Prologue

The day was a pleasant spring one, with the fragrant smell of lilies in the air and a soft breeze that ever-so-slightly rustled the leaves on the trees. Gentle shadows fell around the woodcutter’s log cabin, located in a clearing in the woods near Dymshire, surrounded by trees on three sides and a forest trail on one. Resting with her back against a boulder, which sat proudly in the center of the clearing, was an old woman, her eyes closed and her face turned up towards the warmth of the sky. From behind the cabin came loud thuds and chops as the old woodcutter worked on steadily. Other than the woodcutter’s incessant chopping, a few chirping birds, and the breeze in the leaves, there was no noise whatsoever in the clearing. It was quiet. Too quiet.

“WAH-HAAAAAAAAI!” screamed a girl cheerily as she crouched on a tree branch at the edge of the woods. The stocky young man perched next to her groaned and covered her mouth with his hand as she giggled maniacally. The chopping in the distance stopped only briefly, then resumed as if nothing had happened. The old lady by the rock didn’t even flinch.

The small boy accompanying the couple holed up in the tree only cringed nervously and shook his head with wonder. Tom, or as he was known to the bandits, “Tom the Timid Initiate,” was being brought along on his first high-risk thievery by Flighty Nimbus Fye and her cousin, Nebulous Nick Nightshade (bandits felt it absolutely necessary to give themselves silly sounding titles in case anyone out there had the gall to try and take them seriously). Nimbus and Nick together were considered the greatest bandits of their age, which was no surprise, considering they were the grandchildren of the legendary siblings Nimble Narissa and Knaughty Knils Nightshade. As far as Tom could tell, Nimbus and Nick were the two loudest, brashest, wildest and least stealthy people he had ever met. And yet somehow, the duo always got away with the juiciest steals, leaving their victims completely unknowing that they’d just been robbed. All and all, Tom was the luckiest apprentice around to be guided by these two.

But Tom felt as if he’d drawn the short straw as far as the location of the thievery went. Growing up in Dymshire, he’d always heard stories of the woodcutter’s hut and how it tied in intimately with many a legend. No one ever told Tom which legends those were, but still, he had spent his childhood in awe and even fear of the mystical clearing and the log cabin. And now he was staked out to rob the place.

“Nimbus,” he whispered as he clung precariously to the tree branch, “who lives in that cabin?”

“A woodcutter,” she answered distractedly. She seemed much more somber now, with a brow furrowed in concentration that told Tom she was building a strategy.

“Well, yeah,” said Tom, “but who is the woodcutter?”

“Someone who cuts wood,” muttered Nick, who seemed anxious to shut Tom up.

Tom could only stare at them in frustration.

Nimbus caught the look on his face out of the corner of his eye and shot him an encouraging smile. “Don’t worry!” she piped. “If you’re thinking about all the scary –” (Nimbus twisted her face into a very unfrightening ghostly grimace and waved her hands about sarcastically) “– legends surrounding this place, that’s all trash. The guy who lives here is an old family friend!”

“Then why are we robbing him?” Tom quipped with a raised eyebrow.

Nick chuckled and heaved a sigh. “Ongoing tradition, I suppose,” he responded. “From the days of our grandparents.”

“Trust us, this old woodcutter wouldn’t hurt an imp!” comforted Nimbus with her trademark cheery grin. “Sure, he might yell at us till our ears bleed, but hurt us? Never!”

Tom’s uncertainty wasn’t eased by their words. He knew bandits had a notoriously bad habit of playing up murderers and mercenaries to seem like funny little men with bad tempers.

“Well, I think I’ve got a plan!” announced Nimbus as she stood up on the branch, her giant burlap pants flapping in the breeze. “Nick, you stay here and be our lookout. Tom, you come with me.”

Tom’s heart jumped into his throat and nearly gagged him. But Nimbus had already hopped out of their tree and landed cat-like on the ground, and Tom knew if he didn’t get into gear he would be left behind without a thought. Tom jumped to the ground en suite and rushed up behind Nimbus.

Together, Nimbus and Tom slunk past the old woman against the rock and up to the front door of the cabin without any trouble. Nimbus pressed her back against the door, and Tom mimicked her quickly.

“Okay, now pay attention,” the elder bandit whispered. “I’ll pick this lock and then we’ll be inside. Once we’re in just get your sticky fingers on anything you think they’ll notice is missing. Weapons, jewelry, curtains, chamber pots – I don’t care, as long as it’s obvious. And make sure you stay quiet! Got it?”

Tom’s voice box seemed to be blocked by something large and lumpy, so he settled for nodding vigorously.

Nimbus crouched down and did some quick work on the lock, then snuck into the house with Tom on her tail. The inside of the cabin was furnished with what at first seemed to be the humble décor of a regular woodcutter’s dwelling. A few axes rested next to the back door, and several daggers and swords hung up on the walls. Bowls of herbs and necklaces strung with strange symbols sat on a table in the corner of the cabin, things Tom could only assume belonged to the old woman next to the rock. All relatively normal articles. Then Tom glanced back at the back wall of the cabin, towards the right-hand corner, and gasped.

It was hung with the strangest paintings he had ever seen. It wasn’t that their content was so odd – most of them were of the same group of young people, some of a boy and a girl standing together awkwardly. The unusual part of these paintings was the fact that they were perfectly realistic. Tom could have sworn that someone had cut out a little frame of reality, shrunk it and squished it flat, and hung it on the wall. The only ways he knew he wasn’t looking through windows to another world were because the people in the paintings weren’t moving, and because they had a slightly glossy finish to them.

Tom pointed back at the paintings and nudged Nimbus, who was fiddling with a dining room chair. “Should I go filch those?” he muttered under his breath. Nimbus glanced towards the back wall.

Tom was completely unprepared for her reaction.

Nimbus stared at the paintings for a long while, her expression unreadable. She stared at them for so long that Tom was beginning to think she had forgotten his question. Then, with uncharacteristic gentleness, she said, “No. We don’t touch those.” It was such a simple and forward statement that Tom felt like he’d been chided.

There was a moment of silence during which Tom merely stared down at his shoes. He was feeling rather ashamed for asking about the paintings at all. Things went on like that for what seemed like hours, in silence. Complete silence.

It was then that it finally occurred to Tom: Where was the woodcutter’s chopping?

Tom was directing a wary glance toward Nimbus when her head snapped up, as she realized the same thing that he had.

“Tom,” she ordered with acute alertness in her voice, “head towards the door, now–”

But it was too late.

Out of nowhere an axe came whirring at Nimbus, striking her squarely in the arm.

Tom nearly screamed as he rushed towards his partner, until he realized the axe hadn’t actually harmed her at all. It had caught her by the shirt sleeve and pinned her quite firmly to the front wall instead. Nimbus jerked and pulled with frustrated grunts, but the axe had her sleeve held too tightly.

Tom turned his eyes uneasily to the back wall, where the axe had flown from. Standing in the doorway was a tall old man with an absolutely devilish grin on his face. Tom’s heart plummeted, and he backed into the wall beside Nimbus without unlocking his eyes from the fearsome attacker.

“Well, well, well,” swaggered the woodcutter with a sparkle in his olive eyes as he sauntered toward the front of the cabin. “Nimbus Fye.”

Nimbus struggled against her restraint and spat out several unflattering curse words. “Let me go, you old geezer!” she snarled. “This is against the rules!”

“Last I checked, there weren’t any rules,” the man retorted. He came to a stop directly in front of Nimbus and smirked triumphantly.

“I’ll have my things back now, thank you,” he grinned.

Nimbus screeched, squirmed and swatted at the man as he went through her pockets, but she couldn’t stop him from removing two daggers, a box of matches, a bar of soap, and a small candelabra from her possession. He set all this down on his kitchen table orderly, and then turned to Tom. The old man looked him up and down and frowned.

“An initiate, eh?” he grunted. “Haven’t taken anything, have you?”

Tom shook his head so fast he could feel his brain rattling in his skull.

The woodcutter looked down his nose at the apprentice and hummed. “Fine, then, get out of here,” he said without much interest.

Tom glanced out of the corner of his eye at the door, then back at Nimbus on his other side. He didn’t want to leave the poor girl trapped with a psychotic old man, but then, if he escaped he could run to Nick for help. It was tough to tell which was the smartest choice – well, no, actually, running for help was obviously the wisest strategy, but which was bravest was definitely debatable.

As for the woodcutter, he didn’t seem to think Tom’s presence or absence was of much importance. He had already turned around and was heading towards the cupboard, evidently to get some mugs for tea, walking with a definite spring in his step.

“Oh, I’ve waited so long for this glorious day!” he chimed with a twinge of madness in his voice. Nimbus growled and glared at his back. “I’ve finally caught one of you Nightshades in the act! For who knows how many years your family has ailed me, and now –”

At that exact moment, without warning, a fair-sized rock jetted through the back door and hit the old man square on the head. He dropped the tea cup he was holding and roared wildly.

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?” he yelled furiously, clutching his crown and spinning towards the back wall.

“RUN!” shouted Nick’s voice from outside the cabin.

Nimbus and Tom didn’t need telling twice. With three sharp tugs, Nimbus ripped her shirt sleeve free from the axe and dashed ahead of Tom before the woodcutter knew what had, quite literally, hit him. Tom was sure that was the end, that they were free, until Nimbus stopped in the front doorway, bent down, and fished something out of one of her oversized brown boots.

“Hey, old man!” Nimbus cried to the woodcutter. “Missing something?”

She held up a large, lumpy sack, filled to the brim with gold coins, only long enough for the woodcutter to glimpse it before clutching the sack to her chest, howling a triumphant laugh, and bolting out the door.

Nimbus and Tom dashed as fast as their legs would carry them out of the clearing, and soon Nick was running beside them, whooping and whistling victory with his cousin. Tom had never run so fast in his life, and it had never felt so good. He was so full of adrenaline he could swear he was flying. He just couldn’t resist shouting along with his companions.

The three bandits had almost reached the woods, their escape, when Tom glanced back for one more look at the clearing. And there he saw something he’d forgotten was there at all – the old lady. She saw him too, his was certain, because she was meeting his eyes directly. And she looked pleasantly surprised. Not shocked that three teenagers were rampaging through her yard. Not angry that her house had just been robbed. Just…surprised. Tom felt a sudden shudder wash down his spine, and he shook his head sharply and whipped his attention back towards the woods in front of him.

“COME BACK HERE WITH MY MONEY!” bellowed the woodcutter as he faded away in the distance. “I’LL GET YOU BLOODY BANDITS FOR THIS!”

“Never!” retorted Nimbus with a wild laugh. “THE NIGHTSHADE LEGACY PREVAILS ONCE AGAIN!”

---

Nick, Nimbus and Tom rested beneath the shade of a tall, leafy tree somewhere far, far away from the woodcutter’s cabin. Nick had his arms behind his head and his eyes shut, looking very peaceful, and Nimbus tossed and caught her sack of stolen coins with a smug expression. Tom, however, was in a mood nowhere near as carefree. Ever since his adrenal glands had calmed down, his mind was heavy with questions. They were questions he wasn’t sure how to ask, exactly, but he was definite that he needed the answers.

“What were those paintings in the cabin?” he blurted in the lull of silence.

The smug look vanished from Nimbus’s face; she misjudged a catch and the sack of coins slipped through her fingers. Evidently Nick knew what Tom was asking about as well, because his eyes popped open and he sat up very straight.

Nimbus stared at the ground beside her in a manner that made her look very small. “Those came from someone the old man knew a very long time ago,” she sighed. “They’re probably the most important things he owns.”

Tom thought about that and paused only slightly before asking, “Who were those people from the cabin?”

Nimbus and Nick exchanged a quick and ambiguous glance.

“The woman is Lain Setta,” Nick answered matter-of-factly. “And the woodcutter, her husband, is named Sen.”

Tom’s jaw dropped clear to his chest.

“Sen?” he repeated breathily. “The Sen? Noble Sen the Demon?”

“One and the same,” confirmed Nick with a nod.

All of the sudden it became crystal clear to Nick which of the legends the woodcutter’s cabin was tied to.

Nimbus grinned at Tom’s astonishment. “Ah, you recognize his name from the old tales, eh?” she inferred, and Tom nodded enthusiastically. Nimbus grinned even wider. “Yeah, that old tale. Too bad the one you know is absolutely wrong.”

Tom shut his mouth in confusion.

“Now, listen,” Nimbus started, scooting closer to Tom, “this is the story you should know: Once upon a time, a great and powerful witch traveled here from another world to help us save a legendary object from the hands of evil. So the government put together a team of four warriors, a healer, and a reformed demon – that’s our Sen – to help the witch recover it. Together they traveled north to solve the clues to the object’s whereabouts, and then recovered it before any damage had been done. But in the recovering of the magical object, it was destroyed beyond repair, never to be used again by good – but most importantly, never to be used again by evil. So the team was honored as a league of great heroes, and the witch returned to her world with the utmost gratitude of our people. The End.”

Tom stared at her. “That is the story I know,” he responded, puzzled.

“I know,” answered Nimbus, “and it’s completely wrong!”

Tom raised his eyebrows so high that they disappeared beneath his bangs. “What’s so wrong about it?” he challenged.

“Loads,” said Nick. “The most glaring mistake being the exclusion of the bandits, who played a huge part in the tale, thank you very much.”

And at that point, Tom started to get what was going on.

Bandits had a deep-seeded history of many unflattering, some would say, things, and self-inserting themselves into legends was one of them. Perhaps it was an issue of self-absorption, or maybe they just liked to play with people’s heads. Whatever the reason, it was a well-known fact that they did it.

“Oh, I see what you’re thinking,” said Nimbus, tapping her head knowingly. “You’re thinking this is just another case of a couple of bandits self-inserting themselves into a legend, no?”

Tom blinked in surprise, and Nimbus giggled.

“It’s not like that, Tom,” Nick said with a patronizing air, “at least not this time. We’ve got the real deal. The truth unknown to the public.” He paused for suspense, the kind of theatrics typical of a bandit. “You wanna hear it?”

Tom glanced at the cousins tentatively. “Are you sure it’s true?”

“Of course, my grandma heard it straight from the witch of the legend herself!”

“You swear?”

“On all the loot I’ve ever stolen.”

There was a short silence.

“Fine, then I’ll hear it,” sighed Tom. “If there’s no other way to make you two happy.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” mocked Nimbus with fake apprehension. “The legend you know is just fluff compared to the real thing. It’s got all sorts of serious stuff. Death, murder, guilt, romance, tragedy. You know, the works. I don’t know if you’re old enough to hear it yet…”

Well, Tom definitely had to give her points for persuasiveness.

“No, really, I’m old enough!” he insisted. “I’m very mature for my age, anyway!”

Nimbus smirked at him triumphantly.

“Very well,” she stated semi-seriously, “then it would be best to start from the beginning.” Nimbus cleared her throat and sat up primly.

“Once upon a time, in a world far, far away, yadda yadda yadda, there lived a young witch with a wild imagination and a spirit longing for adventure…”