Life Giver E-Book

Lisa Lowell

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Fighting against fate, a wielder of magic seeks balance as he is bestowed unbridled power - and an inescapable destiny.

After killing his father and attempting to evade his calling as a magician and protector of the realm, Yeolani disappears deep into the forest. But when he is granted limitless power and irreverently refuses to master it, unintended havoc - and intervening fairies - drive him toward a more purposeful path.

The third book in the riveting Wise Ones series, Life Giver follows Yeolani on a journey laden with magical mishaps and encounters with capricious creatures. Despite wielding a monumental gift, he struggles to make the impossible choice between a supernatural oath and an undeniable attraction - but will he find the strength to embrace a predetermined future?

Leseprobe

LIFE GIVER

THE WISE ONES BOOK 3

LISA LOWELL

CONTENTS

1. Coming from the Sea

2. Burying the Dead

3. A Tree Falls

4. Gil

5. Lesson of the Coin

6. Fairies

7. East and West

8. Grass and Groundhogs

9. Changeling

10. Auctioned

11. Farm Keeping

12. Answers and Questions

13. Well of Darkness

14. Compass

15. Siren

16. Healing

17. Grounded Fairy

18. Sworn

19. Looking Down

20. Demon Dust

21. Tree in a Storm

22. Gathering Tree

23. Pillar of Fire

24. Memorial for Nevai

Epilogue

GLOSSARY OF PEOPLE IN THE WISE ONES

Next in the Series

About the Author

Copyright (C) 2019 Lisa Lowell

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2022 by Next Chapter

Published 2022 by Next Chapter

Edited by Elizabeth N. Love

Cover art by CoverMint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

1

COMING FROM THE SEA

Walking up the steep slope from the harbor, Yeolani felt like a fool yet again. His father, coming up behind him from the boat, certainly reinforced that notion having found yet again nothing good with his son's work on this latest fishing trip. Of course, Yeolani had been sea-sick. He had made it a tradition, ever since he was nine and deemed old enough to join his father's crew, of losing his breakfast over the side.

"Feeding the fishes," his father had called it.

But, this voyage, Yeolani had been so ill on the three-day trip that he hadn't even been able to keep down water and so had passed out, leaving the rest of the crew to do his work. His father, the captain, couldn't rouse him and instead threw the rations of ale at his son, leaving none for the crew which led to a near mutiny onboard. Left with only the water barrel, they had sailed back into port with only half a hold full. How was Yeolani expected to inherit his father's boat if he couldn't tolerate being out at sea? Every trip, the moment he stepped onto the gangplank Yeolani invariably ended up losing whatever he'd managed to eat. It was so bad that the sixteen-year-old had taken to eating only after they'd come back into Simten's port and carrying only water with him for the three-day voyages.

If he looked scrawny and wasted, it was Yeolani’s own fault, his father insisted, but the boy had better figure out how to endure or someone on the crew, if not his own father, would slit his throat just to be rid of him, and someone else could inherit the family business. Now, after another failed voyage, Yeolani could feel his father's anger like a hurricane brewing just offshore, waiting to reach their home on the bluff where the thrashing could occur and not be witnessed by his crew. His father would probably get good and drunk beforehand, but Yeolani knew his anger didn't need liquid encouragement.

However, as he topped the bluff and turned up the path, Yeolani stopped cold, knowing something was wrong. In the fading light, he could see the village not far down the path, and he struggled to identify the changes to his expectations. Laundry flapped in the constant wind, not brought in for the evening. No smoke tore from chimneys. Even the woodcutters usually coming from the Fallon Forest just beyond the town were absent. It was all wrong.

Father, still grumbling and huffing after the climb up from the docks, didn't notice a thing. He swatted Yeolani on the back of the head for not moving along and then went around his son who remained rooted in the sandy footpath. The older man noticed nothing and had stomped all the way to their home that clung like a barnacle to the cliff on the southern edge of the town. Somehow the act of opening the door broke through the boy's frozen study, and he staggered the fifty yards to his home. He felt weak-kneed and unsure if it was the lack of food or his sudden fear.

Yeolani threw open the door and almost plowed into his father's back, where the captain stood frozen, now drinking in the scene he had ignored before. The blackstone hearth was cold. The usually carefully cleaned table still bore the wooden bowls from the morning breakfast. Mother would never allow that to remain. She kept an impeccable if humble home. In the corner, Yeolani saw his mother on her knees beside the rush bed, draped over the still body of his nine-year-old sister, weeping and moaning. Mother's hair was unkempt, her apron dirty and her haggard face puffy with her grief and deathly pale. How long ago? Yeolani could not bring his mind to finish the thought, let alone speak aloud.

"What have you done, woman!" Father bellowed, though it came out as a growl. Before Yeolani could react or his mother could duck, Father reached out and backhanded his wife, throwing her against the hearth. "You've killed the child!”

"No, Da," Yeolani gasped, reaching for his father's arm to stop the second blow, but weakened as he was, Father simply shrugged Yeolani off onto the floor and used his momentum to slug the boy before returning to his unconscious wife.

Desperately, Yeolani looked around the single room home for some weapon and found the knife his mother used in her cooking. He snatched it from the wash tub and leaped at his father, climbing onto his father's back as the man continued to beat his wife. The boy carefully placed the knife at his father's throat, and the man stopped his swing, slowly straightened up, and lifted his hands.

"Da, you will stop now," Yeolani hissed into his father's ear. "She's not to blame for Nevia's death. There's a sickness in the village."

With the full weight of his son clinging to his back, the captain moved carefully, deliberately, and from behind Yeolani couldn't see his movements, so when the captain's calloused hands wrapped around his son's knife hand, he wasn't prepared. He grasped the boy's wrist and, with a tremendous tug, threw Yeolani sprawling into the cold fireplace. Stunned, Yeolani only just managed to remain conscious as his father grabbed him by the leg and pulled him from the ashes. He knocked his head on the hearth as he landed on the floor rushes and dizzily couldn't roll to absorb the blow when his father's kick caught him in the ribs. But he still held the knife.

"You," kick, "were never," kick, "my son," kick, and this time, Yeolani rolled toward the descending boot and stabbed at the foot with what little strength he could muster. Blood and shrieks barely registered, but the momentum of the next kick stopped as his father hopped around on his undamaged foot. Yeolani staggered to his feet to defend himself and his mother who still remained unresponsive on the floor.

Enraged and careless of his wounded foot, the captain rammed himself bodily into Yeolani, pinning his son up against the wall with one arm under his chin, and began beating him about the head with a free fist. Yeolani realized then that his father would murder him and had probably already murdered Mother. If Yeolani did nothing, he would die. His pinned body allowed little movement, but he pried his hand free and, without any thought or hesitation, sank the knife into his father's side. The blade cut deep into the liver. The arm across Yeonlani’s throat eased, and his father's bloodshot eyes, a hand width from his own, widened in sudden pain. The restricting arm fell away. Then his father collapsed sideways along the wall.

Yeolani stood against the hearth a moment, still in his shock. How had this happened? It took him an eternity, it seemed, before his legs crumbled beneath him and he landed with a thump between his parents’ bodies. With trembling and bloody hands, he reached over to feel for his mother's pulse at her neck and found none. In his wake, Yeolani left his father's blood there on her pale skin. He felt sick again at the sight and would have thrown up if he could.

Then, with the shakes making it almost impossible, he reached for the knife still in his father's side and tugged it free. How was he doing this? His mind was a haze, as if he were again on the ship, going through the motions of drawing in the fishing line without his awareness. Again, he left a bloody mark on his other parent's neck. No pulse. He couldn't look at what he had done and instead crawled wearily toward his sister's body. She had been dead for half the day, Yeolani estimated, so he resisted leaving his bloody mark on her neck as well.

In a matter of moments, Yeolani had lost his entire family.

Carefully, the boy lifted his sister's head and sat down on the bed with her body in his lap, brushing her fine hair back from her forehead, and let his mind drift. He might have died himself, and it would not have mattered in the least.

2

BURYING THE DEAD

The next morning, the young man came into the heart of town pulling the cart his father used to load fish and to bring wood from the forest. Yeolani had eaten a dried fish and a bit of bread and felt much better for it, though he avoided the water his mother had left in the pail. Something had killed his little sister, and from the sounds in the village, some sickness was afoot, probably cholera, and he didn't want to add himself to the toll, even if he felt he deserved it. Someone from his family had to survive just to carry on.

After a night of drifting on sour dreams and panicked thinking, Yeolani had made his decisions. So, he could avoid questions about what had happened, he laboriously wrapped his parents’ bodies in the bed linens so that their injuries didn't show. He intended to blame the plague for all three deaths. There wasn't enough linen to complete the job for his sister, but he placed her in their mother's shawl and laid Nevia gently between the adult bodies. Then he struggled to put them on the cart. Still nursing his bruised ribs and lingering seasickness, Yeolani pulled the handcart into town where the cholera outbreak filled the square with other plague victims.

As he suspected, he wasn't the only one bringing dead loved ones into the square that morning. He recognized two crewmen from the ship who must have been spared because they also were on board when the illness struck but were now burying their wives and children left behind. Now, he studiously avoided looking at them. How was he to explain his father dying when he had been on the ship with them? Instead of worrying about that, he went to the bonfire, as was the requirement, to add his family to the burning pyre. Everyone knew you couldn't risk burying when disease could spread so quickly. The bodies must be burned immediately before the entire village was consumed.

As he stood in line waiting for the priest, Yeolani spied a woman he didn't recognize. She had a long, honey-colored braid and a huge pack. She scurried about like a baby goat, trying to meet all those that brought bodies to the pyre. She seemed vibrant, young, though she was probably in her late twenties. She moved with authority and stopped anyone who came in bringing a body. Yeolani thought he knew everyone in Simten, but he didn't know this woman. The priest who oversaw the speedy funerals didn't object, for she only pestered the living, so he left her alone. And when it was his turn to face this insistent young woman, Yeolani swallowed a pit of fear. Would she notice the blood seeping through the sheets covering the bodies he was bringing?

Of course, she did. "I'm sorry for your…loss," she petered out, looking him in the eye, flicking her green eyes to the bodies and back toward him, widening a bit in surprise.

"Your whole family?"

"Mother, father, and little sister," he mumbled, hoping his voice didn't crack, as it often did under stress.

"From the cholera?" the woman queried. By the tone of her voice, he could tell she didn't believe him.

"If that's what's going around. I was on board our fishing boat until last night, and when I came home, I found them dead,” he lied.

The healer pursed her lips knowingly. "You shouldn't try to lie," she whispered. "You're not very good at it. Tell me what really happened."

Something about her command made his tongue loosen. Yeolani looked around to be sure the magistrate wasn't nearby to listen in and then confessed to her frankly. "My father and I got off the ship last night, and when we got home, my little sister was dead and my mother was probably dying. He was so upset that…that he began beating my mother. I tried to stop him, and a lot of good I was at that. Then he started beating me…"

To his surprise, the lady, without asking, flipped Yeolani's tunic up to see the bruising on his ribs. "Hey, warn a body!" he barked in alarm but stopped himself when her amazingly warm hand rested on his side where it hurt the most.

"Three broken ribs, a bruised liver, and internal trauma. You're lucky he missed your kidney," she murmured as her gentle hands moved over him with alarming thoroughness. Yeolani didn't protest, for wherever her hands rested, a warm loosening of the pain and tension soaked into his body. He felt like he was melting and floating at the same time. How was she doing this?

Her bold, unexpected actions began drawing attention from other townsfolk, and the healer abruptly straightened up and pulled his tunic back into place before she was done. "What's your name?" she demanded, now continuing her interview.

"Yeolani, ma'am, and you can keep going. That felt like Jonjonel’s own welcome flame."

The healer’s green eyes widened slightly, and the freckles on her nose suddenly stood out as she blanched beneath her tan, but Yeolani was more worried about the townsfolk noticing her examination. His customary flippancy must be reasserting itself now that his pain had eased.

"Not here, Yeolani. You may call me Honiea. Just burn your dead, don't drink the water, and come see me here at dusk. I'll see to the rest of your injuries, then."

Dusk seemed a long time away with nothing but his thoughts to occupy him. Yeolani couldn't settle until he knew what he was going to do. He didn't want to go back to his empty house, so he resolved to visit the crew members at their various homes and inform them of his father's demise. Despite Honiea's admonition to not lie, he skirted the truth by claiming his father had committed suicide when he saw his wife and daughter dead. When Yeolani went to the first mate's home, he found the man grieving for three of his four children as well as his wife. Only the eldest son had survived.

"It’s not all a loss then," Yeolani explained, "because I'm giving you the boat, and good riddance to me. We both know I'm about as fit a sailor as a short-tailed cat. Your boy can take my place and you can take my father's."

The first mate looked grim but grateful. "What will you do instead?" he asked frankly. The new captain never suggested that Yeolani could stay on with the crew. They both knew better than that.

With a sigh, Yeolani shook his head. "Anything but the sea. The fish are fat enough without my help. Good luck,” and, abruptly, Yeolani left.

Now, faced with several more hours before his rendezvous with Honiea, Yeolani forced himself to return to his empty home. There he had to again acknowledge the bloody murder and the ghosts he imagined there. Rather than wallow, he began packing everything he felt he could carry and fashioned a bag out of his father's winter coat. Hopefully, Yeolani would not need it for several more months, and with luck, by then he could make a better bag once he needed the coat for warmth.

Yeolani was resolved. He was leaving Simten.

He took the last remaining stores of dried fish and potatoes, a brick of cheese, and the one jug of ale his father had left, though Yeolani had not drunk any before. He then placed the best of the kitchen tools: flint and steel, a hatchet, pot, pan and a spoon in his pack. He dearly wanted a knife but couldn't endure the thought of taking that knife. Instead, Yeolani buried the weapon under a loose stone in the hearth and used the cholera-infested water to wash the stones free of blood. And then he was done.

Yeolani sat in the hut, memorizing the shape of the simple furniture and watching the shadows pass across the room, fighting tears. He felt like a little boy now, with his eyes aching and a burning down his throat, wallowing in his loneliness until, finally, he gave in and wept. His tears took him to the point that the western window glared at him with the sun at sea level before he wiped his nose, took a final shuddering breath, and mastered his emotions. He was over it now. He stoutly rose and walked out the door of the only home he knew, never to return.

The bonfire still burned in the square, a glowing ember in his mind, reeking and evil in his eyes. The glow provided the light to see his way as he returned for his meeting with Honiea. In a way, it seemed alien to come meet her just because she had requested it of him. His side didn't ache anymore. The bruises had shifted to gray and yellow blotches rather than the angry red and purple swellings they had been before her touch. Maybe that was it – magic. She had done something mystical to him undoubtedly, and now she was luring him back into her web. For what purpose, he couldn't guess; but even as he acknowledged the magic she had wielded, he still had no desire to miss the appointment.

Honiea stood by the well, the main source of water for most of the town and therefore probably the cholera. It had been capped off by someone, and barrels instead lined the pedestal and a wagon team unloaded yet another full barrel to add to the supply. Honiea supervised this effort but caught sight of him and waved him over.

"I've put a treatment in the well, but it will take another week before the water will be fit to drink again. Thank you for coming." Then she bent to pick up her sizable pack, but Yeolani stopped her and hefted it instead. It was heavier than his own, and she smiled her thanks.

"Come with me," she ordered since he was offering to take both packs. "I'll buy you supper at the inn. That's where I'm staying, and we need to talk."

Obediently, Yeolani followed the lady toward Simten's only inn, swallowing his excitement. He'd never been inside the public-house, always considering it his father's hideout where he grew drunk and learned where the best fishing could be found. However, somewhere within, Yeolani also knew this was where travelers stayed and where the townsfolk could always come for news, like cholera. The inn had always been the denizen of adults, but at this point, carrying his father's ale and giving away his inheritance, Yeolani realized that yes, now he could consider himself an adult.

He had expected the inn to be crowded with men who had been away fishing and now came to drown their sorrows after spending the day burning bodies. However, the common room echoed and stood empty but for the innkeeper. Yeolani could hear the crackling fire and the clink of rearranging glasses behind the enormous counter, but no one had come for news. The entire town knew about the plague and didn't want to share their grief yet. Honiea ordered two suppers from the morose barkeeper and then guided Yeolani to a dark corner far away from the fire. On a warm spring evening, they didn't need the heat, and apparently, their conversation required privacy. Yeolani's innate curiosity nearly choked him as he set the packs down and watched how Honiea deliberately sat with her face toward the door, her back to the corner. What had a healer, a magical healer, to fear from being overheard?

She didn't say anything until the cook brought them each a plate of fish baked in cream and spring vegetables. Yeolani's stomach growled at him, and he began wolfing down this fine food like a dog, barely tasting it. He also sampled his first ale and decided he didn't like it, though it was better than going thirsty with no water. Honiea watched him eat and was covering a private smile before he noticed, and he realized his manners probably spoke volumes. Self-consciously, he stopped with his fork halfway to his mouth and put it down.

"No," she insisted. "You need to eat. If you were a sailor, I don't doubt you need nourishment. You're skin and bones and a growing boy. Let me guess – sea-sick?"

Yeolani nodded wearily. "Sick as a cur dog every single day," he mumbled, swallowed, and then repeated it. "I could never hold a thing down when I was aboard. How did you know?"

"Because you're a magician. I can't go to sea either and for the same reason. Magical people cannot cross the water without…well, let's just say it's not the best state of being, and I have yet to find a cure. Believe me, I've tried."

"Magical?" Yeolani wasn't actually agreeing with the preposterous statement. He knew of magic's existence and didn't doubt Honiea’s claim of magic for herself, but he had never seen demonstrations of the art unless her healing touch counted. But to apply that mystical skill to himself seemed alien. Yeolani had expected magic would involve sparks and spells, potions and puffs of smoke, not just her gentle touch. Besides, he was a failed sailor, not a magician.

"Oh, you can be both," Honiea assured him, and only then did Yeolani realize she had heard his inner thoughts, for he hadn't spoken his doubts out loud. "I'm surprised you stuck with fishing as long as you did. I would have gone inland and found another way."

"You didn't have a father who beat you to liver and expected you to take over the ship someday, a mother and sister who needed you as a buffer from…from him. I failed at both, and now I have to suffer the consequences. I'm alone, without skills other than fishing, which I cannot do, and now you say I'm a magician? I don't mean to be rude, but, lady, I highly doubt what you are telling me."

Honiea nodded her understanding as if his skepticism didn't surprise her. "I would doubt me too. I also doubted the first time I was told about my powers. Here in the Land, obvious magic is so rare as to be non-existent. The actual magic all lies underground like water in a well. In other countries, there would be a dozen magicians in a town the size of Simten, and they could have stopped the cholera outbreak before it even got started. Instead, there is just me and two others in this whole nation. That’s simply not enough, and we have been Seeking for you to add to our numbers. I've been looking for you for years. Now, I find you here in the middle of an epidemic, without a single skill and with no way to help you trust me when I say, yes, you are a magician…or will be. Right now, you are too young and too inexperienced in the ways of the world to take on the power, I think."

"What's that mean? I’m a slick-eared calf then?" He bristled at the implied lack of maturity.

"Essentially, yes. It means that I shouldn’t open the door to magic to you until you grow up a little, that’s all. If I was to start training you now, you would be frozen as you are now: sixteen, gawky and not full grown. You admit that you have no skills and have never seen more than this town. It is not right for you to make any decision about magic until you've seen more than the sea and a tiny village beside it. Have you ever been into the Fallon Forest?" Honiea asked bluntly.

"Any idiot here has. I've been on the edge, cutting wood," he provided, a little proud of the bravery it took to go into that deep place. The rumors of what lurked in the trees sent chills down his spine.

"And have you lived on your own, defended yourself, and struggled to feed yourself?"

"Well," he equivocated, "no, but my family always has…had to struggle. It's not easy." Something in Honiea's smile set off his sarcastic side, and he chided her. "You try pulling sail line while you're losing your supper and dodging your captain's fist."

"Oh, I believe you," she admitted heartily. "There are many ways to learn how to survive. I could not do what you have done any more than you could do what I've done to make my way. The point I'm trying to make is you will need to learn and master new ways and meet new people before magic can be real for you. What have you planned to do with your life now that your family is dead?"

Reluctantly, Yeolani set down his fork completely and looked the lady in the eye. Part of him wanted to bare his soul to her, and he suspected magic subtly urged him to do this. Another part realized he could be manipulated into making decisions she would want, not what he really desired, and if he ever were free to make his own path, now it must be.

"I…I've decided to go into Fallon Forest and make my way there. I've got nothing to lose, and now there's nothing holding me back except for my own fear."

Honiea nodded understanding. "Very good. Truly, this is the time to make your own way. Explore the world and learn all you can,” she advised. “Is there anything you need to make your way easier?"

Yeolani's mouth fell open in amazement. "You aren't going to try to talk me out of it? Ask me to come learn magic? Teach me some nifty trick that will make me hungry for more?"

Honiea's expression grew secretive as she shook her head. "No, that is not the way of good magic. It would be wrong to manipulate you, and as I said, you're really too young to take on magic as of yet. It's more important that you learn to live independent of the life you've led so far. The magic will be yours when you are ready, when you need it, and you will come to it willingly. For right now, you need a pack."

Her clever eyes must have caught sight of his impromptu bag. Without explanation, she leaned over to open her own sizable pack and pulled from it a sturdy leather knapsack capable of carrying everything he had lugged from home in a coat. Along with it, she also brought forth a thick candle and a hunting knife with a sheath he could wear on his belt. Yeolani knew his eyes probably bugged out, but he managed to shut his mouth when she placed these fine and valuable items on the table.

"You need a knife if I'm not mistaken, as well as something better than a jacket to carry all your things in."

With effort, Yeolani nodded, for now he had proof she indeed had been wandering through his mind and had conjured the things he wanted most, probably created with a magical thought from her own bag. No one who happened to be watching them from across the deserted room would ever realize those things were not there a minute before.

"Yeolani, magic here in the Land is subtle. Most people who meet me don't know I am a magician unless they witness an act of healing, and it's best to keep it that way. This life is not easy. There are some things you must understand, even if you choose not to ever pursue magic. For one thing, there are powers out in the world that will notice you. You noticed me when you saw me at the bonfire. That… that recognition will work against you in some ways. Other magical creatures, maybe even sorcerers and demons who manipulate magic for evil, will sense you and seek you out."

Yeolani's voice cracked dramatically. "I thought you said magicians in the Land were as rare as hen’s teeth." He didn’t want to even think about the demons he’d heard tales of, not when he was about to go into Fallon on his own.

Honiea nodded. "True magicians, born to it natively, are incredibly rare, yes. There are only three at this time, not counting you. Here in the Land, there will eventually only be sixteen of us, the Wise Ones, according to prophesy. But this Land is…or was sealed from magic for many years, so it developed differently. Of course, anyone who wanted to make a deal with demons could be gifted with sorcery, but here in the Land, the magic is far stronger but also more subtle. I don't have to say a spell or make a potion to use my power. I only have to possess this."

Yeolani's eyes blurred a little like he was observing her from underwater, but then he realized she'd put a kind of invisible shield around them, further protecting them from prying eyes. If he turned his head to look at the innkeeper across the room, he saw only a blurry shape, almost indistinguishable from the bar itself, but when he focused on Honiea alone, she seemed perfectly normal. She then held a small blue-white globe in her hand to show him. It pulsed with a gentle beat, white and bright as a summer sun.

"This is a Heart Stone. All you have to do is touch it, and the magic within you will be sparked. This one is mine, but I carry yours as well. God gave it to me when he gave me your name so I would know who I was Seeking. This leads me to another important thing: your name. You must leave it behind."

"My name? Why, by a dragon’s back tooth, do I need to change my name?" he asked. It surprised him almost as much as the unmistakable urge to reach out and touch the Heart Stone she held.

As if she understood the temptation, the little orb disappeared back into Honiea’s pocket and the shield against anyone observing them now faded with it. "Because of those other type of magicians out there. Remember, the ones that purchased their power from demons? There’s an evil in that power. That kind of magic demands blood sacrifice and spells, and the user loses his or her soul to it. Their magic craves the native, natural power you and I possess, and it will do anything to control it. If they know your name, they can control you. You must not give them your name."

"Control me? How?"

Honiea's eyes flashed with a hidden challenge and what he hoped was a hint of compassion as she commanded him, "Yeolani, bark like a dog."

Before he could react, Yeolani let out a yelp that drew the quizzical eye of the barkeeper who polished glasses across the room. Appalled, the boy tried to cover the second bark behind his hand. Then Honiea ordered him to stop before he made another animal sound. Instead, Yeolani let out a more human gasp and pushed away from the healer across the table from him, “Hell’s bells!” he swore in fear.

"Do you see?" she whispered, obviously pained by the fear she had caused Yeolani. "I cannot harm you. It would be against the ethics of the Wise Ones, and the Heart Stone would block me. However, the sorcerers and demons have no such inhibitions. If they knew your name and that you are magical, they would use you terribly. They could even order you to die and …. and you would have to obey them. It almost happened to me."

Yeolani waited for the story that must have been attached to a statement like that; but Honiea’s expression clouded, and she shook her head, refusing to elaborate. “That is a story for another age,” she whispered.

Abruptly, a thousand thoughts rolled through Yeolani's mind: fear foremost, curiosity, and revulsion. How would slavery to another impact him? He had often felt like a slave aboard his father’s ship, with orders barked at him and no escape from the lash. Could he have endured more of it? No, but he was free now, free to think for himself.

Yeolani thought about his mother and his love for her. He wanted to honor her and the name she had given him. Yeolani wanted something of that mother’s love to remain in the world as vengeance for the abuse she had withstood. Something in Lani’s son dripped with anger, and to this emotion, he reacted. He rebelled. Why would he bother with this magical claptrap if it was so manipulative? He had no desire for power. He wanted peace, quiet, and some security that he could build for himself, not relying on an unstable sea-faring life or an even less stable father. Honiea's Wise One magic sounded like more work and restriction than anything.

Rattled and now feeling severely abused, Yeolani stood up and reached for his pack, not realizing that somehow, magically, Honiea had replaced his makeshift bag with the one she had given him. "I thank you for the meal, my Lady, but I'll be going now. I've no interest in magic," he announced with a shaky voice, and he left the inn, his life and all thought of magic behind in one swift move.

3

A TREE FALLS

Three months later he wanted to reconsider. Oh, at first, he had been fine with his decision and had walked the woods, sleeping under the stars and having little interaction with humans in the forest. It only took him a few days to recognize that many of the horror tales about Fallon were fiction. No demons stalked him. No dragons hunted here. Instead, he faced far more real issues than those fairy tales threatened. Yeolani wandered between the trees eating anything he could find before he realized he would soon starve if he didn't find some reliable means of hunting or trading for food. Winter was coming, and he couldn't afford to wait to find that security. He grew tired of struggling to net fish from the rivers or raiding squirrels for their hoards, and despite his desire to find his own way, he knew he wouldn't survive without help from other humans.

As fall descended, he finally made up his mind. He couldn't continue eating hand-to-mouth and washing only when he came across a creek. He dreaded sleeping out in the open when the rains began. And worst of all, the haunting of the fairy lights would drive him insane if he didn't get under some shelter. He had heard stories of the fairies, far less frightening than demons, but at least these were real. The little sprites filled the Fallon Forest like mosquitoes on a pond. Their constant cloud of lights overhead kept him awake, and their fluttering wings invaded his dreams. He yearned for a shelter to help keep them at bay, and Yeolani deeply regretted not asking Honiea for a tent, but it was too late now.

So, one miserably rainy evening, he finally approached one of the logging crews that supplied fuel for Simten and Savone on the forest's edge and asked for work. At first, the leader of the crew, Bowdry, looked at his scrawny frame and mocked him. "You'll not last a week.”

Again, Yeolani's temper drove his tongue. "I'll wager you I can chop as much wood as the best man on your team," he boasted, knowing he was a fool for doing so, but he was desperate, and the smell of the stew on the evening fire captivated him. "Just give me some food, and tomorrow I'll prove I can be an asset to your crew."

Fully half-a-dozen woodsmen in the group laughed, as if it were a joke, and encouraged Captain Bowdry to at least not back down from the challenge. Meanwhile, Yeolani stood by the fire in the center of the makeshift camp, stubbornly looking the leader in the eye, unashamed of his worn clothing or shoddy appearance. Of course, Yeolani looked needy; he was. He hadn't been able to eat or wash much over the last few days, and the constant harassment of the fairies kept him awake half the night.

"And what happens if you don't bring in more wood than me? What am I to get in return for this meal?" Bowdry demanded cheerfully.

"I've got…I've got a …a very good knife. It's small, great for gutting fish. You can have it if I don't perform." In fact, it was the magically crafted one Honiea had put in his newly created pack along with a candle which she also, for some unknown reason, had given him. Yeolani really didn't want to part with the knife, but he figured that would be the only thing he owned that would tempt the crew into taking a risk on him.

"Here, let's see what else you've got," chuckled another crew member who snatched Yeolani's pack off his shoulder. He wanted to protest but resisted, realizing these men, all rough and most probably at least his father's age, would not steal from him. He had nothing they would want. Yeolani watched impassively as the lumberjacks dumped his belongings out on the ground. Once they found the jug filled with water, not ale, they began muttering in discontent.

Then to his surprise, one of the men lifted the candle, and everyone stopped speaking. They all turned to peer at Yeolani, a look on their faces that he couldn't interpret.

"Where did you get the candle?" Bowdry asked in a careful voice.

Yeolani didn't know how to answer. A candle? He had used it a few times to light his way when he had to find a place to sleep and found nothing magical about it, but obviously, these men knew something about it that he didn't. Yeolani dare not reveal his ignorance. So instead he remained silent. Stoically, he stood in the firelight waiting for an explanation, pretending he understood but had nothing to say.

Finally, when he realized Yeolani wouldn't speak, Bowdry capitulated. "Very well, if you want work, there's a place to be had. We only have two requirements: work hard and, when there's a need, let us use the candle."

Yeolani felt his jaw drop open in wonder, but he recovered quickly. "Candle it is. Now, where's my bowl?" He would think about what he didn't know later. Right now, he was more interested in the stew.

And that is how Yeolani managed to survive his first winter in Fallon Forest. Moving with a whole crew of woodsmen taught him much: how to chop and fell trees, but also how to interact with a variety of men and make deals with them as he listened to the crew chief Bowdry selling loads of wood at the hamlets deep in the forest or at towns closer to the edge. Yeolani managed to hold his own and bulked up with the benefit of reliable meals and hefty work. This did nothing to teach him the self-reliance he craved. While his companions weren't great hunters, they could bring down a deer with a well-placed ax throw. Quarry rarely came within range, for cutting timber drove off most of the game, but the men were always ready, nonetheless.

The crew slept in tents which thankfully kept the fairies away at night, much to Yeolani’s relief. However, that did not stop these pesky creatures from buzzing over him when they worked during the day. Their bright lights hovered just beyond reach over his head. He alone seemed to be irritated with them, although they swooped throughout the camp. One evening, early in spring, one of the other men caught him trying to swat at one and chided him.

"If you've got the attention of the fae, you shouldn't try to sweep them away," Arvid, his friend, said frankly. "Most of us can't see them, so you should be grateful that you interest them."

"I’d rather have a lady’s interest,” Yeolani replied in amazement. He had not realized no one else noticed the fairies that flew in flocks around Arvid’s head.

Arvid chuckled at that. "Almost as good as a lady. No, the fairies are a sign of good luck. My sister Rashel, supposedly she's got them hovering about her head all the time. And a good thing. They kept her from falling in the well once, and our ma, she claims they're protecting her from evil."

"But…but if you can't see them, isn't that…well, odd? They’re more of a nuisance than a sliver in your toe. They keep me up at night if I'm outside the tents."

Arvid, the only other younger man in the wood crew, simply shrugged. "Maybe they're the reason why you've not been injured in your time here," and he suggestively pointed at his boot.

Arvid had already told him the tale of how he had accidentally planted his ax blade between his toes after he'd been at the work only a few weeks and then added that it was a minor miracle that Yeolani hadn't hurt himself already in the dangerous work of a lumberjack. "Most of the men don't believe in the fairies, but I've seen my sister with that look…bedazzled by the fairy lights. And the others say you're freakishly lucky so far. You've got some kind of protection for sure."

At that comment, Yeolani remembered, for the first time in ages, his conversation with Honiea. He didn't think the two things, magic and fairies, could be related, but maybe being plagued by fairies was a magical signal like his seasickness had been. He would not ever be completely free of Honiea’s world, he reasoned. And if that meant the fairies were concerned for him, he could deal with that far better than seasickness. Generally, these creatures didn't interfere with his work by day, and now, sleeping in a tent, they didn't keep him awake either. Yeolani didn't pursue more about the fairies. He could ignore them just as easily as he could his curiosity of magic, and he did well at that until the summer. Then everything changed again.

The crew planned that morning to cut down a massive tree. Ten men could not complete a ring about it, and its top was lost in the sun’s glare. Yeolani noted that fairies covered it more than other trees he’d seen. It was thick with them, so Yeolani could not even see the lower branches where he had cast his guideline. He wasn’t on the cutting crew at the moment, so he wasn’t exactly watching the first swing of the ax. The blow simply sounded wrong. That one swing made every fairy’s light go out. Abruptly, the tree began to fall. It shattered, revealing its rotten, unstable core. It twisted as it fell. Yeolani saw it all from his place on the guide rope. It swung as if some invisible giant rolled the falling timber toward them. The massive tree snapped with a bang, bounced off its jagged stump and swept in an arc toward the other side's guide ropes. They didn't stand a chance. Four men were struck and bowled over and one remained pinned under the log when it finally came to a rest.

Everyone dropped their lines or axes and scrambled toward the fallen men. Luckily, two had fallen in the soft loamy earth and had been pressed into the ground rather than crushed, but two were not so well off. One had broken ribs, and his breathing came labored. And then there was Arvid, still pinned under the massive tree. He was still conscious but raving in pain. Someone went running for shovels to start digging out around him, but the camp was half-a-mile away.

"Yeolani, where's your pack?" barked Bowdry, who shoved Yeolani off toward the camp, assuming he'd left it with the tents. Quite often the young man brought it with him since it was amazingly light, and he liked to have access to his jug of water. Yeolani staggered the mere yards to where they had started the morning at the edge of the clearing and snatched up his pack, bringing it back as fast as he could run.

Captain Bowdry looked gratified that Yeolani didn't have to run as far as the camp. "Get out the candle. We need her help," he ordered.

Obediently Yeolani did as he was instructed. He dumped out his pack and lifted the candle from the pile, confused as to what to do next.

"Well, light it, boy," barked the captain.