The Dark Hills Book 1-Delwyn’S Child

By Marie A. Fein

Kyra is a young girl who has been sheltered by her parents and protected by the master healers of The Hills so that she may fulfill her destiny. Latent abilities emerge in Kyra as she reaches the energy filled Hills where she will be studying for the next three years. Unknown to Kyra, her encounter with Lair, the schools doyen, is not her first. She is also unaware that the master healers are in charge of helping her discover the powerful skills which she will use to defeat dark forces; some are gentler guides than others. Kyra is not alone in this adventure. She quickly befriends Essa, her confidant, and is antagonized by Essas twin, Aiden, who Kyra rescues from the highly addictive Niacoce Archway. In the end it is an unlikely ally who saves Kyra from a determined soul stalker, allowing her to accomplish what the Destinies revealed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 14, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465353184

Marie A. Fein

"Marie A. Fein was born and raised on Long Island. Highly motivated, she excelled both intellectually and athletically, becoming the first member of her family to attend University. She got her Bachelors degree in Speech Pathology at East Stroudsburg University and then took her Masters at Hunter College in New York. Marie is now a teacher and a mother of four who lives in New Jersey with her husband and two youngest children."

Book preview

The Dark Hills

Book 1

Delwyn’s Child

103416-FEIN-layout-low.pdf

Marie A. Fein

Copyright © 2011 by Marie A. Fein.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2011914768

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4653-5317-7

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4653-5316-0

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4653-5318-4

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

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Xlibris Corporation

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103416

Contents

KYRA

TWINS

MERCHANT WEED

KNOCK

CHANGE

HOME

ROOT

HILLS

REVEALING

DOORS

ILLUSIONS

WARNING

TRANSLATION

PROPHECY

RESCUE

LESSONS

LINKINGS

HEROES

TRUTH

LOSS

APPENDIX

In memory of my beautiful sister Beth.

To my loving family.

Thank you, Elaine.

KYRA

It had been a moon since the ritual, and Kyra was as lost as ever. Where was the awakening she heard so much about? If she had things her way, she would have become a keeper or a guardian, not a healer. In fact, just the thought of being a healer frightened her. It always had.

She still remembered when she was taken to them as a child sick with fever. Her mother had tried every remedy—eyeroot, hollywart, gael tubers, and railberries—but they all failed. As a last resort, they traveled to the Dark Hills to seek help. Just the name of the gathering place gave her chills. She was taken to the chamber by herself, no one to hold her hand or sing her a lilting song to ease her mind. She remembered crying for her mother, but they just led her away. Kyra still saw the room in her mind: it was dark, and a gray mist hung in the air. She thought at times that it was alive and swayed with her breath. There were two, maybe three others, in the room, but she never saw them clearly. Either the mist grew too thick or her mind was foggy. She grew ever more frightened, and it felt like her heart was about to leap from her chest. A dark haze fell like dust over her mind, and all went black.

She once questioned her mother about what happened, but she learned very little.

You had a very bad case of roil, that’s all. You were so young when it happened that you don’t remember properly. Besides, memories distort themselves in the passing seasons. You don’t need to be a keeper to know that. You recovered quickly, and that’s all that matters. No more discussion now. Go finish your chores.

Kyra often had nightmares about the whole incident; the room, the mist, the shadows were all still fresh in her mind. Over the past year, they became more frequent and seemed all too real. Every night for the last week she would startle and wake in a cold sweat, and when sleep would not return, she found herself pacing the room until morning. She never told Iima how intense the dreams became. She knew they would only be dismissed as childish, that’s how her mother dealt with the unexplainable. Kyra wondered why she should find herself journeying to the Hills on her own if she was so childish.

Roil? Everyone gets roil, but no one goes to the healers for it. It goes away on its own. Kyra pushed the thoughts out of her mind and returned to her packing. The journey wouldn’t be too hard as long as she had the proper supplies and stuck to the path. She carefully wrapped her newly picked herbs in moistened linen and then rolled them up tightly in fleckin leaves. Kyra’s mother taught her this little-known secret. By placing these waxy leaves around food and herbs, you could retain their moisture for several days or even weeks. She hoped to find a few large green leaves left on the trees, but it was already late in the season and only small ones were available; they would have to do. At least their waxy coating was thick and the leaves plump. As she finished tying the bundle, her mother interrupted her.

Kyra, I finished mending the cloak and here’s some extra flat bread.

Oh, thank you, Iima.

What’s wrong, Kyra? I wish you weren’t so worried. Everything will be okay, you’ll see.

I wish I was as sure as you, but I… the dreams.

Dreams! her mother exclaimed. Stop being so childish and push them out of your head. You should be honored to have been chosen.

But…

Enough, Epa will be home soon, and I don’t want you to trouble him with this silliness. Wash up and go set the table.

Kyra placed the bread within her sack and moved slowly toward the kitchen. Kyra spent most of her time in this room. When she was little, she sat at her mother’s feet as meals were prepared and dishes were washed. As she got older, she stood beside her mother as she taught Kyra how to cook and produce simple herbal remedies. Kyra always enjoyed smelling cookies and pies baking as she completed her schoolwork.

As she entered the small space, she ran her hand along the edge of the smooth butcher-block countertop. She stared at the heavily worn spot to the left of the sink and was overcome by a wash of emotion. Where others may have viewed this spot as old and replaceable, Kyra saw memories. Kyra stopped at a faded green hutch that sat beside the kitchen’s fieldstone fireplace. Scanning the china through the leaded glass doors, her eyes stopped on one plate in particular. It was one of her mother’s fine porcelain dinner plates. Although it was difficult to see, there was a hairline crack on its rim. It was a plate she herself had damaged when she was a young child eager to help set the table. Although her mother told her not to touch anything on the top shelves of the cabinet, Kyra pulled a chair over to the hutch after her mother went outside to gather some sage from her garden. On tiptoe, she grabbed the bright white porcelain with delicate blue forget-me-nots painted on it, leaned a little too far to one side, and toppled off the chair. In an effort to protect the plate, Kyra held it against her chest with both hands. Unable to reach out her arms for protection, she hit her head against the flagstone floor and woke up several wicks later in her bed with the town healer, Wiilan, leaning over her. As the memory faded, Kyra began to feel a dull headache coming on. Whenever she remembered events from her childhood, they seemed incredibly recent, not so distant in time.

Kyra opened the hutch and removed three dinner plates and three mugs from a lower shelf. She then gathered the linen napkins from a drawer on the other side of the fireplace. A small pot lay over the fire, and the sweet smell of honey potatoes filled the room. She smiled briefly. It was a treat she had not tasted since early childhood, but it was fresh on her tongue. Iima didn’t make it often because the precious honey was so hard to find. Her first memory of the treat was following her illness. Iima made it as a celebratory dish, and Kyra viewed it as a homecoming treat, not one to leave on. She didn’t remember her time at the Hills; however, it couldn’t have been more than a week. Iima had left early to tend to her gardens. When she and her father returned, her mother was so happy to see the both of them that she invited several friends over to celebrate. Looking back, Kyra though it was odd that such a big deal was made about her and Epa’s return from such a short leave. What was even more peculiar was that she could only remember two family friends attending that party, Wiilan and Arthur. With her memories always so vivid, why was it she could only recall two faces from what was described to her as a large gathering? She wanted so badly to hold on to her childhood and remember its simple pleasures. Instead, the unknown that was placed before her crowded her mind.

Kyra was just finishing with the table when her father came home. He was a short thin man with crystal-blue eyes and an inviting smile. Kyra got her looks from him. Her long black hair mimicked the wave in his and her crystal blue eyes shined as brightly. In his youth, he had her same milky-white complexion and long delicate fingers; but years of harsh labor turned his skin leathery, and his hands were deformed and rough with callus. He once played the cither and sang elegantly; the tunes appeared to linger even though the music stopped. In his youth, he dreamt of being a soother and studied this intricate art form until the death of his parents. As the eldest son, it was his responsibility to provide for his family; therefore, he gave up his dream and began a life of hard labor. After their marriage, Iima encouraged him to pick up his cither, but he refused. The pain of losing his dream still lingered in his heart. Occasionally, when he thought he was alone, Epa could be heard singing quietly; and the song, almost tangible, wrapped itself around the small house.

Dinner was quiet even though Iima attempted to lighten the mood several times with conversation about her day. Not much was eaten, and the honey potatoes remained in the pot. Kyra retired to her room soon after clearing the table. She walked about slowly studying its every inch. The stones that lined its walls were cold, but invited touch. In the cracks, Kyra saw various figures and animals. When she was younger, she enjoyed writing stories about them; and over the years, they became her friends. Before going to sleep, she carefully rearranged a series of small dolls that Epa carved for her. Filled with emotion, she clenched the smallest doll against her chest, laid her head upon the pillow, and cried herself to sleep.

The night passed much too quickly; there were no dreams to disturb her sleep and no pacing until the early morning hours. Kyra jumped as her mother gently touched her shoulder to wake her. After staring at the ceiling for several wicks, she slowly rolled out of bed and washed up before breakfast. Iima heated water for the ewer, an act she did not do often. Kyra was used to cleaning with cold water and actually found it refreshing, but she was pleased to feel the warmth against her face nonetheless. The table was dressed with flowers and baskets of warm biscuits. Marmalade and a small caster of honey were set by Kyra’s chair. Surprised at how hungry she was, Kyra ate two biscuits and found herself wiping the last drips of honey from her plate. After breakfast, she washed and dried the dishes as she did every morning. Seeing she was crying, Epa approached her, took the towel from her hand, and dried the tears from her face.

Don’t cry, Kyra, everything will be all right. You’ll see.

I don’t think I can do it. Maybe I shouldn’t go. What if it’s not the right choice?

How can it be the wrong one? You chose this path before your first season as I chose mine.

What do you mean? How did I…

You’ll see, it will all work out. Epa gently pulled her into his arms. It’s time to go. Epa’s embrace was strong and sure, and Kyra wished she could take it with her; she didn’t want it to end. As he let go, Iima kissed her forehead tenderly. Iima’s heart was breaking, but she tried hard not to show it. How could she have agreed to let her daughter go through with this? All she wanted to do was shelter her from pain and hold her safely in her arms, but this was a calling she could not stop. She remembered the first time she held Kyra. She cried as she took her into her arms for the first time, and she was crying now as she had to let her go. Where had her baby gone? Kyra stepped from the house and walked down the narrow path worn in the grass. As she passed the garden of now-spent flowers, she looked back to the empty steps, hoping they would call her to return, but all was silent. She was on her own.

There was no worry of how to get to the Dark Hills; the path was well-known to her. Her family had relatives in the Kailin Valley between the Dark Hills and Mount Frey, and she and Epa often went to visit them during the warm season. She had fond memories of those visits and the journeys there. The time always passed quickly with Epa; he told her stories about his childhood and the great Larom Fables. He memorized all forty-two of them, and it would take several days to hear them all. Now, without anyone to talk to, the walk ahead seemed impossible. Only once did Epa carry her and that was when she accidentally stepped into a fox den and bruised her leg. Even then, it was for only three longpaces; after that, he told her walking on it would make it feel better. For the time she spent on his shoulders, she thought the pain had been well worth it. She felt bigger than life up there and even asked Epa to tell her the Tale of Cole so she could pretend to be the giant conquering Doyle.

She reached the edge of Arthwin forest by midday. Enjoying the warm sun on her face, Kyra decided to eat lunch before entering the dense shade. A few lionmanes on the verge of seeding caught her eye. She plucked them from their resting place and enjoyed blowing their orange fluffy tuffs into the air. Picking a seed, she watched it dance on the breeze as long as her eye could follow. She briefly looked around for cricketweed; their seeds were edible. When the pods turned red and the base was squeezed, they made a low chirping sound as the seeds shot into your mouth. There were none to be found, and it was just as well because it was time for her to go.

Arthwin Forest was very old. Most of the trees were there long before the Delwyns. No one ever cut trees from Arthwin; it was considered sacred and was treated as such. It’s believed that their branches gave voice to the wind, and messages and songs could be heard by the chosen few. Kyra thought she heard the winds speak one night as her family camped at its northern border. She couldn’t figure out what it was saying and resigned it to being her imagination. Before entering, Kyra took a deep, long breath. The smell of rich dirt and decaying leaves filled her nostrils, and the only sound was an occasional warbler. As she stepped into the deep shade, she closed her eyes. The darkness was all too familiar. A flash of hands and blurry faces crossed her mind; she gasped and opened her eyes quickly. It’s just silly, childish worries, she thought to herself, silly worries. Readjusting her pack, Kyra stepped forward reluctantly.

TWINS

Essabelle and Aidan awoke before dawn. Their packs sat neatly by the door. Breakfast was full of conversation and excitement. The twins always knew they wanted to be healers. When they were very young, they’d pretend to cure each other’s ailments. Essabelle often felt the need to touch people she didn’t know in an attempt to ease their mind. Aidan saw himself as a great healer mending mortal wounds with ease. Their parents encouraged their games and daydreams. For their mother, a guardian, nurturing came quite easily. She could see the path of the children under her care and enjoyed helping them discover their way. The twin’s grandmother, Elda, who was the healer of their village for many years, was excited when she learned of their choice.

Most apprentices would not leave their village for an extended period of time; however, all healers were required to study with the master healers of the Dark Hills. This requirement meant apprentice healers would spend twelve seasons away from their families. The twins were not bothered by this; they dreamt of this day for many seasons, and they would not be