CHAPTER ONE

The dark sky above Wecherson Valley trembled, ashamed and abashed with the anticipation of the coming storm. The light drained slowly from the air, swirling down the drain leaving a blank slate, and an altogether unconvincing hope of tomorrow penciling into that blank space. It was altogether too late in the year for this much hope, and promise of change. But as the last soft rays of the deep, brooding sun slipped away, leaving the valley dark and muted, the residents couldn't deny that there was something about this late October air. Something off, but maybe not in a bad way. In the quiet there was a faint chime from the Blaack Mountain range to the north, quiet and far away. Like a pinprick of sound, barely piercing the blanket of dark. An alarm. It was ringing, barely legible from Wecherson Valley, but still concerning to the quiet citizens, who had not much in their lives to worry about, thus exaggerating this greatly. After a half hour, it ceased. The darkness had fully taken over the sky, and only the promise that the light would return remained swaying slightly in the breeze as the sky finally broke, as if waiting for the cover of darkness before the rain finally pelted, in torrents against the valley.

The House of Hallik supported the trading expedition between the peoples of the union. They were a powerful House, but trading had fallen after the war, and so did the house. People were wary now, they were focused on themselves. The war had changed them. There was a time, though, when a tangible sense of hope hung in the air. A chance for renewal. Why was it, that when something was good, almost too good, that humans take it from themselves. That was what happened with the war. But now they tried to tell themselves that they were happier. They forced themselves to be happy, ignoring the misery they were in. because to acknowledge their misery would be to acknowledge that terrible mistake. 

The Baroness Halik caught herself falling asleep by the window again. She rose from the chair, a chill whipping across her as her bare feet connected with the polished wooden floors of the library, which was the only room that had a window looking south. Toward the sea. She caught herself like this frequently, spending hours just staring blankly at the sea as it raged against the cragged rocks. Or as it lay silently, glistening like glass, reflecting the blue sky above in a distorted green peaceful hue. Each time she saw a ship on the horizon her heart fluttered in her throat, even as her mind prepared herself for the inevitable sorrow as it passed by, drifting out of sight over the horizon. It didn't matter how many times it happened. She couldn't take her eyes off the window if there was so much as a speck of darkness, marring the waters. She didn't expect him to come back, but still she breathed faster. She just wished- wished she could be held by him again. To have someone. She was trying to hold together the crumbling pieces of the House- and the crumbling pieces of herself as she drifted into that dark comforting realm that others called insanity. But without him, she didn’t care. What did it matter if the ancient house of Halik fell away into the abyss. The world was falling apart anyways. Again, she caught herself as the cold floor made its way to her knees. If she stayed much longer she would have to call for a servant to carry her to bed. She moved slowly out of the library, quietly muttering a prayer for God to take her soon, to be with her husband. To be gone from this sinful world before the end. She slowly made her way down the hallway. She was not even sixty years old, yet she felt a hundred. The grief weighed heavily on her shoulders. She remembered a time, though. During the war she was alive, and fighting. There was something to fight for, back then. There was the war, and her love. She had led a rebellion group during the war. That terrible war, but there were some things about it that she missed. She had led the Magik Users in the revolt against the unjust slaughters. And, eventually, helped them hide underground. Where they had all died. That was the difference between now and then. There was, at least, a hope. Something to fight for. The lady reached for the intricately carved doorknob, which resembled the world with serpents curling around it, curving up to create a comfortable fit for a hand, like a handshake, when she heard the front gate rattling furiously. Someone was trying to get in. She sighed, regretfully turning from her bedroom. As she walked to the main hall she heard the servant's shuffling, and the heavier boots from the guards headed toward the disruption. The clanging didn't cease. As if someone was clinging to the black iron gate, shaking it with all their might. It ceased a minute later. Then, a minute after that, the door opened and the Baroness saw Messep striding toward her, his long hair wet from the rain. He bowed his head, placing his palm to his forehead as he strode toward her.

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“My Lady Jessika.”

“Captain,” The Baroness responded, foregoing the full customary greeting exchange for a short and precise conversation. The captain of the guards nodded before taking a second to recollect his thoughts.

“It's a boy, m’lady. He is outside, grasping the outer gates, demanding to be let in. He seems a bit wild, but he is harmless. Not armed, and only about 17 by the looks of it. He says someone sent him. The old lady that lives at the edge of town, you know the one.”

Yes. She did know the one. With her husband gone, she relied on Messep and told him a good deal more than customarily shared with the military leader. The old lady he spoke of lived in a shack by the seaside. She had met her during the war. The woman was a User of The Way. When all the others went underground, there were a few who refused. They decided to live out their lives pretending they were empty-blooded. One slip up,though, and they would be killed. Jessika sent servant's to check on the woman periodically. If she had sent the boy here, it must be something important. Or. It was a trap. But she trusted the woman. 

“Let him in.”

The boy did indeed have a wild look about him. He was dripping rainwater, but she wasn't even sure he knew that he was wet. He was distracted. HIs eyes were scanning, wild and alarming. They were about the same height, and when their eyes met, he stated there. Not blinking. He wasn't anything exceptional. Brown hair, slicked against his head from the storm, forming the shape of his skull. His nose was sharp and long, the only defining feature he possessed on his average face. His lips were thin and looked lopsided, with freckles splayed across his face, a couple spilling over to his pale lips. The hooded robe top was plastered against his slim frame, with his hood fallen off his head, caught disheveled on his right ear.

“The lady,” he said quietly but urgently, out of breath and unsure. “She said-”

Messep had already unsheathed his knife and held it to the boy.

“Address the Baroness properly,” he growled, but not altogether unkindly. She knew it was an honest mistake. The boy obviously did not know any better, but this was his duty, and what the Baroness expected of him. He glanced at her, and saw her three fingers touch her neck, signaling his lowering of his blade. He stepped back, allowing the boy to breathe properly again.And he did, though he now had eyes on both the Baroness and the Captain, as if just noticing that they were not alone. 

“My Lady- er, Baroness,” the boy said, bowing his head uncertainly, glancing as he did so at Messep, who nodded ever so slightly, encouraging the boy as he lowered his head further, more confident now. 

“Tell me your story,” she said, gently raising his head so they were once again at eye level. 

“The old woman by the sea. She said that you would know who she was, and- and she told me to come to you for refuge. She gave me her blessing…” he paused uncomfortably. 

“Refuge?” The Baroness raised an eyebrow. “Refuge from who, boy? Where are you from?”

“I'm from the Blaack Mountains. I have no family, and I had to leave. I had to get out of there.”

He was hiding things. She didn't push it, though. It was late, and the boy was dripping on the floor, looking tired and uncomfortable. 

“I will take you in tonight, and we will talk in the morning.” She called for a servant to take him away to get clean clothes and a bed. 

“Guard him,” she muttered to the servant. “Don't let him leave.”

Then, to the boy, as he was turning down the corridor, following the servant, she asked, “What is your name, boy?”

He turned and stared at her for a minute, almost as though he hadn't heard. She was about to repeat herself when he finally answered.

“I haven't one.”