Hidden Stars
Book One of the Rune of Unmaking
By Madeline Howard
Rebound by Sagebrush
Copyright © 2004
Madeline Howard
All right reserved.
ISBN: 9781417701377
Chapter One
On the great isle of Thäerie, there is a region north of
the Siobhagh River where the barley fields and
apple orchards of the south, the prosperous farms and the
ancient many-towered cities, gleaming white and gold, give
way to bleak dun-colored moorland, sullen hills, and rocky upland
valleys. They call this country the Mointeach. Long ago,
it was a land much plagued by warlocks, black bards, and
cunning-men, but many perished at the Changing of the
World, and many more fled at the coming of the High King.
His allies were the mighty wizards of Leal, whose powers were
far too great for these rustic necromancers and petty spellcasters
to withstand -- and there were still, in those days, many
wild, uncivilized places in the world where those who made
their living raising ghosts and cursing cattle might flourish
unmolested. Yet they left a number of strange customs and
beliefs behind them on the Mointeach, and there was hardly a
house to be found there without a rune-wand or a bundle of
bones buried under the doorsill, some half-understood charm
scratched upon the hearthstone.
The land remained much as it had always been. Villages were few, and divided by vast tracts of wilderness, while the
little stormy bays and inlets were treacherous and difficult to
navigate. No visitor ever came there traveling for pleasure, and
few of any sort came there at all.
Yet it happened, one dreary day on the cusp of winter, in
the time of the High King, that a trio of wizards trudged
through the Mointeach. They were on their way to witness a
birth and (it might be) a death, and a great sense of urgency and
dread was on them.
For hours they walked through country wild and trackless,
while a lonely wind whistled in the rocky defiles, and hawks
and gulls circled overhead. Late in the day, they finally came
upon a road. Little more than a footpath it was, and very rough
and stony, but quite unmistakable, cut deep into the earth and
running on for mile upon mile. They had seen no other signs of
human habitation since landing their boat on one of the pebbly
beaches to the northeast, and it seemed to the wizard Faolein
and his two companions that this road must lead to the town of
Cuirglaes. They decided to follow it.
After skirting the hills for an hour or two, the track began
to climb. The wizards kilted up their long robes and continued
on. The road wound uphill between shadowy stands of pine
and spruce. Every now and then the forest grew thinner, and
Faolein could see all the way to the top of the hill, could just
make out in the failing light a huddle of ancient buildings made
of stacked stone.
Could this be Cuirglaes? he asked himself. They had been
expecting a town of moderate size, at the very least a great seaside
fortress, not this tiny isolated settlement. Sudden panic
clutched at his throat. If they had missed their true road, gone
somehow astray --
A scattering of big wet snowflakes drifted down, melting as soon as they touched the ground. Faolein tripped over a
knotted root, barked his shin on a tree stump, righted himself,
and continued on, trying to ignore the sting where his skin had
been scraped raw. Clumsy. Clumsy he was and always had
been, especially when he allowed his thoughts to wander, when
he failed to use all six senses to observe his surroundings.
The forest closed in again. Under the trees the air was
damp and cool, heavy with the sharp scent of pine.
He considered the possibility that a mistake had been
made. The sky had been overcast since morning, with not a single
gleam of sunlight the whole grey day. Nevertheless, his own
sense of direction was good, and Éireamhóine's was even better.
He thought: If we've gone astray, it is the curse at work. It
must be. Mother and child will both die, and with them all our
hope.
Another bend in the road brought the village back into
view, this time from the west. And now, partly screened from
the road by a ragged line of beanpoles and skeletal dried cornstalks,
Faolein spotted a cluster of buildings larger and more
solidly built than the rest, and in their midst, thrusting upward,
a round tower some thirty or forty feet high, with narrow windows
set into the thickness of the walls.
"Perhaps Cuirglaes after all," said Éireamhóine. His pale,
perfect face was impassive in the gathering gloom, the deep-set
dark eyes without expression; only his words betrayed his fear.
"May the Fates grant that we come in time to save two lives and
foil our enemy's schemes."
Even as he spoke, the wind came up and scattered the
clouds. The stone buildings on the summit stood silhouetted
against a bloody sunset sky and the immense yellow moon, like
a rotten pumpkin, just then rising behind the tor. As one man,
the three wizards stopped where they stood, and Curóide flung up his yew-wood staff like a barrier against the ill omen, muttering
a béanath, a charm of blessing, under his breath.
Then, carried on the wind, thin but unmistakable, came the
anguished cries of a woman suffering a difficult labor ...
Continues...
Excerpted from Hidden Stars
by Madeline Howard
Copyright © 2004 by Madeline Howard.
Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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