Tari sat on her prison bed, arms clasping tightly around her legs, her knees pulled up to her chest. She rocked slowly, eyes large, staring and glazed, focusing on nothing. Clenching her bare toes, she felt the rough blanket beneath her feet, trying to remember the feel of soft, fresh grass; she couldn't. How she longed for her power to be returned, recalling the days playing with her craft as a young girl, experimenting with the magic, filling her with the joy of the Goddess Erwethwen. Even then, just before puberty, they said she was powerful; some said dangerously so. They were right to worry.
She remembered the night she summoned the elemental, watching it form from the soil, roots and vines as her sweat beaded face contorted with the intense concentration. The plants twisting and weaving around an inner core of mud and stone, making a deformed figure nearly twenty foot tall, casting a shadow over the young Elf. The Elders felt it's presence immediately, rushing to where the half mortal, half spirit flailed about madly in it's terrified, demented frenzy. Tari was on her knees, gasping for air, head spinning, trying to control the thing she had conjured. But it was futile, she was no where near ready for such an act and she collapsed, the elemental dissolving back into the earth as Tari was consumed by the blackness.
When she awoke, days later, the reaction from her peers was one of wonder and fear. Never before had one so young wielded so much power, and it terrified them. Tari was taken from her usual studies and given special instruction, the most powerful Magi of Idril Séregon guided the young woman, trying not to push her beyond her limits. But they quickly found she had no limits, soaking in every word, every lesson as quickly as they could teach.
She discovered summoning the elemental was only part of the spell. First you had to ask the spirit's permission, explaining what would happen when it gained substance and how it would be used. Only then could you give the elemental form, slowly, unlike Tari's attempt when she had wrenched the spirit unwillingly from its own world. The next time she undertook the summoning, things were much different. Instead of the lumbering, deformed brute of before, this elemental was elegant, lean and beautiful. She had talked with Sairalindë, as the spirit came to be known, for weeks beforehand, each gaining the others trust slowly over that time. Sairalindë came willingly to take her new solid form, the elemental excited by this new adventure into the Other Place, as she called it. So, towering over Tari, Sairalindë turned and looked on her new friend for the first time with her polished green zircon eyes and, if she had lips, they would certainly have been smiling.
Tari smiled as she recalled that day but just as quickly was overwhelmed by grief at the length of time it had been since she had talked with Sairalindë. Her body shook with every sob, the tears falling onto her knees, running down her shins and ankles, seeping into the bed clothes. She felt a tickle and slowly tilted her head, eyes still streaming, to looked at her bare, dirty foot. Where the tears had fallen, bright green moss had started to spread in an increasing arc over the sheet. She blinked, more tears fell and where they landed, small oasis of green burst on the bed cover. She smiled, joy again filling her heart. Gorothan had tried his best to take away everything Tari held dear, but this almost insignificant sign had shown her, he could never steal it all. She wiped her eyes, loudly sniffing, raising her head.
"Get up, Tari," she commanded herself, rising from the bed. The elf walked to the mirror where she stared into her own eyes, jaw clenched, filling her lungs with air.
"I am Tari Isyer-Hon Liallnys," she said, "and I will not be broken."
-o-
"Wow, it's amazing," Milly whispered, her face bright, unbelieving.
They stood beside the Story Tree, her eyes striving to be everywhere at once, trying to take in the sight. Sam was standing beside her, smiling. He somehow felt proud that his tree had inspired such a reaction from the girl.
"It is amazing, isn't it?" he agreed.
Milly walked over to the carved trunk, all the while her head constantly moving as she found some new figure or vista to explore.
"I've never seen anything like it, it's wonderful," she enthused. "It's nothing like my tree."
"What?" Sam frowned. "What do you mean, 'your tree'?"
She looked at him. "The one back in Darkspur, it's beautiful to but nothing compared to this."
"Do you have a Story Tree to?" he asked. "I thought there was just one."
Milly laughed. "There are lots of Erwethwen's trees, no-one really knows just how many there are. Why do you call it the Story Tree anyway?"
"Because, this is where the Tellers come to tell their stories," Sam said, confused. "See, this is where they hang them." He had walked over to one of the frames and laid his hand on an inscribed animal hide.
"The frames are not for stories, Sam. No-one knows what they are for but it's certainly not for the Tellers," she was laughing again.
"You're a bit of a know-it-all, aren't you?" Sam retorted.
Milly seemed to mull this over before replying. "Yes, I suppose I am." She laughed again.
Sam shook his head, sitting on one of the long benches, but he to was smiling now. Even though Milly was a bit annoying, he still found her amusing.
"So, tell me about Darkspur," Sam said, "And just how are we related?"
Milly sat down next to him, slapping at a fly that had landed on her arm. "My father is your mother's brother, that makes us first cousins."
"So your father and mother are my uncle and aunt?"
"Yes, well done for working that out," Milly said.
Sam just scowled at her. "So where are your mother and father now, back in Darkspur?" Sam asked.
"My mother is, my father," she paused. "Well no-one knows where he is. Until a few days ago we all thought he had drowned at sea. It's strange, I'm kind of happy and sad at the same time."
"When did he disappear, do you remember him?" Sam asked.
"Not really, I was very young when he left," she replied.
"I don't remember my mother either," Sam said, lowering his head.
Milly was pulling at a small clump of wildflowers growing next to the bench, "Hasn't your father ever taken you to see her," she said.
"She's dead, Milly, she died just after I was born.".
She turned to Sam, face scrunched up. "No she's not, she's in Quellarin Keep with the Sleepers." Milly clasped both hands to her mouth, instantly grasping she had made a huge error. Mother Kell had sworn her to secrecy in the carriage on the way to the farm after the woman realised Milly was probably not the best person to be entrusting with such knowledge. Milly, though, had already worked out much of what Mother Kell had told her; it was impossible not to pick up things when you lived in Darkspur Keep.
"What?" Sam exclaimed.
"Oh dear, I wasn't meant to say anything," Milly continued.
"My mother's alive?" He was standing now, shouting at Milly.
All Milly could do was bow her head meekly, whispering, "Yes."
"Milly, you tell me everything you know, right now." He was still shouting, his face red with rage.
She found it a strange reaction from someone that had just learned his mother was not dead, instead of joy there was only anger and this scared her. She would tell Sam everything he asked, she wouldn't dare to keep any secrets from him.
"She's caring for the Sleepers at your father's old home in Quellarin, she went there years ago," Milly answered.
"And who are the Sleepers?" he was glaring at the girl, still shouting. "Tell me."
"The plague victims, the ones that went to sleep." Milly continued. "She keeps them alive with her magic. Moryen and every other Arch Mage in the kingdom. Please stop shouting at me, I'll tell you everything."
Milly had started crying but this went no way to softening Sam's anger. He wanted the answers, all of the answer. Just when he thought he knew everything, another life changing revelation would surface and he again would have to try and to come to terms with the new information. Then he realised something else, his brother must be a Sleeper, he to was alive. How could his father do this, how dare he keep this from Sam, this time it was unforgivable.
Sam paced back and forth between the tree and the bench where Milly sat sobbing, her hands over her face. Rather than his anger abating, he felt it grow and grow in his chest He wanted to scream, to lash out at the person responsible, but his father wasn't here. He punched the tree, screaming as his knuckles hit the hard bark, but it was a scream more of frustration than of pain. He hit it again and again, blood splashing the carvings, spraying across the frame and its hanging story; another lie he thought. He grabbed the frame, trying in vain to wrench it from the tree, all the while screaming, releasing his rage. Suddenly, there was a loud crack.
-o-
A guard had escorted Tari down to Iazohr's Temple. This wasn't uncommon, the boredom Tari felt confined to her rooms got to her at times and the only other place she was permitted was the small shrine. The guard locked the wooden door after she entered; there was no way out of the chamber so he knew Tari was secure. It wasn't a large room and probably wasn't meant to be used for it's present purpose but it sufficed Gorothan as his private sanctuary. The room was lit by many thick black candles, making the space smokey and warm. Hanging in the dull light from the walls were faded, thread bare tapestries depicting Iazohr's battle with Erwethwen. In most, the Goddess was portrayed as a cowering, crying child, hiding in shadows as Iazohr destroyed fleeing armies or disembowelled heros and kings. Only one told of the demon's demise, Erwethwen creeping from behind Darkspur's Tree with a jagged, convoluted blade to stab Iazohr in the back. Tari recognised the tree from her youth when she visited the great city, the distinctive colour and thin spiralling branches could not be mistaken.
On the shrine itself, the many coloured crystals still lay, undisturbed. Tari had watched Gorothan with them, trying to fathom how to utilise their power and she had tried many times but with absolutely no success. Whether this was down to her lack of understanding or the restriction of her power, she didn't know. The figurine still sat, faintly pulsing on the shelf in the middle of the tree root frame. For all the times she had been in the temple, Tari had never dared touch the small statue, scared of what depravities might be opened in her mind; today she wasn't afraid. She grabbed Iazohr's statue, closing her eyes, preparing herself for whatever was about to come, but nothing happened. She opened her hand, looking down at the small green trinket that sat easily in her palm, wondering what she had expected. Tari threw it hard at the wall but the figure simple bounced off, no damage at all visible. She turned her attention to the tapestries, tugging and ripping them from their old, worn hanging rods. Most came down easily and could be torn and holed with no more effort than tearing a fine silk.
There was no anger as Tari's destruction continued, only satisfaction and she moved her attention to the altar. With a sweep of her arm she brushed the crystals off the stone surface, sending them crashing to the floor. Some shattered into a thousand shards, others simple broke in two, many remained whole, but not for long as Tari began stamping with her now shoed feet. Most crushed easily, sending sparks, puffs of smoke and crackles from the broken stones, destroying whatever magics were contained within them.
Tari lent on the tree root frame, laughing, feeling a release she hadn't felt in years, the joy of her Goddess Erwethwen running though her body again. A spark suddenly shot from the top of the frame, its jagged fingers spreading to all four corners. Tari pulled away, more from surprise than from fear. Leaning forward, studying the chiselled wood, she reached out, tentatively touching the frame again; again the azure blue spark fanned out across the opening. Curious, Tari grabbed the other side of the carving. The crackling, buzzing lightening filled the rectangle, swiftly intensifying into a blinding white light. The light faded, leaving a rippling, silver mirror; but it was not Tari's face that looked back from the shining surface.
-o-
Breathing heavily, Sam looked up, expecting to see the frame split where he had pulled it away from the tree. But instead, found himself staring into the eyes of a beautiful, wide-eyed woman. Time seemed to stop, he could hear no sound besides a quiet buzz and his own thudding heart. The woman tilted her head, she seemed to be studying Sam and gradually a radiant smile formed on her face. Sam could not pull away, he stared, not quite believing what was in front of him. Something, though, was pulling at is consciousness, his mind slowly drawn away from the figure in the picture.
"Sam, Sam, Sam," he came to, releasing his hold, watching the woman vanish, leaving nothing but the animal hide story hanging where it always had.
"Sam, are you all right? What was that? Who was that?" Milly was grasping his arm, shaking him.
Sam felt dazed, his mind a jumble of thoughts and questions. He looked at Milly, then at his bloodied knuckles, a wave of fatigue swamping him.
"I don't know, Milly," he managed to weakly say, looking round again at the tree, "but I think I'd like to go home now."
-o-
Tari felt elated. She laughed, trying to understand what had just taken place. The frame had let her open a pathway, to where, there was no way to tell but she had seen a face. A young, freckled, red hair boy had stared back, appearing just as confused as she. Tari always knew there was a purpose for the frames and now it had revealed itself, the next step was working out how this marvel had happened.
The door opened and the Elf wheeled round to see Gorothan standing, surveying the destruction. He bent down, picking up the green figurine, slipping it in his pocket.
"You have been busy, Priestess," he hissed. "But it is of no consequence, I have no more need for these things. Now please, go back to your rooms and ready yourself, we leave in the morning."