I never think of the future. It comes soon enough.
~Albert Einstein
That is what my life in this place becomes. An exploration. I learn to read, and write, and I also learn history and math. I devour the knowledge with an eagerness that even surprises me. Ethlenden is like a friend, a father, a big brother, a teacher to me, and he tells me that he’s truly glad to have me with him. I finally found out why, one day.
I forget exactly how it happened, but he let it slip that he had once been married, although his wife had died in childbirth, and the baby hadn’t survived. It would have been a daughter.
I stared, a chill feeling blossoming in the pit of my stomach. “Is that all I am?” I demanded. “A replacement? Something to ease your own pain? Is that all you found in me?”
Ethlenden’s eyes widen, and he protests, “No! Of course not, Rois! I would never do such a thing, especially to you. Please, child, believe me!” He’s never looked so agonized before, never been so upset about anything.
I huddle up in my chair, clutching the book in my hands to me as though it can save me and make this whole mess go away. “Then why?” I demand, still hurt.
He buries his head in his hands, his sharp, Elven features shadowed with pain. “Because,” he says softly, “when I saw you, I wondered how I would feel if my daughter was in the same situation...what she would want me to do...it was because of her that I took you in, but not to replace her. I suppose I might have needed you...but don’t you think maybe you needed me, too?”
I nod slowly, and start to reply, but a servant comes in, white-faced, carrying a letter in a trembling hand. Ethlenden starts to ask what’s happened, then simply opens the letter and reads it. All the color drains from his face as he does so, and he stands up, the expression in his blue eyes suddenly very, very worried.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, the fear suddenly seeming rather contagious. My own hands start to shake, and I mentally curse myself and try to regain control. “What’s going on?”
Ethlenden looks at me, or rather, past me. I’ve never seen such fear on his face. “Shadow fiends,” he whispers, then snaps back to himself, rapping out orders. “Mer,” to the servant, “have the carriage readied immediately, and get supplies together, enough for a week. Rois, go pack yourself a bag. We’re leaving at once.” Seeing my dazed expression, he snaps, with uncommon sharpness, “I mean now!”
I jump from my seat and race upstairs to my room, my heart pounding. Shadow fiends. It simply can’t be. But Ethlenden warned me long ago that they exist, and, more importantly, they’d come after me as soon as they found out. Shadow fiends are always out for power, and that’s all I mean to them. That seems to be all I mean to everybody. Ethlenden had not thought they’d find out so soon, though.
I hastily stuff clothing in a traveling bag, then look about the room for the last time. My eyes fall upon Cobe’s ring, sitting upon my bedside table. Without thinking, I slip it off the chain and put it on my finger, then snatch a few books. After fastening the bag shut, grab my jacket and a heavy cloak and race down the stairs. Ethlenden meets me beside the door a few minutes later, shrugging into a heavy cloak, still snapping out orders.
“Have my papers and books be sent to Resthaven within the week,” he instructs. “We will be staying there until this whole affair blows over. I have left a few letters in my study; deliver them to the appropriate people and places. I will send for anything else I need once we reach the Haven. Is the carriage ready? Good. Come along now, Rois. We have no time to spare.” He steps outside, and, still feeling rather dazed, I follow obediently.
After helping me into the carriage and making sure all the bundles are secure on top, he gives the coachman the order to go, then settles back into his seat with a deep sigh. His eyes fix upon me.
“You did not expect to be leaving so soon, did you, Rois? Neither did I. I suppose I dreadfully underestimated the fiends. Ah, but no time for regrets.”
Everything seems so dim and hazy. Without thinking, and with perfect seriousness, I ask, “Ethlenden, are we going to die?”
The pause is so long that my gaze slips from the window and to him. His eyes are sad, and the words I hear are not the ones I had wanted. “I hope not, Rois. But our chances are looking rather bleak.” I shudder, a cold feeling working its way up my spine, and settle back into the carriage cushions, staring out the window. But I don’t want to die...
Three uneventful days pass, and Ethlenden actually starts to sound optimistic again. He speaks in glowing terms of Resthaven, the capital city of the land of the Elves. His words paint beautiful pictures of a city untroubled by rumors of creatures that lurk in the night, that seek after children cursed with talents they never wanted... But I cannot shake off a morbid feeling of doom. There’s no hope, I tell myself. And I was right...