Time and Tide, Book I: Changing Tides: Time and Tide, #1

By Seth A. Feldman

WHEN TRAGEDY STRIKES a quiet seaside village, sixteen-year-old Leah Godfrey must say good-bye to her childhood home. Charged with protecting a satchel of cryptic evidence, she embarks on a quest to uncover the motive behind a brutal murder.

It won't be easy; the corrupt militia captain will stop at nothing to destroy the evidence, and a mysterious tracker is on Leah's trail, hunting her deeper into the wilderness with each footstep. Only Cain Forester, a young hunter obsessed with his own vengeful mission, can guide her to safety.

But the kingdom of Tora Danya is bigger than Leah realizes, and far more ancient. As she and Cain find themselves swept into a storm of dark schemes and religious fanaticism, they learn that time hides unexpected mysteries, and that truth is not always kind...

Changing Tides is the first chapter of Time and Tide, the epic tale of a land whose present is haunted by a forgotten past.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Seth A. Feldman
• Release date: Feb 14, 2018
• ISBN: 9780996671941

Book preview

~PROLOGUE~

Harvest 19th, 1523

Arinnley Province, Tora Danya

A FITTING DAWN, thought Hamish MacDougal, for a day on which so many will die.

Autumn winds howled over the highlands, sweeping dark patches of rain across the northern horizon. The rumble of thunder intensified as daylight prematurely waned. While such foul weather might have seemed improbable after a week of fair skies, the overcast morning was exactly what Hamish expected after suffering through the previous night’s haunted sleep.

Alone in his tent, he donned his weathered mail. The nearby thumping of hooves and clanging of steel ensured that his troops were busy preparing for battle with the remorseless clan of fanatics who lay to the west. The enemy chieftain, a madman who prayed to the twisted form of some long-dead goddess, had scarred the MacDougal family in unforgivable ways. Yet for the first time in Hamish’s life, he found himself contemplating the consequences of his actions rather than moving forward undaunted.

A voice called to him from outside the tent.

Lord MacDougal?

What is it, Lieutenant? he answered.

A damp chill swirled into the tent as its flaps parted, and an aging soldier with a deeply lined face stepped beneath the canopy. Milord, he said, Captain Keegan is ready to confront the Niranites.

Hamish didn’t respond.

Milord?

Richard, Hamish said. Will you help me with a dilemma?

The lieutenant sighed. Have I ever denied you counsel?

Turning to face him, Hamish asked, Are we doing the right thing?

Of course we are, Richard said. We can’t leave this band of thieves and murderers running free any longer. Even if the other Niranites are blameless, Clan Trugarane follows the whims of a lunatic.

Yes, Gabriel Jayne has certainly proven himself to be a madman, Hamish agreed, but his followers aren’t likely to give him up without a fight.

The captain of the royal army stands outside your tent with fifty men hand-picked by King Jared, Richard said. They’ve been sent to aid you, at your request. Why do you hesitate? Since when has violence deterred you?

Since I learned that every action we take holds the potential for unexpected consequences.

Richard studied him with a concerned eye. Milord, you are a man of action, a champion of law. It’s unlike you to speak this way.

Look closer, Hamish said. I’m a lowly baron in a vast kingdom, about to engage in a confrontation that is likely to have disastrous consequences. I’m neither a king nor a god; why should I decide the fate of so many?

The followers of Nira have chosen their own fate.

It’s not the Niranites I’m worried about. Hamish stared into the sheet of polished bronze above his cot, recognizing the familiar mop of auburn curls that fell across his forehead. His beard covered the cleft in his chin, and his bright eyes shone over the bags formed by age and ordeal. But inside, something felt different. For decades, his broad shoulders and brute strength had given him the confidence to face anything. He knew now that stature alone was not always enough.

Two metal gauntlets batted open the tent flap, making way for another armored soldier. This warrior wore a crested helm above a breastplate decked with military regalia. He stood strong and confident, proudly displaying an array of royal insignias and combat medals.

Hamish greeted him with a bow. Captain Keegan.

King Jared didn’t send me to watch the rain, Keegan declared. What’s taking you so long?

Last minute reflections.

About what?

Actions and consequences, Hamish said. Perhaps we should rethink our strategy.

We’ve already agreed on our plan of attack. Can you suggest a better one?

That’s not what I mean, Hamish said. Captain... have you considered the consequences of what we’re about to do?

You stand on the cusp of vengeance, Keegan said, squeezing his right gauntlet into a fist. The man who butchered your daughter is nearly in our clutches, and now you balk?

You think it will be so simple, Hamish answered. I have feuded with this clan for years. I know their ways. I know how they think. Clan Trugarane will never surrender their chieftain, and if we attempt to take him by force, they will fight us.

If they resist, we’ll beat them into submission.

The Niranites follow many ancient customs, but surrender is not among them.

Then they’ll be destroyed, Keegan said, and it will be their choice. Today, we make an example of Trugarane and their twisted chieftain. The remaining Niranites will learn that the Monarchy upholds its laws, and they’ll speak of how we struck with great wrath when innocent lives were taken.

And if we’re forced to butcher an entire clan, will the rest of the Niranites simply roll over? Pointing beyond the red canvas walls, Hamish said, Even without Trugarane, there are over a thousand adherents still living in Tora Danya. How will they respond if we slaughter their cousins?

I don’t care how they respond. An impatient scowl overtook Keegan’s face. Even if every last Niranite in Tora Danya rebels, we’ll handle them.

Who can count the innocent lives that would be lost before we subdued them?

The royal captain rounded on Hamish. Lord MacDougal, you dishonor your station with this lack of resolve! Have you forgotten what Jayne did to your daughter?

Have I forgotten? Hamish advanced on the captain, standing eye-to-eye with a furious glare. "How could I ever forget? Those savages captured my sweet little Rosie, pinned her down to an altar, and carved out her still-beating heart as an offering to some vile goddess! Every night, I imagine her screams! Every day, I see how my Duncan has had his childhood torn away by a burning need for vengeance. Do you know what he said to me before I left on this mission? He said, ‘Kill them, Father! Even if they fall to their knees and beg forgiveness, kill every last one of them, or Rosie’s spirit will never rest!’ A boy of ten, and already he has lost the capacity for mercy! Turning away, he stared into his mirror with an empty gaze. No, Randolph, I have not forgotten what Gabriel Jayne did to my family."

Then why do you hesitate when you know what must be done? Keegan returned. Your daughter is dead. Your son is devastated. Your wife has fallen ill from the grief of it all. The Hamish MacDougal I know would march in, no questions asked, and dispense justice in the face of such evil!

How many more deaths in the name of justice? Hamish argued. It was justice that started this tragedy, and vengeance that perpetuated it. If I hadn’t executed Jayne’s son, the chieftain wouldn’t have murdered Rosie.

Arno Jayne was a marauding bastard who raped a village woman, Keegan said. It was a heinous crime, and you meted out punishment as you saw fit, just as any other peer of the realm would do.

Some say the reason Arno dared to attack a citizen under my protection is because I harassed his clan, Hamish said. They would be correct. For years, I’ve slandered them, called them law-breakers, and accused them of crimes I had no proof they’d committed.

Well, now you have proof.

But if I hadn’t... Once more, Hamish relived his recent tragedies. If I’d merely imprisoned Arno, or lashed him, or even taken one of his hands...

Milord, Richard said, you mustn’t forgive this clan by taking their guilt upon yourself.

I did what I thought was right and lawful, Hamish responded, but the only meaningful outcome is that my Rosie is dead. A death for a death, as Jayne declared.

And that is why he must pay, Keegan said, smashing his gauntlet against Hamish’s wooden desk. This entire drama only proves that the Niranites and their barbaric ways no longer have a place in our world. Rape is outlawed, murder is outlawed, and ceremonial human sacrifice is certainly outlawed! Today, we send a message to the Niranites: they must obey the laws of Tora Danya or face extinction. The remaining five clans will have no choice but to abandon the violence of their archaic ways.

So we hope, Hamish said, "but if these events have taught me anything, it’s that the journey unfolds only after it’s too late to turn from the path. I don’t know what will happen today, but I warn you here and now: the decisions that have led us to this field of battle, my decisions, will ring louder than you realize."

I can’t worry about an uncertain future, Keegan said. At this moment, my king has bid me to take chieftain Jayne dead or alive. If the rest of the clan stands in the way of a royal decree, I will deal with them accordingly. I won’t force you into action, Hamish. You can help me to avenge your daughter, or you can stand by and watch while I do it for you.

It seems the path is chosen, Hamish sighed. I will come; this is, after all, my feud. I will do everything in my power to uphold the law, and to avenge Rosie, no matter what bitter fruit we might reap down the road.

Then be ready in five minutes, or we march without you. Batting open the tent flap, Keegan slipped into the gloomy morning.

Milord, shall I fetch your sword? Richard asked.

I am not so addled that I can’t fetch my own blade. Approaching his weapon rack, the Baron of Arinnley Province selected a keen two-handed longsword. The base of the steel was engraved with the likeness of a cawing raven. Feathered wings unfurled below the head to form a bronze crossguard. Unwinding the cloth bindings from the hilt, Hamish revealed a sapphire-encrusted claw, its talons clutching a pommel diamond roughly the size of a child’s fist. Further up the blade, the inscribed words Loyalty, Justice, Vengeance shone true.

This blade has led my family to victory on countless occasions, Hamish murmured. Whatever I must face from this day forth, whatever legacy I leave to my heirs, I pray that Ravenbrand is up to the challenge.

In thirty generations, it has never failed, Richard replied.

Come, Hamish beckoned. Let us confront the wayward followers of Nira. Perhaps their goddess has one more trick up her sleeve.

They stepped out of the tent and onto a field of mustering warriors. Hamish’s own men, adorned by the raven crest of house MacDougal, awaited orders in disciplined ranks. Behind them, Captain Randolph Keegan barked commands to a detachment of fifty royal soldiers, all bearing the insignia of King Jared Fairbairn: a proud, muscular ram.

As Hamish marched to the head of his army, he beheld, across the moors, the outskirt of the Niranite village, before which stood an army of no less than one-hundred and fifty warriors dressed in leathers and hides. Even from under the dim light of the overcast sky, he could detect a tint of crimson from their ceremonial tattoos, just as he could hear their triumphant roars goading him into battle. Swords, spears, and axes rattled with anticipation.

At the head of the clan stood a solemn figure, naked from the waist up, decorated with so many tattoos that his skin appeared entirely red. Tall and dark, he wielded a single-bladed war axe in each hand.

Are you ready, Richard? Hamish asked. For whatever may come?

I am with you, Milord.

Turning the point of his sword groundward, Hamish kissed the pommel stone. May Shani guide us to victory, he prayed, and may Amakar grant us the wisdom to survive our victory.

They marched out to face the tide.

Part I

Dark Horizons

Chapter 1

Lessons

Summerhaze 15th, 1563

Oceanward Province, Tora Danya

LEAH GODFREY KNEW she was tempting fate.

One misstep would send her plummeting into a stormy sea. Mats of wet kelp covered the jetty, and buffeting winds threatened to topple her off her feet. Nevertheless, each time those swollen waves burst against the rocks, she delighted in the challenge of skittering away from the briny spray without losing her footing. After days of being stormbound, this sort of excitement was exactly what she needed.

For the better part of a week, the northern seacoast had been turned upside down in a fit of primal fury. Tree-whipping gales drove heavy rains across the region, scattering debris from beach to meadow. Claws of white lightning blazed over an agitated ocean, heralding thunder loud enough to overwhelm even the roar of the battered sea. While the present period of calm was refreshing, a new mass of dark clouds on the western horizon assured Leah that it was only a matter of time before the chaos resumed.

Of course, none of this had stopped two of the more reckless fishermen in Sealight Cove from casting off between storms. With the rest of the village grounded, Mad Tom Chapman and old Christopher Walshe thought to use the window of calm to catch a net-full of fish. Against the advice of their peers, they struck out on Chapman’s boat, the Wildeye, as soon as the rain died down. The weather held for a few hours, but once the wind had regained its momentum, the tiny vessel vanished with its two-man crew.

As Leah scanned the coast for any sign of the Wildeye, a howling gust nearly pitched her off the jetty. She pin-wheeled her arms to maintain balance.

Leah! called a concerned voice.

She turned in response, breathless and laughing.

Come back to shore!

I’m fine, father! she returned. It’s beautiful out here!

Come back, you’ll get hurt!

Jonah Godfrey often indulged his daughter’s youthful antics, but Leah recognized when anxiety got the better of him. Sighing, she made her way across the stones, careful to avoid the slickest pockets of kelp, and leapt into the sand with both feet.

What do you see? he asked.

A lot of dead fish. Setting one hand on his shoulder, she said, You know, the ancients used to believe that fish washing up on shore was an omen.

Of what?

A very cranky sea god.

As usual, her dry humor failed to entertain him. If you’re finished amusing yourself, may we get back to the task of finding our lost neighbors?

Among broken shells and mounds of seaweed, the storm had beached countless fish, whose corpses continuously summoned a ravenous flock of seabirds. Gulls and terns fought the breeze in a whirlwind of squawks and feathers, picking at every scrap of flotsam to catch their collective eye. Unfortunately, no trace of the missing fisherman could be found among the carnage.

I don’t see them anywhere, she frowned. Maybe if we search further west?

We’d be wasting our time, Jonah said. "I warned the search party that we would find nothing in this direction. All week, the wind has been blowing from the west. If the Wildeye ran aground anywhere, it washed into the cliffs east of town, just below the lighthouse."

That’s where the others are searching, Leah said. Let’s go join them.

I think we should return to the village.

But I want to help! Walshe may be a smelly old drunk, but he’s in danger, and Mad Tom is my friend!

I can’t tell you how it pleases me to know that my sixteen-year-old daughter is friends with a man she calls ‘Mad Tom’.

Don’t be crass. Tom may be a tad crazy, but he’d never hurt anyone. We can’t just leave them out here to die!

I’m not heartless, Jonah said. I do want to find our neighbors, but if we’re away from the village when the weather turns hostile again, we’ll be the ones in need of help.

The ominous shroud to the west supported his concerns. What a disappointing adventure this has turned out to be, she pouted.

The day is far from over. Let’s head back.

They ambled inland, ascending the dunes and into a fragrant meadow speckled by wildflowers. The meadow belonged to a succession of fields divided by seaward canals. A network of small oak-wood bridges provided means of crossing the channels where they scored the road.

Further south loomed the northern outskirt of the vast Dunwood Forest and its confounding trails.

Leah knelt beside the nearest gully and swirled her hand in the water.

Don’t dawdle, Jonah said. I don’t want you out here when the rain starts again. You’ll get sick.

Oh, you nervous old hen! Nothing is going to happen. You can’t protect me forever, you know.

That’s what I’m afraid of.

She studied him with affection. Jonah was a small man with thinning hair, his lined face painting the ideal picture of early middle-age. While his apparel was more practical than ostentatious, an array of leather pouches hanging from his belt marked him as a collector of herbs. Leah knew him to be a private person. Abiding at the outskirt of Sealight Cove, he hoped to work in solitude, but because he was the most medically inclined person in the area, locals came to him for herbs and healing. Dealing with customers didn’t make him any more amenable to social interaction, but it did help to fund his research into healing oils and burn salves. Despite his curmudgeonly demeanor, Leah always found in his eyes a reflection of his top priority: undying love for his daughter.

The wind tossed her raven hair across her face, forcing her to push it back behind her ear. We’ll be fine. The whole village is praying for us, and for the missing fishermen.

Jonah grimaced. Naïve countryfolk bowing to invisible men with magical powers. Didn’t I teach you that gods aren’t real?

That’s not what you said.

No?

You said the Gods, if they ever existed, have long since departed.

Either way, they’re not listening, Jonah said. So why do you waste time on them?

It can’t hurt to pray a little, even if no one is listening. If the Gods were with us at one time, maybe they’re still here now.

Then why are they silent when so many people need them?

She shrugged. Maybe they’re napping.

Oh, you’re hopeless, he grumbled. Who taught you about prayer, anyway? One of our superstitious villagers?

Actually, it was your friend Arthur.

Arthur? Jonah quickly replied. He’s not my friend; he’s a customer, and an occasional one at that. What did he say to you?

The last time he came through town, we talked about the Old Gods. It was fascinating!

Don’t talk to Arthur.

Why not?

I don’t need him confusing you with his mystic hogwash.

The distant braying of a horse sparked Leah’s attention. Turning east, she beheld two brown steeds galloping up the road. The smaller horse carried a lightly clad militiaman, while the larger bore an armored warrior.

Sighting the Godfreys, the riders turned north into the meadow.

News? Leah wondered. Maybe they’ve found our friends.

The armored warrior met them with a perturbed expression, rearing his horse to a halt with more force than necessary. There you are, he said, his large eyes narrowing. Jonah, you and your brat are needed back at the village.

Leah scowled at him. Nice to see you too, Sergeant Molloy.

Below his tarnished breastplate, Molloy eagerly fingered the hilt of his sword, daring Jonah to defy him. Quickly, he commanded. Chapman and Walshe have been found, but they’re both injured. They await you at the hospital.

Jonah mounted up behind Molloy, while Leah joined the second rider. Where were they found?

East of town, on a small beach below the cliffs.

Imagine that, Jonah grumbled.

They galloped east along the road until it curved left, away from the shadowed Dunwood Forest and toward a cluster of rustic houses nestled at the foot of a sheer cliff. Behind the village, roaring ocean waves burst against a rocky bank, atop which rose a weatherworn lighthouse several hundred yards in the distance. It was the lighthouse that gave Sealight Cove its name, as it played an important role in warning sailors away from the cliffs and crags of the cove. Seeing that beacon always warmed Leah’s heart, for it meant she was home.

Perhaps it was because Leah had so little experience outside the Cove, but it never bothered her that the village was comprised of shanties. Several two-story buildings were scattered amongst them, but they were old and weather-beaten, preserving the ramshackle appearance of the community. Only the ever-popular inn and tavern, rising three stories, resembled a manor. The Godfrey cottage stood atop a hill at the southwestern edge of town, just on the outskirt of the forest. A squat rectangular building beside it served as the local hospital.

The riders dismounted on the hilltop, where a handful of frantic townsfolk waited outside the hospital. Together, they recounted how the Wildeye was demolished, leaving Walshe with a gash in his side and Mad Tom with a startling head wound. Sergeant Molloy ordered his militiaman to quiet the townsfolk, then followed the Godfreys into the building.

To Leah, the hospital always felt too small, more of a detached apartment with its own hearth. Here, Jonah kept six cots for the sick and the wounded, three to the left wall and three to the right. Shelves overflowed with a collection of salves, ointments, and medical instruments. More concerned villagers waited among them, only to be cast out by the sergeant.

Christopher Walshe lay in the first cot on the right, beside a bookshelf of rumpled scrolls and corked bottles. Mad Tom Chapman lay on the cot behind him, muttering incoherently through the bandage around his face. While Jonah assessed Chapman’s wound, he bid Leah to attend to Walshe.

Chris gazed at Leah through his left eye, the cataract on its counterpart staring blindly. A white cloth, now red and sticky, had helped to clot the flow from his side, but the shredded flesh was still pumping blood.

Slashed meself on the wreckage of the ship, he said.

I know, Leah said. Why were you out there?

Thought we could catch a bumper crop if no one else was fishin’, he said. Rest of the village was docked.

They were docked for a reason, Molloy growled. No one else was foolish enough to set sail during the worst storm this region has seen in decades! What you did was stupid.

Leah glanced at Robert Molloy with distaste, thinking again about how his tyrannical method of governing had soured her entire village. What the sergeant means, she said, is that the risk was unnecessary. No one doubts your skill as sailors.

Nah, he’s right, Chris admitted. Ain’t never seen a current like that. Lucky I survived. ‘Course it... it could’a been worse than this little gash.

We’re going to fix that for you right now, Jonah said, stepping over to assist them.

By her father’s decision to focus on Walshe, Leah surmised that Chapman must be stable.

It took Jonah several minutes to examine the wound, clean it out, and prepare its closure, during which time the patient downed a bottle of especially potent ale. When Jonah had heated a metal rod in the flames beneath the hearth, he asked, Are you ready?

Leah inserted a wooden dowel between her patient’s teeth. We’re ready.

She held her breath as Jonah lifted the red-hot iron.

Chris neither closed his eyes nor attempted to swallow the pain as Jonah cauterized his wound; he merely crushed Leah’s fingers between his own and unleashed a tormented shriek. Leah forced herself to watch, knowing that she must learn to come to terms with pain if she was ever to make a useful healer. Though her tolerance for blood was high, the act of cleaning and cauterizing a wound was still difficult. She accepted that sometimes the cure was as harsh as the affliction, but anything that caused the patient more pain than he or she was already suffering made her stomach seize.

When it was over, Chris spit out the dowel and sounded a groan of relief.

That should staunch the flow, Jonah said. We’ll bandage the rest.

A lucky bastard, I am, Chris gasped. Could have ended up like poor Tom. Smashed his head off the shoals.

Leah glanced at her friend. He was muttering, and his limbs were twitching.

Father, she said, Tom is in pain.

Jonah began to clean Walshe’s skin with a damp cloth.

Help him, she said. I’ll clean and dress Chris.

He halted for a moment before continuing to work. Leah, go examine Chapman’s wound.

There were several tones Jonah used that incited anxiety in Leah. This was one of them. Her palms grew clammy as she approached the adjacent cot, finding Mad Tom to be a mess of sweat and saliva. A basic appraisal of the patient was all she needed to realize that she had misinterpreted her father’s decision to focus on Chris. An unsecured bandage covered the left side of Chapman’s face, though the bulk of it was lain gently over his forehead, soaked with crimson. As she reached to move it, his muttering grew louder.

She was unprepared for what lay beneath. The front of Mad Tom’s head had become a gory depression, crushed like a crater into his skull. What lay within was a mottle of tangled hair, clotted blood, and scrambled grey matter. Bits of bone had settled into the mess, ensuring that the brain beneath had been well and truly disturbed.

Leah covered her mouth. By all the Gods... she muttered. Father, we have to help him!

His fate is no longer in our hands.

W-What? Her faced drain of color. There must be something we can do!

You may comfort him as he passes.

No! Her heart pounded in her ears. There must be a way to save him!

What are you blubbering about, girl? Molloy said. With a wound like that, death is a blessing.

Pulling Leah away from the cot, Jonah whispered, You have much to learn. I recommend you keep your emotions in check until his suffering ends. I’ve given him valerian to help him relax. All you can do now is speak words of comfort for as long as he can hear you.

Tears filled her eyes. We can’t just leave him to suffer.

I don’t intend to. In a moment, I will give him quickleaf extract.

No, you can’t!

I have no other option.

But that will...

Yes, it will stop his heart! he said. He will be thankful for it.

Leah’s face grew red with a rage of grief and frustration. She raised her fists in protest, opened her mouth to debate, but as a sense of helplessness overcame her, her only recourse was to flee the hospital.

Outside, the militiaman fought to keep order while the villagers awaited news. Leah found herself unable to indulge them. The image of Chapman’s demolished skull burned in her brain, bringing waves of nausea.

Leah! cried one of the villagers. Tell me what’s goin’ on before I go in there and find out myself!

Ease up on her, Murdoch, said another one. We knew Tom was in bad shape.

Yeah, but what about Chris? Lost a lot of blood, but that wound wasn’t fatal. Come on, the next storm is comin’ any second! I want to know the deal before we have to lock down again!

Sergeant Molloy exited the building.

Molloy! Murdoch called. What’s happening in there?

Walshe will live, Chapman won’t, Molloy announced, shoving the crowd away as he mounted his steed and gestured for the militiaman to follow. Report Tom’s death. Warren will need to dig another hole after this storm ends.

Leah fled from Molloy’s tactless words, retreating to her home within the neighboring cottage. She ignored the tinkling of the tiny silver bell that announced her entry, just as she declined to cross through the storefront and into her living quarters. Setting her back against the wall, she slid down onto her rear and wept.

Chapman’s wound wasn’t the first head trauma she had seen. It wasn’t even the first fatal injury she had seen, but she had known old Tom for so long. Watching a wounded traveler pass away was one thing; watching a friend die was something else.

Why did he do it? she thought. He challenged the elements for no reason, and what has he proven? That the gods of storms and seas are still stronger than helpless little men! Why do we bother saving lives if they’re only going to end?

Through her grief, she sensed she was not alone. Had someone else been in the storefront all along, or had he entered while she wept?

Either way, she glanced up to find a dark figure sitting on the wicker chair in the corner, his legs crossed and his gloved fingertips pressed patiently together.

Arthur? she sniffed, wiping away her tears. Is that you?

Two pale eyes stared out from the shadows of his damp cloak. None other.

She rose to her feet. What are you doing here?

I am waiting for your father, he said. I hear there was a bit of a to-do in Sealight Cove.

Yes, she said. Two men cast off in the storm. Only one survived.

And this disturbs you.

His voice, both deep and resonant, moved something primal within her. She felt as though he were chanting, preparing to break into an operatic baritone at any second. Wandering over to the counter, she pretended to tidy the apothecary. Why do you think that?

You came in abruptly. You were weeping.

The victim was a friend of mine.

I see, he said. It boggles my mind how men fear the embrace of death. They act as though existence simply ends when they transcend from this world and into another. They fail to see what lies beyond the life they so desperately cling to.

Was he mocking her grief? How would you know what lies beyond?

I have seen it, he answered. Perhaps you could see it as well, if you would but open your eyes.

The little bell tinkled and in stepped Jonah. His smock was stained with blood.

Godfrey. Arthur rose from the wicker chair. Standing at six-and-a-half-feet, he seemed a tower unto himself. I have been waiting for you.

Jonah stood between before his daughter and the albino. You’re early.

Arthur threw back his hood. I know.

Although Leah had seen the mysterious traveler’s face before, it never failed to startle her. His complexion, right down to the lips, was milky white. His hair was long and stringy, tied in a row of braids that fell around his neck, and they too were pure white. No doubt this lack of coloring contributed to the impression that he was missing his eyebrows. A pair of steely blue-grey eyes, tinged ever-so-slightly with pink, dominated the upper half of his face, draining Leah of her will to look away.

I have come for my package, Jonah, he announced.

It’s not ready. I’m behind in my work this month.

I’ve only a few days to spare before I must be off for other provinces, Arthur answered.

Fine, Jonah grumbled. I’ll have it ready by this evening. Return then.

Very well. Arthur’s pink eyes lingered over Leah. I would continue our discussion, little one.

Leave my daughter alone, Jonah said, holding a protective arm in front of her. She’s had a rough day.

It won’t be the last. Lifting his hood, the albino turned to go.

Wait, Leah said. It’s about to rain again. You’re just going right out into the storm?

Weather does not deter me, Arthur said. Until the sky clears, I will travel close to cover.

With an elegant whirl of his cloak, he opened the door, drawing