Once upon a time, on the outskirts of a slavic village where the sun rose late and set early, there lived a gentle wood cutter and his three beautiful daughters. They lived in a cottage at the base of a tall cliff where roses bloomed in the summer and mistletoe bedecked the oak trees when the snows were high. The woodcutter was a vassal of the lord of the land, Baron Serge Rozca of Clan Tremere, who's haven and castle was perched at the top of the same cliff. Each day the woodcutter would head out with his cart into the black, black woods and fill it to groaning with fresh cut timber, and each sunset his daughters would carry it, an armload at a time, up the winding stairs hidden in the cliff that connected their house to that of their lord and master, to fuel his constant experimentation of magic.
Each daughter was more beautiful than the next. The eldest, Ember, had golden hair and eyes, and her skin was as soft as the clouds as they spin their way through an evening sky. The next, Flame, had hair colored by the glory of sunset, and her eyes were wise with the way of knowing. The youngest was Cinder, her hair was the color of pitch and her voice sounded like poured honey when she sang to the birds at dusk. The three were as gentle as their father, noble of bearing if not of blood, and their devotion to their Master was as unquestionable as their love for their father.
Baron Rozca worked every day on his experiments, so much so that he would often forget to feed until well into the night. He would look up at false dawn and panic when the hunger had worked it's way into his limbs until his hands shook so much that he could no longer hold his experiments over the flames. Then a madness would overtake him and he would storm through his castle looking for servants, for blood, for anything to feed the ache in his veins. He hated to leave his haven, scorning the thrill of the hunt as a savage by product of a pre-Christian world, so instead he flung candles, tore tapestries from their hangings and raged at the three daughters to feed him, feed him, feed him! At first the three fed him from their own slit wrists the moment that he awoke from his sun induced slumber, but although he patted them and caressed their throats and called them his angels, his salvation, they did not have enough time to rebuild the blood in their own bodies before it was their turn to tend to their master. They grew weak and feeble and were hard pressed to bring the wood that their father had cut up the flights and flights of stairs to his laboratory. The Baron grew quickly wroth at their ineptitude and began to beat them, tying them to posts in his laboratory and snaking a cat-o-nine tails over their shoulders and back, careful to leave their beautiful faces unmarked, but licking the blood from their skin as it rose to the surface from the welts that he raised.
Ember watched her sisters suffer the beatings in silence. With each lash she felt her heart harden against the Baron, felt rage boil the blood in her veins, saw red when he turned the lash on her, knew despair when she realized that there was nothing that she could do against him. For was he not mighty? Did he not have the strength of seven men? Did she not feel weak with desire when he came into her presence and bit into her neck to assuage the hunger that overwhelmed him? Was his knowledge of the black arts not astounding? Ember knew that her only weapons against him was her cleverness, and the skills of her sisters, small weapons indeed against the might of a Tremere.
Finally after three days of beatings, the Baron released Cinder as the dawn was threatening the sky. "I am out of wood," he said stonily, "go down to your father and bring me some more, for despite you and your sisters' incompetence, I must continue my experiments. Bring me 3 cords of wood by sunset or I will drink every last drop of Ember's blood while you watch." Cinder trembled, "But Master," she cried, "I am weak and ill, I can hardly walk for want of blood, how can I possibly do as you ask?" The Baron was unmoved, "I care not about what concerns you, I only know that I require wood for fire and blood, and you must provide me with one while your sisters will give me the other." He swept out of the room and went to his chamber where he lay down in his coffin and slept.
Cinder wept to see the lashes on the soft, soft skin of Ember and how pale Flame had become for want of her own blood. "Oh sisters," she cried, "What am I to do?" Flame looked up and her eyes looked distant and strange, the way of knowing had come upon her, "A man comes," she intoned, "With arms strong as oak, looking for a wife to take care of him. Down the forest road he walks searching for his destiny." Ember spoke quickly to Cinder, "You must take that vial from the top most shelf and drink it down. It has the power make your voice lure men to you like a mermaid's song. You must sing to this man and bring him to us. He shall carry the wood up the stairs for you and we shall all be safe." Cinder moved as if in a dream, took the vial from the wall and drank it down. The dregs were as bitter as death, but she felt her voice swell and change and blossom like an orchid under the gentle ministrations of the sun. She left her sisters in the castle, descended the stairs and came out of her house as the dawn broke through the trees. She walked to the road and knelt by a stream. Soon, sooner than she had imagined, a handsome young man with nut brown hair came walking down the road. She opened her mouth to call to him and the sound that issued from her lips was unfamiliar, startling her. It was exquisite, the sound of trees dancing, of waves breaking on the shore, of the moon's soft light illuminating a field of poppies. The man was struck dumb with awe and came to her begging her to tell him her name. Instead she sung to him the story of her life, her sisters, her master, their cruel imprisonment, and the dilemma now facing her. The sounds that she made with her voice called to the man in the depths of his soul, and he fell, as young men often do, instantly and deeply in love with Cinder, promising to help her out of her situation and follow her anywhere. John Acorn, for that was his name, carried her back to her father's house, fed her and tended her and then carried the three cords of wood, one armload at a time up the winding stairs hidden in the cliff face.
As the sun was beginning to set, while John Acorn was having his supper with the gentle wood cutter, Cinder climbed the stairs hidden in the cliff face up to meet her lord and Master. Immediately he pounced on her and tied her back up, then he inspected the wood. "I see," he said, "That you have brought me the wood as you should, your sister shall live another night." At that he threw himself into his experiments, slaving away at his magical task, and again forgetting to feed until with the false dawn he leapt for Ember, pulling her head back and biting deep into her neck. Her sisters let out a howl of protest. Flame in particular begged the Baron to let her sister go and keep his word. At that the Baron flew into a rage, beating the three women about the head and frothing blood. They cowered in terror. Finally, the Baron untied Flame and grabbed her by her glorious red hair, "I need more wood," he snarled, "Go down to your Father and bring me 9 cords of wood by sunset or I will drink every last drop of Ember's blood while you watch." Flame cried out, "But Master, my arms they are weak from being tied up for days, I can barely walk on my numb feet, how can I do as you ask?" "I care not," replied the baron, "I care only for wood and blood, and you must provide me with one or your sisters will give me with the other." Then with a savage twist, he flung her to the floor and departed.
Flame lay where she had fallen, sobbing, all of her knowledge fled from her. Ember, angry but not afraid, told Flame to get to her feet. "I cannot," Flame cried, "For my knowing has left me, I do not know what to do." Ember spoke, "Go to the shelf on the far wall and pull down the magic bowl that you find there. Fill it with our blood. Cinder, you must awaken the bowl by singing to it, and Flame you must ask it where lies the aid that you will require." Flame did so, taking it down from the shelf and feeling the cool metal of its sides against her fingertips. She took a rag, soaked it in the blood that stood on the skin of her and her sisters and wrung it into the bowl. Cinder sung to the bowl, her voice shaky but clear, and the bowl brightened and hummed along with her. Flame peered into it's depths and it was as if the knowing had come upon her, she was able to part the mists of time and see the image of a man from the village, tall and lean with pale blond hair driving a cart loaded with wood through the forest, and as she looked upon his face he looked up, as if he knew he was being watched, and locked his eyes upon her even though she was not there and she knew that this man was her destiny. She descended the stairs to their house where her father and John Acorn were just rising, she took her cloak from a peg and hurried down the same path that her sister had trod the day before. And it was not long, sooner than she had imagined, before the man she had seen drove his cart full of wood down the path and pulled to a stop before her. His eyes were green like a sapling's leaves and his limbs were long and firm, "It's you." He said simply, "Tell me your name and how I can help you," He drank in the sight of her, this woman from his vision, and he fell, as young men often do, instantly and deeply in love with Flame. He walked beside her, driving his cart, back to her father's house, and he took care of her and fed her and put her to bed, and started carrying the wood up the flights and flights of stairs cut in the side of the cliff, and when the sun had touched the tops of the trees, the gentle wood cutter and John Acorn joined John Ash, for that was his name, and carried the wood that they had cut that day up the stairs, so that between the three of them they were able to carry 9 cords of wood up to the castle.
As the sun was beginning to set, as John Acorn and John Ash were having their supper with the gentle woodcutter, Flame climbed the flights and flights of stairs cut into the cliff face to meet her Lord and Master. Immediately he pounced upon her, tied her up with her sisters and inspected the wood. "I see that you have done as I commanded," he said, "That is good, for your sisters will live another night." Then again, he concentrated on his experiments, burning the wood that John Acorn and John Ash had brought him in great quantity until the smoke from the fire blackened the stars over the village and the ash rained down on its roofs like snow. Just as false dawn lit the horizon, Baron Serge Rozca looked up from his work in terror, feeling at last the burning hunger that overwhelmed him and leapt for Ember, biting a third time deeply into her throat and licking the blood that flowed forth weakly. Ember spoke around the surge of love and hate that she felt for him, and her words came out thick and slurred, "My Lord and Master, you are in grave need of wood, again. Will you not let me go this morning so that I may bring you more for your experiments?" The Baron looked up when he had drunk his fill and said, "Yes, I do. Go down to your father and bring me 81 cords of wood, or I will drink every last drop of your sister's blood while you watch." "But Master," Ember said calmly, "How can I possibly bring that much wood to you? It would take me all year." "I care not," The Baron replied, "I care only for wood and blood and you must provide me with one or your sisters will provide me with the other." Then the Baron swept out of the room, back to his lair and slept.
Ember picked herself up off the floor from where the Baron had flung her, brushed off her skirts and tied back her hair. She washed herself in a basin of water and then turned to the Baron's shelves. She reached for a bottle, unstopped it and smelled the potion contained within. It held not a magical transformation, it did not speak to her of her future, it was merely a bottle of scent, and she put a few drops behind her ears and between her breasts. Then she left the castle and walked down the stairs cut into the cliff face, past her father and his guests asleep in the house, out her door and down the road to the village just as the sun was rising. The people there were just waking up and they regarded the ash on their roofs with wonder and not a little fear. She ignored them and went to the wood carver's booth where she rapped smartly on the lintel. The wood carver came to the door. He was large and strong with black, black hair that stood up on his head like spikes. He had long, clever fingers that were nicked with scars from where the hammer and chisels had slipped over the years. He regarded Ember as she stood in his doorway, the sun rising behind her making her hair a cloud of gold, and he smelled roses and cinnamon on her skin. "I need you help," was all she said, but it was enough to break his heart and he fell instantly and absolutely in love with her. John Thorn, for that was his name, took his tools and followed her to her father's house where he carved as she directed all day long. She kept her father and John Ash and John Acorn from cutting any wood that day, instead she fed them soup and rubbed their shoulders and told them stories of what her and her sisters had lived through. Then, when the sun was setting through the trees, she and the men climbed up the flights and flights of stairs cut into the cliff face, and she bade them hide on the other side of the door to the Baron's chambers and then walked in. Instantly the Baron leapt at her, but she side stepped him and let him land by the door. "Where is my wood?" He screamed. The door burst open and the men, armed with rope and knives tackled him and threw him to the floor, Ember stood over him with the stake that she had John Thorn carve and said, "I have brought you all the wood that you shall ever require," And staked him where he lay on the floor. The blood that he had in his heart sprayed in the air, and a little of it went into Ember's mouth, and it was then that Ember felt the first of the hunger come upon her, the insatiable need for more blood, and she fell upon the body of her former Master and drank it dry until the ash that was left on the floor was indistinguishable from that on the roofs of the town.
Ember became the new lord of the castle and her father and her sisters occupied the rooms there. John Acorn married Cinder, and John Ash married Flame and moved in with them, and John Thorn became Ember's devoted servant and they all lived happily ever after.
THE END