We find our place through contribution to the collective. One’s unique gift provides life to the whole.

  The chill of my breath plumed in a cloud before me as I repeated the sacred promise of the initiation rite. I’d set out from our village, determined to make my mark, to prove my worth.

  By truenight the second day, I’d found a herd of ibex—they were exactly what I needed.

  “Bring back something good, Drae,” Mirdal had urged me before I left. Being a year older, I had my proving quest to perform first. He’d attempt his next autumn before the harvest moon. He and my aunt and uncle would grow worried if I didn’t return soon.

  The herd had led me north each day since, more adept at traversing the rocky terrain. I scanned the sparse mountainside, releasing a quick sigh as I caught the ibex’s silhouette against the gray rock.

  I shook my head and picked my way down the narrow mountain pass. There was every possibility this was a fallen isla from the Bright Age, but the ibex traversed it as naturally as they did the true mountains. One of the babies would make a fine addition to our herd. I’d prove myself to my people, contribute toward our greater good, and become one with my clan. Draeza Lif-sai’Lune of the Twisted River Clan. It did have a nice ring to it.

  A sharp, cold wind whipped between the mountain crags, tugging at strands of my hair that had fallen loose from my braids. I tucked the blue-black locks back over the long point of my ear.

  True, sai’Lune wasn’t the name I’d been born to inherit, but my parents had seen to it that I couldn’t carry on their name and live. They hadn’t. Their rebellion left Aunt and Uncle to raise me and Iredella. After the Baron’s soldiers took her and surrendered her to the Order, there was only me. I still have nightmares about that day—best not to think on it alone in the wilderness. Perhaps I could prove myself for both our sakes and, in this small way, redeem our family for all the death our parents had caused.

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  A patch of green caught my eye at the base of the slope the ibex traversed. But that couldn’t be, not this high up.

  It was the green of the fields I dreamt of from before our removal to the north—dreams that ended in screams and blood but, at the beginning, carried so much light. I squatted down and pressed my hand into the shale of the mountainside. The rock bit into my palm, real as anything.

  The ibex bleated to one another, making their way in a merry line to the patch of green. I quickened my pace, not wanting to lose them to the verdant bowl, however impossible it was.

  Squinting did little to change the picture before me—it was not hazy at such a high altitude, and the sun had been obscured since the Fall, at least here in the north. But there they were—impossibly tall trees stretched out of the green bowl. The ibex began to hop down the branches, disappearing into the depths of the cavern the trees stretched out of.

  I had never seen trees like these before, five different types, if my eyes weren’t deceiving me. The tallest of the set bore leaves with rounded edges, five or six bumps per side, ending in a rounded tip as though they’d been formed by the eddies of the river. Another’s leaves made simple, decisive points, and a third bore delicate, pointed fronds rather like fingers. Something about them hummed in memory—ash, oak, and thorn. Maple for another, but the name made little sense. How could they survive in such a climate—our trees bore needles year-round, their squat height allowing them to survive in the harsh north of Breoland. Their sap made our sugars and their logs provided the material of our huts.

  I slung my bow over my shoulder as the last of the ibex disappeared below the green bowl that surrounded the trees. Perhaps the structure would have made sense were I one of the ancient Lifkin—their islas bore strange cavities along the sides, cave-like structures and warrens. It was likely in one of these the ibex had made their home. From here, it looked as though they had crawled into the mouth of a cauldron filled with trees.

  If I was successful in my quest, I would ask Aveela about the names I’d remembered and what they meant. How I would carry the ibex out of the tree-filled cauldron, I knew not, but between the rope in my pack and the calming herbs I’d gathered before I left, I would find a way.

  Thank you so much for joining me for Draeza's adventure in Wielder of Shadows!

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