The Waterfall Traveler: Book 1

Chapter 1

No, no, no! How could I have slept so soundly while Samuel wandered out of our home? I swung my cottage's door open and bolted outside. The morning sun peeked over the mountains and cast soft light onto my cliff-top village. Everyone was still asleep. Samuel's tracks imprinted the dusty ground. They meandered through his garden, past neighboring thatch-roofed homes, and led into the forest.

Dammit! Of all places for him to roam. The forest was full of dangerous things: pumas searching for their next kill, rocks that protruded near neck-breaking slopes, and berries that could lull a man into permanent slumber.

But Samuel didn't know any better. He had the Sickness. Some folks called him a burden. Others prayed for the day he would leave. But I've set those fools straight on more than one occasion.

I dashed onward and followed his footprints, scattering a cluster of chickens along the way. What if he was injured? Or worse? I raced past the perimeter of the village and reached the forest's edge. Spruce trees rose into the sky, spreading their needled branches like raven feathers.

I threw a stone into the woodlands and it bounced off a tree. "Wake up!"

If anyone saw me shouting into the forest, they would have thought I had the Sickness too. I didn't, of course.

"Where are you?" I tossed another rock into the branches. This time, I got their attention.

Seven orbs, roughly the size of my fist, drifted from the treetops, radiating amber light. These orbs visited me-and only me-since childhood. When I was young, they comforted me during storms as Death lit up the sky in search of souls. When I reached the age to hunt, they showed me the best places to set my snares, and I always returned home with plenty. I didn't know what they were, but I named them the Fireflies.

They whooshed into the forest, zigzagging around trees like a ribbon of light, and I chased them down a familiar path. My hair whipped behind me, bound in a brown braid that hung to my waist. As I raced on, the canopy of pine needles sucked me back into the night. Owls, fooled by the darkness, still hooted threats at mice cowering in the brush.

Before long, patches of light dabbed the forest floor. New grass poked through the black dirt until lush growth overtook the ground. We had reached a clearing. The Fireflies shot upward and disappeared.

I crouched behind a tree and scanned the area. A stream fed by a gentle waterfall carved the clearing in half. I breathed a sigh of relief when Samuel paced into view.

He looked older than his fifty-five years and hobbled with a hunch. Only a few tufts of white hair traced the lower regions of his scalp. He lost his left arm long ago, though he couldn't remember how. His sleeve knotted around the stub at his shoulder. Ricky, a gray mutt, pranced at his feet, intent on tripping him. But Samuel didn't seem to notice. He gestured wildly, mumbling his usual gibberish.

"Samuel," I called. With one last glance around the clearing, I rushed to his side.

He jerked his head in surprise. "Oh my, I didn't see you there, Ri." Smiling, he waved for me to join him.

He spoke in his native language, which I had learned by the age of seven. Our village called it the Crooked Tongue. Though Samuel raised me, we were not related. Fourteen years ago, a vicious beast killed my parents, so Samuel took me as ward when I was four years old. I remembered nothing of the incident or my family, but the beast had left a crescent-shaped scar on my back. I shivered whenever my fingers brushed against it.

"You promised that you wouldn't roam into the forest anymore." I disliked taking such a stern tone with him, but I meant it for his own good.

"Oh." He scratched his chin, disheveling his short beard. "I promised that?"