Andrea glanced about her, frowning thoughtfully. She had her dagger and the horn that Ulric had presented to her. Would she need anything else? She gave a loud sigh then swung around when she heard a small rustle among the underbrush.
"Dagen?" she called, her voice betraying her nervousness.
Although forests hosted all sorts of creatures and strange noises, she felt that no creature would venture so close to a clearing that held humans and a blazing fire. Dagen had went off to see if he could find the twins as the alphas hadn't yet returned and Dagen was reluctant about leaving Torrin to himself.
"Dagen, is that you?" Andrea called again. She picked up one of the torches that Dagen had prepared for the journey and lighting it at the fire, stepped forward and held it up. She almost dropped it and nearly screamed in terror when she saw a cloaked figure standing in the shadows. The figure did not move, not at all startled that it had been seen.
"Who are you?" called Andrea shakily holding up the torch, trying to cast its light across the hooded face.
The tall figure slowly reached up and pulled the hood back. Though her face was pale, and her silvery hair was pinned back, Andrea recognized the retired healer immediately.
"Hello, Wolfheart," greeted Priscilla, her lips curling at the corners with amusement.
Andrea frowned. "Why do you call me that and why are you here?"
"I'm glad to see you too," mocked Priscilla, coming closer and seating herself gracefully on the log. "I call you what I deem fit. And as for why I am here, I didn't come all this way to not tell you. If you waited patiently like a good child should, you would have found out sooner, for I would not have to explain myself."
Andrea gritted her teeth with annoyance but said nothing.
"That's better," Priscilla told her approvingly, before her expression turned grave. "I came to offer you some advice. You plan to have the wolves distract the soldiers while you enter do you not?"
Andrea was startled. "How do you know of this?"
"I make it my business to know and you should be grateful for it," retorted the healer, sharply. "I foresaw this in advance and have placed a confident of mine in the palace to aid you. Once you get to the palace, imitate the call of the mourning bird. You will be met be a palace maid who will then show you the way. Do you understand?"
Andrea nodded, although she could not have shaken her head if she had wished. For Priscilla had fixed on her a burning gaze, and her eyes had glowed like a white fire. "I'll tell Dagen when he returns."
The healer frowned at Dagen's name as if remembering something. "Dagen?" she murmured. "I know that name."
"He's the black loner wolf who roams these woods or else he is known as the hunter," said Andrea, wondering if it would bring back any memories. "Also, the one who put this plan into action."
Priscilla frowned, her eyes glazing over. But only for a moment. She shook her head as if to clear it, and rose to her feet, pulling the hood back over her face. "I will take my leave then. Just remember all I told you."
"I will," assured Andrea. "Can I ask you something before you leave though?"
Priscilla paused as if pondering over the question. Then she nodded. "Very well, but be quick about it."
"When you said you foresaw this, did you really foresee this? Like, do you actually have foresight?"
Priscilla stared at her. "So, you are not so dull after all. Yes, child, I do. For I am descended from a child of the Isle of Sol, blessed with the gift of foresight. I foresaw your coming with Harriet that day and had the vial ready. I also foresaw the riddle that was shown to you from the pool, though I understood not its meaning. I have foreseen the king's fall. His crown will one day lie broken and bent in the dust. But I also see pain ahead. Fire and war. Betrayal too, lingers in the future. Though, whose future, I cannot tell. One thing, I can tell you, however, is that the hunter from Dagen's past will come. He has a tattoo upon his forearm. A wolf with a moon upon its brow, surrounded by pine trees. Behind it is the night sky with a full moon and two bright stars. Do not tell this to Dagen, as it will only distract him and perhaps hinder him from his task. You must cause them to reunite, as it is very important for the future of many. But my part in this war is done. Farewell, Wolfheart. I do not know if we will meet again though I feel as though we shall. Not soon, I think but in several coming years." She headed back towards the trees but paused at their edge, and turned back to approach Andrea once more. "Little one?"
"Yes, Priscilla?"
"Promise me, you will be careful of the people around you. The ones who you least expect can have a hidden motive, something that could harm you. Even the ones you trust the most."
Andrea couldn't help but note the tragic tone in her voice. Priscilla was speaking from experience.
"I promise. But Priscilla, do you think I will come back? I don't know if I can even go home. Do you think I'll get that chance?"
"Things do not happen by chance, Wolfheart," murmured Priscilla, her eyes softening. Reaching out, she tucked Andrea's loose hair behind her ear. "I think you were chosen for the bravery that lives within you and for your heart that calls for adventure. I think you were chosen because you can reach out and touch the hearts of those around you."
Her hand lingered, brushing gently across the scar on Andrea's cheek. For a moment, Andrea thought she saw a glimmer of tears in the older woman's eyes.
"No," Priscilla continued. "Do not believe in chance, but rather in fate. For could it simply be chance, that you had eyes likened unto Erica, daughter of Ulric and wife of Weylin? No, little one. For you were called for this exact reason. It was because of who you are. A very special little girl." She leaned down and placed a soft kiss on Andrea's forehead. "Farewell, Wolfheart. Farewell until we meet again."
She turned and slipped away into the darkness, pulling her hood up as she went. Andrea stared after her. It was all very confusing. Descended from a child of the Isle of Sol. Who was Priscilla exactly? Who was she that she was powerful enough to foresee glimpses of the future? She didn't have time to dwell on this however, as Dagen returned, followed by a complaining Ronan and a weary Rodarn. Andrea could only pick up pieces about babysitting, for as she came towards them, Ronan changed the subject.
"I've enjoyed your company," he greeted Andrea, grinning mischievously "As well as one could, anyway. It's almost a shame though. You are so young."
Rodarn quickly dug his elbow into his younger twin's ribs. Andrea ignored the comment, as she was only too use to Ronan's remarks.
"Are we to leave now then?" she asked Dagen.
Dagen nodded solemnly. "Yes, we cannot afford to wait for the alphas any longer. It is of little importance anyway. Tonight, we end this."
* * * * *
The sun had just begun peeking over the horizon when Dagen and Andrea finally arrived at the city edge. They were forced to wait for several minutes at the gates as the watch keeper declared the curfew was yet to be lifted. Andrea and Dagen both glanced at each other wondering if they were the cause of this new curfew. When there sounded a loud clanging of bells, the watch keeper cheerfully opened the gates and ushered them in. He even kindly offered Andrea a piece of bread and cheese, telling her she was too thin and weary looking. Andrea had passed it to Dagen once they were out of sight, claiming she wasn't famished enough to eat a thick slice of cheese that looked like it had sat out a mite too long. Dagen, having lived in the woods for two years and having survived the harsh winters of Erlenia, knew better then to waste food, although Andrea noted he did not look like he particularly enjoyed it. He was too occupied with other thoughts, she believed. When they reached the palace gates, they stopped once more. As Dagen went to approach, Andrea remembered Priscilla's coming the previous night and grabbed him.
"I hope you know the call of the morning bird," said Andrea, with a thoughtful frown. "Because I don't."
"Of course, I know the call" snapped Dagen, looking almost insulted. "Even the smallest child knows it. It calls every night and before every storm. But what the hell does that have to do with anything?"
"Imitate it and we will find out," Andrea hissed back.
Looking irritated but not sure how else to respond, Dagen let out a strange cry. It came low at first, ominous and foreboding as if warning of some great danger but then it rose higher like the wailing of some poor mourning soul. As shivers ran down Andrea's spine, she remembered it as a cry she had heard before. Like Dagen had said, the mourning bird cried out every night.
Mourning for the loss of the light and wailing for the coming darkness, Andrea thought. She looked up sharply as there came an answering cry. Then to both her and Dagen's amazement, a section of the palace wall moved and opened, revealing a small doorway. Even Andrea had to bend to duck though.
Standing in the inner courtyard, Andrea turned to see a young palace maid, pushing the door shut. The door slid shut as quickly and as silently as it had opened, and the young girl turned to face them. She smiled brightly, showing a set of even white teeth. Tall and elegant as she was, Andrea would have sooner thought her a princess than a maid.
With amber almond eyes set in a dark face and with black hair braided into dozens of tight braids, each with a clasp of gold, she certainly outshone any princess Andrea has seen in her fairy-tale pictures. Several pale markings were scattered across her hands, arms, and face, one forming a semi-ring around her eye, like a crescent moon. It reminded Andrea bitterly of Celena and she wondered what on earth had Priscilla obsessed with the marking. She didn't ponder on it, however as the maid was urgently beckoning them to follow her. When they did so, she walked swiftly and gracefully towards the palace entry, her sky-blue dress swishing about her ankles and her many bangles clinking musically against one another. They went up the stair and through the doorway, stepping into a marvelously decorated hall.
The maid pointed to the far end.
"There is a large entry at the end of the hall. Ignore it and take the stairs to the left. It will lead to another smaller hall upstairs. Take the door at the far end. I think the king will be there. If he is not, wait there. He may have gone to speak with his advisor Lord Rane."
She had Andrea repeat the instructions then with a small curtsy, she disappeared quickly. As Dagen and Andrea went to climb the steps there came a sudden clanging of bells and a loud chorus of shouting was taking up.
"Looks like Ulric kept his word after all," commented Dagen. He broke off as Andrea shoved him behind the stairway, out of sight of a pair of hurrying soldiers. Dagen and Andrea stood breathless, waiting until the noise died down a little.
Andrea glanced at Dagen. "You ready?"
Dagen nodded grimly. "Ready as I'll ever be."
With that they began to ascend the stairs. As they came to the door at the far end of the second hall, they once again hesitated. Glancing at one another nervously, they nodded.
Dagen stepped forward and drawing his sword with one hand, he swung the door open with his free hand. At the same time, there was sound of slamming drawers and hurrying footsteps. But as the door swung wide open, silence reigned, and both saw the room was pitch black.
Dagen muttered a command and Andrea grabbed a torch from the hall. Entering the room cautiously, they both peered around. It was a study of some sort, Andrea realised, taking in a large desk and several shelves. As they passed the desk, Andrea caught sight of a fallen candle. The paper that it lay upon was splattered with several drops of melted wax. Reaching out and touching one, Andrea found it was soft and warm.
Holding the torch up higher, spreading the light across the room, Andrea saw something move. It was a red curtain pulled across a large window, blocking out the light of the rising sun. One side of the curtain bulked out a little and it was to this that Andrea gestured to.
Dagen nodded, showing he understood and moving forward, ripped the curtain to one side. The silhouette of a tall figure cowered away.
Andrea tilted the torch forward and Dagen stepped closer to the figure, grasping his sword tightly.
As the light fell across the man's face, Andrea almost dropped the torch. It was none other than the young palace scribe from the imperial library.
"Trist?" she murmured in astonishment.
The scribe stared at her. "You!" he exclaimed. "You're the girl from the library."
Andrea nodded her head. "Yes, it's me. What are you doing here?"
Before Trist could answer, Dagen let out an angry snarl and Trist shrank back, his eyes widening with an animal-like terror.
"I don't know how you know each other," Dagen snarled, pointing the sword at the man's throat. "And I don't particularly care. Where's the king?"
Trist glanced at the sword then back at Dagen. "I...I don't know," he finally stammered. "There was some sort of uproar and he left to see to it. Please don't kill me. I'm just his scribe."
Dagen regarded him with disgust. "Come on, Andrea, we'll have to check downstairs." He turned and went to leave but Andrea caught hold of his arm.
"Wait," she commanded, her eyes not leaving the secretary. Now that he was in the light and standing just before her, she could see him clearly. He was probably only in his thirties, though it was difficult to tell. He had a dark neatly trimmed beard and his eyes were pale, set in a dark face. But it was his forehead that had caused questions to enter Andrea's mind. A strange pale line circled around his head.
Staring at that mark upon his brow, memories came rushing back to Andrea's mind.
"What about the king?" Trist had asked, unable to keep the concern from his voice or eyes.
Why would a lowly scribe working for a supposedly horrid king be so concerned for his life? Then Andrea remembered another conversation. "He had a strong dark face like that of his kind, and although his eyes were a pale colour, they were warm and kind looking." Torrin's description of the king fitted the scribe to the core. Turning to Dagen, Andrea spoke.
"Go to the desk and tell me what you find in the drawers."
Dagen shot her a look that was a mix of puzzlement and annoyance but did as she bade. Rummaging through the top drawer, he suddenly paused. Glancing over her shoulder, Andrea saw him holding up a silver circlet, a blue sapphire gleaming at its centre. Andrea gestured for him to bring it over and when he handed it to her, she held it out to the ashamed looking man before them.
"Try it on," she told him in a firm voice. "I think it may suit you."
With shaking fingers, Trist took the circlet and placed it upon his brow. It slid into place, covering the pale line completely.
Andrea reached out and grabbing his hand turned it over. It was smooth and soft, having never known a hard day's work. No ink stain marked the neatly-kept fingers. Andrea let it go with unconcealed contempt
"We have found him, Dagen," she said almost grimly, stepping back. "This is your king, the infamous tyrant of Erlenia."
The sword fell from Dagen's hand and he stumbled back, face becoming ashen.
Dade raised an eyebrow. "Why are you so shocked?" he muttered bitterly. "Would you rather that I had been the cruel tyrant you expected? Doesn't my being a sniveling coward make your task all the easier?"
Dagen turned away unable to speak. Andrea however stepped forward, staring at the king intently.
"How then? How are you like this? Are you truly that afraid of the mages?"
The king glanced at her. "Afraid?" he muttered almost as if he had never heard the word. "No, not afraid. I hate them. I wish they had never existed." The vehemence in his voice startled Andrea.
"So, you killed them?" she asked, frowning at him and trying to make sense of his words.
King Dade shrugged, before answering in a monotone chant. "They are not human anyway. Isn't it just like hunting the deer in the woods or the fish in their streams? Or rather, isn't it like killing the wolves in the plains and the bears by the fall? They are nothing but beasts that must be hunted for the safety of all. You are but children. What would you know of these things?"
As Andrea realised with a sinking heart that he must have really been raised with the hatred and fear of his Runen ancestors, she saw Dagen bend swiftly to the ground and retrieve his fallen sword.
"You killed my mother," he screamed, his eyes flashing yellow.
Andrea stared in horror as Dagen swung the sword back, ready to sever the king's head from his body.
"I sense a deep bitterness in your heart", Weylin had observed not long after meeting Dagen. Andrea remembered it clearly now and she mentally berated herself for not realising sooner. Of course, Dagen had never meant to make peace. Revenge had been his true intention all along. It always had been. He had used her as a tool just as he had Torrin. For why else had he made Torrin tell his tragic story to Ulric and Weylin, if not to anger them and fuel their hate? What other reason had there been that he had so decidedly come with her? Dagen had meant this all along.
Lunging forward, she grabbed Dagen's arm, stopping the blow with a strength she did not know she had. Dagen glanced at her with startled eyes, before shaking her off with a hard push in the chest, sending her flying backwards. As she fell back hitting the floor, he raised the sword once more.
"Dagen, don't," begged Andrea, rolling over and trying to rise.
Dagen shook his head. "Don't try to stop me, Andrea. I must do this. I have to avenge her."
Andrea stared at him in disbelief. Then for a brief moment, a vision of a tall woman with pale skin and long black hair, flashed before her eyes. "They called her 'The Daughter of the Night' and she was said to be the fairest of the land."
"Is this what she would have wanted?" she asked. "Would this make her proud?"
For a moment, the upheld sword swayed, but Dagen shook his head as if to clear it and held the sword steady again. "Yes, she would be proud that her son avenged her."
Andrea shook her head sadly. "Would she really, Dagen? Would she truly want her son's hand to be stained with blood before he had even become a man? Would she want her son to slay an unarmed and cornered man? Or would she rather that her son learned to let go? Besides, do you really think this will bring you peace? Look me in the eye and tell me you can do this and know your mother would be proud. Look me in the eye and tell me you can live with yourself after killing this pathetic coward."
There was a loud clang as the sword clattered down onto the stone floor. Dagen stood trembling, head bowed low.
"Then do what you came to do," he muttered bitterly between gritted teeth. "Be done with it."
Dade glanced from one to the other, his eyes wide with panic. "You won't kill me?" he asked his voice trembling slightly.
Andrea answered him quickly, afraid that Dagen might give a cutting reply. "No," she said in a firm voice, rising to her feet and setting her jaw determinedly. "We won't, and nor will we hurt you. But you must do something for us. Redraw your order. The mages are not monsters. They live and feel as we do. Please, Dade. They are innocent."
Dade met her gaze for a brief moment then looked away, his face flushed with shame. "I cannot. Forgive me." He knocked her back and fled the room.
Andrea stared after him, numb with shock. She started as Dagen grabbed her arm.
"We have to go before he alerts the guards."
Andrea said nothing, as she followed him down the flight of stairs and into the open courtyard.
The palace maid was waiting for them. Glancing at their downcast faces, she said nothing, though her eyes betrayed her sorrow. She led them quickly to the hidden gate. Pushing it open, she stood back, gesturing for them to pass. Dagen ducked through without a word but Andrea paused before the entrance. Reaching out, she touched the girl's arm lightly.
"Thank you," she whispered. "For everything." She went to pass through but paused again and looked back over her shoulder. "Are...are you a mage?"
The girl smiled, her eyes lighting up with delight. Stretching out a hand, she let a small flame flicker above her palm.
Andrea let out a breath of awe. But her excited feeling vanished as a dread weighed down. The girl was so young and beautiful and yet she had to live surrounded by those who would harm her. The world seemed such a harsh and unfair place to Andrea. Flashing the girl, a parting grin, Andrea ducked through the door and out into the dirty forlorn streets.
Dagen was waiting nearby, looking neither annoyed or impatient as she had almost expected. His head was bowed, and his shoulders sagged. He looked so different from the Dagen she had come to know, and she hated the fact it filled her with pity for him. But he looked so defeated, as if his whole world had come crashing down and he no longer had any reason to live. She didn't say anything but fastened her pace, longing to leave the wretched place well behind. They soon left the city and entered the green forests she had come to know and love in a way that felt like home.
She begun to relax slightly, the tension draining from her stiff body and she felt her restless mind ease.
"No doubt you hate me," murmured Dagen, breaking the silence without warning. "I don't blame you though. I should never have used you the way I did. And I want you to know, how sorry I am. I understand if you don't accept my apology. I know I don't deserve it."
Andrea glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He looked so broken, so torn apart, that she found she couldn't hate him no matter how hard she tried.
"No," she began softly. "I can understand a little and I accept your apology. It hurt to be used like that, to be manipulated, but-" She broke off, than with a sigh, continued. "But I know you are hurting so much more than I am. I know you must have loved her in a way I could never know."
Dagen shook his head. "I barely knew her really. I just remember her singing to me at night and her smile. She had a beautiful smile." Though Andrea said nothing, she couldn't help but think Dagen had inherited it and wished he'd smile more often. "The hunter was good to me, but if I ever disobeyed him, he never failed to give me a good beating. After, I would climb the hills to be alone and to let the tears flow without him seeing me. And there, I would imagine how different life would be if my mother was still living. I would imagine her comforting me and it made me miss her all the more. And then when my father turned his back on me, it caused the bitterness of her loss to overwhelm me and it was then that I vowed to avenge her. And after that, there was no going back. The thought possessed me."
His voice faltered slightly, and he raised his hand to brush at his eyes.
Andrea sighed. "It's okay, Dagen. Just let it out."
Dagen froze, then slowly he glanced at her. His eyes were startled and almost puzzled.
Andrea studied him sorrowfully. "Don't hold it in anymore. It will only hurt you. Let it go, Dagen."
Dagen's eyes moistened and he quickly looked away. But her words had touched him and had made their way deep into his heart. An anguished sob broke from his lips and the tears began to flow. Sinking to the ground, he rocked back and forth, his face buried in his hands. Andrea stood over him, her hand resting on his shoulder.
"It's okay," she comforted. "Everything will be alright. Your mother would be proud of the choice you made today."
"Why?" sobbed the boy. "Why did she have to go?"
Andrea almost winced at the pain that filled his voice. How could he have born this suffering alone and for so long? She knelt beside him, squeezing his shoulder to let him know she was there.
"She never left you, Dagen. She's still with you in your heart. She looks over you night and day. I know she does, because she must have loved you so much."
He began crying harder, his shoulders shaking violently under her hand. He almost choked on his words as he spoke. "I miss her, Andrea. And it hurts."
Andrea could feel the tears pricking at her own eyes. Somewhere in the back of her own mind, she pictured her own mother.
"I know," she murmured softly. "I know." And deep down she did. Maybe she did not know the feeling as strongly as Dagen, but she knew how it hurt. She began rubbing his back, comfortingly, as if trying to rub his pain away. Moments passed, and Dagen's sobs slowly began to subside.
"Don't tell the twins," Andrea heard him murmur. "I couldn't bear it if they knew."
"I won't say anything," she promised him. "Here." Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out her handkerchief and tucked it into his hand.
Dagen raised it to wipe his eyes, then stopped. "Really?" he muttered in a tone of disbelief, holding it up for her to see.
Andrea looked down, puzzled. A smile broke out across her face. For in his hand, he held a dainty blue handkerchief with pink flowers. It was too much for Andrea and she snickered. To her relief and delight, Dagen smiled back at her, his eyes filling with amusement and an almost fond look. Then rising to his feet, he wiped his face with his sleeve.
"Come on," he said, his hoarse voice the only reminder of what had just passed. "We have to go back. They'll be waiting."
Andrea sobered over his words. They would be expecting good news no doubt. As Dagen turned and headed onward to the camp, Andrea followed in silence.
Finally reaching their destination, they saw Ronan on the watch. He called out a greeting, his face betraying his expectation of victory. His hopeful look faded however as he saw their downcast faces and his hand fell limply to his side. As they neared him, Dagen paused and looking straight ahead, spoke to Andrea.
"Thanks. For everything. It meant the world to me."
She glanced up at him, but he was already striding away, a cold mask falling across his face.
* * * * *
"I still find it so hard to believe," muttered Andrea to Torrin that night. She had told him everything, keeping nothing back except Dagen's breakdown. Never in her life would she ever speak of it to another soul.
"Believe what?" asked Torrin, his eyes large with interest.
"That it was Dagen, the youngest, not including us, and probably the quietest, who sought revenge. And that it was the loud and rough twins who wanted peace, although not wishing to bring it about themselves. I would never have guessed it in a million years."
Torrin looked thoughtful for a moment. "But Dagen was always so withdrawn and cold. You could never know what was going on inside his head."
Andrea nodded in agreement. "True. But the twins are so fiery, and it was no secret that they hated the king." She paused, then added with a smile, "But I would have been far more surprised if it had been you. Though, to be honest, I'm a little surprised you don't want to avenge your mother."
Torrin gave a small smile, but Andrea saw that it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Life is too short to be filled with hate and anger. Besides, I believe all men get their just deserts in time. I don't believe it is up to me to decide how people should be punished and whether they are fit to keep their lives. Anyway, I don't think my mother would be proud of me if I became like one of them. It would make her death all for naught."
Andrea poked at the fire, absent-mindedly and a frown creased her brow. "You and Dagen have both lost a mother to an enemy and were both abandoned by your fathers in a way. And yet...and yet you both handled it so differently."
"Dagen held onto the pain," replied Torrin, in a low voice that held a hint of sorrow. "He let it fester in his heart. It was a burning fire that consumed him, and he fed it with bitter thoughts, until it raged so high, he could no longer control it. As for me, I left it in the past a long time ago. And I forgave them, for what is the point of holding onto a grudge forever."
Andrea stared into the flames before her and tried to imagine it as Dagen's hate. "No," she finally murmured after a long moment. "I don't think it is a fire. I think it is an ice. It froze his heart and with it all his humanity. It left him cold and bitter. And it can only be thawed by something warm. I think he just needs a bit of love in his life, that's all."
Torrin stared at her thoughtfully then shrugged. "We are both right in our own way, I think. Maybe it is an icy blue fire."
Andrea laughed at this notion and Torrin joined in.
Standing amongst the trees, hood drawn over his face, Dagen studied the two. He felt irritated that they could easily discuss and try to understand him, but he also felt envious. He envied Torrin for his way of finding it easy to forgive. He envied Andrea for never truly having born such a deep pain of loss. Envied them both for their ability to laugh. Perhaps that was what he envied the most. He swallowed bitterly and turned away.
They were both right. He had let his hate consume him and he had become cold. But without all that, what was left but an empty shell?