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Authors: Rose Estes
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child she had been, such a very short time ago. Never would she
have imagined, much less believed, that there were other worlds besides her own—many, many worlds with multitudes of races,
all quite different from her own. In her naïveté she had believed her world and her people to be alone in the universe, and
the goddess they worshiped to be the one true god. She sighed again, as much in sorrow at the loss of her world as at the
loss of her own innocent beliefs. It had been a much simpler, safer life then. Knowledge was painful.
She felt a heavy weight rest gently on her shoulder, then squeeze it with compassion. She covered the hand with her own, feeling
the rough coarse hair beneath her fingers, and smiled up into the darkness. “Your hand is cold. Have you been out?”
“Now, what would I be doing out in such weather?” Uba Mintch asked with a throaty chuckle. “This old man feels thechill of this world even indoors. No, I leave the roaming to Braldt and younger bloods.”
“You talk as though you are an ancient graybeard,” Keri chided with affection as she rose and crossed to the hearth, where
a kettle of herb tea was brewing.
She poured two large mugs and moved to turn up the light until Uba Mintch stopped her with a motion of his hand. “Leave it,
child, I find the firelight soothing. Sometimes I can almost believe that I am home and convince myself that the baby will
soon be tugging on my leg, demanding attention. Did I tell you that she was walking quite well before I left? Getting into
everything, she was.…”
The sorrow was thick in the old Madrelli’s voice and he cleared his throat several times and looked away. Keri moved to his
side and settled a heavy blanket around his shoulders, then stroked his head with the tips of her fingers. A heavy weight
lay upon her heart, as well as a lump in her throat that refused to be swallowed. Tears sprung to her eyes as she tried resolutely
to shut out the painful memory of her own family.
She knew all too well what Uba Mintch was feeling. She and Carn and his band of followers were all that remained of their
people, the Duroni. Uba Mintch had fared less well, for no more than a dozen Madrelli had survived the death of their world.
Carn had been accepted with open arms by the king of Valhalla, for Carn was all too ready to believe that Otir Vaeng was some
sort of deity. Nothing he had seen had convinced him otherwise, and nothing Keri or Braldt said swayed him from this conviction.
Keri and Carn had never been exceptionally close, but now it was as though she were a stranger to him, perhaps even an enemy.
Carn avoided her whenever possible and shut his ears to her words when she spoke.
He and Braldt had been raised as brothers, but Keri knewthat while Braldt accepted the younger man and loved him as though they were born of the same flesh, Carn had always harbored
a nagging jealousy and steadily growing bitterness. No matter what they undertook, whether it was sports or academics, hunting
or merely partying, Braldt was always better than Carn, scoring the highest scores, bagging the best game, winning the most
desirable women—it was always Braldt.
To make matters worse, Braldt never seemed to realize what the younger man was feeling. He gladly shared his game and his
women and made light of his winning scores, never realizing that the ease with which he shed his prizes merely made the losing
more bitter. Keri’s love for Braldt had only made matters worse, and now Carn included her in his hatred.
Keri could scarcely even recognize her brother. It was not so much a matter of the ruined skin and deformed features, but
the bitter nature contained within the shattered body. He had allowed his hatred of Keri and Braldt and the Madrelli to warp
him in some unfixable manner. The skin and the deformities could easily have been reversed, for the Scandis were capable of
performing medical miracles, but Carn
have imagined, much less believed, that there were other worlds besides her own—many, many worlds with multitudes of races,
all quite different from her own. In her naïveté she had believed her world and her people to be alone in the universe, and
the goddess they worshiped to be the one true god. She sighed again, as much in sorrow at the loss of her world as at the
loss of her own innocent beliefs. It had been a much simpler, safer life then. Knowledge was painful.
She felt a heavy weight rest gently on her shoulder, then squeeze it with compassion. She covered the hand with her own, feeling
the rough coarse hair beneath her fingers, and smiled up into the darkness. “Your hand is cold. Have you been out?”
“Now, what would I be doing out in such weather?” Uba Mintch asked with a throaty chuckle. “This old man feels thechill of this world even indoors. No, I leave the roaming to Braldt and younger bloods.”
“You talk as though you are an ancient graybeard,” Keri chided with affection as she rose and crossed to the hearth, where
a kettle of herb tea was brewing.
She poured two large mugs and moved to turn up the light until Uba Mintch stopped her with a motion of his hand. “Leave it,
child, I find the firelight soothing. Sometimes I can almost believe that I am home and convince myself that the baby will
soon be tugging on my leg, demanding attention. Did I tell you that she was walking quite well before I left? Getting into
everything, she was.…”
The sorrow was thick in the old Madrelli’s voice and he cleared his throat several times and looked away. Keri moved to his
side and settled a heavy blanket around his shoulders, then stroked his head with the tips of her fingers. A heavy weight
lay upon her heart, as well as a lump in her throat that refused to be swallowed. Tears sprung to her eyes as she tried resolutely
to shut out the painful memory of her own family.
She knew all too well what Uba Mintch was feeling. She and Carn and his band of followers were all that remained of their
people, the Duroni. Uba Mintch had fared less well, for no more than a dozen Madrelli had survived the death of their world.
Carn had been accepted with open arms by the king of Valhalla, for Carn was all too ready to believe that Otir Vaeng was some
sort of deity. Nothing he had seen had convinced him otherwise, and nothing Keri or Braldt said swayed him from this conviction.
Keri and Carn had never been exceptionally close, but now it was as though she were a stranger to him, perhaps even an enemy.
Carn avoided her whenever possible and shut his ears to her words when she spoke.
He and Braldt had been raised as brothers, but Keri knewthat while Braldt accepted the younger man and loved him as though they were born of the same flesh, Carn had always harbored
a nagging jealousy and steadily growing bitterness. No matter what they undertook, whether it was sports or academics, hunting
or merely partying, Braldt was always better than Carn, scoring the highest scores, bagging the best game, winning the most
desirable women—it was always Braldt.
To make matters worse, Braldt never seemed to realize what the younger man was feeling. He gladly shared his game and his
women and made light of his winning scores, never realizing that the ease with which he shed his prizes merely made the losing
more bitter. Keri’s love for Braldt had only made matters worse, and now Carn included her in his hatred.
Keri could scarcely even recognize her brother. It was not so much a matter of the ruined skin and deformed features, but
the bitter nature contained within the shattered body. He had allowed his hatred of Keri and Braldt and the Madrelli to warp
him in some unfixable manner. The skin and the deformities could easily have been reversed, for the Scandis were capable of
performing medical miracles, but Carn
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