Chapter 1 - News from the Village

Wyland fished the kerchief out of his pocket and mopped the droplets of sweat from his brow before they could fall to the sheet below and wreck his tallies. Wyland was a tallyer. A thinker. Six days until the merchants arrived at Ni'Baras Stand to begin bargaining. With one day accounted for travel, that left him five days to finish the harvest. It had taken Jorle and him a week to harvest the four fields they had finished so far, with five of barley yet to bring in. The half-a-field-a-day pace he and his son had settled into was too slow by half.

Chin in hand, considering the numbers before him, he growled under his breath. Wyland had never heard it in himself, but when he growled in anger or frustration, he sounded fully as fierce as his father had. He cut off as he heard his son approach, and turned to look at him. He thrust out the sheet of flimsy paper that he had used to scrawl out his figures and sums.

"Jorle, tell me what this means." He searched his son's face, continuing his scrutiny even after Jorle pulled his eyes away to look at the paper held before him.

Jorle Ibara was already taller than most of the men in the Fifthland, almost tall enough to look Wyland in the eye. His shoulders were as broad as his father's, but he hadn't filled out with the muscle of manhood yet. The curly light-brown hair that was dripping with the sweat of a long day in the field lacked only for the touches of gray that had crept into Wyland's own wild mop over the last few seasons. Wyland had dark brown, almost black, eyes, but Jorle's were his mother's striking blue. More than a few of the village girls stopped what they were doing to stare when Jorle trailed his father into the village. Jorle always seemed befuddled when his father started chuckling every time they went to town. Wyland smiled at his son now, appreciating that innocence that he missed in himself, the innocence that he would not take back for all the gold of the Aiel.

"It means Ma and the girls are going to have to postpone their weaving, and help bring in the harvest," Jorle said, after a quick consideration of the numbers dangling from Wyland's outstretched hand. "Ma's going to be disappointed, Da, but I think Avilene and Shaundi will be excited to switch chores."

"Why do these numbers mean that?"

"Well, according to this, it looks like we'll need to work twice as fast as we've been all week."

"Good, son. Good." The hint of a grin still held on his face: he had plenty of reasons to be proud of his only son. "What else? Couldn't you and I just work the faster?"

"We could move that fast Da, you and I," Jorle said thoughtfully, "but I don't think we could keep it up for five days…" Jorle looked up then, blue eyes meeting brown. Contrasting eyes in such similar faces, "maybe we could do it at that Da; we've outstripped ourselves past believing before."

"I'm glad you believe in what we can accomplish together, but you were closer to truth in the former than the later." Folding the paper and slipping it into his belt pouch he slapped a hand on Jorle's shoulder and leaving it there turned him toward the cottage to head home. The Sun was disappearing behind the Dragon's Shelter "Anything more?"

"I think we could probably work a little faster and just bring the girls out with us." The boy paused then glancing uncertainly at Wyland, "I think we could leave Ma to her weaving and still get done." As he finished each word came out with more confidence.

"Good job, boy, all angles. That is the direction to look at any situation from." Wyland continued as they walked. "I'm glad that you can see beyond what you're told to find your own way. But I'll tell you why I'm going to ask your mother to put down her weaving and help us in the reap—against my own sense of self-preservation. You, Avilene, Shaundi, and I could get the barley in if you and I worked faster and the girls worked as fast as they could. But working as fast as we can against a deadline will make us sloppy. Better I apologize to Detra later, because her sure hand will let us do the job right." Looking over at his son he could see the lesson hitting its mark. "She won't like it, but she knows I wouldn't ask it, if it wasn't what the family needed."

Stepping out of the rows of barley, they entered the clearing that surrounded the farmhouse. The Ibara farm was one of the largest in the Fifthland, and had been for generations. The farm's proximity to the Forrest of Mists always kept Ibara folk wary, but Wyland's father had told him that was what kept Ibaras strong and watchful. There was an apple orchard surrounding the west side of the farmhouse, an orchard that never saw a true harvest. Generations of Ibaras had been buried there, and no one but Ibaras would ever eat an Ibara apple. East of the cottage stood a large pen where the sheep stood bleating in ignorance, attached to the sheep-pen was a barn that had been repaired and rebuilt more times than Wyland could imagine. Between the house and the Ibara men was a garden on the southern side.

On the north side of the cottage ran Whitechild road. According to oldwives in the Fifthland, children clothed in white had fled along that road to safety long ago while the men and women of the Fifthland had stood against evil. No one knew what evil, or why their children had been cloaked all in white, but the road had been called that since before Wyland's greatfather's father's time, and maybe longer.

Opening the back door, Wyland found his wife bending to pull a loaf of bread out of the low brick oven. He thought about sending Jorle on an errand that would leave him alone with Detra for a few Light-blessed moments, but Avilene came into the kitchen carrying a pot full of water and he knew it was pointless. The farmer walked over to his wife and kissed her lightly on the cheek. "Hello, Light of my Heart."

"Hello boys." She smiled at the sight of him, after all the years since they had said their vows before the Light. "How is the harvest going?"

"Well enough Detra, well enough." The look he gave her said there was more to say. She only nodded, but he was sure that she already knew what he had left unsaid. Avilene had set down the pot and was smiling to see him as well. He took two steps and scooped her up into a spinning hug. "And hello my daughter! What have you done today, my dear?"

"I sat at a loom all day Da." Her dark brown eyes assumed the 'slightly wounded and much abused' look, Wyland couldn't help but smiling at her.

"All day, hmm?" Detra said from behind him. "All day at the loom may have been trying, but two hours weaving and the rest of the day dreaming and chattering should be nothing to speak of."

Chuckling, Wyland hugged Avilene again before releasing her. Avilene was only fifteen, but soon the Ladies Council would allow her to unbraid her long black hair and he would have to start chasing away young men every day. She was already taller than her mother, had a face that made the village boys stare, and a smile that lit up the entire village. She was carefree and her joy seeped into everyone around her. She was special, and everyone in the village knew it. She seemed to know it too. She never really shirked her chores, but diligent did not enter into it. She was goodhearted, but knew the effect she had on boys, and did not hesitate in using it to get what she wanted. Avilene wasn't selfish exactly…she just always seemed to get what she wanted. She was a blessing, and at the same time she often frustrated her mother. When Wyland was sure he had found the right young man, one he was sure deserved her, she would make the lucky boy very happy. And she would make sure that he made her very happy.

"Where is my other beautiful girl?"

"Shaundi is still at the loom." Detra said approvingly. "Wyland, Parn Alver sent Bant over after they all got back from Ni'Baras Stand today. He wanted to tell you that there is a stranger in the village asking questions after a Fifthlander. A man who spent his youth fighting in outland armies but disappeared quite some time back." She never looked up from the pot of water that she was busy turning into soup. "Apparently, nobody's been able to help this stranger find who he is looking for, although, Bant said he gave a very detailed description of you."