This book has been a long time in the making.  It started rolling around in my brain back in 2008.  Since then I have only halfheartedly worked on it as I went about the rest of my life (graduate school, marriage, overseas jobs etc). I have edited and rewritten the first few chapters more times then I can count.

When I am stuck, I rewrite.  I edit.

 It has changed forms numerous times.  A single book, a trilogy, a set of 2, back to a single book, back to a trilogy.  My outlines never seem to stay outlined for long. I've changed the order of chapters, character names, character attributes.  I've introduced new characters and removed old ones.

This is my attempt at getting myself out of that rut and making a concerted effort to actually finish this book. 

Now is when I ask for your help.  Read, enjoy, comment.  Let me know what works, what doesn't. What you love, what you hate. What you think might happen, what you would hate to see happen.

Thank you in advance!  All of your help is greatly appreciated.

-Diana

A heavy grey mist was swirling around her. It was damp and clung to everything it touched

It was suffocating.

The mist hid the world from her eyes, and yet she could almost…feel the world around her. Just beyond the end of her sight she could sense them. She could feel their silent cries for help vibrating through the overpowering mist.

She tried to move forward towards them, but the mist merely swirled around her faster. Each movement seemed to tangle her up further as it clung to her body like seaweed. Cloying at her flesh. Pulling her down and making her limbs feel heavy and weak from effort.

She fought against it, but the more energy she put into it, the more it seemed to cloud her mind and entangle her limbs. Yet she found she could not give up, she knew that she must keep moving, though to what end she did not know.

The physical barrier of the mist was fast becoming a mental one. Icy hands felt as though they gripped her lungs, squeezing out the last of her painful breaths. She clawed blindly at the damp choking web that covered her face; she fought to keep terror from taking over her movements. She had to get out of this mist before it killed her.

Exhaustion crept along her bones, the heaviness in her limbs intensifying. The world of grey swirled before her. A well of strength surged up within her and she fought harder. Flashes of gold lightning crackled along the corners of her vision. And though she could feel herself begin to sink down under the weight and pull of the heaviness around her, blurs of blue and green pulsed before her eyes pushing back against the darkening blur that was the rest of her vision.

She tried to make sense of the patterns and flashes of colored light around her, feeling the importance of them. There was something solid, real, and comforting about them that seemed to penetrate the fog in her mind just as it did the fog in the air.

She focused on the lights before her eyes, and as they came into focus, so too did the mist begin to thin.  A breath of air wiggled past her cheek, as though she had been in a deep dank cave and had come upon a shaft to the surface that let fresh air in. Pushing with all the strength she had left she moved forward one step, and another. And another.

She felt a shift in the air and the crushing hands on her chest were gone. She could breathe again.

She inhaled deeply. And choked on the stench of burning and decay as it coated her suddenly free lungs…

Ceri pulled her shawl tighter about herself as she wound her way through the market stalls. While it was still warm, the crisp edge of fall had begun to creep its way into the air. Glancing behind, she could see her cousin bargaining for silks. Quickly ducking behind another stall she left her cousin’s voice behind. Taking a deep breath, she savored the spicy market air and worked to clear her head. The smell of food vendors selling an alluring mix of meat pies spiced apples and fresh biscuits mingled with the distinct tang of the coming season.

She had always loved the Market in the city of Tabor. The sounds, the smells, the people, the distance traveled by both merchants and their wares; it all fired her imagination and gave her a taste of adventure that was lacking in her daily life  She often gravitated towards those merchants who had traveled up to Zara from her native land of Nasira in the south. She remembered little of her homeland, but always felt as though she could smell the warm sea salt air on the merchants and their wares.

Ceri felt her senses were sharper in the Market. Perhaps it was pure sensory overload with so much more to see and hear in comparison to life on her uncle’s estate. Likely her mind had to work overtime to process everything, heightening her awareness.  The daily tasks which came along with being the niece and ward of the Lord of Zara were too often boring and mundane. Mix that daily repetition along with her oft disturbing dreams and it was no wonder she felt drained and dulled. The super-sensory experience of the market once a week came as a blessing and recharged her soul.

While she stilled loved the market, her joy had diminished over the years as she adjusted to the absence of her best friend, Taras. His life as a Ranger had begun in earnest 5 years earlier, and he had moved up the ranks quickly. As proud as she was of him and all he had accomplished, his duties as a Captain took him away from Tabor and all across the land of Zara and beyond far more then she liked. Even before he had moved into a position of leadership, his duties at home had often taken up too much time to allow him to explore the market with her as they had in her childhood.

Ceri moved slowly among the market, stopping at her favorite vendors as she went. She rarely bought items, but she considered each merchant a friend and enjoyed catching up with them on their travels. Today she found the Fall Festival on the lips of all she spoke with. Everyone was eager to discuss the festivities to come as well as their own contributions to the festivities. For many it would be the last hurrah to sell as much of their wares as possible before the first heavy snow and the return home. This is where she found she missed Taras the most. His open and friendly nature meant instant and easy friendships for him with all he met, allowing him to always draw out the most interesting of tales from his new friends. She was more reserved by nature, but Taras had always been able to draw her from her shell.

Winding her way amongst the rest of the market stalls she demurely declined all offers of “pretty silk for pretty ladies” and exotic scents sure to “ensnare and enthrall” her beau. She did cave to her rumbling stomach and purchase a small meat pie from Bernerd the Baker, its savory scent having drawn her in with juices bubbling up through the flaky crust. Alighting atop a small wall at the edge of the market she settled in to enjoy her indulgence. Her perch afforded her a view of both the market and the town square below her. As she looked out above the heads of those around her she was almost able to forget her place in this world and their lives.  For a moment, she was simply Ceri. But soon the sidelong glances, hushed whispers and startled curtsies from passersby brought her back down to earth. Apparently the sight of Lady Ceridwen Sidra, niece and ward to Lord Oreo, sitting atop a wall trying to catch the juices from a bubbly meat pie before they dripped down her chin was too much for the citizens of Tabor. Despite the status of capitol city, Tabor was still too small to allow her to truly disappear amongst the masses regardless of how much she might wish to.

Hopping down from her seat, she wound her way from the market downhill towards the square. Apart from the actual market, the square was Ceri’s favorite place on Market Day as musicians, acrobats, and puppeteers made it their home. Each Market Day was different, but today the most popular attraction seemed to be a puppet show. A small theatre was surrounded by giggling children, and quite a few jovial adults.  Smiling at their joy, Ceri turned her feet towards their cheery number.

She was forced to check her stride about half way across the square as a dog ran across her path, a string of sausages held firmly in its mouth and his lead dragging limply behind him. In hot pursuit came a small boy, calling after the mongrel promising both treats and punishment every other breath. Ceri followed their progress with her eyes, laughing as the comedically perfect pair wound their way across the square and through its inhabitants.

As the dog and its erstwhile owners disappeared from her sight, Ceri’s eyes alighted on a tent at the edge of the square with markings she did not recognize. She did not remember seeing it before and was certain it was new to the market. Perhaps the owner had only recently arrived for the Festival. It was not uncommon after all for traveling merchants to make Tabor their final destination this time of year. And it looked as though this merchant could benefit greatly from the large crowds in town for the Festival who were looser with their purse strings during the festivities than any other time of year.

The tent was old and worn, and had no doubt seen more than its fair share of market days over the years. Despite its wear, a warm and welcoming light shone from behind the loosely hung door flap. The half covered entry on a market tent usual indicated a higher quality of wears within, or those of a more delicate nature. It allowed shoppers a small level of privacy as well as a reprieve from the crowds beyond in the square.

The loose flap waved gently in a breeze that Ceri could not eel and a soothing scent floated out to her. She could not name the scent, yet it was somehow familiar to her. Like the damp of the earth, or the almost forgotten spray of salty sea air. Forgetting the puppet show altogether, Ceri crossed the remainder of the square to hesitate only a moment with her hand on the tent flap Inhaling deeply, she found the courage somehow grounded in the scent that drew her in. Lifting the flap and ducking slightly, she entered.

If the outside of the tent showing little of remark, the inside was an entirely different story. It was larger than she expected for while it had been hammed between neighboring tents, the inside seemed almost spacious. The sounds from the market and square just beyond the door were muffled to an almost non-existent state, lending to the feel that she had entered a different world of sorts.

A carpet covered the ground and though old and worn like the tent, its quality showed through its obvious age. The canvass walls of the tent were lined with shelves, each crammed full of books, carvings and various trinkets. The ceiling was supported by poles that radiated out from an open air skylight in the center like a starburst. Hanging from the poles was what must have been hundreds of colored crystals and stones. Light streamed in through the skylight and bounced across them showing flashes of color as they danced in a breeze that Ceri still could not feel.

In the corner, a small table stood with a plain clay bowl. Within it smoldered a dried plant that appeared to be the source of the scent that had first drawn her in. She still could not place it, nor did she recognize the smoldering leaves. Tendrils of smoke wound their way around the room seeming to wrap themselves around the hanging crystals.

Ceri approached the nearest bookshelf and walked along it, tentatively trailing her hand across the worn covers. They were old, many of them so weathered their titles were all but gone. She could almost feel her fingers tingle at the thought of the vast knowledge each might contain. The titles were written in a strange script, or language, that she had never seen before.

Whatever these books were written in was nothing she had seen in her uncle’s library, nor the stalls of visiting vendors, before. When she had been younger and recently arrived at her uncle’s estates she had often ensconced herself in the library. She had sent hours pouting over books of all shapes and sizes from across the land. Becoming so enthralled by what could be written, she had eventually begged her uncle to hire a language tutor so she could read all of the books she came across. These were the first she had seen in a long time that she could make nothing of.

Gingerly, she pulled a book with no title from its shelf and turned the pages. They were fragile and dry under her fingertips. Old books had always been her favorite; the musty, earthy smell pulling her in and transporting her to another time or place. The book she held now was filled with handwritten scribbles, as though it had been a journal or diary. At first she thought the author simply had poor handwriting as the text was small and cramped preventing her from making heads or tails of it. But as her eyes focused on the slanted lines she realized it was simply more of the strange language. Following the writing across the page, her brow furrowed of its own accord in concentration. Every now and then, she would feel an odd flare of recognition of a particular symbol, but it would soon fade away as she was forced realize that she had no real idea of what it stood for.

A muttering from the back of the tent startled her from her study. She returned the book to its shelf somewhat guiltily and turned to notice another flap entrance to a different section of the tent. She hesitated, unsure of how to make her presence known, but before she could decide on the appropriate course of action, the flap was drawn aside to reveal a man. He was older than her, yet Ceri was left uncertain as to what his age might be. While his hair was dusted with silver, his face seemed youthful with few lines. A faint scar curved from his temple, across his cheek and down his chin. His bearing was tall and he moved with surety.

The man paused mid-stride as he took in Ceri’s presence, seeming neither surprised nor annoyed by her unannounced appearance. Their eyes met and Ceri saw a flash of gold spark somewhere in the deep of his dark green eyes.

“I was beginning to wonder when you would come.”  His voice was smooth, though a gruff and weathered undertone did betrayed the slightest trace of an accent. She found, like everything else associated with this tent, that she could not quite identify or place the accent. Ceri remained silent, unsure of how to respond to such a greeting. Her host seemed neither put off nor insulted by her lack of response and continued speaking. “I have had no other visitors today.  Would you care for some tea?”

The man gestured towards a small table and chairs that sat in another dusky corner of the tent. As odd as he appeared, Ceri felt safe in his presence, as well as intrigued by both the man and the wares in his tent. She did as he bid her and settled herself in a chair at the indicated table.

Her host watched as she sat, and then, as though pulling himself from his own private thoughts, he gave his head an almost imperceptible shake and unhurriedly retrieved a small wooden box from one of the shelves.  Walking back through the flap he had entered from, he secured it to the side allowing Ceri an unhindered view of him as he sprinkled dried leaves from the box into a kettle. He hung the kettle on a hook and swung it over the fire to heat. Disappearing from her view she could hear the sound of rattling dishes and the occasional mutter she could not understand. He returned soon and placed two mugs and a small plate of biscuits on the table before her. He returned to the hearth and removed the kettle. No words passed between them and Ceri was content to simply watch as her host strained the tea and served them both.

As the tea was poured he scent rose and she inhaled deeply. Again, she felt a strange tugging on her brain, as though a long forgotten memory was stirring in the back of her mind Hazy images shrouded in mist rose up, yet whenever she attempted to grab a hold of and focus on one it would dissipate into the mist again. It was as if it belonged to a part of her memory that ran so deep she could no longer recall it. Almost like a memory of a memory…perhaps not even originally belonging to her.

Her host had taken the seat opposite Ceri while she had been preoccupied with her thoughts and he watched her now, intently, across the top of his mug through the steam. Ceri came back to herself and sipped her tea hesitantly, rolling the hot liquid over her tongue and savoring the spicy earthiness it offered up. Cupping the mug between her hands to keep them occupied she raised her eyes back to her host.

They sat in silence a few moments more; her host in seeming silent contemplation of some distant point just beyond Ceri’s shoulder. He seemed in no hurry to strike up a conversation and as her upbringing was rearing its head she felt pressured to start a conversation and play hostess, for all that it was his tent.  As a Lady of Zara she was honor bound to care for the wellbeing of all those who visited. Unsure of how to start a conversation that would put both this strange man and herself at ease, she simply cleared her throat and dove right in.

“You are new to the market are you not?  I do not recall seeing this tent before.” His eyes slid back into focus as they shifted back to her face. He studied her for a moment longer, than sipped his tea before responding.

“It has been many years since I have had a tent in this market. You would not remember me.” The nagging pull that this tent and its contents (both human and inanimate) caused on Ceri’s brain made her more forward then she would usually be to a man who seemed as cryptic and reluctant to respond with anything of great import Perhaps she could get him to elaborate on the things she seemed unable to place.

“This tea...the smell is so familiar, yet I cannot place it. I was never very good at remember the names of herbs and plants.” She trailed off with a smile, hoping her self-deprecation would trigger him o name the unknown herb and provide her with something to help her addled brain. But her merely inclined his head in acknowledgement of her words and remained silent

She did not press the issue further, finding she was reluctant to force him to reveal that which he seemed to wish to keep to himself. As much as her curiosity urged her on, she felt that abiding by his wishes was…safer? She started internally at the choice of word.

She had not felt unsafe in his presence, but a sudden feeling that she would not like the answers he gave if she were successful caused a need to distract herself. She looked around the tent with renewed interest, her eyes were caught by the sparkling array of crystals that hung scatted across the tent beams. Her eyes skipped from one to the next, taking in their shapes, colors and hues. Each one different from the last. She longed to reach up and touch them, feeling a surety that they would be cool to the touch despite the sunlight that streamed through them.

A breeze wafted through the tent, this time one that she could feel on her skin, and sent the crystal swaying more determinedly. They tinkled softly as they winked at her and brushed against each other, a soft melodious sound. Ceri found it soothing and comforting to her jangled nerves.

“You have some very beautiful things. I have never seen crystals such as these in the markets of Tabor.”

“Nor are you likely to see them anywhere else. They traveled a long way to be here and are very old.” He offered to additional information and they relapsed back into silence. Ceri took the time to complete a better inspection of her host. There was little of remark about him, at least nothing that would cause him to stick out in a crowd. He seemed utterly inconspicuous. Though as she looked closer she found it hard to believe he would not stand out wherever he was. His clothes, though worn and showing their age, were obviously fine and of high quality. Her experienced eyes picked out the work of a clever seamstress and her darning needled in several places.

Glancing down at his hands where they lay on the table with his almost untouched mug of tea nestled between them, she noted their size. Strong and weathered from years of work. She could place the manual labor he must have done to work his hands into such a state, but despite a delicate golden ring upon his hand smallest finger (his only visible adornment), his hands gave the impression that many a tool, or weapon, was comfortable within his strong grip.

Suddenly the awkwardness of the situation overwhelmed her. What was she doing her in this tent have silent tea with a man she had never met before?  What scolds her cousin would be giving her if she were here.

Oh God. Evelyn. Her cousin would be livid if she was kept waiting. Leaping to her feet she hurriedly made her excuses as she gathered her shall back around her.

“I am so sorry. My cousin– … I forgot–… She will be livid if she is forced to wait overlong for me. I must go.” She whirled toward the exit before remembering herself and spun back to her host. “Thank you for the tea. It was most appreciated.”

Turning once more to take her leave, a flash in the corner of the tent caught her eye. Unable to stop herself, she turned her head to view the small crystal. It was at least a quarter of the size of the next smallest one and she knew it would nestle into her palm perfectly. It was a deep green and as it swayed in the breeze, the light bounced golden rays from the amber veins that seemed to snake throughout the crystal.

“Something has caught your eye.”  Her host stated, not asking a question. He reached above her head and pulled the crystal down from where it hung. Holding it out in the palm of his hand for her to see she brushed her fingers over the cool surface and marveled at the find amber veins running deep throughout the jewel-like crystal without piercing the green surface. “This crystal is said to offer protection to the bearer.”

“It is beautiful.”

“It is yours.”  Her head shot up and she stared at him in surprise

“I couldn’t.” She protested, even as she was reluctant to move her hand away from the gem. Something about it drew her to it.

“I insist. Perhaps you will find it useful in protecting you from nightmares?”  He winked at her as though they shared a private joke, but the soft smile that touched his lips as he looked down at her seemed to belie the joking nature of his comment. But how could he possibly know of the dreams that plagued her sleeping hours? “Come, I will not take no for an answer It is a gift between friends.” With that he grabbed her hand and placed the crystal in her palm, curling her fingers around it where it did indeed fit perfectly.

“It is a truly beautiful gift. I– thank you.” She finished tremulously as she gripped the crystal tight, her other hand out to the man who too it firmly in between his own. “My name is Ceridwen.”

“They call me Radek.”