The brighter the light, the darker the shadows.
In the northern reaches of the world, Sanctuary, the two parents conferred in quiet whispers, softly enough not to disturb their only child, their 7-year-old daughter who had fallen ill again. It had been a bitterly cold winter. The chill outside seemed to creep into the young girl's frail body, undeterred by the thick walls of the stone house. It seemed a living thing, that cold, and in its dissatisfaction it worked tirelessly to defeat all efforts to combat it. And so the girl was shivering again, from the frosty kiss of the raging blizzard outside. Each time, it seemed as though she would not make it through the illness, that it would consume her body at last. But still she staved off the inevitable, surviving only by the work of miracles and the parents' careful ministrations.
"What should we do?" It was a question that had echoed far too often in the minds of both parents since Chantelle's birth. The blizzard mimicked that haunting question in a mocking wail. Like an answer to unspoken prayers, there came a soft knock at the door, barely discernible against the fury of the storm. The knock was repeated again, and once more. The two shared a questioning look. Indeed, who would be outside at a time like this? The thought that one who meant harm might be waiting there flashed through their minds, but passed away just as swiftly as it had come. No one would travel through life-stealing weather conditions to hurt others. After another brief moment of hesitation, the girl's father pulled open the heavy wooden door.
A mysterious stranger, cloaked from head to foot with a softly colored silk robe, stood in the open doorway. Not a hint of snow had graced that robe, that cloth so unsuitable for this angry weather. Falling ice fragments traced other trajectories instead, sliding off an invisible barrier to settle on the pure, serene land. It was impossible to determine the stranger's gender, as the layers of rich cloth concealed all visible features. The figure was tall, standing with quiet dignity on the steps of pale crushed stone. The voice, however, was sweetly melodious, and unmistakably feminine. "I am Arcanna," she declared, slowly drawing back her hood to reveal a light, attractive face with large, questioning eyes. "I am a sorceress of the Zann Esu."
Bewildered, Chantelle's father, a tall middle-aged man with dark skin and an open, honest manner, replied haltingly, "Pleased to meet you…Arcanna. Would you care to come inside for a respite?"
"Yes, and thank you, kind sir," the sorceress said, stepping inside as the man shut the door tightly behind them. The wife heaped another few logs into the forlorn blaze under the red brick chimney. Those seasoned logs were as precious as gold to the family, for they were life's fuel itself, painstakingly stockpiled all summer. Arcanna noted this generous hospitality and smiled. "If you and your lovely wife do not mind, I would like to make a few inquiries concerning your daughter."
"Our daughter?" The girl's father stammered, "But our little girl is ill again…she may not make it through the night…"
"May I see her? I am not a healer, but I have a potion that may help."
"We're not a wealthy couple," the man stated, obviously embarrassed and awed in the presence of the magic-user. Then, with a quick burst of words, he blurted, "We will not be able to pay you. Our daughter's expenses has drained what little remained of our old savings. We are barely able to support ourselves as it is. But our child… she is our lives. If you can save her, we will do anything for you."
"I do not require money or any other form of recompense," Arcanna said firmly.
With some hope, the girl's father led the way to a small room, taking great care to open the door gently, so as to not disturb the one sleeping within. His wife, a younger woman with nervous hands and a timid countenance, followed after the sorceress into the room. The brown-haired woman seemed devoid of any real hope, but still she had to ask. "Can you help her?"
Arcanna's heart clenched to see the thin shape lying so limply on the bed. The girl seemed no more than a limp doll, just as weak and lifeless. Pale limbs draped over one another in lackadaisical abandon. Her chest did not rise and fall with a regular rhythm but rather struggled erratically to sustain a piteous life. But though it was a sad sight, it was not one to which there was no remedy. The girl had innate powers, the sorceress could tell at a magically enhanced glance. But she would soon be lost without the necessary guidance to nurture the magic within her.
"I can help her," Arcanna told the father, slowly and carefully, so he would understand the importance of what she was telling him. "I can help her," she repeated, "but the very nature of her illness is magic itself. I have no idea how this affliction came to be placed upon her, but it can neither be cured nor removed by any means short of death. For her to truly recover, she must study the art of magic, master it, and finally defeat this debilitating sickness. I am breaking our traditional policy by offering an apprenticeship on my first visit, but I feel that Chantelle's is truly an exceptional case."
"You are willing to apprentice our daughter and teach her magic?" the man said unbelievingly. It was a miracle for the common folk to be visited by one of the magi, but to be apprenticed was a near impossibility. This woman seemed trustworthy, but one could never know. She offered hope however, hope for a life that was nearly gone. Facing the imminent death of their daughter sealed the matter. The husband conferred with his spouse for moments only, before turning to the sorceress to reveal their obvious decision.
Arcanna interjected smoothly. "Of course, it would mean that she would live with us of the Zann Esu until she becomes strong in magical prowess and educated in our roles as protectors of the realm. Then she may go wherever she pleases. But first, let me tell you of our villages, where Chantelle will live."
There was an unmistakable tone of pride in Arcanna's voice as she continued. "To the east lies jungles of such breathtaking beauty that people, immersed within a green-hued paradise that no poor words of mine can accurately describe, can lose their individuality to the greater consciousness of nature. Verdant plant life proliferates with vibrant joy, springing up everywhere the eyes look. There are so many types of tree and shrub and moss that to try to classify them would be sacrilege. These plants bring a whole new spectrum to the colors of the rainbow, violet blues, sun-tinged orange and reds, and every shade of green life there is to be found.
Our villages are built in the midst of this spectacular panorama. Vines serve as our ropes and the trees themselves offer a natural shelter. Naturally, there are carnivorous predators in the jungle, but every village has its own specially trained guard to deal with threats. This elite guard has proven time and time again that they can adequately handle any dangers with ease.
I cannot tell you the exact location of our villages, for the Zann Esu like to remain aloof from the troubled world, only coming out to help as necessary. Nevertheless, rest assured that your daughter is in very safe and capable hands."
Chantelle's father looked at the woman sharply, dismayed. lovingly at the frail figure on the bed. There would be no more bright laughter to fill up the house, no more insistent questioning, no more of the cheery presence that was his only daughter. With a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of his soul, he made up his mind. Tears welled up in the man's eyes as he spoke, blurring his vision. "If it will save my daughter, then please do this. We have nothing to offer you but our undying gratitude and heartfelt thanks."
"I will do the best I can," Arcanna promised. She tenderly lifted the girl, breathing words no ordinary mortal could understand. Outside, the storm slowly abated, its strength flagging from its initial onslaught. Hail ceased falling; the subdued wind carried the sweet scent of freshly fallen snow. And when the man opened his eyes again, it was to an empty room.
In the northern reaches of the world, Sanctuary, the two parents conferred in quiet whispers, softly enough not to disturb their only child, their 7-year-old daughter who had fallen ill again. It had been a bitterly cold winter. The chill outside seemed to creep into the young girl's frail body, undeterred by the thick walls of the stone house. It seemed a living thing, that cold, and in its dissatisfaction it worked tirelessly to defeat all efforts to combat it. And so the girl was shivering again, from the frosty kiss of the raging blizzard outside. Each time, it seemed as though she would not make it through the illness, that it would consume her body at last. But still she staved off the inevitable, surviving only by the work of miracles and the parents' careful ministrations.
"What should we do?" It was a question that had echoed far too often in the minds of both parents since Chantelle's birth. The blizzard mimicked that haunting question in a mocking wail. Like an answer to unspoken prayers, there came a soft knock at the door, barely discernible against the fury of the storm. The knock was repeated again, and once more. The two shared a questioning look. Indeed, who would be outside at a time like this? The thought that one who meant harm might be waiting there flashed through their minds, but passed away just as swiftly as it had come. No one would travel through life-stealing weather conditions to hurt others. After another brief moment of hesitation, the girl's father pulled open the heavy wooden door.
A mysterious stranger, cloaked from head to foot with a softly colored silk robe, stood in the open doorway. Not a hint of snow had graced that robe, that cloth so unsuitable for this angry weather. Falling ice fragments traced other trajectories instead, sliding off an invisible barrier to settle on the pure, serene land. It was impossible to determine the stranger's gender, as the layers of rich cloth concealed all visible features. The figure was tall, standing with quiet dignity on the steps of pale crushed stone. The voice, however, was sweetly melodious, and unmistakably feminine. "I am Arcanna," she declared, slowly drawing back her hood to reveal a light, attractive face with large, questioning eyes. "I am a sorceress of the Zann Esu."
Bewildered, Chantelle's father, a tall middle-aged man with dark skin and an open, honest manner, replied haltingly, "Pleased to meet you…Arcanna. Would you care to come inside for a respite?"
"Yes, and thank you, kind sir," the sorceress said, stepping inside as the man shut the door tightly behind them. The wife heaped another few logs into the forlorn blaze under the red brick chimney. Those seasoned logs were as precious as gold to the family, for they were life's fuel itself, painstakingly stockpiled all summer. Arcanna noted this generous hospitality and smiled. "If you and your lovely wife do not mind, I would like to make a few inquiries concerning your daughter."
"Our daughter?" The girl's father stammered, "But our little girl is ill again…she may not make it through the night…"
"May I see her? I am not a healer, but I have a potion that may help."
"We're not a wealthy couple," the man stated, obviously embarrassed and awed in the presence of the magic-user. Then, with a quick burst of words, he blurted, "We will not be able to pay you. Our daughter's expenses has drained what little remained of our old savings. We are barely able to support ourselves as it is. But our child… she is our lives. If you can save her, we will do anything for you."
"I do not require money or any other form of recompense," Arcanna said firmly.
With some hope, the girl's father led the way to a small room, taking great care to open the door gently, so as to not disturb the one sleeping within. His wife, a younger woman with nervous hands and a timid countenance, followed after the sorceress into the room. The brown-haired woman seemed devoid of any real hope, but still she had to ask. "Can you help her?"
Arcanna's heart clenched to see the thin shape lying so limply on the bed. The girl seemed no more than a limp doll, just as weak and lifeless. Pale limbs draped over one another in lackadaisical abandon. Her chest did not rise and fall with a regular rhythm but rather struggled erratically to sustain a piteous life. But though it was a sad sight, it was not one to which there was no remedy. The girl had innate powers, the sorceress could tell at a magically enhanced glance. But she would soon be lost without the necessary guidance to nurture the magic within her.
"I can help her," Arcanna told the father, slowly and carefully, so he would understand the importance of what she was telling him. "I can help her," she repeated, "but the very nature of her illness is magic itself. I have no idea how this affliction came to be placed upon her, but it can neither be cured nor removed by any means short of death. For her to truly recover, she must study the art of magic, master it, and finally defeat this debilitating sickness. I am breaking our traditional policy by offering an apprenticeship on my first visit, but I feel that Chantelle's is truly an exceptional case."
"You are willing to apprentice our daughter and teach her magic?" the man said unbelievingly. It was a miracle for the common folk to be visited by one of the magi, but to be apprenticed was a near impossibility. This woman seemed trustworthy, but one could never know. She offered hope however, hope for a life that was nearly gone. Facing the imminent death of their daughter sealed the matter. The husband conferred with his spouse for moments only, before turning to the sorceress to reveal their obvious decision.
Arcanna interjected smoothly. "Of course, it would mean that she would live with us of the Zann Esu until she becomes strong in magical prowess and educated in our roles as protectors of the realm. Then she may go wherever she pleases. But first, let me tell you of our villages, where Chantelle will live."
There was an unmistakable tone of pride in Arcanna's voice as she continued. "To the east lies jungles of such breathtaking beauty that people, immersed within a green-hued paradise that no poor words of mine can accurately describe, can lose their individuality to the greater consciousness of nature. Verdant plant life proliferates with vibrant joy, springing up everywhere the eyes look. There are so many types of tree and shrub and moss that to try to classify them would be sacrilege. These plants bring a whole new spectrum to the colors of the rainbow, violet blues, sun-tinged orange and reds, and every shade of green life there is to be found.
Our villages are built in the midst of this spectacular panorama. Vines serve as our ropes and the trees themselves offer a natural shelter. Naturally, there are carnivorous predators in the jungle, but every village has its own specially trained guard to deal with threats. This elite guard has proven time and time again that they can adequately handle any dangers with ease.
I cannot tell you the exact location of our villages, for the Zann Esu like to remain aloof from the troubled world, only coming out to help as necessary. Nevertheless, rest assured that your daughter is in very safe and capable hands."
Chantelle's father looked at the woman sharply, dismayed. lovingly at the frail figure on the bed. There would be no more bright laughter to fill up the house, no more insistent questioning, no more of the cheery presence that was his only daughter. With a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of his soul, he made up his mind. Tears welled up in the man's eyes as he spoke, blurring his vision. "If it will save my daughter, then please do this. We have nothing to offer you but our undying gratitude and heartfelt thanks."
"I will do the best I can," Arcanna promised. She tenderly lifted the girl, breathing words no ordinary mortal could understand. Outside, the storm slowly abated, its strength flagging from its initial onslaught. Hail ceased falling; the subdued wind carried the sweet scent of freshly fallen snow. And when the man opened his eyes again, it was to an empty room.