They weren’t, he suddenly realized, strapped to the man’s arms. Rather, they were his arms, bound somehow to the warrior’s powerful shoulders.
The masked man stared down at him. In a deep but hollow voice that seemed to echo from somewhere faraway, he commanded, “Tell me your name, boy.”
“Ah, ‘tis . . . Lleu, m-master.” He tried to swallow, but his throat only made the sound of a whimper. “Least that’s what I be mostly called.”
“Have you no home?”
“N-no, master.”
“Have you no parents?”
“N-no, master.”
The warrior laughed mirthlessly, even as one of his swordlike arms lifted. “Then, young whelp, you shall be my first victim.”
P ART O NE
1: T HREADS
This wasn’t just a familiar stroll down a wooded path. No, this was something far different: more like a flight.
Luminous threads of light wove through the loom of branches, making the forest floor sparkle. The springy turf, softened by centuries of fallen leaves, seemed to lift me higher with every step. I felt I could leap into the trees, or sail like the golden butterflies among their branches. I had taken this woodland path many times before, to be sure. But it had never seemed at once so bright and so dark, so full of clarity as well as mystery.
Hallia, her hand in mine, walked with the same lilt in her step—and something more, the added grace of a deer. She knew, with every curl of her toe and sweep of her arm, the simple glory of motion. Truly, she was motion, as fluid as the falling leaf that spun downward from the highest boughs, as gentle as the forest breeze that stroked her auburn hair.
I smiled, thinking of the many such walks we had taken in the past few months. When she had first invited me to live among her people and learn their ways, several of the elders of her clan had objected. Long councils and fierce debates ensued. I was, after all, not a member of the Mellwyn-bri-Meath. And worse, I was a man. How could they possibly trust me with some of their most precious secrets, when my kind had so often hunted and killed their own, for no better reason than hunger for a slab of venison?
Hallia, in the end, had prevailed. The tales of how I’d saved her life didn’t sway the elders, nor even the things I’d accomplished for the land of Fincayra. No, it was something far more simple, and powerful: Hallia’s love for me. Faced with that, even the most skeptical members of her clan finally gave way. And so, in the time since, I’d learned how to drink water from the rill without disturbing its flow, how to feel the ground as if it were part of my own body, and how to hear with the openness of the air itself.
Such walks we had taken! Hallia guided me through meadows where ancient trails lay hidden, through tall stands of eelgrass that could be woven into baskets or clothing, and through secret glades where many a fawn-child had been born. Often we strode upright, as we did now. Just as often, we ran side by side as doe and stag, our bodies sailing above the soil more than treading upon it.
Yet on this day and on this trail, I felt closer to her than ever before. Tonight, when we reached the far side of the forest, I would show her a secret of my own—my stargazing stone. And there I would give her the present I’d been saving. I tapped my leather satchel in anticipation, knowing that in many ways the gift belonged to her already.
Seeing a stream just ahead, I lifted my staff so it wouldn’t catch on the gooseberry brambles along the bank. Then, without a word, we leaped into the air, our four legs springing in unison as if they belonged to a single person. Beneath us, the water sparkled, its surface alive with light, even where it passed under a branch or over a moss-splattered stone. We landed gently on the opposite side and continued down the path.
I gazed about, my second sight—now sharper and truer than my lost eyesight had ever been—overwhelmed by the wide array of highlights and colors. Even
The masked man stared down at him. In a deep but hollow voice that seemed to echo from somewhere faraway, he commanded, “Tell me your name, boy.”
“Ah, ‘tis . . . Lleu, m-master.” He tried to swallow, but his throat only made the sound of a whimper. “Least that’s what I be mostly called.”
“Have you no home?”
“N-no, master.”
“Have you no parents?”
“N-no, master.”
The warrior laughed mirthlessly, even as one of his swordlike arms lifted. “Then, young whelp, you shall be my first victim.”
P ART O NE
1: T HREADS
This wasn’t just a familiar stroll down a wooded path. No, this was something far different: more like a flight.
Luminous threads of light wove through the loom of branches, making the forest floor sparkle. The springy turf, softened by centuries of fallen leaves, seemed to lift me higher with every step. I felt I could leap into the trees, or sail like the golden butterflies among their branches. I had taken this woodland path many times before, to be sure. But it had never seemed at once so bright and so dark, so full of clarity as well as mystery.
Hallia, her hand in mine, walked with the same lilt in her step—and something more, the added grace of a deer. She knew, with every curl of her toe and sweep of her arm, the simple glory of motion. Truly, she was motion, as fluid as the falling leaf that spun downward from the highest boughs, as gentle as the forest breeze that stroked her auburn hair.
I smiled, thinking of the many such walks we had taken in the past few months. When she had first invited me to live among her people and learn their ways, several of the elders of her clan had objected. Long councils and fierce debates ensued. I was, after all, not a member of the Mellwyn-bri-Meath. And worse, I was a man. How could they possibly trust me with some of their most precious secrets, when my kind had so often hunted and killed their own, for no better reason than hunger for a slab of venison?
Hallia, in the end, had prevailed. The tales of how I’d saved her life didn’t sway the elders, nor even the things I’d accomplished for the land of Fincayra. No, it was something far more simple, and powerful: Hallia’s love for me. Faced with that, even the most skeptical members of her clan finally gave way. And so, in the time since, I’d learned how to drink water from the rill without disturbing its flow, how to feel the ground as if it were part of my own body, and how to hear with the openness of the air itself.
Such walks we had taken! Hallia guided me through meadows where ancient trails lay hidden, through tall stands of eelgrass that could be woven into baskets or clothing, and through secret glades where many a fawn-child had been born. Often we strode upright, as we did now. Just as often, we ran side by side as doe and stag, our bodies sailing above the soil more than treading upon it.
Yet on this day and on this trail, I felt closer to her than ever before. Tonight, when we reached the far side of the forest, I would show her a secret of my own—my stargazing stone. And there I would give her the present I’d been saving. I tapped my leather satchel in anticipation, knowing that in many ways the gift belonged to her already.
Seeing a stream just ahead, I lifted my staff so it wouldn’t catch on the gooseberry brambles along the bank. Then, without a word, we leaped into the air, our four legs springing in unison as if they belonged to a single person. Beneath us, the water sparkled, its surface alive with light, even where it passed under a branch or over a moss-splattered stone. We landed gently on the opposite side and continued down the path.
I gazed about, my second sight—now sharper and truer than my lost eyesight had ever been—overwhelmed by the wide array of highlights and colors. Even
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