Book 1, Prologue                                                                                                                           

            “I come to you,” Darsis spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, “as agreed,” echoed off partitions of black ebony, monoliths that blocked off the distant light of stars. His footsteps also echoed as he approached the globe suspended at chest-level by an unseen force. Starkly glistening, an object inside the globe shrank as the young god,  walked toward it, drawing in, preparing itself. He held his hand out flat, palm up.

            The tiny light grew smaller.

            “I am not afraid,” he said, close enough now to touch the side of the globe. His hand did tremble a little. But it was not fear that caused his reaction. Instead, anticipation. And hope. Together they would save a world and its people, he had grown to love.

            He halted his hand just a hair’s breadth from the clear rounded edge. Why did the light act fearful?  He had made a bargain with it. Did it not trust him? Still? He was the one risking everything. This star, captured by the older gods, kept as a treasure, a trophy, only wanted to be released. Given its freedom. It had told him so.

            His hand dropped ever so slightly and the star jerked downward. Startled, he bent his face closer to the crystal ball. Was it truly afraid? The light shot toward his face, blinding his eyes. The globe rocked. Reflexively, he grabbed the ball to stop it from falling.

            Blinding light pressed where his hands made contact. He felt warmth and boundless joy, then nothing. Darkness filled the globe. He spun around the room. Where had it gone? The walls seemed to lean toward him.

            “Where are you?” he spoke aloud.

            ‘Here.’  The voice, tiny and strong, came from inside Darsis’s body.

            He felt a stab of pain in his chest. His heart fluttered. Blood rushed through his ears.

            ‘Do not be afraid, Darsis.’

            ‘I know. I am not afraid,’ he said, repeating it more to convince himself.

            ‘I am grateful for what you must give up.’

            His knees began to shake. His feet felt as if stuck in mud. He reached out to a wall to steady his body but the walls wavered and shifted as he tried to focus his eyes on the indefinable black.

            ‘You are beginning to lose your abilities; your contact with this place. We must return to Pen’nBru. We have much to do before I can rest.’

            “I…I…”

            ‘Darsis, quickly. We must go.’ There was a sudden urgency in its voice. ‘The plan has already begun to fail.’

            “Do you have a name?” Darsis asked as he stepped between a slit in the cold monoliths. He drew upon the last of his powers as a god, thought of Pen’nBru, green and lush, waiting, as this world darkened and vanished, he heard it speak.

            ‘I am the Lightfire.’

Book 1, Chapter 1

           It began as a whisper, swept up the mountain across trees, grasses then moss-spotted rock to slam tepid against two structures made of the surrounding boulders and fallen logs. The house and outbuilding leaned against the land anchored only by tufts of long grass that now wrapped its strands protectively against the wind but not against the dirt and residue carried from below.

            Alaysa woke abruptly, her heart pounding. The wind had taken her by surprise. She winced as grit struck her window almost feeling it bite into her skin. She rubbed her arms beneath the soft blanket but soon her legs itched, too. She wanted to burrow deep into her soft bed but as the third oldest child in a family of six and a wind-seer, she had responsibilities. Her two older brothers and father needed to be fed the morning meal so they could get out on the mountain back up to the livestock. Then she would attend to her own chores working outside so that she could feel for the changes in the weather that came from the mountaintop. Her family and the village below counted on her abilities. But this day, this unknown wind left her feeling unsettled. She should have felt it coming. She had not.

            Alaysa rolled out of bed and, while washing her face, stubbed her toe on a floorboard that popped up of its own accord as she reached for a towel, making her hop around blindly feeling for the same towel to wipe the soap out of her stinging eyes. Her face looked red and puffy in the hall mirror as she passed by on the way to the kitchen and her older brother, Jake, asked if she had not slept at all. She smirked at him and turned to the large wood-burning stove.

            While stirring the porridge, the fire had flared suddenly, scorching the bottom of the pot which gave her older brothers, Andrew and Jake, more fuel to tease her mercilessly. Then, to shame the best actors in the region, after completely consuming their porridge, bread, jam and tea, they had dramatically tramped outside, grumbling about not risking eating anything more and perhaps risk starving to death on the mountainside. Alaysa rose to throw the oatmeal-encrusted serving spoon at them but as she stood, she caught her sore toe, lost her balance and dropped the spoon on the floor. Clumps of oatmeal shot across the floor, into the warming fire and onto chair legs.

            “Alaysa,” her mother handed her a towel, gently smiling, as Alaysa reached to pick up the spoon. “When you’re done, we’ll need berries for pies this afternoon. Take Issie with you.”

            “Right. Ooof.” Alaysa started to rise but her head met the corner of the table and she promptly sat back down on the floor. She felt hands on her arm, encouraging her to stand.

            “This house wants you to leave,” her mother said, trying to hide the laughter in her voice.

            Alaysa rubbed the rising bump on the back of her head, feeling more frustrated than comical. “I think I will be much safer out in the open.”

            Issie, 12 years-old, and already as tall as Alaysa, slid off her chair, grabbed four wooden pails from beneath the sink and piled them by the door. “I’ll keep watch for any stray boulders or loose bushes,” she said, barely hiding a smile and handed Alaysa a heavy wool cloak.

            Alaysa responded with another quick smirk and wrapped the cloak around her shoulders. Issie did the same, pulling her hair, as white as the tiny flowers that grew all over the mountain, from beneath the cloak. Alaysa reached for her own hair but stopped and left it tucked in. She had always been self-conscious about its dark colour. It did lighten somewhat in the longer sunlit days of the warm months but not as white as the rest of her family’s hair.

            Issie opened the door and sunlight spilled onto the bleached floor. Alaysa stepped across the threshold onto the porch letting the bright light wash over her body, closed her eyes and let the sun warm her face. A breeze played with the loose hair around her face. The scent of sweet flowers and freshly-cut hay filled her lungs as she took several deep breaths. She could almost hear the cows’ bells as they clanked in the upper meadow; see her two brothers prodding them with their staffs, edging the large animals toward fresh grass. Issie brushed past, disturbing her reverie, and pushed the handles of two buckets into her hand.

            “Eyes open,” Issie giggled, and then broke into a jog, “or you’re really going to have problems.”

            Alaysa laughed, too, her frustration vanishing and jumped down the porch’s two steps. She followed in a half-jog, half-skip trying to keep the weight off her sore toe. Issie’s ability to see the funny side had stopped many an argument from getting physical in their family. Alaysa tended to take things very seriously. She couldn’t help it. Her intuition was correct so often that she couldn’t afford to make light of any situation. People always expected her to be serious.

            The sisters climbed in silence to the woods above the house. No sooner had they arrived but Alaysa felt a change. Shifting her body to face the rising wind, she felt more than saw boulders, lichen and stone trembling. A forest of trees, thick with needle-covered branches, bent beneath the sudden onslaught, cones shivering. The wind leapt off its edge to drop onto another plateau of grass and scrub brush, flattening blades as the wind swept down toward the bramble of bush, heavy with purple berries.

            The wind struck her body, forcing her cape open and back over her shoulders, putting pressure on the clasp at her throat, making it difficult to breathe. The rest of her clothing offered no protection against the sudden chill. Prickles of water struck and froze on her skin. Her body grew stiff and numb, coated in freezing rain, the ice solidifying her joints. Her heart slowed its beating. She couldn’t remember when she had last drawn a breath. The wind pushed against her body. She saw the ground tilt. All this happened in a matter of seconds. Then Issie reached for Alaysa, wrapped her arms around her chest and stopped her from falling. Warmth flooded Alaysa’s body. Her lungs filled with warm air. Her air expelled in a cloud of vapour.

             “Is it snow, Alaysa?”  Issie still held Alaysa against her body. Her voice had risen a little, anxious.

            “Water on wind that bites.” Alaysa shivered. “I think ice comes after dark.” She stepped away from her sister. She spotted the concern in her eyes and looked away.

            “That was a bad seeing,” Issie said.

            Alaysa nodded. “I felt I was covered in ice.”

            “You weren’t breathing.”

            “I am now.” Alaysa spoke harshly, was immediately sorry, and looked down at her hands to hide her embarrassment. She expected to see dangling icicles. Instead, her fingers flexed easily. She brushed at her clothing. Even her shirt felt warm to the touch. Alaysa never could understand how all of a sudden she could be freezing to death and the next moment, be warm and normal, again.

            “Maybe it is a severe storm.”

            Alaysa could tell Issie was trying to help.

            “This seeing is the strongest yet. Even the blizzards I had felt last month didn’t make me pass out,” Alaysa said, speaking quickly as she thought about what had almost happened. “If you hadn’t been here, I would have died, up here. Alone.”

            “You were only affected for a little bit. Will the storm come soon?” Issie asked, changing the subject.

            “No, not until tonight. We don’t have to rush.”

The wind had subsided enough to allow them to get close to the bushes, again. They finished yanking the berries from the branches then started back down the plateau. The weakening wind pulled at their loose clothing and hair. As they made their way between jutting rocks and scrub brush, Alaysa thought her mother must have seen the signs of impending weather change when she had said the house was trying to get Alaysa outside.

“Your foot, Alaysa,” Issie said.

Alaysa stopped, then took another step. Her toe no longer ached. She nearly laughed out loud. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“Well, that’s one good thing to happen to you, today,” Issie said, “And look. We have visitors.”

            Alaysa looked down at her house. The wind had struck the buildings, tearing off a few loose shingles. The trees in the forest leading to the village bent under the strain as the wind continued down the mountain. Three men rode into the barnyard, their cloaks swirling in the wind. She recognized one of the men as the mayor of their district. The horses bent their heads against the wind. Dirt rose in swirls. Alaysa lost sight of them for a moment before the dust fell back to the yard. She gasped and reached for her left shoulder. A sharp pain lanced through her upper chest.

            Alaysa couldn’t stop staring at them. One of the men held a raised hand, palm-outward, in front of his face. His head dipped toward his chest. The pain intensified. Alaysa dropped her buckets, berries spilling around her feet, and pressed the heel of her hand against her shoulder. Felt the bump of an old scar. Her chest constricted. She could barely draw a breath. He lowered his hand. The pain became a dull throb. He looked up the mountain. She took a step backward and stopped, wanting to hide. Felt she had done something wrong. And he knew.

            Alaysa felt a tug on her sleeve.

            “Your arm?” Issie asked.

            Alaysa shook her head and pressed again with her hand. “Here. It’s only a little pain, now.” She glanced back down at the yard.

            The men had dismounted. The larger man of the two Alaysa didn’t recognize straightened a sword at his side as he walked up to the two youngest children sitting in the settling dust. He stooped to pick up the small girl, Janey, and held her out at arm's length. He studied the child for a moment then shook his head at the second man. They glanced at the little boy, Jessie, but didn’t approach him. They looked at the mayor as if listening to him then together they all looked toward the cabin as if someone had gotten their attention.

            “Who are they, Alaysa?” Issie asked, kneeling to pick up the scattered berries.

            "I don't know," Alaysa said, stooping to pick up her bucket. "Mam will surely invite them to stay. We’ll find out then."

            “They look like soldiers,” Issie said, “Andrew and Jake will be so impressed.”

            Alaysa smiled. Ever since Andrew, her oldest brother, had returned from school in Christentown, many days walk away, and told stories of his life in the city, Jake had been asking their father to let him go. Even she had felt the pull toward something new, something exciting.  Maybe Andrew knew this soldier. Andrew seemed to have met a lot of people even though he said that a lot more people lived in the city than he could ever meet in his lifetime. Alaysa couldn’t imagine a city that large.

            The second man did not dress like a soldier. His robe seemed more like what a holy man would wear. But who was she to know what a soldier dressed like. Hudson’s Creek, the village, a half-day’s walk south, was the farthest she had ever been from the ranch. She had never seen a soldier before. Why would a soldier and a holy man come to their ranch?

            The ache returned to her chest. Alaysa pressed her palm against her sweater. The scar pressed back. Issie looked, her eyes narrowed. Alaysa continued to look down the mountainside. The men approached the cabin and stepped onto the porch, disappearing from view.

            “The white and the red flags?” Issie asked.

            “Huh?” Alaysa asked, darting a glance at her sister. She had been so engrossed with what was happening at the cabin, she had forgotten about Issie.

            “You’ll want the white and red flags?”

            “Yes, but we don’t have to hurry,” Alaysa said, shaking her head to clear it.

            The flags were a warning system she and her father had devised ever since they discovered Alaysa sensed changes in the weather. She predicted what type of storm would hit their farm and when. Whenever she felt the weather change she would raise different coloured pieces of cloth on a pole at the back of their house to warn her father and brothers up on the higher plateaus to either seek shelter or come down with the cattle.

            A white flag meant freezing temperatures. A red flag meant ice. Blue was used for snow and yellow for high winds. If the storm approached quickly, then she would double the flags. This afternoon she would hang only one set.

            The sisters entered the yard. Alaysa took Issie to the barn for the flags. They would hang the flags and then start on their chores early so they could give Mam help in the kitchen. As Alaysa passed by the horses ridden by the strangers, she noticed they both stared at her.

            “Why are they looking at you?” Issie asked.

            “I don’t know,” she replied.

            The black horse nickered in her direction and shook his head. His reins jangled. Alaysa heard bells ringing in the distance. Horses carrying soldiers marched in front. Her own horse nickered loudly, shook his head and leaped onto his hind legs to pay the air. The closest horses scattered out of the way, their riders swearing but also laughing. Her horse was known to have a very large ego. They knew this right away as her horse had actually chosen Alaysa as a rider, not the other way around.

            "Alaysa, come here, please," Mam called from the porch. Alaysa shook her head. The image vanished and she stared at the black horse. He shook his head and neck, thick mane flying, and looked away. She swore she saw him wink.

            “Alaysa?” her mother called impatiently.

            "Yes, Mam." She and Issie crossed the yard and paused in the doorway. “A storm is coming.”

            “When?” Mam asked, her voice subdued.

            “Tonight.”

            “Tell her,” Issie said, squeezing Alaysa’s hand.

            Alaysa jerked her head toward the interior of the house. “Not now.”

            “Tell me what?” Mam asked.

            “Alaysa nearly-” Issie began.

            “-it can wait until later,” Alaysa interrupted her sister. Frustration filled Issie’s face so Alaysa quickly added, “I feel fine now. Besides Mam is busy with the visitors.”

            “We’ll talk later then,” Mam said, concerned, “Since you have a few moments before setting the flags, come in.” Mam nodded her head toward the kitchen.

            Alaysa stood in the doorway while her eyes adjusted to the dim interior then stepped inside. Mam sat in her rocking chair and held Jessie on her lap. The mayor, Len Castleton, stood up and nodded toward her. Alaysa nodded back. Len was her Mam’s second husband. Second and third husbands lived with their first wives but were allowed to visit. Pa didn’t like Len so Len didn’t come to visit very often. Mam didn’t mind even though she did have final say as to who could come calling and who couldn’t. She preferred Pa’s company to that of her other two husbands – the third one, a trader, only came to visit every few years – and Len was very busy with his own first wife and large family and being mayor and all. Alaysa glanced at the other two men.

            The taller of the strangers leaned against the mantle. He stared into the fireplace. He had removed his cloak to reveal a glistening armour breastplate. A long sword hung from his waist. Andrew would be excited to see the sword. The soldier’s eyes, buried deep in a face wrinkled and scarred from years of fighting and living out of doors, glanced at her, then back to the stewpot. It had been a quick glance but she felt she had been studied, judged and found wanting in that moment.

            The other stranger sat in her Pa's massive armchair. His thin, stringy body seemed overwhelmed in a chair meant to hold her father's large frame and several children at one time. He had removed his cloak and draped it over the back of the chair. His intense scrutiny made her face turn red, so she turned her back to him and placed the two buckets of berries next to the kitchen sink. She could feel his eyes continue to study her.

            "Alaysa, these gentlemen would like to meet you," her mother said, "Come here."

            Alaysa looked at her feet as she walked over to stand beside her mother.

            "This is Dardon of the Darsinnians."

            Alaysa raised her eyes. A priest, she thought, why is a priest here?  She had heard of the Darsinnian Sect. Their Keep sat at the top of one of the distant mountains, Mount Loris. The sect had been created over a thousand years ago. Their priests prayed to one of the younger gods, Darsis.

            Her family worshipped the ancient gods who protected the forest and the mountains. They offered gifts at the turn of each season in hope that the gods would honour them with fertile land and healthy livestock, but they did not worship their gods in such a formal fashion with prayer and meditation. She nodded her head, wondering if this was how one paid respect to a Darsinnian priest.

            "And this is Sir Jackson of Netharley," her mother said, “Dardon’s escort.”

            Alaysa nodded, again, but the soldier did not look at her. Instead, he crouched down in front of the fire and held his hands out toward the flames. A long scar ran from his wrist and twisted across his arm to the underside. She noticed strands of orange throughout his gray hair. Perhaps he was not as old as he seemed. The Darsinnians were not the only sect to have their own army but this soldier looked like he had fought in many battles. She wondered when and where. She had not heard of any recent fighting. Her father always brought news up from the village, but he had not mentioned any wars. Alaysa glanced at her mother, but her mother had turned her attention back to the priest.

            "Alaysa, it is good to meet you," Dardon spoke, his voice sounding younger than he appeared. "I apologize if we have taken you from your chores."

            "Thank you, sir," she replied, fearing to look him in the eye. "It is still a little early."

            "Your mother has only praise for you. She says you are a hard worker and a quick learner."

            "Thank you, sir," she said, not knowing what else to say.

            "How old are you, Alaysa?" he asked.

            "Almost fifteen years, sir."

            "And you are not married as of yet?"

            "No, sir," she replied. A sick feeling grew in her stomach.

            "I've kept you too long from your chores," he said and dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

            Alaysa ran to the barn, her pounding heart making her feet swift. This is it, she thought, this is how it's done. They're here to take me away to be married. And Sir Jackson. He’s here to be my first husband. She stood just inside the door where pieces of cloth hung, trying to catch her breath. This wasn’t right. Someone should have told her. Warned her. She couldn’t catch her breath. The scar ached. She didn’t know whether to scream or cry.