The Möerden. The Origin of Magic: first edition

By Amanecer González Cantero

Arana has grown oblivious to her origin. When his gifts increase and there is no one able to teach him to master the power of his magical current, it is time to leave the forest in search of the truth. Moaste, Mico and Nune set out on the road with her, but nothing will go as planned. The delicate thread that unites the worlds has been broken and the balance in magic capsizes while selfishness, the ideals for the purity of the möerden blood and lies become entangled in the events that will take the young magician and her friends to a future. uncertain, where they must choose the path to follow well. Past, present and future intermingle to offer light to the protagonists, who must learn to master magic and deal with the möerden to reestablish the bond that was broken. Ancients, spells, dimensional portals and an endless number of characters, beings and races will come together in this story to try to reverse the chaos that threatens to make Álbora disappear, and the Origin of Magic will be the key.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BadPress
• Release date: May 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9781667457116

Book preview

FIRST

On the first day of spring, the entire city of Tornalon celebrated Renaissance Day. On this date, worries and the distaste of the war that had been waged for three years were put aside and people took to the streets to enjoy the great festivity of Prudenba, the southern kingdom of the continent of Álbora.

The streets were adorned with garlands made from the first buds of the season.  The music made its way through the alleys that ran through the outer neighborhoods those closest to the wall, while the smell of sweets and freshly baked bread enveloped the place in an irresistible vapor.  In the upper neighborhoods, the banners of the different noble families were hung from windows and balconies, many of them directly related to the king.

Despite the turbulent times in which the kingdom was living, which was plunging the kingdom into an already perceptible poverty, the Tornalians refused to lose their favorite festivity and put on their best smile before leaving home, although sadness and worry continued to be evident in them. their dark eyes. 

The war had stretched longer than anyone dared to imagine, and although the border remained intact, the attacks from Calonia did not stop in intensity. Many Tornalians had left their lives at the high peaks, the mountain range that was bound by the neighboring kingdom, defending a government that threatened to capsize; or they drowned in the waters of the Icarid in the battles that were fought by sea; Others were devoured by the monsters dwelling in the Lamento Forest, which closed the border next to the high peaks.

No one remembered the reason that gave rise to the war. Perhaps an angry response from the Calonian king, perhaps the desire to conquer his namesake, may the hatred fueled for generations between both kingdoms. But what encouraged Prudenba to continue in the gap was the conviction that his enemy had a less populated kingdom, weaker, much more corrupt and, therefore, they would succeed if they did not give up in their efforts. For this reason, the posts that defended the border were constantly nurtured by courageous soldiers trained in the academies of the kingdom, the most famous of Álbora. In the military schools, the best prepared army was trained, nourished by both men and women, whose courage and intelligence were highly valued among their ranks.

There were many husbands, wives, sons and daughters, parents, grandparents or siblings who had nothing to celebrate, since they lacked the warmth of someone dear to the home. However, the proud spirit of the Tornalians pushed them to go out and celebrate the first day of the spring equinox. The snow continued to melt in the shady areas of the city, exhausting its last moments of life in incessant drops that formed puddles in the crowded streets.

Chrysalia's boots were soaked, but the girl didn't seem to care. He did not look away from the garlands, from the stalls of frosty fruits, sweets and sweets that scatter through the streets, from the dresses of beautiful colors that the wives of the nobles showed and the brightness of the stallions that he had to overcome. to pass the main avenue. He walked the last meters on the run, suddenly aware that his mother had given him a clear and blunt order. With a short breath, he finally reached the position that his mother ran in one of the best locations on the market. Mara was a respected merchant, as well as a renowned curandera, who had managed to make a name for herself in the capital of Prudenba based on hard work and suffering. Since her husband died, being a very small Chrysalia, she had managed to get ahead with obvious success. 

You're finally here!  But have you seen your boots?  the woman scolded with a frown.  You have taken a long time, do you bring what I asked for?

The girl herself left on the ground the basket that her mother sent her to look for, full of concoctions, herbs, and jars containing a pestilential liquid.

Here you have it.  I haven't forgotten anything: ointments for joints, herbs for infusions, and potions for the bailiff's wife," the little girl recited with a smile.

That's my girl, her mother answered, returning her gesture.

Suddenly a small stone fell between them, at the woman's feet, causing her to cry out in surprise.  Crisalia caught a glimpse of the smiling face of her best friend peeking around the corner of the street.

I can go?  Her, she asked him with her hands clasped in a gesture of supplication.

Okay, the woman gave in.  But first, take off those wet boots and put these on.  Be careful.

I'm going to be with Emaron, nothing will happen to me.

The girl ran to meet the boy who was hiding in the corner and the laughter of both of them reached Mara's stand, which was immediately lost among the crowd towards the central square, where jugglers, magicians and puppeteers delighted everyone. the little ones. 

Mara released a strangled breath.  He did not want to deny Crisalia the iron friendship that united her with Emaron, the youngest son of one of the nobles of the upper city, but he knew that at some point that friendship would end up dying between the prejudices of the child's parents and the social obligations that in they would be imposed upon him in his day, as heir to one of Tornalon's most notable families.  She consoled herself with the thought that the natural order of things would end up putting everyone in her path, and that those paths would lead them irretrievably away from each other.  Why destroy the childhood dreams of two creatures who did not understand social class and family obligations?

But the years went by faster than she was able to assimilate.

The war with Calonia ended thanks to a treaty that, however, was too fragile.  Peace became a fine line that was easy for a man greedy for power to cross, so the treaty was sealed with an arranged marriage between the princess of Prudenba and the heir of that country.  But, despite the intentions, this link did not have the expected effect, since the spouses hated each other as much as their predecessors did.  For this reason, the border posts continued to supply themselves with men and women educated in military schools, trying to maintain a dubious truce that continually threatened to explode.  Not surprisingly, from time to time there were skirmishes that both kingdoms refused to assume, blaming them on rebel groups that had nothing to do with the government of the respective country;  although everyone knew that these rebel factions were fed by both sides.

After ten years of living with the fear of a new war gripping the Tornalians' throats, the city once again prepared to celebrate Renaissance Day.  Crisalia was close to turning twenty and had grown into a beautiful woman with full lips, a prominent bust and narrow waist, with a shock of curly jet-black hair that covered her back to her waist, and huge green eyes that dominated the audience. glances from the young people he passed.  But, despite the fact that one more boy had summoned up the courage to confess her love and ask her to marry him, she rejected each and every one of her proposals.  And Mara knew very well why.

The day was drawing to a close, so the merchant and her daughter set out to collect the merchandise from the stall.  When everything was packed in the car, Crisalia began to get impatient, searching with her eyes for something she couldn't glimpse.  Then, making her smile widen and her eyes begin to sparkle, Emaron appeared at the end of the street.

How was the day?  the boy asked when he joined them.

It hasn't gone bad, the woman replied, giving him a look full of mixed feelings. 

She knew that she should speak to Crisalia, explain to her why her love for the young nobleman was not possible.  But she still hadn't worked up the courage to break her little girl's heart.  She had hoped that the boy's social status, and the pressure of his family, would eventually do the job.  He was well aware of Emaron's mother's reluctance for her to see her daughter, but even she had been unable to separate them.

Mom, can I go to the square to dance?  She asked her daughter with her eyes lit with a passion that she herself felt once, a long time ago.

Mara turned her back on them, pretending to secure the goods to the cart to suppress a tear, and she nodded, saying nothing.  While the young people leave the market with their hands intertwined, the woman muttered in a low voice:

"I won't be the one to come between a couple who love each other.  Let your family be the one to separate them, if they can.  Because if life has taught me anything, it's that love, if it's solid, is hard to start.  Not even death can finish him off.

******

I can't believe it's happening, Crisalia repeated as she gazed enthralled at the engagement ring that Emaron had just placed on her finger.

"I want to be with you for the rest of my life, you know that.  We will marry and have many children.

Crisalia laughed full of dreams to fulfill, longing for a life with the man she loved.

Will you have problems with your parents?  she asked, noticing a sudden knot in her stomach.

"I am the youngest of four brothers, I have nothing to contribute to my family.  The last name Blucar will be preserved through the descendants of my older brothers.

But Peroir left your house a year ago, she protested.  Also Gersaro and Mepren are on the border.  I'm sure your parents are against our wedding.

In any case, we'll have to wait for my older brothers to return.  I guess there isn't much left for them to finish their training in the High Peaks and that way they won't have any objections," Emaron answered in a very good mood.  As for Peroir... he's not coming back.

How do you know?

He left because he was in love with Jesterin, his best friend.  They fled the city together before an arranged marriage was forced on them.  My mother and Jesterin's have done their best to cover up the scandal, but the rumors are stronger than they are.  For the time being, my mother has disowned Peroir, has eliminated him from the will and has forbidden the servants to say his name again at home. 

And now you're going to marry the daughter of a merchant... They're not going to be very happy, she feared.

"What matters is that we are happy.

Emaron grabbed her around the waist to pull her up.  Her mouths were entangled in one of those crazy and passionate kisses that had been engaged for a long time.  A kiss that took their breath away, that set her hearts racing and banished any fear.  But there was a new fear nesting in the young woman's chest, which she extinguished the fiery kiss of her fiancée, leaving the desire that was beginning to burn like fire hanging in the air.

I'm going to miss you, she confessed reluctantly.  Tears began to run down her cheek.  He wiped them away, giving her a reassuring smile.

"It will only be eight months, Crisalia.  They'll be right over.

Eight months is a long time, she complained.

"I have to go to the academy to complete my instruction.  We have already talked about this and you know that I cannot refuse if we want to carry out this wonderful plan that we have talked about.

Crisalia fixed her eyes on him.  She thought of Emaron's family, and after a long silence, she nodded.  It would be enough of a disgrace for him to marry a merchant's daughter to deny them the pleasure of seeing him become a full-fledged soldier.

-I'll be waiting for you.  Come back to my side.

Nothing could stop me from returning to your arms, my love, the boy confessed with a glint in his eyes that made his girlfriend's breath catch.

They melted into a kiss that brought with it new sensations that led them to explore further than they had done until then.  Only the moon and the forest where they were could witness the unconditional love with which the young people gave themselves to each other, a passion that marked the beginning of something inevitable, for better or for worse.

******

No, I won't!  Emaron's shouts bounced off the stone walls of the mansion in the noble quarter of Tornalon.

The young man had just returned home after a long absence.  The instruction had lasted eight months, during which he had been forced to be separated from Crisalia.  That had been the toughest test he had ever faced.  Neither the exhausting training sessions, nor the blows, wounds and bruises that attested to the harshness of the instruction were nothing compared to the fact of having gone so long without seeing his fiancée.  Even more so after she confided in him, through one of the letters she frequently sent him, the enormous secret they had shared for some time.

His parents were not aware of the promise of love given, nor of the engagement ring that he gave Crisalia eight months ago.  He had eagerly awaited the return of his older siblings to finally reveal to them what his future plans were and he couldn't take it anymore to let his parents know the decision he had made.

But as soon as he got home, his life took a turn from which he still had not recovered.  His dreams and his idyllic future with the woman he loved slipped away from him like sand slips through his fingers, and his despair had made him explode.  He continued arguing, his voice shouting, on a ridiculous topic that seemed absurd to him.

Of course you will.  It is your obligation and you must fulfill the duty that you have with this family," his father repeated, increasingly angry.

The boy's mother was sobbing, stretched out on a sofa, a crumpled letter in her hands.  In that paper he was notified that his two eldest sons, who had left for High Peaks twelve months before, had lost their lives in a Calonian incursion led by the rebels.

I have told you that I am not going to marry the daughter of Lady Germides, the young man repeated beside himself.  She doesn't care what you promised, I'm not going to do it.

The young man's father was beginning to get impatient and went towards his youngest son with his fist raised, all composure already lost.  At that moment, her mother screamed and she rose from the chair, her face streaked with tears that had smudged her impeccable makeup.  With a furious glint in her eyes, she faced her son, the only one she had left.  After having given birth to four strong males, who were sufficient guarantee for the family name to endure over time, one of them had fled with his lover to avoid being married off, the two oldest had died and the last one refused to accept the fate that had befallen him.  She knew what was the reason for the young man's reluctance to accept the agreed marriage with which they would ensure the purity of the Blucar surname for life, and she was not willing to allow anyone to tarnish his prestige. 

Listen to me, he hissed dangerously, you're going to do what we tell you.  You are going to marry the daughter of the Germides and you are going to give us offspring.  You will honor the family name, do you understand me?

But, I... I love another woman and I don't think... he tried to defend himself, but the crazed look of her mother drowned out his words.

You are not marrying a merchant's daughter!  Is he crazy?  You are related to King Festir, one of the highest-ranking nobles in this rat-infested city, and you are marrying someone who resembles your lineage, not a scruffy one!

I won't allow you to talk like that about the woman I love, threatened the young man who, driven by the horrifying idea of ​​having to marry someone other than Crisalia, had decided to make everything clear once and for all.  That was the moment.  The woman I love and... that she is pregnant with my first child.

The news struck the boy's father and mother equally, and they fell silent.  Emaron waited a few more minutes, in case his parents came up with a better argument than that for refusing to marry Lady Germides' uptight daughter.  But, seeing that his parents went blank before such a revealed secret, he left the room to lock himself in his room, believing himself to be the winner in that matter.

We can't allow our only son to marry a woman like that, the boy's mother drawled, exuding a hatred that surprised her husband.

And what can we do?  The girl is pregnant.

We won't record her existence, and her whispered words made him shudder.

Horrified, he saw her leave the room with her head held high, fixing her smeared makeup and flashing an icy smile that did not bode well.

SECOND

Emaron left the house through the back door of the kitchen, sheltered in the shadows.  He had waited until the mansion was quiet before he dared to leave his room.  For a long time he had listened to his parents' discussion in the bedroom, though he couldn't make out much of what they were saying.  Apparently, his father was trying to reason with his wife, although judging by the slam of the door and the echo of Lady Blucar's heels descending to the lower floor, he supposed that he had not succeeded.  He didn't care either, because his decision had been made and he wasn't thinking of spending his life with another woman that wasn't Crisalia.

He descended through the cobbled streets of the upper part of the city, the noble neighborhood where the most rancid families in the country were concentrated.  King Festir's castle loomed behind him, its tall turrets silhouetted against the full moon rising in a star-studded sky.  The young man did not want a life surrounded by luxuries, false appearances and money.  Not after tasting the lips of his fiancée and fantasizing about a future that was simple but blissful.  He didn't care in the slightest about leaving that luxurious area behind and going to live with Crisalia in a small house in the lower neighborhoods, even outside the wall if that guaranteed them a quiet life away from his family.

Carried away by the rush of the reunion, he did not realize that someone was following his steps at a certain distance.  He went through an endless number of streets and alleys until he reached the surroundings of the market.  The taverns made muffled sounds through the shuttered windows, which tried to keep out the cold of an incredibly harsh winter.  The laughter, the fights and the merriment would last for a few more hours.

It was early morning and since the day before, when he had started the last leg of his trip back from the military school, he had not slept.  But the weariness had been replaced by the desire to get to the house on the other side of the bridge as soon as possible.  He crossed it with a knot in his stomach and stood in front of the door of a two-story house in the business district.  He called twice, two soft knocks that made her realize that his hands were shaking with excitement.  The door opened a crack and the golden light of an oil lamp illuminated the worn tiles of that part of the city.  Mara's brown eyes bored into her soul, but Emaron was unable to discern what meaning that gaze implied, though a sudden chill ran down his spine.

Where's Chrysalia? Has something happened to you? He dared to ask, noticing how his legs faltered.

Mara continued to look at him with that grim expression, without letting him pass. Then a voice was heard, which sounded like heavenly music at the boy's ears.

Emaron?

The young man begged with his eyes before the woman opened the door for him to enter. Upon accessing the room, she ran into the smiling face of her fiancée, who remained sitting in an armchair in front of the fire. The lower part of the bulky belly was held with one hand, while the other caressed it with slow and delicate movements. Emaron burst into nervous laughter causing her tears and, defeated, she let herself fall in front of the girl. After managing to repress the tears, he threw himself into the shelter of his lips to melt into a kiss that banished all the fatigue, the pain and the fear. He placed his hand calling on what his love had created and sighed in love.

Are you okay? He wanted to know when he was finally able to articulate words.

We're fine, she corrected.

The young man's laughter shot up again, now accompanied by his fiancée's.  They had never felt so happy.  A few knocks on the door broke the emotion of the moment and the three of them went on alert.  Mara gave a quick nod to Emaron, who hastily drew his sword as he positioned Crisalia behind the chair for safety.  Holding the club that she had left leaning against the doorpost after the boy arrived, the woman started to open it.  But before she could reach the knob, the door slammed open against the wall, making the hinges creak dangerously.  A hurricane wind ruffled Mara's hair, blinding her to seeing whatever she wanted outside of her.  Emaron scrambled into a fighting stance, yelling at her to get away from the entrance.

With another loud bang the door closed, leaving the wind trapped outside the house.  After a few moments of confusion, the fire burning in the fireplace settled down and the lights provided by the lamps scattered around the room revealed yet another silhouette.  She was a tall woman with a slim build, dangerous eyes, and a serious expression.  Her auburn hair gleamed in the dim light of the room, regarding them suspiciously from analytical blue eyes before beginning to speak:  "You are in danger.  You must get out of here.

Who are you?  "Emaron wanted to know with his sword still raised.

The question is: do you want to save the lives of your son and your fiancée, or do you want to face me?  she snapped at him arrogantly.

Emaron allowed himself to be carried away by her combative spirit, the one that had been increased and trained in the academy for many months, and he charged at her, determined to eliminate the threat that this stranger could pose to Crisalia.

The woman jerked away from her just as the blade of her sword was about to slash into her shoulder, which could have severed her limb.  Wide-eyed at the speed with which the woman moved, the boy tightened his grip on his weapon to lead another attack.  Before he could even get close, she threw her hands up in her direction and he was sent flying, slamming into the wall.  After the blow he felt momentarily dizzy, but he scrambled to his feet.

Then he stared at the woman, realizing who he really was.  The sword was not going to serve him much in this contest.  He shifted his gaze to Crisalia, assessing the slim chances of getting her out of there, and felt a lump cling to her throat.

You don't have to worry about me, the stranger said as if she read his thoughts.  I am not the one who poses danger to you. 

What are you talking about?  Crisalia wanted to know.

"You've been followed, boy.

He nodded toward the stone bridge visible from the window behind him.  The young man turned in time to notice two shadows slipping quickly between the barrels arranged on the opposite sidewalk.  The red cloak of one of them evoked a memory in his mind: Kileran, his mother's bodyguard.  He muttered a curse as he continued to stare out the window.  His family was going to try at all costs to marry him to the daughter of Lady Germides, and for that they had to put an end to what was getting in the way of his plans: Crisalia and her offspring.  With a confused face, he turned around looking for his fiancée, who immediately sensed the real danger they were running.

If you do what I tell you, I can keep you alive, the woman announced.

Who are you?

Mara, who until then had remained with her back against the wall and her eyes wide, dared to intervene:

She is a möerden.

The young people gave each other a puzzled look.  Emaron had suspected her nature when he saw her practice magic to get rid of her thrusts, but hearing that name of hers astounded him.

My name is Lúdora and I am here to protect the life that makes its way inside you, he told Crisalia as he approached her. 

After placing her in the center of the room, under the watchful eye of Emaron and Mara, she extended one of her hands towards the young woman's belly.  A sharp needle suddenly emerged from under the nail of the möerden's index finger and, without warning, plunged through her navel.  The girl let out a frightened scream that caused her fiancee to try to run to her side, but she stopped him with a gesture.

"Calm down, I'm fine.  I just got scared.

Lúdora withdrew her hand slowly as the sharp object disappeared again under her skin.  A small drop of blood stuck to her finger and the möerden looked at it for a moment before putting it in her mouth.

She's a girl, and she's one of us, she announced with a satisfied smile.  She will wield great powers, the greatest my kind have ever known.

Silence took over the room.  Crisalia smiled as she clung to her belly;  Mara stared at the ground with obvious concern as Emaron tried to digest what was happening.

Our daughter can't be a möerden, she complained.  Neither my fiancée nor I have the gift, and it can only be transmitted through blood, from father to son.

Or from grandparents to granddaughters, Lúdora let out with a mischievous smile directed at Mara, who continued apparently oblivious to everything.

-Mother...

The merchant let out a strangled breath before meeting her daughter's gaze.

Your father was a möerden, she revealed with pain difficult to describe.  His name was Godec.  He died when you were barely a year old.

Why have you never told me?

Because you never revealed that you possessed the power of the möerden and I thought that not having inherited it was the best thing that could happen to you.  Your father suffered a lot because of his power, because of his origin, and he did not want you to reveal gifts that could make you suffer.

But the möerden live in Óstalon.  They never leave their borders and do not mix with us.  That's just...impossible, the young man argued.

Well, your fiancée is a half-breed.  And the child that she carries in her womb is also a child, added Lúdora with a delighted smile that they did not understand.  And if you want to live you have to follow me.

What are you talking about?  Mara wanted to know with growing concern.

That the boy's family has sent someone to end Crisalia's life.

The young woman looked at her fiancée with surprise painted on her face.  He avoided her gaze, concentrating on what was happening on the street. 

My parents have arranged a marriage for me, he revealed sadly.  Mara, she reproached herself at that moment for not having ended the love that grew between the young when she had the chance.  I have refused... I have told them that you are expecting my child.

Why did you do that? the merchant snapped furiously.  You have placed a noose around my daughter's neck.

I don't understand, the confused young woman intervened.  I thought your older brothers would be back soon and...

My brothers have died at the border!  I am the only child they have left to perpetuate the family name.  I never thought my mother would dare to go so far," the young man muttered furiously.

Then you better go with her, Mara urged, moving for the first time since Lúdora broke into her house.

What will you do?  Crisalia asked worriedly.

I'll give you the upper hand, she said as she cupped his face in her hands.  I wish we had more time, my child, but you must go now.  I love you.

"Mom... I can't go.

Protect her, save my girl, she asked Emaron and Lúdora with tears in her eyes.

Crisalia clung to her mother, reluctant to let go, but her fiancée pulled her to follow the möerden to the back of the house, which led into a dark, smelly alley.  A frigid wind fluttered at her cloaks as soon as she left the merchant's home.  Lúdora whistled a soft tune and an owl poked its head out from behind the chimney of one of the neighboring houses, hooting urgently.  She took flight in a westerly direction, displaying her silver feathers.

The möerden smiled before following her faithful friend, who was showing them the way.  They navigated several alleyways, stopping now and then to locate the trail the owl was making for them and listening for the distant sounds that were taking place in Mara's house.  Crisalia pressed her hand to her mouth to prevent her sobs from being heard by her pursuers, but her weeping did not stop until they were far from the city, sheltered by the bare branches of a snowy forest that made its way towards the coast.

The young woman found it more and more difficult to keep up with the pace that Lúdora had set.  Fatigued and without the strength to continue, overwhelmed by the grief of knowing that her mother would have succumbed to the swords of the soldiers of the Blucar family, she dropped to the foot of a tree when she felt a penetrating shock breaking through her. his bowels  She howled in pain, not caring if her screams were heard.

"Ludora, we have to rest.  Crisalia can't go faster

the boy tried to explain to the möerden, who had knelt in front of the young woman.

The woman raised the skirt of the pregnant woman and studied her crotch with concern.  She gave him an unreadable look before hastily fumbling for a small branch that she placed in her mouth.

Get tight with your teeth and try not to scream, she warned him very seriously before rechecking the small trail of blood that was sliding down the girl's thigh, which was beginning to stain the snow that carpeted the forest floor with vermilion. .

What's happening?  the boy wanted to know when Crisalia tried to stifle a new blow of pain.

She has gone into labor, the möerden announced without further ado.  You're going to have to keep those men away while I help her bring your daughter into the world.

Emaron knelt next to her girlfriend and hugged her tightly.  Lost in the light that emanated from those green eyes that had always been the containment dam of everything bad that dragged the world, he kissed her sweetly.  They looked at each other for a second that seemed as eternal as it was ephemeral and words were left over between them.  The girl nodded and he gave her a smile before getting up to run to meet the soldiers sent by her mother.  The metallic sound of the swords did not take long to reach where the young woman was giving birth to her daughter in the middle of a cold and desolate forest, accompanied by a woman she did not know, knowing she was an orphan and noticing how the fear for her, for Emaron and for her little girl was growing in her heart as a prelude to what was going to happen.

A new pain, this one more intense, made her capsize in that sea of ​​doubts and fears.  She fixed her eyes on the möerden's face and understood everything.  But a renewed light broke through inside her and her determination took root like she never had before.  She bit down harder on the stick and began to push with a choking sense of urgency.  She felt the warm blood melt the thin layer of snow under her body, the rapid heartbeat of her little girl, and, finally, the desperate cry of a new life.

Lúdora took off her cloak and hastened to wrap the little girl.  He watched her for a moment and understood the great value that girl had for her cause.  She still wasn't aware of how important she was to her, but she would be by her side to make her understand.

Let me see her, Crisalia asked with a small voice.

The möerden deposited the girl in the arms of her mother and remained looking with a worried expression at the pool of blood on which the young woman rested.

Arana, she will be called Arana, the girl announced with difficulty.  And she, with a smile of pure happiness on her lips, left the world clinging to her daughter, who had lost her mother too soon. 

Lúdora closed the young woman's eyelids, raising a prayer to the Goddess in an ancient language, as was the tradition of her people.  She then heard footsteps approaching them and rushed to take the girl from Crisalia's inert arms.  She turned just as one of the soldiers burst into the clearing, sword leveled at her.  The sheet was stained with blood, so she didn't need more to understand that the little girl had been orphaned as soon as she was born.

The man rushed towards her when he saw that she was unarmed, savoring her victory.  But Lúdora raised one of her hands and a wall of snow began to swirl around the soldier, who remained rooted to the spot without understanding what was happening.  The eddy grew more virulent, trapping him in its center and lifting him over the treetops.  The möerden lowered her hand and the snow disappeared, dropping the soldier into the void from a considerable height.  Hitting the ground he broke his neck and was left lying in a strange position.

The girl began to cry, as if she understood the seriousness of the situation in which she found herself.  Lúdora tried to shut her up by cradling her gently.

The cracking of a branch as it broke under the weight of a body made the möerden divert her attention from her, coming face to face with the