Chapter 1

" Don't worry Rhea, everything will be fine. Hazel will return any moment now, and everything will be fine. Your child will be beautiful and tall as you are. Beautiful and tall," Eona repeated softly in a husky voice, shooting me a worried glance as the pregnant woman moaned in pain.

A dying ray of sunshine fell across my cheek as I silently reassessed the condition of Rhea for the thousandth time. The child simply refused to come out; I had given her all the aiding mixtures I had prepared earlier and offered all the words of wisdom I could summon. Eona had sat next to her the entire time, distracting her with tales and continuously giving her encouragement. I mentally reran through my options as I wiped away a droplet of sweat from my forehead. Whatever my decision would be, I needed to make it quickly, or both she and the child would die. Rhea had always been a frail, ghost like girl scarcely taller then me, in spite of my half blood. It had been to everyone's surprise and concern when she and Tallor had announced the coming of the child. I remembered how Hazel's concerned eyes had strayed to Rhea's belly, and knew that she would of never planned to leave me alone to help this birthing. But who would of thought the baby to come so early?

You've watched Hazel do this a hundred times, she's instructed you in this for years. You were born for this, Ava. What sort of wise woman will you make if you can't even deliver a stubborn child?, a voice whispered inside my head. I stared at Eona for a moment in a vain hope to gather her courage. Eona seemed to have inherited the strong, healthy build her sister did not, and never did it seem more evident when the two of them sat side by side. Rhea's normally vibrant chestnut eyes were wild with fear, with her breathing quick and sharp. The pale pallor of her skin seemed to indicate that death was only a stone's throw away, and I felt the panic rise up in me.

Not now, Ava. People are depending on you, I reminded myself. I heard the quiet voices of those who stood outside the cottage, waiting for my verdict.

" Hazel will come back soon. She's never longer then eight moons, surely she'll be back by tomorrow," I blurted out to Eona, hating myself for my sheer cowardice.

Eona's dark eyes rose to meet mine, and I could still see the despair in her eyes mirrored my own. I had told her the same thing late yesterday evening, when Rhea's labor pains had first begun. But with Witch Hazel, the wise woman of our village, gone to the great circle of the ancient trees to pay her respects and seek guidance, the villagers had turned to me, her apprentice. It wasn't like the other births I had helped, where after the herb mixture was given to ease the pain, we became spectators. I had fervently hoped and wished for Hazel's timely return, but I knew it was in vain. As Eona's pleading eyes watched me, I knew that even if Hazel returned this night, she wouldn't be able to save the child in time.

A pale, sweaty hand shot out and grabbed my palm, abruptly shaking me of my reverie.

" Water," Rhea croaked, pawing clumsily at my hand.

I hurriedly leaned over for the bowl of water and lifted it to her lips. She drank it only for a moment before shoving it away, soaking my plain shift. Her eyes were wide and wild like a skittish deer.

" My child," she gasped, ignoring Eona's soothing voice and watching my eyes only.

All of my poorly devised schemes and comforting words seemed to melt away in that moment. Something had to be done now, or Rhea and her child would die. There was still one thing left I could do. It was dangerous, and my skill was so unpracticed that I knew I had a large possibility of killing her. But as I glanced down at her bloated form, I knew that she would be dead soon anyway. I abruptly stood up and gave a brief glance in Eona's direction.

" I'll try to find some Shaele root. Keep her coherent," I instructed, and looked back at Rhea.

" Hold steady. I'm going to try to save you and your child," I told in a hopefully reassuring voice.

Even she realized I had been blundering my way about for the last half of her labor state.

Without another word, I strode out of the cottage and into the small group of worried relatives.

Tallor immediately grabbed my shoulders. " Has my son been born?," he demanded, the sinking fear in his eyes telling me he believed it to be dead.

I shook him off. " Not yet. Go in there with her while I'm gone, it will give her strength," I told him briefly, before turning to the other worried relatives.

" Search for Shaele root! Tell the rest of the village," I called out, mentally cursing myself for not gathering more earlier in the season when it was plentiful. It was so rarely used, I hadn't even given thought to replenishing the empty supply. But I was paying dearly for it now.

Immediately people began to disperse towards the edge of the village, others calling out for their children to search. Knowing that the village would soon be joining me in the search, I ran beyond the final cottages and out into the true forest. By now the sun had died and the moon had risen high, and the further away I ran from the great fire in the center of the village, the darker the forest became. My bare feet leaped over tree roots and nearly flew across the ground as I ran, letting the wind whip my long dark brown hair past my shoulders. I knew the ways of the forest and the trees well enough that I would of navigated just as well if it were day light. After all, I was half Faelan, the guardians of the forests who had descended from the spirits of the trees themselves. As I ran I felt the ancient oaks shift their roots to ensure I wouldn't trip, and whistle words of encouragement in a language older then time itself. You ought to pick some of the Shaelin root near the third bend in the river, it seems to particularly plentiful near there, I remembered Witch Hazel telling me. It was a miracle I had remembered her telling me that, though I suppose it was partly due to the fact I had wheedled my way out of it by assisting Lachlan. Though I enjoyed the comforts of small streams and trickling brooks, I hated the great river that passed near our village. It brought back memories of that horrible night so long ago, and I never went near it, though I was the only Faelen child who wouldn't be found swimming in that river during the summer. Though Eona and the other children had begged countless times to teach me how to swim, I refused each time.

The rushing sound of the water came to my ears, and I involuntarily flinched with fear. I cowardly wished I had made Tallor come with me after all, or one of the other men. Don't think about it. Think of Rhea, I instructed myself silently. After making a sharp turn around a cluster of Taona trees, I entered the small clearing that led to the river's edge. I dropped down on my knees and began searching for the distinctive, slimy texture of Shaele root. The biting cold air reminded me that winter had only just ended, and finding a plant that thrived predominantly in the winter would be twice as hard. I gritted my teeth and closed my eyes, knowing that time was running out. But all I could feel were the rough river grasses, dry and rough, and my despair grew. How could I return empty handed?

Just then, my hands seized victory. The slick, slimy feeling of Shaele root left a wet trail on my hands, and I hastily dove back to where I had felt it. Relief washed over me with the knowledge that half the battle was done as I grabbed a handful and tucked it into the basket I had brought. After a moment's pause, I grabbed another handful just to make sure I had enough. As my palm closed over the second parcel of the root, the edge of my fingertips brushed over something long and narrow. It was no doubt one of the young children's playthings that they had forgotten, and I hastily shoved it in the basket as well. Pushing myself up, I hurried away from the river and back onto the path. The journey back flew by more quickly. My plain shift clung to my legs as I raced along the worn path, praying that I would be successful with the second half of the battle that was yet to come. It would be the hardest, and the true test of my skills as future healer of the village.

" I found the root," I announced breathlessly as I re-entered the small cottage, leaving the worried glances of people outside behind me.

Tallor had replaced Eona's spot next to Rhea, looking grim. The small fire that burned illuminated Rhea's pale face with a ghostly reverence, her eyes still wild as a deer's. Tears flowed cleanly from Eona's eyes now, forming small rivers on her distinctive cheek bones. Tallor stood up at my words and stepped back, melting quietly into a corner like a shadow, as our people are apt to do.

I sat back down and silently picked up the bowl and the various ingredients that were placed near me. My own hands quavered with fear at the responsibility that had been placed on me, and instinctively I knew I had to calm myself. No matter what, never feel fear or concern when you're healing. Emotions confuse both your spirit and your mind, they'll destroy any magical weaving you make and will cause you to make foolish mistakes that you'll have to pay the price for. Better not to heal then to take a chance on your own fear. If you are to learn one thing from me Ava, let it be that. A gift of healing is worth nothing if you cannot learn that, Hazel had told me countless times.

I took a deep breath and pushed a dark lock of hair out of my face as I slowly regained my composure. My hands shot out with precision and automatically began mixing the vials and measuring the necessary ingredients. Hazel had drilled countless healing procedures in my head, so many times that I had cried and hated her for it. But now I couldn't thank her more for forcing the tedious routines on me over and over again; with Rhea's life in my hands, I now had no room for even the slightest error.

As I finished grinding the Shaela root into the mixture, I looked into Rhea's glazed brown eyes. This woman was hardly more then a girl, and a flood of childhood memories came back to me. Rhea learning how to respect the forest and learn its ways, Rhea learning how to gather food or materials to make clothing, Rhea's kind laugh, Rhea watching Eona and I giggle as we gathered herbs for Hazel, her caring eyes making sure none of the dangers of the woods came upon us. And now as Tallor's beloved, the woman who hoped to be a mother and loved Tallor more then life itself.

Please let her live, I prayed as I gingerly dabbed some of the poultice on her stomach, where I would perform the magic. Healing was my passion and escape from haunting memories, but I didn't know if it would last if my skill accidently killed this woman.

Rhea naturally let out a harsh grunt of pain, and gave a few half hearted kicks. I crooned gentle folk songs to her under my breath as I continued to spread the poultice, singing the first story all Faelan children learned, the story of the birth of the trees. My voice was never been known for it's melodic splendor, but the sound seemed to settle her and cleared my own mind.

I finished applying the last of the poultice and exhaled slightly. I was half way through, but the hardest part was yet to come. Thoughts of the countless things that could go wrong resurfaced in my mind, but I pushed them away and forced myself to take a deep breath. I had to remain indifferent, I couldn't let my own emotions get in the way. The rest of the cottage faded away as I carefully placed my hands on Rhea's full stomach. There was nothing but me and Rhea now, nothing but my healing to intercede. I began murmuring ancient Sarrasir words of healing, letting them flow off my tongue into a distinct melody of sounds. I felt the familiar surge of power shudder through my body and drift down through my hands to Rhea's body in a steady wave. The connection was a tenuous one, but I clung onto it, steadily repeating the words in ancient tongue over and over. Rhea grunted and pushed again, and I felt the magic slowly move the child, positioning him so he could come out of the birth canal freely. The connection surged inside of me, tugging at my mind and fighting to be freed. But I knew the moment I did that, the overwhelming energy of the magic would descend into Rhea's pure veins and kill her. I clung onto the magic, trying to ignore the building pain I felt, trying to move the child just a little more.

Then, as quickly as it had come, it broke loose. I yanked my hands off of Rhea in a jerked motion. The energy and magic that had been swelling inside of me abruptly shattered, and a sharp pain wracked through my head. I gasped and stumbled to the floor as my legs gave out on me. The cool floor was welcome to my throbbing head, and I laid there in bliss for a few moments, only dimly aware of Eona's shrieks for help.

Men and women flooded into the cottage, their bewildered shouts adding to my pain. The world faded in and out, and I squeezed my eyes shut. Someone flipped me over and I groaned as I looked up to the countless faces staring back at me. I shut my eyes and tried to gather my bearings. A large hand appeared in front of my face, and I grabbed it. A loud cry pierced the cottage, and my heart shuddered. So I had failed after all.

Lachlan, the chieftain of the village, studied me carefully as he set me back on my feet, dusting off my cloak as an afterthought.

Eona stood weeping in the corner, and dread filled my heart as I pushed my way around the men to get to her. I couldn't look at Rhea now.

" I'm sorry," I whispered, my hands shaking as I knelt beside my friend. " I should of waited."

But as I sat near her, I suddenly saw that she was smiling, and tears of joy streamed down her face. Surprised, I glanced back at Rhea and Tallor. In his arms, Tallor held a small, squalling infant. Rhea blinked sleepily, an odd smile on her face. I walked towards them in dumbfound amazement, the other men and women parting to let me through. The baby was a pink, screaming creature, but clearly a healthy once. He coughed once, then blinked long lashed amber eyes groggily. My eyes traveled back to Rhea, who managed a weak smile in my direction. Tears of joy streamed down her face as well. Tallor gazed at me with respect and admiration.

" You saved him and her, Ava. And all of us know it, so don't try to give us your modest protests. You have my respect and gratitude," he told me, his eyes dancing with relief and joy.

I smiled back, feeling tears of joy well up in my own eyes.

" I think the village will continue to prosper and flourish when Ava becomes wise woman of the village," a deep voice uttered from behind me.

I didn't need to turn around to know that it came from Lachlan, chief of the village, but I did so anyway. The filled cottage burst into cheers, and everyone began talking at once. As I was congratulated and clapped on the back, I couldn't resist a relieved smile. Rhea and the baby were alive, and I had proven my worth as future wise woman of the village.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They say I was too young to remember it. But the memory is as clear in my mind as if it were yesterday.

The hands that had plucked me out of the chilly mushroom patch were gnarled and bone like. A coarse cloak had hastily been draped around my shoulders, and my captor muttered several incoherent words as I was carried along. A biting wind whistled through the dark forest, and I heard the gentle rustling of the trees far above our heads. My captor muttered a few more words, and clutched onto me stubbornly as we plodded along against the bitter wind. My teeth shook violently each time a new gust swept through the forest, each more cold then the last.

Abruptly the wind ceased, and I heard a grunt as my captor carefully placed me on a soft dirt floor. Startled, I at last opened my eyes. A sliver of moonlight shone down, revealing that we had entered a small cottage. It was too dark to see anything clearly, but ominous shadows were cast around the room. One of the shadows abruptly turned, letting it's golden eyes be caught in the moonlight for a moment. I let out a gasp as I realized it was a wolf, and quickly shut my eyes, shivering. The footsteps of my captor came back near me, and I heard the delicate footsteps of the wolf approach. Several coarse blankets landed on my back, and I heard my captor mutter several words before walking away, the footsteps of the wolf going with her. I lay there with my eyes closed, praying for the two to leave me and or assume I was dead. You will not sleep until they are gone, I promised myself with the determination only children can have. But it was a promise slowly forgotten as the night progressed, and gradually I had fallen asleep.

I awoke to rays of sunshine falling on my face the following morning. I felt my body tense for a moment as I struggled to remember the events of the previous night. My small body shivered violently despite the comfortable heat of the cottage, and a wave of nausea came over me. Through my discomfort, I waited several moments to think of what had happened. As the wolf and my captor gradually came back to me, I jerked up and looked around to see where I was.

But instead of the demonic lair I had been expecting, I saw nothing but a small, compact cottage filled with things I had never seen before in my life. Jars and bowls of ingredients were stacked everywhere, though the cottage still seemed to have a spacious air about it. Colorful objects I had never seen before sat in assorted places, and a countless bundles of herbs lay strewn on the table. A pleasant, exotic smell accompanied the cottage, and I felt myself relaxing slightly. My captor and the wolf were nowhere in sight.

I remained huddled in the rough blankets for several more moments before spying a bowl of blueberries one of the tables. The pangs of hunger in my stomach increased sharply, and I abandoned all precautions as I stood up unsteadily and wobbled toward the bowl. My fingers sunk greedily into the bowl and stuffed the blueberries into my mouth. Their sweet, tangy taste flooded my mouth as I chewed, tasting better then anything I had ever eaten. I ate ravenously, smearing my face and dirty tunic with smudges of blue.

" There is a good patch of them near here," a creaky voice said in Faelish, echoing in the cabin.

Startled, I dropped the wooden bowl and wheeled around to the door to see my captor and the wolf.

My captor surveyed me with curiosity as I looked on at her with fear. But slowly the fear melted away as I took her appearance into account. She was an old woman, with ragged wrinkles and stringy white hair. Her back was slightly bent, though I could tell she had been tall and proud at one point in her life, as most Faelans were. Her deep sunken eyes possessed the ethereal swirling hazel that all Faelans had, though hers were blurry and looked to be nearly blind.

The wolf, standing silently by her side, was nearly the opposite. It was not much more then a puppy, with it's sleek grey coat and graceful body. It watched me with curious golden eyes, so beautiful that I forgot to be afraid of it.

I felt my fear mounting again, and I took a step away from her. It would still be years before I recognized the significance of this fact, or the dangers it meant.

The old woman ignored my fear, and in several surprisingly quick steps, she stood directly before me. Her withered old hands shot out and felt my face while I stifled a cry of fear. They ran across my cheekbones and forehead, then down the ridge of my nose. The wolf trotted up next to her and licked my hand with it's rough tongue.

" You are half Khorsandian," the old woman said after a few moments in a tone that revealed nothing.

I mustered enough courage to look her straight in the eye, and felt a small shock as I realized she was blind. I wondered how she managed to get by without her sight, and why she bothered having so many books if she couldn't read them.

" There are other ways of seeing, child," my captor said after another moment before turning away, as if reading my mind.

There are other ways of seeing, I remembered my mother telling me. The memory of her lilting, gentle voice resurfaced in my mind, and suddenly all the horrible memories I had temporarily forgotten raced back. A wave of nausea washed over me, and I vomited onto the floor.

It is after that moment my memory leaves me. The fever I had acquired from wandering in the woods for days grew steadily worse, in spite of my captor's care. I remained huddled in the corner of her cottage, refusing food for days. The fever slowly became accompanied by a hacking cough that violently rattled my tiny body. Every bit of food my captor tried to pass between my lips was swallowed only briefly before the horrible memories of the vultures digging into the decaying dead bodies and the putrid smell of rotting flesh returned. The memories were so vivid and heinous that starvation became preferable. I swallowed a bird's portion a day, at best.

The wolf lay by me for most of the day, and I came to be comforted by it's presence. It would lay it's sleek, silvery head next to my feet and lick my hand on occasion, always watching me with it's great golden eyes. My captor tried to force me to eat, or gave me mixtures to help me hold the food down. Her blurry eyes betrayed the worry of my health, and numerous times she placed her hands on me, trying to heal me. I had long since figured out she was a wise woman of some sort.

I slept through most of the days. Others came to the cottage, though I never seemed to be in full consciousness to identify who they were. Only one conversation throughout my sickness did I remember.

It was in the middle of winter, and I heard several deep, masculine voices arguing with my captor's, though I no longer viewed her as a captor.

" There is magic in her–but it is different from mine. Perhaps stronger then, perhaps weaker. Whatever it is, it refuses to let me heal her," my captor's creaky voice said quietly, the other commotion of Faelish voices temporarily halting in their speech.

" She's half Khorsandian. The magic you feel in her comes from an abstract, dangerous mage. Nothing but trouble will come if I let her stay with you. You are too close to the village; there is no telling if her kin would come to claim her . Put her back where you found her Hazel, or let one of the men do it if you can't," a deep, rumbling voice said, resonating through the cottage.

I would later know he was Lachlan, leader of the village.

" She's half Faelan too, and the magic I feel in her is different from that of the Khorsandians. We are too deep in the mountains for any Khorsandian to ever learn of her," Hazel, my captor, shot back in her ancient voice.

Lachlan was silent for a moment; he was known as a quiet, steady man who never made rash decisions.

" Her kind cannot help themselves. She would grow older and seek to find her own kind, and lead them back here. Her existence could destroy our entire village. Do you not remember the slave raids that are made almost constantly on the lower villages? They will never stop until we are all enslaved or dead There is no place for her here," he responded hollowly, his deep voice sending a shiver down my spine.

The other men had murmured in accordance with Lachlan. But Hazel spoke out over their voices, her old voice resonating throughout the cottage.

" She will stay with me. I have neglected to choose an apprentice for a long time. I kept hoping one of the children would show promise, even just a spark of magic. I don't want to take the healing secrets with me when I pass on into the next world. This girl, she has spark. It's different from mine and others I felt, but it's there, burning in her veins like it does in mine. She will stay in my cottage, and I will instruct her as next healer of the village, no other but her."

There was a long, drawn out silence for a moment as my fate hung in the balance. I felt my head spin, but I clung onto consciousness, wanting to hear the outcome of my fate. Lachlan's decisions were final and absolute, no matter what Hazel would wish.

" She can stay. But she will not be a part of our village," he had said after a long, tense silence, and I drifted back into the dark world I spent so much time in.

But my cough grew steadily worse. My face became gaunt and haggard, my ribs protruded from my skin, and my sleep continued to be plagued by hideous nightmares filled with the bodies and blood I had seen. The days were blurred, and I had long since lost track of time. I tried to keep the food I ate down, but only small portions managed to stay. The wolf continued to kneel at my feet each day, nudging me with his moist black nose occasionally. Even it could sense that death hovered above me.

There at last came a point where Hazel gave up mixing potions for me, and I knew that she expected me to live only a few more days.

" What you have seen, I wonder child," she said that day, kneeling down next to me. She had never heard me speak, nor did she know my name.

She dipped her cloth in the bowl of water and wiped the grime off my face, as she periodically did. The cool cloth felt heavenly on my skin, temporarily taking my mind away from my pain. This time, however, she began cleaning my hands and feet as well, instead of stopping at my face. As the cloth wiped at my neck, I shifted slightly, my battered tunic falling loosely on my skin.

Hazel paused as her fingers stopped at my neck. Gingerly, she lifted the silver chain, and the emerald stone rested in her palm for several moments. Her eyes flickered with something I couldn't identify. I lifted my head, ready to protest if she tried to take it from me. But before I could do anything, she tucked it back inside my tunic, and the reassuring weight of the emerald fell against my chest once more.

Another day passed by, and it looked as if it would be my last. The wolf whined by my side, licking my hands and face constantly. Bitter tears swelled in my eyes, and the wolf licked those away too as they fell. Hazel sat by me for a time, before rising angrily.

" You will not die, child. Not if I have anything to say about it," she said, gritting her teeth. And with that, she rose and went out the cottage door.

Later she came back with herbs I had never seen before and made a mixture.

" Eat this," she said, forcing it into my mouth.

" You must have hope, child! Do you want to die? Do you?," she demanded as I coughed. There was something about the herbs that tasted different and almost dangerous...though I couldn't lay my finger on it. " Die, then. My hard work for naught."

I swallowed the herbs, and for the first time in a long time, I felt a stirring of determination.

I grew stronger. Hazel would never tell me what the herbs were that saved my life, but perhaps all that mattered was my recovery. I slowly regained my strength, and began eating normally. The cough faded away, and the fever disappeared.

" You're a good child, to eat," Hazel told me about a month after I began to grow stronger. I heard voices outside the cottage often, and knew she forbade the mysterious visitors from coming inside. " Do you have a name?"

It was the first time she had asked me a question, and to my surprise, I answered it.

" Ava," I croaked, my voice metallic after several months of disuse. " My name..is Ava."

I learned more about the world I had come to gradually. Hazel was the wise woman of the village, but lived a little less then a quarter of the day's walk away from the actual village. Twice a month, Hazel would bring me to spend an entire day in the village while she conferred with Lachlan and those who needed her aid. At first people shuddered as I walked by and glanced at me fearfully. I lingered at the edge of the fire when the elders told their magnificent tales of the one, mighty city the Faelen had once had, or how our people descended from the trees. My favorites were about the dragons that had once inhabited our forests before they were hunted out. I listened in rapture each time they recounted how the dragons had gone to the eastern mountains, their last strong hold from the threat of man. Slowly, people began to accept me. I eventually assimilated in the small village as they realized that I was no threat.

Occasionally I would catch a glance of myself in the reflection of a pond or in a bucket of water. My features were truly an even blend of both worlds. People of Faelan blood are tall and willowy, with curling hair in varying shades of brown and distinctive amber eyes that seem to reflect every color. Their skin is always lightly tan and reminiscent of the color of bark, and their ears come to a point at the end. But most distinctive of all is their facial bone structure, which makes them prone to long, thin noses and impossibly large eyes. They were a beautiful race of people by nature, but at times I wondered if Khorsandians and other humans had descended from these people who resembled trees. Every time I got a glance of my reflection in a bucket of water, I was reminded of my Khorsandian heritage. As I grew older, I wished my features had taken on one side instead of being so evenly split, particularly the Faelan side.

The village was buried deep in the forest, I learned as I grew up, one of the farthest villages before the unknown lands. The land was wild with a savage beauty, the trees taller and more ancient then anywhere in the land. Dirt paths visible to no one but a Faelan's eye led us to mushroom patches and the various rivers and streams. The village was a speck of stone built houses in the middle of a forest so vast and expansive that all felt confident they'd never meet a Khorsandian.

Lachlan had been leader of the village for years, and what he said was law for the tiny number of people living under his command. The only person who went ahead and performed deeds without asking his permission first was Witch Hazel. She was the only person besides me to ever to come from beyond the village, from deep within the heart of the forests on the Harad mountain range. All that one had to do was look into her eyes to see that she was older than anyone in the village by a score of years. Her eyes were sunken brown pools of wisdom, shining with the knowledge of the years she had seen. She knew the herbs and the ways of healing; but more importantly, she had a gift for it. Though all Faelans had magic flowing through their veins, Witch Hazel possessed the ability to harness and strengthen hers.

But I enjoyed the days spent beyond the village with Hazel and Knife, the wolf, just as well. There were always chores to be done, and the quiet beauty of the forest always seemed so peaceful compared to the village, small though it was. Outsiders never came into the village, apart from the rare Faelan traveler who stopped to rest. It was too deeply buried in the mighty forest, safe from the outside world. Apart from Witch Hazel, I was the only one who had been born outside of the village. But slowly, with the doting nature of Witch Hazel, the careful fondness of the rest of the village, and the carefree love of the other children, I begin to resume a normal childhood. Though the other children would always be more carefree and wild then I was, I still smiled and laughed at their jokes. The memories of my life before the village eroded with time, and the village in turn forgot I was an outsider to their world, though my clearly mixed looks could never let them entirely forget.

I didn't blame them for their fear of Khorsandia; in truth, I myself shivered at it's imperious name. The massive empire to the south inspired fear in even me, who shared half their blood. Though our village was so far north and so close to the border lands that we never received any raids, the further south and border villages did. I listened and shivered in horror with the rest of the children when the village elders told us frightening tales. The raiders would sweep in without notice, carrying torches and weapons to annihilate all who came into their sight. The terrifying warriors would round up an entire community, placing even the elderly and children in chains before burning the villages to the ground. But worse yet, after leaving the charred ruins of the Faelan homes, they burned the trees surrounding the villages. The Faelan were a proud, ancient race of people who had built and centered their world around their unique magic with trees. No other race of people in the lands could blend in with the forest at times, or hear the words of the trees, or help plants grow in times of need. To kill the trees that my people shared a bond with was worse then killing them. Khorsandians heard the crackling of bark burning; Faelans heard screaming and anguish. It was that, more then anything else, that made me ashamed of my Khorsandian blood. To enslave a race of pacifists for their unique gift with nature and inflict pain on them made me ashamed of half of the blood I shared with them. Even if the elders hadn't shared these stories, the hideous nightmares I had of the death of my parents would of shamed me. The warriors wouldn't of hesitated to kill me along with the others, no one had to tell me that. They hadn't even bothered to take slaves, though I knew that it was almost certainly better to be killed then taken as a slave. Only one man in our village had ever come into contact with Khorsandians, and that was Lachlan. He had gone south to offer gifts to a border village in his youth. The village had been raided and he had narrowly escaped being put in chains. Long, ragged scars across his chest and back told of the abuse he had endured to escape from his pursuers. He had traveled for many days with arrows in his back to get to a safe village, where he was healed. Even so, he was lucky. Once they put the chains on, you could never escape--It was only a matter of time before death. None of the fates after enslavement were merciful, but we knew that most went to the slave mines, where the harsh conditions only allowed most to live a month. For that reason and others he looked on at me wearily, never trusting me with anything that could be given to another.

But those thoughts were still far away from most of our minds. The pristine, innocent world seemed protected from these horrors, and we mostly only paid attention to them on cold winter nights when there was nothing else to do but shriek about the untold evils of the Khorsandian empire. The village was always busy, particularly in the spring. Though there were no more then a hundred people or so, there were jobs and duties for everyone to carry out, particularly for Witch Hazel occasionally came an extra day to confer with Lachlan and the council in the busy season. The folk in the village lived a simple, peaceful life that held no greater worries then gathering food. Our village seemed to beat eternally in unison with the forest, and everyone held the same comfort that it would last generations beyond our own time as it had before, with everyone doing the same jobs as their ancestors had done before them.

All, except for me.

Once I had returned to my full health, Hazel let go with her to gather herbs and visit the ancient trees. I learned the ways of the animals, how to deliver children, heal wounds, and cure the rare sicknesses the villagers had. She never asked me to do anything, only showed me. I shyly followed her lead on almost everything, eager to see a look of approval cross in her blind eyes. I had long since discovered she had another way of seeing, perhaps by magic, though she never revealed it to me. She never asked me to be her apprentice, but somehow, as the days turned into seasons and the seasons into years, I realized that's what I had been all along, since the day she had plucked me from the frozen ground like a doll. When Hazel died, I would become the wise woman of the village.

Surprisingly, my natural proclivity for magic didn't make me a quick study, though Witch Hazel assured me in times of despair that it was far better to be slow then quick in dealings with magic. As the years past, I memorized countless mixtures and perfected drawing on my magic at will. I learned how to identify which herbs are good for which mixtures and poultices, and what can be substituted when something is nowhere to be found. She passed down the secrets of the Faelan healers had passed down for generations, and my wonder at the art never faded.

But despite the tranquility of my new life, nightmares plagued my sleep. The nights where I didn't sleep dreamless were filled with horrible images that I fought to block out in the day time. I smelled the burning wood, heard the screams and shouts, tasted the blood, and saw the horror of that night all over again. Each time my dream was different, but certain key elements never left. It had been two months since my terrible condition had reversed when I awoke to Hazel shaking my shoulders. My cheeks were wet with salty tears and I shook violently as Knife licked my hand with concern.

Slowly I calmed down, but Hazel continued to sit next to me. Her breathing was labored, and I heard her muttering underneath her breath.

" What sort of things can a girl your age have night mares every night about?," she asked me softly. " Where did you come from, little Ava?"

I sat there numbly, my mind reaching backward. Anything previous to that night was blocked out and gone from my memory, all but small pieces I couldn't string together. My mother's melodious laugh. My father's strong hands. A ribbon the color of the sky. A small, tattered doll. Everything else in my life before that horrible night had melted away, nothing but dim flashes.

Hazel watched me silently for another moment before rising and walking toward the other side of the cabin. I fell back into a dreamless sleep, but my nightmares were not forgotten. The next morning, Hazel sat next to me with three worn books.

At the time, I hadn't even known what they were. The history and the ways of the Faelan had always been passed down orally, and no written language existed.

" These are books," Witch Hazel had told me in her raspy voice, glancing at my confused expression.

They were lined in dust and weary with age. The brilliant azure shade they had once been had faded to a dull dark blue, and Witch Hazel carried them in her hands as if they were a newborn child. As she turned the pages in the first one, a thought occurred to me.

" Why don't Lachlan and the elders use books?," I asked softly.

Her blind eyes never left the pages as she responded. " Because the books are Khorsandian," she answered in my mother's tongue.

I sat up straight at her words, shocked. Only my mother had spoken to me in Khorsandian, and her lilting voice had made the language sound nearly as beautiful as Faelish. Until then, I had naively believed that only she and I knew how to speak the language, no one else. The memory of my mother brought tears to my eyes, and Hazel took her gaze off the book for a moment.

" You do know the tongue then. Interesting," she said, watching me carefully as she turned a page. " I'm going to teach you how to read Khorsandian, Ava."

I nodded eagerly. I had already began to enjoy the knowledge Hazel offered me, though she had never seemed so secretive about it before. It was still before I began to accompany her to the village, before I heard the terrible stories of the Khorsandian raiders who would stop at nothing to enslave and destroy us. Hazel was wise enough to make sure the language never left me before I heard the tales and would be glad to get rid of it.

" Why do I have to read?," I asked curiously after several moments of teaching.

I rarely said anything that wasn't accompanied by a question, but Hazel's store of patience seemed ever lasting.

Her deep sunk blind eyes swirled with infinite wisdom, but when she answered, she seemed to be talking to someone else.

" Because there may come a day when our two worlds will be at peace, and the written word will come to our lands. And whatever Lachlan may say, you need to know your own tongue. You are part of two worlds, whether he likes it or not."

Her answer confused me, though I didn't admit it. Abruptly her gaze switched back onto mine, and her withered, bird like hands gripped my own.

" You can tell no one of learning how to read Khorsandian. I forbid you to tell anyone. Do you understand, Ava?," she asked, her voice more serious and urgent then I had heard it before.

I nodded eagerly, ready to learn what she called the 'magic of written words.' Her request was useless, though I didn't tell her so–I never shared what Hazel and I discussed with any of the children in the village. Even so, it was the only command she would ever given me.

Each day we would spend time going over the texts, and so my Khorsandian and Faelish became equal in fluency once more. Hazel herself spoke Khorsandian with ease, and we began to converse in it, though the language had never fully left my tongue to begin with. How she learned the language of her sworn enemy in the first place, I would never know.

The days turned into seasons, and the seasons into years. The children and I grew tall, though I would never be as tall as a full blood Faelan woman. My dull brown hair darkened into a handsome shade of chestnut, and my skin maintained the light tan color I had carried all my life. But at the same time, my maturity made my differences painstakingly clear. I was an ugly half breed, and though no one was unkind to me, I knew I was fated to spend my days alone as witch of the village, making salves and tending minor wounds. But strangely enough, several days after this epiphany, I realized I didn't really care. I was my happiest running through the forest like a wild deer and when I was healing. I knew that I was caught between two worlds, but no bitterness ever resulted from it. And as the seasons turned into years, I grew more and more skilled in my healing.