The Kinfire Tree

By Elaina J Davidson

Kin is Everything

We return to the Land of Skies. One battle is already behind the team, the disastrous events upon Ardosia; time now to concentrate on the stability of Valaris, or the same fate awaits her.

Hidden from humankind are fourteen sacred Valleur sites, built upon nodes of power. Vannis Valla advocates unveiling them to restore balance to the earth, which will aid in the fight against Margus. The Darak Or has other ideas, and unleashes his soltakin ...

In the north, Averroes discovers her true past and she and Kylan run the Maze gauntlet. Kisha, Mordan, Cristi and Samson prepare the clans of old for eternal night. In the south, Vannis, Rayne and Saska, along with the charismatic little Falcon, Phet, move from site to site. Taranis and the Guardians delve arcane ritual in the Dome to find the answers to the ending of soltakin, while expecting Infinity to bring her Darkling Horde into the mix. Meanwhile McSee, unmasked as traitor, meets the crazy Lanto and they hatch a bold plan, involving a pirate and ancient loot.

Rayne begins the internal battle that will change all. It began for him on Ardosia when he touched Vannis only to release blue sparks between them. The ruling house is almost extinct. How, therefore, does a Valla recognise the blood for the future? By the blue flame of trebac. Kinfire. The legendary Vannis is kin, but there is more in store for Rayne than the reality of this profound connection.

The Kinfire Tree has many branches hidden in its foliage, a condition Rayne suspects, a greater truth he must reveal ...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elaina J Davidson
• Release date: Sep 27, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301495689

Elaina J Davidson

Elaina is a galactic and universal traveller and dreamer. When writing she puts into words her travels and dreams, because she believes there is inspiration in even the most outrageous tale.Born in South Africa, she grew up in the magical city and surrounds of Cape Town. After studying Purchasing Management and working in the formal sector as a buyer, she chose to raise and home-school her children. She started writing novels around 2002, moving from children’s stories, poetry and short stories to concentrate on larger works. She lived with her family for some time in Ireland and subsequently in New Zealand. After returning to South Africa, loving the vibrancy of Africa, she upended her life again and moved back to Ireland, her soul-home.Come and get lost with her!

Book preview

Prologue

Valaris

A long time ago

A FROG CROAKED in the silence of night. Millanu glanced over her shoulder as she lit the candles staked into the grass. It was not predators she needed worry about; at least not of the natural world.

This hideaway in the old chapel garden was not that isolated, but she was out of time and it would have to do. As a precaution, she chose the dead of night when the world was largely asleep.

Other than the frog.

Her son was two days old; mere hours remained before the window to his future closed. He needed a name before the sun rose in the east.

She was ready.

The candles’ flames flickered in a waft of air and the water in the clay bowl rippled, shattering the fiery reflection there. She lifted her son to her, unconsciously rocking him.

Minutes were measured by the croaking frog.

The water in the bowl stilled. It reflected nothing. It was now a portal to the future, and Millanu leaned over the opaque circle for glimpses of what lay ahead for her son.

This was how Valleur babies were named. A scrying bowl. A true name.

Moments were measured by the small heartbeat under her fingers.

Images formed in the liquid.

First was her son’s father, an image of his beloved face in an environment of mist. Next was an image of a man with yellow eyes. Her father. He stood in an empty field, rain sluicing over him.

Two boys chased each other in a cobbled courtyard, twins, splashing in puddles. They were her future grandchildren. She saw her son as a man, watching his boys with a smile.

The child in her arms would be the focal point of family, bringing those absent together. He was the Rain of Life.

It was a good future. It would be a good name.

The images in the bowl shifted.

Millanu viewed a foreign army in ranks, dying, and a city of light writhing in the throes of death. She saw also her son and his sorcery. Every death was at his behest.

He would be a destroyer. Dread moved through her.

Something more moved in the scrying bowl. A man dressed in black, dark hair and eyes, approached in the dimness of fog to lay a hand on her son’s shoulder. He whispered, and they knelt together to touch a lad unconscious at their feet. The boy rose, his smile glorious.

Her son had healer’s hands. She had the distinct feeling the dark man was his soul.

Millanu lifted her head as the visions ceased. She blinked. It was near dawn.

The frog was silent.

She would name her son true; it was the Valleur way.

Millanu gazed at the bundle in her arms.

"You are Torrullin. You are Rain of Life and Destroyer. May you find peace one day, my son."

She shivered when the violet of a newborn’s eyes shifted into clear grey. As if his name created him complete in that moment.

Part I

PATHWAYS

Chapter 1

"Go to the mountains, son, and sing songs of praise. Majesty is in timelessness."

~ Father Rees

Vall Peninsula

Northern Valaris

DESPITE HIGH SUMMER elsewhere, it was bitterly cold in the far north. Icy winds came off the towering Legend Mountains in the distance. The giant slopes were covered in snow almost to the point where rock met land, capped with dark, threatening clouds. A storm brewed there and it boded ill for the two travellers. They were not dressed for it.

In sharp contrast to the whiteness, the wasteland they crossed was ochre in colour. Loose dust puffed up with every step as if they walked in low gravity and it blew up into their faces with every gust of icy wind. Already they were barely distinguishable from their surroundings.

It was an empty land, abandoned, lonely, and frighteningly different. There were no trees. There was no water. The only tangible objects on that vast plain were edged, black pebbles hidden in powdery dust that served to trip.

Averroes could not believe she was born here, that someone took her across this to the south.

They had been walking for hours. Vannis said she would instinctively know where to go, but she felt nothing other than burning thirst. They had not brought enough water; she had one swallow left, as did Kylan.

Would this never end? The barren ochre plain stretched in every direction. Only the mountains to the north relieved the disheartening vista. Now that stirred something within her. Did it mean they needed to walk all that way?

She groaned aloud.

Averroes? Kylan said hoarsely behind her. He was a wonderful companion, ever uncomplaining.

I’m fine; just wishing I knew where to go. Her voice, she found, was equally gruff.

Wait, Averroes, I see … what is that?

Kylan, when she turned, pointed at a patch of black growing in size as they walked. It was on the ground directly ahead, and she had not even seen it.

I don’t know. Her heart commenced an uneven rhythm.

As they drew closer, the black patch materialised into a perfect circle, recessed, about three feet in diameter.

It’s not natural. Do you recognise it? Kylan queried as they halted at the edge of the sphere. It was smooth like stone eroded by the ceaseless movement of water.

She shook her head and knelt to touch. It was warm and there was a minor vibration under her fingers. She placed her hand flat on the surface, and it moved. Snatching her hand back, she stumbled away from the edge and pulled Kylan with her.

It’s moving!

A circular tube rose perpendicular to the ground and halted at about seven feet, still attached to the earth.

"What is that?" Kylan asked, passing a hand before his eyes to check his sight.

No idea.

They heard a whooshing sound. What appeared to be doors retracted into the sides of the cylinder.

I have read something about this. I don’t know what you call it, but I think one travels in it, up and down. I think we’re supposed to get in. Kylan was clearly uncertain.

This is technology, then? Can we trust it?

Unless we want to walk to nowhere without water, we have no choice. Vannis did say the half-Valleur were underground. Come, take my hand, we will do it together.

They linked hands and approached.

Ready? Kylan asked, and when Averroes nodded, they stepped in quickly, fearing the doors would close on them before they were fully inside.

Once in, they stood waiting, feeling peculiar in a black cylinder in an ochre desert, but nothing happened. Long moments passed as they kept glancing at each other for reassurance. Nothing inside offered a clue on how to operate the device.

Kylan shrugged and Averroes giggled.

Well, it can only go one way, hopefully. Why does it not move? Surely it should go down …

On the word ‘down’ the doors closed. A ceiling light came on and there was the sensation of falling. They could not tell how fast they went, thus could not estimate distance. What seemed an eternity later, but was no more than minutes, the tube came to a halt; the doors whooshed instantly open … behind them.

Oh, boy, Kylan muttered as they both turned.

Directly ahead was a wall, white and blank. Peeking around the doors, they looked left and right. It was a corridor, stretching unendingly both ways, lights evenly spaced along the ceiling, glowing muted white.

It was deserted.

They stepped out. The doors closed, and the device remained stationary.

Now what? Kylan whispered, looking at lights that needed no flame to burn. The nearest phenomenon he could summon to mind was the solar glows in Galilan’s Prism Park.

"Pick a berry; pick two, three, four

Eat them; eat them well

Come again for more …"

Averroes recited a child’s rhyme, wagging her finger left and right with each word. She ended pointing right. That way.

You’re not serious.

One way is as good as another, and I still have no sense of recognition.

Kylan laughed nervously, and went right. A hand strayed to his upper thigh where his knife was. Averroes pulled hers from her boot to put it in her jacket pocket.

They walked a long while, at first warily, but as time passed and no one appeared to challenge them, they relaxed and strolled more casually.

Other than the pools of light that came and went as they passed, there were no changes to the stark corridor. It was spotless, the air fresh and the temperature comfortable.

They came upon a recess; a square space penetrating the rock beyond. There was a white basin on a pedestal, a black button on the side, with a spout inside the basin. They knew what it was. Basins and baths in the south were of stone, wood or copper, and taps were rudimentary, hot water piped in from an outside fire and cylinder, yet a basin was a basin.

Averroes pushed the button and from the spout, and a jet of clear water erupted.

Water, she breathed. Putting one finger in, she tasted. Fresh. She grinned and leaned in to drink her fill, before standing aside.

Kylan needed no coaxing.

They then filled their bottles and took the opportunity to change into fresh clothes. Ochre dust permeated the material they removed and they shook the garments thoroughly before packing them away. The white floor was red by the time they were done.

Much refreshed, morale higher, they stepped back into the corridor.

A low hum filled the air behind them. The ochre dust on the floor dissipated and disappeared. The humming stopped.

Technology, Kylan said. I don’t know my world at all.

They went on.

A while later the corridor reached a junction. Again, they had a choice of either left or right. The left was blue, the right green, the two colours meeting in a perfect line before them. At least the unrelieved white was gone, but there was no further sign to aid them.

Indecisive, they peered both ways. All was quiet.

I think there are doorways, look. Averroes pointed along the green arm. There were rectangular shadows further down.

Kylan thought it could be anything, but it was change at last, thus he nodded.

A muted clang emanated from the same direction. They were here to find people, not avoid them, and even if it was danger they found, it was infinitely better than the sense of being the last two people alive on the planet.

They chose to go right.

The closer they came, the more Kylan had to admit Averroes was right; doorways indeed and doorways usually meant …

… without warning someone stepped out left ahead, to cross the corridor into a doorway right. The impression the two intruders had was of a flowing purple robe.

Kylan was flat against the wall, knife in hand. His reflexes surprised him.

They crept forward.

Kylan peered around the right-hand doorway into which Purple Robe vanished. It was a large yellow room with benches attached to the walls. In the centre, there was a square table, about two feet high, of blue marble, matching the blue of the benches. On the table was a statue of a little girl holding aloft the moon, sculpted from a bluish-grey marble akin to the moon itself. Her little face was alive with the joy of holding something so precious. Kylan was riveted.

Abruptly, from another doorway in the far corner of the room, Purple Robe appeared.

Crikey, I will one day cause my own doom, if it is not today, Kylan thought.

On seeing Kylan, Purple Robe dropped the tray he carried. Loaded as it was with empty crystal goblets, the resultant noise was shatteringly loud. He uttered a shrill cry.

Averroes, studying a similar chamber on the left, dashed across.

That cry!

Kylan was rooted, mesmerized by the yellow eyes of Purple Robe, the cry resounding in his ears.

Upon seeing him thus, Averroes’ memory jiggled, shifted and opened … of another life … clutching her head in an influx of images, each vying for supremacy, she nonetheless had the presence of mind to run headlong into Kylan, jolting him to break his transfixed state.

Don’t look at him! Block your ears! she managed, shouting over the noise while battling the images of returning memory. He’s paralysing you! Do it!

Kylan sank to the floor, fingers in ears, eyes screwed shut.

She entered the yellow room. Purple Robe turned his gaze on her, continuing his ululation.

Staring straight into his eyes, she said, using the common tongue of Valarians, It won’t work on me. I’m half-Valleur. It was true; she was half-Valleur. She now knew it with certainty.

Blinking his eyes, Purple Robe shut the din off. He stared at her in horror, while she bent to grip Kylan’s shoulder.

The Herbmaster looked up at her, unblocking his ears. All right? he asked.

It will be, she said. Get up.

Who are you? You are a trickster! Half-Valleur have yellow eyes! Purple Robe cackled, evidently thinking he caught her out.

Averroes put her hands together. ’A dark-eyed child will be born among you. She will be the Changeling who …’ she recited in Valleur. Vannis was right; a Valleur baby never forgot. I am home.

Kylan shifted her way on hearing her speak in Valleur, familiar to him now after both the Guardians and Rayne had uttered enchantments in it.

No, no … Purple Robe’s eyes were wide. … it cannot be … you were … we …

You left my mother and me for dead, yes. Averroes said.

Purple Robe sank onto the nearest section of bench, setting it a-quiver with his great bulk, his face ghostly, trembling as if with fever.

By all the gods, is it time?

Chapter 2

Every experience builds your character, defines your strengths and weaknesses.

~ Ancient Oracles

Half-Valleur Habitat

THE UNDERGROUND CORRIDORS stretched for sals in every direction; some twisted and turned, others straight as an arrow shaft, but all were connected and in excellent condition.

Chambers great and small branched off, burrowing into the solid strata of the Vall Peninsula. There were suites housing families and there were bachelor apartments, communes, entertainment rooms, and large spaces for gatherings, and so forth.

It was strange, yet not so strange. If all had been above ground, the corridors would be paths and highways; the chambers would be homes and halls of varied pursuit.

There were factors to set the underground habitat apart, of course, such as the hospital of both old and new arts, exercise venues, techno-workshops, computer rooms, machine shops, and mining complexes, the latter for the extending of space and the repair of maturing corridors.

Those Valleur who fled upon Vannis’ prophecy nine millennia ago burrowed into rock to escape the notice of the settlers. They fled into the far north of the cold, uninhabitable regions of the Vall.

The terrain was too exposed, not only for comfort and for longevity, but also to hide successfully. It took scores of years to complete a section large enough to sustain them, but it took even longer before a human again set foot in the region after that doomed landing in the snow. By then, the Valleur had vanished into the bowels of the earth.

In the beginning, they moved stealthily among the early settlers, stealing cast-aside technology to aid in building and to sustain an unnatural existence. Not a single item appropriated was missed, as the settlers were already infused with a dislike and fear of technology - Vannis’ doing - and the evidence of theft met with unseeing eyes.

Once ensconced below, the Valleur continued building and burrowing, making improvements and creating variety and comfort.

Then, mindful of the prophecy, all fifteen Valleur males went abroad to capture women. They did so many times, until the tunnels rang with female voices.

This theft did raise outcry, but the women were never found, and neither was their disappearance written into history. The Valleur treated their captives well and grew to love them. In turn, as time wore on and gilded cages became home, the women returned their love. The half-Valleur were born.

The fifteen purebloods lived long and took many wives, mindful always of genetics, and sired many offspring, mating their younger children to second and third generation to diffuse the gene pool.

Eventually they did die, revered and respected. Only the half race remained; their lives shorter than half their blood would have, yet longer than the average human.

Centuries passed and they grew to despise the kinship that forced them below and took from them the magic of the sun. One or two did venture out, but never returned, most killed as sorcerers, an anathema on Valaris. Always their yellow eyes betrayed them. As a result, they had no choice but to accept their fate, to live as normal a life as was possible, while following the letter of the law as handed down by the purebloods.

Time passed, thousands of years, and then a special baby was born.

A girl with dark eyes.

They accused the mother of sneaking out and laying with a human. No matter how she denied this, they would not believe her. Long they deliberated, while the baby girl grew into a lovely toddler with a sunny nature and expected Valleur capabilities. Still they did not believe, and turned to the law one last time, a conclave that had the entire underground buzzing.

They deemed the child should not attain adulthood, for her offspring would negate the half-blood, as her mother had in having her. Thus, when she was five years old, they banished her. Her mother sought permission to accompany her and, given she was regarded as licentious and traitorous, permission was granted with unseemly haste.

After escorting mother and daughter above ground with no food and water, the elevator doors were locked for one calendar year to prevent return. It was the month of Blizzird, winter solstice month, and the harshest winter in years.

No one had examined the prophecy in generations.

PURPLE ROBE HELD off trying to paralyse anyone, being himself paralysed at the turn his life had taken, all their lives were about to take. Only Averroes’ insistence broke his self-imposed trance. She told him to take them to the great meeting cavern. There they made laws and spoke judgement, chose leaders, named babies and imparted news of import.

It was a kind of proof; Purple Robe fought no longer.

Averroes knew the way and watched the half-Valleur man for signs of treachery, but he led them unerringly, nervous and agitated as he was.

As they walked, with Kylan trailing, her memories crowded in. Here she played hide-and-seek with her younger cousins; there they taunted her to tears, and she did not understand why the older children turned on her. Ah, there she learned to read, here she watched the old ones perform magic … there was so much, why had she forgotten?

She remembered the fear she sensed coming off her mother in waves when the elevator doors locked behind them - she must tell Kylan the cylinder was an elevator …

Banished in winter. They meant for the two of them to die.

What kind of people could be that ruthless? Did she want to know these people again? They were forced into an unnatural habitat, to be sure, but that was so long ago that those living now could not imagine life above ground. It was no excuse, and could never be. Sure, ancient laws that allowed no deviation from the accepted norm governed them, and abruptly she understood.

She saw the same narrow-mindedness in the south, and yet the southerners knew complete freedom.

Wrong as the half-Valleur were, they dared not condone perceived treachery. They were not free, and a law ignored opened the doors to chaos, insurrection and strife, without the option of starting afresh in a new place. The habitat bound them, although they no longer knew another way to exist.

To their credit, it took five years of hard examination of those laws before they banished her.

Her mother prepared, knowing in the end there could only be one decision. She lined her coat with dried food, powdered milk and broth. In the single permitted bag of clothes, she hid fuel tablets and a little pot. It was not enough to flourish on, but it would stave off death.

Snow there was, mountains of it, and winds so cold, their breaths had literally frozen.

Six hours after going above, the fiercest storm of the entire winter came sweeping onto the great plain, throwing them into drifts of unstable powder; her mother was forced to dig her out numerous times, sometimes finding her by luck alone.

Averroes shivered, remembering. She never again experienced such soul-numbing cold, nor saw a face as blue, pinched, as afraid, as her mother’s.

Thirty days it took them to reach the Great Dividing Forest. Thirty of the worst days any being should have to suffer, and especially hard on a woman and child unused to even mild weather conditions. A child wanted to lie down and sleep forever, a mother tried to find the words to encourage, when she wished, fervently, to die herself.

They were near death on reaching the Forest. Her mother’s feet were frostbite black; she carried her daughter laboriously despite excruciating agony, for she did not want the same fate for her child.

Once within the Forest, sensing peace, she unearthed roots from the frozen ground, found berries, dug deep to find wood. That night her mother made a glorious fire and a nourishing meal. Her daughter smiled and did not understand a mother’s tears.

Looking back now, Averroes realised her mother said farewell in the only way available to her, and her smile was the only gift her mother could take with her.

In the morning, her mother was dead. In the snow was a large arrow drawn by frail hands, pointing the way out of the Forest … south, always south. Her mother’s final gift.

Averroes choked, remembering.

Too numb to feel grief, that little girl faced in the direction indicated and, leaving her mother’s body, the bag, and all memory of her past, she started walking. Walked and walked and walked.

She broke the tree line after two days, on New Year’s Day, although she could not know, and collapsed in exhaustion and hunger.

Next she remembered awakening on a hard floor in a dingy room. The smell was awful, the noise worse. Her sheltered life had not prepared her for the city.

In fear she crept from the room, sensing a depravity she could know nothing of, crawled down creaking stairs, each squeak like thunder in her ears.

At the foot of the stairs she found a shiny round object and picked it up to put in her pocket, and fled into the nightmare existence of an orphan on the unforgiving streets of Galilan.

The coin was her only succour. She found the Maghdim Medaillon, and the Mantle believed it safe in a casket.

Then, bless him, came Aven, years later, when she needed him most.

Dear Aven. How much you mean to me. I have lived three distinct lives and today I embark upon the fourth. This one brings them together. They were necessary to bring me to this. I am a banished half-Valleur of a mother’s unconditional love, a street orphan, an adopted, loved human, and a prophecy.

I am Lycea, the Changeling.

She came to a stop. I remember now. I was born here. There is no time for detail, Kylan, she continued, but I need to tell you this. Aven named me Averroes after a legendary woman he admired, but it’s not my name, and true names are vital to the Valleur.

Purple Robe halted also on hearing her voice, his face white.

My Valleur name is Lycea.

Purple Robe obviously understood the common tongue. He squealed and hurried away.

Hey! Kylan shouted after the retreating purple swathe.

Never mind, I know the way, Averroes murmured.

Kylan looked down at her. He saw the new truth in her eyes, the certainty. Sombrely, he nodded, wondering if he would change as much. What do you prefer of me to call you?

My name is Lycea.

Kylan nodded again, and placed his hands on her shoulders, kissing her respectfully on her forehead. Thus one greeted a long-absent friend. Well met, Lycea.

Blinking back tears, Lycea whispered, Bless you, Kylan.

Chapter 3

Liars hear only the truths they create. Truth-seekers hear all truths.

~ Yltri Sage

Habitat

THE MEETING CAVERN filled rapidly. Purple Robe went directly to the dais to whisper to the man there, and the man immediately ordered four short rings sounded on the red siren, this being the signal for meeting.

The majority were duty bound to attend and, as Lycea and Kylan approached the chamber, they were passed in the corridors by swiftly moving half-Valleur, too many to count. Some glanced at them curiously, but all went on without speaking or asking their business.

By the time they entered, the meeting place was close to full and the noise deafening. Purple Robe beckoned them forward and they made their way down the central aisle.

The meeting chamber was an enormous cavern with a ceiling of protruding blue and green stalactites above the gathered. Here the natural black stone had not been touched. In places mineral rich water trickled through the cracks into a narrow furrow running the entire perimeter of the cavern, bled off into a containment tank. Nothing went to waste in the habitat.

It was a rough place and the only concession to comfort was the floor. The black stone removed during the excavation of the tunnels and smaller chambers became smooth paving slabs, and these now fitted together into a glass-like floor.

The cavern itself was a natural feature, found three centuries after the purebloods took the race below. Light came from a string of globes along the walls, here and there blown where the elements triumphed.

On a raised platform at the far end, the leader spent most of his time and, in the interest of his comfort, a synthetic fibre carpeted the floor, black so as not to detract from the majesty of the chamber.

He sat on a comfortable black couch, and arrayed to one side was a console of various buttons, flickering red and green lights, a few yellow, one lone blue, and a large screen reflecting the world above as they knew it in this region - ochre dust and sharp black stones, the Legend Mountains in the distance.

A low table before him, a solid square of the black stone priceless in its size and simplicity, hosted books and writing materials.

The meeting place filled behind them and, when they reached the platform, only stragglers still slipped in.

The gathered sat on the cold floor with an air of expectancy, highly curious about the strangers, and the noise level lifted a decibel. The last strangers to best their system during a freak sandstorm four centuries back had not made it out alive.

What is that? Kylan queried out of the side of his mouth, gesturing at the console of lights.

He would rather look at the weird techno device than at the intense man on the couch. The hair in the back of his neck warned of danger delayed; they were not safe, not yet.

Purple Robe wrung his hands continuously, not a good sign.

It’s a computer, but don’t ask for explanations right now, Lycea returned, and was nervous.

She remembered her last visit here, when this man handed down sentence upon a five year old, a sentence that led to her exile and her mother’s death. She bore him, none of them, no malice.

In remembering her past, she still needed to forgive them, but she sought not to hurt, did not need revenge. It happened, she lived an extraordinary life when compared to life below, experiences she never would have had, and that was good and meant in a convoluted way.

How could she punish them for that?

Her nerves were more over how they would receive her.

The outcast returned? Would they exile her anew, with greater punishment? Would they accept her, having realised they erred? Was she welcome? Would they listen to her? Believe her? Would they think her a liar? Still a traitor? Was Kylan safe among them?

She drew breath and found her inner well of calm. She was a child of prophecy and it brought her to this moment. She would be telling them the time was now, their Vallorin was free, and it was time again to walk in the sun, that they too would be free. It was good news. It was also about dire tidings.

Would they hear?

KYLAN GLANCED BEHIND them. Yellow eyes everywhere, skins with golden undertones and, without sunlight to have caused it, it proved their genetics eloquently. Short, tall, thin, not so thin, varied dress, many colours, proving their human blood.

Men and women in equal proportions, a scattering of older children, the young in care centres while the meeting progressed. There were few aged, as in white-haired and wrinkled, but Kylan had no doubt those men who appeared close in age to him were likely far older than he could hope to be.

He drew breath and faced forward when Lycea nudged him.

The man on the couch stood; a tall, spare man clothed in a thick woollen robe against the damp of the cavern. He dropped the cowl from his head and raised his hands high for silence. His hair was shoulder length, a light copper. His eyes were the expected yellow, and on his forehead sat a small dragon tattoo, the mark of leadership.

Called Master, he was not permitted to carry the dragon on his chest, even had he known how to summon it, and not to be addressed as Vallorin.

Kylan looked him over. As a Herbmaster, he could tell the man lacked the health sunlight brought, but other than that, he was a fine specimen.

They were all remarkably healthy considering they did not receive the natural minerals the sun gifted.

He found the man looking at him as well and those eyes unnerved him. He glanced behind him again for something to do, and inadvertently met a pair of eyes he knew.

It was the man from the tavern in Luan, who gave them the riddle and directions to the Square Pyramid and the Obelisk on Tor Island.

How surprised he must be to see me here, as I am.

The man acknowledged him with a gesture of his head, lips quirking. Kylan nodded back and was gratified to see a half-smile. Lycea nudged him again.

THE MASTER SPOKE in a normal tone as he addressed the gathered. The acoustics of the cavern were such he had no need to raise his voice.

Shep Lore brings before us two strangers from the world above … Purple Robe now had a name. This young woman claims to be the child of the prophecy …

Pandemonium erupted and who could blame them? Many stood and shouted; the din was incredible.

Silence! roared the Master, and gradually it returned. I shall not have this unmannered behaviour! Now, in all our years below nobody has come forth with this claim, thus we owe it to ourselves to listen before we judge. There will be NO interruptions; we shall hear her out.

He stood a few moments staring over the assembled, impressing his will upon them, and he turned to Lycea. I am …

Master Ralnor, I know.

He nodded, and she knew he recognised her as the five year old. That made it easier.

Thank you for the opportunity to state my case.

He was unmoving, probably remembering the images her ‘case’ brought to mind. He inclined his head and gestured to the chamber at large. She was to address the gathering, for he already knew who she was.

Glancing at Kylan, who awaited her cue, she faced the other way. He did too, much preferring the crowd to the man in the robe.

I know who your Master is, for he was once my Master. Gasps of shock sounded, but there were no interruptions. Almost eighteen years ago my mother and I were exiled from this place … we were to die.

Kylan drew a shocked breath beside her.

Relax, Kylan, it’s all right, she murmured before continuing, You will remember, all but the young, the time a child, a daughter, was born to Jallen. Her voice caught on her mother’s name. A child born with dark eyes and named as the Changeling.

More gasps of shock and she heard her name whispered.

I am Lycea. Kylan, bless him, gripped her shoulder to lend support. She swallowed and went on. I speak to you in the common tongue for it is the language I grew up with, and for my companion to follow … She paused and looked to Kylan. I’m switching for a few words, all right?

In Valleur, she continued, For many years I had no memory of this place, no memory of you, and no memory of my past. Trauma, you would call it.

There was silence, not only for her smooth mastery of the Valleur language, but over the content of her words. She returned to the common tongue, feeling able to cope with the memories she spoke of when removed from her born language.

In fact, I had no recollection of my mother either. She died on the journey south, the night we reached the safety of the Great Forest. As a child I must have put it away, to survive, for I was too young to understand the concepts trauma and deliberate amnesia.

Lycea’s eyes pricked with tears, and the sympathy from the floor was profound.

Listen to me. I come not before you angry at what happened, not to exact revenge, even as you and I know I have the right to call for justice, but to speak of new ways. She frowned and, glancing at Master Ralnor, said, I am nevertheless shocked that this race, the half-Valleur, that not one of you, you who have lived in expectation of a prophecy generation upon generation, that no one gave it a thought. And you could have sent me away kindly and with the tools to overcome the dead winter of my exile, being mindful of the possibility I may indeed have been the dark-eyed child, one who needed to return some day.

Many in the crowd looked ashamed, humbled, and some were downright wretched - probably those involved at the time.

Master Ralnor said, Lycea, we are ashamed of our terrible misjudgement. Whether or not you were the child spoken of and whether or not we knew it at the time should not have mattered. We were cruel. We should have ensured your and your mother’s survival, at the least exiling you in the spring … if exile it had to be. I am sorry about Jallen, yet it gladdens my heart you stand before us today. We hope you will allow us the chance to make restitution. We desire to, whether you seek justice or not.

There were nods all round, and Lycea blinked back tears again.

Master Ralnor continued, Forgive my further interruption, but I need to inform you Shep Lore came to me two days after your exile shouting out the prophecy, reminding me, reminding all of us. Dear Shep had been reading up for research and was not involved in the conclaves, but knew the tale of Lycea. He put you together with the prophecy.

He paused to swallow. We searched for you and your mother. Unfortunately fresh snow had fallen, there was an epic storm - I am certain you recall the conditions. We found nothing, not even a footprint. By the time we called the hunt off, our horror was no longer for what we may have done to the prophecy, but what we did to a little girl and her mother. I am sorry.

Master Ralnor blinked back tears; Lycea was openly crying.

Our one consolation was, if you were indeed the child of prophecy, you would survive, Shep Lore said. You are here, you lived, and it halfway proves your claim.

You know me, know your name, your mother’s, you are immune to the paralysing wail, you know your way around the corridors, speak Valleur and know the circumstances of your exile, and it proves you are the child of eighteen years ago, Master Ralnor added. Do any here gathered doubt this is Lycea?

There were resounding shouts of NO!

Lycea glanced at Kylan, who had shifted unobtrusively to the side of the platform. He gave her an encouraging wink. She looked back at Master Ralnor, smiled through her tears, and faced to the gathered.

"Thank you. I bear no ill will; I have come here because it is time. Now is not the moment to ponder more on past happenings, mine anyway. I have returned and I am the child of prophecy, do not doubt that. A dark-eyed child will be born among you. She will be the Changeling who will return the Medaillon to the last Vallorin and release him from his tomb. He, in turn, will bring you freedom. Thus is the prophecy spoken in the common tongue … shall I translate for you into Valleur?"

That will not be necessary, Lycea, Master Ralnor said. Only a half-Valleur can know the prophecy, and we use the common tongue daily, as much as, if not more than Valleur.

Lycea nodded. She pointed at Kylan. This is Kylan, Herbmaster of Farinwood. His life has recently taken a strange turn as well …

The man from the tavern stood.

Ralnor said, June? You have something to say?

Yes, Master, thank you. The Herbmaster is the one I met in Luan. He grinned at Kylan. I was harsh with him, I’m afraid, but I thought the stupid Enlightenment cult had started again. He offered Kylan a sheepish shrug.

Kylan grinned back.

Thank you, June. Master Ralnor faced Kylan. For a long time the Ruby has been on its own journey as it is wont to. Then the bell chimed to signify its reappearance. The Listener, June here, had to go to Luan to pass on the directions and the riddle, as he did for you. Thus we were instructed to act, but it has not happened for time out of mind. You have yourself handled the Ruby?

Bemused, Kylan shook his head. Not personally. And it vanished after the fourteen steps were revealed. He noted no one seemed fazed by that. It was pure chance I was the one to walk into the tavern …

It is never pure chance, Herbmaster. You were there; you are here. It was meant. Ralnor focused on Lycea. Since the bell chimed, in a manner without voice, we have been expecting you, hoping it would be different this time; that the exiled child lived and was returning.

The Ruby came back to us, which is another reason we were excited, Shep Lore added. We haven’t seen it in a while.

You seemed shocked to me, Kylan murmured.

I was. Hoping something will be and having it come to pass is not quite the same, Shep Lore returned.

Lycea? Master Ralnor prompted, after frowning the purple-robed Shep into silence.

Yes. I have a tale to tell, my friends, of a Ruby, a Well, a dara-witch, and fourteen players in a game of life and death. Before I come to it, however, I need to speak of the Medaillon … yes, the Maghdim Medaillon fashioned by the last Vallorin for his son and heir Nemis.

One could have heard the light coils in the bulbs humming.

I know this, because I did carry it as prophesied …

Again, pandemonium. Master Ralnor shouted repeatedly for calm, his own voice trembling with excitement, his eyes alight. The expectation of the gathered became a living entity and it was a while before a smiling Lycea could make herself heard again.

"Tell us now!" someone shouted into the restored and murmuring quiet, as she was about to speak.

Expectant. Excited. Agitated.

Lycea grinned, and her talent for telling a tale well came to the fore.

She took their expectation and led them event by event through the tale that began with a small hand closing around a golden coin at the bottom of a flight of dirty stairs. She did not dwell long on her own hardship, and was soon at the Well of Crystal Sound where the Guardians of the Dome were waiting to aid Valaris, at which point Kylan started adding comments; he was part of that gathering.

The listeners’ heads went from one to the other, and they were breathless with anticipation. Any thought to Lycea being a fraud or anything other than whom she claimed to be did not feature. It felt right, the signs were there, and truth-seekers heard truth.

I dreamed of a golden man with a blue dragon on his chest …

Indrawn breaths, bodies leaning forward. Shep clutched at the back of the couch, and Ralnor’s hands twisted and he closed in on