Illiom, Daughter of Prophecy: Destiny of Fire, #1

By Claudio Silvano

" Under every fear lies a hidden power, quietly waiting to be claimed." 

The five Kingdoms of the Common Weal of Theregon have been at peace for nearly one thousand years; a truly prodigious milestone for a land that has experienced its fair share of turbulence in the distant past. But as the end of the millennium draws near, a series of unsavoury events threaten to unravel the illusion of stability that the rulers of the land would prefer to maintain. 

Living alone in the Sevrock Mountains, Illiom could not be further away from the dark conspiracies plaguing the realm. Oblivious to outside happenings, she is reluctantly bracing herself to survive a fifth winter alone. It was fear that led her to seek out this solitary existence; it is fear that keeps her here still. 

Now someone is coming for her. Someone who intends to draw her away and to deliver her, willing or not, into the mayhem of the Kingdom's political hub: the Royal Palace of the city of Kuon, where dire events are unfolding in the deepest shadows, events that are somehow connected to her. Yet what link can possibly exist between Illiom and the darkness that is stalking the very heart of the kingdom? 

Illiom is being asked to step up and to meet with a destiny that seems bent upon colliding with her. Maybe braving another winter in the mountains, by herself, is not such a bad idea after all…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ganesha Imprints
• Release date: Sep 12, 2013
• ISBN: 9781513070896

Book preview

Illiom, Daughter of Prophecy

Destiny of Fire, Volume 1

Claudio Silvano

Published by Ganesha Imprints, 2013.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

ILLIOM, DAUGHTER OF PROPHECY

First edition. September 12, 2013.

Copyright © 2013 Claudio Silvano.

ISBN: 978-1513070896

Written by Claudio Silvano.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Illiom, Daughter of Prophecy (Destiny of Fire, #1)

Also by Claudio Silvano on Ganesha Imprints

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DESTINY OF FIRE series:

ILLIOM, DAUGHTER OF PROPHECY

KEYS OF AWAKENING

INTO FORBIDDEN LANDS

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OTHER FANTASY TITLES:

IN BETWEEN

THE TREE AT WORLD’S END & other tales

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NON FICTION:

HOME OF THE WIND

ILLIOM

DAUGHTER OF PROPHECY

(2nd EDITION)

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BOOK ONE OF

DESTINY OF FIRE

CLAUDIO SILVANO

Ganesha Imprints

Illiom, Daughter of Prophecy (2nd Ed)

Copyright © 2012 Claudio Silvano

All rights reserved

The right of Claudio Silvano to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

First Edition published in Australia in 2012

Second Edition published in Australia in 2019

by

Ganesha Imprints

Nannup, Western Australia, 6275

[e-mail]

ISBN: 978-0-9923393-7-1 (Paperback)

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www.claudiosilvano.net

For Sa, light of my life.

Acknowledgments

My first mention goes to my dear wife, Sa. This series would not have been published without her unwavering support. Her commitment, in ensuring that this work was of the highest quality we could achieve, has been invaluable. Her name belongs alongside mine on each cover of this trilogy.

To Jan Bayly, my dear friend and editor, my deepest gratitude for her friendship, generous support and patient, painstaking editing.

Thanks to Anna Mycko, for colouring my maps so beautifully (now present only in the eBook version).

To Rani Wood, for editing the earlier drafts.

My gratitude also to Alan Hancock, Murray Barton, Phil Auckland, Joel Westvelt and Jennifer Bainbridge for their encouragement, feedback and love.

I want to thank all those who have contributed financially towards the manifestation of this paperback. Namely, Karen Lang, Robert Becker, Carol Fuller, Simone Fitzgerald, Isabel Pease-Būrge, Priska Būrge, Rani Wood, Evalee Smith, Sandy Pulsford and Anna Mycko, Elio Pagliarullo, Benjamin Zabbia and everyone who pre-ordered a copy of the paperback.

Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

A special mention also goes to Melissa Seto. Even though she has had no say in this particular book, I wish to acknowledge her for persistently supporting me through my first draft of Taisgeal, which is now much more likely to see the light of publishing.

And finally, my gratitude to all of you who played what was then The Quest for Sudra’s Orb. They are Sa Silvano (Azulya), Tristan Hammat (Sereth), Jaya Penelope (Ember), Ben Zabbia (Longrin), Harun Trefry (Vell), Anna Mycko (Elan), Sandy Pulsford (Dagazo), Brenton Lane (Malco), Josie Paravia (Jade Maya), Evalee Smith (Ankiva), Tamara Lampard (Skald), Grania Cole (Undina), Daniel Fuller (Tsan), James Brown (Leith) and Debra Granville (Oonah).

The Journey never ends.

Claudio Silvano, Bedfordale, 2012

Preface to the Second Edition

I started writing Illiom, Daughter of Prophecy in 2007 and completed the work in 2012. It was my debut into dedicated writing.

During the review phase of the First Edition I used a yardstick that I referred to as my cringe factor, meaning that if something made me cringe, it needed a rewrite.

Upon re-reading Illiom five years after the completion and publication of that first book, I came across a baffling number of cringes.  I would like to think that this is because I have grown as a writer during the time it took me to complete the last two books in the series.

So, I simply could not leave Illiom in the state it was. Encouraged and supported by my generous wife, Sa, together we have gone over the entire book and ironed out as many cringes as we could.

Jan Bayly, my editor, has also graciously gone through the entire second edition with her discerning eye.

I hope that you, the reader, will enjoy the result.

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Claudio Silvano

Claremont, November 2017

Chapter I

INTRUDER

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Who was asleep when the man entered the valley.

The intruder’s arrival had disturbed some of the nearest creatures and the ruckus of their fleeing had woken the owl. In fact, it would have alerted anyone with a decent set of ears.

Not Illiom, of course. Who had long ago realised that his human was incapable of hearing anything but the nearest and loudest sounds.

He did not respond to the man's arrival in any way for the intruder was still quite far and his presence was of no great interest to Who. Even the owl’s natural curiosity was not enough to prompt him to investigate. He was sated and still a little tired from the previous night’s hunt, so he remained on the perch of his favourite tree and waited, eyes half closed, only a small portion of his awareness attuned to the valley’s eastern entrance.

He had very limited experience with humans because prior to Illiom he had been quite indifferent to them. Their worlds simply did not often intersect. Illiom had changed all that because she was the only human who could hear him and, in turn, he appeared to be the only owl who could hear her.

They did not actually hear each other, either, for sound played no part in their exchanges. And even though at times Illiom actually talked to Who out loud, the noises she made would have been gibberish to him without the silent link that connected them and conveyed meaning.

Who well understood why she enjoyed talking, that it helped to offset the deep loneliness that she felt at being separated from her own kin. Never mind that the separation had been her own choice.

Since those early days he had tried to impress upon her the value of silence, and of perceiving the world through alert attention, responding to its promptings as dictated by the moment. But that was not Illiom’s way, she was always busy doing something or other, always planning or preparing for happenings that for the most part did not even eventuate.

Still, some of his efforts must have landed, for she had unexpectedly surprised him on occasion with moments of quiet. Only a few days ago he had flown in to find her gazing out across the valley at the surrounding mountains and knew that for once she was not planning or scheming, but was quiet, present, and her mind was for once empty.

Who had stumbled across Illiom two winters earlier, and the immediate connection between them had caused him to linger in the valley that stretched beneath her home. He never bothered to examine his reasons for choosing to remain for owls were not given to wasting energy on explanations or justifications. Partly it had been simple convenience, for the valley provided a bountiful supply of food, and partly, also, it was also curiosity, for this kind of bond between owls and humans was most uncommon.

Who knew that there was something different about this human.

The intruder’s progress had quieted considerably while the owl slumbered. The animals that had been unsettled by his arrival must have come to terms with his presence or had decided that he was not a threat.

But now it was this silence that intrigued him.

On impulse, the owl stretched his broad wings and dropped from the tree. A long sweeping arch, a few powerful beats, and soon he was passing over the man, unnoticed and as silent as a whisper. He was on horseback, a second horse trailed behind, tethered to the rider’s own mount.

As Who glided high above the man, he banked into a slow sweep and fixed him with his deeper sight. There was an uncommon poise and stillness emanating from this human, and it occurred to Who then that he should alert Illiom of the man’s presence. But first he wanted to take a deeper measure of the man, he circled one more time and then banked and alighted on a high branch of a dead tree, well ahead of the intruder’s direction of travel.

There he waited and watched.

❖❖

Illiom did not know what had woken her.

She lay very still, holding her breath, listening to the small sounds of night. There was nothing unusual, just a whisper of wind rustling the grass outside her shelter.

Nothing much intruded on the silence in these mountains. Even changes in the tone of the wind’s lament, the hiss of rain, or the occasional sudden explosions of thunder did almost nothing to unsettle its deep hold upon the great stone peaks.

She sighed, and sparked her werelight into life.

Who looked down at her from his perch, the black orbs of his eyes regarding her with detachment.

Usually, the owl came and went in complete silence, rarely returning before dawn, preferring the mysteries of the night to the noises of a sleeping human.

What are you doing here? she asked, out loud. Is it morning?

Illiom stretched towards the entrance and parted the hides that

served as a door. The world outside was as black as pitch.

She looked at the owl again, her eyes questioning.

Who puffed up his feathers and gave himself a small shake.

He blinked once, in his usual slow and deliberate way.

Someone comes, he offered at last.

For several heartbeats Illiom stared at the owl without understanding.

What do you mean?

The owl’s eyes were as round as moons, the pupils unfathomable scrying pits.

One man, two horses. He sleeps in the valley below.

An icy finger crept along Illiom’s spine. She sat up, pulling the blanket around her even though the air was far from cold.

A man? This far up?

Not once in the past four years had anyone wandered into this valley. She groped for a plausible explanation. Perhaps it was a hunter following a wounded quarry. It was certainly not a trader, no one to trade with in these parts.

Maybe it is a hunter or a trapper, a Roonhian’ka tribesman, perhaps.

Who’s response was immediate.

No hunter. He comes for you. Your desire to shun your own kind has come to an end, Illiom.

The owl’s sending had not been ominous, but as she repeated it to herself, it took on a sinister quality.

He comes for me?

Abruptly, the air in the shelter became stifling. She stood, letting the blanket fall. Opening the door carefully, mindful of the aging leather hinges, Illiom stepped outside, naked, into the night.

The darkness draped her in a cool velvet embrace.

Illiom’s shelter nestled against the flank of a nameless mountain. It was perched on a grassy ledge that broke the steep climb up from the tree line several hundred spans below.

She walked to the rim of that ledge and looked out.

The stars shimmering in the clear sky offered the only source of light, enough to set the surrounding peaks aglow with a faint halo but nothing more. The valley below was drowned in an impenetrable black pool. Illiom stared into it as if she could shed some light upon this intruder with her will alone.

How do you know he is coming up here? That he is looking for me? she asked without turning.

Who did not respond immediately.

Long ago, Illiom had learnt that hesitation was not a part of the owl’s world. His focus was probably not upon her at that moment. He was likely distracted by the small rustlings that washed against his predator mind.

At length he answered.

Let me show you.

Immediately, a flurry of images alighted upon the canvas of Illiom’s awareness.

First, she saw a man astride a chestnut stallion: long black hair in a tail, shirt of white linen, practical riding pants. She caught glimpses of him through branch and leaf as the owl flew silently overhead. He was picking his way gingerly up a wooded slope, a white gelding tethered behind his own mount.

The image that followed was more sedate. It was night, and a small fire burned in a narrow, rocky space. In the flickering of the flames Illiom was able to study the man. He had loosed his hair and although his features were shadowed, she sensed brooding eyes and a stern face. The silver hilt of a knife flashed when he parted his vest to retrieve a satchel from his belt.

He was well equipped and groomed. It was obvious that he was neither a hunter nor a trapper, not a tribesman after all. His garb was not rich or ostentatious, but of good quality, and his boots looked like the handiwork of a master cobbler. The mounts were well fed and healthy, and their tack looked new.

Illiom watched as the man pulled a small bundle from his satchel. He peeled away the folds of cloth and examined the object that was exposed. It caught the firelight like a piece of glass, a shard as long as his hand was wide.

He stood up then, and holding the shard between thumb and forefinger he extended it away from his body and began to turn on the spot in a slow and deliberate motion, as if displaying it to an invisible audience.

His attention was so fixed upon the shard that Illiom too found herself staring at it, wondering what on earth he was doing.

Then the glass began to glow.

Its length pulsed with a pale aqua light that lingered for a moment and then began to fade again. The man checked his movement, and then turned fractionally back in the opposite direction.

The glow rekindled. He stopped and raised the shard until the light grew stronger still.

The initial illusion that the glass was merely refracting the firelight was completely dispelled when its glow intensified and pulsed with flashes of pure brilliance that blazed between the man’s fingers and dappled across his face.

Completely captivated, Illiom stared at this display of cold, blue fire. Even when the man closed his fingers around the shard, its light did not abate; instead, his whole fist shone like a beacon of light.

Then the man looked up.

With Who’s unerring owl-sense, Illiom knew that he was looking directly towards her.

She recoiled and would have turned away but Who was not done yet.

In a fluid transition to a later memory, the owl showed her another scene. In it the man was relaxed, reclining against his saddle. The signs of a recent meal lay discarded beside him: a soiled iron skillet and an empty bowl. A pewter cup sat perched at a precarious angle on the stone next to his fire.

He was intent on honing a dagger; languidly running a stone along the edge of the blade, turning it often for an even outcome, pausing occasionally to test its keenness with his thumb.

Illiom noticed the turn of his lip as he gazed upon his handiwork, lost in some private thought. The cold gleam in his eyes seemed to mirror the steel of his weapon.

Illiom shivered. She sucked in a breath and, shaking off the vision, turned to look at the owl perched on the makeshift lintel of the shelter’s door.

How close is he?

He is down there. The owl stirred, shifting his position slightly. He will come up with the sun’s rising.

After that, sleep was out of the question. Illiom found herself casting her mind back over past events, trying to discern a connection between them and this intrusion.

The only incident that had ever exposed her to any danger and potential repercussions had occurred back in Gallid, yet even that did not add up. Why would anyone come looking for her now, after all this time? It had been at least ten years, maybe longer.

She shook her head in frustration. Surely this had nothing to do with that. Yet she could think of no other explanation for the man’s presence, except...

A thought chilled her as effectively as a fall into an icy stream.

Perhaps this intruder had heard of the comely, if somewhat crazed young woman who had chosen to live alone on the flank of a certain mountain. Perhaps he was not seeking her because of any connection to her past, but . . .

She did not allow herself to complete the thought.

Instead, her werelight flashed into being of its own volition, like barely contained lightning. She felt its potential for violence.

The owl hooted a protest.

I am so sorry, she said soothingly, and quelled it’s power.

Once before had she felt its full potential. The first time this gift-curse had erupted from her when she had been in danger and terrified. The damage it had inflicted upon her attacker was such that she knew he had never recovered. If this one approached her now with similar intent, he would regret the moment he had decided to seek her out.

Emboldened by this memory, her initial fears evaporated like mist before Iod’s heat. Illiom smiled to herself. Her feelings of vulnerability were absurd. Now, like then, she was far from defenceless.

He does not seek to harm you; he comes to take you away.

Who’s sending was like a paralysing spell.

Take me away?

Her heart pounded against her ribs.

"How can you possibly know that?"

The ice of fear and the fire of hope met like an explosion in her belly. What had she been praying for? What had she been asking ... no, pleading for, this whole winter past?

Her head swam as she dropped to her knees.

A wave of nausea surged through her and she retched. She straightened after a while and brushed away the spittle on her chin with the back of her hand.

Then she turned to Who, but before she could request that he scout the intruder again, the owl spread his broad tawny wings and dropped away from the lintel.

Gliding past her, he vanished like a silent wraith into the gloom below.

Chapter II

TARMEL CLAW

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Illiom was back inside by the hearth, coaxing newborn flames into maturity with her breath when the owl’s fey mind touched hers again.

He is awake, and making ready to leave.

Illiom did not react in any way to this announcement. She had made up her mind. She had no idea what this man wanted, whether he was the answer to her prayers or an unwanted destiny come to drag her out of hiding, so she would treat him like any stranger, with caution, ready to respond as the situation required. Neither fear nor hope had any place in this moment.

I am ready, she said aloud.

There was little to do but to sit and wait, for it would take some time before he reached her. The climb from the tree line was arduous, and even more so with two horses in tow.

She had plenty of time.

When the kettle started to bubble, she threw a handful of herbs into it and watched the water acquire a golden hue.

Illiom had not used her bow in over a moon, not even to practice. She retrieved both it and the quiver from where they hung, dusty and laced with cobwebs. She brushed these away, emptied the quiver of arrows and retrieved from its depths a sinew and an old hard lump of wax. She strung the bow and ran the wax along the sinew’s length, working it energetically into its dry, dusty fibres.

When that was done, she drew the bow a few times to test its strength. She notched an arrow and drew it back until the feathers brushed the corner of her mouth, then her eye studied the length of the shaft, acknowledging its desire for flight.

She released the arrow slowly and replaced it in the quiver, satisfied that she still remembered how to use her weapon, comforted by her array of defences.

Illiom set her cup and bow down on the ground, next to where she would wait. She then returned to the shelter and released the animals from their nocturnal imprisonment.

The goats were the first to emerge, pushing against both the doorframe and her legs in their eagerness to get out. The geese muttered and grumbled as usual. The mule, Temper, was last to emerge, and did so as he did everything else, slowly and with disinterest.

Illiom returned to the boulder near the lip of the hollow, and sat. She sipped her tea while she waited for dawn to complete its work and for the intruder to show up.

Sometime later, when the eastern peaks were rimmed with Iod’s incandescence, the man finally emerged from the tree cover. He struggled briefly, attempting the climb with the horses in tow but soon desisted, backtracked, and tethered them by the stream. After that he made better progress.

Throughout his climb his direction towards her sanctuary remained truer than she could have maintained. He did look up from time to time, but she knew he would not see her.

When he was still about forty spans or so away, she notched an arrow loosely in the bow and stood up into full view.

What do you want?

She made her voice sound strong and hoped he would not notice the small quaver that undermined the impression of fearlessness she wanted to convey.

He stopped in his tracks and looked up, squinting. He made a show of wiping the sweat from his brow while he found his tongue and worked out what to do with it.

I am a First Rider of the Black Ward, he called out. I bear a message from the Royal Palace in Kuon. Well, I suppose it is more a summons than a message, really.

Despite being puffed from the climb, his voice was musical and cultivated, not at all what she had expected.

A message? Illiom frowned. Who for?

He looked around at the empty slope, glanced at the surrounding peaks.

I expect the message must be for you, my Lady.

Illiom had never been called that before. She felt irked by his use of the honorific. Her eyes narrowed.

Is that so? And my name is...?

His hesitation did nothing to reassure her.

I do not know your name, he confessed after a few moments. He passed a hand over his mouth as if to wipe away what he had just said. I knew this was going to be tricky. How do I explain what I do not myself understand?

Illiom waited in silence.

He sighed in resignation.

Look, all I can tell you is that I was given a stone. It acts like a beacon and I have been following its light for many days. This is how I found you and ... here I am.

He delivered these words while staring unflinchingly at Illiom, trying to convince her of his sincerity through sheer intensity of will.

I suppose the only thing left to do is to show you.

He unslung the bag from across his shoulder, and rummaged within, groping for the shard.

Illiom let him do so without comment. He did not need to know that she had already seen what he intended to show her.

As he pulled the glass from its wrappings, the same intricate web of light she had seen earlier through Who, burned fiercely in his hand. Quite dramatic, even in the light of day.

The man, this Rider, smoothed his hair back with his free hand and took a deep breath.

"Do not ask me to explain how it works. I cannot. All I know is that the seeking stone lights up when I point it in a particular direction. As it turns out, that direction is wherever you happen to be."

He demonstrated by swinging his hand away from Illiom and then back again. The light obediently winked out and rekindled the moment its tip pointed towards her once more.

Seeking stone? Illiom mused, her head tilted to one side as she regarded the shard in the Rider’s hand. Where did you get that?

His lips curled into a smile.

Oh, it was given to me by Lord Talamus. He told us to follow the stones’ glow and to bring back whomsoever they led to. Other than that, I was told nothing about them, so I cannot say where they came from or what causes them to light up the way they do.

He looked at her hopefully, trying to gauge whether she believed him.

Let me assure you that this is by far the strangest assignment I have ever been given, he concluded.

Illiom’s wariness diminished rapidly as he spoke. She had expected something less than frankness from him, and as she studied him now, he did not seem quite as forbidding as he had last night, when she had seen him through the owl’s vision.

Would you like a closer look?

She hesitated and reframed his question in her mind: did she want him to come any closer?

For a moment she felt conflicted between suspicion and curiosity. Yet as the stranger held up the seeking stone with its hypnotic display of light, her curiosity won over her reticence.

Then a realisation caused her caution to arise once more.

She drew the bowstring and levelled the arrow at the Rider.

Who else is with you?

I beg your pardon?

"When you talked about receiving the stone, you said us, implying more than just you. I want to know who us is. Is someone else here as well?"

She glanced pointedly past him, at the tree line down the slope.

He looked at the arrow aimed at his chest. His eyes remained fixed on it even as he answered her question.

"Oh, that! Well, I simply meant the other Riders. There were seven seeking stones in all, you see. So, seven of us were sent out to find whomever each one would lead to. Each went their own way. I assure you I am entirely alone."

He nodded towards the bow.

"Is that really necessary? If you keep that up your arm will get tired and that can only make your aim erratic. I am not here to harm you."

He was right. There was already a twitch in her shoulder. She lowered the bow and released the string so that it rested slack in her hands once more.

You are a soldier, she stated.

He nodded.

I am. Tarmel Claw, First Rider of the Black Ward, at your service, my Lady...?

Illiom ignored his attempt to obtain her name. She looked him up and down.

Where is your uniform, Tarmel?

Lord Talamus thought it wise that we not draw unnecessary attention. Riders of the Black are rarely seen outside the Keep, so we were told to wear common garb.

Illiom studied him.

He was tall and muscular, though not brawny. His stance was relaxed, but also solid, strong. His story made very little sense. Illiom could not in her wildest dreams begin to imagine why the palace had any interest in her. But he did have that extraordinary stone. She had seen it glowing twice now. It was real, and he had not attempted to keep it hidden from her.

Had it not been for the evidence of the stone itself, she would not have believed anything he said.

They stood silent, eyeing each other for a span.

To his credit he did not try to press her, did not become angry or insistent. After a few moments he simply sat down on the grass and gave her time to reach her own conclusions.

Inwardly, Illiom turned to the owl for assistance.

What do you think?

She did not have to wait for his reply.

He hides nothing from you. Remember, even without your weapon you are not defenceless.

With that she slid the arrow back into the quiver.

Alright, show me.

The Rider nodded. He stood up and unhurriedly bridged the distance between them. He raised the shard towards her as he neared. The closer he came, the stronger the stone glowed. Its light was not static, but pulsed and writhed like a living thing so that his entire hand seemed encased in power.

He stopped within arm’s reach.

Illiom now saw that the object in his hand was in fact neither stone nor glass, but crystal. Its faceted sides refracted the light that emanated from its core.

Captivated, she reached for it.

The moment she touched it a bolt of power shot into her hand.

It sped up her arm and exploded in her chest.

Startled, she cried out and snatched her hand back.

She stumbled, dropped her bow, then tripped and fell back against the slope.

Her eyes were filled with blinding light and the outer world vanished.

Concentric circles of fire filled her vision. They pulsed with her heartbeat and with the surge of blood in her veins.

She clutched at her right hand, fearing it severely burnt, but the anticipated agony of charred flesh did not come.

Her hand appeared to be unharmed.

Blinded, Illiom could do nothing but sit where she had fallen and allow the pulsing light to gradually lose intensity.

A loud buzzing sound, like the drone of a million insects, filled her head and she swallowed against an inexplicable taste of salt.

Finally, as her breathing settled and her sight slowly returned to normal, a strange sense of rightness welled up inside her. It was like a deep knowing that she was exactly where she was meant to be, and that all would be well.

She lifted her face to the sky and laughed.

Tarmel’s face moved into her field of vision. He reached a hand towards her but hesitated. His eyes, rimmed with concern, searched hers.

Are you hurt?

Illiom laughed again and shook her head.

No, not at all ... I am fine.

He looked doubtful.

"I am, truly," she repeated, and rose to her feet, brushing at the grass seeds caught in her skirt.

The stone, he started, looking down at his hands, then back into her eyes.

It is gone.

He showed her the palm of his hand.

It was covered in white, just as if he had dipped it in a container of ash. Illiom touched it gingerly and rubbed at the whiteness, but her fingers came away clean.

It will not come off, he added, stating the obvious.

Illiom did not know what to say. Part of her was still leagues away, sailing on a wave of irrational ecstasy, still in awe of what had just taken place.

This man, Tarmel, had come all the way from the capital, led by a luminous stone that had brought him to her; a stone that had sought her out and then destroyed itself the moment she had touched it.

Why?

Illiom looked at Tarmel and saw him in a new light. First Rider of the Black Ward or not, Tarmel was nothing more than a messenger.

He was not a threat.

Had he been like any other magic-fearing denizen of Albradan, he would never have consented to bear a glowing stone halfway across the realm.

In fact, now that her deepest fear had been set to rest, she wondered again if he might not be the answer to her prayers. Had Sudra heard her cry for deliverance from isolation? Was this truly the Goddess’ answer?

Come up to my home. We can talk more comfortably there.

The Rider fell in beside her.

Under different circumstances Illiom would have felt strange and awkward having this stranger enter her world. He was, after all, the first person to set foot upon her ledge in four years. These circumstances were quite extraordinary, and her usual shyness seemed to have fled along with her suspicion.

Are you hungry? she asked, as they stepped over the rim of the hollow.

He shook his head as he looked around.

Temper, the mule, was munching on a cabbage core. The geese were muttering to themselves and the goats were nowhere to be seen.

Everything was normal.

Would you like some tea then?

Thank you, yes.

I am afraid it is just mountain tea. It is all I have.

Thank you, he repeated.

She whistled for the goats and entered her shelter to fetch what she needed. She emerged to find Tarmel staring at her.

His jaw hung slack, his lips were parted in disbelief.

Is something the matter? she asked.

"Is this ... do you live in that?"

Illiom followed his glance and looked at her home through his eyes. He could be forgiven for mistaking it for a pile of rubble.

With a tight-lipped smile she made her way to the hollow and rekindled the fire.

Not much to look at, is it? But it was the best I could make.

Her home consisted of two ‘rooms’ with a single shared hearth. The whole thing leaned against the granite slope so that the mountain itself contributed the back wall – likely the only thing that kept the structure from collapsing.

She had built the walls using slate gathered from a nearby landslide. The roof was of cedar limbs covered with clay dug up from the spring. A final layer of turf finished it off, so that the roof was entirely covered in grass, now dry and yellowed by the summer sun.

Each mound enclosed a room; hers was the one on the left, where she slept and kept her stores. The other served as a barn for the animals.

There were no windows other than two small holes that she sealed off completely during the winter moons. The doors were fashioned from hides stretched across rough frames, two for each entrance.

Illiom’s smile deepened as she surveyed her achievement: overall, her home was quite indistinguishable from the side of the mountain.

"You built this?"

She made no reply. Regardless of what he thought, she was quite proud of her efforts.

What in Iod’s name made you come all the way up here to live like a ... like this?

She thought it diplomatic of him to omit whatever he had been about to say.

That is a long story.

One she was not ready to share.

As she busied herself with the fire, a tinkle of bells alerted her that the goats were on their way back.

May I?

She looked up to see him standing just outside her door. She shrugged.

Be my guest.

Illiom knew exactly what he would see: a dark musty space with an earthen floor. A few rough shelves with her pots and urns. On the right, the hearth and the smoke-blackened wall that separated her room from the animal pen. Her bed was just a space strewn with old pine needles in need of urgent replacement. A pelt and a few blankets were all that made up her bedding.

When Tarmel emerged he looked dazed, but made no comment.

The spark had caught, and soon the water was heating on the dancing flames.

How long did it take you to build it?

Oh, let me see ... I came up here in the middle of spring, so I had five moons to build it before the rains settled in. Even then I was pressed to finish it in time. I ended up rushing the barn side and, unfortunately, part of it collapsed during the winter. That is how I lost one of the goats.

She paused, remembering.

Actually, that saved me. I had miscalculated and my stores were running out. I survived on goat’s meat until the snowmelt. I could never have killed one of my animals, she explained.

Illiom retrieved two clay bowls from her hut and set them on the stone slab next to the fire. The kettle was steaming when she added salt, butter, and tea.

Taking one of the bowls, she coaxed the nanny with a handful of grain, deftly milked her and added the milk to the brew.

The tea was soon boiling; she lifted it off the flames and poured it.

Tarmel sipped from his bowl and looked up in surprise.

It is salty!

Well yes, like I said, it is mountain tea, a sensible drink in these parts. If you are tired it gives you strength; if you are cold it can warm you up faster than a fire.

Tarmel tasted it again and then nodded without conviction.

Silence welled between them but Illiom soon broke it.

So, what can you tell me about what happened down there?

The Rider shook his head.

"Precious little,