The Raie'Chaelia

By Melissa Douthit

What People Are Saying

"Douthit’s love of words is apparent and her use of language highly inventive. She has a firm grip on believable dialogue."
- Kirkus Reviews

"Lively, fast-paced and satisfyingly complex! Can’t wait for the second in the trilogy!"
- Diane Donovan, eBook Reviewer, Midwest Book Review

"An exceptional tale with plot twists and turns that cannot be predicted. If you like Eragon, you will like this. It keeps you wanting more."
- Ian Derrick

"What a great story! I really enjoyed reading this adventure. It definitely kept me on my toes."
- Annell Schmerfeld, Dragonflowers and Books

Story Summary
When Chalice sets off for Branbury in the middle of the night with her grandfather's instructions, she has no idea of the dangers that await her. The King's men have destroyed her home village of Canton and she is suddenly thrown into a Terravailian world that she does not know. Lost and alone, she is hard pressed to evade the iron grasp of the madman who rules the land. With the help of a friendly Chinuk, an old man, and a book that she discovers along the way, not only does she find true friends and true love, but she also finds her true self and what it means to be the Raie'Chaelia.

About the Author
Melissa Douthit grew up in North County of San Diego, California. After graduating with a Computer Science degree in Southern California, and working for a summer at the National Radio Astronomy Observatory in New Mexico, she moved to the Bay Area to work at NASA Ames Research Center for a year and then at Lawrence Livermore National Lab for another four years. From there, she moved to Monterey, California, to work at the Naval Postgraduate School on a government project for two years. She currently lives in Salt Lake City, Utah, working with the Army Corps of Engineers on another government project. Since high school, she has been a voracious reader of books of all genres, with an emphasis in fantasy and science fiction. Her literary work is strongly influenced by her professional experience and includes many elements of her scientific background.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melissa Douthit
• Release date: May 27, 2011
• ISBN: 9781452434636

Melissa Douthit

Melissa Douthit grew up in North County of San Diego, California. After graduating with a Computer Science degree in Southern California, and working for a summer at the National Radio Astronomy Observatory in New Mexico, she moved to the Bay Area to work at NASA Ames Research Center for a year and then at Lawrence Livermore National Lab for another four years. From there, she moved to Monterey, California, to work at the Naval Postgraduate School on a government project for two years. She currently lives in Salt Lake City, Utah, working with the Army Corps of Engineers on another government project. Since high school, she has been a voracious reader of books of all genres, with an emphasis in fantasy and science fiction. Her literary work is strongly influenced by her professional experience and includes many elements of her scientific background.

Book preview

The Raie Chaelia

By Melissa Douthit

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All material contained herein is Copyright © Melissa Douthit 2014. All rights reserved. Cover and map artwork by Charles Nemitz.

The following story is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and events were fabricated by the author, from the author’s imagination. Any likeness to actual names, people, places, or events is purely coincidental.

With the exception of citation in articles and reviews, this work may not be used, copied, reproduced, printed, forwarded, or circulated in any form without the express written permission of the author.

ISBN 978-1-452-43463-6

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For more works by this author, please visit:

http://www.melissadouthit.com/

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This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table Of Contents

Table Of Contents

Map of Naeo'Gaea

Preface

Prologue

Chapter 1 - The Road to Branbury

Chapter 2 - A Childhood Friend

Chapter 3 - The Delphaline

Chapter 4 - The Raie’Chaelia

Chapter 5 - Flight into the Mountain

Chapter 6 - The Huskamau

Chapter 7 - Trouble in the High Pass

Chapter 8 - White Beauty

Chapter 9 - Woodrock

Chapter 10 – Benjamin Graeystone

Chapter 11 - Jezebelle’s Gift

Chapter 12 - The Life of the Terravail

Chapter 13 - A Secret Passage

Chapter 14 - The Cedarwood University

Chapter 15 - A Narrow Escape

Chapter 16 - The Quaie’Miren

Chapter 17 - The Morning Dawn

Chapter 18 - The Voyage to Auvergny

Chapter 19 - Chainbridge

Chapter 20 - The Lost City of Barenthren

Epilogue

Afterword

About the Author

Map of Naeo'Gaea

Preface

On the morning of 21st of September, 2007, I sat down at my computer with a cup of coffee and clicked a familiar bookmark on my internet browser. The link took me to a website that I knew well. In doing so, I learned that one of my favorite authors had passed away. His name was James Oliver Rigney, Jr., also known as Robert Jordan. The website was www.dragonmount.com.

Ever since I was seventeen, I have been reading his epic fantasy series, The Wheel of Time. I remember buying the first book, The Eye of the World, from a local bookstore and rushing home to read it. I remember it like it was yesterday. To this day, after twenty-one years, I am still reading his series as it quickly draws to a conclusion in its final completion by Brandon Sanderson.

I never thought I could be a writer given that my talents lie in other areas, mostly in mathematics and science, but when I learned of Jordan’s passing, I decided to start writing a story that I had been tossing around in my head for a while. The ideas were there but the realization of those ideas into a book was a problem. I didn’t believe that I could do it. So, that morning, inspired by Jordan’s life story, I sat down and started typing. I soon found that by having read his books, as well as many others by other authors, the writing came naturally and the words flowed. The following novel is the result of that day.

Now, years later, my first novel has been published. It is a novel with both a storyline and a background theme. The ideas for the story were conceived out of a desire to write a fantasy that was different from any other I had read in the past. The entire story required a few years to fully develop, but I believe I have achieved my original intention — keeping it different. I am hoping that you, its reader, will feel that difference and love it.

Thank you for reading my story. I hope you enjoy it.

Very Respectfully,

Melissa Douthit

In Memoriam

James Oliver Rigney, Jr.

October 17, 1948 to September 16, 2007

A good man and a great writer

May he rest in peace

Prologue

Waves pounded the shoreline, spraying mist into the wind that stirred white sands glittering in the moonlight. A dark ship with dark sails, anchored in the reef, swayed with the movement of the water and the wind. In the distance, black, threatening thunder clouds roiled in the sky over the ocean, hurling fierce lightning bolts through the rain. It was a magnificent storm that was swiftly approaching.

From the glistening beach, moist air blew upwards, carrying the ocean’s salt toward a towering cliff. Wind in the subterranean caverns that wove deeply into the heart of the land whistled a musical sound that echoed through the winding passages, falling just short of discovering underground secrets that were lost to the ages. Outside, the sea spray floated up the side of a cliff that ended at the foot of colossal walls of a great, white palace. Constructed of a series of concentric towers, the palace was resplendent, even in the night. The constant touch of wind, sand, and water never dulled its shine.

The salty mist came to settle upon an ominous scene in the inner garth of the keep, the highest structure. On the dais, in the middle of the courtyard, lay a fair-haired, bearded man chained to a marble altar. A man in black stood just above him facing the front of a ring of spectators lingering in the shadows. The man in black was tall and broad, with thick black hair sleeked back from his brow and dark eyebrows that slanted menacingly. He appeared anxious. His eyes combed the light of the torches that spotted the mantlet wall of the ward, as if he were looking for minute cracks in it that held the answer.

The man on the altar appeared calm, but his fatigue, to his great relief, could mask even his fear. He was dressed in white robes. It seemed that at least his captors had allowed him that. It was small thing, but a blessing, for the marble was cold … and the night was cold …

I am such a fool! he thought to himself, as he lay there helpless, reflecting upon his mistakes and his regrets, pondering the string of betrayals that had led to this moment. There was nothing he could do about them now. Yet, he couldn’t help but dwell on them, asking himself the same questions he had asked a million times before. Why did I ever lock it away so carelessly? I should never have taken it off. His thoughts taunted him. Why did I let Braywin study something so dangerous, even for the most skilled of the Readers? Sighing, he answered himself. A father’s love, I suppose, but I could have stopped her from the same folly. He sighed again. A husband’s love. He worried about his wife. Alaenia, wherever you are, stay there! Do not return to the palace.

He turned his head toward the man in black. You will never get away with this, Lucce. You know that. It cannot be done, he rasped. His intense blue eyes blazed with an icy rage that he was too weak to physically muster.

Lucce glanced down, temporarily interrupted from his vigilant anticipation, the torchlight dancing devilishly across his face. He glared at the chained man with hateful eyes, dark and full of scorn, shimmering with a red gleam of fire. They wanted to burn what they saw before them.

Quiet, Duquaine, he said with a smugness that masked his apprehension. Lucce looked up again, searching, scanning the courtyard for any sign of movement. We’ve heard enough from you, I think. Now that it comes to me, I should have done this first, he hissed as the blood red stone hanging from the cord around his neck shone brilliantly in the darkness, bathing the scene in an ominous red light.

Duquaine tried to call him a traitor, but his head straightened, forcing his face upwards to peer into the deepness of the night, and then he felt his jaw and hands freeze. He could no longer move any part of his body except his eyes. Chained down, unable to move at all, he regretted his decision to protest. He should have kept silent. At least he had been able to move his hands. He could have used them to escape, somehow. But now it was too late. He was bound.

From a distance, a rapid pounding of feet hit the marble floor announcing Ivan’s arrival. He had been sent to the watch tower to wait for Vlaad’s return and instructed to inform Lucce at once.

Was he back? Duquaine wondered. Did he find it? Then, with a shudder, he thought: No, he couldn’t have. It was hidden. Only the gatekeepers had access and they could never relinquish it. They would die. They were sworn to it, after all, so they knew they would die if they tried to betray the Council. No, they could be trusted, he reassured himself.

Although still unwilling to give up hope, he was disillusioned. For he had trusted Lucce once. He remembered. Thought him his best friend to whom he had trusted his life. Of course, he was sworn too, Lucce. All of the Terravail were. It was law. But if Vlaad had succeeded, Duquaine would be sent away forever. No one in the Realm had the power or the knowledge of how to return him.

What will happen to my family? My people? He could hear his children a few paces away, struggling in their bonds as the city’s clock tower slowly tolled midnight. His forehead beaded with sweat and his heart began to race …

He has returned, my Lord, Ivan said as he scrambled to the first step and bowed down low. He was an unctuous, obsequious little toady, short and squat with dirty brown, matted hair and a chubby, pockmarked face. Duquaine could never tolerate him. He wondered why he had never dismissed him before when he had had the chance. He might have avoided this whole mess.

The slow clop of heavy boots rang out and Ivan looked up toward the west end. Vlaad was like a mountain, tall, broad, and dressed in black mail with the Red Flame of Maalda across his chest. The watchers made a path through their numbers, eager to let him pass. He strode with the grace and air of a king, but his black eyes shone with intentions that were anything but kingly. His dark hair and hooded, black cloak tossed in the night wind as he approached his master, holding his helmet with one arm and a dark leather sack with the other. Just above, black clouds rolled over the palace menacingly, their thunder roaring. The storm was here.

It went well? Lucce said, as more of a command than a question.

More than well, my Lord, Vlaad replied calmly, with a smile that curled his perfect lips.

How did you do it? Lucce was curious. He had faith in Vlaad, more than any other, but he had had his doubts, too. In the deep recesses of his mind, he worried that Duquaine was right, that it couldn’t be done. After his bird had returned with the message, however, he knew there was no more to fear. It could happen that night.

Captured his son. So, he had a choice. His son’s life or his own. He held up the sack. You can see which one he took.

Excellent. And the boy?

I am sorry, my Lord, but I deemed it … he paused, searching for the appropriate word, imprudent, to let survive a son that may one day seek to avenge his father. I am sorry.

No, do not be sorry, Lucce said in a low voice. It was well done. You see, I am glad I set this task to you. You knew exactly what to do.

I thank you, my Lord, Vlaad said with a slight bow.

Now, hand it to me, Lucce commanded. I want to finish this.

There was a brief pause and a faint rustling. Above him, Duquaine saw two hands exchange a dark object. The strong hand with long fingers seized it impatiently and placed it above Duquaine’s heart.

And so, Duquaine, we shall see, who is right and who is worse than dead, Lucce said with contempt as his muscled forefinger pressed the dark green stone firmly into Duquaine’s chest, while his own crimson stone glowed yet again.

He muttered something incomprehensible and it all happened at once. The palace shook as if the land trembled beneath it. Thunder rumbled and lightning struck down. In a powerful flash, a thin disk of bright emerald light radiated from the dark stone, outward in all directions, flowing through anything in its path, and then … Duquaine was gone.

The force of it knocked the crowd off its feet. The chains that had held him fell with a loud clang to the surface of the altar. Everyone slowly rose from the ground as drops of rain began to pour down upon them. There were gasps of astonishment from the unbelievers and a few cheers from the Draaquans. The muffled sobs of two children issued from a dark corner of the courtyard, as maniacal laughter echoed down the empty halls of the keep.

… Many months later …

It was freezing. The latch of the front gate was like ice on her fingers as she lifted it and let herself into the courtyard that she knew so well. Light from the cottage windows reflected off the icicles, glimmering into the trees and onto the blanket of white that covered the ground. The snow, untouched except for her footsteps, sparkled as if multi-colored glitter had been strewn across it.

In the distance, she could hear the bells of the tower ringing in the holiday cheer and songs of merry-making well-wishers going about their business of gift-giving as so many of their ancestors had done for generations past. The smell of chimney smoke beckoned her longingly to come inside where it was warm and stay to enjoy the holiday season with family. She wished she could take part, though she knew she couldn’t. She had responsibilities to tend. The most precious of them was in the small bundle that she cradled in her arms.

Quiet as a mouse, she made her way to the front door where she placed the bundle. Taking a letter from her pocket, she thought of one last thing. She removed the golden ring from her right hand and placed it into the envelope.

My gift to you, she whispered and laid the envelope on top. As she straightened, the door opened and candlelight and warmth flooded the dark porch. A stout man with a grey beard emerged, puffing a pipe. His expression remained calm as he stared at her and the bundle at her feet. She looked into his eyes pleadingly. He nodded. When she saw that he understood, she raised her hand to say goodbye and he returned the gesture. Then, slowly, reluctantly, she turned to leave. The old man gathered the bundle and closed the door carefully, watching her as she left. A hot tear burned down her frozen cheek as she trudged back across the path that she had made in the snow and wondered if she would ever see them again.

Chapter 1 - The Road to Branbury

Chalice heeled Sunny down the cool, dark road. It was early and morning mist covered the leaves of the thick forest with drops of dew that sparkled in the God rays peeking through the treetops. Chirping birds and scuffling forest animals, seeking their first meal of the day, slowly broke the silence of the dawn.

He was a good horse, Sunny, given to her by her grandfather, Papa, before she left Canton Run. However, he did occasionally need a nudge or two when he pretended to be spooked by something unknown to her lurking in the shadows. She had to admit, though, that there was something odd about this place that she sought so desperately. It gave her a strange feeling.

A few paces further, the path brought them out of the knot of trees into a breezy clearing. She winced as she looked up at the horizon into the blue sky and was met by a bright beam of sunlight. As she gazed to the left, she saw a wide, green meadow, brilliantly dotted with white daisies, which sloped gently upward toward the peak of Mount Vaassa. To the right, a sharp cliff rendered a breathtaking view of the valley. It was the northernmost section of the Auramont Vale and barely visible through the low cloud cover that shrouded the land.

She was almost there. She knew. She could feel it. Would he be there? Does he have what I was sent for? she wondered. Reaching down into her saddlebag, she pulled out a piece of bread and cheese that she gnawed hungrily. She was running low and would need to stop in the village for provisions before heading to Nathaniel’s farm. Papa had given her plenty of money that she kept tucked away in her bag: a bulging leather purse of fifty gold coronals, thirty-five silver sterlings, and twenty copper pence. That should be enough for a while, she thought.

You must go to the village of Branbury on the outskirts of Auramont. There is a man, Nathaniel Maehbeck. He has something to give you. He will know what to do. It is essential that you listen to him and follow his instructions. Go. These were the last words she had heard him say before he had her hoisted up onto Sunny, her bags hastily packed, and slapped the horse on the rear, sending him into an immediate gallop.

The King’s men had already seized control of Canton and the smoke from the fires had burned her eyes as she fled into the night. She recalled that as Sunny had launched forward at full speed, she had managed to glance back. Before reaching the protection of the trees, she had seen her grandfather heading off toward the pigeon cage. He must have been going to send a message, she thought. But to whom? Now, she wasn’t even sure if he was still alive. She tried not to think about it.

It was amazing, actually, that she had made it this far. Though, he had taught her well: how to track, find food when coin ran out, stay warm in the cold, and most of all, stay out of sight and keep silent while traveling. It kept her alive. Had he known he would someday send her off on her own, on a quest of which she knew absolutely nothing until now? Not that she knew that much about it. Find a man named Nathaniel and follow his instructions. That was it so far.

And so she had headed east. She knew Auramont was in that general direction from Canton. Using the old map Papa had tossed into her bag, she found her way through Blackburn forest, just south of the Darrenfell Moor, through the Plains of Chauma to the Trui’Quirré Mountains, the path through which she had to negotiate carefully. It skirted the edge of the Praeceps and at the bottom rested a series of razor sharp rocks with which she did not want to become too familiar.

The Praeceps were the steepest cliffs in Naeo’Gaea and provided the only way to pass through the mountains. The Trui’Quirré, or the Three Peaks, were so high, it was impossible to reach the top and survive. On the other side of the mountains, lay Auramont and Branbury was located to the east of Mount Vaassa which was an ancient mountain, the oldest in the chain.

Of course, many of the names on the map that she had were written in the language of old, which was spoken before the beginning of the New Millennium. She could hardly imagine what life must have been like for those who had survived the era before it, living mostly underground to escape the chill of a winter that had lasted for eons. She remembered Papa’s bedtime stories by the fireside and his instruction in Angaulic, the language spoken by those who lived during the Ice Age. He taught her everything he knew, except the story of her past.

Leave and go to a farm in Auramont?! While everyone and everything I’ve known and loved since I was a child are in danger? What is he playing at? Frustrated, tired and saddle-sore, she burned inside to know what it was, this thing that was so important. It was what kept her going. She had been on the road for months and was almost there.

Sunny stumbled slightly and she glanced down to make sure his footing was stable. He must be getting tired, too, she thought. They had been on the trail all night and even the strongest horse would tire without rest. So, she dismounted and walked along by his side, leading him through the clearing. We’ll take a short rest in the trees ahead.

Sunny was a young Palomino gelding, stocky but sturdy, with a blond forelock, tail, and mane, and strong hooves and fetlocks. He had a broad, strong chest and a long stride that made for quick getaways when they were necessary. And he was just the right size for her. She was petite but hardy, for being raised in Canton meant you were trained in the Cantonese fighting arts from an early age and if that didn’t make you tough, nothing would.

Chalice was also very beautiful. She had fair skin and a smooth oval face caressed by long, golden, butternut curls. They folded down the sides of her cheeks and framed her red rosebud mouth, button nose, and large sapphire eyes that were decorated with long dark eyelashes.

She wore an ocean-blue riding habit that was split in the skirt for straddling a horse and laced with a wavy pattern down the sides. It was comfortable and snug in the bosom and waist, but flared out at the bottom. What held in her body heat, though, was her darkly tanned, hooded, riding cloak that she had made out of lambskin. It was resilient and leathery on the outside for protection, and soft and furry on the inside for warmth.

On the ring finger of her right hand, she donned a golden ring with a rare, long-cut, ice-blue diamond set in its heart. She was told that it had once belonged to her mother. On her riding dress, just below her left shoulder, hung a sapphire broach given to her by her grandmother, Naelli.

However much she valued these gemstones from her mother and grandmother, her favored possession was the golden pendant around her neck that she kept close to her skin, under her garments. It held a golden amulet that Papa had had crafted by Elijah, Créone’s master smith who lived on the outskirts of Canton. The amulet was a circle that contained three lines meeting in the center and ending on the perimeter, not quite equidistant from one another, so that they formed what looked like a Y enclosed in the circle.

The amulet was special, not only because it was a gift from Papa, whom she loved dearly, but also because it was the exact shape of a distinct and unique birthmark on her right shoulder. At one time she had been doubtful that she was born with the mark because it was so unusual, but Papa had sworn to it. He called it her lucky charm.

Chalice was just shy of her eighteenth birthday, and he had been preparing something special for her. She suspected that the surprise was not of material gifts, however, but of the knowledge that she longed for her whole life, the knowledge of her family.

All she had ever known about herself, from the earliest she could remember, was that she was Chalice Pandretti, granddaughter to Sebastian and Naelli Pandretti, who ran the Inn and Winery on Canton Run. Of her past and the existence of the rest of her family, she knew nothing. She had always wondered if maybe she had been an unwanted child. It was something that haunted her constantly. When she asked Papa about it, he said that she wasn’t old enough to know, that she must not ask further, and then he remained silent. For the celebration of her eighteenth birthday, he gave subtle hints that he would break that silence, but now it was too late. The village had been attacked and she had had to flee before the King’s men reached the inn.

The path through the clearing was long and she was awestruck by the beauty of the mountain passes. Beautiful but dangerous, she reminded herself. Mount Vaassa was so enormous, the extent of her vision could not reach its snowcapped peaks. It reminded her of all the failed attempts of those in the generations past who had tried to scale it. All the would-be masters of the mountain either froze to death or suffocated from lack of oxygen, that is, if they didn’t perish by a fall to a cold and rocky end.

Fools! she thought. A ridiculously hopeless task. Why would anyone want to undertake it? You’d have to be completely crazy or arrogant … or both. After recently braving the middle passes, as far as she was concerned, having a healthy respect for the mountain was good and wise advice.

Before reaching the end of the clearing and entering the next thicket of trees, she peered back toward the meadow. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but there was something familiar about it, like a faint memory buried under a lifetime of experience. She wondered if maybe she had traveled this way before as a child. If she had, she couldn’t remember and Papa had never said anything about it either. Finally, she shook herself back to reality, and ignoring the thought, continued on.

A bit into the shade of the forest lay a small, flattened area surrounded by pines just off the right side of the path down the slope. There, she and Sunny could make camp and take a short rest, so they descended carefully. She dismounted and tied his reins to the branch of a tree, the ground around which he immediately began searching for all the good green stuff that horses relished. She removed her soft lambskin riding gloves, and after tucking them behind her belt, grabbed a couple of small carrots from her saddlebag.

Here boy, munch on these. She held out her flattened palm and he grabbed them quickly. Then, she dug in the bags again for her water skin. Thirst had taken hold of her and she drank almost half of it in one go. Crisp, refreshing mountain water. There was really nothing like it in Canton. It was fortunate that they had passed a brook a league back where they had filled up; otherwise they would have had to wait until they arrived at the village, which ran alongside the Canterine River.

After a few minutes of searching, she found some wood and kindling, and using her flint and steel, had a crackling fire lit and hot tea in her cup. As she laid a small, woolen blanket from her bag on the ground next to the tree where Sunny was tied, she could hear the rustling of the tree leaves in the breeze. She sat down and rested her head on the trunk. Holding her cup in both hands on her lap for warmth, she faced upward, studying the treetops and the bits of azure sky that peeked in through the gaps of the green canopy above.

Sequoias, she thought. How old were they? She knew that Mount Vaassa was the only mountain where this type of evergreen still grew. They were ancient, just like the mountain, and they existed in the world before the Ice Age, somehow surviving the cold. She thought about the Ancient World and how she would love to have known what it was like living in that time. A golden age where knowledge was so advanced, it even exceeded Terravailian powers in some respects. She tried to imagine it and the more her mind wandered, the more relaxed she became. Her eyes closed. The light breeze was cool and the fire snapped and sizzled … and she was walking down the white marble corridor again.

The wide, marble corridor, embellished with dark tapestries, glowed with radiant light. At the end of the corridor twisted a set of stairs that led to the top of the structure and she knew, without knowing how she knew, that her purpose for being there could be found at the top of the staircase. In defiance, however, she took the left doorway, curious to see the quarters that lay within. She suddenly realized that she had never been these rooms before.

She entered what appeared to be a spacious sitting room that greeted its visitors with a plush Maliyan rug positioned in the middle of the floor. The magnificent rug carried the weight of two large settees, whose legs, carved delicately of polished cedar, shone softly. In between the settees, lay a low wooden table inlaid with gold, which held an empty goblet and a few scattered books. The brilliance of the marble walls cast a soft light around the room and created a warm, peaceful ambience.

She advanced further in and approached the large fireplace to the left that was worked in carved marble until she stood on the white tiles of the hearth. The red-gold flames flickered, radiating a gentle energy throughout the chamber. She turned to examine the intricate Avielian tapestries that adorned the polished wall panels, and found that they depicted battle scenes of long ago.

Who were they? she wondered.

Passing the hearth, she noticed two doorways, one on each side of the sitting room, and a double doorway in front of her, consisting of crystal squares framed in carved cedar, that revealed a terrace behind it overlooking the ocean. In the background, the sky was exploding in a glorious blaze of pink and purple as the rising sun peeked out over the horizon.

As she moved toward the terrace, her gaze met the four-poster bed of the chamber to her left. It was a room that gave the same warmth and comfort as the entry, but was clearly the bedchamber of whoever dwelled here. Whoever it was, she knew they were wealthy, maybe even noble.

A soft, pulsating glow caught her eye and she whirled to the right. It was coming from the other doorway, opposite the bedchamber. Approaching cautiously, she entered a study, furnished with plush chairs and a large, dark writing desk. Behind the desk, the entire wall was an enormous assemblage of bookshelves arrayed with books of varying size and age.

As soon as she was close enough to make out the letters, she read titles: The Reign of Ielierian Kings, The Code of the Realm, and Justice and Redemption. There were more, but she knew there was no time to study them all. Interesting, she thought. These folk must be nobility.

The light did not cease its wax and wane, but pulled her toward a tall, wooden armoire with glass doors that she opened to gaze upon a blue gem enclosed in a crystal case. The light from the gem rose and fell like a heartbeat. She reached for it, but was thwarted by an invisible barrier that stayed her hand. Then, she knew she could not touch it and its beating was somehow telling her that it was time to ascend the staircase.

She made her way back to the end of the corridor and ascended the staircase that led to the entrance of a courtyard. As she entered, she glanced to her right through the embrasure to see the golden ball of the sun over the watery distance. It was full morning and she closed her eyes to the rush of salty air as the wind blew her hair from her face. She could hear the cawing of the sea graels in the distance and smell the rich scent of the ocean. Suddenly, behind her, a clop of horse hooves gave her a start. She pivoted and …

Opening her eyes, she looked straight up into Sunny’s muzzle. The whites of his eyes shone with terror. He was snorting, stomping, and nudging her. Fool! she cursed herself. What did Papa teach you? If you must rest, rest with one eye open.

What is it, boy? she said as she jumped to her feet, spilling her tea which had lost its heat, and stroked his blond neck to calm him. Then, she heard it, the same rustling sound that she had believed to be leaves in the wind. She glanced up toward the path from which they had traveled and glimpsed small, furry ears disappearing over the edge.

She let out an oath. She should have known the difference between the sound of leaves and the sound of a stalker. Tossing down her mug, she bounded up the hillside. Once upon the path, she saw that whatever the creature was, friendly or hostile, it was no longer in sight, but that it had left strange tracks — imprints that she had never seen before.

What is it? she wondered. She tracked them to the other side, marking the areas of displacement of the small ground stones and fallen leaves. These, she followed like breadcrumbs to a great oaden tree with deeply grained bark, supported by enormous, thick roots.

Circling the tree, she came upon a hollow under the roots … that sprouted sage brush?! She thought this was a little too suspicious. Anyone who was learned in the botanical discipline of the Trui’Quirré knew that sage did not grow near oaden trees. So, she crept up silently toward the hollow and in one swift movement, gripped the thicket of brush and threw it aside.

What leapt out of the hole was the last thing she expected. Half her height, a small, brown, furry creature, wearing a light brown, hooded cloak and carrying a small rucksack, brandished a tree branch at her and growled malignantly. It was chubby and had a small mouth with tiny teeth, a small, dark button nose to match tiny, dark button eyes, and fluffy, rounded ears that stuck out from the top of its oversized head. It reminded her of a teddy bear that she had cuddled at night when she was a child. Her lips quivered as she fought a crazy desire to laugh.

The creature registered the look on her face, paused, and growled again, this time raising its arms as if to appear larger. At this point, Chalice could no longer hold back. Nearly in tears, she let out a loud snort of laughter.

Frustrated and embarrassed, the little creature knew its plan was not working, so it darted up the tree faster than her eyes could follow.