Sanctuary's Assassin

By Loren Elias

A healer’s duty is to sustain life, not take it. It seems a fact irrefutable. But when a mark is upon his head the healer must choose; hide in the safety of the fortress he has built around himself or venture out to aid his embattled people while sacrificing the lives of those who seek to deter him and---even more troubling---those who would protect him with their lives.

But when did life’s choices get this hard for the healer raised, as he was, in the ancient way of Five Virtues? It was about the time a young girl named Ren’ai joined the elite guard that protects him. After the wrongful execution of her father, he took the twelve-year-old in, saw to the training of both body and mind but, despite his mentoring, the one thing he could never seem to help the girl understand---the destructive power of a vengeful spirit.

As each new harvest waxes and wanes and that scared little girl becomes a woman, What will it take for the virtuous healer to go from forbidding revenge to actually laying the way for her? When one of his own is brutally murdered by a tyrannical king and a dark prophecy seems ripe to unfold, he will make such a choice and their world will never be the same.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Loren Elias
• Release date: Dec 7, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301109517

Loren Elias

I am a city dweller living in the Southern United States who often dreams, as many of us do,of times when you would ride two weeks on horseback to get to the next city, news spread upon the lips of a bard, and your life could be snuffed out at any time by an offended mage.I am a student of world religion, philosophy, linguistics and history; a practitioner of martial arts and a dabbler in alternative medicines.I come from a long line of Healers. Nurses, Doctors, and Pharmacists(once called witches) are among my ancestors so my current project, The Healer's Creed Series, while set in fantasy-based medieval times, is both a tribute to the healing arts and an allegory of sorts for the contradictions that plague a Healer as he strives to uphold the creed to which he has sworn himself in modern times.From the Hippocratic Oath:... I will keep them from harm and injustice.I will neither give a deadly drug to anybody if asked for it, nor will I make a suggestion to this effect. Similarly I will not give to a woman an abortive remedy. In purity and holiness I will guard my life and my art.I will not use the knife, not even on sufferers from stone, but will withdraw in favor of such men as are engaged in this work...What I may see or hear in the course of the treatment or even outside of the treatment in regard to the life of men, which on no account one must spread abroad, I will keep to myself holding such things shameful to be spoken about.If I fulfill this path and do not violate it, may it be granted to me to enjoy life and art, being honored with fame among all men for all time to come; if I transgress it and swear falsely. may the opposite of all this be my lot. End.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

He could not say why it caught his eye---The shimmer of the golden stalks rising up from the mural of fertile fields, one yellow sun tripping nourishing light past an eastern horizon. It was not his first visit. He should have just walked right by it. He knew his purpose, their purpose. They had not been called to this place to take in the sights and smells of the Palace Habenhold as convincing a temptress as she might be.

Yet, as he entered the room, the Altar of Ceres greeted him. He could not avoid her abundance. Every manner of flower and grain and fruit and nut, bushels of melon, baskets of barley, the first fruits of the land, Ceres’ bounty flowing down her steps across the marble floor. He pulled up a slipping hood, tried to look away, reminding himself of his purpose.

He hastened from the entry way, past a dozen high windows, half a dozen white stone columns toward the carved wooden table where strategy was laid, alliances forged and in many cases the very fate of Nine Worlds decided.

Darkness crept in through the windows as Lesser Sun melted into the land. The shadows might have reached them had it not been for the torches lining unblemished walls. They surrendered the most welcoming glow as the he rounded the table to find his seat.

He shook though the room lay pleasantly agreeable; for the Palace Habenhold, as magnificently as it caressed the senses, bore a certain eerie chill. And it brought him no wonder; for no less than a mirage encased him, a beautifully rendered image upon a crumbling ruin. He tried to forget it even for a moment, make himself believe what dark eyes beheld, but anytime Builder Magic littered the air, little could be said to be as it seemed.

Weighted eyes peered out from beneath a heavy forest hood, worn from weeks of travel both, to see familiar faces. First that of Olev, a wise old dragon, no less than his brother, no greater friend. Olev lifted his jaw to one side and narrowed an eye in subtle greeting. Healer, good to see you, My Friend

Olev. The Healer replied as he dredged a crooked smile before turning to the man in the chair next to him.

Sajjan spared not a glance as his face held only weight of a human face bearing the grief that called them to this place.

The Healer sighed, lifting his chin to allow a coarse hood to slide from his face, revealing a head of straight black hair and a gently weathered face.

Dirwan swooshed past him as she straightened pink frilly skirts to taut and took her seat. A mound of soft brown curls framed fair, rouged cheeks. She looked as if she were attending a ball of the royal court not an important meeting such as this, but The Healer thought it nothing out of the ordinary. After all, as he bore the blood of the Healer Line, so was she of the Builders. Throughout history Builders had been known for their infatuation with extravagance. No greater proof of the fact existed. Were these rooms not of her imaginings alone?

Of no compare, Dirwan’s dress was, to the attire of Hapaku following close behind her in a simple smock. Two long, thin braids grey but not with age capped her shoulders. A scarf wrapped her head tightly, lest she suffer the dishonor of a revealed ear. Her appearance fell quite in keeping with the traditional vestments of her people, the Brocacians a land across the great waters far removed from the Healer's home. Hapaku, of the race Broiack was born of the line called Harvester.

As Hapaku approached them Olev only lifted a smooth-scaled head. A slender tail flicked from one side to the other and then came to rest again. A nimble back arched a bit and then he just lay there, with eyes as big as Hapaku’s head following her as she reached the table and pulled a chair at Jabari’s right side. Dirwan had settled at his left down the long side of the table. Sajjan sat across from them next to an empty chair--- a bitter reminder of the events that had summoned them here.

Finally, Sophrena of the Seer line entered with a scurry of dark plump, spindly legged attendants circling around her. Her eight hollow eyes shot out across the room and seeing everyone there at last, she swooshed her attendants away as her body transformed from that of a spider one and a half as tall as a man to a gaunt woman with piercing grey eyes and flowing black hair.

Actually, she took the form of a gavi. But few at that table had ever seen a gavi, so they could only think of her as a very tall, thin human woman with long pointed ears. Nothing else made sense in their minds. She took her place at the foot of the table.

Only then, did Olev expend the energy to slink his scaly head. The old dragon’s body again rested just behind Sajjan. Olev's head curled around and up at the front of the table.

Dirwan, who sat closest to him, elongated a narrow neck, up-tilting a pointed chin to look him in the eye.

Two massive claws stood so nearly the height of the table. Talons dragged across stone.

Dirwan pressed delegate hands into her ears to block the sound.

Olev spoke in a roar of a voice, quite characteristic of a dragon his size. Despite quite concerted efforts to adjust his volume, as far as those around were concerned he spoke in a voice so nearly unbearable, a booming roar. Builder?

Present. Dirwan answered as the Balancer spoke her line.

Healer?

Present. A low voice rumbled from beneath Jabari’s weighted face.

Harvester?

Hapaku raised her head. Present, Dear.

Artist?

Sajjan sighed at the unspoken void left by Olev's failure to call for the Historian line prior to his own Present. He looked toward the empty seat at his side then away.

Jabari’s heart ached.

Olev paused, with the calling of each line more painful than the last.

Sophrena spared him the misery. The Seer is present and who stands among us to represent the Line of Balance?

I do. Olev spoke, blinking once then twice the two massive orbs that were his knowing eyes. I call this meeting to order. Let it be written that on the day which has seen fifteen Haerfests of the rule of Ruric that the Order of E’epa doth convene. As it was in that day that our father’s father’s father’s father were called upon the mount E’ epa to uphold the Five Virtues as we guide our peoples. He turned keen sight if not his head to Jabari. Will you do the honors? Ju’s glance fell upon an ancient text tightly woven yet fraying with age as it lay folded into Jabari’s guarding grasp.

Jabari nodded, rolling a thumb across crumbling pages, that without a spot of magic would most certainly have long since returned to the land that beget them. With a shifting eye he found that place, those words no one wanted to hear. He knew they had heard it a hundred times. Undoubtedly they knew the words by heart. As if bringing the word to the air yet again would somehow increase their understanding, he spoke. Here it is. I know we have all heard these words spoken to us from our earliest Haerfest. A foreboding, a warning of a day to come. I have brought with me on this long journey a book which has been with us since near the beginning. A book of prophecy. This book holds that warning that all of us have been raised to heed. He was stalling and he knew it. He just did not want to say the words written nearly a thousand Haerfests past that now seemed finally to be becoming their reality. Finally he freed the words into the air. When the final light is cut, darkness reigns.

Dirwan gasped a shrill cry, again covering her ears as if puffy, pink sleeves could protect her, could make it not be so if she just blocked it out.

Sophrena’s dark, hollow eyes surveyed her surroundings before returning to them. Thin, pale lips cracked as she spoke. The Final Light. Sophrena repeated those solemn words. Through the generations, there has been speculation as to what this means. But now, now, in this time, it is clear as the day is long that the Historian Lucius was the ‘final light.’ Sophrena folded her gavi arms and then unfolded them and then folded them again as if she did not know what to do with such worthless appendages. Cut down as he was without an heir for the E’epans by a wretched human, an evil king of the land Aletheia that many of us call home. Now comes the Darkness. When his mother died like she did of the sickness we should have known, we should have locked that boy up, bred him until we got our heir, but now, now the Historian line is gone forever. An unseen force threw Lucius’ chair back away from the table. It cracked against the far wall, unable to stand the force, shattering into a million little splinters.

Dirwan wept.

Jabari drew trembling hands to rest against dry lips. But we didn’t know. No one knew what the prophecy meant. Not until now. Hands fell hard to the heavy wooden table. What’s done is done. But still we move forward, as we must. Jabari knew they should have figured it out but they had not and now all they could do was move forward, plan for the future, brace themselves for the looming darkness ahead.

Dirwan shook her head, with eyes so barely parted as if she might be brought again to tears. We need to prepare. We must help the people through this. Ruric’s reign thus far has been a thing greater than the conjurings of the night, but now that the last light it cut.

Jabari could not believe he lived to see this time, a time spoken through the ages as being some distant future, some tragic fate for mankind used to spurn young E’epans to stay focused on their purpose. Now here they were actually facing it. It frightened him beyond words. But he knew he had to be strong. Greater strength had never been needed in his lifetime. But if it were strength that these times demanded, strength he could not say he had.

Sajjan sank thick fingers into a head of thicker hair of deepest brown. We have to do something. We can’t just allow this to happen. Stay in the background, cleaning up the slaughter that lies ahead. His tone lay cool but growing apprehension rang apparent. Again he ran his fingers across straight brown strands, pushing them away from the frame of his face, then allowing them to fall again around cheeks of wind-brushed red.

Sophrena, with dark hair flowing down knobby shoulders of the fairest complexion could not hide her contempt. We’ll not do what you are thinking. You know that the E’epan must never interfere in the rule of our peoples. We have been called up out of respective peoples to stand apart from such things. She swept a wayward black curl away from her vision and glanced toward the darkening windows beyond then back to them.

Sajjan leaned forward with posture fierce, eyes intent. But they are not your people who must endure this. You would stand by if the land of Brocacia were prophesied to befall such a fate? Wouldn’t you try to change it? He looked to Jabari and Dirwan for affirmation. Jabari, Dirwan and I must think of Aletheia our land, our home, our people.

Jabari’s eyes rounded the table, making note of each expression he found there. The greatest weaver could not have woven a strand tighter than the purpose that held them there. He knew them all well, had spent many a day in that very hall discussing matters of the world. But the matters of debate had always centered on a drought in the Ganda Region. How do we get water to them? A battle between lands. How could the conflict be resolved? Nothing---nothing like this---of such grave concern where the fate of humanity itself now found a new dwelling upon their shoulders.

Olev lifted a scaly head higher, looked around to all of the E’epans there, each line represented save one. Such a plague will not stay in Aletheia. When he saw Dirwan reach for tender human ears he lowered that resounding voice yet again. Brocacia’s fate is in the same basket as are all regions of Nine Worlds. Broiack and Brim, Gavi and Spider. Human and Qaan’u. None will be spared.

Then maybe. Maybe there is something we can do. Hapaku’s eyes were insistent, her tone firm. We could depose Ruric.

Olev released a hardy laugh. Have you any idea what that would mean? Who in Aletheia could take his place? Between this King and the last, every Qi, every High Councilor, every General who opposed him has been killed. Even their heirs were wiped out. They risked no rivals. Not a highborn still lives who could rule the land. You cannot just hand off the mantle to a peasant and say ‘Here, rule Aletheia. You are King now.’ Utter Nonsense.

Jabari could hear a hint of distain in the Balancer’s voice but he knew that Olev spoke the truth.

One of the Kanas of Brocacia could lead the land out of this dark time until a suitable human can be found. Hapaku spoke between the biting of her lower lip. One scaled cheek rose higher as an upward ridged brow sank to meet it.

Jabari pondered the suggestion, before thoughtfully selecting next words. No Offense, Hapaku, Jabari lifted a hand to the fiercely shaking shoulder of his dear friend. But that could very easily be turned against us. As much respect as we all have have for the Brocacian people, a High Lord from a foreign land taking Ruric’s place could be twisted by loyalists into a Brocacian invasion. That’s the last thing we want. The tie between Brocacia and Aletheia must stay strong if we are to survive this. Jabari stood for a moment, re-positioning protesting robes. He closed the book, its purpose met.

When he had again taken his seat, Hapaku made her reply. It was just an idea.

Duly noted as an option. Olev interjected with a voice echoing through the great hall. We are wasting our time talking about replacements. We must keep our focus. With one line gone, are the others safe? The old dragon closed heavy eyes in weary display and then opened them again with some effort. We are already hunted by Ruric. But in the fifteen Haerfests he has held rule none of us have ever seen our strands cut by him, sent across the river. Now that he has made it past that mark, will it not embolden him to double his efforts, to take out the E’epans who he has professed have no place in the modern world. The hunt will be on and before you know it we will have Ruric pressing forward on the caves of the Jagged.

A fool’s errand. Dirwan eyes dove as she straightened a bit of lace upon her pink sleeve. They would be consumed by the swamp. Her eyes again rose into a slipping glance.She had never been to the Jabari’s home, the Jagged as he affectionally called it, but all E’epans knew of it.

Teeth peered through cracking lips as Olev spoke. How many men do you think the swamp can eat? A thousand. Ten Thousand. A Hundred thousand. Ruric will keep going until the swamp has had its fill and then the Jagged will be his.

All the more reason to stop him now. Sajjan sat back in the ornate, wooden chair and pulled large hands into clasp upon the edge of the table.

We must do something. Dirwan looked as if she might be brought to tears should the mood in the room not quickly shift to calm.

Sophrena kept her poise. All the more reason we should not waste our efforts on talking about replacements and focus on keeping the lines safe from harm. Her hands discreetly folded in her lap as she spoke through thin, pale gavi lips. We’re talking nonsense. Deposing kings. That’s not what E’epans do. It’s not our Charge. When the last god called our ancestors forth on the Mount called E’epa, he bestowed upon each line a great gift. And with those gifts came a Charge. We do not just change our Charge when the mood so carries us.

Jabari’s vision floated away from Sophrena to Hapaku sitting near her.

From the look in Hapaku’s eyes, Jabari could see that she pondered all sides on the conversation with some consideration. She spoke. Maybe these times call on us to be more than we have ever needed to be.

Maybe it is not our Charge. Jabari spoke up, turning to Sophrena then back to Hapaku. But maybe, in these modern times, we must be something more. He could not believe that such blasphemy had crossed his lips. He wanted to take it back, but could not.

Dirwan continued his sentiment. Ruric says we don’t matter in modern times. Maybe it is because we cling to the old ways. We do not accept that things are changing. Maybe we have to change too.

Yes. Sophrena cleared her gavi throat. Why don’t we all rush in on the castle and end all of our lines now. Sophrena had had enough. It was going nowhere. The human E’epans were mad to think such a thing and Hapaku, of the broiack race, their fellow Brocacian, of whom she would expect better, just encouraged them.

Sophrena slunk from her chair, a waifly body transforming as she went back to the plump black body with eight delicate legs that revealed her true self.Humans who spoke nonsense, understood nothing.

She turned her head back, catching glimpse of the three humans and Hapaku sitting at the table and Olev sitting beside it. She could see in aging eyes, he felt just as defeated as she. She could see in their eyes that they considered doing the things of which they spoke. Sophrena spoke from a voice that sounded like it came from a distant place. I’m going to freshen up before dinner. When we reconvene I hope we’ll be ready to talk real solutions not foolhardy ones. She exited the room with a huff. Ten attendants met her at the door, squeaking about in their own language, trying to calm her apparent rage as they came up around her, escorted her out.

Olev rose, stretching a massive form, whipping his tail up, creating a coil of air that blew Dirwan’s hair back from her face. We’re all tired and hungry. We’ve journeyed far to meet here. Maybe we possessed err in judgement, trying to discuss this on an empty stomach. I’ll see you all for dinner. Scales popped and cracked as he stood. It’s nap time. He turned from them, ducking low through the high doorway. Olev had no escort nor did he need one.

CHAPTER 2

Sajjan placed hefty hands behind a narrow neck and leaned back in his chair. He might have toppled, had he not kept thick leather boots of freshly shined black firmly planted under the table’s gold-inlaid edge. Well, now that we have the negativity out of the room, maybe decisions can be made.

Jabari swiped cold sweat from a rising cheek. Commitment to Five Virtues and his calling, the calling they all shared so tore at him, so cried out that he follow Sophrena and Olev, just walk out. But he could not. As much as he might not like the options that his brethren obviously felt left them, he could not walk away from them. They make good argument. We would really have to be certain that this is the thing to do. In a thousand Haerfests, never has an E’epan thought to interfere in this way. Jabari shared their fears of what lay ahead but he could not allow that fear to drive them to destruction. How would we do it?

Before we could even think of how, we would have to think of who. Who could we choose to take his place? What Olev says is true. He had left the room but a Balancer’s ageless wisdom could not be overlooked. Hapaku wrung plump hands in thought. There is no one left in humanity who could rule, noone alive who could begin to understand the complexities of such a task.

Why not one of us? Dirwan spoke lightly, tossing loosened curls off one shoulder and swiping her brow.

Jabari could not believe she had spoken those words. But he knew well she had not been the only one at the table for whom this thought had grazed the mind. Somehow it felt good to have it out into the room as contrary to the Charge as it might be. Someone had to be brave enough to say the words that no one at that table dared speak, but he could not entertain the thought for a moment. That was simply not what they had been called to do.

After a pause, Dirwan continued. We know this land. We know these people Her voice hung in the air. Not immediately shot down, she continued. We understand law and rule. More than most Kings and Queens, Councilors and Qi’s I might add. It is part of our training.

Silence held them.

Jabari swiped a heavy hand across shining brow and released a puff of air from his cheeks. I understand what you are saying, Builder. But it gives me a very bad feeling. This is absolutely against the Charge given to us upon the Mount. It’s like mixing Sho-sho and Scuntiweed. The Healer Jabari pondered the thought. Both very useful instruments of healing but put them together; you’ll make a man go blind. Ruling is not something we should do. Jabari shifted in his seat, preparing to follow Olev and Sophrena’s lead. Maybe he had staid too long. He just did not want to be a part of a discussion that included making an E’epan a King.

Dirwan’s eyes lay in pensive thought. Curls crept upon her cheeks like a pit of serpents. Her smile beamed through the maze. What if only for a time? A Regent of sorts. Just until one could be found.

Sajjan did not immediately dismiss the idea. With Ruric gone, we could move about freely, without fear. We could really find that one who could lead us in the modern world. He returned all four feet of his chair to the ground. Imagine, Jabari, you could set up schools of the healing arts rather than instruct from the shadows. Dirwan could design great cities to protect and help the poor. Hapaku could freely visit the human land, share her knowledge and wisdom cultivating the land and bringing forth a good Haerfest. All can prosper.

Hapaku apparently liked the thought of it. It is not right the way E’epans are treated in Aletheia. You deserve honor and respect but since the rule of Ruric has begun, you fear for your very lives. Honor and Respect for the E’epans of Aletheia, I say. Back to your rightful place. As myself, Olev and Sophrena are honored in Brocacia, so should you four be, Hapaku stopped as a lump came to her throat. Her gubazo ridge flared across one plated cheek. She scraped away a tear. Three. She corrected her misspeaking, Lucius no longer among them. We’ll bring honor to Lucius by returning the E’epans of Aletheia to their rightful place.

Joy filled Dirwan’s face. Walking about freely is something I’ve not done in a very long while. The Builder played the soft lace upon her wrist across her cheek. Healer, is it wrong that I covet the freedom that such an act might promise. It will only take one of us ruling for a short time. I could have a proper escort of pretty maidens and dashing young gentlemen, not a small army with me at every moment. I could live in a palace with beauty around me, not a dark tower in the forbidding Angharad Forest where the only thing of beauty I might see is of my own conjuring and will always fade in time.

A vote then? Sajjan spoke with some conviction. The Artist appeared ready to do this. We have hidden in the shadows for too long.

Jabari did not like the haste with which they moved to this decision. Should we not wait for Sophrena and Olev to…?

Hapaku cut in. They would never take part in this. But like you said, Sajjan, it’s not our land that is of immediate concern. If you three are of one mind I will support it and I cast my lot with the humans. Many Haerfests have brought us together to this place. I would think any of you a capable leader for the land for a time.

A vote. Dirwan laid her left hand upon the table with open palm and fingers curled slightly, signaling that she wished a vote to begin.

A vote. Sajjan did the same.

Healer Jabari suddenly felt queasy. The three looked to him. What was he to do? He could not say that the prospect of again being held in a place of esteem in the land did not have appeal, but at what risk. Doing something that their father’s father’s fathers going back to that day on the Mount had been forbidden to do. He knew what he had to do and he would do it. He extended his left hand and placed a firm palm down on the table.

Hapaku sighed. Jabari could not say if it arose from relief that she did not have to be the nay-sayer or purely exhaustion.

Dirwan smiled an understanding smile, patting Jabari on the shoulder as she rose. I guess it's dinner time. I’m going to wash up. She wiped a cold sweat from her brow.

Sajjan pushed himself and chair from the table. As the chair shifted out past the rug, it raked across the floor.

Dirwan grabbed her ears as it echoed through the room.

Sajjan surrendered a look of apology for the offense and stood up, arms out and up, stretching. As the Artist extended a narrow neck back, dark hair flew out as if by a great wind, hung in the air for a moment and then dropped into place as he regained his poise. He walked toward the door. Call me for dinner.

Dirwan nodded, before looking back to the table that the three humans had just left, chairs all in disarray. Dirwan shook her head in disapproval. She shifted her hand in their direction and they all lifted and moved forward into place.

Hapaku, still seated let out a little squeal as her chair rattled beneath her. She stood and moved toward the door and her chair became one with the table.

Only Lucius’ chair remained. No need existed. It lay shattered on the stone. Dirwan sighed under her breath. We will avenge you, my brother, we will avenge. She turned, smiling to Jabari as she swayed across the marble with windows to her left and a row of intricately carved columns to her right.

Finally, he stood alone, in that vast place where plans had been laid for generations past. They were all such a small part of the E’epan legacy. Yet what they thought to do could change the course of modern existence. Change their role in society forever. He hoped they could make the right decision whatever that might be.

His mind wandered to the image of his impetuous, young First Guard, Ren’ai. How many times had she sought revenge for what had happened to her family at the hand of the one who had now been named Lucius’ murderer? How many times had Jabari swayed her from such thought? Warned her of the dangers of a vengeful spirit? Disparaged her fanciful thoughts of the E’epans removing King Ruric from power, naming another?

And yet, here he found himself among the descendants of those called upon the Mount named E’epa nearly one thousand Haerfests past, those upon whom great gifts had been bestowed, those who had been called by the last god departed to be teachers and protectors, those who were said to uphold the Five Virtues, contemplating such an act. Throwing away everything that they stood for. Everything they had been called to be to avenge their fallen brother, to avert a prophecy long feared by their kind, to name one among them Ruler of Aletheia.

They had endured so much at the hand of King Ruric, but had the Healer not told Ren’ai from the time she was just a young apprentice, "Revenge. It seems a thing to right a wrong, but destroys the avenger no less than the focus of her wrath. It is a path I would advise you not to follow." He could not say why then he now considered breaking, this, his most valued creed. He could not say, but the fact remained, he had not immediately purged the thought from a turmoil- ridden mind as he had insisted time and again his apprentice must do. And for that he could call himself a hypocrite, but when during Ruric’s reign had life not been a contradiction, fighting to teach, killing to heal. The times defined him. Maybe the times needed a new kind of E’epan. Maybe these times called to them, shaped all of them, as rigid as they might be, into something more.

CHAPTER 3

(Seven Haerfests Past)

She could not have held more pride, dancing around to this side and to that, watching the frills and lace rippling about her knees as Jourdan Creek after a big rain. The looking glass before her shared her glee as it twinkled with the fading of Lesser Sun just beyond a bedroom window, a perfect square positioned low over the sturdy wooden frame of a bed from which a quilt dusted the plank floors.

Another little dance overtook the little girl with hands on her hips swinging her top to the right and to the left, extending this leg and that. She surrendered to herself an extra big smile, corners turned up wide and eyes squinted tight lest they burst with joy. It’s perfect, Mama.

Glad you like it, My Darling, but it looks no different than it did two nights past when you tried it on. Mother pulled the girl’s shoulder up and back, before curling around to pinch the waist to assure its proper fit.

Oh, no. That was before you added the lace along the bottom. Before, it might have been mistaken for a work dress. Now it’s fit for royalty. She darted a little head around her mother as if unbearable the moment in which she could not see herself. Ren’ai did not profess to know much about royalty but she could not imagine a princess could wear a dress much finer. Green, it was, like the buds on a sapling, tight to her shapeless chest, flaring out at the hip before cascading down to bony knees.

I’m glad you like it. Mother laid a tender hand upon her daughter’s arm. As Ren’ai’s hand came up to meet her affection, Mother started at the coarseness of the girl’s touch. She hoped Ren’ai had not noticed the shock.

Since Ren’ai could walk she had been apprentice to her father’s trade. From the time her tiny hands could wrap around twinlin pole, she had been coiling twine. From the time she could lift a hammer she had laid the spikes home. And no sooner had she raised her first water pitcher than she wielded her father’s axe against the mighty oak and cedar. From the time her eyes held light she did not see a tree but the chair, table or wagon she and her father might build from it.

Such labor spared not a girl the callused palm and splintered finger. Having seen but eleven Haerfests she held the strength rivaling any boy five Haerfests her elder. And she dared one to test her. Her arms held firm curves even if her chest and hips yet lacked.

She was her father’s greatest pride and she knew it. Though he be the finest craftsman in the Four Cities, his greatest joy was that his daughter so shared the same passionate love and proven skill of the axe and the hammer and a job well done. After all, he had to protect his family name at all cost. He would bring honor to the Name of Ren and see that honor carried into the next generation.

She remembered the first piece she had built from start to finish. Having seen only eight Haerfests at the time, she had never thought she could do it: felling the tree, quartering the timber, shaping the legs even, weaving the seat strand by strand to completion. She remembered the first sit of her father, testing the integrity, judging her work, then the smile, oh, the smile, on that worn and determined face as he rose, scooping her up to sit upon one broad shoulder, then dancing in circles as he sung her praises.

And when he showed it to Big Sister and Mother how they put on their smiles and told her what a fine job she had done, but she could hear in their voices that they had no idea if the work be good or be bad. A chair stood before them. Ren’ai curtsied to their praises anyhow.

What they thought mattered little. To her and her father not a chair but a work of art they had created and their buyers deserved no less than their best and they would sooner fall upon their blades than to allow a piece not perfect to leave the shop.

Yes, Big Sister Ren’iv could never understand. Her mind lay elsewhere. She would cook a glorious meal of roasted squirrel and steamed shalon greens but never would she think to take a piece of wood, whittle it to form and build something that would provide use for Haerfests hence. But Ren’ai could only be grateful. Better Ren’iv to tend to household duties with Mother and leave Ren’ai to help her father increase their household purse.

Ren’ai loved her sister despite their differences. Not only was a meal prepared by her sister beyond compare but Ren’ai thought Ren’iv had to be the most beautiful person in all of Aletheia. She was tall with long perfectly proportioned thighs, not too skinny like some of the girls in town. She held elegant poise, a lovely dress of her own design creeping down to her ankles to swish with each soft stride, no sleeves to hide shoulders narrow and firm. Her neck reached up to her chin slightly pointed out. Rosy cheeks met the edges of her lips in a perpetual smile. Plump were her pink lips and always scented with lavi oil which brought a slight shimmer. Full lashes shadowed sapphire eyes balancing deep brown, almost black hair, always pulled back, not a strand to stray, into a tight braid which sailed down to the back of her knees.

Quite a contrast, it was, to little Ren’ai with her dirty brown hair cut a thumb’s length from her scalp. She had chopped it herself. She could not have it getting in her way. A dress once new, always stained with wood dyes and sap. Avoiding this outcome she found an insurmountable task. She did not share her sister’s height, at least not yet. Her shoulders were broad and defined from the swinging of an axe and her eyes a dull grey like granite at twilight. Quite unspectacular they were. Upon her face always the contemplation of what the next task would be.

But here she stood in her new green dress. She swore this one she would treat better. Never would it see a hammer in her hand, never hear the thud of a great spruce, never snag on a prickly vine or find her wading into Glenrock River to redirect a straying log. This would be her special, special dress, the one she would wear to Haerfest Balls and someday her sister’s wedding.

It would not be long now, seventeen Haerfests and one could never call Sister lacking in wooing suitors. But as many as had made the offer, she could never accept. There was always something wrong with each. Something no amount of money or charm could overcome. This one had a big nose. That one had bad teeth. She did not like the color of this one’s hair. Ren’ai hoped she would be wise though, choose one who would treat her well, provide for her as she deserved, and make many beautiful children. But that is why towns host Haerfest ball. Maybe tonight she would find the one.

Ren’ai straightened her dress down shapeless hips as she bounded down the stairs as if tumbling down a valley wall to get to the prized blue spruce.

A man met her at the base, dressed in a finely weaved suit with hair combed back and slicked. Upon his balding head a high-brimmed hat. She held back laughter as she looked up into those familiar eyes, before throwing her arms up around a thick neck. You look funny, Papa. He smelled a sickening sweet smell of carrot water, not of the pine sap which would have wafted across her nose as a scent recognizable. She could not think of