Thursday's Second Scene featuring Forgotten Dreams #BWLAuthor #MFRWAuthor

Chad strode to his car. He wasn’t toeing any line, not as Storm. Hollywood no longer held the glamour he’d embraced ten years ago when he’d arrived. He could have chosen a different road. His athletic abilities could have earned him a college scholarship but the acting virus had invaded his life. Four years of drama in high school and multiple roles in the local theater group had brought him here.

He’d followed that dream but there had been other dreams. Could he find them again? Smiling chocolate eyes in a lovely face surrounded by dark curls flashed in his thoughts. Had she found a dream different from the one they’d shared and he’d forgotten? He slid behind the wheel and drove to his large and lonely home behind stone walls. There were decisions to be made but not tonight. He would remember her…Emma.

In an unusual move, the moment he reached the house, he mixed a second rum and cola.

Thursday's First and Second Scene - Confronting the Wizards #MFRWauthor #Fantasy #YA

Chapter One

The Way of the Healers

Much is demanded of a Healer and inner peace is her only reward. She must seek neither power nor wealth. To walk in the Way is difficult and not all who try will succeed.

When a Healer names a man as Chosen, she must leave the House for she must think only of her craft and those who need her care. If she elects to depart, her knowledge of the healing arts will be stripped from her mind. She will be left with only those skills known to commoners who do not follow the Way.

Jindera left the herb storage hut and strode toward the cottage. Clouds dimmed the morning sun, then slid away. The leaves of the oka trees rustled in the summer breeze and the mingled scents of herbals and seasonings swirled around her. The coming of clouds meant a storm approached, but she felt certain no rain would fall this day.

Would the medicinals she would brew from the herbals she’d selected be of any help? She could only hope. All night, she’d fought the fever raging through her mother’s body and had seen no change.

“Mama, why did you leave the Healers’ House?”  Her mother could have remained and raised her children with the sons and daughters of the other Healers. On his tenth birthday, Jindera’s twin would have been sent to his father. But Jindera’s mother had chosen to leave. Love for a man had been her reason.

Tears blurred Jindera’s sight. She had loved her father dearly. His death seven lunars before had brought sadness to a home where love had ruled.

Rays of sunlight glinted on the golden stones of the cottage and brightened the dull yellow of the thatch. Jindera hurried along the garden paths that meandered among the beds of herbals and seasonings.

The plants flourished. Lajin’s touch, she thought. Her brother had only to tend any ailing plant and it thrived. She paused at the cottage door and peered along the road from the village. Her twin should return soon with the staples he’d gone to fetch.

The stench of illness pervaded the room where her mother lay on a narrow cot. Jindera’s breath caught. For a moment, she thought her mother had left this plane without the blessing to release her.

Holding back a sob, Jindera fled to the kitchen to blend a fever potion. She carried the mug of steaming liquid to the sick room and spooned the medicinal into her mother’s mouth. A drop or two fell on the linen sheet and spread like the tears Jindera held inside. She inhaled deeply. She had to hold grief and fear at bay. When the mug was empty, she rested her head on the edge of the mattress and prayed the remedy would work.

She jerked awake. How long had she slept? The light in the room told her ’twas near midday.

The rasp of labored breathing filled her ears. She felt her own breaths fall into the same pattern. She raised her head and turned toward the door. Where was Lajin? She tried to reach him on the inner path where they could speak in secret. Flight. Fear. What had happened to him? Her hands and body shook. His fear or hers?

Jindera rose and looked outside. The fragrant scents of the garden brought a welcome calmness to her troubled spirit. ’Twas a false hope. If Mama dies, what will Lajin and I do? Having but sixteen years, they weren’t old enough to hold the land.

She heard a rasping cough and turned back to the cot. Her mother’s eyes were open. A wave of hope spread through Jindera. “Mama.”

“Leave. You. Lajin.  Go soon. Danger comes.”

“We can’t leave you without saying the blessing.”

“Must.”  Racking spasms shook her mother’s body.

“Mama, don’t talk.”

“Must. Once. Three sisters.”

Jindera listened to her mother’s halting words. A grandsire who was a Master Wizard. Mama born on the desert and leaving with her older sister for a Healers’ House. How her two sisters wanted power and schemed to obtain control of others. One who had talent. One who had none. Mama who had talent and wanted love.

“Ralor. Comes. He hurt. You. Lajin. No Healers’ House. Not good.”

“Mama, be still.”  Jindera pressed her hands against her mother’s shoulders.

“Starflowers. For Ralor. Make tea. He sleep. Then flee. Remember, danger from Healers.”

Jindera chewed on her lower lip to keep from crying. The door opened and for an instant, she feared her father’s brother had arrived. The garden, the guardianship, the cottage would pass to him and to the one the Healers sent to tend the garden. The door opened. She turned.

Lajin stood in the doorway. His flushed face and panting breaths told her he’d been running. “What’s wrong?”  she asked.

“Black robes in the village. Taking boys. What will I do if they come here?”

Jindera shivered. The Wizards would learn about Lajin’s talent for nurturing plants. They would take him. “You must flee to the forest and hide. Go now.”

He knelt on the other side of the cot. “Not until we say the blessing.”

“Son. Daughter. Go.”

Jindera grasped her mother’s hand. Lajin took the other. “Mama.”

The heavy breathing slowed, then stopped. Had she willed her death?

Jindera’s voice joined Lajin’s. “Fare well, Mother. May the sun shine on your days and the moons light your nights. Let your shade depart and do not hover between this plane and the next.”

Jindera met her brother’s gaze. “You must go. I’ll follow.”

“The grave must be dug.”

“Lajin, why do you linger? You heard Mama. You must go.”

The door of the cottage slammed against the wall. Jindera saw the man in the doorway and shivered.

Her uncle grasped the frame. “So she’s passed. The land and you are mine.”  His slurred speech spoke of drunkenness. He pointed to Lajin. “Boy, dig the grave. I would see her in the earth before sunset. Should have time before they come.”

“Who comes?”  Jindera asked.

“Wizards,” Ralor said.

“Why?”  Lajin asked.

Ralor laughed. “For you. Do you think I want to live with one who in time will challenge me for the land? The Healers usually send their elderly to spend their last years in a garden. Such a one would be no threat. Girl, to the kitchen. I would eat.”

Jindera sought her twin on the inner path. Go to the forest. I’ll fetch the packs. When he’s at his meal, I’ll follow.

Lajin shook his head. I’ll see Mama in the earth before I leave.

Why must you be so stubborn? Your pack will be at the kitchen door.  Take it and flee before ’tis too late.

She hurried to the kitchen and pulled the soup kettle from the warming shelf. She hung it over the fire. In the pantry, she grabbed the packs she and Lajin had prepared and tossed them into the yard. On a cutting board, she put roast antel, cheese, bread and the last of the appa pie.

“Uncle, the food is ready.”  She dished the soup and filled a mug with kaf.

After she finished serving Ralor, she slipped out the back door and lugged the packs to where Lajin dug the grave. “Go now.”

He lifted a shovel of dirt. “Not ’til Mama lies beside Papa. We’ll go tonight when Uncle’s sleeping.”

“How can you be so sure he won’t hear us creep from the loft? What if the Wizards come? Mama is beyond our care. She bade us leave.”  Jindera’s hands clenched. Why didn’t he feel afraid?

“If they come, I’ll hide.”  Lajin continued to dig. “Mayhaps Uncle lies and ’tis tragon speaking.”

Jindera frowned. Ralor had been drunk. “Then I must go into the forest.”

“Why?”

“To gather starflowers to make sure he sleeps.”  She grabbed her brother’s shoulders. “I wish you’d leave now. I have the feeling trouble comes.”  She groaned. He had that stubborn look she hated.

“We go together.”  He jammed the shovel into the earth.

She saw the tear-tracks on his face. He grieved, too, but his eyes showed a determination to have his way. “Come with me.”

He shook his head. “When I’m finished and Uncle sleeps.”

She wanted to thump him on the head, though what good would a blow do? When he had these stubborn notions, there was no way to move him. “Take care. I won’t be long. Mama told me things you should know.’

She ran toward the line of dark trees. Something puzzled her. Where had Ralor gotten the coins to buy tragon? Since her father’s death, her uncle had lived at the cottage and earned enough from the sale of milk and eggs to buy brew. Had he some scheme involving the garden? Once he was named land holder, one third of the herbals and seasonings would be his. She and Lajin would be little more than servants. But her uncle had said the Wizards were coming. Didn’t Ralor know her twin was the one with Mama’s touch with plants?             Jindera sighed. She wished she’d been blessed with the talent. Her abilities lay in the blending of herbals into medicinals and knowing what an ailing person needed. Mama had called her a Healer born. Yet she knew without training, she couldn’t practice except in the village. Her parents had refused to send her to a Healers’ House and her mother’s learning had been blocked when she’d left the Way.

As the dim light of the forest surrounded her, Jindera set aside her grief and scented the air for the dulcet yet spicy aroma of starflowers. She needed enough blossoms to brew a sleeping tea so she and Lajin could escape.

In a small clearing where sunlight dappled the surface of a pond, she found clusters of the pale flowers. With care not to pull the roots from the ground, she collected a bunch. The aroma soothed her grief.

For a moment, she leaned against an oka and breathed the scent. Where would she and Lajin find a refuge? Though Mama had cautioned against the Healers was there another choice? Any Healers’ House would take her, but her twin was too old. Since the Houses were located in towns, she wondered if he could find work nearby. His ability to coax plants to provide rich harvests should excite any farmer.

Jindera straightened and started back to the garden. As she neared the forest’s edge, she heard shouts.

Jindera, help me. They want to take me. Lajin’s plea on the inner path startled her. She stumbled and nearly fell.

Who?

Black robes.

In order to see what occurred, she dropped the starflowers and climbed an oka. She saw Lajin struggling with several black-robed men. Don’t fight. I’ll follow and help you escape.

Now. Help me before they make me one of them.

Stay calm. I’m coming.

No. Flee. ’Tis you…”

Lajin’s voice ceased abruptly. With a suddenness that made her gasp, pain shot through her head. Feeling dizzy, Jindera clung to the rough bole of the tree. Where was her twin? She couldn’t see or hear him. He couldn’t be dead.

The Wizards mounted their horned horses. As they rode away, she climbed to the ground. Not caring that she trampled the plants, she ran across the herb beds. She stumbled over her uncle’s body and nearly toppled into the grave. Tendrils of smoke rose from the house. She grabbed the packs.

“Girl, help me. They lied.”

“Who, Uncle?”  She dropped the packs and knelt beside him.

“Black robes. Bought me tragon. Asked about you and your brother. Took him and wanted you. Told them no. One stabbed me.”  He groaned.

She examined the gaping abdominal wound and noted the pool of blood around him. She had neither the knowledge nor the skill to mend the torn flesh. “I can’t do anything. I’ll run to the village for help.”  She swallowed several times to keep from losing her morning meal.

“Too late.”  His moan rose to a scream that died in a whimper.

With a whoosh, the thatch of the cottage blossomed with flames. Long fingers of fire thrust into the air. Showers of sparks took flight.

Jindera tried to drag her uncle away. She fell into the grave. When she crawled out, he was dead. Bits of burning thatch fell on the paving stones. Would the garden take fire?

She grabbed the packs and ran. At the edge of the garden, she turned. The flames had died. A pillar of black smoke stained the sky. Jindera collapsed on the ground. Everyone and everything that had been hers was gone. She rested her head against her bent knees. Exhaustion swamped her.

Come.

A voice on the inner path. Lajin?

Come.

Not her twin. The voice repeated the command. Where? The order was the only answer. Who wanted her? She couldn’t abandon her twin. She rose, wavered and nearly fell. She had to find a place to sleep. Then she would decide where to go.

She looked around. The clouds seemed heavier. Would the storm begin this night?

The fire hadn’t spread beyond the stones separating the herb and seasoning beds from the cottage. The herb hut on the far side of the garden had been spared. So had the meadow where the antels grazed. With leaden steps, she made her way to the one room building.

Jindera burrowed beneath a pile of sacks. Lajin!  Still no response. He lived. She would know if he’d left this plane. When she woke, she would search out the Wizards and steal her brother from them. Soft tears began and continued until she slept.

* * *

The Code of the Merchants’ Guild

Once the fee is paid, a boy must be apprenticed to four experienced peddlers. One who deals in cloth. One who deals in all manner of foodstuffs. One involved with jewelry, gems and household wares. One who deals with herbals and seasonings. Next, the boy must serve as a journeyman. Should he succeed in all his ventures and pay off his debts, he can buy into the Guild and open a shop in one of the towns. If he fails, he will remain a journeyman.

Corin hitched the four ponies to the cart. Yesterday, rather than continue past sunset to reach a village, he’d spent the night at the crossroads. He poured the remainder of kaf into his mug and drank. This was a popular spot for travelers to camp. There was a rude shelter and a fire circle large enough for a spit. He wasn’t sure how many kils he would have to travel to reach his destination. He’d only come this way once before with his first mentor.

After dousing the fire he’d used to cook his meals, Corin stored his pack, blanket and cooking gear in the narrow sleeping space. He thought of the rumors he’d heard in Pala that portended changes he hoped to see and telling of events he wouldn’t believe until he met someone who had witnessed them.

The hopeful rumors included tales of the White Jewel being found and a new Queen for Earda, of the Black Jewel destroyed in an arcane battle and the Master Wizards dead. Then there were the dire reports stating the White Jewel had been destroyed and the Wizards now ruled Earda.

He shrugged. Did it matter who ruled? He’d seen no differences during the lunars he since he’d begun his trip as a journeyman. He’d been forced to avoid too many black robes, especially in this area.

Once more, he heard his mother’s voice. ’Twas all of her he had for remembrance other than a picture of her broken and bloody body. “Wizards are evil. Made me a slave. Don’t let them near you for part of you is theirs. They’ll know. Beware for there are Wizards who don’t wear the robes and who hide among the people.”

Corin climbed to the seat and flicked the driving reins to set the team on the way. He prayed he would meet no black robes along the road. ’’Twouldn't matter to them that he was in bond to the Merchants’ Guild. Because of his age, they would test him for talents.

When the team clopped at a steady pace, Corin thought about his plans. Beyond the next village was a garden where a former Healer and her Chosen grew herbals and seasonings.

He’d always planned to return once he was on his own. Four years had passed since his mentor had bargained with the couple for part of their harvest. They’d sold him what didn’t belong to the village or the Healers. The peddler had been able to open a shop in Quato and leave the road.

Corin’s palm itched in anticipation of the profits he would gain. If he entered Pala or Quato with a wide selection of seasonings, he would pay his debt for the cart, ponies and supplies. In two or three years, he could open a shop in Pala. He even had a location selected. The shop fronted the busy market square.

The steady thud of the team’s hooves against the hard-packed surface of the dirt road coupled with the swaying movement of the cart lulled him into a dream state. The thundering sound of an approaching party startled him. Some band of men rode in haste. Guards? Bandits?

When the first rider came into view, Corin shuddered. He had time to get off the road, but not enough to hide from the black robes. He pulled the wide brim of his hat low and hunched his shoulders so he would appear older. Near a stand of evergreens, he halted the cart and waited for the band of Wizards to pass. Their black steeds, the horns dyed red, raised clouds of dust.

Corin touched the blade of the knife he kept on the seat. He flexed his upper arms. The concealed stilettos were primed for action. Rather than surrender to the Wizards, he would force a fight and pray for death.

“They are evil, my son. I would not let them claim you. ’Tis why we live like this.”

Their home had been a hovel. Their clothes and food gleaned from trash heaps. What they couldn’t use had been traded or sold in the seconds’ shops.

Corin watched the parade of horned horses. He noticed the unrobed young men riding on pack horses. His eyes narrowed. A third unrobed boy was held in front of one of the riders. His head lolled. Had he been fool enough to attack a Wizard? Why hadn’t they killed him? That was the usual reward for defiance.

When all but two riders had passed the cart, Corin felt a surge of relief. If he’d been in Pala where streets twisted and alleys abounded, he could have escaped and even removed one or two of the group of Wizards. His years on the city streets had given him knowledge of every escape route. Out here, he stood no chance.

The pair of Wizards wheeled their mounts and rode toward the cart. Corin froze. Every instinct called for flight. He hunched his shoulders until his back was bowed.

“Peddler, what tribute have you for us?”

“T...tragon. Ch...cheese. Cl...cloth.”  His voice quavered like that of an old man.

“Unlock your wares.”

Corin slid from the seat. Tremors spread from his hands to his legs. He nearly fell. He fumbled with the lock and finally opened the trading side, then propped the wooden gate so it formed an awning.

“Old man, we won’t harm you. Just take a few things.”  The man grasped two flasks of tragon and passed them to the second man. He examined the cheese and shook his head. He lifted four more bottles of the liquor. “Just this. Got prime cheese at the village. Left you two flasks. Thank me.”

“Th...thanks.”  Corin swallowed. Tragon was the most expensive of the items he’d stocked and good for trading for food and coins. At least they hadn’t thought to look for his hoard. Those coins had been saved to trade for seasonings.

The Wizards packed the flasks in their saddlebags and mounted. Corin clung to the cart. His knees buckled and he slid to the ground. Laughter rose from the Wizards. Corin pulled to his feet. Better laughter than being taken like those three boys. He felt pity for the trio.

The air smelled of old smoke and blood. What had happened? Corin didn’t want to know.

He locked the cart. Once he climbed on the seat, he grasped the long knife. He stared after the troop until they were out of sight and the dust raised by their steeds had settled.

He eased his team onto the road and flicked the reins. Where were the black robes bound? He wasn’t traveling in their direction. For that he was thankful. He tested the hidden stilettos by flexing the muscles of his upper arms. The hilts slid into his hands. The blades were thin and razor-sharp, but he gained little comfort from their presence. The knives were useless in a face-to-face confrontation. They’d been crafted for attacks from hidden places.

Corin gulped a breath. If the Wizards had seen him as a youth, he would have been forced to join them. They would have discovered his talent, the one he’d used but once on someone other than himself.

Guilt and sorrow flashed into his thoughts along with memories of that dreadful day. He’d been eight. He and his mother had been scavenging when a party of black robes had found them. His mother had screamed for him to hide and he’d obeyed. He’d listened to her agonizing cries and the sound of their fists.

After the Wizards had gone, he’d crept from his hiding place and found her broken and bleeding body. He’d been too young to understand what to do. He’d straightened and mended her bones, but he hadn’t known the loss of blood was more dangerous to life.

Tears flowed over his cheeks. He’d failed, but even a Healer might not have saved her.

As the sun moved to late afternoon, he reached the village. He halted the cart beside the tavern and unhitched the ponies. Once they were in the grazing pen, he took one of the remaining flasks of tragon and relocked the cart. He’d had no midday meal. The nausea caused by his encounter with the Wizards had finally passed and he was hungry.

When he entered the tavern, the buzz of voices in the dark smoky room halted. Corin studied the sullen faces and strode to the bar.

The burly barkeep leaned on the counter. “Your pleasure?”

Corin held out the tragon flask. “Trade this for a meal and a few coins.”

His announcement seemed to loosen the tongues of the villagers. The whisper of conversation became a roar. The barkeep took the flask, drew the cork. He sniffed, then tasted a drop. “Prime. I’ll buy. Have you more?”

“Just one flask,” Corin said. “Had six more. Black robes stopped me and took the rest of my supply.”

“Mine, too.”  The man spat on the floor. “Took two boys from the village and one from the garden. Good riddance to one of the village boys. Nothing but trouble. Fire setter. How’d they miss you?”

Corin pulled his hat low and hunched his shoulders. “Was so scared I shook. Guess they thought I was old.”

“Or their sniffer wasn’t with them.”  The barkeep slid a stack of silver and copper coins across the bar. “Take a table. Food’s plain and hot. To drink?”

“A brew and kaf to follow. Pass the word I’ll open the cart for trade after I eat.”

Before long, his meal arrived. Savory stew, bread and a semi-soft cheese with the kaf and appa tart. Corin waved away seconds, then left to open for business.

First, he hid the coins in his stash. The early customers were older women. They purchased pins, needles and thread. Several bought lengths of sheepsilk.

One of the women arrived with two of the cheeses he’d had at the tavern. “Would you have kaf beans?”

He nodded. “And chokla leaves. Several varieties of tea, too.”

“Weight for weight?”

After hefting the cheese, he shook his head. “Would leave me with little kaf to trade.”  He put his scale on the counter and scooped four measures of beans into the pan. He put them in a sack and weighed the cheese. “I’ll add two measures of tea and one of chokla.”

She nodded. “Done. And for the other cheese. How much cloth?”

Corin closed his eyes. The cheese was delicious and he could sell it at a tavern in some other village. He pulled three bolts from the stores. “A length of each.”

“Three lengths of this one.”  She pointed to a blue with white embroidered flowers.

“Agreed.”

Soon men appeared to examine his supply of tools. Young girls bought ribbons and trinkets. Children came for sweets and toys. By the time first moon rose, the customers were gone. He stored the coins and traded items in the bins.

Not bad, he thought as he lay on his sleep mat. Surely he had enough coins to purchase a stock of seasonings. Even if he hadn’t a large enough supply for one of the city markets, he could sell them along his route and return to purchase more.

The next morning after he broke his fast at the tavern, he left the village. He hoped to persuade the holder of the garden to allow him first selection for three years. That would give him a good hoard when he made his move to a shop. By then he would be twenty-one. He grinned. Few Guild members began so young.

As he rounded a bend in the road, he gasped. What had happened here? The thatch roof of the stone cottage was gone. Soot-blackened rafters showed and black stained the stones. A heavy aroma of burned wood and cloth hung in the air.

Corin urged the skittish ponies onto the paving stones beside the cottage. After hitching them to a fence railing, he stared at the remains. Had anyone survived? He approached and peered through a window where a partially burned shutter allowed him to see into the house.

Had the black robes done this? The gossips said they’d taken a boy from here. Had there been trouble?

What now, he wondered. He rounded a corner of the house. Beds of plants spread toward the forest. A windfall, except he had no idea what they were. His experience with growing things tended toward weeds seeking purchase in the dirt between the cobblestones of Pala’s streets. Once he’d seen a well-appointed garden of a Guild leader, but that had gained him no knowledge.

He started toward the garden. When he came upon a man sprawled near a grave, he shuddered. Someone had killed this man. He dragged the body to the hole and managed to maneuver the corpse inside. He lifted the shovel and spread dirt over the body.

“I don’t know who you were,” Corin said. “I don’t know who killed you. I’ll not say the blessing to help you pass from this plain to the next until the man who took your life is dead. Seek and torment him.”

When he finished the burial, Corin studied the garden. The stone hut in the far corner caught his attention. ’Twas there the peddler had selected herbals and seasonings. Corin grinned. Surely he would recognize the seasonings by their taste or smell. If fortune favored him, he could raid the hut and be on his way.

Thursday's First and Second Scene Murder and Bitter Tea #MFRWauthor #Cozymystery #nursing home

Chapter 1

The sun of the early April day shone in a cloudless sky. Yesterday’s rain had left the ground moist and easy for digging. Daffodils and tulips added color to the scene and delight to my spirits. I knelt beside one of the mint patches and loosened the soil around the emerging shoots. Soon the numerous varieties would be high and provide leaves for drying and blending into teas. This year, I planned to use green tea as a base in some of the blends. 

I pulled weeds, then sank back to admire my work. My Maine Coon cat lay beside the gardening mat. With a boneless movement, Robespierre stretched. I sighed with envy and wished I had his supple spine. He ambled toward the car pulling into the driveway.

Jenna Taylor, one of my first floor tenants, slid from the red hatchback and waved. “Hi, Mrs. Miller.”

I rose and gathered my tools. “How was class?”

She grinned. “Thanks for your help on the Psych paper. Got an A.”

“I’m proud of you.”

Her hazel eyes filled with sadness. “You’re the only one.” She took the basket and carried it to the porch of my “Painted Lady.”

The Victorian house I’d lived in since my dead husband and I had settled in this Hudson Valley village had been converted into two apartments. I chose the second floor with its view of the river and rented the first. A week after my return from Santa Fe, I’d acquired Jenna and her friend as tenants. The young women were students at the local college, Jenna in Nursing and Louise in Business.

I paused at the foot of the steps. “Why don’t you call your grandmother? I’m sure she’d be glad to see you and as proud of your accomplishments as I am.”

She shook her head. “And bring my problems with my uncle on her head? He hated my mother. After my dad died, Mom asked him for help and he refused.” Tears glittered in her eyes. “You should have heard the things he accused me of after my cousin’s death. I’m better off staying away from family.”

I touched her hand. “The accident was five years ago. Surely he’s over the loss by now.”

She combed her fingers through her short honey blonde hair. “He never forgives or forgets.” She handed me the basket. “Have to change for work. See you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” I echoed and followed her inside. Robespierre trailed me upstairs. There, I spilled a little food in his dish. He thinks he should be fed every time he returns from outside. I always indulge him by adding a few dry tidbits.

I put the kettle on. I hurt for Jenna. She’d seen more tragedy in twenty-three years than anyone should bear. Her father’s death, her mother’s alcoholism and series of abusive relationships. Orphaned at fourteen, she’d gone to live with her grandmother. Three years later, there’d been the accident and her cousin had died. For some reason I hadn’t learned until recently, Jenna had become a runaway.

In January, I learned from an acquaintance who taught at the college that Jenna had enrolled as a student and was looking for an apartment. When she was a child, I’d felt sorry for her and angry about the way her uncle had treated her. I offered her the first floor apartment at a reduced rate and had signed a lease with the girls. Over the past few months, Jenna and I had become friends.

After a quick wash-up, I brewed a pot of mint tea.  Robespierre began his greeting dance. Before I had a chance to see who had arrived, the cat slipped through his door. When I saw him on the landing with my young friend Robby, I called a greeting.

“Mrs. Miller, can I visit?” Robby asked. “I need to ask you something really important.”

“Over milk and cookies?”

He nodded. “Mom said I can have three.”

“How does peanut butter with chocolate chips sound?” His grin provided my answer.

“Oh, yes.” He bent and scratched Robespierre’s head. The large cat rumbled like the sound of distant thunder.

Once the ritual greeting ended, three cookies and a glass of milk waited on the table. Robby pulled a stool to the sink and washed his hands. “See. I ‘membered.”

“So you did.” While he ate the first cookie, I filled a mug and sat across the table from him. “Do you want to tell me what’s bothering you?”

He propped his elbows on the table. “How can a boy be happy his grandma died? If I had one, I would be sad.”

I sipped the tea. “That’s a hard question. Want to tell me how you learned the boy was happy about her death?”

He leaned forward. “He’s in my class. Always saying bad things ‘bout her. Said she was rich and mean ‘cause she wouldn’t buy him all the toys he wanted.”

“Sounds like he’s greedy.”

Robby’s head bobbed. “He sure is. Always saying how his things are better than mine ‘cause they cost more.”

“So why was he happy she died?”

“’Cause his mom and dad don’t fight with his grandma ‘bout her money. They got it all.”

I cradled the mug. “Is he happy now?”

“Guess so. He says so but he’s still mean.” Robby reached for a second cookie. “He got a new bike and lots of video games. He’s gonna live in a big new house. They can ‘ford a new one ‘cause no more money goes to that place.”

“What place?”

“You know, the one on the river where old people go. Our class went there once to sing. They liked us.”

“Hudson House?”

“Yep.”

The private nursing home is where the rich of the area go to recover from surgery or to spend their final years. The boy’s grandmother must have had the means to pay for the luxurious service. I patted Robby’s hand. “I’m not sure I have answers for your questions. I’m not sure there are any.”

He looked up. “If I had a grandma, she would be just like you.”

“Thank you.” I patted his hand. “Tell you what. Why don’t I become your adopted grandma?”

His eyes widened. “You really could be mine? Like the puppy Pete said we’ll ‘dopt from the shelter?”

Being compared to a puppy tickled my thoughts. Laughter brought tears to my eyes. “Since I’m an experienced grandmother, I won’t need training in how to behave. The puppy will.”

He jumped up and hugged me. A frown wrinkled his forehead. “Mom says I have to call you Mrs. Miller. A grandma should be called Grandma.” He bit the third cookie and swallowed. “I know. You can be Grandma Mrs. Miller. Wait ‘til I tell Mom and Pete.”

Before he left, I gave him a tin of cookies. “Make sure you share.”

“Have to.” He giggled. “Pete would chase me around the table making pig sounds. I’m glad Mom married him.” He tucked the tin under his arm and opened the door. Robespierre dashed ahead of him. “Bye, Grandma Mrs. Miller.”

Just then, Jenna stepped from the downstairs apartment. “What was that about?”

“He wanted a grandmother so I adopted him.”

“That’s so nice.” Her voice broke.

“Come to church with me on Sunday.” Her grandmother was a member of St. Stephen’s. So was I. Martha Garner and I had become friends when we worked on several Women’s Guild projects. I know she often wondered what had happened to Jenna. Though I’d wanted to tell Martha about her granddaughter, I hadn’t broken my tenant’s confidence. Maybe the rift could be breached there.

“Not a good idea. Can’t you picture Uncle Marcus standing on the church steps with pointed finger and yelling, ‘Sinner, be gone. Your kind isn’t welcome here.’ I wouldn’t want to tempt him to appear as less than a good Christian.”

The note of bitterness in her voice saddened me. She’d been alienated from her family for too long. Surely, there was a way to bring about reconciliation, at least with her grandmother. An idea occurred. When I returned to my apartment, I made two phone calls.

* * *

Two days later, Martha and I entered Le Lune, a local restaurant where Jenna worked as a hostess/waitress. The small room holds a dozen tables in a cozy atmosphere offering exquisite food. Silver moons decorated the pale blue walls. On the tables, metal lanterns with moon cutouts held flickering candles.

As we waited to be escorted to our table, Jenna looked up. “Mrs. Miller. Gran!” She dropped the menus and hugged Martha.

“Child, you look wonderful. Why haven’t you called the house? It’s been five years since I’ve seen you. I’ve missed you.” Tears trickled down Martha’s cheeks.

“You know why.” Jenna looked away but not before I saw tears glistening in her hazel eyes.

Martha nodded. “You could have let me know you were all right.”

Jenna made a face. “I couldn’t. Uncle Marcus warned me to stay away.”

Martha tisked. “I don’t understand him. Where were you all this time?”

“With Dad’s cousin. She died this fall so I decided to go to school.”

“But she lived so close.” Martha grasped Jenna’s hand. “Don’t think we didn’t try to find you. Your uncle hired a detective. How long have you been in town?”

“Since January, right before classes began at the college.” Jenna retrieved the menus. “Let me show you to a table.”

“I just don’t understand why you didn’t let me know,” Martha said.

“Uncle Marcus knew I was here. He told me not to call or visit. He was afraid you would be upset and have a heart attack. He said you’re not well.”

Martha shook her head. “My heart is sound. I don’t understand why he’s still grieving over what happened so long ago. Child, what did happen that day? He won’t tell me.”

Jenna led us to a table and held the chair for her grandmother. “I won’t either.” She handed us menus. “The veal dishes are great and I recommend the house dressing.”

We decided on veal piccata. After Jenna took our orders, she headed to the kitchen.

Martha’s gaze followed the young woman. “She looks wonderful. Thank you for arranging this meeting. I’ve always refused to believe the stories I was told.”

“And what were they?”

“That she was abusing alcohol and using drugs. I never saw any evidence when she lived with me.”

“Who told you that?”

She frowned. “Maybe...I’m not sure but Sophie might have been the one.”

“How much did Marcus say about the accident?”

Martha took a deep breath. “That Jenna was high on something. I didn’t notice that when she left the house.”

“Why would he say that? Her tests were negative.”

“He said she and Mark quarreled and Jenna grabbed the keys. Mark tried to stop her, but she sped off and crashed into the tree.”

“But Marcus wasn’t there.” I stared at the candle. Why had her son lied? Mark had been the driver and his blood alcohol had been well over the legal limit.

A few hours after the accident, the first he’d seen since he’d joined the police force, Pete had come to the house. He’d known Mark. Pete had been upset for another reason. As owner and editor-in-chief of the local newspaper, Marcus had kept the details out of print. How could I tell Martha, her son was a liar?

“Are you sure you heard everything he said?” I asked. “After all, you both were in shock.”

Martha frowned. “I’m sure he said Jenna was driving. You know, she walked out of the hospital and ran away. Why didn’t she come home?”

“You’ll have to ask her.”

Our salads arrived. Jenna had been right about the dressing, a raspberry vinaigrette. When the entree arrived, the veal could be cut with a fork and the sauce had a bold lemon flavor.

Jenna returned to refill our cups and to deliver crème brulee. “You’ll enjoy this. My treat.”

Martha caught her hand. “Why are you working here?”

“The usual reasons.”

“I...” Martha shook her head.

“Gran, I’m doing fine.”

When Jenna left to deliver another customer’s meal, Martha leaned forward. “I just don’t know why the detective Marcus hired couldn’t find her. She was living an hour from here.”

Had he really hired a detective? My few encounters with her son regarding church matters made me doubt he had. Marcus Garner believed his way was the right and only way. Over the years, I’ve watched him manipulate others, including his mother. I believed he had no intention of sharing his mother’s wealth with a soul, especially not his niece. His young daughters were spoiled. His second wife was years younger and she thought money could purchase anything or anyone.

“Why didn’t Jenna come to me for help?”

“Maybe she doesn’t want money.”

“But that’s why she quarreled with Mark. She believed he was my sole heir and that wasn’t true.”

The last spoon of dessert slid down my throat. “Let me handle the check and take you home.” I couldn’t answer her question. Would she ask her son? The one person who could?

She touched my hand. “You don’t want to be involved and I don’t blame you. Family problems shouldn’t spill onto friends.”

I was already involved. Jenna was my tenant and Martha, my friend. I would find a way to mend the shattered pieces. How, I didn’t know.

Thursday's First and Second Scenes - Search For The White Jewel #MFRWauthor #fantasy #Jewels

Prologue

The black-robed wizard slipped through the doorway leading to the Queen’s chamber. He paused and studied the wan woman propped against the black silk pillows. As he approached the bed, his robes rustled.

The Queen grasped the Black Jewel, symbol of her reign. “Be gone, I say. I have no need of you.”

“Your time has passed. ‘Tis time to cede the Jewel to your successor.”

“Not yet.” She raised the Black Jewel. Dark rays pulsed in its heart. “Be gone and let me be.”

  He evaded the dark beams. “What of the White?”

  She laughed. “Do you think I fear that thing? My sister failed to find the gem. For generations, there has been no sign of its existence. There have been but myths and rumors.”

He smiled. “The White stirs. I sought and I found.”

“Where?” Her eyes narrowed.

‘Tis where it has always been, waiting for the one who can hold the jewel. But fear not. ‘Tis not your battle. Soon you will be gone, and I will have the training of the one who is to follow you. This time there will be no mistakes. As Holder and Chosen, she and I will rule.”

“Be gone, dark wizard.” The Queen raised the Black and poured her anger into the gem. Thunder roiled the silent night and a great display of colored lightning brightened the sky above the palace.

 

Chapter One

From The Lore of the Jewels

In days long past, just after the world was formed and the people rose from the dust, Mother Sun and the Sister Moons beheld what had been wrought and were troubled by what they saw. For as people moved across the lands, chaos rather than harmony ruled.

“We must bring peace and order.” Mother Sun spoke to the pale reflections of herself.

From her depths, she drew molten elements and fashioned them into Jewels. The icy breath of the Sister Moons cooled the gems. To Earda, they were sent and for each Jewel, there was a purpose.

And from the hearts of the six Jewels, light radiated and coalesced to become the White.

Liara closed the Lore of the Jewels. Everyone knew the ruling Jewel was black. And the tale of how the gems were formed was naught but an interesting fable. Her foster mother had given her the book on her last name day. Tana’s insistence that she learn the legends puzzled Liara. What use were these mystical tales to one who might never hold a Jewel?

She heard a disturbance in the courtyard and peered through the open window. Several men dismounted. Their steeds were magnificent beasts with burnished horns. Who were these visitors? They looked to be men of importance.

Tana’s maid appeared in the doorway. “Milady Holder bids you remain in hiding until her guests leave.”

Liara sighed. Twice this lunar, visitors had arrived to see the Yellow Holder. Both times, she had been bidden to keep her presence a secret. Not that she minded missing lessons, of course. The complicated exercises in visualizing had no practical purpose she could see. What bothered her was not being allowed to sit in company and hear about events beyond the keep and the village.

Curiosity gnawed at her thoughts. In hopes of learning more about these unexpected visitors to the High Sanctuary, she hurried down the back stairs and lingered in the shadows near the postern gate. But the men had gone inside before she could hear what they said.

Excitement fluttered like the jeweled wings of a flitter. She was free, at least for the afternoon. She slipped outside and climbed the path beyond the walls of the massive stone tower. Then she broke into a run, deftly avoiding the roots of the gnarled, wind-shaped balsa trees.

A branch caught her kerchief and her hair tumbled free. Inky black strands whipped around her face. Clutching the scarf in her hand, she reached the end of the path. Clusters of multi-hued silk-sheep browsed among the grass and wildflowers.

After breathing deeply of the scented air, she ran across the meadow to the tumble of rocks at the edge of the cliff. She stared at the distant gray tower and peered at the village where the houses resembled pieces from a child’s toy. She turned and gazed at the sea and watched white froths of foam roll across the dark blue expanse to dash against the rocky slope.

Settling on the grass, she used a rock for a backrest. As she soaked in the sun, she braided a necklace of yellow fiolas, Tana’s favorite. To the chain, she added blue hearts and red chyrsmas. For health, she thought.

Sadness rose. Her foster mother’s health failed with each lunar. Though Tana denied what Liara saw, she knew the older woman was dying.

While Liara considered the future without Tana, a million questions arose. The sun moved toward afternoon. Liara sighed. There were no answers, only questions.

“Liara!”

Her foster brother’s shout set her heart pounding. She dropped the necklace in her skirt, quickly braided her hair and tied the kerchief over the crown of braids. Another puzzle to be solved, she thought. Her head had never been without a covering. Though she’d asked why, Tana had never answered.

“Liara, come!”

She lifted the necklace and hurried toward the path. “I’m on my way.”

Brader emerged at the edge of the meadow. “Mother said you would be here. She wants you.”

A lock of amber hair fell across his forehead and brushed his lighter eyebrows. Amber eyes studied her intently. She felt his leashed anger. With her or with his mother? These days, she barely knew him.

Since she’d begun her intensive studies with Tana, she and Brader had grown apart. Her lessons, his time with the armsmen, and his excursions to the village tavern left them with little in common.

“Have the visitors left?” she asked.

“They didn’t stay for the evening meal. They’re on their way to Pala. I begged leave to join them but Mother refused to release me.” He shoved his hair from his forehead. “I’m tired of being caged here. There’s much of Earda I want to see.”

“Did Tana say why she wanted me?” She watched the setting sun stain the ocean whitecaps with streaks of orange. “Not for lessons, I hope.”

He shrugged shoulders that had grown broader the past year. “You are to sup in her room. Don’t stay long. The visitors tired her.”

“When has she listened to me?” Liara held up the floral necklace. “Perhaps this will refresh her.”

“Maybe. She’s worried about something and she won’t tell me what.”

Liara clasped his arm. “All will be well.”

He laughed. “Have you become a Healer making vague and pretty predictions?” His muscles tensed beneath her hand. “All will be well for you. You’ll have her Jewel. Why else has she kept you by her side? I’m so tired of the High Sanctuary and of being the Holder’s son.”

Liara frowned. When had he grown so resentful? Did Tana know about his discontent?

When they reached the postern gate, the armsman stepped aside so they could enter. Never in all her years had there been armsmen at the gates.

Once inside the massive stone tower, she hurried to her foster mother’s rooms. At the door, she paused and tucked stray strands of hair beneath the kerchief. Then she opened the carved wooden door and stepped inside.

Tana was abed. Liara crossed the room and kissed the older woman’s flushed cheek, then slipped the floral chain over her foster mother’s head.

Tana inhaled the blended fragrances. “Ah, Child, you remembered a bit of the Healer’s teachings. Sit and eat. There’s much I must tell you.”

Liara studied her foster mother. Though flushed, there was a translucent quality to Tana’s skin. Sunken cheeks, glazed amber eyes. Liara knew Brader thought his mother was tired, but there was more. The scent of death floated above the aroma of the flowers.

She sat at the table and picked at the slices of roast banta, shredding more than she ate. The open window brought a breeze laden with moisture. Liara cut an appa, ate several crisp slices and then pushed the tray away.

“Come closer. The time grows short.” Tana’s voice held a whispery quality.

Liara sat on the chair beside the bed and took her foster mother’s hand. “Perhaps you should rest.”

“There will be time for rest later.” Tana sucked in a breath. “Just listen. Your mother was twin to the one who holds the Black. Through trickery and deceit, the Jewel was usurped by your aunt. Your mother found the book of lore I gave you. For many years, she searched for the White.”

Liara shook her head. “The White is but a tale told by old wives and written in that ancient book. Tell me about my mother.”

Tana grasped Liara’s hand. “Child, myths are ever based on some truth.”

“My mother didn’t find this Jewel, did she?”

“Alas, the Queen hounded her. She was chased from every refuge she found. She brought you here and left. Her Chosen was captured by the Guards. His house was destroyed by the wizards. One by one, your mother’s friends were killed.”

Liara studied the bed coverings. “Why tell me now?”

“The Queen is dying. While she is weak and before her daughter...your cousin masters the Black, you must find the White. When you do, the lessons I’ve taught you will help you harness the Jewel’s energies. You must succeed. The people of Earda have suffered long enough.”

Liara shook her head. She had no desire to leave the High Sanctuary. She had believed one day she would follow Tana and hold the Yellow. Now all had changed. “Do not force me to leave you,” she pleaded.

Tana sank against the pillows. “I’ve been summoned to Pala. Even now, Guards are on the way to act as my escort.”

“Will you go?”

“Nay, they will come too late. You must be gone before they arrive lest someone questions who you are. Child, your life is in danger should your aunt discover you still live.”

Tears welled in Liara’s eyes. “I cannot leave you.”

“You have no choice. Brader will go with you.”

Liara held back her tears. She’d known no mother other than Tana. “But who will...?” She couldn’t force herself to finish.

“There will be others who will do what is needed.” Tana pulled her Jewel from her neck and wrapped the gem and the chain in amber silk. “I have no daughter to follow me and the Yellow is not for you. I’ve sent a call to my successor.” She will meet you on the way.”

A million questions arose but they couldn’t push past Liara’s rising grief. “Does Brader know how ill you are?” She forced the question past a massive lump. “He’ll want to stay. So do I.” Her voice broke. She pressed her face against the blankets and let the tears flow.

Tana stroked Liara’s arm. “You must go, for you are needed. Take the book and seek the answers. Maps your mother brought are on the table. Memorize them. Once Brader has seen them, they will be destroyed so all traces of your journey will be gone. You must follow your mother’s path and succeed where she failed.”

Liara wiped her eyes and reached for the maps. She studied them until the wizards were engraved in her mind. Then she walked to the window and stared at first moon. “I cannot leave you.”

“Evil spreads through the land. The Black Jewel. The Queen. The Brotherhood of Wizards. Soon Earda will be too polluted by evil to survive. Send Brader to me.”

Liara hugged her foster mother and fought another storm of tears. “Farewell, Mother of my heart.” She bit her lip and hurried from the room.

In the hall, she pressed her forehead against the rough stone wall. Soon Tana would leave this plane and journey to another. The High Sanctuary would never be home again. Liara gathered her tears inside and went to find Brader.