Prologue

It was evening. The sun was beginning to sink behind the trees of Braedoch Forest, throwing its leafy depths into shadow. It was early spring and the forest was still newborn; winter's chill could yet be felt in the air at night.

On the eastern edge of the forest, the eight children of Isaak Romany were gathering together. Their home was a small house of stone, composed of three circular chambers. In the central chamber a fire burned slowly, varying light dancing on the face of a tall man in a dark cloak. He waited for the eight to gather. His face seemed set in granite, as always; no hint of emotion, no whisper of affection for the children he had raised. He, Maeron Duard, was their guardian, nothing more. They did not care for him either. Though they had grown up in the house, they often chose to stay apart from it: they wandered the forest, worked in the woodshop, climbed the small mountains that overlooked their home in the north. They were not like others. Their life had been one of isolation. They knew weaponry and woodcraft, but little of humanity. They cared for each other and yet spent much of their time in solitude.

Their guardian was afraid of them. Once the clan of Romany had been strong and numerous. Duard's ancestors, druids and powerful, vengeful men, had cursed the clan nearly a century ago. In the succeeding generations, hardship, famine, and war had plagued them--helped along by the druids. At last only Isaak Romany and his wife were left. They took their children to Braedoch and tried to live with them there. But Isaak was a powerful man of great personal force, and the few remaining druids feared that he would father a new beginning for the clan. They sent Duard to kill him. And he did. He killed Isaak and his wife, but could see nothing to fear in the children... behind his face of stone there was perhaps a heart, for he kept them alive, and raised them. But he feared them now. Alone, he thought, they could be no threat. But as long as they stayed together, the clan Romany might again arise.

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"What would I do without Sam?" Ilara asked herself as she patted the herbal mixture into a fresh gash on her hand. It was a natural healing agent her younger brother had concocted for her recently—he knew how often she hurt herself. She grimaced as the ground herbs tingled in the wound; a slip of her knife in mid-throw had caused the mishap. She finished binding it with cloth and tying it off when she noticed the long shadows the trees cast on the ground in front of her. She sighed; it was time she headed back to the house. Maeron Duard had called for a meeting tonight. This did not bode well, but Ilara knew she couldn't avoid what this meeting would bring about.

She walked slowly down the path from the river, going past the woodshop on her way to the front entrance of the house. Daelia had been working in the shop, Ilara realized remembering that her sister had gone in at the same time she had gone down to the river. She hadn't seen Daelia leave; she must still be inside, engrossed in her art. Ilara's anxiety about the meeting was slightly abated with fond amusement at her closest sister's absorption in one of her many talents. Then again, perhaps Daelia was distracting herself, as disquieted by this strange appointment as she herself was.

She opened the door and smiled nervously at her sister. "I thought you may have been absorbed in your work; don't forget the meeting tonight." The look on Daelia's face made clear she had pushed the thoughts of this meeting out of her mind; intentionally or not, Ilara couldn't tell. She left her to put away her things and made way for the house, each step through half-melted snow an endeavor of will.

Opening the door to the main room, Ilara walked cautiously in. The only sibling between herself and Daelia in age, Arnan, was already present, and the only sibling yet to enter. His back was to the wall, face obscured by shadow. He seemed to avoid her gaze, but that was nothing unusual. Ilara loved all her siblings, but Arnan had never been one she understood, even for their closeness in age.

She turned her head slightly and was startled by the stony figure of Duard, standing like brimstone before the flickering fire. His emotionless face had always disturbed her, an effect strengthened by the anticipation of what this meeting was about. Perturbed by her own weak reaction to Duard's presence, Ilara backed away from him and to the left of the fireplace. He wouldn't be likely to give her one of his cold looks from where she had placed herself.

Her heart calmed as she saw Sam enter. Seeing the look of apprehension he wore on his face, Ilara pointed to her bandaged hand and smiled a silent "thank you." He seemed to distractedly acknowledge her thanks, his face unchanged. She became restless again until she saw her beloved Daelia, who came directly to her side and took her arm comfortingly as they awaited the others. Taerith, Aiden, Wren, Aquila, and finally Zoe had entered each to their own place in the room. Ilara would remember little of the silent communications of that evening, where her siblings stood, how they reacted when Duard had finally spoken the words none of them would forget.

"Braedoch is no longer home to you," Duard had broken the chilly silence, "nor are you any longer a family. You will each depart alone." Ilara's arm tightened around Daelia's, hoping this was a test or a cruel ruse, but knowing Duard was always serious when he made commands.

"You will have nothing more to do with each other from this day forward. You are not to communicate, and absolutely not to see each other. If you do, terrible consequences will follow—I am warning you now." Ilara's face burned with anger and pain as hot tears made their way down her cheeks. She glanced around and noted the dismay or cold numbness on the visages of the other eight. "No, no, this is not right! This cannot be happening," their faces said silently in tune with the cry of Ilara's heart.

"Make whatever preparations are necessary. You leave in three days," he added with harsh finality. Three days—the number lost meaning in weight with the certainty of separation. Ilara's thoughts became jumbled, her heart rushing to her ears.

"You are banishing us?" Taerith asked, standing closer to Duard than Ilara thought any of her siblings would have dared. His stance was fearless, but there was caution in his voice. Aiden stood beside him, the eldest. He looked too bewildered to second his brother's daring challenge.

"Do you question me?" Duard's stone words demanded submission.

Ilara watched the courage on Taerith's face drain away to nothing but a dim spark. It was not enough. "No," he softly replied.

No, Ilara's mind echoed. If we had freedom to question you, we would have freedom to defy you also.

Three days were clung to like the hope for eternity and passed like the fading light of dusk. Ilara had left hours before dawn on the third day. She would not have been able to bear seeing her siblings go, and night travel had always suited her. Her riverboat ready and packed with the basics she would need, Ilara looked one last time through the trees to the tiny, moonlit silhouette of her childhood home, a distance away from the river bed where she would begin her journey. Tears came unwillingly as she got in and began to paddle downstream. "This is not over," she vowed.