A Mother's Tale.

Prologue - In which we meet a mother and her children.

Authors: Kitty Ryan, Alison Young, and Sarah Parker.

Genre: Drama/Action-Adventure/ Romance.

Rating: This story is to be rated R, for adult themes and general darkness, as well as quite a considerable amount of intrigue which makes the plot rather…well…complicated. Not for the faint of heart or those who lack maturity of mind.

Disclaimer: Some of the characters mentioned herein, and the places that they are from, are property of Tamora Pierce and Terry Goodkind. They are used by the authors only for entertainment purposes. However, other characters and places belong to the authors, and cannot be used without express permission from any one of the three of them.

We also find it necessary to point out several authors that have influenced the timbre of this work in some way. At the moment these include Terry Prattchet and

Ursula. K. LeGuin. Other authors which we feel compelled to mention and thank wholeheartedly, are all the wonderful members of the Yahoo! club known as 'Wild Magic Returns Again'. (http://www.clubs.yahoo.com/clubs/wildmagicreturnsagain) We couldn't do it without you, guys!

Summary: A young mother tells a tale. A tale in which time - twenty years worth of it - has passed since the closure of another one. A tale of a prince and a healer; a mage and a disgruntled daughter. Of one familiar figure who is finally feeling her years catch up to her, and another - just as familiar - who is seeking revenge for the third (and by no means the last) time. A tale of betrayal and illness, of guilt and loyalty, and how things can change in the blink of an eye. Of healing and redemption. A tale of different obsessions and personal gain. Of ambition; and where it takes and how it treats those who have it. A tale punctuated with a child's questioning, and the realisation that even those branded with the stereotypical brand known as being 'evil', also possess human feeling.

It was the night of midwinter, many fires flickered merrily in many grates, and many a pretty token or prettier words changed hands and mouths. Frost patterns had made their fragile impression on windows everywhere; and the high, tremulous voices' of hundreds of carol singers echoed sweetly in the air wherever there were children to sing the songs.

In one particular village, next to the last reaches of the river Olorun: where the green and brown patchwork of farmland gave way to the sand and dunes of the Great Southern Desert with just a wide road in-between; a woman drew the curtains, hiding the frost patterns from sight.

She did not look like anything unnerving; a tall, comfortable looking woman in her early thirties with large, clear green eyes and heavy, strawberry blonde hair done in a lose braid down her back. An attractive countenance certainly, but there was nothing unduly mysterious in her face and manner. She was simply a young mother of three, recently widowed and well provided for. The rumours that flew around, saying that she was once a diplomat; who danced with the enemy and charmed them with praise and well chosen words whilst giving nothing away, and that she powerful mage, and Voice to the nomadic Bazhir - even royalty - did not fit this woman. But everyone knows that country hamlets give wild and impossible histories to their inhabitance. Good for a yarn but almost always all fuss and no substance. They have nothing else to do. As it was, this woman was just the young healers widow, who had been brought to the village nine years before and had never done anything out of the ordinary. She did not even have a royal maiden name. Only 'Lenin'. A name as common as mud on the other side of the border.

"Mama?" A little girl of about eight, with light brown hair all over curls and eyes the same as her mothers, walked timidly into the room.

"What is it, Elsie love? It's past ten, a little late for you to be up."

"But, Mama!" The child was all innocence, "Mirajj an' Aoife are 'wake, too. An'," Elsie pouted, "I'm older than them two."

" Older than those two," the mother corrected automatically. Sure enough two more children trooped in, the boy, showing all the world how responsible (her son's new word) he was by supporting his struggling four-year-old sister so that she wouldn't trip over.

"Mean ol' Elsie woke us up!" Mirajj said, shaking with indignation and the weight of his rather plump sibling combined.

"Elsie, you didn't?"

"She d-d-did!" This came from little Aoife. Her face and nightgown were soaking.

"Is dropping the water jug on Aoife responsible, Mama? She's only a baby," Mirajj asked curiously.

"No it is not. Elsie Locusta Miller!" The woman stood up, and proceeded to dry her youngest child off and glare at her eldest at the same time. "What in all the God's name's possessed you to do that?" Elsie, looking defiant, glared right back at her mother.

"You say tha' if Mirajj an' Aoife are 'wake then I can' be 'wake, too. An' I couldn't sleep, but Mirajj an' Aoife were asleep, and I did NOT drop the water jug on Aoife, it fell. So there!"

The young mother tutted and sat down, hauling Mirajj and Aoife up onto the chair. "Be quiet, child. You and I are going to have a long talk about this in the morning. But for now, do you want to hear a story, all of you? Mirajj and Aoife can sleep in tomorrow, but you, Elsie love, have to leave for school in the morning. We'll have a vote on it. Majority rules." She smiled, "So, what do you say?"

"I don' know what a 'Majority Rules' is, but wanna story," Mirajj said seriously, looking slightly nervous. Elsie, showing all the superiority of being two years older then her dark-eyed sibling, smiled indulgently.

"You would, but I think stories are for babies. I don' want one."

"They are not," Mirajj retorted.

"Are too!"

"Are not!"

"That's enough!" The mother, interrupting something that would turn explosive if she didn't watch out, put a pacifying hand on Mirajj's shoulder. "It appears that we have a tied situation. Aoife, dearie - what do you have to say?"

"S-s-story!"

"Well, that's settled then." The mother settled more comfortably in her chair, pushing a wayward strand of hair out of her face.

"But Mama!" cried a petulant Elsie, eyes wide and angry.

"No buts, Elsie Miller. Besides, you should enjoy this story. The seed of the matter was planted fifty years ago. When Uusoae, the Queen of Chaos, was condemned by Mother Flame herself to spend the time it takes for a star to die locked away from the innocent world…"