The Windkeeper: Book 1 in the Eld Creatures Series

By Emily Schroeder

Hidden away in a small town in the kingdom of Norbane, Morgans existence is kept secret from those who would do anything to find her. Even she doesn't know who she is. When a royal air mage named Roden comes into her town looking for her, she is suddenly thrust into a destiny she did not choose. He tells her she is a windkeeper, a mage whose powers are intimately linked to magical creatures called marlens. The marlens have been hiding for so long that most people think they don't exist. However, they are the only creatures with sufficient power to end the war that threatens Norbane and its mages.

With time running short, Morgan must learn how to master her powers and call the marlens to fight. She and Roden face many obstacles together: battling enemy mages, a dragon with a human farm, dealing with opposition from the marlens, and trying to fight off the unlikely attraction they begin feel for one another. They have a job to do, and if Morgan fails, countless lives will be lost and damage will be done that even magic cant fix.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 22, 2014
• ISBN: 9781503518759

Emily Schroeder

Emily Schroeder grew up in central Ohio with her parents, Tom and Mary Laskowski, and her two sisters, Meggan and Rebecca. In 2012, she received a BS in geology from Ohio University. She now lives in Eastern Pennsylvania with her husband, Adam, and her eccentric (but lovable) cat, Kaida. Emily is an avid reader and writer. She wrote her first fantasy book when she was fourteen and has never given up her dream of being a published author. Aside from writing, she is also a collector of rocks, a self-taught artist, a crafter, and a lover of all things adventure.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Lightning flashed through an angry purple sky as wind battered the tower window, making it hum like some lonely spirit. Roden Ravenstorm watched the rain, his narrowed eyes filled with memories and images of another night many years past. This storm brought back that night with such sharp clarity that it almost hurt, a night filled with actions that would probably haunt him forever. With a flash of lightning, he remembered the shadowed room where a young girl lay dead on the floor. His fault. With a rumble of thunder, he imagined he heard hooves churning up dirt and rocks as the horse carried him away from that cursed place one stride at a time, a stolen babe tucked securely under his arm. Roden grimaced. He had only done what needed to be done. He would do it all again without hesitation if that meant it would save Norbane.

Can’t you do something about that cursed rain? It’s giving me a headache, muttered King Adonyss. His eyes never left the letter he was reading for a moment. Roden turned with a raised eyebrow and saw deep lines of concern on the king’s weathered face. He suspected the contents of the letter had more to do with that headache than the rain. The king had been in a sour mood ever since he’d started reading, but he had yet to tell anyone what it said. The letter had just arrived from Eldemere, the kingdom that neighbored Norbane to the west. It took little imagination to guess what it said.

It is not wise to mess with natural processes unless absolutely necessary, sire, he cautioned absentmindedly. Of course, I can banish the storm if that is truly your wish.

Adonyss snorted, waving an arm. Oh, never mind, he said grumpily.

Very good, sire.

Silence blanketed the room once more as the king continued reading and Roden unconsciously slipped back into his thoughts. He knew he could handle this storm with ease; it was only a matter of evening out pressure and temperature. He was Norbane’s most powerful air mage, which meant common thunderstorms were well within his range of abilities. Still, messing with weather was always dangerous no matter how skilled the mage. Nature could never be completely controlled. Anyway, there was something about this storm that made him reluctant to tamper with it. Each storm had a unique beauty of its own, and this one raged with a wild abandon that was hard to deny.

War, said Adonyss finally, slapping the letter on the table in disgust. Just as we feared. Gealgath has gone too far this time. Apparently, all their latest conquests weren’t enough. Now they’ve gone after Eldemere. Gealgath offers them the chance to surrender peacefully or they will take Eldemere by force. It’s insulting! They have only until the summer to decide.

Roden nodded but made no comment. It was terrible news, but he had been expecting it. They all had. They had just expected it to happen decades in the future. That it was happening now was somewhat problematic.

Eldemere begs for Norbane’s aid, and what choice do we have? If we don’t join forces, Gealgath will only come after us next. Adonyss smacked his hand on the table. Can there be no way around it?

Roden turned fully from the window. He could feel the air molecules around him snapping at his touch. They were more charged than usual with the storm going on. This war was foretold by the dragons thousands of years ago, sire; there is no way around it.

Adonyss cursed under his breath. Damn it, Ravenstorm, you are the most powerful mage in Norbane! Is there nothing you can do?

You have read the prophecy just as I have. There is only one hope for our kingdoms now.

He spoke calmly, though his mind was whirling, already planning out what their next course of action would be. He understood the king’s desperation. Gealgath, the kingdom to the far west, had been inching closer for years, one conquest at a time. There were rumblings of a movement to unite all four elemental kingdoms under one rule. Until now, rumblings were all it had amounted to, but it had always been a matter of time. Roden knew one thing: Norbane wouldn’t go down without a fight. There would be no peaceful surrendering here.

The king ran a hand through his deep gold hair. His eyes held desperation as he looked up at Roden. She’s fifteen years old, Roden, he practically pleaded. My daughter is that age, for heaven’s sake! You expect me to trust the fate of my kingdom to a child? There must be another way.

Roden squared his jaw, considering Adonyss. What about only one way was hard to understand? He tried to remind himself that he owed everything he was to the king. If it weren’t for him, Roden would probably still be roaming the streets, a nobody with nowhere to go. Still, people who didn’t understand magic annoyed him. They always expected to have their problems fixed instantly. Magic was a messy business, filled with consequences. If used incorrectly, the results could be disastrous. This prophecy was older than any of them could possibly imagine. Its words had loomed over them for generations, a terrible promise of things to come. Now it was time. If the prophecy said there was only one way to end this coming war, then there was only one way. No amount of wishing would change that. What the king didn’t seem to understand was that this war wasn’t just any war—it was the war. There was magic involved here, and whenever that happened, rules had to be followed.

I’m afraid not, sire, was all he said. As I’ve mentioned, the prophecy is rather clear on the subject. We have the girl; therefore, we have the advantage. She may be a bit young, but we can work around that.

Damn it, we had a plan. The king stood and began to pace, no longer calm enough to remain seated. Why couldn’t they have held off a few more years? They know they can’t win without her. What do they stand to gain from this maneuver?

Roden shrugged. Our plan rested on us having more time. Maybe we were foolish to rely on that. I expect they are attacking now because they know we have her and that she is inexperienced. They know we’ll have to bring her out of hiding if we want to win, thus giving them the chance to steal her back and turn her to their side. She has to be old enough to coherently make decisions but young enough to be easily impressed upon. If I were in Gealgath’s position, I would attack now as well. It’s a good strategy.

The king shook his head. Do you really think she can do it? We have no idea what manner of creatures we’re putting her up against. It seems wrong to put this on a child, to use her like this.

Roden’s voice was cool. We’ve all made sacrifices. She will be no different. Roden hesitated. We could wait a few more years until she’s older if it bothers you that much. But are you really willing to waste that time and all those lives in war just so you’ll feel better about it? When does compassion turn into selfishness? Think of all the men you’ll be sending to their deaths.

The king sighed. He stared down at the letter as if it were to blame for all of this. No, you’re right; it has to be now. I will begin discussions with Eldemere immediately. I suppose this means we’ll have to cancel the festival this year.

The queen, who had been quietly embroidering through their whole conversation, chose this moment to serenely interject. You most certainly will not, Adonyss!

The king rolled his eyes, barely sparing her a glance. Be sensible, Felicity. We’re about to go to war, or do you only listen to the parts that interest you? It’s hardly the time to waste money and effort on frivolity.

The queen sat up straighter in her chair, fixing him with a glacial stare. I listen to everything you say, my dear, contrary to what you may think. It’s no use fighting Master Ravenstorm when he gets an idea into his head. Her eyes turned on Roden, staring just long enough to make him uncomfortable. No matter how tasteless it may be, she continued, the disapproval heavy in her voice. Roden had no intention of explaining himself to her or anyone else. The things he did were always for the good of Norbane. Even if they sometimes were unsavory, someone had to do them.

Maybe I can’t stop you from ruining some poor girl’s life, but at the very least I can fight you on this! she said, her voice rising infinitesimally. This festival is as old as the kingdom. It has been held once every year, without fail for as long as anyone can remember. Are you going to tell me you’re willing to break that long and glorious chain just so you can hole up here in your castle and brood about the horrors to come? The people will need something to take their minds off the unrest of the kingdoms, and this is the perfect distraction.

No, Felicity. We will need to strategize and build our armies. There is no time for your little traditions.

"My traditions? The queen stood, her forgotten embroidery floating to the floor. Adonyss took an involuntary step back. These traditions are what make us who we are, she spat. How will your subjects see it if you are willing to throw them away at the first hint of danger? They need to see, now more than ever, that Gealgath doesn’t scare us."

Adonyss threw his hands in the air. What do you want me to do? Roden could sense his frustration quickly turning to anger. Throw all our money away, all our resources, all our precious time that could be used for more important—

The queen is right, sire, Roden interjected from his corner. He was loath to involve himself in a dispute between the king and his wife, but he had plans of his own to set in motion. The festival should go on. But instead of just putting it on for show, we will use it to our advantage. Where was it scheduled to take place this year?

Cloudsdale, said the queen, folding her arms. She looked surprised, as if she never expected there would be something the two of them agreed upon.

We will have the festival, said Roden, but it will be in Birchaven.

The king’s eyebrows shot up, and the queen wrinkled her nose.

You can’t be serious. No one will want to go to that godforsaken bit of land in the Northern Province.

With all respect, my queen, it hardly matters. All I need is a reasonable alibi for why I’m going there; this festival is the perfect solution. I just need to slip in, find the girl, and get her away without anyone asking questions. With so much going on at the festival, I doubt anyone will notice when she suddenly disappears. And when they do, we’ll already be gone.

The king stopped pacing. It just might work, he murmured thoughtfully. A smile broke out on his face. All right, my dear, you may have your festival. We will send out messengers tomorrow, announcing it.

The queen pursed her lips. She looked like she wanted to say more to her husband or smack him. Roden couldn’t quite tell which. Fine, she finally said, picking up her embroidery and whisking from the room. You men and your games, she muttered. Only willing to do something if it benefits you.

If she thought he was doing this for his own benefit, she couldn’t be more wrong. Not once in his entire life had Roden done something for himself. Well, one time, when he was seven, but not since then. His entire life was devoted to serving Norbane and keeping it safe. Nothing else mattered.

The king shook his head, laughing. Now that the matter was settled, his mood had improved greatly. Temperamental woman, isn’t she? Somehow she always seems to get her way, although I’ve found it usually works out best for me if it turns out that way. Wouldn’t you agree?

Roden only shrugged. He would be the first to admit that he knew little of women and what they wanted. Women were not something that he considered worthy of his time. Hmm. He glanced out the window again, anxious to be on his way. How soon can we get this festival up and running? I want to get started as soon as possible.

We’ll need at least two months when you factor in travel. Someone has to inform Birchaven, and they’re miles away. If we send the birds, it’ll be faster, but we’ll still have to allow time for all the merchants to make their way up there and get things set up. Is that soon enough?

Roden’s mouth was a thin line. I suppose it will have to do. He bowed and moved toward the door.

Roden? the king’s voice stopped him midstride. He turned on his heel, eyebrows raised in question.

Do you really think we have a chance?

Roden’s face was impassive. He knew what Adonyss wanted to hear, but he couldn’t make that promise. In terms of outcome, nothing was certain now. I will do my best.

Adonyss nodded brusquely. I understand. Best of luck, my friend.

Roden nodded and swept from the room. He would have to be patient. He had waited fifteen years; he could wait two more months. If he wanted to do this the right way, without anyone asking questions, he would have to accept that he couldn’t jump on his horse tonight and charge up to the Northern Province with no excuse. Gealgathean spies were everywhere and would be watching for something like that, especially now. With mages who could watch through the eyes of forest animals, their informants could be hiding anywhere. He had invested too much time into keeping this secret. He wasn’t about to ruin it now that they were so close to fulfilling the prophecy.

CHAPTER 1

W ind rustled through the emerald trees, pulling spring blossoms off the bushes and making them dance in the air. Morgan lounged in her favorite spot by the pond: a gnarled old tree whose branches hung out over the water, forming a bench and providing shade all at the same time. One bare foot dangled in the water, stirring it lazily as she read her novel. It was her favorite book, one she’d read many times. Its faded pages bore the characteristic rips and smudges of a book well loved.

There weren’t any bookstores in Birchaven, so Morgan had to make do with what Nuala brought with her when they moved here fifteen years ago. She was just lucky the old woman liked to read as much as she did. No one else in town cared or had time for such nonsense. It was accepted, though, that the old herb woman and her orphan daughter were different; they didn’t come from here, so they weren’t expected to act the same.

Morgan used to ask Nuala where they lived before they came here, but she never got an answer. The old woman would just get a thoughtful look on her face, as if she were remembering something, and smile. Then she would laugh and say, Oh, here and there. It hardly matters because here is where we are now, and it doesn’t do to dwell on what’s already been done. The old woman was full of mysteries. She never told stories—not a single one—of her life before she found Morgan on her doorstep one balmy summer solstice night.

A cherry blossom pirouetted daintily through the air and landed on her page. She absentmindedly brushed it into the water with the others, her mind engrossed in another world. It didn’t matter how many times she read this book; it would never get boring because, at the very least, it was more exciting than life in Birchaven.

Morgan?

Nuala’s voice echoed through the trees. Morgan debated ignoring it. She was at a particularly interesting part in the story, and she had no desire to get up.

Morgan! This time it was more insistent. Morgan sighed, closing the book with a thump. The longer she waited, the more irritated Nuala would become. It was never good for anyone if Nuala was angry. Unfortunately, her temperament was such that it was hard to avoid. Morgan grabbed up her shoes, dashing through the trees. She came out of the thick brush, into the clearing behind the cottage.

Nuala’s cottage sat just inside the edge of the forest but not so far in that the undergrowth was overwhelming. In older times, this whole area had been either dense forest or murky bog. Long since, the land around the town had been stripped of trees and bracken, but the forest was never far off. Being an herbal healer, Nuala preferred to live farther from the domesticity of town and closer to the plants of her trade. Morgan was the one exception in her unending quest for solitude, besides Suak the duck, of course. Suak followed after Nuala wherever she went.

I never planned on having a child, the old woman used to say, but someone up there knew me better than myself and planned on it anyway. I’m thankful to whomever or whatever left you at my door that summer’s eve.

Morgan was glad she had never been too much of a burden on old Nuala and her strange, solitary ways. She tried her best to learn the art of healing, but it soon became apparent that it simply wasn’t her gift. She loved the freedom of the outdoors, and wildlife fascinated her to no end, but she didn’t have the patience it took for the long hours of memorization and preparation that came with herb lore. Nuala didn’t seem too concerned about it, although maybe a little disappointed at first.

Your purpose will come in time, little one, was all she said on the matter. Healing is not for everyone.

Morgan often wondered what that purpose would be. Already at fifteen, shouldn’t she have found it by now? She wished, for Nuala’s sake, that she was a good student. She had honestly tried to be, but she just didn’t have the heart for it. For the time being, she was content to learn basic healing skills and carry Nuala’s deliveries. They both knew she couldn’t go on doing that forever, though. For one thing, Nuala wasn’t getting any younger. At almost seventy, her hands weren’t what they used to be.

Morgan had always been good with animals, especially wild ones. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much of a market for animal care in Birchaven unless you were also a farmer. Women were not allowed to have their own farms. Anyway, she was better with the wild ones, and there was no use for that here at all.

Of course, there was always marriage. The normal choice, to be sure, but Morgan never actually considered it as an option. With so few men in town, it was unlikely an offer would be made to the strange orphan girl. That was fine, considering she was just as unlikely to accept such an offer. Marriage in this town meant staying here forever. That was what the people did; they grew up in Birchaven, married, and then stayed here their whole lives. They did not leave or even think of leaving. If she were to ever see the world, that wasn’t the way to do it.

From a very young age, Morgan had never intended to stay. She didn’t know why, but she had always known she didn’t belong here. Maybe it was just because she and Nuala were so different, or maybe it was something more. She supposed most people would call her foolish for thinking so, but deep down she knew.

Nuala was standing out back, one hand on a stout hip, the other brandishing a basket. She merely raised an eyebrow as Morgan trotted up to her.

I have a delivery for you, she said, plucking cherry blossoms out of Morgan’s messy auburn curls. Been reading down by the pond again? she asked, plucking the book from Morgan’s hand and exchanging it for the basket. Sometimes I think you spend too much time reading.

Morgan laughed. You think that? You read all the time.

That’s beside the point, said the old woman, waving her arm.

Not really. Besides, books are more exciting than real life. I wish my life could be like a novel.

Nuala grunted, frowning. Hmm. Be careful what you wish for, my dear. Live the life that’s set before you and be thankful for it. Novels may seem exciting and glamorous, but that’s only because you know there will be a happy ending. Real life rarely turns out that way; it’s messy, and those who go on adventures don’t normally return from them.

I still think it would be fun, Morgan grumped, looking inside the basket. Where am I going with this?

Up to the inn. Tabitha’s caught a cold, it seems. With the festival coming up, she’s desperate for some relief. Mind you explain how many times a day she should take it in order for it to be useful.

I know, said Morgan, rolling her eyes. I always do.

Nuala smiled, shoving Morgan on her way. Good girl. Mind you don’t stay there too long. And you should probably take your cape; it’s like to be dark on your walk back.

The sun was just beginning to set as Morgan headed out. It wasn’t a long walk to town, maybe five minutes. Although it was spring, the nights were still fairly cold, this far north. Plus they were only a few miles from the mountains that separated the North lands from the rest of the continent. The North lands were always cold.

Morgan reached Seelie Tavern and pulled back her hood, letting the warmth of the inn envelop her.

Good evening, Tabitha, she said cheerfully as she pulled the packet of tea out of her basket. She sat on a barstool and slid it across the counter.

The older woman smiled kindly at her with big, watery eyes. She sneezed loudly into a handkerchief before accepting the gift. Bless you, child. I do hope this cold is through before next week’s festival. I’ve no time for sickness when the whole kingdom will be knocking on my door in need of a place to stay!

Morgan smiled. Don’t worry about that, Tabitha. Nuala said to take the tea with every meal and you should start feeling better in no time.

I surely hope so, child. I don’t know how we’ll manage if I’m not. My Bernan is a hardworking man, but he’ll need me at my best when the merchants start coming in force. Some have already begun to trickle into town. Here, my dear, have some stew.

She plopped a steaming bowl in front of her as Morgan glanced about the room. There were the regulars, of course, but there were also more strangers than usual. It was exciting as well as daunting.

Birchaven was a tiny town in the Northern Province of Norbane. Small and insubstantial, the town had little to offer the rest of the kingdom. That they were chosen to host the King’s Festival had come as a shock to nearly everyone, especially the people of the town itself. The festival was hosted in a different town every year, but the kingdom of Norbane was vast. As far as they could remember, the people of Birchaven had never had the privilege of hosting one before. Up until now, they hadn’t been completely sure the rest of Norbane knew they even existed. The Northern Province was a rainy, misty, forested place. Its forests were wild and untamed with few roads going between them. The handful of merchants who managed to stumble into Birchaven every year had traveled far, indeed.

You’ll handle them splendidly, Tabitha, said Morgan. Most of them will bring their own accommodations with them, so I hear. What a sight that will be!

Oh yes, and it gives me a headache already, just thinking of it. Where will we put them all? One thing is for sure, my girl: whoever decided that Birchaven would be the hosting town has obviously never been here.

I shouldn’t think so, she agreed, laughing. What a surprise they will have.

Tabitha grinned. They certainly will! This fresh, boggy air will do those high-seated nobles some good. Will they really all make the journey, do you think?

I don’t see why not. It’s not as if we’re at war yet.

Yet, said Tabitha nervously. What do you mean yet?

I listen to the merchants when they roll into town as much as anybody else. It’s only a matter of time before Gealgath makes a move on us as well. They’ve taken every other kingdom west of Eldemere. Why stop there?

Gealgath was the kingdom in the far west, although not so far nowadays. Over the years, it had slowly begun to conquer all the smaller kingdoms, not stopping until it devoured every single one of them. Now, all that remained on the continent were the two greater kingdoms of Eldemere and Norbane. Morgan didn’t think for one second that Gealgath would be content with what they had. From what she had heard, they would never be content until they devoured everything, including themselves.

Oh, I don’t know about that, said Tabitha, laughing it off. They’ve seen fit to live alongside us in peace for a few years now.

Yes, but it takes time to amass armies and strategize. We need to be ready for them.

And what would a slip like you be thinking about such things for? At fifteen, you’re a might young to be talking of war and strategies.

I’m not so young that I can’t see something when it’s staring me in the face. Gealgath can’t be trusted.

Morgan and Tabitha were now getting several meaningful glares from the tavern patrons. War was never a subject that they would want to discuss. It took farmers away from their land and turned them into ill-equipped soldiers. War meant only death for people like them.

Yes, well, that may be, said Tabitha, hastily filling up more cups but it’s hard to say at this point, one way or the other. Why are we talking about such a gloomy subject, anyway? We’ve a festival to host! Well, my dear, do thank Nuala for the tea. You’ve had enough to eat haven’t you? She whisked the plate out of Morgan’s hands and smiled cheerfully.

Morgan sighed and jumped from the stool as she fastened her cloak. Let me know if the tea doesn’t work for you and I’ll ask Nuala to try something else.

I certainly will, child. I’ll tell Hazel you stopped by.

Morgan nodded as she headed out the door and into the foggy night. Fog almost always came up here at night. Mist swirled about her skirts in great billows as her feet crunched through the frosted olive grass. The moon was still low in the sky, three quarters large and growing. The King’s Festival would begin at full moon.

Normally, Birchaven would be in bed when the light faded and then rise with the sun, but preparations for the events had kept both townsfolk and visitors working long into the night. Morgan’s normally solitary walk back to Nuala’s cottage was filled with the sounds of saws, hammers, horses, and laughter. It was a welcome change to the normal routine, and Morgan found herself disappointed that all the expectation and excitement would be gone in just a short time.

As Morgan reached the outskirts of town, the noises of carpentry and laughter died down into the background. Out here, there was a smattering of tents, all empty now with their inhabitants working diligently into the night. There would be many more in the days to come. Nuala loved her solitude, but she would just have to adjust for a few days. The hills and fields around Birchaven were vast but still probably not enough to hold so many people without encroaching on their modest forest home. Morgan was excited to see all the different people of Norbane. It was such a large kingdom; the customs in each region must differ greatly from one another.

Of course, the people she longed to see the most were the students and masters from the university in the crown city of Laryndorn. Magic enticed her. From a very young age, she had heard of it and been drawn to the idea of it. Of course, in Birchaven, there were no mages. She knew Nuala had been to many places and done many things before she came to settle here; she had to have encountered magic folk at some point along the way. Unfortunately, Nuala would tell her nothing of those days and absolutely nothing about magic. Really, it was unfair. She didn’t see that there was any harm in it. Perhaps Nuala just didn’t like magic, Morgan concluded. Or perhaps she was jealous and wished she had it and the whole topic was a sore point. She shrugged. One guess was as good as another.

As she crested the next hill, Nuala’s cottage came into view, warm and cozy against the ink dark trees of the forest. A sizeable herb garden hugged the house on three sides, most of the plants just waking up from their winter sleep. Nuala found most of her garden herbs by sending Morgan out to forage for them in the forest. She had accumulated quite a collection over the years, but Morgan still had to forage for a new one occasionally. She’d had Morgan start the garden when it became too much trouble for her to do the searching herself. It was still useful to be near the source, however. There were a few plants that didn’t do well in a garden and needed to grow wild.

Morgan often felt like those plants; she would not thrive in a garden either. She needed to be wild and rambling and free! It was lucky for her that she was left with Nuala and not a more traditional family of Birchaven. Nuala understood her need for freedom like no other could because that was how she felt too. It was the code she lived by: freedom above all else. She lived by it to the extent that she had never taken a husband in all her long years. All she said on the matter was that men needed more looking after than a newborn child, and she wanted no part of that.

From what Morgan saw of the people in Birchaven, the men were kind enough and the families were happy. But there was an unspoken expectation between all of them to settle down and begin a family and a decent trade. Although they were happy, Morgan saw no freedom in it. It was all so expected and boring.

Morgan stepped up to the cottage gate, opened it, and stepped inside. The many wind chimes that Nuala had hung from her roof tinkled merrily in the evening breeze. Morgan often wondered where she had gotten them. This town could not afford to support artisans of such frivolous products. No doubt they were from the portion of Nuala’s life that was unknown. Who she had been before she came to Birchaven was a mystery to everyone, not just Morgan. Whenever Morgan asked about her past, Nuala would tell her that it was not yet time. Nuala had many such artifacts in her small home: telescopes, gemstones, dream catchers, maps, and books upon books. Morgan was sure each one of these things had a story, but she began to doubt she would ever know them.

Morgan opened the door and stepped inside the strange home that had always been normal to her. She was surprised to find Nuala still working away at the long table by the fire. By this time, she was normally retired for the night, curled up by the fire with one of her books and a mug of tea.

Nuala looked up as Morgan came in. There was a rush of wings behind her as Suak came flying through the door, headed right for Nuala.

Stop! she yelled as the duck landed gracelessly on the table, shaking it precariously and all its contents. Some of the bottles near the edge toppled to the stone floor with a crash. Foolish bird, she muttered. Now look what you’ve done.

She picked up the duck, who quacked indignantly, and plopped her down in her basket. Suak ruffled her wings and immediately jumped out of the basket, waddling about the floor, looking for ways to make trouble.

Impossible creature, Nuala said. Come in, child! Help me with this. Old Bernan from the tavern was just here, telling me that we are to have our own table at the festival. Now isn’t that something? They think my potions will fetch quite a price. With so many people coming, I’m inclined to agree with him. But with the festival nearly upon us, we don’t have much time to get everything together. I’m going to need lots of help. You might consider asking Hazel to come out and give us a hand.

I can ask her tomorrow, said Morgan as she hung her cloak on the peg. She set the basket next to the door and stooped to help Nuala clean up the mess Suak had made. The damage wasn’t as bad as it could have been, but Morgan assumed this wasn’t her first mess of the night. That was probably why the duck had been banished to the outdoors when she got home. She seemed content enough now to inspect a basket of yarn by the fire, quacking softly as she jumped inside and made herself comfortable.

So how is Tabitha faring? Nuala mused as she mopped up the table.

Her cold is not a bad one, but just bad enough to be annoying. Your tea should have her feeling better by festival time.

Nuala snorted. Of course it will. My tea can fix anything.

So what are we making for the festival? Morgan asked, rather intrigued by the notion of getting to participate.

The old woman chuckled, a glint in her eye. What aren’t we making? I thought we could whip up some of our more popular remedies and the basic ones, of course, for common ailments. Teas, soaps, dried herbs—no proper healer would set up shop among so many people without those. And then, of course, there will be the rare stores.

Morgan raised her eyebrows. Nuala rarely mentioned her rare stores, and when she did, it was always with note of reverence. She never said anything about what they were or where they were from. Their properties were special and should be used with the utmost care. Nuala had yet to use them at all as far as Morgan knew. That she was willing to pull them out now was nothing short of shocking, even if it was for the King’s Festival.

Yes, Nuala said, acknowledging Morgan’s look, I think it is finally time to bring them out. What better time than when the whole kingdom is knocking on our door? Now—she rubbed her gnarled hands together, looking over her ingredients—we have much to do between now and then, I daresay. Hand me that lavender, would you dear? While you’re at it, get the mint and rosemary as well… and that bag of rice. I’ve already got the chamomile here.

Morgan scrambled to unhook the various herbs from the rafters and drag over the large bag of rice.

I already put together some canisters of tea earlier this evening. She gestured to the rows and rows of small cans, stacked up against the wall. You’ll label them tomorrow, won’t you? I thought we’d do one of the easier ones tonight before we call it quits. Simple rice bags to ease muscle cramps and calm the nerves.

Morgan smiled. Rice bags were a favorite of the townsfolk. Most of them being farmers, there was no end to the aches and pains they acquired throughout their labor-filled days. Morgan herself owned several. While rosemary and mint ones were favored by the farmers for their ability to ease muscle cramps, she rather liked the soothing lavender and chamomile best. It was just the thing to ease a troubled mind at the end of a long day. For some reason, they always worked better when Nuala made them. She wasn’t sure why.

Nuala set up four large bowls on her work table and gathered the bunches of herbs together.

How many peddlers came in today? the old woman asked as she divided the bag of rice equally between the four bowls.

I’d say about twice as many as yesterday. They were all still hard at work when I left town. Morgan sighed as she eyed the many colored strips of cloth lying in the basket next to the table. It was her task to stitch up the bags for Nuala to fill, not her favorite job in the world. She grabbed a stool and set up shop by the fire. Suak eyed the basket of cloth for a few moments from her perch in the yarn basket and then climbed out, waddling over to inspect it. Satisfied with its potential, she hopped in and arranged the strips around her like a nest.

No doubt. They’ve got lots of work ahead of them if they are to turn Birchaven into a proper site for the king and his entourage. I don’t envy them that task.

No, said Morgan, I don’t either. When will the nobles start arriving, do you think?

Nuala methodically measured out cups full of the dried herbs and dumped them into the bowls. Then she sprinkled each bowl with the appropriate essential oils.

Oh, they won’t show their faces till the morning of the event and not a moment sooner. If you can imagine it, they always travel together to the festival. All those preening nobles, forced to travel side by side all over the kingdom! I’m sure the king ruffled quite a few feathers by having it held in Birchaven this year. But they have to come together because their arrival marks the opening of the festival.

That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard. That many people traveling together is a recipe for disaster. Morgan winced as she pricked herself.

Nuala laughed. Of course it’s silly. Living the life of a noble, there’s all sorts of time for being silly. They’ve rarely got anything else to do.

I don’t think I would like being one then. I would rather be useful and poor than live grandly and be bored all the time.

My thoughts exactly, said Nuala, mixing together the rice and herbs with a large wooden spoon. But everyone in the kingdom has a purpose, and the Creator knows not everyone feels as we do.

Once she was done mixing, Nuala stretched and yawned, pulling her fringed shawl more tightly over her shoulders. Well, I’m off to bed, child. You’ll finish up here, won’t you? Young thing that you are, the late hours shouldn’t bother you a bit. Oh, and don’t forget to fetch Hazel in the morning. The two of you can forage for the list of ingredients I left by the door.

As she hobbled away, Morgan stared at the pile of strips she had yet to sew and then at her finished pile: two. It was going to be a long night. Sighing, she hunched over her work by the light of the crackling fire. Outside, she could just barely hear the cheerful music of the wind chimes as they swayed in the breeze, making her mind wander to far-off lands and places she could only dream of, but would probably never see.

CHAPTER 2

M organ sat on a fallen log and yawned deeply as Hazel crawled about in the shallow undergrowth, searching meticulously for anything living. Luckily, Nuala’s list consisted mostly of barks and roots: things that were easy to find at any time of the year. But there were a few tricky ones, which she apologized for, but insisted that she needed. Most plants were well on their way to showing buds and tender green leaves, but there were some that remained stubbornly dormant.

Aha! I got some, said Hazel happily as she stuffed the comfrey roots into her bag.

Excellent, said Morgan, checking it off her list. As she had expected, sewing and filling over fifty rice bags had taken more than half the night to accomplish. She had only gotten a few hours of sleep before first the sun, and then Nuala had woken her.

Luckily, her friend enjoyed helping Nuala and Morgan with all aspects of the healing process. She had the heart for it that Morgan did not. Morgan often wondered that Nuala didn’t just ask her to apprentice with her, seeing as Morgan was obviously not cut out for the work. She needed someone in line to take her place, and it would take years to have someone ready for such a task.

Morgan was not jealous that Nuala’s craft came naturally to Hazel instead of her. In fact, it eased her mind greatly that there would be someone left to keep the old woman company if she ever did decide to leave. As Tabitha and Bernan’s third child, there wasn’t much expected of Hazel, except that she was welcome to stay and help run the tavern if she wished. Morgan did not think her parents would mind much if she wished to pursue the acceptable trade of healing, even though it meant she would probably not be able to marry. They had enough children that they weren’t too worried about continuing the family line. Anyway, everyone knew Birchaven would need a good healer when Nuala was gone, and nobody but Hazel had yet to show any interest in the idea.

How many more are on the list? Hazel straightened up and brushed off her skirts. Her eyes were bright this morning, and her gloved hands were brown with dirt. She always loved digging around in the weeds. Morgan wished she could borrow some of that enthusiasm at the moment, but all she wanted to do was sleep.

Looks like dandelion leaves and roots, violet leaves, and clover. I saved those for last because we’ll have to go to the fields to get them.

Well, let’s get moving then. Nuala will be wanting us back soon. Hazel marched through the brush, not looking back to see if Morgan was coming.

She sighed, looking at her legs and willing them to move. They didn’t. She gazed about the forest, listening to the happy sounds of animals hard at work. The birds were singing loudly today, promising that the weather would be nice and warm when the sun was fully up. The emerald and jade leaves rustled happily in the treetops, and golden sunlight filtered through, dappling the forest floor.

Just as she was about to pull herself up and head off after Hazel, she heard a small rustling in the undergrowth a few feet away. She thought it was probably a squirrel and moved to walk on until she heard a plaintive whine issue from the same spot.

Curious, Morgan moved to see what it was. As she knelt down and pulled back the brush, she was surprised to find a sandy red fox. By the looks of him, he was full grown. When he saw her, he immediately tried to scramble away, his frightened little heart beating rapidly. It was then that she noticed his back leg was broken, which made it hard for him to move much at all. It didn’t look as if the leg had been broken for long, which was good. That would make it easier to set.

Trying to convey a deep sense of calm, Morgan hushed the creature and held her hand out to him, palm up. What do we have here? she said in a soothing voice. It looks as if you’ve gotten yourself into some trouble, young sir.

He regarded her with liquid black eyes and flicked one ear, still a little unsure but willing to sniff at her fingers. He gave a soft whimper, as if agreeing with her and bemoaning his fate. He moved to examine his back leg, nudging it and willing it to move. Then he looked back up at her with pleading eyes.

Morgan laughed. What a pitiful creature you are, she said affectionately. Of course I can help you. Well, she amended, I can get Nuala to help me help you. Setting broken bones is tricky, and the Creator knows it’s something I’ve never mastered. Will you permit me to carry you? Or are you going to get scared and do yourself more harm by trying to get away?

The fox gave a yip and nudged her hand with his little black nose. She took that as consent and moved to lift him into her arms, mindful of the damaged leg. It was a little awkward because he was so big, but she managed not to hurt him too much. The fox was surprisingly accepting of her touch. Usually, wounded animals were more protective of themselves, especially against people. This wasn’t the first time a wounded animal had allowed Morgan to offer help, but it still surprised her every time. It went against a wild animal’s nature to do so.

Every time Morgan brought home a new forest animal for care, Nuala would stare at it and her with a thoughtful expression. Then she would help Morgan with whatever was ailing the creature, and never a word would be spoken about what she was thinking about so deeply. Morgan asked her about it once, and all Nuala said was: I don’t know what you mean, child. I am often thinking deeply and of many things. To which are you referring? At that point, Morgan never asked her again. There were certain questions that Nuala just wouldn’t answer. She never outright said she wouldn’t, but she always made it clear in her manner when something was off-limits.

As she came to the edge of the forest, she could see Hazel far off on the hillside, collecting all the dandelions she could find. There were many. When she looked up to see Morgan coming, she stopped. Even at this distance, Morgan could see her astonishment. Eventually she just shook her head and continued gathering. The fox, upon seeing another human, became agitated, and his ears began to flatten on his head as he squirmed.

You stop that right now, said Morgan, forcing him to look at her. You’ll only hurt yourself, acting so silly. Hazel is a healer. She won’t hurt you.

He eyed her dubiously, and his ears remained flattened, but he did stop squirming. As they approached Hazel, he didn’t take his eyes off her, though.

Only when Morgan got close enough did Hazel lift her head again to speak and presumably to examine the new companion more closely.

Morgan, she said in exasperation, what is that?

It’s a fox, she said, smiling. The fox flicked an ear, not taking his eyes from Hazel. She could feel how tense he was. It was a good thing Hazel was practical and had the sense to move slowly.

Just checking. What’s it doing here?

I found him in the forest with a broken leg. I think Nuala will be able to help me fix him.

Oh, well, as long as you’ve got a plan. This sort of thing really shouldn’t surprise me anymore, she muttered as she swiped at a cluster of violets. "He looks