PROLOGUE
They were in a small, darkened chamber deep
within
the earth. The walls and floor smelt of it: of the dirt, roots, and
decomposing
leaves. Faintly, enough so only the child noticed.
The child sat in the corner, clothed in a
brown
hooded smock of some old and withered material. It might have been
the
burlap of a flour sack, once. A small tendril of brown hair escaped
the
darkness of the hood. Her face was in its folds, but she was
watching.
A woman clothed in black linen scattered
herbs
on the floor. She poked at them irritably with a wand and scowled.
The
old man pointed his wand at the fire and muttered "Lumos."
The
dimness of the room lifted a bit, and the woman fixed a few
things.
"There," she said. The child saw
only
a circle drawn in the dirt, and another circle of herbs within it,
but
said nothing. Who was she to argue with the woman's mysterious ways?
The
old man nodded noncommittally.
"It is… sufficient," he
commented,
letting not a hint of praise or disapproval into his voice. The
woman
hung on his every word, the child noticed. Then he turned toward the
faint
glow of the hearth. "This is all that really
matters."
"But… but I thought…!"
the
woman cried shrilly, and the old man clapped his hands to his head
as
if his ears hurt. He sighed.
"It's only for protection. Not strictly
necessary.
You are weaker than I though, Lowell. You cannot feel the power of
the
earth?"
The woman called Lowell said nothing. The
child
wondered how long it would be before she revealed her true nature to
him.
