Prelude

Prelude

Concealing water was only a few dozen meters away. The small river flowed swiftly from the high peaks to the right, still ice cold from the runoff. Spring had just started in this part of the land, and wildflowers were blooming throughout the foothills. The moon shone above, barely a sliver

She was grateful for that. Had it been much brighter, she would have already been found.

A dog barked in the far distance, somewhere behind her. Her pace quickened.

The bundle in her arms struggled and fussed.

“Shh, little child,” she cooed. The soothing words could not conceal her panic, and she knew the babe felt it.

“Just a little further,” she whispered.

She reached the freezing water, gurgling as it tumbled on its way into the woods. Her intent was to conceal her scent by wading through the water and into the shelter of the trees.

The barks grew a little louder.

The woman, clutching the babe to her chest, stepped into the river. She gasped at the bitter cold that bit into her legs. She knew she had to move to keep the blood warming her appendages. Forcing herself to ignore the cold, she pressed forward, letting the current help her along while still maintaining her balance.

She was wishing now that she had accepted her friend's winter leggings. She had thought they would not be useful and would only slow her down.

The bag on her back dipped into the water as she stepped down, her foot falling further than expected. For one terrifying moment, she thought she may lose her balance and fall. Somehow, she kept upright and pushed forward, thanking the gods.

Although she could hear the barking getting louder, she had hope. The trees were a mere ten meters ahead. Determined now more than ever, she exerted what energy she had left and focused on getting into the safety of the trees.

Complete darkness enshrouded her, the treetops looming high above. An owl hooted somewhere from deep within the forest. The woman traveled in the river for another thirty meters, then decided she could not take any more of the bitter cold. The dogs could hardly be heard, but she knew that was the trees blocking the sound.

The bundle had gotten a little wet on the bottom, but it was not bad. She set the child down for a moment and stripped off her leggings. She could not leave them here, so she stuffed them into her bag and stood, wearing only her underclothes and blouse. She knew the bushes would scrape her legs, but they were numb anyway.

She picked up the child and hurried into the trees. She would push on as far as she could. She knew this forest was vast, and that somewhere within it were villages. However, not being from this country she had no idea where any of them would be.

Jogging in what she assumed was a southwestern direction, she could hear the sounds of the forest all around her. Most trees already had small green leaves. Some were still bare from the winter that had ended about a week before.

She would have to hide the babe somewhere before the dogs or exhaustion found her. The babe's life was more important than her own, she knew. She just wasn't sure how or where to hide it.

She could no longer hear the dogs baying. An hour later, her legs were bleeding in multiple places. She felt her last reserves of strength failing. Knowing she didn't have long before she gave way completely, she decided it was time to hide the babe. She stopped and searched the area. She realized she could see a little better, which meant that dawn was beginning.

There, to her left fifteen meters, was a large tree. A hole had been carved into it, about foot wide. She gently placed the babe into the trunk. As soon as the child left her arms, it began to fuss.

“Shh, don't worry,” she cooed. “You will be all right now. The gods will protect you,” she whispered, trying to console the child and herself. The child hushed.

She said a silent prayer and kissed the babe on the forehead. Bright, beautiful green eyes stared at up her.

The woman contained the sob that tried to escape from her throat.

“Be strong, my child. I love you,” she managed. Tearing her eyes away from the infant, she turned away and walked as quickly as she could away from the tree.

Thirty minutes later found her sitting at the base of an oak, breathing heavily. Her vision was out of focus and blurry, and her head was to one side. The barking had been getting closer. Now she saw forms of men moving toward her. She didn't bother to lift her head or focus her eyes. She knew what they looked like.

“About time,” she rasped.

“Where is the child?” the man said threateningly.

“Kill me,” she replied.

“Easy enough, but we need the child first.”

“Then you're out of luck.”

The man stooped down and grabbed her by the hair. She didn't flinch. Indeed, she began instead to laugh softly.

“You will tell me!” he screamed in her face.

The woman felt her limbs growing heavy.

“No.”

Her head became dead weight in his hand. He threw it aside in disgust, causing her body to slide to one side.

“Spread out and search! We must find the child!” he ordered the men behind him. “Do not harm the locals. We don't want to start a war. . . yet.”

The birds sang once more in the trees. Arthoir was glad to hear that sound again. As enchanting as winter could be, he much preferred the warmer months. Dawn was peeking through the leaves, casting muted shadows all around. He took a deep breath and enjoyed the smell of spring.

He pushed through the undergrowth, heading toward the river and fresh water. He knew the water was ice cold, but it was the nearest source. He would carry the bucket back to the village and empty it into his wash basin, then make the trip again. Overall, it took the better part of a day to gather enough water this way to take a proper bath. But, because he was the one doing the footwork, it meant that he would be the first to bathe in the water.

Something invaded his thoughts. A noise that was out of place.

Crying.

He paused and listened. It was a baby, he was sure. He moved cautiously toward the sound, keeping his sense alert for any impending danger.

Not forty feet away was a large tree. He approached it. One side was hollowed out. There, inside the hollow, was a small green bundle. Not letting his guard down, he moved toward it.

He glanced around once, set down his bucket, then reached in and lifted the child out and into his arms. The crying stopped.

He studied the infant’s face. She was only a few months old. Her eyes were jade green, a color that was uncommon to him. Her head was topped with beautiful blonde hair, another color that he did not see often.

He looked around. Nobody came out from the trees. He looked around the base of the tree. Something caught his eye.

Blood.

It was not much, but there were a few drops of blood around the tree. He was suddenly on edge, tensing up and listening intently.

There was a sound coming from somewhere to the southwest. He strained to hear.

Barking. Dogs.

He knew he had to move. Surely the dogs were following the blood to where he was. He grabbed the bucket and slung it over his shoulder. Moving as quickly as he dared, he set off back to the village.

A quarter of an hour later, Arthoir came to his village. His small wooden hut stood at the south end, across the village center. A few of his neighbors were awake and moving about their homes, preparing for the day. Nobody noticed as he walked briskly past and into his hut.

The baby made no noise as he set her down on the mattress next to his sleeping wife. He sat on a chair and waited for a few minutes, contemplating what to do.

He had just found a baby in the middle of the woods where blood had been found. Surely this was not a good omen. Although Arthoir was not superstitious, he did have the sense to know that something was not right. Where were they child’s parents? What was the blood about?

He looked at his wife. In sleep, with the sunlight streaming through the window and onto her face, she appeared to glow. He knew that she was getting worse, and that he may lose her any day. However, for this moment, he was truly grateful she was a part of his life.

She stirred and turned to one side. Opening one bleary eye, she saw him sitting on the chair.

“Mornin’,” she whispered.

He just smiled at her, and she replied in kind.

“Why aren’t you fetching water?” she asked, closing her eye.

He realized that she hadn’t noticed the bundle next to her.

“I got sidetracked,” he stated.

“Hm?”

Arthoir stood and reached down to pick up the bundle. His wife, Ilora, finally opened both eyes at the sudden shift in weight. She looked curiously at the blue bundle.

“What is that?”

Arthoir held the baby up so Ilora could see her face.

“Oh!”

She tried to sit up to get out of bed, but he gestured for her to stay, He knew that her strength would only last so long.

“Do not tire yourself. I found this cute one in the hollow of a trunk. She was just left there.”

Ilora sat up and leaned against the wall.

“What about the mother?”

He hesitated.

“Well. . . there was blood in drops around the tree. I heard dogs in the distance. I don’t think the mother made it.”

She stared at him for a moment in disbelief.

“What about the dogs?” she asked.

Arthoir hadn’t thought about it, but now he wondered if the dogs would pick up on his scent.

“I didn’t think about it,” he admitted. “I was too worried about them finding the child.”

Right after he finished speaking, he was jolted by the sound of barking outside.

The dogs had indeed picked up on his scent. They tracked it toward his small village.

“Someone must have taken the child to a village nearby,” said the dog-master. “We cannot harm the locals, but we must get the child back!” he commanded. The men around him grunted their assent.

The bloodhounds led them on for about ten minutes before stopping. Some other scent was getting in the way. The men weren’t sure what to do.

“Take two dogs forward another thirty meters,” he told a couple men. He moved off to the right with his own pet.

They searched for five minutes without any luck.

“Gods!” he cursed. “Something has come along and messed up the trail.”

“What do we do?” asked one of the men.

The dog-master hesitated. He wasn’t sure. His dogs had never lost a trail before. Whatever had masked the scent must have been something large, like a herd of game animals moving through the vicinity.

“We’ll spread out for an hour. Return to the tree with the hollow if you cannot find the trail in that time.”

Arthoir enlisted the other men of the village to help him. They gathered around the edge of the village, each clutching various musical instruments. To an outsider, it would be an odd scene. Seventeen men stood in a wide circle around the small huts. Arthoir held a hand-carved wooden flute. He chirped out four of the same note, setting the tempo and key.

The women and children stood inside the doorways, looking out at the men. Arthoir had carried Ilora to a chair outside their home. The babe lay in her lap.

The music began with only Arthoir’s flute playing a slow, sweet melody. A piccolo started in, playing a harmony above the flute. Within a few more measures, the other instruments had come in. A violin and a mandolin joined in on the melody. A bagpipe chanter played along the roots of the chords. Guitars and other plucked strings gave rhythm to the song.

The music was light and enchanting, yet not fast. It brought to mind images of forest glades, the sound of leaves rustling in the wind, and the smell of pine.

Arthoir closed his eyes and conjured up images of what he desired to happen. He imagined the saplings around the village growing taller and leafier. He thought of briars and vines creeping across the ground, sliding up the trunks. He saw undergrowth and bushes growing up between the trees, creating a think wall of vegetation.

Two minutes into the song, he opened his eyes. Before him stood the wall of vegetation he had imagined. It circled the entire village, rising up about four meters. He knew that no man or beast could get through it without cutting and hacking for at least a half an hour.

The men finished the song the way it had started, with the flute playing the last few notes. Into those measures, Arthoir put all his concern for his wife, the baby, and his village.

Silence filled the village. The men stood still, not daring to move. They knew the music must have drawn the attention of the dogs.

And there, from the north end of the wall, the heard them. Men were shouting and dogs baying.

The dog-master stood before the green wall, fuming. His dog had heard the high pitches of the flute and led him toward it. He was first to reach the outskirts of the village. He stared as the plants around him seemed to move of their own accord, growing and entwining to create an impenetrable barrier. He knew his men would have to give up the chase. There was no way they would be able to hack through all the bushes and trees.

But now he knew for certain where the child resided.