A Handful of Time

by Keldarwyn

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I - A Handful of Time

Ten years had passed throughout Deltora, and peace reigned dominant throughout the ancient tribes and some newer peoples and creatures, like the people of D'Or and the Pirrans. Lief and Jasmine were both about twenty-six, almost twenty-seven, when Doom finally had pulled together enough courage to visit Dread Mountain again. In Dread Mountain, was the home of a man, who had rescued him when he escaped from the Shadowlands and had also taken his name. Doom of Hills.

It had been nearly nineteen years since Doom had came here, and it was almost painful. The tombstone had been brought out into the center of the clearing before the cave, and fixed up by the Dread Gnomes, who had found it before. Now it stood there, shining with light oil and appearing far more significant and new than the old piece of cracked rock it had been years before.

Lief and Doom came alone to Dread Mountain on horse. Jasmine was at home at the forge, caring for one month old Anna. Barda helped with little three-year-old Endon, who had begged him to stay with the largest watering puppy eyes, but only so he could ride on the Palace Guard's shoulders for a ride. Gla-Thon, quite old now, and Prin came to greet them, but they soon came to realize that their trip wanted privacy, and they let them alone, though Prin clung to Lief's side far too long.

The King of Deltora slowly knelt down to place some flowers by the grave. It was peaceful here, but the air and trees still grieved for the man who lost his life here. Doom stood back, stiff and unsure. When his son-in-law finally nudged in, he came forth and placed some flowers before it. Then, a warm breeze blew through, and a flower blossom tree nearby let loose a fluttering cloud of scented petals over the tombstone.

"He is at peace, Doom," said Lief softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Do not feel not the sorrow."

"It…it is hard," breathed Doom. "Coming here again brings many painful memories back, and I cannot ignore them."

"Then it was not right to return," he said, letting his hand drop to his side. "Perhaps we should leave, if it bothers you—"

"No," interrupted the man. "It is better, if I can release my sorrow like a burden on my back here." He felt Lief's eyes on him, studying him hard, and when his eyes had turned away, Doom knew it.

Then with a quiet and slow voice, Lief spoke, "You can, to me."

Doom turned and came face to face with him. Seeing the strong stubbornness in his dark eyes, he sighed and beckoning to Lief towards the shade of a Boolong tree, he sat down beside the young man and told his story.

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Nineteen years ago…

The thick staff, stained with old crusted blood, fell clattering to the ground as his knees gave way. For a long time, he did not know how many days, he had traveled away from the Shadowlands, where he had escaped a battle with a Vraal. Then, he had faced his pursuers, Grey Guards, and fought them, only to escape barely alive.

Perhaps he should have saved his energy and let him kill him; he was going to die anyway. But he had hoped, and those hopes had fallen.

I will just die here, he thought grimly as he pulled himself to his feet and staggered weakly from the spot which he had killed the Grey Guards. He leaned his back against a Boolong tree and closed his eyes.

Just as consciousness began to slip away, he felt hands take hold of him, and then the world went black.

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He woke in a dark and cold place and he felt something covering his eyes. Groaning, he shifted before sitting up, and then wished he had not. All the pain from the wounds he had taken from his desperate fight against his pursuers shot through him. A flame shot across his cheek and he grimaced, his hand coming up to gently touch the fresh and jagged scar. Blood came off onto his fingers, and he rubbed it between his fingertips gingerly.

"Ah, you are awake." The man's voice startled him, causing him to turn about and send more pain through his wounds.

"Who—who are you?" he croaked, his throat dry and parched. Whoever it was did not answer and instead pressed a mug into his hands. It felt warm, and something that smelled wonderful was inside, sloshing about a bit.

"Drink," said the man firmly, and he obeyed, though he started coughing, not prepared for the scalding drink. However, he began to feel strength returning to his body as the pain descended to a bearable sting. With a sigh, he let his head rest on the rock wall.

"I am Doom of Hills," replied the stranger. "I discovered you looking like a pack of Vraal found you."

He nodded, and continued to drink. When he had finished, the man took the cup from him and set it aside.

"Where am I?" he asked. Then a surprising question rang through his mind. "Who am I?"

"Ah, poor man," sympathized Doom. "We will find out, but in the mean time, you stay with me until you are well.

"Your eyes had been hurt by smoke and I have healed them, but they are sensitive to light, therefore you will not take off the blindfold until I say so."

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One or two days passed, but he could not tell; the blindfold was very good at blocking out the light. Doom continued to heal him, and kept him inside. His patient was quiet, never talking, but he listened, as Doom rose in the mornings, checked on him, worked and ate, checked him again, and then went to sleep. The man hummed happy songs softly to himself as he worked about and he found himself almost soothed by it.

Another day passed, and he was finally allowed outside on his own. It was morning then, and some sunlight seeped through but it did not hurt his eyes. Doom came up from behind him and handed him a pot.

"A stream is nearby," he explained. "You can get some water for us." His patient stared at him like he was a foreign monster, but he had understood. He had been staring because it had been the first time he'd saw him. Doom could not have been any older than himself, perhaps five to eight years older and he wore plain brown clothes that almost matched his hair and beard. Finally, he tore his eyes away and left for where he had heard the stream bubble by.

He had just dunked the pot into the stream, letting water flow and swirl into it, when he heard a rough voice shout. It was not the voice of Doom, but of a Grey Guard. He dropped the pot into the stream and raced back the long distance, fearing the worst.

He came too late; Doom's bloodied body lay on the ground in a crooked angle, as if he had been taken by surprise and then writhed in pain. From the dagger in his back he saw how he died.

Fury gripped him as he turned to the Grey Guards, the ones who had fled the last time he had faced them. The boy of Doom was nearby, and he pulled out the dagger carefully. The Grey Guards had not noticed him, as they were searching his cave, throwing things about and breaking some. He snapped a thick branch off a Boolong tree and with a cry, he lunged at them.

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As soon as Doom finished, a sudden powerful blast of wind tore through the clearing, scattering the flowers. Doom rose quickly and reached out to grab Lief's arm when a warp hole yawned wide open and sucked him in. A hand grabbed his own arm, and then both Lief and Doom tumbled in.

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Doom landed hard on the ground of…the same place? No, it couldn't be. He shook his head and blinked again. He was still in the clearing, and he still sat under the same Boolong tree. Doom stood on trembling knees and touched the bark of the wood. It came off as if it was a bug and then it crumbled like sand. Then he noticed the familiar scent of the air. It smelled no longer clean and light, but heavy and acrid. Smoke.

His heart leapt and Doom quickly checked the rest of his surroundings. The tombstone was gone, and smoke billowed out from behind the Dread Mountain. He could not see any Kin or Gnomes, or at least those who did not look like slaves. Then he remembered the scent in the air. It was the smoke from the Shadowlands.

Doom nearly jumped when he heard a sudden cracking of twigs and he whirled around. To his great surprise, there was a young boy perhaps only about eight years of age. Funny thing was that it looked like Lief.

The last thought struck him hard and he finally spared a look at himself. Nineteen years had been taken off and he appeared just like his normal self, but much younger. His heart a drum, he realized what happened.

"Lief, is that you?" he asked, crouching down to look the boy straight in the eye. The dark eyes that stared back were thoroughly startled and almost a little afraid, but it was not the fear of a young child, but supposedly of a man of twenty-six years.

"What happened?" asked Lief, still turning his arms over and checking himself. "I am only eight years old!" Then, seeing the same conclusion Doom had come upon, his eyes widened and instantly he lifted his shirt to check on the Belt of Deltora. It was nearly transparent, like a ghost, but it was still there, and solid, as Lief found out when he ran his fingers over the medallions.

"Why is it you think that we have traveled back in time?" hissed Lief, his fingers on the latch of the Belt of Deltora.

Somehow, Doom knew how to answer, and he did. "I had been sent back in time, but you have come with me, which should not have happened. I believe something, whatever it is, has given me the chance to change the past and perhaps rescue Doom."

"Yet shall we have to relive our lives again?"

"I hope not."

Then Doom heard someone leaving the cave before them.

"Make haste!" he urged, pushing Lief into the foliage. Doom too started to follow him, but then, he stopped short when he saw who was bursting out of the foliage, making the most noise possible. His nostrils filled with a bloody smell and someone who had not washed for days. Then, to his greatest surprise, he saw himself come into the clearing, staggering, his eyes glazed. Then he slumped against a Boolong tree, as if dead.

"Doom!" hissed Lief, tugging at his shirt. "We cannot be seen! If we are truly in the past, the man Doom—the other one—may see you and then who knows what may happen? If your past self sees you, he will think you are an Ol!" The young boy did not explain it well, but he saw the reason anyhow to not be seen. He quickly retreated into the bushes.

Soon Doom appeared out from the cave and rushed to his past self, quickly and easily lifting him and bringing him into the cave. Then, he watched in the dark shadows of the cave as Doom tended to him, cleaning his wounds and sprinkling herbs and rubbing salves before dripping a sort of liquid in his eyes and then binding then with a blindfold.

Doom, the present one, watched with his heart aching with grief. He was to die? Or could he save him?

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The days passed, ones which his past self healed. In those days Doom and Lief found themselves never hungry, as if they were ghosts and not human beings. However, they still felt the boredom in those days. Doom could only brush away the boredom by practising with his sword, but the younger Lief could not even lift his, which was the reason he left it off, as it also dragged on the ground when it hung on his belt.

The day which his past self came out finally, when Doom took off his blindfold. Doom could see himself blinking in welcome to the light. Then pot in hand, he left to the stream.

Doom tensed, remembering the moment.

"Lief, it is almost the time," he told him. Lief's dark eyes were clouded with deep thinking.

"Perhaps in one way," he said mysteriously, "but not your way." Doom stared at the child, and shook his head. He drew his sword, readying for the Grey Guards to come.

The great clattering of their arrival sounded. Doom was about to leap out when Lief grabbed his arm. For a child, he was quite strong.

"Think about it!" urged Lief. "What will happen if you save Doom?"

"Have a happier life," he hissed. "Let me go!"

"Think again—what else?" Then the young king pulled his hand to the golden topaz.

Although it was a ghost form of it, the magic was still there. Doom immediately felt the rush of power. What would happen? He certainly liked the man's company and would have stayed there—

The last sentence struck him hard. If he had, then most certainly the Resistance would not have started, and if so, it would not last, recalling the times when he held it firmly in place. And, if he helped, surely Doom would recognize him, ask his past self about it, who would not know about this. It would cause too many problems.

Doom finally saw what Lief meant. When he looked down into his eyes, he saw the same grief Lief felt, and he sank back beside him on the ground. He could not bear to look as Doom died, because of his decision.

"It is a right one, Doom," said Lief softly, resting a hand on his arm. Doom heard, but he winced at the same time when he heard the past Doom cry out when he was stabbed. Lief continued, "But you understand now that his death was for good? That you no longer need the guilt of not being able to save Doom?" He nodded numbly.

A breath of wind blew around them, wrapping them in a fluffy warm breeze. Then, Doom and Lief found themselves falling through the same warp hole that brought them back in time.



His senses returned again, and Doom blinked, his eyes burning from the sudden bright light. Lief's hand gripped his shoulder, and he heard the King of Deltora moan and rub his eyes. When they opened again, Lief turned to look at Doom. They stared at each other for a short while before they glanced around to take in their surroundings. The tombstone was still there, perfect and peaceful, like the clearing. Every few seconds, there was a stirring in the trees as air flowed through the foliage and noises from scampering animals.

"I do not understand how that happened," said Lief slowly. "I have never heard of such power."

"Nor have I." Doom turned to the young man. "But it has aided to my grief."

"Perhaps someone wants you to stop grieving," pointed out his companion. "It was a frightening experience, but one that helped."

Lief glanced up to the sky, and Doom could tell he was wondering about the time. "Have we been gone for all those days?"

"I do not think so," he said. "But we should be returning to Del soon. We will first, though, visit the Dread Gnomes and Kin." Lief nodded in agreement and started off in the direction where they had left the path up to the caves.

Doom turned to leave as well, when he felt a soft finger of air brush his cheek. Startled at the human feeling in the touch, he turned once more.

"I am glad," whispered a sweet, gentle, and familiar voice he had heard nearly twenty years before. "Your sorrow is gone, my love, and so is mine, seeing you grieve. Live again."

Then it was gone. Doom was not sure if it had been part of his imagination, but when he glanced up into the wispy clouds above, a small serene smile crept to his lips. How Anna could visit him after her death and send him back in time was puzzling.

But that is a different story.

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A glowing orb began to mount the darkly blue heavens, brightening it considerably. If one was awake and looked out, it was a sight that reminded all of what had recently happened. The day before, King Lief and his companions, Jasmine, a wild girl from the Forest of Silence, and Barda, a Palace Guard, had returned from the Shadowlands, returning every Deltoran slave, and defeating the Shadowlord once and for all. The sun was the peoples' new hope for a clear and wonderful future…

Sharn blew gently over her mug, rippling the surface of her warmed milk. She brought it to her lips, then sighed and set it down. Rubbing her eyes, she glanced outside again. The sun was rising steadily, caused the sky to blush a delicate pastel pink. The darkness retreated to the west, where it would stay until the fall of the sun again. She'd been awake for nearly a half-hour, and had sat in the kitchen, trying to calm herself with a cup of tepid milk. As Sharn watched, unaware of the passing time, the fiery ball rose, tinting the pale sky a rich gold and orange.

She started to turn away, but something caught her eye, as it always had since she became the blacksmith's wife, a weaver. On a hill to her left, a small dark spot marred the summit. The sun was bright and powerful, but it withdrew from that spot: it seemed to feel the very sorrow in that small patch of darkness that repelled its light.

The sky lightened, releasing a few rays of sunlight to fall upon the lonely cottage. Sharn absently rubbed her mug to warm her hands. She'd need to light the fireplace to cook breakfast, but she stayed in her chair, watching as rays flew over the roof to cast the obstacle’s long shadow.

It was a small cottage, perhaps with only two or three rooms. The roof’s two sides were very sloped, made of halves of tree trunks bent to arch inward, with the bark on the outside. On the eaves hung long-dead flowers and wood cages, empty of its original occupants. The house had but a few windows, and those that were there were small, with rotting window frames and dirty glass windows. Before it was a withered garden, on the south side, where the hill provided some extra flat land before it eased into the downward sloping of the hillside. The cottage once was quite friendly-looking, with canaries and nightingales singing in the cages and the fresh flowers' scent wafting everywhere. Those who ventured near would feel cheery from the peacefulness, except those who knew about Gheban the wise woman.

Sharn remembered. Gheban was ugly, old, lonely, and strange. She'd sing with a surprisingly lovely voice a song one would be certain came from the birds. Her pass times were to make medicine, salves, potions, and magical brews when she wasn't growing plants that didn't resemble anything close to normal plants. There would be flowers with cup-like heads, ate insects that flew too near, and had a sweet-sickly smell. There would be those fruit bearing plants that sprouted brown and green fruit with narrow necks and fat round bottoms. The people just couldn't accept that.

Sharn closed her eyes, recalling memories. When the woman opened her eyes, she opened them to her past...

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Lief was sick, so sick he could hardly open his eyes or speak. His bed had been brought out into the living room, where the couple could watch him together as one worked and the other cared for him.

When Sharn had pressed a hand against his forehead, she nearly jumped back when she felt the heat. She and Endon were frantic. What could they do? There were no healers dispensable in Del and those who knew some healing were at the same level of knowledge as she was, and Sharn had tried everything. But...

Sharn turned to look at the little cottage on the hill. Gheban was outside, humming to herself as she watered her funny plants, the midday sunlight falling upon her oddly, making her look even more homely. She glanced at Endon, whose face was still to hide his concern. None wanted to bring Lief to her.

Then suddenly, the little five-year-old boy turned onto his belly in his bed and trembling, his arms pushed himself up a tad. With a belch, he vomited on the floor. A pungent smell rose from the pinkish mess on the ground, but his parents were far too worried to notice it. Sharn took a bucket and held it by Lief until he was done throwing up the rest of his last meal, which had been very recent. Then with shaking hands, her hand patted around the tabletop until Endon gave her the wet rag. She mopped up the stuff.

"Are you sure there is no else?" pleaded Sharn as she dropped the rag in the basin and rinsed her hands.

"We have looked," he said, his brows furrowed with worry. "But there is no one else."

Sharn swallowed, and then straightened. "I shall bring Lief to her, then," she said. "You have that order for horseshoes to complete, and we need the food Ardum is offering in return." Endon saw reason in her decision, and though he longed to come with her, he could not put down an offer of food from the farmer when they were so low. Logically, it was best if he should not accompany his wife. Slowly, and a little upset, he nodded.

Sharn gathered Lief in many blankets—hoping to sweat out the illness—and pulling a cloak on, she left the house.

Barda was out, and when it was day, the gate stayed open. She hurried through, taking care to not bounce Lief too much.

The cobblestone road was not very busy, with many beggars and older children who were doing dares or exploring little nooks and crannies in the city. Some were working outside, some searching through garbage for food, some trading their products for other things. There were a select number of brave children who played by the streets. A rare chicken—a scrawny underfed one by that—appeared and pecked the ground while mice ran in a wild panic as a cat chased them. Bony dogs slept or amused themselves with whatever was nearby. The day was quiet, still; Sharn was glad for it.

She went around a corner, coming onto a pale dirt path that twisted around houses and cottages, and made her way uphill. Finally, Sharn was before Gheban's home.

The old lady glanced up in surprise. She stopped pouring water on a lilac plant as she watched with wary eyes the colour of pale jade as the younger woman approached. She straightened as much as her humped back would let her but kept her eyes on Sharn and her bundle.

Sharn halted before the old woman, uneasy under her alert glare. When she could not bear her scrutinizing eyes any longer, she burst out, "Stop it!"

Gheban froze, and then she let out a great loud bark of a laugh. Sharn noticed with relief that it was not evil nor greedy, but full of heartfelt joy.

"M'dear, what is it you have come for?" asked Gheban in her lovely voice after her fit of whoops was over. "Oh, where are my manners? Come in, my pretty one, would you like some tea?" Sharn knew better than to refuse, nodded, and followed Gheban into her home.

It was dark at first, and she wondered why there was no sunlight. When Gheban had lit the candles, Sharn saw thick curtains covering the small windows.

It was surprisingly nicely furnished, but simple still and cheap. There was a hearth and fire at the centre of the room, heating and lighting the room as well as cooking. There were about four candles at each corner, and Sharn smelled sweet scents from them. Gheban breathed in deeply and sighed, falling into an old rickety chair.

"I love the lilac's scent," she said. She misinterpreted Sharn's raised eyebrow and continued, "The candles are made of animal fat, and I mix the petals and lilac water in so my house would not smell of such a hideous scent. Now let us see your little boy." Numb with astonishment at the woman's friendly manner, Sharn had almost forgotten that Lief still slept in her arms. She came closer and gently placed the little boy into her arms.

The frail looking arms held her child quite carefully, rocking him as though he was still an infant. Then she pressed two fingers against his forehead before quickly dunking them into cold water. Sharn was startled at that: was he so hot that even the wise woman needed to cool her fingers in ice water?

Gheban held her fingers in there for a while before drawing them out. She touched his neck as she listened to him breathe. Gheban placed a hand on his stomach, waited, before handing Lief back to Sharn. During the entire check-up, Sharn watched with amazement. Awkwardly, she accepted Lief.

The frizzy-haired woman moved to her working table, pulling out some herbs, a pestle, and a bowl. As she began to work, Sharn found her voice again to speak, "What was that all about?"

"I had to find out how strong the medicine should be," replied Gheban without turning. "Give a child too strong a medicine, they die from it. Give them too weak a medicine, they die from the illness. It had to be strong enough yet weak enough to cure." She raised a hand and waggled her fingers. “How cold the water seemed to my fingers determined the heat. I put the heat in three categories: cool meant the illness is weak; cold meant it was building; icy, raging." Gheban turned slightly and tapped her throat.

"Under my fingers, I can feel whether something is obstructing his throat," she said. "I can hear if his breathing is ragged, thus something troubles his throat." She patted her stomach. "If I feel a strong uneven pulse and bubbling in here, it's ill." Sharn unconsciously touched her own stomach and felt a gentle gurgling. When she realized what she did, she put her hand down, blushing. She wanted to say how she measured Lief's sickness was incredible, but she kept that to herself.

"Here we are now." Gheban mixed in a powder into a bowl of warm water and handed it to Sharn. "Have him drink this."

Sharn was cautious about having her child drink a potion done by Gheban, and she could hardly trust her, but the old wise woman did not seem wicked but kind. She was led to a chair by a table to her left and she sat, handling the potion carefully. Gently, she murmured into Lief's ear to open his mouth. He did not seem to hear, but he obeyed. She poured the foul concoction into his mouth; he spewed it right out.

"Now, we cannot have that!" cried Gheban. She took him before Sharn could react and rocking him, she cooed to him until he was calm. Then she had the bowl in her hands and was pouring it slowly into his mouth. This time, he kept it down. Lief finished half of it before he refused any more, and promptly, he fell right asleep. Gheban handed him back to Sharn.

"There," she said matter-of-factly. The old woman gave her a small drawstring bag of the powder. "Give him some of this soup and have him drink lots of cold water. He shall be fine soon."

Gingerly Sharn accepted the bag and repositioned Lief's head on her shoulder. "Th-thank you," she stammered. "I—I do not know how I should thank you, but I, well, I cannot say until I see how Lief fares."

Gheban raised an eyebrow. "His name is Lief?" she asked. “‘Tis a fine name, given by a loving mother, meaning 'dear, beloved; treasured’. But I must thank you and admire you." It was Sharn's turn to raise a brow. "Not many mothers would risk even asking old Gheban for help in illnesses and would rather have them die. Very brave of you to defy such…knowledge about me." She sighed. "You should be on your way. Your husband pines." Does she think Endon would pine? Sharn wondered, a little amused.

Gheban left the room for another. As Sharn opened the door to leave, she saw her staring sadly into the empty fireplace.

"I will see you again," whispered Sharn hoarsely, unable to make her voice louder. Then she turned and departed.



Lief did get better. Sharn followed Gheban's instructions, and now her little boy was already starting to help his father with simple tasks like filling the tubs that cooled metal with fresh new water and hanging the laundry up with his mother. The fifth day after his encounter with Gheban Lief was studying with his parents again.

Sharn watched her child with a happy smile as he played with his stuffed toy of a Kin in the living room as she washed her rags. She turn to look out the window; Endon would be returning from delivering the horseshoes to Ardum the farmer soon and come back with the best scraps their friend had found for them. Sharn's eyes, however, froze on something else: a little dark cottage seated atop a hill.

She sighed, a little guilty. She had said she would return, and it had been two weeks from their meeting. I am frightened by her, she thought. Then she recalled the time when she had killed Prandine, Gheban's words that she was brave. Inwardly, Sharn grimaced. She was hardly brave, and killing Prandine had been desperation that drove her.

She heard Endon return. With a squeal, Lief dropped his Kin toy and ran to meet his father. She smiled and stopped washing her cloths to greet him. Her husband swung Lief into the air, who shrieked delightedly. Then he came over and kissed her on the cheek.

The family separated a small amount of food for that night's supper before going to store it away. Supper was a quick affair, and it finished in a short moment. There was still some sunlight left, about an hour or two before sunset and the curfew, and Endon had taken Lief out to play. Sharn remained inside, sewing a new shirt for Lief. He had torn his last one until it was unfixable.

Sharn had finished the last stitch when she cast a sidelong glance out the window back onto Gheban's house. The curtains were drawn again and from a chimney out floated curling grey smoke tendrils. The small chimney she had never noticed before near the front did not smoke, which meant Gheban was back staring into the fireplace as she had when she had left. Sharn vividly remembered the old woman's lonely look.

Sighing, she stood, brushing Lief’s new shirt out for wrinkles before setting it on the table. She might as well make her promised visit now. Pulling a shawl on, she left.

In a short time, Sharn stood before the door. She raised her hand to knock, but the door opened and Gheban peered out. When she saw her, a faint light in her eyes brightened, then died, and she let her in.

"Have a seat, will you?" she said, gesturing to the same chair she had sat in the last time. Sharn took it and draped her shawl on the chair's back, and the ugly old woman sat as well. "How is Lief?"

"He is perfectly fine, now," said Sharn almost timidly. "I would like to bestow my thanks to you."

"I accept them," she said stiffly. "I never got your name before. What is it? I am sure you know mine though."

"S-Anna."

"A wonderful name, meaning 'graceful one'."

Then Gheban stood. "I had not given you tea the last time," she said with a faint smile. "Perhaps you would accept it now?"

"Of course, thank you."

Sharn was handed a warm cup of tea. She sniffed its delicate but sharp scent and took a sip. "It is good!" exclaimed Sharn with surprise.

Gheban laughed, warming her hands with her teacup. "These teacups were my mother's," she said. "One of my meagre yet most prized possessions. This tea that you like is made from mint leaves."

"Where did you ever find them?"

"The tea leaves? Ah, the birds brought them to me, as they had brought many other things to me."

"The birds!"

"Yes, the birds," she said, letting out a small sigh. Gheban cast a sidelong glance to something in the shadows and with aged grace; she plucked it from the table and showed it to her. Sharn took it hesitantly. It was one of those funny shaped fruit, green-brown coloured and bottle shaped. When she felt its skin, she was surprised it felt like an apple's, except perhaps more weathered.

"That is a pear," said Gheban frankly. "It no longer grows in Deltora, though it once did. The seeds were brought to me by a cardinal, who later brought me the banana and the pineapple." She dropped two more strange fruits on the table. "From a strange hot land, these two grew in. You know that plant that eats flies outside in my garden? It is a plant that grew in a hot region and has come to adapt to our cooler weather."

"I—" Sharn swallowed her words and opened her mouth again. "I never knew that."

"No one did," she explained. "None had ever seen these marvellous plants before, therefore, it is evil. Have you ever noticed that when something new appears, it cannot be accepted?"

Sharn was about to object to that, but she recalled a memory that spoke against it. A year ago, a kitten had been born with a missing leg and a deformed face. It had been a friendly, gentle thing, greeting its parents, who had been oblivious to their child's strangeness, with love and never hurt the children that abused it, instead venturing for forgiveness of something it did not understand. Three days after its birth, the family who kept them tried to kill it, but it had eluded them. Then, four weeks later, a child found it and drowned it in the sewer.

"I am right, am I not?" said Gheban softly. "It is a sorry thing, but it is true. Although I know this, I will not seek to please their eye. What I am, I enjoy it. Do you understand?"

Sharn nodded, feeling awkward. But she still had questions. "How may you speak to birds?" she asked. "And how do you know those songs?"

Gheban then laughed; Sharn perceived suddenly that it was not a cackle as she had expected, but a full-hearted one. It was beautiful.

"It is an odd thing, to even one that sees oddity's value," she mused. "But now as I think of it, it becomes clear to me... ah yes." She glanced at me, "I listen." Seeing her incredulous look, she continued. "It is rare for many to understand. One tiny seed of doubt could prevent you. The songs birds sing do not have words comprehensible by humans, but by understanding the meaning of them, I make up my own words."

Sharn was almost breathless in amazement. In so short a time, so much information she had learned of Gheban! She took a long drink from her mint tea to suppress what might had become open mouthed, bug-eyed awe, and enjoyed the subtle, fresh taste.

"Ay, it is near sunset," started Gheban, staring out the window. Sharn looked too, and was surprised to see that the sun was already a fiery red ball near the horizon. It signalled the nearing of the Shadowlord's fixed curfew! She stood abruptly, the cup in her hands held still in careful hands.

"I must go," said Sharn, a little apologetic. She set the cup down on the table and gathering her shawl up, she turned to bid farewell to the woman.

"I can return again, could I?" she asked. Gheban nodded slowly and smiled, showing a few missing teeth in her rows of shining white ones. "Any time," she said. "I do love company. It is so rare." Sharn felt a pang of guilt before she waved and departed.



Between the next six years that passed, Sharn and soon afterwards, Endon ("Jarred, your name is? Hmm…the meaning is beyond me...But welcome!") and Lief, visited the wise woman often. It was she who aided to heal Endon's leg when a tree fell on it, whenever either of them had the smallest sniffle to a retching illness, Gheban whisked them to her home and gave them her homemade and effective remedies. In return, she asked for nothing, although Sharn would often cook something, sew something up, or weave a fine cloth for her. But it was never enough to repay Gheban for what she had done.

Endon was quick to like the old woman, yet Lief was hesitant, but the uncertainty lasted only for a short moment before he came to love her. Gheban was delighted, and treated them as family.

Then, that day came.

It was about two and a half weeks after Lief's eleventh birthday. Lief was out with his friends, roaming the city recklessly as ever and Endon and Sharn were at Ardum's house. The man's eldest son had taken a bad wound from a plough's blade falling on him and Sharn was there to help him while Endon took over his task and helped his friend bring in their scant and poorly crop of the year. The boy's bruises and cuts on his arms, body, and legs were infected, and Sharn wanted to stay, to ensure that the infection was burned out. Endon stayed with his wife.

Lief was not back, and he had been told to come to the farmer's home if his parents were not home, and he knew very well to never be out after curfew. Sharn knew that he had been out like this a few times, but she worried. And her worry ran deeper than usual, carving in more profoundly than it ever had. Sharn stared out the window into the rain, where Lief may be still out. She could just faintly hear her husband and Ardum in the other room, storing away the last bundles of harvest and talking merrily.

Then, the door banged open and Lief rushed in. His hair was matted with wet ash and his face was grimy with mud too. To Sharn's slight dismay, his shirt and pants was torn and burned. But it was the cause of the burns and rips that terrified Sharn.

"Lief!" she exclaimed, flinging herself to hug him. Lief held her tightly and though he hid it, she heard crying. It was hard to understand what he said at first through his sobs, but Sharn, paralyzed listened as he told them, "She…taken…Grey Guards burned house…tried stopping it…" With terror, she realized who he was talking about.

"Lief, calm down," she tried telling him, but her voice was too choked. Her mind buzzed with blankness that her long-time friend may had been taken.

"No," she heard herself croak. "Gheban!" Sharn tried standing and leave, but a pair of little hands close around her arm and held her back. She looked down; it was their friend's young daughter.

"Anna!" shouted Wren, Ardum's wife, reaching out for her though her feet did not move to come near her. "Do not try looking now. It is too dangerous—you may be caught by the Grey Guards!"

"It does not matter," whispered Sharn, her voice hoarse.

"What would Gheban want you to do?"

That struck her and sadly, Sharn had to accept it. "She would want me to be safe."



Years passed, and Sharn lived on, though the burning scar on her heart remained. Gheban's house stayed standing, though some was burnt, yet no one ever came to finish the job the rain had halted.

Gheban never returned.



~§¤§~





I cannot, thought Sharn sadly. I cannot avoid Gheban's home forever, or the past. The time can be now, and I may face it or run from it.

She rose from her chair and leaving her cup on the table, she left for the empty little cottage standing on the hill. Her feet moved quickly, and she reached the lonely building in a few moments. Sharn stayed before the door, on the old porch, unsure of entering. Finally coming to a decision, she pushed open the doors.

It was dusty, and the air was heavy, still, dry. An inch of dust was on everything and Sharn sneezed several times, her eyes streaming, until she came back outside again. That will not do, she thought defiantly, rubbing her eyes. Wiser now about entering the musty interior of the cottage, she covered her nose with her sleeve and squinted her eyes before stepping in, making sure her steps were slow and gentle.

Dust still billowed around her as she made her way to the windows. Her clumsy left hand managed to slide the latch off and then with a light shove, Sharn opened the windows. Clean air streamed in, and then a playful gust fluttered in, throwing dust into floating thick clouds.

I shall have to clean this place out, she thought as she opened the rest of the windows. Then she picked up the ripped bag of birdseed from the ground, careful to not step on any laying scattered the floor, and tossed handfuls after handfuls out onto the ground. Sharn watched for a while, and soon birds lit upon them and feasted. She smiled, remembering when she had first fed them.

She turned to survey the worst damage. The table and chairs were overturned and broken, some of her precious china cups were smashed, long dead ashes lay strewn on the hearth, and more destruction littered the cottage, in other rooms too, Sharn soon found out.

I cannot do anything here until I have a broom, she figured. Sharn went back outside.

The garden was there, and most of her plants had died of neglect or under the feet and fire of the Grey Guards and weather. Some wildflowers that had settled into the soil budded, but none were the gorgeous or exotic ones Gheban had grown.

Sharn felt her throat tighten, but she forced tears down. Not now, she thought determinedly. If only I had lilacs!

She began tearing weeds out, leaving only the flowers behind. When she finished, she turned to return to her home, but halted when she saw someone come by.

It was a little girl, perhaps only around the age of seven. In her hands, she held more wildflowers, but more beautiful than the ones that grew before her. The child did not seem to notice her, and she only realized why when she came up closer. She was blind.

Before her fluttered a hummingbird who pulled a piece of her blond hair, directing her to Gheban's cottage. The little bird led her to the front porch and there, the girl kneeled on the steps and set her forehead onto the top step. Even as far was Sharn, she still heard every word.

"Thank you, Gheban, for saving my mother," whispered the girl. "By saving my mother, you saved me. When I was born blind, you gave me the most trustworthy friend, Bria, who gave me Reddy when she died, to be the sight I did not have. I do not know you well, but for all you have done for me, thank you for your aid. I am sorry that you are dead…" She left the flowers on the deck before crawling from her perch. Then she left.

Sharn did not know how she felt. For the rest of her life, she would only be able to describe it as touching, but it was beyond being called an understatement, very far beyond. It was then she noticed something amid the wildflowers in the garden.

With trembling fingers, she gently brushed aside the other petals of the brightly coloured flowers. There, in the midst of the cluster of other plants, a small lilac flower grew. As Sharn watched, a breath of air stirred around her, and slowly, slowly, a petal fell, twirling, to the ground.
 

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