• Chapter One

    The sun hung low in the western sky. It was cradled between two mountain peaks, casting them in a soft orange glow. The twilight lingered, as if waiting for the wind to die down and the boisterous hatchling birds to retire for the night.
    The forested valley was just losing its light. The trees began to drain their color in the waning rays. The thick carpet of grass felt luxurious beneath the widely-spaced trees in the glade. The last bit of sunlight filtered through the patchy canopy, forming complex networks of lacy shadows. A light breeze rustled the leaves, disturbing the shadows that splayed the ground.
    Into the glade marched a proud, raven-haired maiden. She carried a book in one hand, the other balled into a fist that swayed with her stride. A long, pointed stick was tied to her waist with a length of rope. She had several young children in tow, exaggerating their march by throwing back their heads and swinging their fists in time with their pounding feet.
    “General Leonardo drew his shining sword, Falinor, announcing bravely, ’Draw if you be men! I’ll cut down all of you with a single blow!’” the girl read. She pulled her stick out of the makeshift belt and brandished it like the fabled blade in the story. The children followed suit, but with less flair. The oldest one, only about eight summers, stepped up with his stick, really only a glorified twig, and swung. The girl easily blocked the blow, the boy’s stick splintering, and then stabbed at the boy, poking his slightly rounded tummy.
    “Oh, I’m slain!” He clutched his “wound” and fell dramatically to the ground, his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth. The next child, a girl, charged, but the maiden with the book dispatched her as well. The onslaught continued until all the children lay on their backs with “swords” stuck between their ribs and their arms.
    “And so,” the maid announced, “General Leonardo stood victorious over his foes. After slaying the rogue band single-handedly, he rescued the princess from her incarceration in the tower.” She strode across the clearing and swept a small, giggling blond girl into her arms, balancing the child on her hip. “He kissed his bride…” The maiden kissed the girl on the cheek, “and called upon his valiant whites steed… hey, where’s Pup-Pup?” The black-haired girl whistled, and out of the trees bounded a black and white sheepdog. The girl plopped the blond onto the dog’s back. “and with his lovely maiden, rode off into the sunset, where they lived happily ever after. The end.” And with that, the girl clapped the book shut and bowed flamboyantly to the cheering children.
    “Next time, I want to be Leonardo. I always play Chief Blackthorn!” A pudgy boy crossed his arms indignantly over his chest.
    “That’s because you do so well at being Chief Blackthorn!” The girl tickled his round belly, and the boy laughed, trying in vain to fend off the attack.
    “Well, a hero and a diplomat! What will you be next week, Elm?” The girl turned to see a smiling, copper-haired woman in a dress and clean white apron.
    “Next week, I’m a gypsy. I’ll wear flowing red and purple, and dance with a scarf, and wear lots of gold jewelry…”
    “Not my jewelry, I hope!” The woman pasted a stern expression on, though a smile still tugged at the corners of her mouth.
    “Oh, of course not, Aunt Moreen!”
    “Of course not. It’s time to eat, so come inside. But wash up a bit first, so you don’t track dirt into the house.”
    “Alright. Bye, everyone!” The children swarmed around Elm, wrapping their arms around her waist and refusing to let go. “Alright, alright! We’ll continue our game tomorrow, but right now I have to eat! Go on, go continue raiding villages and kidnapping princesses! I’ll bring you little villains to justice in the morning!” Elm disentangled herself from the crowd and watched the children scamper into the tree line. Then she proceeded to the pump next to the tidy home in the clearing. She pumped water into a shallow bowl and scrubbed at her hands with a bar of soap.
    “I’m not that dirty,” she mumbled as layer after layer of grime washed off in the clear, cool liquid. Then she wiped her hands on her breeches and entered the house.
    It was cool inside, and dark. Aunt Moreen was just going around the house to light the oil lamps. The stately lady struck a match, holding a burning stick to the dead wick, which burst to life in an instant, suffusing the kitchen in a warm glow. The room was small, but tidy. A heavy wooden table was in the center, with an unlit oil lamp on top of it. Behind the table stood a black, potbellied stove, on top of which sat a tea kettle and a pot filled with a fragrant, simmering concoction. The wood burning inside the stove released heat and dim light through the metal grate. Moreen held her match to the lamp on the table, then blew out the match and bustled to the stove. Elm retrieved two wooden bowls from a nearby cabinet, and two wooden spoons from a rack on the wall. Bringing them to the stove, her guardian ladled vegetable stew from the pot into the bowls, which Elm placed gingerly on the table. Aunt Moreen wiped her hands on her crisp, white apron, then sat down at the table opposite Elm.
    Elm picked up her spoon, loading it with hot stew. As she brought the food to her mouth, Aunt Moreen let out a little “ahem,” Elm rolled her eyes, set her spoon back into the bowl, and folded her hands in front of her on the table.
    “You know, Aunt Moreen, I’m sure Allerian won’t smite me for taking one bite before offering my thanks for the lovely food.” Elm smiled innocently, but Aunt Moreen was unperturbed.
    “No, he won’t, but I might!” Moreen smiled back sweetly. “Say grace, dear.”
    Elm closed her eyes, repeating the prayer with Aunt Moreen that they said every night before dinner: “Great Allerian, we thank You for this food, and bless it to our bodies to nourish and strengthen us, in Your mighty name we pray, amen.” Now Elm dropped her hand to her spoon and dug into her food with a voracious appetite.
    When the dinner was eaten, Elm took her bowl and Aunt Moreen’s out to the water pump to wash them. As she set the bowls down next to the pump in the dark, she heard a shrill scream, and a sharp scent caught at her throat. She jerked her head up, sending her raven hair flying, and sniffed the air again. It felt heavy, dense on her shoulders, and it burned her throat and eyes in the dark. She set down the other items for washing and glided through the trees to the edge of the forest, about 100 feet from the cozy house. Emerging from behind a pine tree, elm let out a little gasp. A bright orange blaze had taken hold of a large shop on the fringes of the little town in the valley. Several people were running about, trying to put out the fire. Elm turned on her heels and raced back through the woods.
    Aunt Moreen was startled into dropping the rag she was using to clean the now extinguished stove when elm burst through the front door, shouting incoherently. Aunt Moreen calmed her down enough to decipher a few words.
    “The town’s on fire!” she rasped. “I saw the cobbler’s shop, and it was on fire!”
    “Calm down, dear, I’m sure it’s to be put out soon. It was probably started by the blacksmith’s furnace in the shop next door. A spark probably wandered out the open door and caught on the thatched roof. I’m sure it’s under control by now.” she crooned.
    “But the smithy is on the other end of the street, not next door! There’s something wrong!” Elm cried.
    “Elm, it was just an accident. Maybe a child was playing with matched, or a man tapped out the smoldering remains of his pipe onto some straw. Just relax dear, and go to bed. I’ll clean up here.” She sent Elm off, then finished her chores, including retrieving the abandoned bowls, and went to sleep herself, oblivious to her fate.