It was dark and only a thin bit of light came from the home. The barn looked abandoned. He shook his head, feeling uncomfortable and a little nauseous. As he reached the porch, he knocked firmly. He would have expected to hear laughter ringing out from the house. Why was it so silent? It was too early for the family to go up to the cabin, for the grapes had not been harvested yet. No one could leave until after the harvest and the trampling of the grapes. He could not wait to tell them all about his adventures, how he had gotten lost in the woods in Silvandom and finally directed back to Stonehollow by some fellow travelers.
Trasen massaged his cheeks and felt the rough, bristling whiskers. He needed a bath and a shave. His clothes were fit to be burned. So many empty pockets in his memory. So many things he could not recall. He must have hit his head while lost. That must be it.
“Is that you, Trasen?”
Trasen whirled and saw Uncle Carlsruhe come from around the house, axe in one hand as if expecting an enemy. The man was strong and rugged, with streaks of silver in his mustache and hair. He was Dame Winemiller’s younger brother.
“Uncle?” Trasen asked, perplexed. “Where is everyone? Why are you here?”
Carlsruhe approached him warily, his face beginning to grimace. “Where is she, lad? Devin and Tate said you’d gone after her.”
“Who?” Trasen asked, his mind turning into gnats that flittered every direction at once.
“Where is Phae?” Carlsruhe demanded. “You said you wouldn’t come back without her.”
Trasen stared at him, completely befuddled. There was a panicky feeling in his stomach, as if he should know the name. But he did not. “Who are you talking about, Uncle?” He could not explain it, but that nervous feeling felt as if it were covering a painful, sleeping wound.
He had never heard that name in his life.
Phae sat right at the edge of the fire, rubbing the warmth into her arms. She watched Annon play with the flames and her heart grieved for him. His face was sunken, bereft, his eyes haunted.
“I know a little of how you feel,” she said tenderly, almost shyly.
Annon glanced up at her, blinking as though he had awoken from a dream. “Do you?” he replied but not unkindly.
“Not long ago, I was staying at the Winemillers in Stonehollow. It’s an orphanage, you see. It was my home. My best friend was a young man named Trasen.”
“The one the Arch-Rike threatened you with,” Annon said softly.
She nodded. “Trasen doesn’t remember me anymore. I stole his memories.” She gazed down at the fire, her heart aching with the loss. “It was grown so subtly, I did not understand how I truly felt about him until after I stole his memories away. It was on a night, not long ago, that I wept as you did. Shion comforted me, strangely.” She glanced over at him, watching him conferring in low tones with Tyrus and Prince Aran, the three men standing nearby.
Annon drew a quavering breath. “Even though you have the power to take away memories, Phae, I do not wish it. I’ve heard Dryads are immortal. Perhaps the blast did not kill them.”
Phae nodded hopefully. “I would like to meet her someday. My mother, that is. I did meet the Dryad of your tree. She was very helpful. She gave me what I needed most—the knowledge of how to become like her. If I can cross into Mirrowen, Annon, I will see if they are there. After hearing about Mirrowen, I would like to see it for myself. It gives me something…to look forward to. Crossing the Scourgelands will be difficult. As long as there is something to hope for, I think I can bear it.”
“You are the key to solving the riddle,” Annon said, reaching out and putting his hand on hers. “The fate of us all is in your hands.”
Phae felt a thrill at his words, but also a sense of great responsibility and helplessness. “I am the weakest among you. I have the fireblood too, but I don’t want to use it. You are a Druidecht with great power. Everyone is going to be so much more useful along the way. But I will do what little part I can.” She swiped a strand of hair behind her ear. “If the worst sacrifice I must make is being trapped in a tree in the Scourgelands that no one can visit…I suppose that will be my sacrifice.”
He shook his head. “Every forest must be reborn eventually.” He sighed deeply. “It hurts, doesn’t it?”
Phae sighed and then cocked her head as Shion approached them. He sat down next to her. She noticed the look Annon gave him.
“What is it?” Phae asked the Druidecht.
“I’m sorry, but you look so different now.” Annon leaned forward, gazing at Shion. “When we first met, in a grove of trees outside the Alkire, he tried to kill us all. I see the face, see the same scars, but it is a different countenance now. You were in chains before. I see that now you are free. How did it happen?”
Trasen massaged his cheeks and felt the rough, bristling whiskers. He needed a bath and a shave. His clothes were fit to be burned. So many empty pockets in his memory. So many things he could not recall. He must have hit his head while lost. That must be it.
“Is that you, Trasen?”
Trasen whirled and saw Uncle Carlsruhe come from around the house, axe in one hand as if expecting an enemy. The man was strong and rugged, with streaks of silver in his mustache and hair. He was Dame Winemiller’s younger brother.
“Uncle?” Trasen asked, perplexed. “Where is everyone? Why are you here?”
Carlsruhe approached him warily, his face beginning to grimace. “Where is she, lad? Devin and Tate said you’d gone after her.”
“Who?” Trasen asked, his mind turning into gnats that flittered every direction at once.
“Where is Phae?” Carlsruhe demanded. “You said you wouldn’t come back without her.”
Trasen stared at him, completely befuddled. There was a panicky feeling in his stomach, as if he should know the name. But he did not. “Who are you talking about, Uncle?” He could not explain it, but that nervous feeling felt as if it were covering a painful, sleeping wound.
He had never heard that name in his life.
Phae sat right at the edge of the fire, rubbing the warmth into her arms. She watched Annon play with the flames and her heart grieved for him. His face was sunken, bereft, his eyes haunted.
“I know a little of how you feel,” she said tenderly, almost shyly.
Annon glanced up at her, blinking as though he had awoken from a dream. “Do you?” he replied but not unkindly.
“Not long ago, I was staying at the Winemillers in Stonehollow. It’s an orphanage, you see. It was my home. My best friend was a young man named Trasen.”
“The one the Arch-Rike threatened you with,” Annon said softly.
She nodded. “Trasen doesn’t remember me anymore. I stole his memories.” She gazed down at the fire, her heart aching with the loss. “It was grown so subtly, I did not understand how I truly felt about him until after I stole his memories away. It was on a night, not long ago, that I wept as you did. Shion comforted me, strangely.” She glanced over at him, watching him conferring in low tones with Tyrus and Prince Aran, the three men standing nearby.
Annon drew a quavering breath. “Even though you have the power to take away memories, Phae, I do not wish it. I’ve heard Dryads are immortal. Perhaps the blast did not kill them.”
Phae nodded hopefully. “I would like to meet her someday. My mother, that is. I did meet the Dryad of your tree. She was very helpful. She gave me what I needed most—the knowledge of how to become like her. If I can cross into Mirrowen, Annon, I will see if they are there. After hearing about Mirrowen, I would like to see it for myself. It gives me something…to look forward to. Crossing the Scourgelands will be difficult. As long as there is something to hope for, I think I can bear it.”
“You are the key to solving the riddle,” Annon said, reaching out and putting his hand on hers. “The fate of us all is in your hands.”
Phae felt a thrill at his words, but also a sense of great responsibility and helplessness. “I am the weakest among you. I have the fireblood too, but I don’t want to use it. You are a Druidecht with great power. Everyone is going to be so much more useful along the way. But I will do what little part I can.” She swiped a strand of hair behind her ear. “If the worst sacrifice I must make is being trapped in a tree in the Scourgelands that no one can visit…I suppose that will be my sacrifice.”
He shook his head. “Every forest must be reborn eventually.” He sighed deeply. “It hurts, doesn’t it?”
Phae sighed and then cocked her head as Shion approached them. He sat down next to her. She noticed the look Annon gave him.
“What is it?” Phae asked the Druidecht.
“I’m sorry, but you look so different now.” Annon leaned forward, gazing at Shion. “When we first met, in a grove of trees outside the Alkire, he tried to kill us all. I see the face, see the same scars, but it is a different countenance now. You were in chains before. I see that now you are free. How did it happen?”
