Chapter 3
Intrusion

anet, an old friend of the family, discovered that Daenara had returned, and was anxious to see her. She wished to give Daenara her former job at the book emporium, and extended an invitation for her to dine at the elven gardens, where Janet resided. Although Daenara was hesitant at the idea of leaving Deacon—the old woman had requested she not bring the child—she was very keen to take back her position and accepted the invitation.

However, that very same day, Daenara had been troubled by dark images; every sound seemed to set her on edge like a sensitive, care-worn nerve. She attributed this anxiousness to lack of sleep and so decided, against her better judgment, to take Rosa’s advice and visit the seer.

Daenara left Deacon at her brother’s—she would trust him to no one else—and took a walk outside the city gates. By the river little bugs hovered over wildflowers. Ripples every now and then appeared on the surface, as fish took snaps at them. Lara Gully, a tiny slip of a woman, barely taller than her eldest child, was out gathering blossoms. Her horde of children, scattered at the riverside, created a beastly amount of noise, slapping at the water as they tried to catch fish. As Daenara paused to watch, she felt an ache of longing.

Lara’s house was further down the road, but she often came up near the city gates to speak with the guards. Kahn, the broadest and possibly most dim-witted of all the guards, received most of her attention. He had a broad grin on his face as he watched her. Occasionally she would stop to yell at the children splashing about too wildly. When they had ignored her for the last time, she hitched up her dress, much to Kahn’s delight, and went into the water to drag them out by the scruffs of their necks.

She received little help from her husband, a brutish sort of man, who lived at the tavern more than he did at home. Lara didn’t seem to mind, but then half of her children belonged to Kahn. Everyone but her husband seemed to know this.

Despite the commotion, sheep grazed lazily, along with several fat brown hens. They went flying in a mad fluster when Daenara walked through. To the far left of the gates was a small beaten path, which Rosa had instructed her to take. It led Daenara into a part of the woods that a shadow hung over even in the daytime.

Here was a tall, dark house, a lonesome, bodiless thing that seemed slightly crooked in structure, having a leaning appearance that if looked at for too long gave a sensation of light-headedness. It was not because the earth beneath was unstable, but because the wood itself seemed to bend and groan with life of its own. Greenish-grey smoke billowed out of the motley stone chimney, and filled the air with mysterious spices.

Daenara stepped up to the long, secretive-looking door; she raised a hand to knock, but the door opened of its own accord as if pulled by an unseen hand. The hall was dark, lit only by a single candle. A strange wind, as soft as it was foreboding, swept along the polished wood floor and rushed through her skirt. At this moment she lost courage and turned to leave, when sweeping out from a side room came a beautiful olive-complexioned woman. She wore a long billowy dress the colour of pale blue ice. It fell from her slender shoulders most exquisitely. Her dark hair was lit with highlights, as if the silver moon perpetually shone down upon it.

“Welcome,” she said, her voice vacant and distant, as if it rose from the depths of water, like a spirit from the sea. She slowly turned, as if having no sense of time, and led Daenara through to a large room, which would have been horribly dark if it had not been lit by a brilliant fire in the hearth. It had a strange mingling of old and elaborate furnishings from many different lands: fraying rugs, stone jars and mortars, quaint and ornate chests, and mysterious dark bureaus.

With a fluid gesture, the seer offered her guest a seat. In a leisurely manner she unhooked the kettle from the fire and poured a cup of tea. Each and every movement was precise and deliberate.

Once seated, the seer finally looked at Daenara, making her shift uncomfortably. There was something intensely mystical about the smoky, heavy-lidded eyes and full dark lips of the seer. The seer had an indiscernible expression but then inhaled deeply. A sudden twitch in her neck gave an odd contrast with her earlier fluidity.

She spoke in a deeper voice than she had previously, far more commanding. “What is it that you seek?”

Uncomfortable with the entire situation, Daenara said, “I want only to purchase some herbs …to help me sleep.”

The seer, with those shadowy eyes, looked at Daenara, probing and searching. “There is a veil over your mind,” she said, “something hidden.”

It was then Daenara decided to make the most of her visit and stammered, “I have been having dreams. They come to me more like visions. I want to understand them.”

The seer seemed to liven at this prospect, and she produced a small, sharp knife that had been tucked away somewhere in her dainty bosom. “Give me your hand.” Daenara shrank back, protectively holding her hand as if it had already been stuck. “You may command me only to the extent in which you are willing to obey me. Now give me your hand.”

The softness in her expression redeemed her sharpness, and Daenara felt compelled to obey. Squeezing shut her eyes, she held out her palm, waiting for the pain, but she felt nothing more than a little sting on the fingertip. When she reopened her eyes, a pinprick of blood showed on the tip of her finger. The seer placed a drop of it in the tea and swirled, taking care not to spill any. Then she downed the concoction.

Her eyes instantly rolled upward, and her lids fluttered closed. Daenara waited nervously as the seer’s eyes darted under their lids, back and forth, as if she was dreaming. Then the seer spoke. “You run from something.” There was that strange tic again. She remained in her altered state as though searching through thoughts and memories. “A man robed in black. You feel his presence only in the blackest recesses of your mind. A man with eyes of blue flame.”

Here the fire went dark in the hearth as if suddenly snuffed out by the breath of her words. Everything in the room seemed to shift, as thin light from the narrow window took over as the only source of light, and Daenara suddenly felt several presences in the room. They crowded round her; she felt them brush against her skin like a breath of ice wind. In voices that seemed nowhere and everywhere, they murmured indistinctly, but their tone conveyed fear and awe.

Daenara rose sharply to leave, but a strong hand took her wrist. The seer held her fast.

“The man you love—and the man you fear—are one and the same, and he is dark—dark and terrible. He knows the dead, and the dead know him,” whispered the seer, as if she spoke from deep under water, which she could not rise above. Daenara was afraid. She knew that the seer was using a form of necromancy and that it was an illegal practice. Slowly the shadowy eyes fluttered open, and Daenara felt the strange presences slowly disperse, fading back into the walls, dark corners, and shadows. The air was once again empty.

“I have something for you,” said the seer in her usual voice. She released Daenara and went into a back room. Daenara waited, holding her wrist. She glanced round the room, fearful anything spectral should come out from its hiding place.

In a moment, the seer returned, carrying two neatly wrapped tiny packages. She offered one first. “This is to help relax you. Drink it before you sleep at night.” Then she placed the second package in Daenara’s hand. “This is used for strong warding spells. Place it in front of your door, and no one who means you harm shall be able to enter.” Daenara nodded wordlessly. For a moment she thought she saw fear in the seer’s eyes.

Once she was outside, the world seemed normal again. Daenara felt as though she had come out of some strange dream. The further down the path she walked, the better she felt. The air was alive with the trilling of birds, busy in their daily activities. Soon she could see the city walls and Lara with her children. The sight was welcoming, and Daenara hastened her step, anxious to be home.

The whole experience left her sufficiently shaken that she cancelled her prior engagement to dine with Janet. After several days passed with nothing eventful occurring, Daenara began to relax again. She had been faithfully taking the herbal remedy and at night slept well. A rose was returning to her cheek. Janet noticed this over the passing days and again extended the invitation. Rosa had the long and tiring task of convincing Daenara to go, repeatedly reassuring her.

“Even the wisest among us must be wrong sometimes.” Rose smiled as she spoke. “My mother was once told by a seer that she would come into the fond company of a singularly handsome man and would be betrothed at once.” Daenara stared blankly, not understanding. “She married my father two days later.” The last response drew a slight smile from Daenara, as she thought of the short, round baker, who, though tenderhearted, was hardly singularly handsome.

After much persuasion Daenara agreed to go to the dinner. Dressed in an elegant evening gown, her hair pinned up simply and gracefully, she gathered Deacon into her arms for the last kiss of the evening.

He was a little hesitant and distant with his mother, being unaccustomed to seeing her done up so extravagantly, and her perfume, a pungent scent of wildflowers, was unfamiliar to him. It had been a gift from Rosa. Clara took him from Daenara’s arms, trying to offer him sweets as a consolation for giving up his mother for the evening, but he flatly refused. His attention set greater value on what his mother was up to.

The door closed behind Daenara, shutting out the light and Deacon. She could hear Clara speaking reassuringly to him. Daenara hated leaving him. She felt as though she was abandoning him. In her hand she clasped the pouch of warding herbs. Gathering her dress round her legs, she squatted down at the doorway, and taking a handful of the herbs, sprinkled them across the threshold. As she did so she caught, out of the corner of her eye, a guard staring at her with an odd look of bemusement on his face. Slowly, he turned his head aside, feigning disinterest in her peculiar behavior. Hurriedly she stood and surreptitiously placed the pouch in a geranium pot.

Her shoes clicked on the cobbled stones, as she made her way to the gates of the elven gardens. Two guards were posted there. Slipping them a piece of parchment that allowed her entry, she waited nervously as the large, heavy doors were cranked open. Once inside, Daenara could hardly believe only a single stone wall separated the city from this ethereal Eden. There were so many intricate hidden paths and steps that led to secret little haunts of wonder and enchantment that to look for someone here would be like playing hide-and-seek.

Evening tranquility had settled over the gardens, inviting Daenara to stroll awhile. A hushed sense of peace and harmony came over her as she drifted through an archway of marble pillars, roofed by pale blue flowers, that cascaded like a fragrant waterfall.

Laced throughout the gardens were stone and timber homes that, while somewhat humanized, were endowed with refined elven characteristics. Hidden pathways led to private courtyards, and blossoms cascaded over balconies and silver railings—their sweet scent lingering in the still evening air. Little white flowers that looked like bells arranged up a delicate stem graced the edge of a majestic pond with water flowing down from smooth rocks. The elves believed water should always be living and never allowed to stagnate.

Finally Daenara arrived at Janet’s immaculate dwelling. It was charming and elegant. Growing up the walls were thick, woody tendrils, adorning the stone with purple, pendulous blossoms. In the front door were two long narrow windows, with ornate wrought iron climbing up the glass like flowering vines. An exceedingly well-dressed man, with a stiff neck and proud tilt of his head, admitted Daenara with a rehearsed greeting.

Inside was not quite what she had expected. It was a fine home, the sort anyone should be proud of, furnished with deep colored woods and rich reds, but she had somehow expected it to be more elvish and less human. Being in such a stately home, Daenara felt an uneasiness and a need to put on a certain pretense of propriety. Quietly she walked down the hall, observing the elaborate hanging tapestries. Through a large archway, she saw into the dining alcove. A long table was set elegantly for two. She was on the verge of clearing her throat when Janet came sweeping out from the kitchen. In her hands she carried a long, silver platter, upon which was a succulent cut of meat on a bed of fragrant herbs.

The elderly, prominently-featured woman greeted Daenara with keen pleasure. She had silvery hair, like finespun cobweb, taken up into a becoming roll and fastened with a pretty jewel. Apart from the servants, Janet was all alone in the big house and was happy to have company. She enjoyed being the hostess, pouring out wine and serving dinner in a well-bred manner. The evening progressed delightfully, but Daenara was persistently distracted by strange, intangible feelings that made her grow restless.

Back at the house Clara sat in the dwelling-room, quietly knitting. Thaemon had put the children to bed and had just sat down in his favorite chair with a cup of bitter coffee when a sharp knock was heard at the front door. Thaemon had barely opened it when a group of men barged their way through as though they were expected. At the unexpected intrusion, Clara stood with a sharp exclamation of surprise.

The men were all dressed in matching robes and equipped with swords. Thaemon immediately identified them as Imperial Guardians, an elite group of magic-users, also trained in the use of weapons. They were utilized by the council to enforce laws and investigate crimes related to magic. Pulling his wife protectively to his side, Thaemon asked, “What is the meaning of all this?”

He directed his demand at the tall man with shoulders squared in a militant posture, who appeared to be the commander of the group. His name was Aéoden. He approached Thaemon with the same patronizing politeness he would a regular civilian, while several of the other men dashed upstairs.

“My children are up there!” Thaemon said, starting forward, but his path was barred. Frustrated and helpless, he returned to his wife’s side. She looked at him with a pleading expression, for him to do something, but he was as helpless as she.

Janet was chattering away happily, not yet realizing her words were unheard. A strong feeling had possessed Daenara, as if something terrible were taking place. “Are you all right, dear?” Janet inquired, pouring wine from a silver carafe. Daenara rose from her seat in a feverish manner. Hurriedly, she thanked her hostess for the lovely evening, and insisting she was not feeling well, excused herself. Full of an intangible fear that something evil was about to befall her son, Daenara began to run.

At the house, it was not long before the men came downstairs and stated that the child was gone. Thaemon’s face darkened, and he suddenly tore up the stairs, with such a fierceness it would have taken several men to stop him if they had tried. Bursting into Cedrik’s room, he felt his heart stand still. He saw that Deacon’s bed was empty. Cedrik stood, dazed and afraid, in the middle of the room. Without a beat missed, Thaemon collected up his son, then his daughter too, who had wandered into the hallway, abruptly awakened.

When Thaemon had placed his children in the care of their mother, he accosted Aéoden, and demanded the situation be explained. Here the front door suddenly flung open, and Daenara flew hectically inside. She stopped dead. She was surrounded by strangers and saw Clara huddled up with only two children. Thaemon stood at her side looking tortured. Daenara felt the hot blood rush to her head and rapidly drain again and would have collapsed if not for the strong arms of the guard who stood nearest.