when one of our kind would wear the crown of this kingdom. It has long been foretold of the dryad elf who would unite the peoples of this country and bring healing to the land. And now at last I have found you, to bring you home and teach you that which you need to step into your calling.” “Our kind?” repeated the bewildered Elswyth. A sad smile passed over the traveler’s face as he gazed down at the confused maiden. “Forgive me, I fear I have begun at the wrong part of the tale. Let me start over. I am Elon, prince of the dryads, who dwell in the lands to the north of your father’s kingdom. I have come to bring you home to your people.” “Home? My people? This is my home, and these are my people. I’m sorry sir, but you are gravely mistaken. I am an elf, and there are no such things as dryads. They are a myth, a childhood fantasy.” “My lady, I am not sure what you have been told by those who raised you, but this one thing I know: you are a dryad, the princess of a people who embody the wild beauty of nature. Search your heart, my lady. The truth that you find there is truth indeed. Your heart is good, and it is needed. You are needed, my lady, to bring peace to both the people of your mind and the people of your heart. You are a dryad. And to be a dryad is a thing of great honor and worth.” With that, the prince bowed gracefully and turned toward the village. Elswyth again found herself staring at the back of this mythical prince, feeling overwhelmed at all that had just been revealed to her. None of the words regarding her royalty surprised her; the blacksmith and his wife made sure to teach Elswyth all the things a good elven princess needs to know before taking the throne. It was the words he said about dryads. No one to her recollection had ever said anything good about dryads. They were a misunderstood and forgotten people who had been reduced to mere legend by those who were afraid of what they could not understand. Those in Elswyth’s life who knew of her identity had only enforced the negative lies of the forest people. Even the king and queen, by their noticeable absence in Elswyth’s life, largely imprinted this negative conception in Elswyth’s mind. Suddenly, a real dryad, and a prince at that, had appeared explaining and portraying the opposite. “It is a good thing to be a dryad?” The thought lingered in Elswyth’s mind as she walked back to the comfort of the blacksmith’s forge. It was inconceivable to her mind, and twenty-one years of believing the opposite could not be rewritten in a day. But that night, had anyone been awake to see, a willow tree rustled its branches, quivering not with suppressed sorrow but with an indefinable joy that sprang from a heart suddenly strengthened by hope. The days passed by, and every time Elswyth ventured into the village, her eyes would slowly begin to raise from their usual fixation to the path to glance around for the Prince Elon. At first, the sight of his knowing eyes staring into hers brought an unexplainable terror to Elswyth’s mind, as she imagined the dryad betraying her long-held secret, exposing her to humiliation unimaginable. But yet her eyes were drawn to his, every time they passed. There was something else in the grey-green eyes that haunted her, a look of reassurance and hope that tugged at her heart. The dryad prince never approached Elswyth, and never betrayed her secreted heart as she feared, and though no words were spoken between them, Elswyth began to long for the safety of his reassuring presence. Instead of the guarded fear she felt around the village elves, something within her longed for the friendship of one who already knew her secret and still accepted her. More than that, the prince almost expected her to be who she most desired to be, and his graceful bow at her every passing somehow showed Elswyth that he would never see her as anything less than a dryad princess.

Elena

See, a king will reign in righteousness and rulers will rule with justice.

Then the eyes of those who see will no longer be closed, and the ears of those who hear will listen.

The fearful heart will know and understand, and the stammering tongue will be fluent and clear.

No longer will the fool be called noble nor the scoundrel be highly respected.

For fools speak folly, their hearts are bent on evil: They practice ungodliness and spread error concerning the LORD; the hungry they leave empty and from the thirsty they withhold water.

Scoundrels use wicked methods, they make up evil schemes to destroy the poor with lies, even when the plea of the needy is just.

But the noble make noble plans, and by noble deeds they stand.

Chapter I

At the sound of a branch cracking, the young woman started; the noise echoed like thunderclap in the thick silence of the forest. She spun around, fearing she had been caught, only to see a squirrel land with precarious grace on another tree limb. Chiding herself, Elena turned and carefully continued her journey. No one had followed her into the forest. There were rumors that strange beings from legend still haunted the forest, elves and dragons and other fantastical creatures that made the villagers afraid to cross its borders. Elena had made this journey many times, and knew better than to fear local superstitions; yet she couldn’t stop the uneasiness that had settled in the pit of her stomach. She again took a careful turn, looking all around for a hint that anyone had followed. All was still.

Elena paused, and allowed herself to look again, this time to simply enjoy the beauty. It was so still here in the forest. The trees were closely packed together, their wide girth and uneven angles hinting at years of stories hidden under their coarse bark. The little light that came through the branches revealed dense undergrowth of brush, ferns, and the occasional wildflower. Now and then, a squirrel would chatter, or a bird would cry out to its mate, but beyond that, all was silent. Elena closed her eyes, breathed in deeply and let the stillness calm her. It had been too long since she had been able to get away from her duties at the castle. She felt the stress of the last three weeks slowly fall behind as she made her way once more to her destination. The castle held too many responsibilities, too many crowds of people all needy and grasping. Here in the wilderness she felt alive, felt able to just let go of the burden of her title and could just be herself; not “Princess,” not “Your Royal Highness,” not “Prophetess”…just Elena.

She reached an especially dense copse that barred any further approach. She ducked close to the ground and began crawling under the thick briars. The close confines of the space accompanied by the smell of the earth close to her face gave Elena a sense of comfort. Slowly she inched her way into the thicket, taking care not to snag the royal finery her mother insisted she wear.

“Not that it would matter,” she muttered to a beetle scuttling out of her way. The mud she was crawling through would most likely ruin the dress; and though she planned to jump into the stream before making the trip back to the castle, the Wardrobe Mistress would deem the whole affair a disaster and would burn it in the stable hearth. No great loss actually. Wardrobe Mistress enjoyed having an excuse to make something even more outlandish for the wayward princess to wear for her inquisitive subjects. So many subjects…with so many questions.

On the other side, Elena stood, brushed the dirt feebly from her gown, and slipped out of her shoes before she allowed herself to look up and take in her surroundings. The sight never failed to take her breath away. The thicket was larger than what could be seen from outside the briers. A large meadow spread out before the princess’ feet, leading up into the high foothills of the Northern Mountains, far beyond the boundary of her father’s kingdom. Weaving through the heather was a stream, which giggled its way between groves of birch trees on its way down through the Dark Forest and into the villages, where it turned into the Black River, and continued its course down to the sea. Unconsciously, Elena's feet began carrying her forward. The stream always drew her, calling to something deep and familiar within her being, something she could not name. It was why she ran away so often, why she so frequently slipped away from the crowds and the crown. She sat with her back against a large willow, the only one in the thicket, and dipped her bare feet into the stream. Finally she could rest. She looked up and watched a hawk circling above her, floating free on the summer winds. Elena sighed deeply, and wondered not for the first time what it would be like to fly freely above all her troubles.

“Why are you here looking so melancholy? Did someone forget to tell you that it’s a beautiful day?”

The sudden question startled Elena, but only for a moment. The princess leaned forward and turned to watch the spirit of the willow flow out of the tree behind her like a breeze and flow gently to sit down by her side, gradually taking shape as a graceful elfin woman. Elena smiled as she watched the transformation. The local villagers had been right, to an extent, about their superstitions, for here was a dryad, as living and real as Elena herself. Though the transformation of tree to elf terrified Elena at their first meeting, she had grown fond of the mysterious being and began to seek out the dryad’s infinite wisdom and comfort when the pressure of her title and gift became overwhelming.

Elena allowed a small smile to sneak out as the loving twinkle lit the soft green eyes of the elf sitting beside her. “Sorry, Lady Elswyth. I’m afraid I’m not cheerful company today.”

“Ah, someone did forget to tell you. Very well, I’ll gladly take the honors: Princess Elena, today is an absolutely splendid day, full of promise, and meant to be enjoyed to its fullest extent, not by moping about my glen.”

The young woman sighed and rested her chin on her hands. “Well, I’m glad you find promise in it. To me it’s just a reminder of what I cannot have.”

“And what is it you cannot have, dear heart?”

Elena looked up again at the hawk and sighed again. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have wings? The freedom to fly away from anything whenever I wanted to? The freedom to just simply enjoy the day without responsibilities?”

Elswyth shook her willowy head. “Tsk. ‘The freedom to fly away’? Why do you humans always want to ‘fly away’ from things? What about the freedom to fly towards something? Or just the freedom to simply fly?” The dryad pointed up to the now far distant hawk. “That prince of the skies is not flying away from anything, nor is he flying towards something. He is flying simply because the Great Heart gave him the ability to do so, and by doing it he finds great joy and contentment.”

The princess gave the Lady a sly look. “You sure you don’t want to come back with me to the castle? I’m sure there are other people who would simply love your pointed allegories.”

The dryad's laugh sounded like it had been borne on the back of the warm southerly wind. “It would shock your poor parents and subjects if I showed up, living proof that mythical creatures of the past aren't mere fairy tales."

"Ooh, imagine how much fun that would be!" Elena’s eyes twinkled with the silliness of the idea. "Here come the hoards, all standing at the royal gates since dawn, waiting anxiously for the chamberlain to open the doors to visitors at precisely 10:07." Here Elena jumped up, stuck out her belly, and with a slightly pompous look pretended to pull a pocket watch out of a waist pocket and peer at it doubtfully, earning another laugh out of Elswyth. Elena giggled, ruining the remarkably accurate portrayal of the beloved chamberlain, and continued, widely gesturing.

"They enter, en mass, all wanting one glance from the queer, grey eyes of the Royal Prophetess, asking for a prophecy here, a blessing there, and all for the curse to be lifted off this wretched land. And here you come, rising from behind the throne as a mythical god, come to wreak havoc or bring the sign of the end of our misery." Elena's voice choked on her last words. What had started out as a silly joke had slowly turned into a tirade of desperation and frustration. The princess turned from the dryad to gaze up the weakening stream towards the Northern Mountains. The graceful willow woman stood and approached Elena's side. Together they looked off into the distance, towards the far off peaks of the Northern Mountains.

"Did I do right, Elswyth?" The forced evenness in the princess' whisper betrayed the emotion rising within her. "Was it right for me to tell my people the prophecy? Should I have ever told anyone that it is to the north that our redemption shall come? I see the skepticism in their eyes, every one of them-including my father and mother. I hear what they call me, the servant girls and the guards. ‘Cloudy Eyes’, ‘Princess of Lies.’ As the days and the months go by, the hope that breathed life into this kingdom again turns into doubt. Now the years are beginning to pass; the crops are producing even less than they were last year, the waters of the Black River are receding, and my people are getting hungry. The questioning and doubt in their eyes is more than I can bear. Did I do wrong to speak out what I saw?"

The dryad remained silent for a time. When Elena finally felt a fluttery touch turning her head away from the mountains, she was amazed to see tears in the eyes of her mentor as well. Ancient green eyes bored into the younger, troubled grey for a long moment before Elswyth spoke.

“It is not for us to know what might have happened if we made different choices from the ones that currently guide the course of our lives. What I do know is that you have been given a gift, Elena.” The princess snorted with sarcastic laughter. The elf frowned, “A gift-not a curse, Elena. Who are we to deny others the blessing we have been given?”

“I don’t see how giving people false hopes can be a blessing, or how earning the scorn of the people I will one day rule is a gift. Those are tough words to accept.”

The dryad nodded. “Because it is the truth, and the truth is most often difficult to believe when the lie is seen more often. But you are a princess, and your position requires that you must always look first to the needs of your people, even if they can’t recognize the need at first. But what is done is done-there is no changing the past, and wishing for what might have been only distracts you from what you need to be doing now. Your people need you, Elena. They need to see their princess standing steadfast with hope, even in it seems far off. Most especially when it seems far off.”

“I can’t do this alone,” whispered the girl, “and I feel so alone. Will you not come with me back to the castle?”

The willow-woman smiled sadly. “You know the answer, Elena dear. I cannot go with you. My place is here, for reasons not even I understand yet. But I think help will come for you soon. But look for it in the most unexpected places.”

Elena tilted her head in puzzlement. “How in the world can I look for something when it’s unexpected? Wouldn’t I be expecting it then?”

With a mysterious smile, the elf simply gave the princess a hug. “It’s time you were off home, dear one. Your parents will be expecting you.”

“Alright. Wouldn’t want to make the Vizier upset over his cold stew again. Last week his face was almost as red as the beets Cookie had put into it!”

Elswyth chuckled as she watched the young woman walk towards the small opening in the thick hedge she had entered only an hour ago. “If anything, my dear one, your quick humour will help your spirit through this time,” she whispered to the retreating figure of the downcast princess.

The elf watched for a while, waiting till she could no longer see Elena, and then turned once again to the majestic mountains. She stood, watching the unmoving peaks until she heard the almost imperceptible sound of footsteps on the grass behind her, footsteps she knew well. She closed her eyes as a sudden chill swept over her. “Say it isn’t so. It can’t be time, not this soon.”

“It is not up to me to begin it or end it,” the deep voice said. “I am just the messenger.”

Elswyth turned to face him. “No matter how often you say it, Calder, you are much more than a messenger.”

The young man grunted a non-committal response and nodded his head in the direction the princess had taken. “Is she ready?”

The willow looked again at the stream that had mesmerized Elena not half hour ago. “She has to be. There is no other.”

Chapter 2

She was rooted to the ground. There was no movement around the dark room. Suddenly-light! Two bright orbs burned fiercely in front of her eyes, searing her vision with an angry intensity. Oh! how they burned! Yet she could not pry her eyes away. Her vision blurred till all she could see was the orbs in front of her. Suddenly her own vision was lost, and she could see only through the burning eyes of the unseen one before her. She saw her parents, the land, her home: all burned. The vision expanded, and she saw her country; only blackened charcoal and grey ash remained of homesteads, fields, and villages. The only color came from the Black River, which bled a crimson red. She gasped at the sudden shock of deathly color, and attempted to rush to her beloved river, but still she was immobile. The burning eyes would not allow tears, and so she was forced to helplessly and mournfully watch her country slowly die. 

But then-a light, brighter than the burning fire that imprisoned her sight, burst into the darkness, bathing the diseased and dying land in its healing rays. The power of the light drew her vision towards its source, and there, out of the northern mountains, came a figure, bearing aloft a great sword and walking steadily towards the Black River. She could only just hear the figure’s voice as it approached, speaking rhythmically in a language she had never heard before. At the River’s edge the figure stopped, lowered the sword until the point was just hovering over the blood-red surface. Then with a great cry, the figure raised the sword and plunged it mightily into the River. 

The sword shattered on impact as if made of glass, its shards rushing out to pierce everything in its path. The two largest shards flew into the burning eyes which possessed her before she could close them, and with a cry of surprise rather than pain she reached up to touch the fiery orbs. But they were no longer ablaze, and her own eyesight was restored to her, as was her mobility. As she marveled at this, she looked about and saw the shards of the sword pierce her dying country and transform it. Before her healed eyes, she watched the fields grow into golden ripe grain, the forest blossomed into a deep green canopy, and to her delight, a deep, clear blue spread from the point of the sword’s impact to chase away the blood-red poison of the Black River, healing it, and giving it the power to heal all its waters touched. She turned her gaze to the stranger from the North, who spoke again in that unknown language, said something important, something she needed to know…

And again she was blinded. But this was different. This was more annoying, more rude and intrusive. She struggled through the brightness to keep sight of the mysterious savior, but was shaken out of it by an all too familiar voice. “D’ya think you’re going to lie there all day? Ca’ mon, then, out of bed. Busy day t’day, you know.”

Elena groaned and peered through heavy eyelids at the intruder of her dreams. Bethda, her delightful serving girl, was normally a welcome sight to Elena, who had few companions her age to enjoy. But Bethda’s exuberant chipperness was too much most mornings these days. The princess watched her friend open the rest of the curtains that covered the early morning sun and tried to hold onto the remaining tendrils of her dream. It was the same vision as the one she’d had several years ago. But this time she’d felt something different. It was something the strange savior said. No, that wasn’t it; it was more like she almost understood what it was that was said. But the meaning eluded her as Bethda prattled on about how special the day was and how excited she felt and how excited Her Highness must be.

“It’s not every day that dignitaries from another country come to visit. Ooh! D’ya think the warriors will be very handsome?”

Elena listened to her friend’s nervous chatter with amusement and thought of the visitors she was to entertain. These foreigners from Camora were a somber lot, living along the rough seas and in the murky delta lands at the mouth of the Black River, further to the south west of her father’s kingdom of Doria. Often Elena’s father, King Goran, had treated these dignitaries before, and often had tried to pair Elena with one or two of the male royal family members closer to her age. The princess smiled as she remembered the tricks she had played on the poor young princes, dukes, and earls that had come, frightening them all with her unnatural grey eyes and an uncanny ability to predict what was going to happen to them at the royal dining table that evening-inevitably in the form of some mischief orchestrated by herself and a young servant girl. Understandably, she hadn’t seen many of the young men come visit Doria again.

Her parents figured out by the third declined visit from a terrified young duke that Elena was misusing her foreseeing ability, and gave the young princess a stern lecture that included what the responsibilities of a crown princess were, especially one who had a mysterious gift that could be used for the benefit of her people. Afterwards, Elena fell into her role as pleasant hostess, and never again threatened young suitors with her visions. Yet the gift could not be hidden, and the princess would again and again see the dignitaries glance once into her startling grey eyes, look away, and refuse to meet her gaze; but later her ears would pick up the talk that came from the foreign servants, warriors, and even the dignitaries amongst themselves. Sometimes a bold knight would come asking for Elena to give him a prophecy, his companions behind sniggering as if in on a bet. No, Elena was not excited about a new batch of people coming to stare at her. In fact, she very much wanted to be alone just then.

Elena came back to herself as Bethda flicked water on her from the water jug on her washing stand. “Ca’mon silly, out of bed!”

The princess groaned as she pushed herself up out of the covers and swung her feet over the edge of the bed. She stretched and let out a big yawn. Bethda busied herself laying out the latest creation from the dressmakers out on Elena’s truck while the princess walked to the wash basin to splash away the last bit of sleep from her eyes. Turning around, Elena groaned in shock. “What on earth is that horrid thing?”

“Don’t be so harsh, you have to wear it tonight at the ball your mother is giving for the Camoran dignitaries.”

“Really, they expect me to wear that? I’ll look like a peacock!”

Bethda rolled her eyes in silent agreement. “Honestly, I heard me mother talking to the Wardrobe Mistress, who said she had seen the blessed bird on the last visit from the Camorans, and thought it would make a wonderful idea for a ball gown. Rather silly, I say. Not that you won’t look lovely in it, of course.”

Elena snorted, “I’ll look ridiculous.”

Bethda tutted at her and held the gown up under her friend’s chin. “Nonsense! I think the blues and greens go lovely with your complexion. And your eyes mirror the colors, so they don’t look as startling.”

Elena sighed as the maid smoothed it back out on the trunk. “Well, that will be a breath of fresh air; people finding something new to mock about me will definitely be a plus.”

She ignored the warning look in her friend’s eyes as she turned instead to the simple gown she was to wear when they received the visiting dignitaries. She slipped into it and turned to quietly help Bethda finish her morning chores, a deal the maid had finally agreed to when her princess had convinced her that it benefited them both; it gave Bethda more time to do other things and kept Elena away from her royal duties for a few precious minutes. When she could no longer ignore the time, Elena gave a brave smile to her friend and slipped out of the room.

The princess slowly walked down the corridors that led to the royal courtroom. The wooden halls were lined with the portraits of the Dorian kings and queens of the past, men and women who had ruled in times of feast and famine, peace and war. Elena ran her hand along the nameplates under the paintings, stopping briefly to look up into the face of her favorites, King Caeden and his father King Edwyn, who had ruled the rustic valley villages during the dark years before Doria was founded. The kings had conquered the darkness with the sword of truth instead of the sword of war. Elena had felt a kinship with the late monarchs when her tutors first told her of their reign; both men were rulers of a people who did not know the hope of peace and prosperity, and successfully fought against the despair that gripped their land. “My fathers,” she whispered, “give me wisdom today.”

“Ah, Princess Elena. There you are my dear.” Elena was startled out of her reserve and turned quickly towards the booming voice. King Goran wasn’t a small man by any means, and had the wit and cunning to match his size and strength. He was a good king, and knew how to rule his country with the wisdom and strength of character that was needed by his people in these hard times. The need of his people was always on his mind, many times at the expense of his family’s, especially his daughter’s, needs. Elena quickly put on a practiced smile that masked her feelings and curtsied.

“Good morning, Father. I trust you slept well.”

“The few hours I had to rest were not quite enough, but served their purpose,” the king lamented. “There were too many things to prepare for today’s visitors. Are you looking forward to tonight’s festivities?” Goran asked with a raised brow.

Inwardly Elena sighed, knowing the king’s underlying question. Would she be ready to do all that her title as Crown Princess required of her? She schooled her expressions to belie her insecurities and dread in order to match his, strong and compliant yet canny enough to let him know she understood his meaning.

“Yes, Father. It will be good to see the Camorans again.”

“Humph. Yes, well, it would be better if we weren’t meeting them under such trying terms.” The king held out his arm for Elena to take and they walked towards the courtroom together. “You’ve seen nothing else in those visions of yours, daughter, to help us decide what is needed to resolve this drought?”

Always her gift, never herself. “Forgive me, my Lord; my eyes have been clouded since the rain stopped falling. My dreams are troubling, but the images disappear upon waking, and I only remember them for one quickened heartbeat. I don’t know what to tell you.” She couldn’t bear to remind him again of the prophecy she had dreamt again that night. It was too painful a subject to bring up, and would only result in the same arguments and hurtful misunderstandings that had become a familiarity in their relationship.

“Humph,” the king sighed again. “Well, I guess we will end up having to make a deal with the Camorans whether we like it or not. Our people need food, Elena, and I don’t have any to offer them.”

Elena turned and looked at her father, the king. He looked worn and burdened, sorrow underlining the bags under his eyes, tale-tell signs that he had been up far too many nights trying to find a way to help his people. King Goran’s heart was as large as his frame, and every corner of it was filled with love for the people of Doria. She knew how hard it was for him to ask the Camoran’s for assistance, even if it was a fair trade of gold and silver for supplies. Goran and his queen Emelia were not greedy monarchs, and had taught their daughter to value people over worldly goods. But as all men are who must become kings, Goran was a proud man, and it injured his pride to admit that he could not provide for his own people. Elena felt the sorrow of her king, for as crown princess, it was her burden to bear some day. For all their spats and misunderstandings, she did love her father, and wanted to ease his pain, even momentarily. Standing on tip-toes, she kissed his cheek. “Father, if all people needed was love and kindness, we would be a wealthy nation indeed. You are a good King, Father; your people love you, and so do I.”

A sad smile spread itself over Goran’s face, and he lifted his hand to stroke his daughter’s cheek. “You make my heart glad, Elena. It gives me great peace to know that after I’m gone, you will be a wonderful Queen, with a wise mind and a good heart.”

Elena lifted her hand to cover his and smiled. “I had a good teacher, who taught me everything he knows.”

Goran’s smile widened and he kissed her forehead as they started walking again. Elena was glad it was a long walk to the courtroom, for she would have time to gain full control over the emotions brought on by her father’s sudden show of affection. It wouldn’t do any good to have the crown princess enter a stately room looking like she was on the verge of tears, happy tears though they be.

Chapter 3

“Oh dear, I’m terribly sorry!”

Elena winced as she smiled and nodded courteously to the young man who had, again, stepped on her foot during the dance. It wouldn’t be as bad, she thought, if he didn’t keep stepping on the same foot. The Camoran quite obviously had just learned how to dance, for he kept looking down at his own feet, counting the waltz under his breath. Elena bit her tongue to maintain her composure as a gracious host, ignoring the temptation to roll her eyes or give the young man a taste of his own painful medicine. It was bad enough that she felt the eyes of all staring at her garishly feathered outfit; there was no need to bring any further humiliation to the proud bird she was supposedly emulating by giving in to the childish desire to trip the young knight.

She glanced over at her mother, who looked ravishing in the arms of the king as they gracefully floated around the room, having eyes for each other and no one else. Momentarily the longing rose in her for such a love; would the day ever come that there would be a man who would look into her eyes with such a love that her father lavished on his bride of 21 years? Would the day come when a man could look into her eyes at all without a startled fear at their haunting colour?

The dance carried her round the floor towards one of the pillars that held up the great hall, and Elena’s line of vision moved from her parents to a figure standing in the shadows. The man was tall and slender, but any further observation of his features could not be made for the strange hood and cloak he wore. It wasn’t fine, like a courtier of either nation present at the ball, being a drab grey in colour with no extra frills, nor did it bear any insignia other than the curious pin in the shape of a hawk on the shoulder. Before she could observe anything more, Elena was whisked round in the dance again. She glanced behind her to catch another glimpse, but the pillar stood abandoned of its company.

Elena was shaken out of her reverie as the young man stepped on her foot yet again, declaiming his horrified apologies almost as soon has he had committed the offense. Again, she smiled politely, curtsying as the dance finally ended. She gratefully let her partner escort her off the dance floor, and after assuring forgiveness for his continual apologies, was left blessedly alone to look around for the stranger. She had been sure the man had been watching her; she felt rather than saw his eyes under the deep hood staring back at her during the dance.

She had just reached the pillar when a deep, Camoran voice spoke from behind her, “Your Highness, if I may have the pleasure of this next dance?” Turning around, Elena caught her breath. The Duke of Bantrey, the Camoran ambassador, was strikingly handsome, broad shouldered and tall, like her father, but with dark eyes set deep in an angled face, offset by long, dark hair pulled back by a ribbon in the style preferred by the Camoran nobility. But it wasn’t his looks that took her breath away; it was what she saw through her grey eyes, her eyes that looked and saw things deeper and truer than was natural. Power, a cunning power that knew it was in control and craved for more.

Elena blinked, but the feeling didn’t leave her, though she knew that she had only “seen” for a moment. The duke awaited her answer with an air of calm expectancy, as if he knew he would not be refused. This pricked Elena’s mind as being very arrogant, but soon she found herself backing away inwardly from his gaze. The duke was not looking just above or off to one side of her unnaturally colored eyes like most men would; he was staring steadily into hers. The stare was disconcerting; not even Bethda, her closest friend, could look into her eyes for very long, and here was this complete stranger looking with an audacity that left Elena feeling exposed. She mutely placed her hand into his and allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor, grateful for the chance to reclaim her eyes from his unnerving gaze and look around the ballroom. So intent was she on looking anywhere but his face that she hadn’t realized the dance had begun.

“Are you looking for someone, Your Highness?”

Elena snapped her head back to face the duke. She smiled apologetically and allowed him to lead her through the dance. “Forgive me, I was admiring the beauty of the night.”

“Indeed, but you make it all seem pale in comparison,” Bantrey eloquently flattered as he led her through a turn, openly taking in her slender figure in the feathered gown. “Truly, you are a…vision...to behold.”

The princess winced slightly at the obvious allusion to her prophetic gifting. Bantrey either missed it or ignored the action completely. Redirecting the conversation, Elena asked, “How are you enjoying your stay thus far, my lord duke?”

The duke smiled a cold grin that did not reach his eyes. “It has been very enjoyable, your highness. Indeed, we have been most welcomed by your Dorian hospitality; it almost feels as I was home, a feeling that only grows stronger as my stay here progresses.”

Elena did not like the sound of Bantrey’s voice as he said the word “home”. It was somehow very presumptuous of this Camoran to call this foreign castle home. “I am most curious, what is your home like, in Camora? I have never been to your southern country, though I am told it is quite beautiful to behold.”

“Ah, yes. It is quite beautiful. My castle is quite near to the capital city, Camor, and looks out over the Sea. It’s a spectacular view. The Sea is quite magnificent, peaceful and calm one day, ruthless and harsh the next.”

Again, the undertone of Bantrey’s words set Elena on edge. Luckily, before she could again try to deflect the conversation to something less sinister, the waltz was over. Bantrey bowed, and, once more making eye contact that left her shuddering, said, “Crown Princess, thank you for the dance.”

Composing herself enough to curtsy, Elena could only reply, “Ambassador,” before turning to join those on the sidelines of the dance floor.

The princess quickly grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing server, just to have something to hold onto and occupy her shaking hands. She was not sure where the caution was coming from, or the instinctual feeling of needing to run away and hide. Elena stood there stiffly, taking quick, deep breaths and staring into her champagne in order to keep anyone from seeing the inner turmoil going on behind her grey eyes. The warning from her inner sight triggered her fight-or-flight instinct, and she literally took a step forward to find somewhere to hide before her intellect reclaimed her. What could she do now, in the midst of the ball? Oddly enough, she found herself thinking about the man she had seen earlier, hidden behind the pillar; a sudden desire came over her to find him and…do what? Elena stopped her raging thoughts and gave herself a mental shake. It was not the place to start indulging her fear with crazy ideas, and the path her thoughts had been heading down were borderline insane. Run into a complete stranger’s arms and ask for protection? Preposterous!

Mastering her fear and troubled thoughts, Elena took a deep breath and straightened her noble head to again pick up the mantle of hostess and future queen. She danced with several more men, young and old, Camoran and Dorian alike, and tried to put out of her mind the shadowed stranger and the unsettledness that came from the duke. She would talk to her father later that night, after the ball, and tell him her thoughts concerning the Camoran ambassador.

. . .

 “That is utterly ridiculous, Elena!”

“Now, now, Goran dear, not so loud. I’m sure this is all just a misunderstanding. Elena, darling, the Duke is such a charming man. Are you sure that is what you were feeling?”

Elena sighed in utter exasperation. “Yes, mother! I know what I saw. And it wasn’t just ‘one of my visions’, Father. The ‘sight’ was only there for a moment. But it was the way he acted throughout the whole dance.”

Queen Emelia gasped. “Oh Elena! He didn’t do anything inappropriate, did he?”

“No, he didn’t do anything like that mother. He was the very definition of propriety. But there was this…I don’t know, this overwhelming sense of fear that came with him. He wouldn’t stop looking into my eyes.”

Goran scoffed. “That’s what it is. A man has finally fallen in love with her, couldn’t take his eyes off of her, and my daughter panics.”

Again the queen gasped, this time with a coo of delight. “Ooh, darling! The duke in love with you! How romantic!”

Elena covered her face with exasperation. “No! There was no love in Bantrey’s eyes. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. He had this power-hungry look that was…sinister, and, and cruel. Like he wasn’t afraid to look into my eyes in defiance. And the things he said, “ruthless and harsh”, it’s almost as if he was talking about more than just the Sea. I don’t like him. Something doesn’t feel right.”

King Goran gaped a huge yawn and waved her comments aside. “Nonsense, Elena. The Camorans and Dorians have been at peace these last hundred years, and King Teragon’s father and I knew each other since we were young boys. Young Teragon may be just a boy himself, but I know Taros instructed him well before he died. The Camorans will not dismember one hundred years of peace; it would go against the peaceful unity Taros and I worked hard for.” Elena opened her mouth as if to comment further, but Goran held up his hand. “No more, Elena! It’s time we all got some sleep, there are only a few more hours until dawn, when the official business between the Duke and I must begin, and I will not have any of your ‘visions’ clouding my sleep. Goodnight.”

The princess shoulders slumped as she watched her father leave the room. Queen Emelia turned to follow, but seeing the downcast look on her daughter’s face, she stopped and caressed her cheek. “Don’t take it to heart, dearest. Your father is always grumpy right after a ball, and it is taking much of his effort to eat humble pie in the face of these Camorans. It is never easy for a king to have to swallow his pride, nor a future queen.”

“But Mother, I know what I saw, and my instincts tell me something is not right.”

Emelia shook her head. “This is not the time to discuss it, dear heart. The King has already made his decision about the ambassador, and it is not fitting of a future queen to disrespect her king’s wishes, or a daughter to contradict her father. Get some rest, and in the morning, bring your father in his breakfast, and make things right with him then. Your father loves you, Elena, and so do I.”

“[sigh] Love you too, mother.” Elena gave her mother a small smile, kissed her goodnight, and watched her gracefully leave the room, pausing again to think on how beautiful her mother was before leaving for her own chambers.

Chapter 4

Elena tossed and turned in her bed, unable to stop thinking about what had happened that night at the ball. Finally deciding that sleep would continue to elude her, she got out of bed and rang for her maid. Bethda came in a few minutes later to see her lady standing at the window, gazing into the night.

“You called, my lady?” yawned Bethda.

Turning to her friend, Elena smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, Bethda. I haven’t been able to sleep, so forgot that you might have been.”

Bethda waved away the princess’ concern. “Pshaw, that’s alright. I didn’t have maid duty last night due to the ball, so I had a relaxin’ evening and turned in early. What’s troublin you, Elena, that you can’t sleep after such an exhausting night of dancing and twirling about in all your finery?”

Elena rolled her eyes at Bethda’s sarcastic reenactment of waltzing about the room. “There were too many people around, too many things to think about that my head is all stuffed with new information.” There was no need to tell the girl about her concerns with the Duke; it would only worry her and spread perhaps false rumors concerning their most important visitor.

Bethda winked a sleepy but twinkling eye. “I thought that’s what might be troubling you, Princess. I said to Mary, the cook’s helper, just last afternoon, ‘My, what a grand sight it would be, the ball; but I never likes a crowd, too overwhelming, wouldn’t know what to do with myself without a bit of peace and quiet.’ And knowing you feel the same way, didn’t I pack up something for you last night to have with me, just in case you called for me, as you have?”

With that, Bethda produced a large bundle wrapped in a potato sack, grinning satisfactorily at her presumption. Elena walked over and took the bundle from her friend. A quick look inside confirmed the mischief that was written on Bethda’s face. Elena placed a quick peck on the handmaiden’s cheek said “Bethda, you are an answer to my prayers!” The girl giggled and shooed the princess away. “Get on with you, and leave me to my chores. Now that you’ve woken me up, I might as well get your room cleaned up; then, if you don’t mind, I’ll enjoy that amazing window you have and watch the sunrise at my leisure this morning.”

Ten minutes later, a guardsman walked out of the gatehouse, still rubbing his eyes to chase the sleep away, and ran right into a small figure heading out the gate. “’Ere, watch it lad! Mind where you’re dashing off to!” The man roughly heaved the youth up from the dirt. “Where you goin’ so early this morning? It’s not even dawn yet!”

The boy shook his head and pulled his cap further down over his face. In a gruff voice, he said, “Errands. In the village. Cookie needs sum-fin special for the viz’ters.”

The guard harrumphed. “Well, best be gettin’ on then. Don’t want foreign nobility to waste away due to indigestion. But watch where you’re going! Don’t want you to accidentally run into foreign nobility and knock ‘em over. Not that it’s likely,” he muttered under his breath as he watched the figure dash off again. “He’s too scrawny to topple a feather.”

Elena grinned under the safety of the wide brim of Bethda’s brother’s hat. If it was easy enough to fool the guard, who stopped her and had the chance to get a good look, she might be able to pull this off yet. The disguised princess wound her way through the streets and out the other side of the main village, drawing closer to the forest while trying not to give away her intent. While she knew no one would be looking out for a princess, a young boy heading into the Dark Forest would still cause people to take notice. She ducked quickly into a side alley to await the coming of the dawn.

Once the village showed signs of normal activity, the princess went and stood at the end of the alley for a few minutes, just to watch the busyness around the market. She had always wanted to just observe her people, but as a princess, there were always people bowing and scraping and getting the crowds to “make way for her royal highness.” Now she was seen just a commonplace scruffy boy, loitering about just watching the world go by. Elena sighed with contentment at her moment of freedom as she listened to the hustle and bustle of market life. She watched the individual people as they bartered and sold their wares: the shrill woman insisting on a better price for her fresh fish because, judging by the way both she and the fishmonger held their noses it obviously wasn’t fresh; the large blacksmith pounding away at his anvil while the cobbler and several awed children stood and watched the hard metal of the broken shoe hammer giving way under the strong arms; the clucking of the chickens and of their plump owner as she attempted to corral and keep track of her five, six, seven….maybe 11 children as they ran around her screaming with laughter at the antics of the fowl; the baker chasing after what seemed like child number twelve who had snatched a hot bun right off the baker’s cart. Elena laughed as she watched the little girl run nimbly just out of the baker’s reach, under the smelly fish, through the chickens, around the legs of the man standing quietly in the shadows staring in Elena’s direction…Quickly Elena ducked behind a broken cart in the alleyway while the man was distracted by the little thief and the baker. It was the same man she had noticed at the banquet the night before. Then he had also kept to himself, hiding in the shadows, seemingly invisible to the other nobility. She hadn’t noticed now she was being watched. She needed to keep moving, and remember the game she herself was playing, even if a disquieting feeling was rising in her that this might not be a game after all.

Elena risked a look around the side of the cart to make sure the man was still preoccupied with the baker. But before she could move, the orderly disorder of the village was suddenly disrupted by a vague sense of unease, which quickly grew into more of a flustered panic as the villagers began to empty the main road that ran through the square. Elena suddenly found herself cut off on one end of the alley by the crowd. Glancing behind to make sure she was able to still slip out the other end, the princess secured her disguise and cautiously climbed into the cart to see what was happening. She glanced over the side just in time to see an enormous black horse rear up in front of her. The chicken lady and her children screamed in fright as the heavy hooves lashed out. The knight riding the beast pulled it aside, mere inches from the crowd, as his fellow knights filled the square behind him. Elena recognized the knight from the banquet the night before; it was Trystal, Duke Bantrey’s right hand man. Elena ducked back into the cart and leaned against the side, breathing heavily. She didn’t even have time to realize if he had seen her or not when the foreign knight began speaking.

“People of Doria, I come bringing you a message from my King, Teragon of Camora. This morning at dawn, the King Goran and his wife Emelia were captured and killed by my lord, the Duke of Bantrey. He has taken over control of the castle under the authority of King Teragon. As of this moment, you and all your lands are the property of the kingdom of Camora.”

Elena’s world came to a crashing halt around her as the crowded collectively gasped. Elena felt as if she had been stabbed in the gut. Father. Mother. Dead? This couldn’t be! Instantly images of her father and mother flooded her mind, what they looked like the last time she saw them, the last things they said to each other….oh! what she had said to her father last, thinking that she would be able to apologize later this morning. Now that she knew she was right to fear the Duke, it didn’t matter. In the confusion of her thoughts and the sharp pain of sudden grief, Trystal’s voice broke through harshly.

“Upon searching the castle, it was discovered that the evil witch, Princess Elena was missing. If she is not returned to the castle to face the just punishment due to those spawned of evil, we will burn your villages one by one each week until she is delivered to us. You have until dawn three days hence to deliver her alive to the Duke. Long live King Teragon!”

With that, Trystal and his knights thundered out of the village, leaving behind a stunned crowd. When the first wails of mourning arose from one of the women, Elena was shaken out of her stupor. She couldn’t stay there! She needed to be at the castle, to go and see her parents, see her parents alive, they couldn’t be dead, they’re not dead….Elena’s shoulders heaved as she silently wept in despair. Her heart knew that her parents were gone. There had been no lie in Trystal’s message. Elena silently let her heart grieve with the villagers as they wept together in the village square that not minutes ago was filled with happiness and joy.

Chapter 5

After a long while, the people slowly gathered in their family groups and headed into their hovels, all thoughts of normal village life now shattered. Elena waited until she knew all had left the square before she cautiously left the cart. In the last hour she had come to a conclusion on what needed to be done. She would not stand to see her people devastated any further because of her. She would turn herself in at the castle, walk of her own accord through the same fortress gates she snuck out of that morning (was it only that morning? it already seemed an age away), and give herself over to death.

Elena slipped out the far side of the alley and began heading cautiously towards the village gate she had entered not two hours before. Numb with despair, she paused at the entrance to look back and pray a silent prayer to the Great Heart for the protection of her people when she was gone. Suddenly, a hand shot out from the darkness of the gate’s shadow and clamped over her mouth, stifling her before she even knew to scream. A strong arm wrapped around her and dragged her into the shadows on the outside of the village wall. Elena struggled as hard as she could, but the assailant’s grip stayed strong.

A cold deep voice whispered into her ear, “Be silent, your highness. It would do no one any good if you announced your presence in this village. Do you want these good people to bear the weight of your death on their heads?” The man waited until the truth of what he said sunk into the young woman’s head and she ceased her struggle. “Now, do I have your word that you will not scream?” Elena nodded as best as she could and he released his hand on her mouth, only to move it to grasp her arm in a tight grip as he moved her around to face him. Elena opened her mouth to protest, but her voice caught halfway in her throat as she looked up into the stranger’s face. It was the stranger she had seen the night before and moments ago, watching her in the village. He had a normal face, the strong yet grave features of a young man who had seen hard times that aged him far more than his years, but it was the eyes that stopped Elena cold; they were as grey as hers. The man winced at her staring and whispered harshly, “Princess, you are not safe here. I need to take you somewhere where you cannot be found. Will you trust me?”

Elena found herself nodding mutely and allowed the man to drag her in the shadows away from the village and into the forest. Elena stumbled on in despair and confusion, her thoughts and emotions jumbling together like a storm. Grief - “My parents are dead.” Astonishment - “He has grey eyes.” Fear - “People are trying to kill me.” Relief - “There is someone else like me, I am not alone.” Elena came out of the whirlwind of confusion when the stranger stopped abruptly. She looked up and realized that they were deep in the forest, in front of the briar patch that separated the forest from the hidden meadow. The man pointed at the opening and motioned for her to go in. Alarmed, she looked at the man in front of her. “How do you know of this place?!”

The man looked around, quickly and quietly ascertaining their surroundings; they were alone. He breathed a deep sigh that seemed to change his features from harsh and menacing to tired and grieved. “I have been to this glen many times, only by a different route. You have many questions, I am sure, but even here we are not completely safe, and we need to speak to the Lady of the Glen before we do anything else.”

Suddenly, Elena remembered Elswyth and, desperate to see her friend, tore away from the man’s grasp to dive into the crawl space. The stranger took another experienced look around, covered the last of their tracks, and followed her. When he rose out of the stifling entryway, the princess was already weeping in the arms of the dryad on the banks of the stream.

Several minutes later, Elswyth came walking over to where the young man had built a small, smokeless fire. “She is asleep,” the dryad responded to his questioning glance over to where the princess lay. He nodded grimly. “I thought as much. Not many people would have been able to withstand a devastating loss as she has today.” He quickly told her the details of the last few hours. The willow dryad gave a shuddering sigh of grief. “Great Heart have mercy! I did not foresee this happening!”

Calder shook his head gravely. “Neither did I, m’lady. This will make what we must do next more difficult.”

Mutely Elswyth nodded and turned to look at the sleeping princess, now exiled heir to a captive land. “Take good care of her, Calder,” the willow-elf choked emotionally. “Take good care of our queen.”

Calder stood up from his place by the fire and walked towards the lady. She turned towards him again as he kneeled at her feet. “My Lady, you have my word.”

Chapter 6

Elena groaned as she woke. Her back was stiff and her eyes felt like someone had poured salt into them. Rubbing them, she sat up and took stock of the scene around her. She was curled up at the feet of Elswyth’s willow tree, shaded by its leaves from the late afternoon sun. Elena wrapped her arms around her legs and buried her head in her knees; how she did not want to wake into this nightmare! There was no brief moment in which she had forgotten the morning’s horror; even in her short sleep her dreams had spoken to her of the dreadful, bloody coup by the Camoran’s that had taken her parents from her only that morning.

Weary with sorrow, Elena leaned over to the stream and splashed water on her face to wash away the salt and sleep from her eyes. When she looked up, she saw Elswyth downstream, talking to the grey-eyed stranger who had led her away from the village where she first heard the horrible news. Overcome with questions and a numbing grief, Elena groaned and lay back down in the heather between the willow roots. Who was this man, who had watched her at the last dance, where her mother was beautiful and her father was the King where they both were alive, smiling into the faces of the men who would kill them a few hours later? This man, who had watched her dance with the wicked, evil Duke Bantrey while the ambassador – the murderer! – talked of how he felt “at home?” This man, who then had known to follow her, disguised as she was, on the day she would become an orphan, the day her country would become orphaned? This grey-eyed man!

Elena’s grief swiftly turned into a violent anger. She sat up again, trembling with emotion, and looked across the stream at the stranger. He and the dryad were making their way back to the stream when they looked up and saw Elena’s quaking form approaching. Elswyth opened her arms to give her a comforting hug, but halted her loving words at the sight of the enraged look in the exiled princess’ eyes. “Elena, dearest….”

Elena screamed in rage as she flew at the stranger, beating his chest with her fists. “You knew! You knew that this would happen! You saw it, and did NOTHING! My father and mother are dead, and you are the one who killed them!”

There was no shock in the man’s expression at her attack, only a remorseful acceptance. He let her get in a few hits, and then grabbed her and turned her around, so her arms were crossed in front of her, and she was held in his strong gripping embrace. She wrestled and kicked some more, until her body wore out from the grief and anger. Seeing she was still, the stranger finally spoke.

“Yes Princess, like yours, my eyes see things no other mortal can. But all my visions showed me was that something was going to happen today that would require you to leave your home and go to the Northern Mountains. That is all. I did not think it would happen this way. I had no knowledge of the Camoran scheme to murder your parents. If I did, I would have made every possible attempt at warning them and saving their lives. I was as shocked as you on hearing Trystal’s message. I had followed you into town this morning, only thinking that you were running away of your own will, nothing more.”

He loosened his grip, gently lowering Elena to her knees, where she rocked in a numb, tearless grief. Elswyth knelt beside the princess and, cupping her chin, lifted her face and held her gaze. “Dear heart, I know you are grieving. And there will be time enough for grieving soon. Right now, you are running out of time. The Camorans are not conducting a search for you; they are trusting in the fear they have placed in your people to do the work for them. However, the time for your people is quickly fading. Yes, you have lost your parents. But Doria has lost its King, and you are their only hope.”

The man knelt down and looked deep into Elena’s eyes. The rage was gone, replaced by a stony complacency, as if all care for life had gone from the orphaned princess’ eyes. He stood up, shook his head, and made as if to walk away. “She is not ready yet, Lady Elswyth.”

Elena looked back and forth between the two. “Ready? What do you mean ready? Ready for what? Elswyth, who is this man?”

Elswyth hesitated, looking to the man with a question in her eyes. He nodded in acquiescence to the dryad and faced the princess. Regally, the man flipped back the hood of his cloak and knelt before for the princess, who was slightly taken aback by the sudden show of formality. With a voice that held a hint of nobility behind a northern lilt, the man began: “Your Majesty, my name is Calder, son of Kael Hawkeye, Dorian by birth, but from a family long devoted to the defense of this nation, as well as for our far-sightedness: the gift of seeing through the eyes of the Great Heart. But soon misunderstanding of our abilities and fear of the unknown caused us to be shunned, rejected, and eventually cast out from our own nation. For the last hundred years, we have roamed the forests at the foothills of the Northern Mountains. I, like my fathers before me, have grown up learning to defend the country we still call home, even if it no longer accepts us, or remembers that we exist.”

Still wary, Elena looked into the eyes of the woodland warrior for a moment. “There is no more Doria for you to defend,” the young woman replied dejectedly and with a hint of bitterness. “It has been overrun and defeated. You’re too late.”

Still kneeling, Calder replied, “As long as you live, Crown Princess, Doria is still in need of defenders. You are Doria, your highness, and I will defend you till you are reunited with your people and a Dorian ruler once more sits on the throne.”

The gentle but firm reminder of her position was enough to shake Elena to her core. Breathless, she asked, “What is it you expect me to do?! Walk up to Bantrey and say, ‘Um, so, this is my castle, you’ll have to leave now?!’ I have as much chance of doing that as having the ability to make the Black River run clear again!”

As soon as those words were out of her mouth, Elena remembered her vision and gasped. Her hand covered her mouth as she looked at Elswyth. “That’s it, isn’t it? My vision! It wasn’t about the crops and drought at all! It was about this, about the need for deliverance from Camora. The warrior from the North….” She looked quickly at Calder, a hesitant hope creeping into her face. The young forester shook his head.

“Your Majesty, I too have had a similar vision to the one you prophesied, but from a different perspective. Lady Elswyth told me of your vision when I first met her years ago, just after you told it to your people, because she knew I had had a similar dream. In mine, I could see the warrior, the river, and the sword; but I could also see myself, standing a little way up the river from where the sword shattered, struggling with something unseen.”

“But do you know who it is? Where we can find him?”

Calder glanced at Elswyth, who subtly shook her head. Not the whole thing, not yet, was the silent message she sent in that short moment. Calder turned back to the overwhelmed princess and spoke with caution, as if choosing his words carefully. “My lady, as I mentioned before, along with the dream of the warrior setting Doria free, I had another vision, this one regarding you. It warned me of the danger you were in; but also revealed that you would be the one to travel to the Northern Mountains and…discover the identity of the warrior.”

Elena stared at Calder stunned. “Me? Go all the way up to the Northern Mountains and find the warrior? Why couldn’t you just skip the step of coming down here and go find him yourself, since you knew I would be alive?”

Calder shook his head. “It was not for certain that you would survive; it was only a certainty if I followed you as you left the castle and brought you into the woods. If you remember, I had to drag you into the woods to keep you from giving yourself up this morning. And my vision did not show me finding the warrior. Only you have that ability.”

“But…but….”Elena stuttered. She looked with wild eyes back towards where the villages and the castle lay. “My people, I can’t abandon them! They’re going to die if I don’t give myself up! It will take weeks to travel up to the Mountains!”

Calder again opened his mouth to counter, but was stopped by Elswyth. “Enough, you two! You are both correct, but you are both too emotional to make a decision tonight. Yes, even you, young man!” holding up her hand to calm down the glint of resentment in Calder’s eyes at the insinuation. “It is time to rest for the night. The best decisions are made in the light of a new day that has yet to bear the burden of sorrow. Calder, you can set up camp on the other side of the stream. Elena, come dear one.” And with that the dryad gently lifted Elena up and walked her back to the willow tree, where, despite her earlier sleep, sank swiftly into oblivion.

Chapter 7

Little Elena leaned on the parapet and gazed out across the land. The pre-dawn light cast deep shadows across the lower hills, obscuring many of the villages from her view. Wistfully, the little princess gazed out across the valleys and hills towards the Great Northern Mountains afar. She let out a sigh, surprisingly deep for one of her young years. 

“And what is my little one dreaming of on the very top of the castle this early in the morning?” 

The princess turned with delight to look into her father’s face. “Papa, have you ever been to the Northern Mountains? Are they as big as they look from here? Do dragons still live there?”

King Goran chuckled. “Only one question at a time, dear one. Your father can’t think that fast this early in the day.”

“But have you, Papa? Have been there?”

King Goran wrapped his arm around the little girl’s shoulders and breathed in the deep smell of the morning. He gazed out at the distant mountains and sighed, his features turning unconsciously similar to his daughter’s wistfulness not a few moments before. “No little one. I haven’t been. Which I believe answers the rest of your questions as well, for I wouldn’t know if there were still dragons that lived on the snow-white peaks.” Goran chuckled again at the pout that came on his daughter’s face. “But I dare say you will know one day. If you are anything like the great Dorian kings and queens of old, you’ve inherited that infernal wanderlust that will take you to the ends of the world and beyond, and your hunger for adventure will be the bane of your mother’s existence for years to come.”

The girl’s face brightened with something more than the rising sun as she looked up at her father. “Oh, I know I’ll go to the Mountains one day, Papa. It’ll be a fun adventure. A woman will swoop out of the tree, and a warrior with grey shadow eyes – like mine! – who will have a funny frown on his face all the time. Oh! And we’ll meet a great big lion with wings! But,” the bright face dimmed a little. “But you won’t be with me, Papa; and Mummy won’t be either.”

“Where will we be in this funny dream of yours?”

Elena crinkled her nose and frowned at the king. “It’s not a funny little dream, Papa! It will happen. I know it.” 

Goran was a little surprised at the hint of grown-up assuredness in his daughter’s little voice. He shook it off as just tiredness and chucked his finger under her chin. “My little Elena. Just promise you’ll wait a little bit before you go off gallivanting across the world without me.”

Elena sighed contentedly and leaned against her father’s waist as they both looked out at their now sun-lit kingdom. “Ok, Papa. I promise.”

. . .

“My Lady, it’s morning.”

Elena’s groaned and stretched her body awake. She sat up and looked up at the voice who stirred her from sleep. Calder stood over her, looking down at Elena with his veiled, somber look. Elena grew nervous under his steady gaze. “What are you looking at? You’ve never seen a princess with bed-head before?”

The man grunted and walked back to the fire, where a small breakfast was roasting. Elena listened to the early birds as they woke up their voices in preparation to welcome the morning sun that was just beginning to peer over the eastern hills. She turned and saw her willow-friend ease out of the tree with a stretch and bid her a sleepy morning greeting. The princess granted the willow-woman a weak smile that she didn’t know she had in her.

“You were dreaming of something just now,” the dryad said quizzically. “Something pleasant, by the look on your face as you slept; I haven’t seen you that peaceful in a long time.”

Elena furrowed her brown and looked off in the distance, trying to remember. Again, she caught Calder looking at her with his solemn, grey eyes. Grey eyes, on the face of a man with a funny frown on his face. Startled into complete wakefulness, Elena looked at Elswyth in wonder.

“I’ve seen all this before, when I was a little girl! I knew this would happen!” Shock came into the dryad’s expression. The princess stood up, running her hand through her tangled curls and paced back and forth in front of the stream with a wild look in her eyes.

“It must have been one of my first visions, before I or anyone knew of my gift. I saw myself going on this trip to the Northern Mountains; me, Calder with his grey eyes, and some cat, or bird? I don’t know, some thing that flew.” Elena waved her hand up in the air, absently pointing to where she’d seen the thing in her dream; Calder whipped his head around to look at her and then catch Elswyth’s knowing glance before refocusing on the traveling packs. “And you were there, Elswyth! Yes, I saw you bidding us farewell. And I saw that my father and mother were not coming with me.” Tears came again into Elena’s eyes, but not tears of overwhelming grief, just a sadness that Elswyth knew would be with the woman for the rest of her life. “I knew then that they would not be with me. I didn’t know that they couldn’t because they would be dead. I promised my Papa I’d wait for a bit before going off on my adventure. That’s what my dream was, I was remembering the time I spent with my father when I was little.”

The young woman buried her face in her hands as tears once again fell down her cheeks. Elswyth walked over to her young friend and enveloped the weeping woman in her arms. They stood there silently for a minute; finally Elswyth spoke. “What did your father say, when you told him of your vision?”

Elena sniffed and wiped her eyes. “We were watching the sun rise from the top of the castle. I had asked him if he’d ever been to the Mountains.” She gave a short laugh and gave a half smile. “He thought I’d been dreaming; and me in my self-assuredness as a five year old told him it wasn’t a dream.” Both women smiled as the image of a self-important little Elena entered their minds. Elena’s smile softened into remembrance. “He told me I’d inherited the wanderlust that all the Dorian kings and queens have. Haha, and he was right; I did terrorize my poor mother so with all my little adventures when I was younger.”

The women laughed. Calder looked up at the sudden sound of merriment, so strange sounding after the last few days of fear and pain.

[realize that elena’s vision of her going to the north was prophesying that moment, need to go find the warrior in the North.  Learn to fight, to survive, etc.]

She plopped to the ground.  “I can’t do it.  I don’t want to go.”

“We need to,” said Calder. “Only you can allow yourself to be strong or to give in to fear. Do it for Doria, but mostly do it for yourself. If you don’t face these fears, they will always rule over you.”

She lay her head on her knees as she struggled within herself between abject despair and the responsibility she had been trained for since infancy. Calder and Elswyth waited with patience, sensing the crucial fight that was going on within their princess. Lady Elswyth stood with upturned face and arms outstretched toward heaven, beseeching the One on behalf of her young charge. Meanwhile, a change had come over Calder during his speech, and now kneeling before his ruler, his deep grey eyes filled with an inner strength that one could almost feel and see being poured from his inner-man to surround Elena with hope and strength. The trio remained in this silent attitude for some time, none caring at the length of time that actually passed.

Finally, with a deep sigh, Elena raised her head. Grey eyes mirrored grey, and for a swift, unguarded moment both saw the depth to which the other’s soul ran, and recognized each other as equals. In that brief look, Elena saw much in this stranger, and knew that she could trust him with almost anything. It frightened her for a moment or two. Slowly and with a deep breath, Elena stood up, brushed the dirt from her knees, and held her head high. Looking first at the dryad, who curtsied with respect, and then down at the still-kneeling Calder, the exiled queen asked, “What do you need me to do?”

. . .

A pile of food, blankets, and rucksacks had appeared overnight. Traveling gear, Elena realized. Calder grabbed a bundle from next to the rucksacks and, walking over to the two friends, tossed it at Elena.

“Put these on.”

The abruptness of it startled Elena for a moment. “What are these?”

“Traveling clothes. We’re going to be moving quickly through the forest, and you’ll need to wear something sturdier and more travel worthy than that peasant fare.”

Elena looked down at Bethda’s brothers’ clothes and closed her eyes, remembering the last time she saw her friend in the castle bedroom, and hoped there was still a chipper smile on her friend’s face. She looked back at the traveling gear on the ground, and with noticed that instead of two packs, there were three. “Elswyth, are you coming with us?”

The dryad smiled sadly at her friend’s hopeful question. “No, dear one. There are still things I must do here in the meadow.”

The Princess’ brow furrowed in confusion.  “Then who’s the third pack for?”

Calder gave a little half-smirk.  “For the cat-bird in your dream, of course.”

Before Elena could question, she heard a deep snort of derision from behind her. “Cat-Bird? Cat-Bird! Really, Calder, if it wasn’t for the fact that my family is indebted to you for life, I would consider that an insult that demands the highest degree of satisfaction.”

Elena whipped around.  She found herself face to face with someone, something that had not been there a minute ago, and until a second ago was something Elena considered imaginary.  Indeed, the princess was still trying to tell her brain that this was truly happening; that this golden lion with large wings, an eagle’s front talons and beak, and an intelligent look in its eye that had just landed silently behind her without her knowing, was really standing in front of her. Elena gasped. “It’s you!”

The newcomer started back slightly in confusion.  “I beg your pardon?”

“It’s you! The…the thing in my vision!”

The creature looked obviously flustered. “The thing in your what? Calder what is going on? She hasn’t fainted yet! The young maidens always faint at my overwhelming beauty!”

Calder rolled his eyes. “Princess Elena, may I introduce you to the third member of our team, Astor the griffin.  Astor, this is the Princess Elena.”

The griffin made a regal bow. “It is my great pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Majesty.”

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Chapter 8

“Oof!” Once more Elena tripped over a rock, catching herself mid-fall. This time, Calder didn’t even stop or attempt to turn; but she could see the frustration mounting in his posture as she hurried to catch up with the woodlander.

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 “They’ve seen us!”

Calder quickly let off an arrow towards the retreating figures of the goblin scouts, felling one, but unable to get another shot off before the second made it beyond the longbow’s range.

“Quickly, we must get to the meadow. We’ll have a better chance of fighting them out in the open!”

Elena followed swiftly behind Calder and Astor's running figures, trying to quell the panic that was rising up in her stomach. They dropped down behind a rock just inside the clearing to catch their breath. Quickly, both the humans and Astor cast off their packs and made ready for battle. The griffin took a quick look through the trees.

“There are about 30 of them! I’ve never seen that many goblins in one place before.”

Calder just gave a non-committed grunt and a slight shrug in reply.

Elena gave a jerky, frightened laugh. “Oh, just odds of 10 to one, and the great sword master plays it cool! How in the world are we supposed to…….[gasp]!”

Her vision changed:

She stood calmly in the center of the clearing, arms down by her side, a sword in each hand. The goblins were quickly advancing, some on either side with the main force in front. They were within 20 feet of her when she felt a gentle voice say, "Ready." Instantly she felt an unseen force guiding her gently into a battle stance: left foot planted at a tilt behind her, right knee bent and ready to pounce; left arm bent back near her waist, pointing Calder’s sword towards the foremost devils; right arm at a perfect right angle, holding her sword above her head, parallel with the ground. The fiends were gaining ground...10 feet……five feet…..

"Now!"

She struck. Swift turn to the right, swiping the right sword to connect with a javelin, spin round down the length of the shaft to slice through the owner’s waist, jumping away from the heavy body that had found the javelin’s tip behind  her. Slash up with the right, across with the left, block behind, swivel and strike. She felt the song of the swords flow from the tips to the hilts down her forearms and into her very being: she was one with the swords, and they were merely an extension of her. It became a dance, the swords and she twirling to a deadly cadence that drowned out all other sounds, still guided by the Unseen Warrior. She knew this dance better than any waltz or gavotte, and executed the steps more perfectly than could be boasted at any of the grandest balls held over the entire known world. It was beautiful; it was beauty. Again, she found herself standing in her ready battle stance, the song of the swords ringing through the silent meadow as she stood alone in the center of the field, her enemies lying frozen forever in mute homage to the brilliance of the dance…

Elena gasped as her eyes flew open. Again, she could see the enemy coming at them, roaring with pure delight at the thought of tearing apart the small group. In a daze, Elena reached her left hand towards Calder. “Give me your sword.”

Calder looked at Elena, his eyes switching from calculating to skeptical. “Are you crazy? Like you just said, you’re not ready to fight with your own sword, let alone…”

“Give me the sword, Grey Eyes!” The authority in her demand caused both Calder and Astor to take a half step back. They both looked into her eyes, which were now piercing Calder’s with a distance the Northern seer recognized. He looked at Elena, swept his eyes over the advancing foe, and back again at Elena. Wordlessly, he unsheathed his sword.

“What are you doing?” Astor cried. “Have you both gone mad?!”

Elena stared into the grey pool of her tutor’s eyes and took his sword. She turned once more to the oncoming rush and unsheathed her own sword. Holding both swords angled down and away from her body, she took two steps forward, her wooden voice calling behind her as she advanced. “Stay back, both of you.”

And then she closed her eyes.

. . .

“There we go; easy now. Shh. It’ll be alright.” Calder awkwardly patted Elena’s back and held her hair away as she retched again behind the oak. Astor paced nearby with an excited quiver that stemmed from sheer awe. “The magnificence of it! It was sheer brilliance! Princess, you were poetry in motion! A flowing stream of beauty, light shining off your two blades as you effortlessly rained down death on the villains. Tschoo, Tschoo!” He stood on his hind legs, attempting to mimic the slashing moves that it had seen the human do not half hour before, and landed awkwardly on its side. Without pausing for embarrassment, the winged lion bounced back to the two humans. “It was magnificent! Brilliantly magnificent! [sigh]” The griffin plopped down with a contented slump, it’s eyes closed and smile broad. “There are no words to describe how amazing that just was!”

The man turned his head and with one eyebrow raised gave the griffin a half smile. “And yet still you talk.” Calder turned back to his student. “Come, my Lady. There is a stream where you can wash a half mile from here.”

Elena crawled backwards away from the oak and sitting down next to her pontificator of a friend, lifted a shaking hand to her forehead. Her whole body trembled, mostly from shock than excursion. “What did I just do, Calder?” Her friend again raised his eyebrow in amusement.

“What did you just do? I’m not sure exactly. There were some moves you did back there that I’m afraid you’ll have to teach me. Here I’ve been trying to teach you sword play and find that you’ve been holding back on me.”

The princess shook her head in stunned shock. “No, I didn’t know what I was doing. I saw it all…before it happened. I had a vision of every single move I was going to make: every stab, every slice, every block and advance. But it wasn't me moving. I mean, it was, but it was like Someone else was moving me, guiding my arms and legs and body. It was there, laid out before me, like…like a dance. I saw every move in my head, I felt the movements, and I knew what was needed, so I just closed my eyes and…and danced. But I had no idea…” The young woman looked down at her blood-covered hands and tunic. She turned her face up to look at Calder. The innocent shock in her eyes struck compassion into the man’s heart. He suddenly realized how innocent she still was; despite the sheer perfection of the fight, this was still her first battle, her first time shedding blood. He knelt on one knee in front of her and cupped his hand under her chin.

“Elena, what you did was necessary. If you had not slain the fell beasts, we would have all been dead, or worse.”

“What?!” growled Astor. “I thought you had this under control! You said…I mean you looked like….and what do you mean worse than dead! What in the world could be….”

Ignoring the sputtering griffin, the woodlander continued to calmly look into Elena’s eyes.

They stayed this way until Elena’s breathing returned to a normal pace. Finally, she closed her eyes and sighed deeply, releasing the tension her body was locked in. Her grey eyes opened again, and smiled weakly into the more concerned eyes looking into hers. For a brief moment, the two smiled at each other.

 “Um, you guys, we have more company.”

Four grey eyes turned quickly towards the griffin and then back into the trees towards where Calder had pointed out the stream. Swords still bloodied from the previous battle were up in a flash, but only one remained so.

“Lower your guard, my Lady, these are friends.”

Elena glanced quickly at Calder, verifying that his body language matched his order, and lowered her sword. She looked again towards the approaching figures and took in their appearances as Calder stepped forward to greet them. The man was dressed in woodland apparel and seemed ready for battle, his longbow slung over his shoulder already strung, his sword strapped to his belt loosened for an oncoming battle. He was older, but was surrounded with a strength and regality that defined him as an unquestionable leader. All this Elena took in briefly, for the beauty of the one beside him far outmatched the warrior in every way. The woman was breathtaking; 

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Calder bowed before the pair, and then, to his companions’ surprise, kissed the cheek of the elegant woman and clasped arms with the man beside her. Elena and Astor looked at each other in borderline shock; never had they seen their guide act so personal with anyone. Elena remembered her royal upbringing just in time as they were approached by the newcomers and Calder.

“Your Highnesses, may I present the crown princess Elena of Doria.”

The princess curtsied as nobly as one could under the circumstances, despising the fact that her boyish traveling clothes were still covered in gore from the battle. For once in her life, Elena found herself wishing that she had any of Wardrobe Mistress’s gowns with her, for the beauty of the creature before her would put anyone to shame.

“Princess Elena, I would like to introduce you to Prince Kael Gavin and the Lady Rhys of [_____]…” he paused for a moment, his eyes uncharacteristically glinting with humour, “my parents.”

Chapter ?

The Duke paced slowly in front of the royal dais as the four Camoran sergeants stood at nervous attention before him. For all intent and purpose, Bantrey looked as if he were unfazed by the news they had brought; only Trystal, leaning against one of the pillars, knew the duke well enough to see that he was furious.

“So,” began Bantrey coolly, “you could not find the princess, hmm? You searched every village, throughout the entire castle, and you could not…find…the princess.” The soldiers wisely said nothing in reply, but stood as men who knew their judgment was forthcoming. Bantrey felt his anger getting the better of him, and nodded to Trystal, who motioned to the guards at the doors. “Take these men back to the barracks and chain them to their beds. His grace will pronounce sentence on them later.” The guards led the slightly relieved sergeants away and shut the chamber doors.

                Once the sound of their footsteps fell silent, Bantrey released his rage. “Incompetent fools! And these, you say, were the best trackers you have in your regiment, Captain?!”

“If you remember, Your Grace, you told me back in Camora that we would need only a few of the strongest and well-mannered soldiers I had, if the deception was to work. Of those, you ordered the best to stand guard over this castle once we captured it. The swiftest men were told to ride back to Camora to report the victory and bring more troops. The few I had left to spare are good soldiers, but not my best trackers. Had I known there would be a hunt…”

“Had you done your job, there wouldn’t BE a hunt!” raged the Duke.

Now it was Trystal’s turn to get angry. “The plan was perfect! Simultaneously, my men and I attacked the king and queen’s chambers and the princess’ chambers. I slew Goran and Emelia in their beds before they even knew I was there. My lieutenant, a man I would trust with my life, was ordered to do the same to Princess Elena, but it’s hard to slay someone in her chambers when she isn’t there!”

The men stood glaring at each other for several charged moments. Finally, the Duke took a deep breath and resumed his pacing. Trystal waited silently for a few moments before venturing to speak again. “Your Grace, it may be that the sergeants could not find her because she actually isn’t here.”

Bantrey stopped his pacing and looked again at the captain. “That’s what worries me. If she’s not anywhere in the kingdom, she’s run into the forest.”

Trystal’s countenance belied his unease at that statement. “Do you think she knows of the…”

“Hiss!” Bantrey silenced the captain before he could say another word. “Some of your men are still loyal to the King and might overhear! No, I think she’s just running scared. If she wasn’t in the castle the morning we killed her parents, then she at least was in one of the villages to hear your announcement.

“Send a message to Griband to keep an eye out for her in the forest. A blundering, pampered princess would not get very far in the forest by herself. She’ll be easy pickings for just one goblin, let alone a regiment. And send word to your troops: all the villages are to be burned tonight.”

                Trystal bowed and began to leave the chamber, but paused and asked another question. “Oh, and what about the sergeants, Your Grace?”

A wicked grin rose slowly over Bantrey’s face. “Let them join Griband on the hunt, give them a chance to redeem themselves. And, if the goblins get hungry on the way...”

From the vent in the hidden passageway behind the thrones, Bethda clasped her hands over her mouth to stifle a gasp as the two men chuckled and Trystal left the room. She’d been trapped in the secret passageways ever since the morning of the coup, ducking into the secret door under the windowsill in Elena’s chamber when she’d heard the sound of chain-mail approaching the door. That day she had thanked the Great Heart for the pranks she and Elena had played on the King and Queen when they were younger, giving her knowledge of the secret ways of the castle. Now, she was even more grateful. Silently, Bethda backed down the small passageway towards the kitchen entrance; word and warning must be sent to her brother and the villagers, both of the fire, and the nightmares coming from the forest.

Chapter ?

Elena was sure her jaw had dropped straight to the forest floor in her astonishment; Calder’s revelation had completely flummoxed her. Next to her, Astor gave a deep chuckle. “You definitely held that one close to the chest, Prince Caldor!” and gave a slightly mocking bow to his friend. The newly-revealed prince allowed his cheeky glint to broaden into a rare half-smile as Elena tried unsuccessfully to mix confusion with proper decorum.  “Wha…

“My forefathers descended directly from Prince Gavin, second son of King Caeden and Queen Zipporah, younger brother to your ancestor, King Dor, who united the villages of this area and created the kingdom of Doria. For many generations, the princes of the Gavin line were held in high honour for the physical and spiritual defense of the young country, for we had inherited the great Queen’s gift of far-seeing from the Great Heart. However, over time, the physical security of Doria was no longer threatened as before; people became complacent and began to forget their need for their loving Creator. We became outcasts in our own land, shunned by all who preferred comfort and pleasure over the gentle rebukes we gave, pleading for them to turn back to the Great One. So we went into exile in the Northern woodlands. Some from Doria came with us: a few humans came, yes, but all of the dryads, nymphs, dwarves, and elves had been slowly forced into exile along with us ‘grey-eyes’. Slowly we taught ourselves the ways of the forests, all while keeping watch over the borders of our nation in secret, guarding it from the enemies that advance from seeming nightmares, as you saw today in the meadow.”

Elena shivered at the memory and thought over this information. Some of Kael’s narrative was not new to her; some of her favorite stories from her childhood were of the adventures of King Caeden and his two sons, who had formed their nation out of the scattered villages of the surrounding valleys. But never had she heard of Doria being peopled by more than just humans.

“But why do I have the gift of sight, when no one else in my family line does?”

Chapter ?

 [Rhys/bard from outcasts - ? – tells story/song of the Great Heart, Elena sits enthralled in the story and has vision of Great Heart/of sword/of finding plan for restoring the whole land not just Doria to the G.H.?, Calder watches Elena and feels hope that she will decide to follow the Great Heart and become who she was meant to be – the restorer of His Name and His people – but also starts feeling something more towards Elena]

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[Astor goes back to Doria to check on villages during sword practice.]

Chapter ?

The evening wind brought the first traces of smoke to the Dark Forest as the villagers huddled with their families under the ancient trees. They'd been expecting it for days, the signs of Leaffig burning. It was the last village to be set on fire by Trystal and his brutes, and the one closest to the Forest. Bantrey would be livid now, knowing that the people of Doria had escaped him again, for after Trystal delivered the news that cursed day, the villagers hadn't waited to see which place they would burn first, but grabbed whatever they could and set out for the Dark Forest. For most of the people, it took some convincing; suddenly all of the old wives tales and frightening stories the children told one another of the mysterious and deadly beings lurking in the trees to snatch you away and eat you were brought to the forefront of everyone's minds. But a few of the wise and brave ones knew better: even if Princess Elena was captured, there would be no trusting the usurping Camorans to not burn their homes anyway. In the Forest they might face dangers unknown, but they would be alive, and with more of a fighting chance than against Bantrey's armored knights.

They hid in the fringes of the forest, scavenging what they could from the smoldering wrecks of their homes in the dark, living off of what little the woods could offer. But now, as the last village blazed, they knew they would have to find better shelter, and soon, for the Duke's wrath at not finding the Princess would spread beyond the borders of the Dark Forest.

The elders of the villages gathered in the smoky haze, arguing as to the next move.

"Like I've always said, we should have just surrendered in the first place, and then we wouldn't BE in this horrible predicament!"

"I'm starting to agree with you; I'm getting mighty tired of acorn pancakes."

"Oh hush! You know very well that none of us had the princess and so the Camorans would've killed us anyway!"

"Alright, what do you think we should do then, huh? That Duke isn't too far from realizing that trees burn just as good as houses!"

"Quiet! All of you!" The blacksmith's deep voice rumbled them all into silence. They looked at him expectantly. In the last few weeks there had been more eyes than just awed children looking to Baldric, who brought both patience and strength that come from working the forge to the cowed hearts of even the elders.

"We can't go back, and we can't stay here. Our only chance is in heading deeper into the forest."

"Deeper?! We're risking our lives being THIS far in the Forest!"

"Yes, and soo many of us have perished because of the dragons!" The other elders chuckled slightly at the granny's sarcastic comment, which shut the naysayer's mouth with his half-hearted retort unsaid.

"Alright, blacksmith, your logic is sound. There's really nothing left but moving deeper. But which way? All paths seem to lead back to Doria or dead end in brier thickets."

Before Baldric could answer, a little girl came running up to the group. Passing right by her mother, who was also an elder, she went straight up to the blacksmith and tugged on his sleeve.

"Sir, she says you have to come, right away!"

Stunned by the child's sudden boldness and perplexing message, Baldric leaned down to talk to the girl.

"Rosie, what do you mean? Who said to come?"

"The tree woman! She said to go and find the blacksmith and tell him to come see her, an' it's very 'portant!"

With that, little Rosie started pulling at Baldric, who, out of curiosity and not a little surprise at her forwardness, complied, and followed the child to the briers at the edge of the camp. As it became obvious that she was heading straight for the thorn bushes, Baldric started to protest, "Rosie, there's no way through.."

"Ya huh there is! Look, see!"

Rosie practically dove head first to the ground at the base of the nearest bush, and disappeared into a large hole. Kneeling down, Baldric watched the girl scurry forward on her knees several feet before turning around to look at him again. "Come on! She's waiting!"

Baldric turned and looked behind him at the elders who had followed. Though some had obviously frustrated faces at the interruption of their meeting, Baldric looked at Rosie's mother and grandmother, who were impatiently waving Baldric on.

“Go on then," the granny said. "If my Rosie says it's important, then you'd best pay attention! Not one to just play games is she."

With a reassuring nod from the other elders who knew the girl, Baldric shrugged and crawled into the opening. It was a far tighter squeeze for the well-built blacksmith than for the little girl, and by the time Baldric made it out the other side he was muttering under his breath at all the snags and tears in his one and only tunic. But once the blacksmith emerged into the glen, all thought for his tunic had vanished. He had intended his first look around to be one of surveillance, checking for anything that might be lurking to harm himself or little Rosie, but he found that it was difficult not to take in the breathtaking view that unfolded before him. Baldric pushed the grandeur out of his mind and focused on Rosie, who had run ahead of him towards the figure sitting at the river bank.  He went after the little one, pulling his sword from its sheath as he ran and calling to her, “Rosie, no, stop!”

The child turned where she was and grinned at the large man. “Here she is Mr. Baldric! The tree lady,” and continued to walk towards the stranger at the water. The lady stood and turned to the blacksmith, who was startled into awe for the second time in a mere minute.

“Welcome, Baldric, descendent of Feldin. Do you know who I am?”

Baldric jarred himself out of his wonderment and hesitantly bowed to the woman. “My Lady, forgive my rudeness. You do seem familiar, but I couldn’t say how it was that we first met.”

Elswyth smiled and nodded reassuringly. “We haven’t met until now, but if I knew your great-grandfather, he would have passed down stories to his children and theirs, fantastical stories they would seem to you, full of mythical peoples and creatures.”

As she spoke, Baldric indeed remembered the stories told to him from infancy, stories of a tall, ageless people who sometimes took the shape of man but could become one with the trees. He’d heard these stories more recently from the frightened villagers, who knew only the frightening version that depicted the dryads as evil and malicious; but the stories from his grandfather always hinted at a deeper truth that depicted their strength and magic in a more noble and good light. Baldric stood for several moments in the silence of calculating indecision; the grand lady before him was a dryad, he knew this in his heart, but was her intent for their good or for evil?

“What would you have of me, my lady?”

Elswyth’s smile turned grave as she spoke. “The people of Doria are in far more danger than they realize. Help is coming, but it is still far off. Here in the glen you will be protected.  But you must all come quickly, Bantrey is gathering his allies, forces out of your very nightmares. They will be in the forest before the morning dawns.”

“Why didn’t you come and tell us this yourself? Why send a child to come get me and not all of the elders?”

“I knew Feldin, your great-grandfather, and hoped that his strong, noble, good heart would be passed down to his sons’ sons, and that the fear of the unknown would not have blinded you to the truth.” Baldric saw the wisdom in this; if the others had seen the lady first, fear would have made them turn…he didn’t want to think ‘deadly,’ but these days it was hard not to think of death when it was all about them.

“The thicket has been the dividing line between your people and those of us they’ve turned into fearful myths for too long. The Great Heart has given you the opportunity to be the man to shatter the barrier. Will you do it for your people? For the Great Heart?”

Baldric looked into the deep ancient eyes of the dryad, weighing the costs. Suddenly, another voice broke through the stillness of the meadow, calling his name. Baldric turned to see one of the elders leading a breathless young woman through the thicket. He ran up to them as the young woman collapsed to knees on the ground. “Quick. Must…get everyone…the forest isn’t safe! Bantrey and….and goblins coming,” Bethda gasped out. The blacksmith dropped to one knee beside her.

“You are sure of this?”

The serving girl nodded and caught her breath. “Heard it from the duke and that murderer Trystal while I was hidin’ in the castle. Would’ve come sooner, but could’na sneak past the guards till last night.”

Bantrey put his hand on Bethda’s shoulder and thanked her. Standing, he turned again to the dryad.  “Well, my Lady Elswyth, it seems your warning has proved true.  Phildun,” Baldric said, turning to the elder who had brought Bethda through, “go back to the other elders. Tell them that we are to move all the villagers into this meadow, women and children first. Leave behind the best trackers you know, and have them cover our trail.”

“I’m not sure we can get all of them to go through that thorn bush, Baldric.”

Elswyth stepped forward. “I will show you another entrance that is hidden, but is easier to access.”

Bethda lifted her head and took a good look at the dryad. “‘Elswyth’? The princess mentioned that name ta me once. But she was telling a made up story about tree women an’ meadows that were stronger than fortresses. One of her dreams, she said it was.” The young woman looked around her fully for the first time.  Reverently she breathed, “Guess it wasn’t just a dream, eh?” 

Baldric offered his hand to help the maid up, and

Chapter ?

The sound of clashing swords rang through the air, startling the birds from their roosts. This time, Caldor held almost nothing back, but struck again and again with his full strength, leaving no room for Elena to breathe. But time and a deep purpose had done its work, and Elena was matching the young forester stroke for stroke. At one point they had pushed each other back and were now circling each other, looking for an opening, waiting for the other to falter. 

Elena gave a breathless laugh. “Admit it, Caldor, I’m almost as good as you are now!”

“Aye, but ‘almost’ isn’t the same as ‘enough’!” and struck at the young woman again, this time using familiar strokes in different combinations, testing her ability to think quickly. She parried each stroke and stepped swiftly to the side, causing Caldor to go on the defensive for a moment or two. They circled round each other, giving blow after blow, until, both stepping in at the same moment, they locked swords.

[more]

A polite cough broke the silence in the glade. “You two going to be done any time soon?”

The pair quickly stepped back from each other and turned to Astor. The griffin had noiselessly flown down just outside the training circle and was unsuccessfully trying to look like he hadn’t heard what they’d just said, and even more unsuccessfully attempting to look like he wasn’t at all interested or amused by it. Elena blushed slightly, but quickly recovered enough to ask, “What’s happening in Doria?!”

The griffin’s expression changed to a look of grave sadness. “It’s bad. Almost all of the villages have burned. I visited the Lady of the Glen, who is harboring most of the villagers, but among the charred rubble there are many in the shape of unwise villagers who did not seek shelter in the forest.”

A fire leapt into Elena’s eyes. She sheathed her sword and began hastily walking towards the river village. “It’s time to go back. Calder, I must speak to your father. We must start making plans on how to recapture Doria.”

Calder caught her arm as she passed. “Elena, this is not the right thing to do. We must go north and seek out the Great Heart’s [plan/design/warrior/the Great Heart Himself? Dependent on what was spoken in the bard’s story song/Elena’s vision during the song]

Elena shook her head adamantly. “No! There are warriors here a plenty for us to go back and reclaim Doria!”

“Elena, you are acting like a fool! All you can focus on is avenging your parents’ murders! It’s your duty to…”

“Don’t you DARE talk to me about duty!” Elena was screaming at this point, a quiver of rage and sorrow creeping into her voice. “I know full well what my duty is! I’ve had it embedded in me since I was a child. My duty is to my people, and they are dying as we speak!”

Calder roared back in anger, “My people have been dying for centuries, have you not thought of that?!”

Elena slighted back at the sudden outburst from the normally reserved Calder. He caught the quick look of fear in her expression and swallowed back his anger.

“Princess, you need to look at the bigger picture. There is more at stake than the minute but important country of Doria. I watched you as you listened to my mother talk about the Great Heart; don’t tell me that you didn’t feel His Presence in the room with us, Elena.” He could see that Elena was slightly more subdued, but was still trying to cling to the hope she had so recently found.

[Elena talking with the Great Heart]

“Why have You let your people suffer?! They are hungry, imprisoned, the land is dying!”

“Would you have come to find Me if everything was fine?”

This threw a kink in Elena’s anger. She had not expected a question in return, let alone that question. The majority of her soul still wanted to argue the point, she was furious, disappointed, oh so tired and weary, and burdened with a sadness as big as a nation. But the small part of her spirit that heard the longing in the Great Heart’s voice, saw the pleading look in His eye, responded in spite of the overwhelming emotions pouring out of the princess.

“No.” Elena replied. “I would have had no need. We worship You in the valley! What more could You want?”

“To spend some time with you. To sit with you and tell you face to face that I love you and that you are My beloved daughter, my dear one. I wanted to tell you how proud I am of you, how I feel your pain, how I laugh when you laugh and cry when you cry. You are so dear to me that I have given you the gift of sight, given you the gift of the vision, drawn you up to search for Me.”

“But what about my people, Your people?! Do You not love them as well?”

“I love them more than you can imagine; infinitely more than any of the kings of Doria have combined.  They ARE My people, and as you say, they do worship Me.  But I want more.  Their rote prayers every sunrise and sunset is not enough for me.  I am hungry for their love. And so I allowed the drought; I allowed the siege, because I knew it would bring you to Me, and that you would bring Me back to Doria.”

[back at the camp]

“Where’s Astor?”

Calder looked over near the river.  “Oh, he’s over somewhere on the edge of the tree line spending time with the Great Heart.”

Elena looked confused. “But…by the river?...doesn’t he….” Her mouth gaped open as she pointed back towards the path to the cave, and then looked back at Calder.  The hunter looked her in the eye and smirked. Elena bristled.  “You mean I didn’t have to climb up there, all by myself, and spend three nights in the dark, cold, rocky cave to spend time with Him?” By the end of her tirade the words were almost a shout.

Calder shrugged his shoulders. “Was it worth it?”

Elena opened and closed her mouth several times as frustration slowly built up in her. Finally she said, “Well, yes, but, ugh!” and stomped her foot in annoyance.

Calder bit back a laugh and turned again to tend the fire. “Do you really think that the High King of Creation is one who would be confined to talking to His beloved ones in a cave in the middle of nowhere? Then how would anyone know His voice?

Slowly the dragon circled around Calder. [“you can’t defeat me, you’re not strong enough, not noble enough etc.]

“You can’t even protect the ones you love the most! You think the Great Heart will protect the princess? He has already failed in that task! See for yourself, Grey Eyes.”

With that, the beast blew a smoke ring into Calder’s eyes. Instinctively, the man’s eyes closed against it, and when he opened them again, the smoke had formed a smooth wall in the air before Calder, in which the haze swirled around into almost recognizable forms. Calder watched as the images turned into a battle scene, and he started when he recognized Elena wielding the sword alone against an insurmountable force. The goblins surrounded her completely, and Calder watched in horror as the lead goblin thrust his sword into Elena’s chest.

“NO!” Calder screamed out as he fell to his knees on the ground beside the fallen image of Elena. His mind took him back to the first day he saw Elena. That moment she first spied him while on the dance floor with that bumbling oaf of a Camoran, his eyes under the shadow of his cowl locked on hers, and the longing that he saw there had stirred his heart. His inner sight filled his mind with pictures of her eyes, grey and beautiful, staring into his with something more than longing, something that he had only dreamt of. Then, he had pushed the sight away with a scowl and mental shake; the lot of love never fell on men of his profession. Now, looking down at the image of her still form, he allowed his heart to open to the truth; Elena had been annoying, argumentative, and willful, trying his patience and pride in more ways that could be named; but he loved her, and hadn’t realized it till he saw her fall.

He knelt there, unable to take his eyes off of the carnage before him; his beloved lying dead on the far off field and in his peripheral sight the golden body of his faithful friend mortally wounded there in the cave. [dragon says something about the last hope for Doria, the unfortunate Astor putting his trust in the wrong friend, slanders Great Heart]

Calder turned his head, closing his eyes to the sight of his beloved’s wounded body. He knelt there, battling the feelings of despair that threatened to overwhelm him as [the dragon] continued to speak of the destruction of Doria and the weakness of the Great Heart. But a nagging feeling wormed its way into Calder’s thoughts regarding the vision. He had seen Astor’s tail flicking slightly, testifying that his friend was still alive, even if just barely. But that wasn’t what bothered him. It was the fact that Astor was here, in the cave with him, not on the field of battle at the mouth of the river with Elena. Yet Calder had seen the prostrate griffin while he was looking at the vision of Elena’s body. Slowly the truth dawned on him: always when he had visions in the past, even if they were brief, they had completely taken over his physical sight. Never had he been able to see the future at the same time as the present.  If he had truly seen a vision through his grey-eyed gift, he would not have been able to see Astor. The strangeness of this puzzled him enough that it momentarily blocked out [the dragon]’s words. And in that moment, Calder saw the whole thing clearly. True visions from the Great Heart never involved smoke.  True visions never brought feelings of despair and self-hatred.

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IDEAS

Inside man/woman plotting with Camorans?

How to heal the water? Why black in the first place? Conspiracy by Bantrey and goblins? Dragons and/or goblins at the water’s source? How to bring the battle to the source? Calder opposed to Elena going into Camora to mouth of river.  His mother says Elena should go, Calder huffs away to spend time with Great Heart and comes back to brokenly agree. Split up Calder/Astor/exiles to fight dragons at the source and Elena to fight Bantrey and the goblins with the villagers at mouth of river. Betsy and Baldric have been collecting swords from Camoran army, collecting some soldiers too. Elena comes back to meadow, argument to turn her over to Bantrey. Elena shows true royalty and unites the Dorians and Camoran ex-soldiers. Go to save Camora as well. King Teragon younger than Elena maybe 13, not aware of what Bantrey has done to Doria in his name because Bantrey/another conspirator(?) has set Camoran under siege. Elena makes it through the siege into the Camoran castle in disguise as a young boy again. Dorians and Camorans fighting side by side against goblins. Elswyth part of battle? Interceding at castle wall, Rosie and King Teragon joining her (king marries Rosie later). Water healed when Elena and Calder touch swords to river at same time at both ends. Light flashes, goblins fall down dead, rocks at source burst forth and wash dragon off side of mountain to plummet to its death in a deep chasm (Astor flies down  with Calder on his back to investigate and verify death) [too cheesy?].  How to make the power of the Holy Spirit not look like magic? Grey-eyed connection between Calder and Elena at exact moment of touching the river at both points? Prayer- Sword of the word? [Sara, let the Holy Spirit write the ending, not your romantically fantastical imagination!!] King Teragon offer to marry Elena, to unite countries. Elena refuses, see’s affection of king for Rosie.

Chapter ?

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[some fill-in waffling about woodsy campfires and learning how to sword fight? Build characters of Calder and Astor more.]

Each one will be like a shelter from the wind and a refuge from the storm, like streams of water in the desert and the shadow of a great rock in a thirsty land.