Book One - Awakening

Salt

My feet are aching by the time I cross the inlet. Seawater washes to my knees, pooling in my boots.

I'm so tired I don't care.

The forest guardian sloshes by my side, sending bigger waves up to my waist. I try to shove him away, annoyed, but he simply looks down and hums inquisitvely. I give up.

The low wooden house is deceptively simple; I built it that way. Surrounded by tall trees and their gnarled roots, the house perches just above the beach, but the gentle waves that lap at the dark sand have never posed a threat. Glistening white rocks jut amongst the seaweed, my excuse for settling so far from the Old Road; a salt trader lived near her resource.

I rest a hand on the rough wood near the front door just as the sun slips lower and the evening deepens to violet. Leaving the living tree outside, I unlock the door and push it open, relaxing immediately. A cooking fire takes precedence in the middle of the room, a four-day-old rabbit stew bubbling thickly in the pot tucked amongst the coals. My workbench glimmers green in a corner, rife with old mana from my last experiment, and on the opposite wall, my cot.

A simple, tidy cottage for the salt trader I pretend to be.

If anyone looked closely at the corner near the front window, they'd notice the wooden boards didn't quite line up, and if they were to step on it, they might hear the faint squeak of the trapdoor I could never get to fit quite right. If they were ever so curious, they might pull up the door and discover my hoard.

I descend now into the crawlspace below my cottage. A dim torch lights the rows of chests, the lines of cupboards that are stuffed to the brim with stolen goods.

"Is it stealing though," I muse as I lift the lid of a nearby chest. "If it doesn't belong to anyone?"

I sort through the bundles until I come across a replacement broom. I examine it in the low light, squinting along the handle, pricking my finger on the twigs. Whoever made it did well - I can sense the power vibrating through it.

Loneliness hits me like a blast from a tinkler. I let my arm droop and lean heavily against the chest, exhaustion aching in my bones and tears stinging in my eyes. I'd searched so far this time. Still, no one.

I'd raided so many old homes, delving deep into ruins, climbing amongst crumbling remains. There were no fires, nothing guarding the structures, and no one to greet me when I kicked down the door. I'd spent one evening on top of a perilous tower, watching the sun set behind the Sleepless Mountains. I'd eaten the rest of my salted hare and told myself this was how I wanted it to be, but I've always been a shitty liar.

I knew of a few people dotted here and there on the landscape, and visited them with vials of salt I mined from the beach, but they never left the stunted turrets they sheltered in. I certainly wouldn't be having them over for crowberry wine and butter mead anytime soon.

I'd trekked as far as I could before being turned back by nasties I couldn't kill. I'd barely set foot in the snow at the base of the mountains before northern orcs had chased me down. The arid wilderness to the east remains my best hope of finding civilisation if I can survive long enough to find it.

I climb out of the basement, planting my new, stolen broom beside me as I heave myself out. Darkness presses closely against the windows, and I feed the fire as seamist rises to join the heavy night air. The stew is old and congealed, but tastes better than anything I've had in days.

As the wind strengthens outside, the tree monster stomps into the forest to find shelter. I let him go - he won't find anything too dangerous out there and he'd earned my trust during our journey home. With my stomach properly full for the first time days, a roof over my head, and rough-spun blankets cushioning my body, I settle to go to sleep. My eyes drift close.

And someone knocks on the door.