The Flower Eater

By M. LaRose

In a world of medieval magic, a young priestess is enthralled by a handsome blacksmith into breaking her sacred vows. A crisis of faith and passion launches her into an astral dimension where mysterious flowers beckon and an evil prince flexes his psychic powers toward world domination.

In this fantasy tale, a young womans psychic skill blossoms as the Sisterhood she once rejected seeks her help to battle evil in a land poised between violence and peace.

A magical tale of fantasy, desire and revenge . . . magnificent . . . a timeless theme that resonates . . . a likable, relatable heroine. A delightfully entertaining story . . . . Kirkus Reviews

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Aug 22, 2013
• ISBN: 9781480801783

M. LaRose

M. LaRose lives in the Green Mountains of Vermont with her husband and cat. Their forest garden is filled with quiet friends: frogs, flowers, hummingbirds, and other wondrous beings, unseen but ever-present.

Book preview

Part One:

TEMPTATION

Chapter 1:

THE HOUSE OF ZERR

I saw him again last night, although I’d sworn I wouldn’t. I tried to resist. I bent my head over the Book of Days and Hours, trying to concentrate on the sacred knowledge written there. But I knew he was waiting by the broken walls of the old temple. He said he’d be there, no matter what. He said he’d wait all night for me.

I felt the pull of his desire. And I wanted him, too, despite my oath of chastity. I tried to resist, but I could not! So beguiled am I by the way he speaks to me, and touches me. I tossed aside the Book of Days and Hours, and ran to him through the night.

He was there, as he’d promised, leaning against the stones of the ruined temple. A band of stars was strewn across the sky and the moon was nearly full, casting shadows off the fallen walls and tumbled pillars.

In daylight his skin is amber-hued, but last night, from a distance, his bare arms glowed like silver in the moonlight. As I ran up the hill through the shadows, Harnn stepped to meet me.

He took me in his arms, so strong from the work of a blacksmith, from lifting heavy hammers and pounding metals into shape above the flame. He held me and kissed me while the sea crashed against the rocks below the cliffs.

You made me wait, Trilla, he whispered against my neck, below my ear. His warm breath caressed my skin. But the sight of you running up the hill, with the wind in your hair, was worth it.

I didn’t mean to come! I shouldn’t have! This was my answer, but he met it with kisses. He ran his hands over my eager skin, and lowered me to the grass behind the highest wall of the old temple. There, sheltered from the sea breeze, we lay together, just as we had the night before. As I’d sworn we never would again.

And now I am in torment, tortured by those hours of bliss and the knowledge of my broken vow. I have taken the oath of chastity and hurled it from me; shattered it into shards of rapture. Can I ever be forgiven? How can I join the Sisterhood, if I cannot stop from being with this man? My thoughts are full of him. Since first he touched me, I have been crazed with yearning for him. One simple touch on my arm as we discussed the broken wheel of my uncle’s cart — that was the start of my distraction. Or perhaps it began when he very first looked at me, when his eyes gripped my own with dark light; his lashes thick as smoky cinders; the black waves of his hair around his face.

No matter how it started, I am bewitched by him. I am besotted.

This will not do. I must quell this desire and keep it secret ever more. No one must know. If the priestesses learn of my wickedness, my foolishness, my broken vow, they will cast me out of the House of Zerr — and the shame of a harlot would sully my family’s name.

After all, what am I to the Sisterhood but another novice, one among many, in the early stages of the Dance? Many are dismissed in every class, for lesser reasons than my own. Lack of physical grace; inability to concentrate; lack of discipline, slovenliness, vanity: all of these are valid reasons to dismiss a novice. Maidens who fail in these ways are discharged honorably before the Triad closes, and return to their families with a degree of pride. For it is admirable to be chosen in the first place, and understood by all that most novices will not graduate from the final phase. But harsh is the judgement of a maiden who cannot forsake her animal urges. She who breaks the novice’s vow of chastity is marked with shame forever.

When I was a young child, a novice at the House of Zerr was found to have a lover. She was cast out of the Triad and made to endure the public ritual of Expurgation. I saw her run in disgrace through the village, while masked jesters danced around her, making vulgar jokes and lewd gestures, pawing at her as the townsfolk watched. How they humiliated her! I was too young to understand, and Aunt Fara would not explain it to me, so the raucous scene was like a strange circus act to me then. But I shudder to remember it now.

Still, it is more than thoughts of disgrace that tear my soul, for I have loved the Dance since childhood. It’s been my dream forever, that one day I would dance the steps as a Priestess of Zerr, and wear the gown and ribbons, and serve the Goddess. It is what I’ve always wanted. I love the dancing and the ritual — and the education we receive. ‘Tis a great privilege to be chosen as a novice. And lucky I’ve been to make it this far! I will not give up my chance to join the Sisterhood! I must break this bond of lust and return whole-heartedly to my studies.

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I walked with Brea this morning. We tread the high path through the wildflowers, as we often do before the mid-day meal. Brea is my oldest, dearest friend — I can hardly believe that I have kept my secret from her. Since we were children, I have shared my closest thoughts with her, and she with I. Every four years, when the Triad came, how eagerly we ran together to watch the public sessions. We loved to discuss the talents of each novice, and thrilled to watch the graduation dances where the new initiates dance before the public.

We chattered of the day when we would be old enough ourselves to take the entry Trial. Many afternoons we spent leaping and twirling in the meadows, coaching each other and declaring boldly that, of course, we each would be accepted into the Novitiate.

It is only three months since the day that we’d dreamed of actually came, and we found ourselves with the other applicants gathered in the great hall before the high-priestesses, ready to answer their questions and take the tests.

Brea would have wished me well if she had failed the entry trial and I had passed. But my heart is not as pure as hers: I knew that I would die of jealousy if it happened that I failed and she alone was chosen. How happy I have been that the Goddess smiled on both of us and my dearest friend is now my sister novice. It is a joy to share the lessons and the honor with Brea.

But it would not do for her to know my current trouble. The knowledge would put her in distress and I will not have that on my conscience. Brea would never disclose my secret, but the worry might interfere with her ability to focus on the dance. The steps grow more intricate and confusing every day now. We must concentrate intently to keep up.

It was only two weeks ago, during the First Trial, that Slenna, who seemed so talented, stumbled during a dance exam. Like so many before her, she was honorably discharged on the spot. While she was packing to leave, I went to bid her farewell. Between her tears Slenna confessed that her mind had wandered during the pre-dance meditation. She felt so certain of the steps that she’d allowed herself to day-dream, thinking of her brother’s birthday in their far hometown and wondering if he’d received the gift she’d sent. Slenna was certain that this mental lapse had caused her to stumble, just as the priestesses warn.

So I keep my inner chaos hidden from all; especially Brea, lest it distract her from the Dance. This folly is mine alone, and I must deal with it thus.

Today as we walked the footpath that meanders above the cliffs, with the sea below on one side and grassy meadows on the other, the sun was bright and the breezes strong. All around us little flowers tossed back and forth on their stems.

I tried to match Brea’s calm demeanor as we talked of this morning’s lessons and the final phase of the Triad, which is fast approaching. But we walked farther than usual today, and when we passed the spot where the footpath splits and another trail winds off through the flowers, my heart leapt within me. I felt a flash of guilty pleasure — for that is the way that I take to meet my lover, the blacksmith Harnn. My face flushed and I did not notice Brea speaking.

Trilla? Did you hear me? she asked. Or is the wind in your ears again?

I’m sorry, I stammered. What did you say? I was listening to the ocean.

Brea laughed in her good-natured way.

Your ears seem lately to be full of both the ocean and wind! she chided. I asked if you’ll walk to town with me tomorrow, to help me choose some fabric? I want to make a dream-pillow as gift for my aunt who’ll be visiting soon.

Oh, yes. Of course, I answered.

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Today is Sarsarta, the day of the week when we have no classes and may spend the hours as we like. Sarsarta is the day for errands and making short trips.

I walked to town with Brea, to look at fabrics, as we’d planned. It was one month ago today, also on Sarsarta, when I first met Harnn. I’d gone, that day, to visit Aunt Fara and Uncle Verd, and we’d ended up at the blacksmith’s shop in Gorso.

The other novices in our class have traveled from miles away to study here in Varnos, but Brea and I grew up in this village. We can easily visit our families when our schedule allows. I am glad to have my aunt and uncle near me. How shocked they’d be if they knew my shameful secret. Fara and Verd have raised me as their own, with all the love that a child should have. But always they insisted that I call them Aunt and Uncle, to honor the memory of my birth parents, who died together during the dark plague of eighteen years ago. After their deaths, my mother’s sister, Fara, swore that she would raise me truly as her own. It would crush Aunt Fara if she knew how I’ve wandered from her ideal vision. I must never let her know. Yet she was there when first I met Harnn.

Was it only weeks ago? While we were lunching that day, Uncle Verd decided to journey to the neighboring town of Gorso, to seek some farming advice from a friend of his there. Because the day was lovely, Aunt Fara and I went along for the ride. I had rarely been to Gorso and had never seen the blacksmith’s shop. Perhaps I never would have, if not for that trip.

We were close to Gorso when the wagon wheel broke. Uncle Verd insisted that Aunt Fara and I stay with the cart while he walked the rest of the way to town. The accident was minor and the weather so fine that Aunt Fara and I were happy on the wagon seat, chatting. While we waited for Uncle Verd to return, my aunt asked about my studies, as she always does. I could see the pride in her face when I stated that I still found both the book studies and the dances rather easy.

Not much time had passed before we saw Uncle Verd’s silhouette down the road, returning with another figure beside him. At first glance I thought not much of it, but as they came closer, with their backs to the sun and shadows at their feet, the silhouette of the other man drew my gaze.

His bearing was relaxed but powerful; his lean body solid with muscle, yet full of ease. I found myself transfixed by the sight of him, simply by the way he moved, his features still in shadow as he and Uncle Verd came toward us out of the sun.

And then this stranger, Harnn the blacksmith, was there, at the wagon, standing just a foot away. He glanced at me for the briefest moment before he bent to examine the wheel. In that moment I felt a shock run through me. I stared at his handsome, serious face, and a rush of heat filled my cheeks. He turned to the wheel, then stood to discuss the damage with my uncle. I barely noticed what anyone said or did for the next minutes, so dumb-struck was I by the spell that seemed to grasp me.

The wagon’s axel needed repair, as did the wheel. It was agreed that Aunt Fara and I would wait in Gorso at the blacksmith’s shop while Uncle Verd rode the horse to the home of his friend. He would have his meeting and borrow another horse for our return.

It was lucky that the wagon had broken down so close to Gorso. The blacksmith’s shop was just on the outskirts of town and the four of us easily walked the short distance.

By this time I had overheard the stranger’s name and knew it to be Harnn, but we had not yet spoken. Uncle Verd rode off on his errand, leaving the three of us in the blacksmith’s shop, where I stood self-consciously beside Aunt Fara. She began to chatter in her friendly way.

Are you the owner of this workshop, Harnn? she asked, smiling and seating herself on a bench. She patted the wood. Come, Trilla, have a seat.

Harnn was placing the broken wheel on a table for repair. No, he smiled at my aunt. I’m apprentice here. The owner is my uncle.

Oh, smiled Aunt Fara. Did you grow up here in Gorso?

Nay, said Harnn, bending over the wheel. I’ve only been here three months. I’m from Sartu, in the hills.

Sartu! That’s a way from here, mused my aunt. Do you like the change? The seaside air can be chill and damp at times, but on a sunny day like today the ocean breezes are so pleasant.

Aye, it’s pleasant, said Harnn, looking at the two of us, then down again at his work.

They chatted back and forth, Harnn answering Aunt Fara’s questions with quiet good-nature while I sat listening, as tongue-tied as a child. I was fascinated by the sight of Harnn’s well-muscled arms as he went about his work. I had to force my gaze away to keep from staring. Each time he glanced at me I felt an urge to jump up and flee, so terrified was I by the invisible beam that seemed to pierce my soul whenever our eyes met. I felt exposed and awkward in a way I never had before, not even at the entry Trials when I danced before the eighteen high-priestesses.

Aunt Fara could not resist bragging about me, as I’d feared she might. Perhaps she meant to protect me, by making it plain that I was untouchable to any man.

Trilla is a novice at the House of Zerr, she said with tender pride, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

Her loving touch embarrassed me. I felt like a speechless child rather than a young woman on the verge of entering the Sisterhood. The indignity drove me to speak at last.

So is almost every other maiden in Tarniv county, I shrugged disdainfully. ‘Tis nothing unless one passes the Triad.

I had never mocked my privileged status before, and Aunt Fara’s eyes widened for a moment in surprise. I think she saw my embarrassment then, for she laughed and turned back to Harnn.

Is there any water? she asked him. I’ve grown so thirsty sitting here.

Around back, Harnn said. There’s a well by the trees. Here, He crossed the room and grabbed a pitcher from a shelf. I’ll bring you some.

Oh, let me get it, Aunt Fara said. She rose and took the pitcher from his hands. I’d like to stretch my legs a bit. You keep working. She smiled and stepped outside into the sun, leaving us alone.

Now that I had finally spoken, I felt a little bolder. A future priestess should carry herself with confidence. I stood and went to the table where Harnn was working.

It’s a good skill, to be a blacksmith, I said, staring fixedly at the wheel on the table. I still could not bring myself to look directly at him for more than an instant.

Aye. ‘Tis useful, he agreed with a wry smile.

Standing so close to him, I felt a strange physical sensation; one that was new to me. It seemed as though a current flowed in the air, invisibly urging me toward this man; as though my skin had a will of its own and craved to press itself against his skin, then and there, stranger though he was.

I fell silent again, overwhelmed by the feeling. My heart pounded in my chest. I stared down at the wood and metal of the wagon wheel, unable to move or speak. The room was full of thick silence and I felt Harnn’s gaze on me. Suddenly his hand was at my wrist.

So these are the ribbons of Zerr? he asked, touching the knot where the orange and purple ribbons are tied together. He lifted my hand off the table and held it a moment. I had no choice but to raise my eyes then and look full at him.

Yes, I answered, the words coming out in a startled whisper.

A beautiful wrist, he said, his eyes on mine. Lucky is the House of Zerr.

I pulled my arm back and turned quickly, stepping to the wide doorway of the shop. Aunt Fara must return at any moment, and I did not wish her to see my consternation. Already I felt guilty, even as my heart thrilled. My wrist seemed to glow from Harnn’s touch. I felt certain that he watched me as I stood with my back to him, staring into the late-day sun. Shadows were beginning to spill across the road from the nearby trees.

And then Aunt Fara came around the corner, with the pitcher full of water.

Here we go! she chirped. Trilla! Have a drink.

I took the pitcher from her hands and drank, although I wasn’t thirsty, then held the pitcher out to her without a word.

Harnn may be thirsty, too, she chided me, taking the pitcher back and carrying it toward him. As she turned from me I dared to glance his way again. Our eyes met briefly and his face seemed guarded, almost stern. He nodded politely to Aunt Fara and took the water pitcher from her.

Just then we heard the pounding of horses, and Uncle Verd rode up on our cart-horse with a borrowed horse beside.

That is how I first met Harnn. Today, as Brea and I walked to town, I kept thinking of it. I have known him only one month and we have not been completely foolish. Harnn has not compromised my virtue beyond kisses and sweet touch. Despite our caresses, my maidenhood is intact. If I stop this foolishness now, the lust will fade under the passing moons, just as if it never were.

So I told myself, as Brea and I strolled into the village center. We passed the leather-goods shop and the little bakery, then up the wooden steps of the Varnos Emporium. ‘Twas pleasant and familiar to be shopping there with my friend, as we’ve done since childhood, when Brea’s mother or my aunt would send us with a handful of coin to purchase some needed item from the shelves of the cluttered shop.

How long we’ve been coming here! Brea laughed, as we stepped through the door. We stood inside the threshold, gazing at three aisles of merchandise and shelves that rise from floor to ceiling, piled high with goods. Behind the back counter stood Mistress Drotta, the owner of the shop. When she saw us, she stopped conversation with her clerk, and hurried over, all eagerness and curiosity to see two zerran novices inside her shop.

Good Sister Trilla! Good Sister Brea! Welcome! I am honored to serve the House of Zerr! She smiled brightly and clasped her hands together, her gaze bouncing over us in excitement. What may I help you with? Come, Krenna, and assist the novices! She beckoned her clerk toward us emphatically.

‘Twas the first time that Brea or I had been to the Emporium since joining the Novitiate, and we had not expected such a welcome. But immediately we understood. We are the first girls from Varnos in eight years to make it this far in the Triad. In the eyes of our townsfolk, our status is now closer to Ever-Priestess than to village maiden.

As the shopkeeper turned to her clerk, Brea and I smiled at each other.

Thank you, Mistress Drotta, I said in a dignified tone. Sister Brea seeks some quality fabric for a dream-pillow.

Oh! Drotta’s eyes grew wide. Dream-pillows are commonly made by villagers as gifts, but one made by a zerran sister — even a novice — would surely be imbued with magic. To be associated with such an item, if only by providing materials, fanned the shopkeeper’s excitement.

Of course! I have many lovely fabrics suitable for that purpose. Please, Sisters, come with me and have a seat, that I may show you everything, She bowed, gesturing that we should follow her to the back of the shop. Krenna! Bring two chairs for the zerran Sisters! And soft cushions for the seats! And open those drawers by the mirror!

While we sat, Drotta and Krenna hurriedly cleared a back counter and laid out bolts of fabric for our review: sumptuous velvets, silks, and satins, in colors and prints. I could see that Brea shared my surprise as we ran our hands over the rich cloth and studied the qualities of each bolt. We had never before had occasion to handle such expensive goods. Our families are comfortable enough, but not well-off, nor prone to excess. Most citizens of Varnos have one or two fine outfits for special occasions. But the quality of the fabrics Mistress Drotta set before us today was much higher than we are used to. I’d never imagined that such things were hidden away out of sight, in this local stop.

Have you any lace? I asked, striving to sound nonchalant.

Or buttons? Brea added, glancing at me. I may want some buttons for another project. Have you any in silver or gold?

Of course! nodded Mistress Drotta. Forgive me for not thinking of it sooner! She opened another drawer and pulled out bolts of frothy white lace. Then, with a little key that hung around her waist, she unlocked a cabinet and pulled out a gleaming ebony box. We just had a shipment of fine buttons, cast in silver from the Spira region — look at the shine of them! And you must look at these, carved in mother-of-pearl and jade.

They are indeed lovely, Brea said, suppressing a sigh as she touched the expensive buttons.

Mistress Drotta, I said, unable to disguise my wonder any longer. I never knew you had such treasures here.

For a moment, the shopkeeper’s face became guarded. We were the only customers in the shop, but she glanced toward the door, then answered in a hushed tone. Good Trilla, Good Brea, Varnos is the furthest town on the trade route and my Emporium is the last real shop before the hinterlands. When anyone in the northwest counties needs wares of finest quality, they come to me rather than travel eight days further to Ragarek. Of course, I always inform the House of Zerr when something exceptional arrives. Just yesterday I sent word to the Sun Sister about this orange silk — I can hold it as long as she likes, of course. Perhaps she’s sent you to fetch it?

I felt my eyes widen in surprise. I dared not answer for any high-priestess. Brea caught my eye and spoke.

The Sun Sister hasn’t mentioned it, Mistress Drotta. But we’ll remind her. She’s very busy, as you can imagine.

Oh! I know she must be! No need to rush her. Not at all! gushed the shopkeeper.

Brea stood and tapped one of the bolts of fabric lying on the counter. This dark blue velvet will do nicely for a Dream-Pillow. And a bit of this lace. What is the price for the size I’ll need?

Mistress Drotta smiled and handed a pair of scissors to her clerk. You may have it for two silver-eights, Novice Brea. I am only too happy to assist a future priestess!

Thank you. Are you sure that’s enough money? Brea asked. It’s very fine velvet.

The shopkeeper’s assistant had already begun cutting the cloth. Think nothing of it! I am honored to serve you, answered Mistress Drotta. She turned to me with a beaming smile. "And Novice Trilla? Is there something I can get for you today?"

No, not today, I smiled. I was pleased for Brea. The velvet and lace were clearly worth more than two silver-eights. Her aunt would have a fine Dream-Pillow indeed.

When the lace and velvet had been folded inside a length of paper and handed to Brea, the shopkeeper clasped her hands together and beamed at us again.

Just think! she sighed. I remember you as little girls, running in and out of here on errands. When I heard you were entering the Triad, I knew you would do well. I have no doubt you both shall pass the three Phases and graduate! What an honor for our town, and for your families! You two will make fine ever-priestesses. Perhaps one or both of you may even become a high-priestess some day!

Drotta turned her gaze on me. You do justice to your mother’s memory, Trilla. She was a fine, sweet woman. I remember when she died in the Plague, and your father, too. Oh, the plague! I lost my sister and two brothers to it. Such a sad, dark time. So many babies were lost! All the infants living in plague-houses died from it — all except you, Trilla. You were only a few months old when it came. How your aunt and uncle worried! They thought you’d fall sick and die, just like your parents. But you never did. And here you are, a fine strong woman, and going to be a zerran priestess! The Goddess smiled on you, she did. The only baby from a plague-house, for miles around, who didn’t die. You’re meant to be a priestess, I’m sure of it!

My aunt is due the credit for her care of me. But thank you for your faith, Mistress Drotta, I answered.

Thanks also, for your help today, added Brea. As we headed to the door we called back, May the Goddess smile on you.

Outside the shop, we hurried down the steps. When we were out of sight of the windows, our eyes met and we both broke into laughter.

Shhhush! whispered Brea, nudging me with her elbow as a wagon approached and the man driving it glanced in our direction. We ducked our heads and grinned at each other, letting our long hair fall forward to hide our faces.

You must learn to be more dignified, Sister Brea! I teased her. Poking people in the ribs is unsightly behavior for a priestess!

You’re a bad influence, Brea joked. Such sarcasm from a zerran novice! You must have been scarred in the Plague. There’s a dark mark on your soul!

Something in my expression must have altered, for suddenly she looked worried, and grabbed my shoulder in a hug. I’m teasing, Trilla! Drotta’s right — you’re meant to be a priestess. More so, than me, I sometimes think.

Her joke had hit a nerve, reminding me of Harnn and the forbidden lust I feel for him. But I smiled and hid my worry. "We’re both meant to be priestesses, I answered, returning her hug, then running ahead. Let’s go make that pillow!"

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Chapter 2:

THE BLACKSMITH

I am disgusted at myself. Here I sit, alone in my room, with the Book of Days and Hours open as always on the table before me. The Stations of the Day interest me and I should be studying. But each time I try to read, my thoughts wander off in the middle of a sentence and I find myself running in imagination, along the cliff-top path, rushing to meet Harnn.

Tomorrow eve is our next arranged meeting and I know he’ll be waiting. He must think me foolish, the way I swear, each time, that I will never come to him again, and yet I always do.

I can not claim that he has forced me in any way. It was I who crossed the line and sought him out, after that day the wagon wheel broke. Yes, he began it with a touch, but I, who should have scorned him and never allowed our paths to cross again, I have made myself available. It should have ended that day in Gorso, when Uncle Verd rode up with the horses and I rode back behind him, giving Aunt Fara the borrowed horse to ride. That was the closest I’d ever been to any man’s body, riding behind my uncle as I’d sometimes done since childhood. Compared to that, Harnn and I had barely touched. Yet the memory of his hand on my wrist haunted me. I kept recalling how I’d felt in his presence, how my heart had leapt each time our eyes met.

When a week had passed and Sarsarta came again, I set out on the road toward home to visit Fara and Verd, as is our habit. But after lunching with them I made an excuse to leave earlier than usual, saying I must study for an exam the next day.

Out of sight of their house, I stole across a meadow and into the forest. There is a path there that I used to walk sometimes as a child. Although I’d never gone that far before, I knew the path lead all the way to Gorso.

Hardly daring to think what I was doing, yet filled with excitement, I ran along the path between the trees until I was out of breath. Then, I leaned against a tree and began untying the zerran ribbons from around my wrists. Impatiently I tugged at the long strips of orange and purple fabric, with little concern for the proper undoing of the ceremonial knots. Forgive me, Zerr! I whispered. Even in my haste, I managed to coil the ribbons smoothly around my hand to prevent wrinkles, then stuffed them into the carry-pouch that hangs from my waist.

I’d been so thrilled just one month earlier to receive these ribbons, which are bestowed on each novice who successfully completes the First Phase of the Triad. But without the ribbons I could pass as any local maiden out walking through the trees — for not until graduating from the full Triad does one earn the right to wear the actual gown of a priestess — and this being the town I grew up in, my current dress is no different from that of a farmer’s daughter down the road. Until she passes the Final Trials, each novice must wear the usual attire of her hometown or county. Thus, the Ribbons of Zerr are the only outward mark of my status as a novice.

Without them around my wrists I felt freer. I started to run again down the path towards Gorso. It almost seemed the trees beside the path shared my excitement, silently urging me on, their limbs straining forward in sympathetic eagerness.

The forest there hugs the meadow that borders the road between Varnos and Gorso. Through the branches I glimpsed farmhouses and other landmarks that I remembered passing on the road the previous week, in the cart with Fara and Verd.

At last I saw the signpost announcing the town of Gorso. The meadow is wider there and the forest path turns sharply to the left, within the tree line. Stopping at the edge of the wood, still hidden by trees, I looked out across a field of wildflowers and saw the blacksmith’s shop. In the yard behind the shop was the stone well where Aunt Fara must have drawn the water that day.

My breath had calmed, but my heart beat more ferociously than ever. I stared at the blacksmith’s shop in alarm. Frightened by my own boldness, I wondered how to proceed. Did I really have the nerve to cross that yard and enter the shop?

There was no one in sight, but I could hear the sound of a hammer striking metal inside the building. No voices carried to my ears, only that hard sound of metal on metal, above the whirr of insects in the grass.

But what if there were someone inside the shop with Harnn, or he wasn’t there at all and someone else was responsible for the hammering? It was his uncle’s shop, he’d said. I could run across the yard and peer through the window at the side of the building, but what if someone besides Harnn saw me staring through the glass? Supposing I were seen and recognized by someone from Varnos?

My courage began to fail and I almost turned to leave. Just then there was a movement and Harnn stepped around the corner of the shop into the side yard.

Hidden by shadows, I peered around a tree and watched as the blacksmith walked to the well. He lifted one hand to shade his eyes from the sun, and cranked the well handle with the other, pulling the bucket up from below and hefting it onto the ledge. I watched, transfixed, as he dipped his hands into the water and drank, splashing water onto his face between swallows.

I have seen handsome men before, but none has ever caused my soul to stir as it does at the sight of Harnn. I stood there under the trees, fascinated by his every move, and terrified by the fascination. At any moment, he would leave, and I knew that I would never have the courage to cross that sunny yard and enter the shop. So, with no clear idea in my head, I stepped out from behind the tree that hid me, pushing aside the low branch of a sapling to reveal myself.

At the movement Harnn turned. When he saw me a look of wordless surprise came over his face. We stood staring at each other, both speechless. I still held the sapling’s branch, and felt a cluster of its pale green leaf-buds pressed between my fingertips.

The silence seemed to last for ages.

At last Harnn’s voice broke the air. Trilla, he said, making a statement of my name.

Yes, I whispered.

He watched me for another moment.

Is there something wrong? he asked.

The green sapling bent between my fingers. I came to see you, I said, watching his face. It seemed that time would never move again until I heard his reply.

Aren’t they missing you at the House of Zerr? he asked.

No, I answered. They won’t miss me. On Sarsarta we may do as we please…until the evening prayer. That is hours away, I added.

Harnn nodded and turned to glance at the road.

How got you here? he asked.

I walked. There’s a path, I said, gesturing behind me through the trees.

Harnn gave me a long searching look, then said, I just closed down the bellows. Let me walk you back to Varnos.

I nodded, speechless, as he stepped beside me under the trees. To my surprise he took my hand. The feel of his fingers clasping mine stunned me with pleasure. Again, I felt afraid to look directly at him, afraid to feel the current of his eyes.

The path was narrow and Harnn walked a bit ahead of me, leading me by the hand. I watched his shoulders and the side of his face. He seemed very serious. I suppose I did, too. I could barely believe that this was real, that I was with him, and walking hand-in-hand. How pleasantly terrified I was!

We walked without speaking for several minutes, then he turned to glance at the forest where, back through the trees, the hill rises. He stopped and looked at me.

Would you like to see the view? he asked, tilting his chin toward the hill.

Yes, I nodded, glad for any reason to linger with him.

We followed a less-traveled track away from the main path and up through the trees. This trail led us to the top of the hill, to a moss-covered crest of rock just above the tree line. Standing on the rocky plateau, we could look out over the upper branches of the trees, across the forest and fields to where the far meadow sprawls to the edge of the cliffs, above the sea.

I have seen that meadow a thousand times and walked it often, but as I stood there beside Harnn, it seemed that I saw it all with new eyes: the grassy expanse, the ocean mist, the tossing white-capped waves, the seabirds wheeling above the cliffs.

It’s so beautiful, I said.

Aye, very beautiful, Harnn agreed.

The tree-tops encircled us, a lacy green veil between us and the world below. The brilliant sky was our only witness, and Harnn still held my hand. He glanced down at our twined fingers for a moment, then fixed me with his dark eyes.

Why has a zerran novice come to seek me? he asked.

I turned my head away, embarrassed.

I don’t know, I murmured. I… wanted to see you again.

And where are your ribbons? he asked suddenly, as if he’d just noticed them missing.

I looked him in the eye then, and said, I took them off.

Harnn returned my gaze, then lowered his face slowly to mine and met my lips with a slow and lingering kiss. I’d only ever kissed one skinny neighbor boy before, back in childhood, but I needed no instruction to meet