❧ Chapter 1 ❧

A Journey of a Thousand Miles

Kɧylin woke as the wagon thudded in a rut. It pulled free with a lurch and a squelch as the mud clung to the wooden wheels.

Her mother saw her eyes open, and she smiled a scared, weary smile. Her eyes, however, were fixed on something else, something far away. Kɧylin had seen the look only a few times, but knew her mother was Seeing something else, something that wasn’t there.

“Mama?” the three year old’s voice cut through the Sight, and Felicity’s eyes were acutely aware of the present situation once more. She scooted closer to her daughter in the back of the bumpy wagon, but before she could tell her daughter not to worry, that everything would be alright, the sound of horse’s hooves and men’s voices cut through the pitter-patter of the rain on the oiled canvas above them. The wagon slowed. Felicity’s eyes were instantly wary again, narrowed suspiciously, her ears twitching to make out sounds beyond the confines of the wooden and canvas structure. Her hand moved to the dagger in her belt.

“Harrow?” She asked, loud enough for her voice to be heard just outside the wagon.

“Soldiers.” Came his curt reply from the front. Felicity’s hand tightened on her dagger.

“Kɧy, my princess, go back to sleep.” Her voice was calm but commanding. Kɧylin, young as she was, sensed something was wrong.

“Mama?” she asked again, her voice rising in volume and worry.

“Sleep, darling. There’s nothing to worry about.” She said it so convincingly, Kɧylin let herself be reassured. She immediately felt her eyelids droop, and she dozed off into a peaceful slumber again. Felicity breathed a sigh of relief; having Kɧylin awake and asking questions with soldiers about was a sure sign of disaster. Children her age did not know how to hold their tongues.

“Halt, by order of the Sacred House of Galador.” A voice commanded firmly from outside the wagon, which shuddered to a stop, moving only as the horses shifted in the rain, soaked through. “What is your business, this close to the border?”

“Planning on crossing, if you don’t mind greatly, sirs.” Harrow threw enough humble respect and a hint of fear to sway even the severest of soldiers. Felicity hoped it was enough. Harrow, the actor. The thought made her smile. Or would have, if her heart wasn’t in her throat.

“Cross the border? Why? State your business in Lakeland.” The voice asked again. “What’s in the wagon?”

So many questions. Felicity shook her head. It’s how the Sacred House worked; ask too many questions to follow, and if you didn’t answer them all, or seemed elusive, you ended up in a bad state. Answer them incorrectly, and you’d end up worse.

But Harrow was cool-headed.

“My wife has family in Fanglen. We wish to go and seek help from them. We had a farm just west of Heilbrooke but had to leave, with things the way they are; bandits, outlaws, the Resistance.” She heard Harrow spit in disgust, hopefully onto the ground. Good way to sell it; act disgusted at the mere mention of the threat to the Sacred House. Gain sympathy, she hoped. Harrow continued.

“Our farm went under. Had to sell it for a lot less than I cared to but my family needs feeding, and a safe place to live. Can’t do that with a farm that’s being run to the ground.” She could picture him now, shaking his head in sorrow. “The wagon has what few belongings of worth we have left; tools, grain…well, what grain I could gather from the last crop anyways. My wife and daughter are back there too but my daughter is falling ill, sirs. I’d like not to tarry with the travel.” He threw a note of pleading into his voice.

“If you cross the border, you’ll need to pay a tax to the Sacred House.” More of the Sacred House’s antics, Felicity frowned. Cross the border? Pay a tax. Own a wagon? Pay a tax. Have children? Pay a tax for each one. It was no wonder more and more people were finding themselves living off next to nothing, the last step before selling themselves into servitude to the Sacred House. That was the price they paid to keep their families free. It made Felicity’s blood boil. Harrow’s too, but he wouldn’t blow their cover over personal qualms. Not with so much at stake.

“Yes, I know. It’s why I got what I could for the farm. I do hope it’s enough.” She heard the jingle of coins in Harrow’s pocket. He had a decent sum in his purse, enough to pay the tax. It was also only a small portion of their wealth; the rest was well concealed within the wagon, much of it with magic. They would not go broke for the Sacred House anytime soon. The Last King had seen to that.

“Seems like you came to cross prepared.” There was a note of approval in the soldier’s voice. That was good; if he thought he was dealing with a relatively smart peasant, he might not try to swindle them too much.

A new voice added itself to the conversation.

“There is the matter of the Apple Tax, sir.” Felicity scowled. Well this was a new one.

“Ah, yes.” The first voice spoke again. “Because so many farms in Heilbrooke have been having difficulties like yours, there is a food shortage, which is affecting the entire land. The Sacred House needs to collect any extra food you may have.” Felicity breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t money they wanted, it was goods. Though the story of the land being short on food was true, it was unlikely anything collected as tax was being sent to the people. Like as not, it was being collected by the Sacred House, and only used for its agents. With pursed lips, Felicity took a deep breath. Now it was her turn to play her part.

Harrow started a pathetic story on “feeding his sick daughter” while Felicity rose, pulling the hood of her cloak over her head, hiding her ears. A quick Charm of Illusion on her face—her eyes in particular—had her looking human to anyone who glanced at her. A haffa travelling with a human was bound to cause questions, especially if the soldiers looked too closely at Kɧylin, who looked nothing like the pair of them.

With one last glance at the girl, Felicity threw open the canvas, and jumped from the wagon. The soldiers nearby started, and Felicity pretended to be surprised at their presence, scurrying to Harrow’s side at the driver’s seat of the wagon.

“Darling…why are we stopped? What’s going on? Where did the soldiers come from?” She glanced around at the soldiers, eyes fearful. One man, who she assumed was the first speaker and the leader of the group, nudged his horse forward. He looked young, as many of the soldiers around him did. Most of the superior officers joined the Sacred House for their “cause” years back, while many of the younger soldiers joined for the pay. You could make a decent living for yourself, working for the Sacred House. If you didn’t mind blurring the lines between right and wrong, and swearing unwavering loyalty to the Sacred House, regardless of your task.

“Good travels, ma’am. We’re just ensuring your family is planning a safe trip, and not forgetting the Sacred House in your voyage.” He touched the badge on his chest, the symbol of the Sacred House: a gold fist clutching a silver dagger. The Sacred House believed that their god, Galador was “The Fist of Light, a Dagger in the Dark.” Ominous and foreboding, exactly what the Sacred House wanted.

“The Sacred House? Darling, did you bring the coin?” She glanced at Harrow.

“Yes. But they want food now.” Harrow’s eyes darted from her to the wagon.

“Food! But—” Felicity clutched her husband’s leg for support, eyes flicking over the soldier. “But that’s all we have! We need it to trade, to start a new life!” She threw panic into her voice; now was the time to sell their story, lest the wagon be searched.

“I know, ma’am. Which is why I’ll allow you to pick what you give us.” Sometimes, she forgot soldiers of the Sacred House were human, after all.

“Oh bless you! Galador protect you!” She hurried back into the wagon, mud clinging to her boots and the hem of her dress. This was going to be the tricky part, choosing enough food that the soldiers didn’t suspect the little family was holding out on them, smuggling products across the border for more than just trading and farming. She hastily shoved some food—a surplus of turnips, potatoes and gourds she’d counted on having to give away—into a burlap sack. She kept the grains and seeds for planting, knowing they wouldn’t be of use to the soldiers anyways. Wet grain wouldn’t keep all the way to the capital. In fact, the little family would be lucky if it remained dry the rest of their trip.

Two relatively large bulging bags later, she hopped out of the wagon, her dress catching on the wooden edge. One of the soldiers threw out a hand to stabilize and help her descent, to whom she threw a grateful smile. No, they were not all nice, but not all as evil and corrupt as the Sacred House.

The soldiers relieved them of the bags, and with a hasty “may Galador shine happily on your lives” they were off, leaving the pair in the pouring rain. Felicity spoke when they were no longer visible.

“That went well.” She lost the Illusion, her eyes gleaming under the hood, which she kept up as protection in the rain.

Harrow scoffed, but noticeably relaxed. “Well enough. Laid it on a bit thick though, hm?” He winks at her. She gives him a look.

“Better to seem over-humble than to have them suspect our loyalties to the Sacred House.” She raises an eyebrow at him, as if to prove her point. He chuckled.

“Yes but did you have to give them all that food?”

“It was enough. And we’ve the coin to buy more. We will not go hungry, Harrow. I have Seen it.” It was almost a low blow. She often used her Sight as a way of showing she knew more than him, most often just to end an argument that was going nowhere. He detested it, but at least this time, she wasn’t lying.

Harrow simply grunted, jerking his head towards the wagon.

“We’ve got to get moving. I don’t want to have to go through that again when the next group makes their rounds.”

Once Felicity was settled in the wagon, it resumed its course over the worn path through the trees.

It continued to rain.

Felicity dabbed Kɧylin’s head with a damp cloth, the child muttering and moaning beneath the fever, mingling with Felicity’s murmurs, in an attempt to soothe her daughter.

It was Winter, which meant there was an abundance of snow to cool the girl’s head, but not many ways to warm her. A fire was too smoky, since they couldn’t open the window and there was too much ice crusted around the chimney to allow the smoke to exit properly. Thus far, Felicity had gathered every blanket she could from the Inn where they were staying, and constantly fed the girl a weak, but warm, vegetable broth.

What made matters worse was Felicity could not even Heal the girl with magic. She was a skilled Healer, and a fever like Kɧylin’s would normally not take more than a moment to dispel, but unfortunately, in her attempt to be proactive and provide Kɧylin with a shield against magical intervention, she had not considered that her magic would not penetrate the shield once it was finished. She had enlisted the help of as many mages of the Resistance to make the shield as sturdy and impenetrable as possible, and now it was turning out to be a mistake.

“Come on, Harrow.” She murmured, fetching yet another bowl of snow from the flower box outside the window. It fell fresh and fast this time of year, especially this close to the Everwhite Mountains. “What is taking so long?”

Harrow had been gone for nearly four days. He was finding somewhere for them to live, to keep Kɧylin safe. They’d tried farming in Lakeland, but the wetlands were crawling with the Sacred House’s soldiers, and the trio needed privacy. They had continued their journey north, into Helafjin. Longtown had the most promising news; a clearing to the north, hidden in the trees, which would be great for a homestead, despite the brutal winters they would get. Both Harrow and Felicity took this as meaning ‘private’ and jumped at the opportunity to settle the area. Harrow had gone ahead, promising to return when he had a crude shelter constructed for them. But with Kɧylin as sick as she was, Felicity was worried, and grew more anxious without her partner.

She toyed with the gold sewn into the hem of her dress. She dared not leave Kɧylin alone with a stranger lest the girl be recognized; there were enough wanted photos of her parents around Galaduin, and she bore a strong resemblance to both.

Stuck, she couldn’t even take the girl with her to a healer. She’d grown so much in the past three years, taking after her birth mother’s family. The girl weighed almost twice as much as the average eight year old, and was nearly a head taller than most of them, too. If she was going to continue taking after her mother, she was going to end up at least six foot two. Her father was no dwarf either; he did stand a few inches shorter than Iyigrɧ at six foot three, but still stood taller than most of his men. Harrow himself was only five foot nine, but his build, and the way he held himself made him appear taller.

Felicity thought fondly of her partner. The two of them had grown over-affectionate of each other. Eight years on the run did that to a person. At times, they were each other’s only adult company.

Absent mindedly, Felicity wiped away a droplet of water making its way down the girl’s face, to collect in her raven hair. Kɧylin stirred at the touch. She was not Felicity’s own child but the haffa cared for her as if she were.

Felicity smiled at the image they made as mother and daughter. Not a soul would believe it, especially not when Kɧylin started really growing. They couldn’t be more opposite. Where Felicity was thin, Kɧylin had all the makings of being a very well-built, broad, and thick boned girl. This, however, didn’t make her any less beautiful. She had been a rather ugly baby, as her father had so lovingly put, but she’d grown out of the splotchy half-feran half-human complexion she’d held as an infant. Her skin was now an all over deep tan and her cheeks were sprayed with purple-grey freckles. Her eyes had taken after her father’s blue ones, though for a long time they had threatened to go the reddish rust colour of her mothers. With the shape of her face and eyes she took after her mother; she even had the small protruding mounds, almost like horns, above her eyebrows but further back on her forehead that all feran had. Hers, however, were easily concealed within her hair and had stopped growing when she was very young.

Watching the child struggle through a restless sleep, Felicity made up her mind. She strode to the door of the room they occupied, abandoning her bowl and cloth on the bedside table for the moment. Throwing open the door, she called to the first servant she saw, a young girl leaving a room a couple doors down with a mop and bucket.

“You, girl. I need your help.” The girl, also a human-feran mix, approached hesitantly. “Can you spare a moment? I need you to run to the nearest healer and fetch them here. I’ll give you a silver if you do.” She flashed a coin to the girl who, with a rapid curtsy and eager “yes’m!” was off down the hall like a bolt shot from a crossbow.

Well that was that, Felicity thought to herself, closing the door and re-entering the room. No worries leaving Kɧylin alone now and if the healer happened to think Kɧylin looked awfully like the spawn of some highly wanted criminals…Felicity might not know how to bypass Kɧylin’s shield but she did know a handy forgetting spell that worked wonders on the unsuspecting...

She didn’t have long to wait for Harrow. Thirteen days after his departure, he returned, looking frostbitten, wind-burned, snow-kissed but alive. And more than a little happy.

“There are my two favourite ladies!” He crowed, bursting into the small room, snow raining down from where it clung to his hair and clothes.

“Papa! Papa!” Kɧylin called, running to him and attempting to jump into his arms. She had recovered quite rapidly after the visit from the healer. And, since Felicity didn’t want to be caught in such a situation again, she’d started visiting the healer, Fretta, on a regular basis, learning what she could about natural healing from the woman. She learned quickly, which made both her and her instructor happy. And Kɧylin spent her days with Fretta’s two sons, playing and getting into mischief.

Felicity kissed Harrow on a weathered cheek.

“Gods! You’re freezing!” She gasped, stepping away from him. He grinned, and shook more snow from his cloak. He was clearly pleased.

“Kitty, it’s perfect!” Kitty was his pet name for Felicity. At first, it was used out of anger and meant sarcastically, but had grown into a term of endearment. Felicity couldn’t help but grin at his enthusiasm. He gave her waist a squeeze, before lifting Kɧylin, who was still trying to climb his legs, into his arms. It was as if she weighed nothing at all to him. Then again, she had lost a lot of weight because of the fever, and was only just getting it back.

“How is my little Princess?” Also a nickname born from a joke, they called Kɧylin their little Princess, only in their own company, though.

“Today I played wif’ Rogan an’ Clem!” She began babbling in her childish voice about the healer’s children, and their adventures together, something involving a cat and some ink. Felicity and Harrow exchanged smiles as she unraveled her tale.

“Sounds like a wonderful time was had by all, save the poor cat!” Harrow chortled, kissing Kɧylin on the cheek. His beard, which had grown ferociously, gone unshaven during his hunt for their homestead, was coarse, and Kɧylin began squirming and squealing at the tickly fibers.

“So what’s our next move?” Felicity asked, sitting on the bed as Harrow set Kɧylin on the ground so she could run off to the corner of the room to play with a ragdoll Felicity had sewn for her, on one of their nights without Harrow.

“I’ve set up a small cabin for us in the clearing. It will provide enough protection from the snow while we build an actual cabin. Which is why I took so long, I needed to give it a decent fire grate.” Harrow rolled his neck, and cracked his knuckles. Felicity glanced at his hands; they were covered with scrapes, cuts, bruises and more than a fair share of splinters.

“Your hands!” she gasped. “You must have half the forest embedded in them! Let me tend to those.” Without waiting for an answer, she towed him to the small table in the corner of the room by the window, covered with herbs and books on healing.

“This is new.” He commented, gesturing at the items on the desk and she forced him into a chair. He fingered a mortar and pestle, and she swatted his hand away.

“You’re not the only one who’s been busy!” She teased, taking a very tiny, sharp knife, and opening up the skin over the splinters, pulling out the shards of wood. Some had already started to grow infected, pus welling up around the wood fragments, making the skin puffy and red. She applied a poultice to speed the healing and kill infection. “I’ve been learning things from the healer in town, Fretta. She’s wonderful, and Kɧylin has taken to her and her two sons.”

“I gathered.” He watched their surrogate daughter play across the room. “Why don’t you just use magic?” He asked, brow furrowed as Felicity tended his abused hands.

“Might as well see if what I’m learning will actually work. WE’ll consider you my experiment.” She said with a grin. “Besides, I want to conserve as much of my magic as possible. I may need it, if anything were to happen.” She explained, as she finished tending his hands, kissing the last bandage. It was something she always did for Kɧylin, when the girl got a bump or scrape. As she pulled away, Harrow grabbed her hand.

“Felicity.” He whispered, eyes boring into hers. “I’ve missed you.” Then he pulled her into a tight embrace. Her own arms returned the gesture, wrapping around him, feeling a deep sense of rightness wash over her.

They sat like that for a long while, as Kɧylin played with her doll by the crackling fire.

Next Chapter: Chapter 2: Rising