Excerpt from Ash’s Journal – May 3, 4-1879

  Dahlia excelled at survival training—even at such a young age. After two weeks away to train her to survive in the wilderness, I’m certain she will get by if she finds herself on the run and needing to live off the woods. In fact, she is probably more suited for this training than any of her siblings—not that I would ever tell her that.

  Any doubt that Dahlia is my daughter was gone after these two weeks. She finally adopted her Mirnen features. Her teeth became pointed, and her hair turned as white as my own. With such white hair and my mother’s green eyes, Dahlia was, undoubtedly, a member of the Reed family. Thankfully, it was easy to cover her Mirnen features. With a little dye for her hair each night and a file to her teeth, she looked much like every other human in the Red.

  But she caught me entirely by surprise when she regenerated for the first time. She fell down a steep embankment on our way out to the training site, and I watched as her bloody knees healed before my eyes. I’d never seen anything like it in a Halfling. I’d heard it was possible—that some Halflings regenerated from time to time—but I never expected Dahlia to inherit such a gift from me. Unfortunately, regeneration will make it nearly impossible to hide her in the Red permanently. The King’s prisoners take poison each day to weaken them, and I’ve heard it slows their healing. I hesitate to give it to a child, but when she’s older, it may become a temporary solution to keep her hidden. If not, all my plans for Dahlia’s future will have to change.

  Dahlia

  The caravan was late.

  This wasn’t unheard of, but it had only happened three times in all the time I’d been tasked with guarding Portia’s important shipments. Usually, Portia’s people were punctual. She only hired the best, after all. Deviations from the schedule were unusual—something I couldn’t help but worry about on Portia’s behalf.

  Portia’s security detail tonight consisted of five burly men who waited with colorfully-painted horses at the edge of the forest where it butted up against the rocky terrain of Dosier Pass. I’d worked closely with one of the men before. He often helped me find people for Portia and accompanied me to far-off cities on jobs. He was good company and an excellent painter. Even now, his horse was painted in a swirling pattern that reminded me of the night sky. It was beautiful and painstakingly done with an artist’s precision.

  Like me, these men had worked for the Ferros for years—some for decades. Unlike me, they were unconcerned with the delay as they joked amongst each other and discussed their most recent sexual exploits, bar fights, and plans for the evening when the job was over. As they spoke, I realized they were also oddly aware of each other’s bodily functions in a way I’d certainly never discussed openly with others.

  It was disgusting, really—men never ceased to amaze me.

  I ignored their mutterings as I sat in my perch on a branch high up in one of the massive trees not far from the main road—eyes closed and swaying as the tree danced in the light wind. The night was cool, but in my layers and heavy cloak, sweat was beginning to form on the back of my neck.

  I was jittery—nervous. It was as if something was off—something I couldn’t identify, and the fact that I was once again denied access to Carmen today didn’t help my anxiety.

  Every Saturday, I visited Carmen at the Redmond Compound—home to all Predictors from this region of the Red, including the Crimson Council and the Redmond Academy, where Predictors learned their craft. Every weekend, I handed the guards a request to speak with Carmen and then waited outside the gates of the large compound that housed Redmond Academy.

  Carmen had resided there since the day she had her first prediction at age seventeen. She had become one of my closest friends after I’d left the orphanage as a young child—eventually, she became my only true friend. We’d been like sisters, and when she left, I felt as though she took part of me with her.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Every week, I got my hopes up only to have them crushed again. The constant rejection was exhausting.

  I fought to keep myself distracted from my worries—both about Carmen and Portia’s assignment. I’d never failed an escort mission, and I certainly didn’t want to fail this one. So, when eight o’clock came and went, I readied myself to enter the pass in search of the caravan, giving them only another ten minutes to appear before I would act.

  But I didn’t have to wait long. Just a few minutes later, I heard the telltale signs of oxen pulling the carts of goods over the rocky path. If their heavy footfalls weren’t obvious enough, the grunting and groaning of the massive creatures echoing on the walls of the pass would alert anyone with Imm-like hearing for miles.

  A sense of calm fell over me and pushed away all the worries that had distracted me over the last hour. Now that I knew the caravan was safe, I could focus on my part of the mission. I would be vigilant—the perfect protector.

  I soon spotted the caravan as it travelled around the bend in the road where Dosier Pass ended and the path flattened into a level forest road. It took another few minutes for the human security detail to notice the caravan, and I listened as they hoisted themselves onto their painted, white horses and made their way down the path to meet them—their painted colors flashing down the trail like a rainbow in the night.

  These men were seasoned guards. They took over their duty without delaying the caravan—even for a second. The riders lined up on either side of the three oxen-led carts, with one guard bringing up the rear. They bid farewell to the guards who had escorted the carts over the pass and exchanged coins just as the caravan entered the forest.

  I waited until the caravan passed me before dropping to the hard forest floor with a soft grunt as my feet hit the ground hard enough to break a human’s legs. But I wasn’t human. My bones could take the impact even if it made my flesh ache. Gritting my teeth against the twinge of pain, I continued forward—following in the shadows of the trees. With my sensitive hearing and vision, it would be nearly impossible for anyone to sneak up on the caravan without me knowing.

  It took several hours to reach Firen at such a slow pace, and when the city gate was finally in sight, it was already after midnight. I heard the guards grumble periodically about how their evening plans would be shorter tonight, and I smiled to myself, knowing Al would be relieved. I knew just how rowdy these men could be and just how irritable Al would be if he showed up to a destroyed bar in the morning.

  As the caravan passed through the eastern gate—the largest entrance into Firen—Portia’s merchants were already at the city wall to unload the goods from the carts. They stood in dark robes that truly made them more conspicuous than disguised—something I’d be sure to relay to Portia. Now that the caravan was safely within the city, I didn’t bother staying hidden. I removed my dark hood and stepped into the city lights just behind them. No one noticed me, so I couldn’t help myself and called out as I passed, “Good job, boys! Looks like my job here is done.”

  Startled, everyone turned to me, and Yvan, the younger guard I’d worked with before, grumbled to the others reassuringly, “Don’t worry about her. She’s Portia’s little babysitter.”

  I laughed at the comment, and Yvan couldn’t help but smirk at me. I considered waiting and watching to see what this caravan was transporting that was so important, but a distant scream sent chills down my spine.

  I turned toward the sound and waited. It had been so faint, I may have simply imagined it. I was tired, after all, and I sometimes confused the sounds I heard with my sensitive hearing.

  Another shrill scream filled the air—a child’s scream. I swore under my breath and stepped forward towards the sound.

  “What is it, Dahlia?” Yvan asked from behind me.

  “Shh!” I waved at him—almost in a panic now—and prayed he would stay quiet.

  Another scream sounded.

  I wasn’t usually in the business of getting involved in things that didn’t already involve me. I didn’t consider myself the hero type, after all, and it was far too dangerous to risk revealing myself to the Imms. As a fourth scream sounded, however—another child’s scream—my feet seemed to move of their own volition.

  I couldn’t explain why I was drawn to whatever was out there, but I told myself that this danger was close enough to pose a threat to Portia's caravan. Again, I wasn’t the hero type—I couldn’t be.

  I ran as fast as my legs would take me—sticking to the shadows to avoid detection from onlookers. Though I didn’t know exactly where the screams had come from, I continued forward and prayed for some sign of where to go.

  That sign came in the form of a shadowy figure stepping onto the road before me.