Author: Brandy Wayne
Included in: December Monthly Review
Please enjoy the full text of this installment below. Please patronize this author or inquire about reserving your electronic copy of Sheleasoun.

Darra stumbled through the dark tunnel as quickly as she dared, feeling her way along one wall. Twice she stubbed her fingers on support beams scattered throughout its length. She felt as though the earth itself was closing in on her, imagined that the darkness could swallow her at any minute. She shook herself. Get a hold of yourself, she thought. Your job is to get help. How can you do that if you become a babbling simpleton?

She paused as a waft of fresh air teased her sense of smell, then the dankness of the earth replaced it once more and she hurried on her way again. Darra knew she must be getting closer to the exit, for the smell of fresh air came stronger.

The ground rose upwards beneath her feet and she stumbled. As she righted herself, she smacked her forehead on a beam of wood she had not seen in the dark. She reached her hands up to the wooden beam and felt nothing but slabs of wood above her head. Puzzled, she felt along the wall and found a dead end. The smell of fresh air was filtering in through the slabs of wood overhead, intoxicating her. She reached up, putting both hands squarely on the hatch and pushed upwards. Nothing. She pushed again, harder. It still did not give.

Fighting against the panic which threatened to suffocate her, Darra forced herself to take a couple of deep breaths and calm down. She felt around the wooden slabs with shaking hands. On one edge her fingers touched cold metal and she jiggled the latch. She almost shouted for joy when the weight of the door pressed down on her hands and she allowed it to lower gently. Darra peered up at the patches of night sky exposed to her through the thick branches of a bush that must have been growing near the exit. Eager to escape the oppressive tunnel, Darra felt for hand holds on the top of the hatch hanging down into the tunnel. Finding cross boards, she grasped them and jumped, hooking an arm over the lip and quickly scrambled up and out.

She emerged from under the concealing brush into the cold air of night. A half moon hung in the sky, lighting the landscape enough for her to see. Darra looked around and shivered, wishing for her warm cloak left behind in her room at home. A thick ring of old fence roses surrounded her in the half moon’s light. She could just barely see a break in them, and determined she would have to risk the thorns and squeeze through. Carefully, she slipped between the gnarled woody canes of the fence roses, snagged just twice by thorns. She came out into an open field and looked at the surroundings, orienting herself. Everything looked so different at night, even with the moon to give her light. She discovered she was close to the spring on the southern side of the house. Off to her left stretched the tree line of the woods, dark and forbidding at night. Old fears of childhood monsters, haunts, and the terrible Ilwyth fluttered across her mind.

Four men on horses watched in amazement as a luminous figure stepped into the field. The youngest of the group sucked in a gulp of night air. "I never thought I’d see a nymph."

An older man frowned at him. "Did you get hit on the head? That’s the girl we’re after."

The mercenary Flynn had charged to find the girl recognized the dress Darra had been wearing. The luminescence of the moon turned the pale blue to silver in the dark.

"Thad’s right," he said. "That’s the girl. I recognize her dress." The mercenary sat on his horse thinking what a shame it would be to lose his manhood to Flynn’s knife. "Well, lets get her back to her mama," he said with resolve and urged his horse into a gallop.

Darra was startled by a shout and frantically searching for the source caught sight of four men on horses bearing down on her. The rumble of the horses’ hooves sounded as loud as the boom of thunder in the clear night air. Her heart leapt into her throat and she stood frozen in fear.

Then the cold fear exploded into an all-consuming rage. The rage that opened the door for the Sheleasoun.

Feeling as though she was moving through water, Darra watched in slow motion as the mercenaries bore down on her. Her skin tingled as if fire ants marched beneath it as the power filled her and screamed for release. Nerve endings on fire, Darra screamed an echo of the terrible power raging within her and hurled the energy out at the horsemen and the night. It jumped and flashed like a bolt of lightning. The horses skidded, screaming and bucking. The mercenaries struggled to fight their own fear as they tried to regain control over the frightened animals.

As Darra felt the energy drain from her, she heard one of the riders shout an order to regroup. She turned and fled across the field, the mercenaries in pursuit. A sob rose in her throat. Darra forced herself to run as fast as she could, adrenaline surging through her blood. She could hear the pounding of hooves as the mercenaries chased after her and as she fled, her mother’s ring felt heavy on her hand. The darkness of the forest rose in front of her. The pounding of the hooves behind her was coming closer and closer, she could almost feel a hand reaching out to grasp her. Willing herself to run faster, with a burst of speed borne of desperation, she darted into the thick, overgrown woods. Loud curses filled the air behind her as the men reined in the horses, unable to follow their quarry.

Darra dodged around trees and ducked under branches, her pulse pounding in her ears. Her side began to ache as she ran. The clear night air burned a path down her throat as she drew it into her lungs. All too soon, she emerged from the line of trees close to the road. She paused a minute to catch her breath, ever alert for the pursuit behind her. Not far away she could hear a rattle and a pounding of hooves on the packed dirt of the road to town. She cried out and dashed across the road and into the darkness of the forest on the other side. Fear fueled her imagination as she fled through the dark woods. Specters of leering men hiding in the forest, armed and ready to hunt her down, filled her mind, chasing away the flitting shadows of childhood fears of the woods.

Unable to run any longer, Darra finally came to a trembling stop, unsure of where she was. With effort she tried to put one foot in front of the other, but her legs would not obey. They buckled instead, and she collapsed to the floor of the forest, staring up through the trees. The moon had shifted position since she had seen it last. I have to make it to town, she thought wearily, her muscles trembling like a puddle of jelly. I’ll rest here a moment and get up. Her eyes fluttered closed and her mind went dark.

The watercolor light of dawn slowly brightened to clear golden-pinks and palest blue. The night shadows were receding from the camp as Nez added small sticks and twigs on top of a small pile of dried moss in the fire pit. He reached into his leather pack and withdrew a c-shaped striker and a piece of flint. Holding the striker in his left hand he struck the flint to it, creating sparks. As the sparks caught in the tinder, he breathed softly onto it to coax a flame. When the flame appeared and began to grow, he picked up the folding metal tripod used to hold a cook pot and set it into place over the fire. Willum was out checking the snares they had set last night, and it was Nez’s turn to prepare the cook fire and get water. Setting back on his haunches, his eyes cast about the campsite for the water skins. The camp consisted of the fire pit ringed by stones, an old log near the fire to sit on, and two pallets, one on either side of the fire. At the head of each pallet rested their leather packs. Large pines grew around the camp clearing and there was a stream within easy walking distance. He and Willum, his mentor, had found the clearly established camp the previous day.

Normally at this time of the year their hunting took them north into the Spikehorn Mountains, named for the soft-coated deer that were so plentiful in that area. They would trap animals for their hides all summer and trade them in now and again to buy the few supplies they couldn’t forage off the land or make for themselves. In the fall, they would head for the foothills north of Sky Lake. Willum and he had built a cabin there years before. Nez had been much younger then, and not of much practical use in the construction. Willum had done most of the work. Nez had more or less hauled rocks, helped cut trees, and cleared brush.

It was not a bad life. In the warmer months of the year, they wandered from one makeshift camp to another. Willum taught Nez about life and living off the land, as he had done since adopting Nez off the city streets of Dargos fifteen years ago. With Willum being such an experienced woodsman, they seldom went hungry or wanted for much of anything. Life had been good to Nez since meeting Willum, who had become like a father to him.

This year, however, after the snows had melted, Willum had taken them east and south to the rolling Koriann Highlands. When Nez, always wanting to be informed, had inquired as to this break from routine, Willum had merely referred to an old friend he wished Nez to meet. They were traveling light and taking their time on the way to this friend’s house, and had even left their horses with a farmer friend who would take good care of them. Thus, they took only what they could carry, leaving their traps and heavy canvas tents behind. When Nez had questioned the wisdom of leaving them, Willum had assured him they would not be necessary, and that if they went missing they could be replaced. Nez often wondered at Willum’s easy come easy go attitude. The big man seemed to weather the worst of life’s storms with a smile on his face and a song in his heart.

Nez sighed. Mornings such as this, accompanied by the sweet crystalline notes of birdsong, were all too rare. Warmth from the rising sun was rapidly expelling the early morning chill. The forest surrounding the campsite, a mix of hardwoods and pines, was vibrant with the green of new leaves. Nez shook himself out of his reverie. He always seemed to get lost in his thoughts on days like this. He stood, gathered up the three water skins and the steel coffee pot, and began to walk in the direction of the stream nearby. Clad in woodsman’s garb, stout mid-calf boots with a stacked leather heel, soft leather breeches, and a plain woolen shirt, the lean hard-muscled young man walked with an easy grace. The hilts of his sword and dagger, which he wore belted at his hips, swayed slightly as he walked. The glint of his platinum hair in the early morning sun made a sharp contrast to his dusky skin.

The woods around him echoed with the sounds of small wildlife; music that had been playing since the dawn of creation. Small animals skittered away into the underbrush at his casual approach. Birds fluttered up into the treetops as he passed only to return a moment later. He came upon the stream, knelt down, unstoppered the first skin, and dunked it into the water. The clear fast moving stream was cold enough to make his fingers tingle. Grimacing a little at the discomfort, he raised his eyes to scan the area for any danger. Living in the wild had taught him not to take anything for granted. He had nothing to take for granted before meeting Willum.

As he lowered his eyes back to the stream, the sun struck something pale blue about a dozen yards into the brush on the other side of the stream. With his eyes fixed on the oddity, he put the cap on the now full water skin and set it down on the bank beside the other two and the coffee pot. He rose slowly and nimbly crossed the stream, lightly stepping across the larger rocks which rose above the surface of the water. Placing his feet carefully, so as not to snap any twigs, he slowly made his way towards the bit of pale blue. As he approached, he gripped the hilt of his dagger. For a moment he lost sight of the patch of blue as he moved through a dense section of mountain laurel. Slipping through the leathery-leaved brush, he edged closer, surprised to see the slender curving form of a girl beneath pale blue fabric.

Ever wary, he paused, listening intently for anything unusual while his eyes scanned the forest. The birds flitted through the trees, flashes of brightly colored feathers and loud calls, posturing animatedly for prospective mates. Nothing was suspicious except for the girl. As he glanced back to her, a small chipmunk scurried across the ground near her feet. She lay partially on one side, both shoulders resting on the leaf littered forest floor, arms stretched above her head. A pair of delicate ornate throwing daggers were sheathed on an oversized belt around her waist. Thick, wavy dark hair concealed her face from his view. Nez knelt down beside her. Well, at least she’s alive, he thought. The girl seemed to be sleeping peacefully. He could clearly see the gentle rise and fall of her diaphragm as he assessed her for any broken bones or any wounds which might be seen from where he knelt beside her. He could see nothing physically wrong with her; there was no blood on her dress, though it was torn in places and dirty. Curious, he gently touched her forehead, intending to brush the hair from her face.

As his fingertips brushed the soft skin of her face, the air froze in his lungs and an invisible hand clenched his innards. He froze. Then it vanished. He shivered a little from the ghostliness of the premonition. He had them on occasion, but they were rarely this strong and offered no information to enlighten him. It had been similar with Willum, but this one was different. Shaking off the dream quality of the forewarning, he brushed her hair away to see her face and received another shock. The girl was a Sidhe. She had a small bump and a few faint scratches on her forehead, but nothing serious. Absent-mindedly he brushed the backs of his fingers against her high cheekbones, contemplating her pretty, sleep softened features.

Abruptly Nez stood up, guilty at having caught himself tenderly touching the face of the sleeping girl. To distract himself, he began looking around for clues as to why this girl would be sleeping in the forest instead of in her own home. It took very little effort to find her trail.

At first, he hypothesized that a horse had thrown her and she had suffered a bad bump on the noggin. But when he looked closer at the trail she had left through the vegetation, it told him a different story. Using the tracking skills Willum had taught him and his own instincts, he began to piece the clues together. The small broken branches, bruised leaves, and scuffs he read in the forest and on the ground as he followed her trail told him she had been running and terrified. Reluctant to leave her alone, he tracked the trail only a short way. There was no sign as to what had terrified this girl so much to force her to run until she dropped from fatigue.

Nez stopped, puzzled. Frowning in thought, he slowly retraced his steps back to her side, seeing all the way the traces left by her passage hours ago to where she now lay. He could find no answers on his own and decided to wake the girl. Once more, he knelt beside her, took her hand and gave her a little shake. "Hey, wake up."

She mumbled something unintelligible and shifted away from him.

Nez sighed in exasperation. Figures she would be one to sleep like the dead. Holding her hand, he noticed her hands were neither the soft hands of a lady, nor the tough hands a menial laborer. He touched her shoulder with his other hand and gave her another shake. "Hey, c’mon. Wake up," he repeated. The girl mumbled again and made a little sound in her throat.

Unsure of what to do, he spoke aloud. "Well, I can’t just leave you here so I guess I’ll take you back to camp." No response.

Nez slipped one arm beneath her shoulders and the other under her knees and picked up her sleeping form. As he straightened, her eyes fluttered open once and he caught a glimpse of deep blue sapphire eyes. His heart pounded, afraid she had picked her moment to wake up. Relief swept through him as she closed her eyes once more, realizing she had only been dreaming. Feeling a little self-conscious, his eyes searched for the least obstructed way back to the stream and from there, back to the campsite. The girl turned her face to his chest and snuggled into him. His dark skin flushed murky with embarrassment. The whisper of premonition tingled down his spine once more, but he shook it off, thinking it might just be physical attraction. Then again, he had felt a similar sensation when he had met Willum and he knew without a doubt he did not find Willum physically attractive.

Holding her carefully, he skirted the thicket of brush and carried her towards the stream. The bank of the stream was steep here and slippery. Balancing her, he slid one foot down to the bottom of the muddy bank and brought the other one down to rest beside it. Picking his way across the water, he stepped from stone to stone until he reached the other side where the ground rose gently away from the stream. He breathed a sigh of relief, doubting he would have been able to maneuver up a bank like the one he had just descended with a girl in his arms. He paused, shifted the sleeping girl in his arms to a more secure position, and returned to the camp.

Nez walked into the clearing with the girl in his arms contentedly leaning into him. He went to his pallet and squatted down, laying her to rest carefully on the thick bearskin. As he pulled his arms out from under her, she shivered and rolled onto her side. The fine material of her skirt had ridden up to her knees, giving him a glimpse of her lower legs. He nervously pulled the wayward skirt down to cover her bare skin. Willum would be back soon and he knew the girl would be safer in camp than she had been out in the woods. Nez turned to go back to the stream to retrieve the water skins and coffee pot he had left there when his morning routine had been interrupted.

The clear light of the morning sun shining through the forest made the new green leaves seem to glow with a light of their own. Nez sighed, wondering about the girl he had found. When she woke, she could tell him and Willum who she was and where she belonged so that they could return her safely.

Hoping their reward for this good deed would be a good meal and maybe even a hot bath, Nez grinned to himself. There had been a time in his life when bathing had not been a priority. That first day with Willum, when the big man had dunked him into a river, Nez had thought the he was going to drown him. Instead, he had thrust a piece of soap into his hands and had commanded Nez not to come out of the water until all the filth of living on the streets was washed away. The grin fell when he remembered how shocked Willum had been about the dark color of his skin.

Sobered, he finished filling the water skins and was capping the last one when a piercing scream shattered the peace of the morning.

A cool breeze caressed Darra’s face. She found herself on a sailboat. All around her stretched the mirror-like expanse of Sky Lake, reflecting a blue sky with wispy white clouds and the upside down image of the Spikehorn Mountains in the distance. She remembered seeing the lake once on a trip with her father. The sail of the boat flapped in the breeze, drawing her gaze. The sail was a rich indigo blue emblazoned with an angry red sun. She looked from the sail to her hands, where several ropes rested, each of which trailed off in a different direction. What am I supposed to do with these?

Darra gasped and jerked upright, her waking mind struggling out of the surrealistic cobwebs of the dream. A few feet away from her was a pair of shins encased in leather breeches. Her eyes traveled down to a big pair of leather boots and then back up to the shins. With a horrible sinking feeling pressing down on her stomach, she raised her eyes up past the shins in disbelief. The leather of the breeches hugged a pair of massive thighs. Two huge hands dangled on either side, one clutching an enormous axe, the other a brace of dead rabbits. Her eyes trailed up a roughly woven woolen tunic covering a deep chest, then higher to a pair of massive shoulders, then to jaws covered in the brown stubble of a beard, and finally to a pair of golden brown eyes which regarded her with an air of quiet curiosity. Darra looked back to the axe the man held in one huge hand, remembering the axes the raiders had wielded the night before and screamed.

The big man jumped back in surprise. Terrified, Darra tried to jump to her feet and run, but her feet tangled in her skirts and she fell helplessly to the ground. Hearing footsteps pounding into the earth behind her, she swiveled her head and saw a half-breed, dark-skinned with light hair, burst into the clearing heading straight for her.

Shaking, heart pounding beneath her breast, Darra looked from the huge man with the axe and dead rabbits and back again to the feral looking Sidhe who had skidded to a halt, bewilderment crossing his mixed features. He dropped the water skins and the empty coffee pot he had been holding. Trapped, Darra burst into tears.

Willum and Nez looked at each other over the crying girl. "What did you do?" they mouthed silently to each other.

Shoulders shaking with sobs, the girl clenched her hands into fists in her lap. Shaking her head back and forth, she moaned. "No, no, no. I was supposed to get help."

Willum’s heart went out to the terrified girl. Subtly, he changed his size from seven and a half feet tall to six feet three inches and took a step forward to comfort her. He raised his hands, realized he still held his axe and the rabbits, and carefully set them down. When he turned back to the girl, Nez crouched directly in front of her, one hand stretched towards her. Willum watched in surprise as Nez covered one of her fists with his hand.

Startled by the contact, the girl stopped crying and looked up. Ice blue eyes stared into sapphire blue eyes in a tear-streaked face. Willum, watching them, suspected Nez was as surprised as the girl from the look on his dark face.

Nez recovered first. "Hey, it’s okay," he said softly. "We’re not going to hurt you. What’s your name?"

Obviously confused, the girl stared at Nez, distress marring her pretty half-Danu features. Her face was smudged with dirt and her blue dress was tattered and dirty. Her wavy dark copper hair tumbled in disarray nearly down to her waist.

"Darra," she answered softly, then, more in control of herself. "My name is Darra Sacair."

She glanced down, as if realizing for the first time that his hand covered her own. Panicked, Darra asked herself, what would mother do? Straightening her spine and putting on an air of false confidence, she withdrew her hand quickly. Nez's hand dropped onto her thigh.

A very amused Willum stood and watched the two shocked half-breeds, wondering which one would react first. The rosy heat of a blush crept up Darra’s neck and face. In an effort to goad Nez into action, Willum cleared his throat.

Darra stiffened and with just the tips of her thumb and forefinger, picked Nez’s hand up from her thigh and moved it away from her. "Thank you for moving your hand," she said with teeth clenched and a smile that conveyed no warmth. Nez looked away, embarrassed, his dusky skin turning a shade murkier. Is he blushing? Darra wondered.

Willum stepped forward and tapped Nez on the shoulder. "Why don’t you make yourself useful and go make some coffee?" As Nez stood to retrieve the coffee pot, Willum crouched down in front of Darra.

Darra eyed him warily; he had seemed a lot bigger to her when she first awoke. Knowing she was still apprehensive, Willum flashed her one of his warmest smiles. "Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you."

Darra was quiet for a minute, gathering her thoughts as she looked into Willum’s gentle golden brown eyes. She felt herself begin to relax and offered the big man a shy, tremulous smile. "I’m sorry, too, for how I acted," she said.

"You look like you’ve been through a lot." Willum offered her his hand to shake as he introduced himself. Cautious, Darra accepted the handshake. "I’m Willum Oak. And that," he pointed towards the dark half-breed who was setting the coffeepot close to the fire, "is Nezmarius Oak."

Nez looked up sharply. "I hate that name."

Willum acknowledging Nez’s protest spoke to Darra. "You can call him Nez. He was only concerned about you. He didn’t mean to seem forward."

Darra glanced from the big man to the sidhe. With a puzzled look Darra asked, "Is he your..."

Willum looked over at Nez, then back at Darra following her train of thought. "Ah, no. I found him."

Darra returned her gaze to Nez. He was absent-mindedly twirling a knife between his nimble fingers.

"Would you believe he was a cut-purse when I found him?" Willum asked her, and then directed his attention to Nez when he saw what he was doing. "Stop that! You’re going to cut yourself! Why don’t you put that knife to use and clean the rabbits?"

Nez thumbed his nose at Willum but he stopped twirling the knife.

"You’re not too big for me to put over my knee, you know." Willum threatened.

"You’d never catch me," Nez replied easily.

"I caught you once."

"I was only a kid," Nez protested. "And you’ve grown slow with age."

"I can afford to slow down with all the experience I’ve got. Now this old man is getting hungry. You’d better get those rabbits ready."

Nez walked over to the dead rabbits lying on the ground close to Willum. He noticed as he picked them up that Willum had already field dressed them. All that remained for him to do was to skin them and set them on the skewers close to the fire. As he worked, deft fingers quickly pulling the hide off the rabbits, he remarked. "Well, I guess you’re having breakfast with us. Want to tell us why you were so scared?"

Willum threw Nez an odd look. The young man was not usually talkative with strangers. Willum glanced at the sidhe girl who was plucking at her skirt. She was pretty, but there had to be more to Nez’s behavior than that. Nez had gawked at his share of pretty girls without trying to engage them in conversation. However out of character it seemed, Willum decided to follow Nez’s lead, lending whatever aid he could. "A meal might do you some good," he said kindly. "Is there anything we can do to help you? Want to tell us how you got here?"

Darra stopped plucking at her skirt, it was ruined beyond repair anyway. These men had had many opportunities to do any number of harms to her, yet here they were, willing to feed her and asking after her well being. In her head, jumbled images from the night before seemed like some distant nightmare, except that it had been no dream. Taking a breath, she looked right at Willum, who was waiting patiently for her answer. Darra thought for a minute about what she could tell them. They seemed to be genuinely concerned for her and it was comforting to have someone to confide in. Remembering her promise to her mother not to tell anyone about the Sheleasoun, she chose her words carefully.

"We were attacked last night. I was supposed to get help." Darra paused, watching them for their reaction.

Nez finished skewering the rabbits and set them over the fire to cook. He dug a little muslin sack out of his pack and measured out grain cereal into the cook pot hanging from the metal tripod over the campfire. He looked up at her, regarding her with solemn ice blue eyes.

Willum stood and went to his pack, searching for something. "Aha! There you are," he muttered as he pulled a metal flask from inside the leather pack. "Here," he handed the flask to Darra. "Take a few sips of this. It will help you feel better."

She accepted the flask gratefully and took a sip, instantly recognizing the taste of dandelion wine. "Thank you," she said and handed it back to Willum. The faint warmth felt good on her empty belly.

Willum sat down beside her, flask in hand should she need more wine. "Where were you attacked?"

"At home. My mom and I were in my room. I was upset and she came to talk to me. We heard the sentry bell at the gatehouse ringing and ran down the stairs to see what was going on." Guilt washed over her, remembering how angry with her parent’s she had been. "Dad and one of his guards were at the door. He told us to go into the study." She began to tremble. Willum handed her the flask once more. Darra took another sip of the strong wine and tried to give it back.

Willum held his hand up. "Keep it for a little while, it looks like you need it."

"What happened then?" Nez asked.

Grateful for the generosity of the big man, Darra drank from the flask again, wishing the wine would erase the bad memory. "We, mom and I, we ran down the hall. They were coming in the door and one of them shot mom in the leg with an arrow. I had to help her into the study." She stopped for a breath of air, unable to stop shaking. "She told me to go for help."

"Was she wounded badly?" Nez asked quietly.

Darra nodded. "She was so pale. I wanted her to come with me, but she said she would slow me down."

"How did you get out of the house?" Willum’s inquiring voice was full of concern.

"There was a tunnel." For a moment, Darra felt again the terror of being in the darkness of the tunnel, afraid she would not be able to get out.

"Do you know what happened to your father?" Willum asked.

Darra shook her head. "I don’t know. I wish I hadn’t been so angry with them last night. If I had known..." She trailed off.

"You didn’t cause those people to attack your home. You can’t blame yourself for what happened." Willum placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to comfort her. "Even if you had been warned, I doubt you could have done anything to stop it."

Nez reached for one of the rabbits, tearing two of the legs off. "Do you know who attacked you?" He lifted one of the rabbit legs to his mouth and bit into it. Darra’s eyes widened and her stomach churned, the meat did not look fully cooked.

She shook her head and looked down at her hands. Her mother’s crest ring gleamed in the morning sunshine, drawing her attention and jarring her memory. "Oh no, Morgan."

Willum and Nez glanced at each other, and then back to the distraught girl. "Who is Morgan?" Willum prodded.

"I don’t know." Darra confessed, confusion clouding her features. "I was supposed to go to town for help. Mom told me to find Morgan. She gave me this ring so that he would know me."

"You were supposed to go to this man for help and you don’t even know who he is? How were you supposed to find him?" Willum wondered to himself if this Morgan wasn’t just a distraction to get Darra out of harm's way. "You said your mother had been wounded. She may not have been in her right mind."

Darra stared at Willum, anger welling in her at what his words implied. "Are you saying my mother doesn’t have all her senses?"

"No," Willum was quick to correct, "From what you said, she had been wounded and may have lost a lot of blood. When people lose a lot of blood, they don’t think clearly."

Chastened, Darra dropped her eyes to the crest ring, studying the griffin etched on it. "Oh," she said simply. "I’m sorry." Most of her trembling had subsided, aching numbness spreading through her. Chagrined at taking offense where none had been intended, Darra wondered if maybe she was the one not in her right mind.

"Breakfast is ready," Nez announced, breaking the tension and drew three wooden bowls, spoons and mugs out of his pack.

Inanely, Darra counted the eating utensils to herself and then glanced at each of her benefactors, concluding they must be loyal to the One God Over All for they followed the tradition of having a spare set of them. Her father had taught her when she had traveled with him that it was proper to carry extra eating utensils because of the legends of the One taking human form and meeting up with weary travelers to test their goodwill.

Nez divided the cooked cereal between the bowls, poured hot coffee into the mugs, and handed one each to Darra and Willum, keeping a bowl and a mug for himself. "Let me know when you’re ready for the rabbits." He drew a heavy leather gauntlet over one hand and picked up the tripod and cook pot, setting them away from the fire to cool.

Willum wrinkled his nose. "I know what you consider to be done. I don’t want any rabbit until it’s done by my standards."

"If you ask me, they probably already taste like charcoal." Nez dug his spoon into the cereal.

"How can you stand it half-cooked? Don’t you know that could make you sick?" Darra made a face, clearly disgusted.

Nez shrugged, looking at her squarely with his ice pale eyes. "It tastes better that way."

Willum shook his head when Darra glanced at him. "Don’t try. It’s hopeless. I’ve been telling him the same thing for years." He finished his last bite of cereal and set the bowl and spoon on the ground. With a small grunt, he stood and walked over to the campfire to check on the rabbits.

Darra stared down into the remainder of cereal in her bowl, not sure if she could eat any rabbit now. Willum kept the whole rabbit for himself and held out the remainder of the one Nez had torn apart to Darra. He must have noticed how queasy she looked because he smiled at her reassuringly.

"If Nez has ruined your appetite, I understand. You don’t have to eat it."

"Thank you, Willum. I really think I’ve had enough." She glanced at Willum’s bowl on the ground and noticed that Nez had finished his own cereal. "Why don’t you let me wash the dishes since you were kind enough to feed me this morning?" Darra offered as she looked up at Willum.

Nez got to his feet and gathered up the empty bowls. "No, no, I’ll do it." He had put the leather gauntlet on again and picked up the cook pot, then turned to leave the campsite.

Darra looked at Willum and frowned slightly as though something had just occurred to her. "How did I get here?"

"Good question. Nez, how did she get here?"

Nez paused at the edge of the camp and turned back to look at Darra. "I found you. You were asleep in the woods. I tried to wake you up, but you just mumbled. So I carried you back here."

Willum, beaming with fatherly pride, smiled at Nez. He was proud of the change he had helped to bring about in the young man. Sometimes he found it hard to believe Nez had been with him for fifteen years. He thought back to the boy he had found in the city of Dargos trying to steal his money pouch. Mentally patting himself on the back, Willum let himself bask in the warm glow of accomplishment as he admitted to himself that Nez had grown up quite a lot since that evening. Raising Nez from that lost boy to the young man he had grown into had not been easy, but seeing him reach out to someone in need made it worth the effort.

Darra flushed in embarrassment for the second time that morning. "I was asleep and you carried me?" She meant it to come out like a reasonable question, instead her voice edged on a squeak.

"Yes," Nez answered honestly. "I couldn’t just leave you out there. I even touched your cheek and you wouldn’t wake up."

A horrified look crossed Darra’s face and Willum went from mentally patting himself on the back to mentally slapping his forehead. "Nez!" He barked, and then opened his mouth again to say more. Realizing the futility of his effort, he stopped himself and at a loss instead commanded, "Just go wash the dishes!"

Nez shrugged and walked down the path towards the stream to wash the dishes.

"Is there someplace we could take you?" Willum asked Darra. "Do you want us to help you find Morgan? Or do you want us to take you back home?"

Feeling a strange numbness creeping over her, Darra answered. "I just want to go home."

Willum studied Darra’s pale face. Her slanted dark blue eyes held a haunted look. "Are you sure that’s what you want?"

Darra nodded, looking Willum in the face. "I have to know if my parents are still alive."

He folded his arms across his wide chest. "You may not like the answer you find."

Darra wrung her hands together and lowered her head, morbid thoughts coming to life in her mind. "I don’t know what to do, but I have to know if they’re alive or not."

To be continued in January

Go to Part 1

Sheleasoun is Book I of the Beneath the Echoes of Memory series by Brandy Wayne, to be published in late 2010 by Phase 5 Publishing, LLC.

Sheleasoun: Part 1 by Brandy Wayne can be purchased with thirteen other works in the December Issue of Phase 5 Monthly Review (Volume 1, Issue 4).

Purchase the December issue of Phase 5 Monthly Review - Only $4.95 for the .pdf or $7.95 plus shipping for the print version.

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