Chronicles of Chandler

Chapter 1

Smoke blemished the sky as a drop of ink on fresh paper. With a grunt, Cadin ran a hand through his brown locks, the gesture changing neither his appearance nor his temperament. He had seen the black stain yesterday and the day before—too often not to know they would come for him next.

Even now, the path leading from the blaze to his home was adorned by a cloud of moving dust. Glimpses of white and blue blinked through the haze like candles in a fog. His back stiffened and his jaw tightened. It was unfortunate that the king’s men brought dread not hope.

Cadin pulled the fitted sleeves of his undershirt down to cover his arms. The king could demand all he wanted in dues but the soil only gave so much this early in the Mid Season. Four weeks from the Display of Harvest and everything was still pushing leaves, vines, and few fruits. What little produce was available now lay buried among the neighboring trees in a safe box.

He picked at the dirt encasing his fingernails. It was a dangerous thing to do. Discovery could end in either his house or him in a flaming pile of ash. But it was the only way to ensure something remained to survive on.

With the back of his hand, Cadin rubbed his forehead. Thus far they were fortunate—he was fortunate—but he knew it would not last. As surely as the stiff breeze that rustled the trees at his back, disaster would shake loose the things dearest to him. Despair would claim him again, pulling him into a whole, leaving him longing for… what?

His fingers unrolled the loose sleeves of his outershirt before he yanked them to his wrists. It was always cooler in Chandler—even in the Mid Season. Now it was manageable but soon the sun would hide behind the clouds and the winds would turn bitter. Come the Late Season and the weeks of Deepset, not even the king’s men would venture outside. It was the only time of year anyone in Chandler could worry about family and nothing else—the only time they were truly safe. At least, that was how it was since the coming of the new king.

A whinny echoed from the advancing patrol and Cadin felt his stomach twist. He gauged the distance. There was still enough time to return to the house and stash a few more things. It would not be much but he had to try—needed to do something besides wait for their arrival.

He turned his back to the northern path, following a worn trail through the sloping knolls to the woods beyond. The trees at the southern end connected the low hills of the upper Rift to the back of his house and were a part of him in the sense that he grew up here. His father had worked the land and his father before him. Cadin hoped his daughter, Lona, would say the same someday—but there was no guarantee.     

He shook his head. Lona, was the only family he had now that his wife was gone and she disapproved of him in many ways—not that he blamed her. She was the woman of the house since her mother died, yet her place as his newfound conscious could not fill the void Lay left behind.

The first year was… difficult.

Motions: that was what his life became. No contentment or satisfaction to be found. It was gray, tasteless, and vacant. He was vacant and Lona was a bystander that lost the most.

Two years later and life was still hard, even pointless, but Lona’s presence was a reason to remain—in the physical sense—at least for now. That was partly why he went to the knolls and why he kept track of the king’s men. It was an obsession to Lona. “Schemes” she called them. But she did not understand. For it was only with contriving against the king that Cadin found life without Lay bearable.

Beneath his boots the grass faded. A canopy of leaves shaded the path as the land sloped to a gradual basin with crisscrossing tree roots. A light chill gripped him, the essence of spiced pine and oak sap bathing him. They bled into the nut-infused aroma of fresh bark.

Cadin breathed it in, his mind following a memory of when he walked there with Lay. Hand-in-hand they made this trek at the start and end of each day—even after Lona was born they still took the time to escape beneath the trees and out into the hills. They were complete and happy then, and in such places Cadin could still feel Lay’s presence. She was his center, his peace, and at times the protection he needed from the king, work, and Lona when she began to rant at him for something.

As Cadin neared the rear of the house, Lona stepped into view beyond the front wall. He pulled back into the safety of the trees, hesitating as Lona marched across the yard and gazed at the winding path. Her shoulders dropped then she spun about with hands on her hops.

Barely eighteen, Lona was strong, opinionated, and determined to see things done the “right” way. It was a trait she inherited from her mother, along with her long dark hair that lay half-hidden beneath a burgundy kerchief. Dressed in the same ankle-length tunic all women in Chandler wore, Cadin could almost see and hear Lay in her movements and tone of voice.

He bit his tongue as Lona neared the back of the house. She did not look for him but knew enough to expect he was nearby and would hear her.

“Papa!” Lona called with her hands on her hips. “Don’t try anything stupid!” She did not wait for eye contact or a response but instead returned to the house.

Cadin watched her go before his focus shifted to the halo of dirt. It was larger than normal which meant there were more in the patrol than usual. He pressed his lips together as he left the trees. The king could demand all he wanted in dues but the soil only gave so much this early in the Mid Season. 

Along the southwest wall of the house rested the root cellar. The underground space contained the entire supply of food Cadin procured thus far—except what he just buried in the woods. And the season was not over. More produce would come in, but it would not be enough. It was never enough to contribute a portion to the king’s banquet hall and feed his family for a year, not out here in the Rift. He leaned forward as he planted his foot alongside the wooden cover and grasped the rope handle.

“Papa.”

Cadin’s head snapped up in time to see Lona cross her arms.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

His head cocked before he released the braided loop. Lona’s brown eyes were full of accusation. Darker than his, they were the same shape and size as Lay’s.

“What is it this time? What are you planning now? Are you going to toss everything into the fields so you can fake a bad year? Or are you going to dig a pit so you can bury the guards you kill?” She dropped her arms. “When is this going to end? When are you going to accept that you can’t change things?”

“When things no longer need to be changed.”

“Which will be never, in your eyes.”

“Which will be,” he corrected, “when we no longer have to pay dues to a king that is more concerned with power and authority than he is with his own people. When things go back to the way they were before he started listening to the Whims.” He hauled the door open as Lona released a groan.

“You’ve been listening to those stories again.”

“They’re not stories.”

“They’re the tales of the old Speakers.”

“They’re the tales of my grandfather. Do you think of him as no more than a storyteller?”

“I think of him as a dreamer.” Her voice grew soft. “Just like you.”

“Dreaming isn’t a bad thing.”

“No, but for people like you it just causes problems. It gives you ideas you can’t let go of and from that comes trouble… for more than just you.”

Cadin let his gaze rest on the cellar stairs. Lona’s objections were the same as always, although no less valid. Most often those involved in a problem were not the ones who paid the price. Bystanders and those less outspoken often did. He would never forget that for Lay was one of those people… at least, that was his suspicion.

He stared at the top step and tried to forget. It was sudden—a slip from a ledge. He was there when it happened and saw her fall but not what caused her to slip. By the time he reached her it was too late. Lay’s body sprawled in an unnatural way upon the rocks. She could not speak. She could barely breathe.

The wound that troubled her most was deep—too deep to be caused by the fall—but he could not prove that. No one else was with them and no one would listen to his charges, not after her brother—a spokesman against the king—and his whole family disappeared over the next few days. The saddest part was that no one seemed to care. Mysterious deaths were never discussed for fear that more would follow and in the end all Cadin could do was watch her go over and over again in his head and wish it had been him. It drove him mad. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

Cadin nodded.

“Papa…”

“I’m not trying to ignore you. I just… I just don’t want you to live like this, to be forced to obey out of fear.”

Lona’s eyes drifted to the trees. “I don’t think that’s something you can change.”

“I don’t agree.”

“It doesn’t matter.” She interlocked her fingers. “It’s the way it is.”

“Lona…”

“Life isn’t fair, Papa. I don’t know why that’s so hard for you to grasp or why you can’t think beyond yourself and accept things for the sake of others.” She pivoted on her heel then disappeared around the house.

Cadin stared at the space she vacated before his eyes returned to the open door at his feet. Of course, he knew life was not fair. It never was or ever would be. Yet too often he forgot that Lona knew that as much as he. She too lost her mother. It was a loss compounded by over a year of waiting for the king’s consent to be married.

He sighed as he ran a hand through his straight brown hair. Lona’s intended, Delmar, was a good man. He was young, responsible—at times too quiet—but Cadin liked him. In fact, most liked him and that was good because it gave the boy a certain amount of security. It meant the king’s men would be less likely to touch him and by extension, Lona. That was the part Cadin liked most. The thought that she would be well cared for meant that where he may have failed another man would not.

Consent, however, had not been given for them to wed and until they were joined his job here remained unfinished. Until Delmar could inherit the right to work this land and live in this house, Cadin’s presence was essential. It meant he must wait to rejoin Lay.

Cadin ground his teeth together, his chin dropping as the sound of hoof beats slowed. The patrol was here and his plan to relocate more of the produce into the secure storage was no longer viable.

With a bang, Cadin closed the cellar door then ventured to the front of the house. The banners of the eastern king were clear now. The blue and white checkered background was accented with the golden image of a large hawk-like bird. It was shown rearing back with a full wingspan, upraised claws, and a screeching beak. Its right leg was ringed by a golden band while about its neck hung a flowered wreath. Cadin hated that flag for its emblem remained a pale shadow of what once was. Even the orange and brown of the western king would be more welcome.

He kicked at a rock embedded in the ground as the company of six pulled to a stop. A wave of dirt covered him as each rider threw back his navy cloak and dismounted. The foremost among them moved to the front. Cadin shifted his weight, his fingers clutching his folded arms as if latches on a gate.

“Good day, Cadin,” the enforcer began. His tone, while cordial, dripped with suspicion. The bald man was a regular assigned to the northern region in which Cadin lived, yet not once did Cadin ever get his name—not that he needed it or had any interest in obtaining it.

“We’re here on the king’s business,” the man continued as he scanned the exterior of the house. “But I’m sure you’re aware of that.”

“So you’ve said every time you’ve assaulted my house.”

 “You mean the king’s house. Surely, you haven’t forgotten that he owns everything?”

“How can I when your presence is a constant reminder?”

“Which is how it should be. The provisions?”

Cadin took a deep breath as his focus wandered to the men behind the taller man. His hesitation made them uneasy—or maybe they were just looking for a fight. He dropped his arms then gestured at the cellar. Two soldiers stepped around their commander and headed for the closed door.

“No tricks this time.” The enforcer glanced at the front door where Lona stood watching. “And how are you today, miss?”

Lona crossed her arms and leaned into the doorframe. “Just get your goods and go.”

The enforcer’s smile conveyed mischievous. Cadin felt his eyes narrow but Lona did not give him a chance to speak. She turned her back and closed the door behind her.

“Your daughter seems a little perturbed and lacking in manners,” the enforcer said.

Cadin made no reply.

“Commander!”

The summons drew the king’s official to the side of the house. On the ground lay two almost-full sacks of produce, their tops open to display their wares.

“This was all we found, sir.”

The enforcer nudged each bag with his foot. “No rocks this time?” The smirk in his voice sent nails through Cadin’s scalp and he tried not to back away as the taller man stepped closer.

“Why aren’t there three bags, Cadin?” His voice became low and dangerous. “Where’s the third bag?”

Cadin refolded his arms but did not look up. “There isn’t another.”

“And why’s that?”

Irritation gripped Cadin by the throat. “Because you came earlier this year and there wasn’t enough time to meet the larger demand.”

“And yet other tenants seem to have made out fine.”

“That’s because you took everything they had.” He could still see the black smoke beyond the hills. It was the second one to stain the sky in two days. It was a wonder that his house still stood.

The grin that snuck across the man’s broad face was beyond pleased. It was as if he wanted to be challenged. The thought set Cadin’s hair on end.

“Find the other bag,” the enforcer called, “it’s still down there. Tear everything apart if you have to.” He shook his head. “You never learn, do you?”

Cadin’s dark eyes met the lighter ones above him. “I’m telling you, it’s not down there.”

“In the house then?” The man backpedalled from Cadin then turned around.

“No!” Cadin squeezed his way between the enforcer’s muscular frame and the front door. “There’s nothing in there but my daughter.”

“And she, being an honest girl, would never be caught lying to an officer of the king; so how about we ask her where it is?” He wrapped a hand around Cadin’s forearm and removed him from the doorway.

“There’s isn’t another bag, I swear it!”

“Like you swore the last time we came?” He pounded on the wooden surface.

“But it’s true.” Cadin inserted himself next to the man’s shoulder. He was not lying—not really. This time there were no other bags of food stored away, just pieces of produce scattered about the house and buried in the woods. But that was not really why the man wanted inside and Cadin knew it. “Leave her alone, please. There isn’t any more. Just take what you have and go.”

The look the enforcer tossed Cadin was like one given to a dense child. “I’m just going to ask her.” He faced the closed door then kicked it in.

“She doesn’t know anything.” Cadin reached for the man’s arm, his fingers grasping thick muscle. He winced as the man looked over his shoulder at him. To touch a soldier of the king in any way could be taken as an offence and it was the soldier’s prerogative—short of killing the offender—to issue judgment. Cadin knew this before his hand moved… so did the enforcer.

The swiftness of the punch was unthinkable. One moment Cadin was on his way inside the house and the next he was halfway across the yard with his arms and legs cast about in the dirt. His head exploded with an endless ring.

“You had to give me a reason, didn’t you?” The man’s voice sounded far away. “You just couldn’t do things nicely like everyone else.” He stepped over Cadin as he came to his knees. “Just had to be difficult, didn’t you?” He delivered a swift kick to Cadin’s stomach. It was followed by another. “And here I was thinking this was going to be a boring day.” He reached down and hoisted Cadin up by his shoulder. A punch followed.

“Stop it!”

Cadin dropped to the ground and rolled onto his side as Lona ran from the house. Her face was a horrified mask. She dropped to her knees beside him then looked at the enforcer. “What are you doing!?”

“Dispensing justice.”

“Justice?” she bit back, “you don’t even know the meaning of the word.”

“Lona…” Cadin rasped.

“Watch your mouth, missy, or you’ll be joining him… just in a different way.”

Lona gained her feet, her hands gripping the length of her tunic. With an even voice she said, “You came here for business, so I suggest you finish it.”

The enforcer regarded her slim frame with his eyes.

“If you dare touch me while I am yet promised to another man, then it is also his right to do justice to you.”

“That’s under the old law.”

“Which I believe is still in place.” She kept her gaze centered on the man before her, ignoring the interest of the other soldiers.

At length, the enforcer let his gaze return to the body curled at her feet. “So it is. But so it is also that you’re required to pay the dues set by the king. And you still owe him another bag of goods.”

“And he shall have it.”

“That he will… in ten days.”

“Ten days?”

“Ten days or I burn this place to the ground.” His gaze rested on her longer than was needed yet Lona refused to turn away. “Next week, miss.” He motioned for his men to gather the two bags. “Then we’ll see if your father can hold himself together.”

Chapter 2

The sunlight that filtered through the wooden lattice was warm and inviting. It caught flecks in the air like hidden gems. Quiet filled the space, brimming with a sense of familiar security.

It was his room, Cadin realized, but it did not feel like it. It was too fresh and new, more like the first day he spent there with his wife. Waking up beside Lay that first morning, filled with her scent, Cadin felt such peace. It was perfect. Almost like now.

A sudden throb in his face and chest jolted Cadin awake. He inhaled in a rush then froze as his chest muscles clenched. A low-pitched whistle snuck through his teeth. He was on the bed that dominated their tiny room. Around him the space seemed to darken as pain broke the glowing image he drifted through. No longer hazy and dreamlike, the bedroom returned to its original state—desolate, common, and no longer interesting.

Cadin pressed his back into the fabric that covered the straw mattress. It was the same cover he shared with Lay for almost twenty years. Little changed the space except for the stain of time. Like the square dresser along the far wall that never moved. When first repaired and repainted for them, it was striking in its dark green coat and burnt orange hues.

Now weathered, the nicks, marks, and dulled colors were more a testament to its age than its initial splendor. Even the wooden chair in the corner showed its use as raw wood peeked through the navy paint, its woven seat snagged and rungs broken. It too remained in its original location, along with the small wooden trunk and side table. It was still the same room, each piece holding its own memories that refused to fade.

Cadin moved his focus to the open doorway. An actual door never divided this room from the next and he could hear Lona move about in the kitchen. He wanted to see her but was not certain the feeling was mutual. Her disappointment in his actions was punctuated by tears after the soldiers left.

He slumped further into the bed as his concentration shifted from the door to the shadowed corner along the wall. It was the same corner he backed Lay into, his voice whispering in her ear while their daughter slept in the next room. He could still hear her laughter in his head and feel her arms surround him.

Cadin jerked his thoughts away with a gasp. He could not stand to be in this room anymore. Lay’s memory haunted the place. It was a cage in which the past was contained. Even weeks after she died, he refused to use the bed without her, preferring not to venture into the room at all. It was just too empty, too big for only him.

With a groan, Cadin rolled onto his side, desiring nothing more than to fall back asleep and forget the previous day. At least, he assumed it was the next day. It was hard to tell for everything faded to a fuzzy gray after the assault and he could not recall getting into bed.

He glanced at the door as Lona stepped in. Her fingers clutched a wooden bowl and even in the dim light he could tell her eyes were puffy. Evidently his need for attention was greater than her need to avoid him. 

She crossed the room and sat on the bed. “Here.” Her hand touched his shoulder and with care she helped roll him onto his back. He grunted despite her efforts then gasped as she pulled down the covers to expose his chest. It was mottled with dark patches.

Lona’s mouth opened then closed without a word. From the bowl of pasty liquid she retrieved a sodden rag. With care, Lona dabbed his swollen cheeks and nose before spreading the cloth atop his chest and covering it with a thick layer of pulp from the bottom of the bowl.

The concoction made Cadin tremble. He pressed his eyes shut as the treatment sunk into his skin. It sent icy tendrils through the discolored flesh which numbed the pain.

Lona left for a moment then returned with a cup of water but he could not take it. The spiced pulp smeared across his chest pulled him in the direction of sleep—not that he minded. It seemed far better to have giddy tremors that knocked him out than ones spiked with pain. Still, it was a sensation he did not remember experiencing before. He tilted his head, the motion sluggish and less bothersome. Lona’s eyes were set on his. She offered the cup again.

“An old woman came looking for you.” Her gaze shifted to the cup. “She wants to speak with you, but since you’ve managed to damage yourself I didn’t think it wise.” 

Cadin fought the urge to close his eyes and dream.

“There’s something about her,” Lona continued. “I don’t know what it is. But she won’t leave and insists on seeing you. Right now she’s in the fields somewhere, though I’m not certain what she’s doing out there.”

His brow creased.

“She gave me the medicine I’m using. She said it would help you heal faster and rest better.” Lona’s smile was halfhearted. “So far, it seems to be working.” She leaned forward and brushed some of his hair from his face. Then with a sigh, she placed the cup on the small table and stood. Her hands straightened the length of her tunic but she did not leave.

Cadin followed her gaze to the open doorway. Whoever Lona spoke of now stood there. Though the details of the aged visitor were foggy in his current state, the woman did not appear a threat nor did Lona seem to be bothered by her presence. Cadin rolled his head on the pillow as the ceiling became indistinguishable from the walls. It was like he perched on the edge of a great pool and was summoned to drop in. It was a fall he was willing to take and everything began to fade as he slipped into its depths.

Chapter 3

Morning broke through the window as if it were a painting. Streams of light illuminated the room with a cheery glow, the colors vibrant yet warm. Cadin blinked in an effort to clear his eyesight and reengage his mind. The air felt as heavy as the blanket that covered him. It enveloped him and his wife, separating them from the rest of the world in a protective shield.

He exhaled as she sat up. It was her habit to rise and watch him wake. At first, the practice unnerved him, yet after so many years the sudden loss of her observation removed rest from his sleep. Yet now, in this moment, he could sense her focused attention.

He tilted his head toward her presence but it was not Lay’s face that greeted him. Instead, seated beside the bed was the old woman. A woven bag rested in her lap and a smile on her lips. But hers was not the smile he longed for.

His head fell back to the pillow, the soft cushion of his dream taking the youthfulness of room with it. Cadin pressed his eyes shut. There was something in the paste that made it difficult for him to separate dreams from reality.

“How are you feeling?”

Cadin rolled his head to look at her. She was older, over sixty, but possessed a fullness to her frame that was more wholesome in appearance than most her age. She appeared well taken care of, although the air she emitted was not one of dependence. Instead, by her presence she commanded an authority that Cadin could only compare to higher officials. Yet she was not dressed like anyone important. Her clothes were plain and in the style of a commoner. Her white hair was uncovered and pinned up like most elderly women that were widowed. She was unspectacular and yet there was an internal power to her that made him uneasy.

“How are you feeling?” Her voice did not carry the sound of age her body displayed.

Cadin took a deep breath, already able to tell that many of his injuries faded during the night. It was a good and yet bothersome discovery because it was not normal. The rational part of his mind told him that he should be stiff and more conscious of every inhale, yet at the moment he did not ache. He glanced at his chest. There were bruises, but nothing that would suggest a beating. The woman’s green eyes were intent. 

“Better?” she coaxed.

He nodded.

“Good.” She deposited a few items into her bag, closed the flap, then slipped the strap over her shoulder. Something gold glittered around each of her wrists. With more agility and energy than even Lona seemed to show at times, the woman stood and stretched her back. Her finger pointed at a cup of water on the table. “It’s there if you want it.” She returned the chair to its original spot then headed for the door.

“Uh…”

She stopped at his call and returned her almost childlike gaze to him. Inwardly, Cadin cringed for the smile was too pleasant for his confused state. He struggled to voice the questions that scrambled to be heard.

“Who are you?”

“A friend.”

Cadin’s brow furrowed as she exited the room. The front door closed a moment later. In her wake, he scanned the room. Nothing appeared to be missing or out of place. So what was she doing here?

If she came to see me, then why not explain herself? And where is Lona?

No movement sounded from the other room. He sat up with a pained grunt, but the lingering ache would not prevent him from getting up. Cadin pushed the blankets aside then gained his feet. He still wore his leggings and socks—which was a mercy, for it was one less thing he had to deal with.

Beyond the window Cadin could hear voices although neither was Lona’s. He shuffled to the dresser and retrieved his discarded clothes. Foregoing the fitted, long-sleeved undershirt with its high collar, Cadin gripped the edge of his faded overshirt. With precise movements he pulled the lose garment over his head then down. His chest rebelled. No, tunic today.

He reached for his ankle boots, yet it was not until copious words dribbled from his lips that he pulled them on. He grunted as he moved into the front room.

Larger than the bedroom, the kitchen served as the dining room, washroom, and Lona’s bedroom. Already neatly folded, her bed stood against the front wall as a prepared place for anyone to sit during the day. Opposite the bed was a thin upright cabinet and small table bracketed by three chairs. The main attraction in the room was the fireplace built into the wall across from the bedroom door. The plaster wall and ceiling above it were stained black from smoke and while no fire burned there, a mass of red coals flickered inside its stone opening.

Cadin pinched his brows together. No food was in process about the hearth, not even a kettle for hot water. The table was devoid of everything including the usual dishes, pans, and sewing projects. Even Lona’s cloak was gone from its peg by the door.

Cadin shook his head as he pushed ill thoughts aside. Lona would not leave him here with that strange woman roaming about; she was more responsible than that. And yet it seemed she had gone somewhere, for one of the baskets that hung on the wall was also missing.

With careful steps, Cadin crossed to the door and pulled it open. He twisted away as he staggered into the sunlight.

“Cadin!”

Cadin leaned against the house and squinted at the approaching figure. Delmar.

“Are you alright?” The boy stopped beside him.

Cadin tipped his head with assent then started at the dirt.

“You sure you’re all right?”

“Where’s Lona?”

“She went to gather berries.”

Cadin rubbed the back of his neck. His nose itched from the sun’s warmth.

“Maybe you should go back inside and lie down.”

“I’m fine.” Cadin straightened so he could better survey the area, though again, nothing appeared out of place. “Where’s that old woman?”

Delmar flicked his head to reposition his blond locks. “I think she went to the garden.”

“And you let her?”

Delmar’s eyes were curious as he gazed at his future relation. “She didn’t seem to be doing you any harm.”

Cadin considered the rate his condition improved. It was faster than normal—which was good—yet it somehow indebted him to her. That part was unsettling. Beyond that, however, was the fact that no matter what the topical paste did to his injuries it also played games with his mind, conjuring lost memories and making him think phantoms were real.

And maybe that was what troubled him the most—the possibility that this woman held some power or ability to change the natural order of things. It was unthinkable and yet he knew such people existed. He shivered against the gust that drifted in from the low hills.

“Here.”

Cadin’s eyes danced across Delmar’s face and hands before he realized what the boy offered. He pulled the knee-length jacket on with assistance. Once again his ribs protested but he remained upright. With how badly he was beaten he should not be able to stand.

The attention of the young man next to him filled the air with concerned curiosity. Cadin glanced at him from the side unsure if Delmar would understand his beliefs anymore than Lona. He did not know if the boy ever heard the old stories—never mind believe them.

Cadin pressed his eyes closed as he leaned against the house. They were old tales, some of them so old that they told of a time before there was a king. That was when the Great Judge still governed the land, before the coming of the Wisened One. Though most accounts of their reigns were lost, many tales survived that told the history of what happened in their wake.

One such tale involved a people known as the Wisened. They were a group said to have been gifted with the spirit of the Wisened One—the first true king after the Great Judge left. It was said that the Wisened now wandered the land as solitary travelers, issuing aid and advice when needed. Their arrival was to be seen not only as a way to receive assistance, but as a sign that the Wisened One and Great Judge would soon return.

Cadin grew up with such stories and while he always thought about them as such, he never gave up his childhood belief that buried within their rhetoric was some amount of truth. He scrunched his nose against the tingle the sun created in his cheeks. Perhaps it was wishful thinking that led him to suspect the old woman, for her appearance and mystique could be no more than coincidence. Or maybe he was just looking for a miracle.

He laid his head back. His grandfather, Fearin, always told him that if he did not look for a miracle he would never find one. So far, he had done an awful lot of looking and no finding… until now… maybe.

Beside him, Delmar remained patient. It was the one thing the kid possessed an abundance of. It tended to make Cadin uneasy, although he viewed it as a good quality. Right now, however, he could do with some space. He tilted his head as he blinked at the younger man.

Delmar’s back was planted against the wall, the two of them standing in front of the house like weathered fence posts. He grinned. What a sight they would be if Lona came back now. His eyes traveled the path that led to their doorstep. A cloud of dust crowned the distant hills.

Cadin pushed himself from the wall to scrutinize the specter. It was not possible that the soldiers would return so soon. Not enough time passed. Or had it?

“What day is it?” He faced Delmar, the harshness in his voice making the boy hesitate. “Has it been more than a week?”

“No.”

“Then why are soldiers coming?” Cadin pointed at the horizon.

Delmar pushed his hair from his eyes as he studied the hills. “You don’t know they’re soldiers.”

Cadin moved to get a better look. Complacent a moment ago, this development cleared the daze he was in. It gave him focus and a target for his anxiety. He stormed back to Delmar with the edges of his coat flapping.

“What else could it be?” He headed for the house.

Delmar followed, his longer legs allowing him catch up. “Cadin…”

“They’re soldiers,” Cadin said as he reached the door. “I know they’re soldiers.” 

“You’re right.”

Cadin froze along with Delmar. Then they rotated to face the old woman.

“They’re soldiers, but they’re not here for you.” She took a step toward them, her back to the fields. “They’re here for me.”

Delmar swallowed a laugh.

“Why?” The earnestness in Cadin’s voice caused Delmar’s head to whip in his direction.

“You know why.” The woman’s eyes bore into Cadin’s like a dart, his doubt about her melting as snow on a warm day. No words or hidden messages were exchanged and yet the fact that she knew of his speculation was enough proof. Somehow she knew that he believed her to be more than she appeared and had just confirmed it. Even if no one else believed him, Cadin had his answer.

He glanced at Delmar. The younger man’s balance wavered as he leaned against the wall. Concern creased Cadin’s forehead for the confusion that radiated from Delmar was matched by a pale and dizzy expression. If he had not spoken to the boy a moment ago, Cadin would guess the kid was drunk.  Unfortunately there was no time to deal with whatever made the kid faint.

He turned to the old woman. “What can I do?”