The Legend of Cambria Book One-Dawn of the Guardians

Chapter 2-Mother's Shoes

On the far side of a dried-out river bed was hidden a valley. Planted in that valley was a village named Cambria. Cambria was a village of the smallish, plainish sort. It was out of the way—Around the Corner from the way to Somewhere Else. It used to be a thriving, charmed place, but now found itself at the mercy of The Days of Ruin. Cambria was hidden from the main road one would travel, if one were traveling to the vast Valleylands, which few did. Though many had forgotten why, the people of Cambria greatly feared outsiders.

Legend was a boy, also of the smallish, plainish sort, who lived in Cambria. Cambria was not the sort of place where you named your child strangely. A proper name belonged to someone else before it belonged to you. Perhaps it was your grandmother's name or your great uncle's name. It would also be found in the Book of Names, and it would have a proper meaning like "Peacemaker," "Great Warrior," "Dark Haired Beauty," or at the very least "Freckled Nose." It was just bad luck to come up with a new name. And "Legend," well that wasn't a real name at all. It caused all manner of whispering comments like, "Those Brambles are a strange lot!"

Nevertheless, Legend he was. He was really very clever, but he was also awkward and shy, which meant that nobody (except his mother) paid any mind to his keenness.

"He's gifted," she would say to her husband, who would smile in a patient, tolerating slant. Though he sided with Jane always, Vincent was more inclined to agree with those who thought it prudent to suppress the practice of what had dwindled into such uselessness. The magic that was left in Cambria provided no practical purpose and threatened to attract unwanted attention. So, Legend generally kept to exercising his "gift" in the presence of his mother, sister, and Will, and mostly for purposes of entertainment, though it had been useful on a few occasions as a distraction.

The magical blood in Cambria had slowly dwindled until all that remained were a scattered few, like Legend, with what seemed to be nothing more than useless tricks. "It is a time for being practical," they would say. "We must be prudent," the supporters of such thinking would insist. "We should not attract attention," they would all agree.

So, Legend kept his gift a secret and tried not to let his father see him creating all manner of small apparitions—butterflies, birds, squirrels, rabbits—though his mother, Jane, quietly encouraged him.

Legend had just passed his twelfth turn of the seasons, although he was a head shorter than the other boys his age, and slight of build. His ears were pointy and his cheeks were hollow, as were most of the children's cheeks in The Days of Ruin. But Legend's were especially gaunt. His skin was pale, his fingers were spindly, and his forehead was rarely smooth at ease. He carried a constant crease between his eyebrows, which was the outward manifestation of an almost non-stop chatter in his head. He was a worrier.

To add to his list of awkward traits, the boy had hair to spare! It wasn't unruly or shaggy. It was quite smooth and light brown, of a tactful thickness. But it grew. It grew like a weed! Legend's mother couldn't keep up with cutting it, so it was often hanging long over his ears, which was just as well since his ears were oddly pointed. So, his long hair was at the very least a distraction, but if smoothed just right it could be a cover-up.

"Oh Legend! If only our garden grew like your hair!" Jane would lament. "We'd have enough food for three families!"

Legend's family's garden wasn't the only one that grew poorly. The crops seemed to grow weaker every season. Some people thought the dirt had gone bad. Others said the growing season was too short or the sun was too hot. But everyone agreed about the water. The water had turned foul and scant years ago. Stories still lived in the people's memories of better times when The Great River flowed too wide and too deep and too swift for a grown man to swim across without drowning. The water had been pure and fresh so that plants, bushes, and trees of all kinds sprung up lush for a half mile on either side. You could still see remnants of the canals the villagers had dug, so that her fingers curled gently around their crops.