The ruptured eyes of the two-headed calf foetus looked accusingly up at him as he withdrew his bloodied hands. His efforts were once again in vain. The unhappy animal had been stillborn two days previously and now, to stop the stench, he raised a silk cloth to his nose. A servant scurried by, taking away the ritual bowl along with its gruesome contents. The magic had failed. The circumstances that had led to this bad omen no longer recognizable. The death of the poor creature too long ago. This was the tenth creature in as many months that had come into the world beyond the Border Lands. And none of them could deliver him an answer. The Dream Mirror remained silent and the elves too were baffled, no matter how much he pressed them. A bad feeling had been nagging him for years, like a stone in a shoe. At first, he had put it down to the increasingly fierce power games of the others. But now the cause seemed to have far darker roots. With a sigh he cleaned his blood-soaked hands in rose water and took a piece of black chalk from one of his servants. He would cast a large magic net and hope for the best.

The events that followed were a blur for Ahren. The villagers congratulated him heartily before Keeper Jegral eventually managed to regain control of his ceremony. For the next hour Ahren's ears were ringing and he found it impossible to concentrate on anything for more than three seconds. Every so often Falk would look at him and mumble something to himself. It took a good hour, with the priest's devotions coming to an end, for his head to clear a little. Falk noticed the change in the young boy's expression and whispered to him, 'you'll feel better soon'.

Ahren could only nod. He was still too tired to answer and what answer could he give? A thousand questions whirled around his head, all important and pressing. But when he tried to concentrate on an individual one, it would vanish. There was nothing for it but to stand there and listen to the priest.

'And so we call for the blessing of HIM WHO MOULDS for the young men tested today, may they always find their place in our community, may they absorb the knowledge of their masters May they mould it afresh in new forms of knowledge'. With that Keeper Jegral cupped his hands before his chest as a potter moulds his clay. It was the ritual greeting and farewell of the priests.

The devotions ended and the villagers burst into life once more. There was a lot of shouting and laughing, many ran into the Village Hall to bring out tables, long benches, food and drinks. The part of the day the villagers had been looking forward to most was about to begin – the feast. The festive square was ready in no time at all. The villagers settled at their tables, in family groups, surrounded by friends. Ahren felt somewhat uneasy, as he always did on such occasions, and looked for Likis' face in the crowd, hoping he could sit down near him. If his father found him beforehand, he would drag him to a place near the bar. He would then have to spend the rest of the evening sitting there quietly, ready to fetch his father a beer every time he had finished his tankard.

Ahren was hopping from foot to foot, keeping an eye out for Likis, when he heard Falk beside him: 'Come with me and let's sit down'. He marched determinedly through the crowd to a long table where Likis' father was standing with other revellers. Taken by surprise, Ahren followed the Forest Guardian. He had forgotten completely that as an apprentice he could now sit with his master.

Falk came to a halt, and immediately Ahren felt two wiry arms embracing him and heard Likis' voice. 'Wow, Ahren, what a surprise! You and the Guardian!'

Ahren turned around to his friend and looked into his beaming face. He himself must have started smiling too and to his surprise he couldn't stop. I'm going to be a Forest Guardian, thought Ahren. This thought was only now beginning to sink in. 'It's going to take a long while to get used to it', he answered his friend, 'I'm only glad I've escaped the farm'.

Likis grimaced. 'Where is your father by the way? What has he to say about it?'

Ahren shuddered. His father knew nothing of what had happened but the fledgling apprentice didn't want to imagine how he would react. 'He fell asleep during the trials. He probably knows nothing about it'.

'Well, being a Forest Guardian is an honourable profession. I'm sure he'll be delighted for you', answered Likis comfortingly.

Ahren wasn't so sure but kept this thought to himself. He needed more time to come to terms with all the changes that were going to happen in his life. Yet he had no more time for at that moment Likis' father leaned over to congratulate him. 'You really gave us a fright there, young man, in your fight with our newest bailiff. Congratulations on your new master - there are few people from whom you can learn more'. Then he turned back to Falk and began conversing with him. The two boys exchanged surprised looks for they had never known that the merchant held the Forest Guardian in such high esteem.

Next, Likis' mother pushed her way through the revellers and held Ahren firmly in her arms. 'I knew everything would work out in the end. Rania would have been so proud of you'.

His late mother's name brought tears to his eyes. The thought that she'd be proud of him warmed a place in his heart, a place that had been cold for too long.

'Thank you', he mumbled and could say no more. He had pulled himself together somewhat when she released him from her embrace but the warmth within remained and gave him strength. He sat down beside his master and suddenly realized how hungry he was. Everyone had already started eating so Ahren didn't need to hold back and took everything that he could lay hold on. Mature cheese of a golden-yellow hue, sweetened bread with honey, boar stuffed with wild berries, and plenty of the dark sauce Likis' mother made so skilfully and that she always served when he stayed to dinner.

'It seems expensive times lie ahead for you, Master Guardian', one of the villagers called out, looking at the enormous portion of food Ahren had piled on his plate.

Falk looked at his apprentice with raised eyebrows. 'Well, if we fail to bag the next Dark One, I can always ask Ahren to eat it up. And if that doesn't work, then I'm stumped'.

While the table companions were laughing uproariously, Falk added quietly, 'Your body is trying to compensate for all the energy you expended during the healing, the combat and the Void. Try not to eat too quickly or you'll get sick and throw it all up. Your body needs strength but your stomach must keep pace. So eat as much as you want, only slowly'.

Ahren didn't quite understand what Falk meant by 'Void' but followed his advice. It wouldn't be a good idea anyway to disregard his master's orders at the first time of asking. To the amusement of the others and to the young boy's own surprise, he took two more helpings – and the portions were no smaller. Once Falk was convinced his protégé had adopted a slower eating pace for the day, he left him in peace with a satisfied contented mumble. Likis, on the other hand, jumped at the opportunity to tease his friend. 'If you keep eating like that, you'll only amount to a bog trotter', he said grinning broadly. 'Falk says it's because of the healing', said Ahren with his mouth full.

'That's true, now you say it. I was starving for a week after Keeper Jegral patched me up that time'.

Likis had broken his leg four years previously during one of his climbing escapades. He had fallen three paces from a tree. Vera, the village Healer, told Likis' parents that his bone was shattered and he would probably be limping for the rest of his life. However, Keeper Jegral intervened and summoned the strength of the MOULDER. Ahren had heard horror stories from other villages where the priests would only undertake healings if they received donations or sometimes wouldn't perform them at all. But this was shrugged off as only a rumour in Deepstone. The few disabled villagers were the unlucky ones who even Jegral's powers couldn't fully heal. And yet there was no ill-feeling among them towards the priest – for he had indeed saved most of them from certain death. Like old Tohl with his missing arm. He had been the one and only victim of the Fog Cat that Falk had killed. The monster had ripped the farmer's arm off and disappeared into the forest with it. Jegral had prayed for many hours and managed to close up the gaping wound and thereby save the farmer's life. Ever since then old Tohl never failed to assist the priest in his ceremonial duties. In fact, Ahren could think of only one person who showed animosity towards Jegral - his father.

Ahren was brought right down to earth when he thought of Edrik. He looked cautiously around for his father but he was nowhere to be seen. He was probably sleeping off his drunkenness or he had made himself at home at the beer barrel without his son. That was fine by Ahren. With a sigh of satisfaction he pushed the empty plate away from him and looked around the table. Everyone was deep in conversation. Likis' mother had taken on board her son's attentiveness towards Ahren, who was now feeling quite calm and at ease. The meal had strengthened his body but his friend's friendly words and those of his family had strengthened his soul. He listened to the laughing and joking of the others with delight, saw the genuine closeness among the villagers and watched the torches being put into position. He had lost all sense of time, and only when he looked up at the sky did he realise, how much time had passed by. Darkness was slowly drawing in and soon the torches would light up the festive square. The celebration normally went on late into the night and this one would be no exception.

On an impulse, Ahrens spoke to Keeper Jegral as he was passing the table. The Keeper wasn't averse to good food and the occasional tankard but he was a stickler for observing his religious obligations. It was getting dark and so he was returning to his chapel to hold evening prayers as he did every day. It didn't seem to bother him that he sometimes held them without any attendees and he always had a friendly word for the villagers.

'Keeper Jegral?' Ahren asked the priest shyly.

The priest stopped in surprise and paused. Then he spoke. 'Ahren, my congratulations to you on your formation into Forest Guardian. What can I do for you?'

Ahren blushed slightly. He wasn't used to addressing the priest. 'I just want to thank you, Keeper Jegral. Without you my hand would…' He couldn't say the words. He would never have become Falk's apprentice without a healthy hand and would have remained a cripple by his father's side. The priest had saved far more than a boy's limb today.

Jegral nodded patiently and came to Ahren's rescue as he struggled to find the right words. 'It wasn't me that healed you, it was HE THAT MOULDS. You must thank him. You could do this by attending prayers on Godsdays'. Before Ahren could apologise the Keeper continued, 'I know it wasn't your fault in the past but perhaps I shall see you more often in future?'

Ahren was still too embarrassed to answer and could only muster a nod. The Keeper game him an encouraging smile and continued on to the chapel. The young apprentice turned to the table again and Falk, who had been involved in a lively discussion with the others asked curiously, 'what happened there?'

'I just said thanks', he answered.

The Forest Guardian's face softened for a moment and he said, 'that's good. I wouldn't be happy if I took an ungrateful apprentice under my wing. How did the priest answer?'

'I should go to Godsday prayers'.

'Well, that's only right. Remind me in good time'.

Likis' father, Velem, looked over at the two of them and said, 'there's one other thing you two should do to finish the formalities'. Likis' father drew his knife from his belt and passed it to Falk.

'Sit down over there', he said and pointed Ahren to the seat opposite his master's. The boy changed his place obediently. 'You seem to have recovered sufficiently, so now it's time to make the bond'.

As the apprentice sat down, he asked, 'the bond? I've never heard of that'. The conversations around the table had now come to a halt and everyone was looking at the pair.

Likis' father answered, 'It's an old custom that we rarely perform here in Deepstone. In days of yore the pact between master and apprentice was sealed in this way. It was a promise never to leave the other in the lurch even in the most difficult of times and to make the training the strongest bond until it was deemed completed. In those days it was necessary in order to overcome feuds between families or class distinctions between master and apprentice. It's an important tradition and one worth retaining'.

Falk looked at the knife in his hand and replied, 'But nowadays the position of the master is generally seen as untouchable and he doesn't need to slash his apprentice as part of an old ritual'.

He looked at the merchant reproachfully, who, however remained unimpressed and replied instead, 'my master completed the bond with me and I won't treat his memory with contempt by ignoring his teachings. Likis and I will likewise complete the bond even though we are father and son. You should heed my advice in this matter'.

Once Ahren had heard the word 'slash' he had stopped listening and could only now look at the knife in horror.

Falk gave the merchant a searching look, rubbed his chin as he thought and then said determinedly, 'right then. Let's do it'. He turned to his frightened apprentice and sighed.

'Look at the young boy, we're frightening him to death'. He shook his head and spoke reassuringly to Ahren. 'You have no need to fear. Look', and with a quick cut Falk scratched his palm until a little blood appeared. 'And now you. Put your arm out'.

Ahren obeyed reluctantly.

'You must trust your master', said Falk. Then the fledgling apprentice felt a slight pain as the blade cut his skin.

'Now, put it there!' said Falk and stretched out his hand. Ahren gave his master his hand, who gripped it firmly and then said, Now we are master and apprentice'.

'Now you are master and apprentice', intoned Master Velem. Turning to Falk he murmured, 'even if you think this form of ritual is outdated, it's important to do it properly'. He turned to the surrounding tables, all of whom were looking at this point, stood up, and called loudly, 'I as a neutral master witness the bond between Master Falk and Apprentice Ahren. Do any other masters bear witness?'

Many of the assembled seemed baffled at first. This form of ritual was indeed older than Velem had indicated. After a few moments however half a dozen mistresses and masters had raised their hands. Velem sat down again contentedly and turned to the two Forest Guardians.

Falk looked Likis' father in the eyes and nodded once. Whatever was going on between the two of them, Ahren couldn't figure it out. All he knew was, if Falk didn't loosen his grip soon, he would definitely lose his right hand. At this point it had stopped tingling. Falk finally released his grip and fished two clean towels from his cloak. 'Here, press that on the cut. It will stop bleeding in a few minutes'.

Likis got involved now. 'You say it was a spontaneous decision to seek an apprentice, yet you still brought suitable bandages for the bonding with you. We see through you, good Master Forest Guardian!' He beamed at everyone and many nodded in agreement.

'Admit it. You planned it all along'.

'Likis, as a Forest Guardian you always need to have bandages with you. You never know when you need them', Falk responded unmoved.

The others laughed and clapped Falk on the back, and Likis and Ahren exchanged looks. 'Am I glad I'm becoming a merchant', the wiry boy whispered to his friend. Ahren looked at his bloody hand and the bandage and at this moment could only agree.

Two hours later and Ahren had really joined in the merriment the table. There was much laughter. Falk had passed around a bottle of wine and Ahren was allowed to drink too – after all he was now an apprentice – and several songs had been song. Ahren had only been an observer at these feasts up until now. He had never been a part of them. This feeling of security was remarkably pleasant and he felt a warm glow inside.

Suddenly he felt a calloused hand on his shoulder and an overpowering smell of beer and stale sweat filled his nostrils. 'So this is where you've been hiding yourself'. His father's speech was slurred. 'Come on, we're going'. The grip on Ahren's shoulder became even more painful, as was always the case when Edrik's movements had been numbed by alcohol. This hand seemed to be sucking out all the warmth and affection, and the sense of belonging Ahren had experienced over the last few hours. He hardly had time to react when his father turned around and started to leave without loosening the grip. Before the boy had pulled his second leg back from the table he lost his balance and fell to the ground. His father lost his balance too and crashed against one of the tables. Cursing and swaying, he planted himself over Ahren, when he heard Falk's voice. 'That's my apprentice you've thrown to the ground. You'd do well to help him up'.

The drunkard squinted owlishly as he prepared his words. 'Apprentice? Him?' Edric laughed disdainfully. 'That's my son, and I'm taking him with me now'. With an almighty yank he pulled Ahren to his feet by the hair.

Ahren gave a pleading look to everyone around him and saw Velem whispering something to the Forest Guardian. At which point Falk slowly rose and said in a quiet voice, 'you will leave my apprentice alone or I will defend him according to the old law'. His arms tensed up and Ahren saw muscles like cables bulging under his leathery skin. The older man's posture had completely changed and his whole appearance radiated enormous danger – like a predator sizing up its prey. The question didn't seem to be if he would attack his opponent but when. A fire blazed in the eyes of the Forest Guardian such as Ahren had never seen before and judging by the shocked looks of the other villagers, he was not the only one. Only Master Velem gave Falk a satisfied look.

Ahren's father, meanwhile, strengthened his grip. He was too drunk to notice the danger he was in, and began hauling his son away from the light of the torches into the darkness. 'I'm this boy's father, and I decide what's to be done with him until he comes of age. The village will never allow the father's rights to be questioned'.

In the meantime, the bailiff had stood up with his apprentice and quickly approached them. With a slick hand movement borne of years of experience dealing with tavern brawls, Master Pragur freed the young boy from the drunkard's grip and gestured to Holken to step between the adversaries.

Falk calmed down visibly once Ahren was free and resumed his normal, relaxed attitude. Ahren was just as surprised by this transformation as he had been by the first. His master turned and with a quiet voice addressed the bailiff. 'I hereby declare a feud with Edrik the farmworker. As his son is my apprentice, I will take him according to the rights of my bond until his apprenticeship is complete or the feud ended'.

Pragur stroked his moustache and stared at Falk with narrowed eyes. 'The bonding. Yes, I saw the ritual earlier. As did half the village. So, it looks like I can't do anything about it'. He gave Ahren a quick smile before turning to his father. 'The master will take the young boy with him as is the custom. And you, my friend, will sleep off your drunkenness and let the good people here carry on with their festivities'.

Pragur and Holken grabbed Edrik and brought him, despite his loud, drunken protestations, to the bailiff's barrack room. It had a room where troublemakers could sleep off their intoxication. It wouldn't be the first night Ahren's father had spent there.

'That young boy is going to be a first rate bailiff' mumbled Falk as he watched Holken go off. 'Did everything correctly and reacted well, even if he doesn't particularly like you. You'll really have to match up to that, after all the trouble you've caused'. The twinkle in his eyes softened the blow of what he had said and he laid an arm on Ahren's shoulders, 'we'd better bring you home. That's enough excitement for one day'. The villagers had begun having quiet conversations among themselves again and occasionally looked over at the master and his apprentice. Most of them gave Ahren smiles of encouragement. Falk went to the table with the young boy to pick up the rest of his belongings. Master Velen, with his arms clasped in front of his chest, looked up at the Forest Guardian and grinned broadly. He nodded to the merchant once and said, 'I should listen to your advice more often. That was a clever way out you gave me. That wouldn't have worked without the bonding, and Ahren's father would have been in the right. Thank you'. Likis looked up at his father in awe, who shrugged his shoulders and said, 'it stood to reason that Edrik wouldn't let his son go. I was only too happy to help. For years I've had to listen to how that awful man treats his own son. Sometimes it only takes a few well-placed words to emerge the winner in a particular situation. Look on it as your first lesson, Likis'. At that point Velem began to explain to his son and apprentice the finer points of trade negotiations. Falk nodded goodbye to the revellers and led the exhausted boy to his new home.


The sun was already a hand's span over the horizon when Ahren woke up. There was no sign of Falk and so the young boy looked around the hut which would be his home from now on. He had been worn out the night before and the Forest Guardian had led him to a corner of the room with a mattress and a blanket. The boy had fallen asleep straight away. He could see by the light of day that the hut was quite big enough for one person. It was completely finished in wood. At first glance there didn't appear to be any joints in the wood but when Ahren went closer to the wall and looked more closely, he saw that each beam was cut perfectly into the next. He had never seen such accurate craftsmanship. The furnishings in the hut, on the other hand, were very plain. A simple stool adorned a round table. There was a shelf on the wall, with a few wooden bowls and cooking utensils. The massive chest in the corner of the room was padlocked, so it probably contained all the Forest Guardian's worldly belongings. The cooking area consisted of a pot on a tripod, over which a hole in the ceiling was visible. No fireplace. No oven. Ahren pulled the blanket back and stood up. The bed on which he had spent the night seemed to be made out of some kind of fibrous material which he didn't recognize. The mattress was only two fingers thick and yet the young boy had slept better on it than on the usual straw mattress two hand spans thick. He was still puzzling over the material and design of the mattress when the room darkened. He turned his head and saw Falk standing in the door.

'Good morning, Ahren. Good that you're awake. I wouldn't have let you sleep much longer'.

'Good morning, Falk…I mean, Master Falk', Ahren caught himself.

'We actually get up much earlier, but because you had to go through rather a lot yesterday, I've decided on a more leisurely start to the day so I went to get a few things. As you can see, I'm not set up for guests, never mind an apprentice'. Ahren was taken aback and had another look around. There really were no more mattresses. 'Where did you sleep?'

Falk pointed with his thumb over his shoulder. 'Outside. If it's warm and dry enough, I feel better in the open air'.

Ahren glanced through the window in the direction indicated. Five paces from the house there was a broad fir tree and at its feet there was a blanket. His master didn't seem to place much value on comfort.

'First we eat', Falk decided and brought over a newly constructed stool which he placed opposite the other one. Then he took a bundle wrapped in an oilcloth from his back and slowly laid it on the ground.

'I can imagine you have a few questions. If you have too many questions in your head, there comes a point when you can't hear the answers anymore'.

With practised movements Falk quickly lit a small fire under the pot. 'Unpack your things while the stew is warming'. Falk stirred the spoon in the pot with one hand and pointed with other at the bundle he had put down on the floor. Ahren went over to it with curiosity and opened out the oilcloth. He gasped in surprise. He saw a pair of boots, a jerkin and leggings, all made from buckskin. There was also a hunting knife in a buckskin scabbard.

Wide-eyed he stared at the treasures in front of him. The boots alone looked better made than anything he had ever worn. His father had never brought much money home and had drunk most of it, leaving Ahren very often dependent on the charity of the other villagers. And so he often wore the cast-offs of the other village boys, and these were continually patched up until he had grown out of them. He had never seen clothes like those lying in front of him. He looked up at his master with gratitude, but he had turned his back and was fully occupied with the stew.

'You're lucky that I placed an order for a new set of clothes with Mistress Dohlmen. I collected them earlier. The woman is up almost as early as I am. Her new apprentice Rufus doesn't seem too happy about that.' Falk laughed heartily before continuing, 'what you're wearing at the moment would have been in tatters by the afternoon. Not that they'd be much loss. But you'd have lost half your skin as well'.

He could have given me his old clothing and held onto the new for himself, thought Ahren.

'Thank you', he said. 'But I'm afraid I'll have to remain in your debt'. He wanted to keep things clear between them before he even touched the clothing. The Forest Guardian turned around and looked at him with raised eyebrows.

'Don't worry about that, you'll be earning those clothes. I meant what I said on the village square yesterday. You have what it takes to become a Forest Guardian. I don't take on apprentices lightly. In fact, you're the first. It will be a learning experience for the two of us', said the Forest Guardian with a twinkle in his eyes and turned again towards the fire. 'You should put on the things and see if they fit. Mistress Dohlmen did make a few alterations early this morning. That woman really has a good eye, but we want to be sure, don't we? What's important is that you can move well in them but that they're not too big. Oh, and behind the house is a stream if you want to wash yourself first'.

Ahren nodded and disappeared behind the hut with his things. A small stream, perhaps two paces in width, gurgled along behind the house. The current was gentle and Ahren stomped, snorting, into the water until it reached his hips. The clear, cold water banished all tiredness from his bones, and after he had dried himself with his old clothing, he slipped into his new. The leather was supple and had already been oiled, and everything fitted well, apart from the shoulders and the leggings. The boots were a little big but Ahren had experience in making clothes fit. He stuffed the front of the boots with strips of cloth he had cut from his old shirt, he rolled up the leggings and cushioned the shoulders. Within a few minutes he was finished and went back into the house. Falk was already waiting for him with two steaming bowls of stew. The Forest Guardian offered him a bowl and eyed him critically. 'It'll do for now. You'll have grown into them soon. Now eat and ask what you have to ask'.

Ahren took a spoonful of the stew which consisted of rabbit, vegetables and several herbs he couldn't identify. In an effort to win time he tasted the food, chewed it slowly while he tried to think of what he wanted to know first. The food tasted amazing and Ahren noticed that the same hunger came over him that he had felt the previous day at the feast. His body still needed to compensate for the healing process of the previous night. In order to eat his food in peace he threw the first question he could think of into the room.

'Why did you decide to take part in the apprentice search in the end? Why are you going to so much trouble on my account?'

'As I already said, you have what it takes to be a Forest Guardian. There's a girl in Two Rocks who would also be suitable but her Apprenticeship Trial isn't until next year. I saw how you fought your way through the tests. You did your best without complaint or excuses in spite of your injury and you didn't give up. But it was something else that tipped the balance'.

Ahren froze, his spoon half way towards his mouth, 'and what was that?'

Falk studied the boy for a moment before he spoke.

'Bad people are not born that way, they are created. By us. By all of us. What we experience, shapes us. And in a permanent way. Throw enough weeds into a well and it becomes poisoned. Clean it regularly and fish out the weeds, you always have clear water. Sven, the miller's son? He was always a timid boy, but that doesn't make him into a bad person. But if his parents don't take the fear away from him but stoke it up so that they can keep him under control, then he'll continue to hide behind every strong back he can find and use every bit of power he can lay hands on'.

Ahren shuddered as he remembered the look Sven had given him at the tree house. Could fear really create so much anger?

'I've seen and heard how your father treated you and so far you've put up a great fight in order not to be influenced by it, or at least not much. But the thought of what would happen to you if no-one intervened was unbearable. Sometimes we create the biggest monsters by doing nothing'.

Ahren was both confused and annoyed. The thought that Falk could see a future monster in him was far from flattering. His reaction could be seen in his face because Falk continued, 'that wasn't what you wanted to hear, was it? But it's important that you understand it. If I hadn't intervened, you'd probably become a bitter, sad man. Unfortunately, bitter, sad men have the habit of spreading more sadness and bitterness. And some of these people are particularly successful…I know what I'm talking about'.

Falk gazed into the distance as he spoke. There was a sadness in his face before his features softened and he turned to Ahren again.

'Our work as Forest Guardians will repeatedly lead to confrontations with the Dark Ones. How will you fight a Grief Wind if you haven't learned to subdue your bad experiences?' Falk didn't wait for an answer but continued.

'You're a good person and you can become a good Guardian. If I hadn't stepped in, you'd be at the very least a sad person and certainly no Forest Guardian. Wasn't that a good enough reason?'

Ahren nodded shyly. He was grateful to his master. But the thought that he had been selected in order to prevent a greater evil remained.

Falk could see that his apprentice was not completely persuaded, but decided not to press further. The young boy had little reason to trust people, and his little speech had undermined the boy's self-confidence even more. He decided to change the subject. 'Have you ever actually held a real bow in your hand? I don't mean that old thing with the practice arrows from the Harvest Festival. Your last shot yesterday was really very good. The bow tautened, raised, aimed and released in a single flowing movement. I had a look at the bell this morning. It wasn't just a glancing shot, it was a bull's eye'.

The Guardian's words had their effect. Ahren's face lit up and youthful vivacity came flooding back into him. Of course, the fact that he'd just finished his fourth bowl of stew might have helped too.

'No, I've never shot with a real bow and arrow. But it was all so easy somehow, once it was calm in my head and I'd swopped hands'. And he looked down at his right hand which held the soupspoon.

'We'll have to work on that, boy. There's nothing wrong with using the left hand, that's just superstition. Does your father come from the Low Marshes?'

Ahren nodded, carefully took the spoon in his left hand and answered deep in thought. 'He grew up at the edge of the Border Lands. He wanted to get away from there like so many others and move further in to the Midlands. And there is no more peaceful kingdom in the Midlands than Hjalgar so this is where he settled'.

'Yes, the people there have strange ideas. Their proximity to the Pall Pillar has made them too cautious and superstitious if you ask me'.

Falk pointed at Ahren's hand, which was holding the spoon rather clumsily. 'It'll take you a while to get used to it. Then everything will be much easier, believe me'.

Ahren looked up with curiosity. 'And what was that, the...Void, I think you called it yesterday'.

The Guardian nodded. 'Ah yes, the Void. That's the trick I showed you. That's where you concentrate on emptying your mind. I'm surprised it worked so well. On the other hand, I've heard that some people in extreme situations were able to do it in no time at all. But don't expect it to work so quickly the next time'.

'Oh', said Ahren, disappointed.

'I'm not saying you won't be able to learn it, but it takes time. Anyway I had to improvise yesterday. The tree house probably won't last as a focus point for too much longer, unless you're more attached to it that I thought'. He smiled at the youngster.

'A focus point? What do you mean?'

'The picture you concentrate on when you're trying to reach the Void. But we'll deal with that later. Do you have any other questions?'

Ahren looked down at the knife that was sheathed in his scabbard in front of his chest. Before he could ask his question Falk said quickly, 'oh no. That will stay where it is for the moment. The knife is only to be used in absolute emergencies unless I say otherwise. In our line of work you've made a terrible mistake if you get so close to an animal that you must use it to defend yourself. Firstly, you have to get to know the forest, and really take in everything that I teach you about it. And we can train your left hand at the same time. Then we'll see how it's going'.

Falk stood up and opened the lock of the chest, using a small key which hung on a leather strap around his neck.

'Why don't you make yourself useful and do the washing-up while I assemble the things we need for the day'.

Ahren stood up obediently and carried the bowls out to the stream. When he returned to the hut a few minutes later, Falk had a bow in his hand and a big rucksack on his bag.

'Today I'll carry everything while you try to keep pace. Let's go'.

As he spoke, Falk walked quickly towards the forest and Ahren hurried alongside him. The first day was promising to be really easy. He'd been in the forest so often before and would have no problems keeping up with a heavily laden older man.

An hour later and Ahren was flat on his back again, gasping for air. Falk was squatting beside him with an amused look. It had taken only a few minutes after the start of their march for the penny to drop with Ahren. Falk was going to keep up the fast pace he was using. That in itself wouldn't have been a problem. Yet neither the trees, nor the uneven ground, nor the undergrowth nor even the little streams would slow Falk down. The same couldn't be said for his young companion. He had never been clumsy in the forest before but the speedy pace ensured that he couldn't avoid the branches in time and he also stumbled over roots and got caught up in the brambles.

Now he understood what Falk had said earlier when he had spoken about Ahren's old clothes and how they would be in tatters. The buckskin protected him from thorns and the whipping branches. His old clothes would have been torn and useless within minutes. And as for his skin, Ahren shuddered to think what state it would have been in by now.

He stumbled behind Falk, keeping pace after a fashion, gasping for air and cursing to himself whenever he managed to get enough air into his lungs. As soon as the Guardian stopped, Ahren collapsed on the spot. It was a mystery to him that Falk hadn't sent him back to the village there and then.

'That will do for the moment. Once you've got yourself together we can have a look at the plants that are growing here'.

Ahren nodded gratefully and listened intently as Falk showed him the various plants in the clearing.

After a quarter of an hour he said, 'right then, up you get! We've a long way ahead of us'.

Groaning, Ahren struggled to his feet and followed his master into the forest. And so the day went on in this fashion. An hour's march. Then a quarter hour break, during which time he learned to recognize the different plants. Falk always seemed to seek out the places where very many different varieties of plants could be found.

By the time they were returning to the cabin in the late evening, Ahren could hardly place one foot in front of the other. Falk took off his rucksack and said, 'so my boy, let's see what you've remembered'. He produced many bundles of green plants and laid them out on the grass. 'Tell me which ones you recognize and what they're called'.

Ahren could hardly believe his ears. His legs were no longer his own and he had an overpowering desire to curl up into a ball and fall asleep. As he looked at the plants lying in front of him, he realized he couldn't identify a single one. Falk was silent and let the boy think. Ahren considered them for a long time as he really wanted to name at least one of them. His eyes wandered again and again over the various branches, grasses, berries and mushrooms. Finally his eyes settled on a reddish plant. He pointed at it and said uncertainly, 'Wolf Herb?' Even to his own ears it sounded more like a question than a statement.

'Do you know another one?' asked Falk.

The young boy shook his head. His ears were red. First I spend the day trudging and panting my way through the wood as if I had never been in the open air before, and now I can only identify one measly plant, thought Ahren forlornly. He was downcast. Of course Falk would send him back. Would explain that he'd made a mistake. That Ahren would never evolve into a good Forest Guardian.

But his master merely nodded, gathered everything up and placed it into the chest. 'That was very good. It took me three days before I could even recognize one. My master was at his wits' end'.

The young boy looked up in amazement. It seemed absurd to him that his master could ever have struggled with the same problems. Surely Falk was only softening the blow.

His disbelief must have been written all over his face because once Falk had stored all the plants, he looked up and chuckled. 'It's only natural that you don't believe me. You should just keep in mind that I've had a much longer time to practise than you have. One plant is a good result for your first day'.

Falk fell silent and Ahren thought that his master must be finished. But then he continued and fixed Ahren with a steely look and spoke with an intense urgency. 'You must think in small steps. One plant after the other. One step after the other. There are so many things to learn, so many things you don't know about yet. Things that are second nature to me now. I'm sure it seems like an impossible task to you. But there's only one rule that's essential for your training: never give up. You can make mistakes, you can learn incredibly slowly or be clumsy as you like. But you cannot give up. If you don't, you'll learn everything from me that I know. And in all honesty, that's not quite a lot'. The grin reappeared on Falk's face and he slapped his apprentice on the shoulder.

The young boy could only stare at his master in silence as he thought about everything he had heard. Never give up. His master had reduced all his fears doubts into this simple rule and this had an incredibly soothing effect on Ahren.

Because a promise resonated through Falk's words, one which deeply moved the youngster: As long as he didn't give up, then Falk would not give up on him either.

After they had polished off the rest of the stew from the morning, the youngster lay down on the mattress and fell asleep immediately. His quiet, deep breathing filled the hut and Falk noticed that his apprentice was smiling in his sleep. The old man couldn't possibly know this. But it was the first time in years that Ahren was at peace in his sleep.


Whatever about Ahren smiling in his sleep, the next morning was hell. He was woken up by his master's low humming, as he warmed up a herbal soup. The delicious aromas permeated the little cabin and the boy's stomach started to rumble. He moved to get up, groaned hoarsely and clenched his legs. The least movement and he felt as if he were being pricked with needles.

Falk turned around when he heard the groans of this apprentice, 'good morning, Ahren', he said with a chuckle. 'Are you hungry?'

'The soup smells good master but it would taste even better if you had a new pair of legs for me'. Ahren sat up clumsily and pulled his legs slowly under him so that he could stand. It took all his willpower not to groan again but he gave a clenched smile to his mentor.

Falk nodded knowingly. 'That's good. You're fighting your way through. Don't give up. Come here, the soup will help you. Some of the herbs will ease the pain and others will help your muscles to get through the day'.

The boy walked unsteadily to his stool and looked at his companion in horror. 'We're running again today?'

'No, we're not', said Falk with an impassive look.

'Great'. A wave of relief came over Ahren and he flopped down on the stool.

'We'll go at the same pace today as we did yesterday. I think that we'll wait with the running for a bit'. The old man's demeanour remained the same but Ahren truly believed that his master was enjoying every second of this.

Resigned to his fate Ahren grasped his spoon and tried the food. The soup was strong and thick, the taste was intense and spicy, and Ahren had swallowed three bowlfuls within minutes. As he reached for the bowl again, Falk shook his head.

'That's not a good idea, boy. Any more and you'll get sick as soon as we leave the house. Your body needs to regain the energy you lost through the healing but it has to be done slowly. Why don't you wash yourself and get dressed while I prepare everything for today's march'.

Ahren recognized an order, even if it was formulated politely, and stood up obediently. To his surprise he realized that the stiffness in his legs and the pains had become distinctly more bearable. Whatever was in the soup had had an immediate effect. He clamped his leather clothing under his arm and left the hut while his master began tidying up. When he came back a few minutes later, Falk was already dressed and was equipped with the same rucksack as the previous day, although it looked distinctly heavier today.

'Ready. Then let's go'. Falk tossed something to Ahren, which bounced off the surprised boy's chest and rolled across the floor. He bent down to pick it up and saw that it was a leather ball, not quite the size of a fist. He looked over questioningly at the Guardian, who gestured to him to throw the ball back. 'With your left', he said firmly.

Ahren threw the ball somewhat clumsily to his master, who then left the hut and strode quickly into the undergrowth. His apprentice followed him into the warm summer's day with a sigh and resigned himself to his fate. He trotted a while to catch up with Falk when suddenly the ball flew at him from the greenery. He just managed to pull his hand up – otherwise the thing would have hit him in the face. As it was it just bounced painfully off his hand – his right one.

Falk's voice echoed through the forest. 'With the left, boy. And don't just stand there. The way is long today. And I'd like the ball again!'

Ahren rubbed his hand with a curse, picked up the ball and ran wearily into the forest.

The hours passed as they had done the previous day. Except that Falk would throw him the ball again and again, and Ahren would have to catch it with his left hand and throw it back again. This meant that the apprentice not only had to keep up the pace, avoid the branches, and look out for the roots, but also keep sight of Falk, as he never knew where the cursed ball would fly from next.

Ahren was spurred on by the realization that the leather ball really hurt when it hit his face, which happened regularly at the start. Any time he dropped the ball he would have to follow it and then catch up with his master, who didn't wait of course. Ahren never thought he would hate anything so much in such a short time as this small piece of sewn leather.

It was almost noon. Falk had just placed the plants in front of him, which he brought with him in the rucksack instead of plucking them again. He looked at the position of the sun in the sky and said, 'now we should be there soon, so be on your best behaviour'.

'Be where soon?' asked Ahren in surprise.

'At Vera's of course. Don't you know where we are?' Falk sounded genuinely surprised.

Ahren looked around and recognized that they were in an offshoot of the forest that was known by the villagers simply as Herbal Grove. Vera, the village Healer lived here, and Deepstone itself was only a few hundred paces away. They must have been running in a wide curve. Ahren hadn't been paying any attention to his surroundings on account of his exhaustion and perpetual concentration.

'But what do we have to do at hers, master. Are you ill?'

'Don't be silly. Who do you think she gets her herbs from if they grow in inaccessible places and can't be raised in her garden?'

Now that his master had mentioned it, he remembered hearing that Vera had been helped by the Guardian. The woman was over 80 summers old and couldn't walk so well any more. But there wasn't a family in the village she hadn't assisted, healing an ill family member or saving domestic livestock. For this reason she always had a steady stream of visitors who supplied her with everything she needed. She also loved chatting and listening, which made her the best port of call, along with the tavern and the village well, if you wanted to hear the latest news – which only increased the willingness of the villagers to give her a helping hand.

Falk looked at the boy sternly. 'This will be your first appearance as my apprentice. Be polite, speak as little as possible and don't get in the way'.

'Yes, Master…' Ahren stammered.

He knew Vera. The old woman was always friendly to him and Falk's harsh instructions seemed over the top. Unless he's ashamed of me, he thought quickly.

Falk seemed to realize what Ahren was thinking and he said in a milder tone, 'the Healer's house is a hot bed of rumours, I don't want you to say anything that could be taken the wrong way. The beginning of your training was dramatic enough, and the bonding ritual I performed with you was unusual too. We don't want to add grist to the mill'. And with that the Guardian threw the leather ball at Ahren, who had been staring at his master but instinctively raised his left hand and plucked the ball out of the air. He tossed the ball back to his master in triumph.

'That's a start', said Falk and nodded.

They went a little further and came to a small clearing that lay directly at the forest's edge. Only a few trees separated the small, thatched log cabin with its large tidily cultivated herb garden from the first houses of the village. A well worn narrow brick path snaked its way between them. Everything was neat and tidy. The herb garden was surrounded by a thick wooden fence and there was even a luxurious flower bed just before the front door, wafting beautiful smells in the late afternoon sun.

Ahren had only been here twice before and that was in autumn and winter. It looked so different now and it took him a few seconds to recognize the place.

Falk gave him another stern look as they reached the front door. They could hear voices from the inside conversing cheerfully. Obviously the latest morsels of gossip were being exchanged and Ahren understood now why his master had insisted on a note of caution.

Falk knocked on the door, the voices fell silent within and they entered the house. A friendly woman with a smile on her deeply wrinkled face was sitting in her rocking chair. Although it was warm, her legs were wrapped in a woollen blanket. A young woman had just risen from the stool and was picking up a basket. It was Senja. Her mother was the village weaver and she was the eldest daughter. 'I'd better be going now, I've wasted too much time already', she said. She nodded to the herbalist, smiled uncertainly towards Falk and Ahren and darted out before hurrying away quickly. The boy looked after her thoughtfully. Was he mistaken, or had she been afraid of them?

'Now, now, don't be brooding', said the old woman instead of a greeting, and smiled at Ahren. She seemed to see right into him with her clever eyes.

'You two with your leather gear and your knives are well capable of giving a right fright to a pretty young thing'. Falk snorted and bent down to give Vera a kiss on the cheek. 'The boy worries too much about what other people think of him, but I'll drive that out of him'.

She smiled up at him and patted him on the cheek. 'Don't be too hard on him or he'll run away from you yet'.

Ahren was totally taken aback by his master's friendly, even affectionate behaviour.

'That would be pointless', said Falk. I'm a Forest Guardian, I'll find him. Anywhere'.

At least that sounds like the Falk I know, thought Ahren. He positioned himself in a corner of the room and tried to be as unobtrusive as possible, while looking around with curiosity. The house was one-roomed just like the Guardian's lodgings, and the beams in the roof were festooned with bundles of herbs. They were hanging from them at differing stages of the drying process. There were shelves on two walls, with pots, jugs and little jars, all labelled in tidy handwriting. A cooking area and a narrow bed filled the other walls. A table with two stools, as well as the large rocking chair Vera was sitting on, stood in the middle of the room.

Falk began to empty his rucksack and to spread out the herbs he'd gathered the previous day on the table. Vera looked at him as he worked with a contented smile on her lips.

'They'll do for a while. You've brought an unusually large amount of plants today, even some I have here in the garden, although I have only a few of each sort'.

Falk pointed with his thumb towards Ahren. 'Basic training'.

Vera nodded. 'Typical Falk. Why give one task when you can do two or three at the same time'.

The Healer waved Ahren towards her and pointed at the plants on the table. 'And? Do you recognize any of them yet?'

As Ahren approached the table he felt Falk's penetrating look and immediately began to sweat. He took up the red plant that he had identified the previous day and said 'Wolf Herb'.

'Good. Keep going'. The old woman's gentle eyes seemed to radiate total confidence in his abilities so that he felt unable to explain that he'd only heard of medicinal plants the day before.

Instead he looked down at the table and tried to remember. Low Herb and Blue Head. And this one had to be Sharp Thistle. Ahren was pointing at the individual herbs which had individual characteristics or striking colours. He had tried to concentrate on the plants that had stood out during the break earlier in the day, and this was now helping him. But there were another thirty bundles in various shades of green on the table that said nothing to him. His two older companions looked at him fixedly. Vera patiently and Falk sternly.

A gust of wind carried the sumptuous aromas from the flowerbed at the front door into the house and this gave Ahren an idea. He bent down over the table and immediately two intensive scents filled his nostrils. 'Stink Weed, and Sneeze Root'. He had identified two further plants.

Falk snorted contentedly and Vera gave a smile of encouragement.

'You've found yourself a clever apprentice, you old fox', she chuckled.

Ahren beamed with pride and looked up at this master – only to be surprised by the leather ball, which hit his nose. He shot his left hand up far too late and only managed to give himself a blow under the chin.

'A start', said Falk drily while his apprentice angrily chased the leather ball and cursed silently to himself, using every bad word he had ever learnt.

When he stood up again and turned around, he saw the old woman had a very serious look on her face.

'Be careful out there, and take care of the boy. One of the woodcutters saw a deer last week that had literally been torn to shreds. As if by a Blood Wolf'.

Ahren held his breath. Had he heard correctly?

Falk snorted. 'You know what the woodcutters are like, superstitious to the last. They're always seeing things that aren't there'.

'It won't do any harm to take a little care, though', Vera added.

Falk responded in a calm voice. 'Blood Wolves rarely come so far to the east. The last one I saw was over twenty years ago. And anyway they're unbelievably territorial. If there were one here, then there would be dead wolves and bears lying all over the forest'.

Ahren gave a strangled gasp and Falk turned to look at his apprentice. The boy had gone pale with fright and was staring wide-eyed at Falk.

'Look what you've started with your idle chatter. The boy is totally shocked', grumbled Falk. He went up to the terrified boy and put a hand on his shoulder.

Ahren looked up at him and stammered. 'Can a Blood Wolf really kill a bear?'

Falk led him to the table where the old woman was sitting and looking at the boy keenly. He gently pushed him down onto one of the stools and sat beside him. 'This was really only supposed to be discussed much later on in your training but as the subject has now been broached we might as well get it over with'.

Falk shot the herbalist an angry look, but she looked back at him serenely. 'What do you know about the Dark Ones? Falk asked in a quiet voice.

Ahren's mind was racing. His head was full of the old stories that were told around the camp fires or late at night during the Winter Festival. 'They…they can turn themselves into smoke, they eat the souls of their victims, and before you die, they make you go mad. They're full of hate and teeth and claws and they're the servants of HIM WHO FORCES'. He could only whisper the last few words.

His master gave an amused look before becoming serious again. 'That's all true but not all Dark Ones possess all those powers. Otherwise the Adversary would certainly have won that time. There are more than twenty different Dark Ones that we know of. Each individual one has his own unique powers and they all serve HIM'.

Vera slowly got up from her rocking chair and shuffled heavily to one of the shelves. From there she fetched a bottle and three beakers and placed them on the table. She filled the beakers with an amber liquid while Falk continued. 'About a dozen of these Dark Ones are really relevant to us Forest Guardians. And only very rarely does one of them come into this neck of the woods'.

Vera passed them their beakers and sat back on the rocking chair with her own. She closed her eyes and took a sip.

Ahren carefully smelled at his beaker and his nostrils filled with the sweet pungent smell of honey mead. He looked at the beaker in awe. Only the wealthy villagers could afford this drink and then it was normally served in thimble-sized cups. Ahren had never been near a full beaker before. For a moment he even forgot his fear as he admired the priceless treasure.

Falk absently raised the beaker to his lips and continued. 'Blood Wolves were once normal ice-wolves, the largest wolves that exist in nature. The Adversary forced them under his control. He made them larger and stronger. The more blood they drink, the mightier and angrier they become. In the Dark Days, the first rule of thumb was to kill the opposing army's Blood Wolves, before they had torn apart too many of their enemies and their frenzy had become almost unconquerable'.

Ahren listened in fear and gripped his beaker of mead. Without thinking, he took a drink and felt a warm burning sensation spreading down his throat and into his stomach.

'An adult Blood Wolf can easily defeat a bear, and that's why I'm certain none has entered the forest. I would have heard it long ago and seen its path of destruction'.

The mead was slowly having its effect and Ahren's head began to feel light. His fear of the Blood Wolf disappeared in a gentle fog that seemed to envelop his thoughts. He had relaxed considerably. Vera gave a grunt of satisfaction as she saw the change in the apprentice's appearance. Falk gave him another encouraging tap on the shoulder as he glanced darkly at the Healer.

'It was completely unnecessary to upset my apprentice like that. A lecture on the Dark Ones is definitely not for the second day of training'.

Ahren emptied his beaker. The deliciously sweet yet spicy taste of the mead, and the feeling of drowsiness and fearlessness that it gave him, gave rise to a leaden heaviness in his arms and legs, and he could feel his eyes closing.

Suddenly there was an almighty bang that startled him, his eyes shot open and he saw the stern, weather-beaten face of the old Forest Guardian a mere hand span away looking at him. For a moment Ahren was back in his father's dark hut, and as he screamed and shot his arms up in an effort to protect himself, he threw his body backward, his stool tipped over and he fell back in a tangle of arms and legs.

He stared up at his master in a fog. Falk's hand still lay flat on the table where he had let it fall in order to wake the boy. Vera clicked her tongue disapprovingly and Falk scratched his beard with an embarrassed look on his face.

'I think we're going to have to get to know each other a little more. I'm really sorry, boy. That's how my master used to wake me up, whenever I dozed off doing my exercises. I still forget that you've grown up differently to me'. Ahren picked himself up off the floor, his heart was pounding and he could only nod, because he didn't trust himself to be able to speak. Neither of them could utter a word and so the two Forest Guardians only looked at each other in embarrassment.

Suddenly a high squeaky sound could be heard that broke the awkward silence and both of them turned around to Vera in surprise. She was giggling into her shawl. 'You almost managed a summersault and your feet rubbed off the herbs hanging off the ceiling', Vera spluttered, overcome by a fit of giggling and pointed upwards. Falk and Ahren looked up in surprise at the slowly swinging bundles of herbs and burst out laughing themselves. Their mutual embarrassment was punctured by the hilarity of it all.

Falk shook his head, finished his mead and stood up. 'That didn't exactly go according to plan. You were supposed to learn something about herbs. Instead we frighten the life out of you with stories of the Dark Ones, pour alcohol down your throat, and you almost break your neck by falling off the chair'.

Vera giggled again and also stood up. 'Before we leave, I just want to ask if Ahren can drop by now and then and learn how to make the most important creams and compresses. That will give me the chance to do parts of my job which he can't participate in yet and then he'll also have the odd day when his body can recover'. He smiled in Ahren's direction.

Vera nodded. 'Of course. The boy is a bright spark and I'm always happy to share my knowledge. It will only be enough to learn the basics, though. If he wants to learn more, I'll have to keep him for one or two winters'. The three of them stepped out into the late afternoon sun and Vera and Falk gave each other a quick hug. Ahren gave an awkward nod of farewell and noticed the Healer whisper something to his master before breaking away from him. Falk nodded and strode quickly away with his apprentice in tow. The old woman stood in the doorway and, lost in thought, watched them leave.

The return journey to Falk's cabin was surprisingly short. Ahren's master reminded him to remember the direct route so that he would be able to find his own way to Vera's hut the next time. Again and again he pointed out way markings to the boy. These would help him to orientate himself. He also showed him how the position of the sun in the sky could also help determine the correct direction. He didn't use the ball at all on the return journey, much to Ahren's relief.

They arrived at the cabin just as dusk was falling and Falk ordered him to go in and light the fire in the hearth. The night was drawing in and they were sitting at their evening meal when Ahren asked a question that had occupied his mind before he had become Falk's apprentice.

'Master, where do you actually come from?'

Falk looked up from his bowl quizzically and grunted, 'What do you mean?'

'Well, everybody knows that you arrived in Deepstone a long time ago, but there are lots of different opinions about where you came from'.

'Is that so?' His older companion's face seemed to darken.

'What opinions have you heard?'

'Most people believe you come from the Knight Marshes. That you spoke their local dialect in those days. Others think you picked up your knowledge of the Dark Ones in the Border Lands. Still others are of the opinion that you lived among the elves of Evergreen', said Ahren as he divulged the most popular theories.

His master didn't seem to take too kindly to his question but Ahren felt he ought to know as much as possible about the man in whose house he was now living.

Falk was just about to rebuke him sharply but then thought better of it. 'All those theories have a grain of truth in them but none of them hits the nail on the head. I received my training in Eathinian as part of a punishment. That's what we call the territory of the forest elves and you should remember that. Evergreen is a very crude translation. The same as if an elf called Deepstone 'a heavy thing that makes a clunking sound and falls a long way down'. It's not only inexact but it's not in the least aesthetic, it makes you sound like a complete idiot to them'.

Although this little insight into the language of the elves was fascinating, Ahren was interested in something completely different. 'Your training was a punishment?' That would certainly explain his training methods, thought Ahren drily.

'Not what you're thinking. I was a drifter when I arrived in Eathinian. I lit a fire in the forest where it was prohibited, I slaughtered an animal that was protected and I relieved myself in a river that provided drinking water to an elf village two miles further along. Even one of these misdemeanours could cost your head among the elves, or, if they were feeling charitable, result in banishment. Quite a few of them wanted to see me dead, but when I was brought before the priestess of HER THAT FEELS to receive my sentence, it turned out she had a finely tuned, if very dark, sense of humour. I had to bear my guilt in the forest until I had undone the damage I had caused. My fire had destroyed an old tree that had stood there for many decades. The animal I had slaughtered had been vital for the maintenance of the balance between predator and prey. The elves take such things very seriously. And so I spent many years learning everything about the forest to make good for this one tree, and to bring the wildlife back into balance, which is much harder than I had thought, certainly if you go by elf standards. Any time I thought I had done the right thing my mistress would point out to me what the consequences of my actions were. In the end and with her help I had made good for the tree and restored the balance and in the meantime I had become a Forest Guardian. I didn't want then and have never wanted since to be anything else'.

Ahren stared at his master in silence. He tried to reconcile what he had heard with the man who was sitting in front of him. Falk nodded contentedly when it became clear that his apprentice wasn't going to ask any more questions. 'Now you know a little bit more. You're going to have to earn the next personal question'. He stood up abruptly, almost as though he regretted having been so open.

'I'm going to sleep. Clear up, quench the fire and go to bed too. Tomorrow's going to be a demanding day for you'.

And with those words, Falk went out into the darkness leaving a very thoughtful apprentice sitting at the table asking himself what Falk meant by demanding. How, he wondered, would his master describe the last two days?


Ahren lay on his mat the following evening wishing he were dead. Or that the forest would flee. Or that the bailiff would come and take away his master for unnecessary cruelty to apprentices in general and to Ahren in particular. And then lock him up in a particularly dark and damp dungeon. This thought almost made him smile – but even that was sore. With a groan and all the energy he could muster Ahren managed to turn on his side and slurp a little more soup from the bowl beside his bed. It was supposed to calm his maltreated muscles. It was his fourth portion in the last two hours but his body still felt as if a millstone had rolled over it. A particularly large millstone. With prongs.

They had headed off early in the morning and within a few hundred paces after entering the forest Falk had led him to an imposing king oak tree that stretched about thirty paces into the air and had enormous sweeping branches. It really was a magnificent tree and Ahren had looked up at it in amazement until his master said, 'up there in the tree top is a red towel knotted to it. Can you bring it down for me please?'

Ahren had been delighted. This probably meant there was no running around on the agenda today and he could give his legs a bit of a rest. He had always liked climbing and he had a knack for it. But his master knew that already so why was he testing him again?

With a shrug of his shoulders and an 'of course, master' he set to work. He scampered up the first few paces in no time at all. There were many places to hold on too, the branches were wide and secure and there was plenty of room to turn easily. It was the perfect tree for climbing.

It wasn't long before Ahren was up in the top quarter of the tree. But the further he climbed, the harder it became to get a good grip and a secure standing position. Ahren stretched his neck to see where the cloth was tied. Yes, there it was, a red ribbon, fluttering in the breeze about four paces above him.

With considerable effort Ahren pulled himself up the final few paces and at last he reached the piece of cloth, knotted to a branch. Ahren had to clasp this branch with his right arm while balancing on a thin branch. He carefully raised his right hand towards the cloth and started loosening it. It took him a minute to finally untangle the knot and stuff the material down his leather jerkin. He had an unimpeded view of the tree top and saw that under the cloth was a rope tied around the branch. It wound its way in several dozen loops towards the top. Attached to the rope at regular intervals were very small, thin strips of material of various colours. The rope finished a hand span away from the tip of the tree. Confused, Ahren studied the construction for several heartbeats before making his way back down. His master, after all, had only mentioned the red cloth.

Getting down the tree proved to be very easy and it wasn't long before Ahren was standing in front of his master with a self-satisfied grin. The master took Ahren's trophy with an indifferent look.

'The cloth was only for orientation so that you could find your task. I want you to loosen as many strips of cloth as you can during the day and tie them down here around the branch. And only one strip per climb, do you hear me?'

That wiped the grin off Ahren's face in no time at all. The climbing was fun and hadn't been particularly strenuous but there were at least fifty strips of cloth up there, if not more. That would be some slog!

'I'm glad we understand each other', grinned Falk. 'There's a water skin over there and a piece of cheese, you'd better ration it. In the meantime I'll go hunting so we have food for the table again. We're in dire need of some because of the rate you gobble it down. I'll check up on you every now and then, and if you're not climbing, I'll bring all the strips you've brought down back up again!' And having issued his threat he left the boy alone and disappeared into the undergrowth.

Ahren stood there for a moment and considered this mammoth task until a loud 'now, Ahren!' echoed from the forest and he scurried up the tree.

He only had a cloudy recollection of the rest of the day. The first few rounds weren't all that difficult but the continual repetition extracted a high price. And he realized soon enough that the higher the strips were hanging, the more complicated the knots were. This meant longer stretches of the body, and longer periods of keeping his balance, not to mention increasingly complicated movements with his left hand while his muscles became more and more tired. Ahren had never suffered from a fear of heights, but he became acutely aware, with every new scaling of the tree, that there was a real danger he would fall and break his neck.

Around noon he started taking little breaks in the tree so that he wouldn't be surprised by Falk on the ground. Once he'd caught his breath, he would groan or curse and reach for the next branch. He thought of taking more than one piece of cloth at a time. But it wasn't only Ahren who had a wonderful view of the surrounding forest, there were also many treetops from which he could easily be spied upon. Ahren had no doubt at all that Falk threw an eye on him from time to time, even if he was out hunting.

Ahren was close to tears when his master finally stepped out of the undergrowth. He'd been clinging to the lowest branch of the tree for about an hour, but no matter how hard he'd tried, his arms didn't have enough strength to pull him up to the next branch. He slid clumsily down the tree and collapsed beside the strips of cloth he had collected that day.

Falk silently counted the strips and hunkered down opposite Ahren. 'You got as far as the blue ones, no?' his voice was warm and friendly and he looked proudly at Ahren.

The boy closed his eyes and nodded tiredly before answering in a quiet, shaky voice. 'The blue ones were hanging so high and the knot seemed to have only one end, just like the ones you made for our tree house, and I still haven't got used to my left hand. I went up three times and tried as hard as I could. Then I climbed down to the lowest branch to have a rest, but in the end I couldn't pull myself up again'. The last few words were little more than a whisper.

'So you've climbed up and down this tree more than thirty times today? No wonder you're tired. I thought you'd only manage to get as far as the green ones, but you've brought them all down'. Falk's voice was still warm and friendly, and his obvious compassion as well as Ahren's exhaustion were all too much for the boy. He fell into the arms of his stunned master and began to sob uncontrollably. Falk patted him awkwardly on the back and mumbled, 'it's alright, calm yourself. The first time is always the hardest'. The apprentice reacted with a jolt and gasped, 'the first time?'

'Of course. This was no test at all. Here we're training all the muscles in your body. Coordination, endurance, dexterity and will power. The ribbon tree was a staple of my basic training too'.

Falk released himself gently but firmly from Ahren's embrace and saw in front of him a youthful and angry face. His tears had left light streaks on the boy's face which was smudged with earth and tree bark. But as Ahren was rarely angry, his unpractised grimace looked comical rather than threatening.

The old Guardian decided to ignore the silent rebellion and with slow deliberation packed away the empty water skin, the ribbons and the waxed cheese-cloth. Then he turned around to face the boy, who was still looking at him darkly.

'That's enough now. If you continue to look daggers at me, I'll send you up the tree in double quick time and you'll have to tie up all the ribbons again'. The boy looked quickly up at the tree top, then at the ribbons in Falk's hand before turning on his heels and trudging uncertainly away.

Falk smiled, turned away from the tree too and followed Ahren into the forest. The boy had been so angry that he hadn't noticed that he'd headed the correct way to the cabin without having asked the way. The old man looked down at his hands, still with the three dozen unknotted ribbons, nodded to himself and whispered, 'a start'.

Ahrend groaned and turned on his back again. The soup bowl was empty. He had made his way back to the cabin in brooding silence, had tortuously taken off his leathers and curled up under the blanket. Falk too had remained silent, prepared the meal, and patiently placed one bowl after another beside the mat. But now his master was outside. The glow from the dying fire gradually faded and the inside of the cabin was bathed in a soft red shimmer, making the contours of the room appear softer and somehow more fluid. Ahren mulled over the injustice of the world and how he had to end up with the worst possible slave driver of a master, before his exhaustion overwhelmed him like a black wave and between one breath and the next he was in a deep slumber.

The low snoring coming from inside the cabin told Falk that the youngster had fallen asleep and with a sigh of relief he leaned against the tree where he had set up his place for the night. He massaged his forehead and was glad he had weathered the day. What had he been thinking of, taking on an apprentice? The reasons he had listed out to the young boy were all true of course, but he of all people training someone? He had spoken more in the last four days than he had in the whole three months previously. And he would have to be a little more careful. The boy would only have finished his thirteenth summer by autumn and in Falk's case, he had completed his training as a well-drilled adult.

And there were other advantages he had enjoyed that he didn't want to think about now. That was all such a long time ago and really belonged to the past. Damn it, the boy was even disturbing his peace of mind.

He stood up and walked a few steps into the forest.

And following a custom going back decades he whispered as every evening, 'Selsena, is that you?' He waited a few heartbeats, then turned with a sorrowful look. He had only taken one tired step when there was a rustling behind him.

Falk froze in mid movement, didn't stir an inch. Nothing more than a whisper escaped his lips, a quietly whispered word, permeated with a wild, frustrated hopefulness. 'Selsena?'

The leaves behind him rustled again.

Falk didn't turn around but collapsed into himself where he stood, like a puppet whose cords had been cut. Nobody could see the tears rolling down his weather beaten skin.

'The years without you were very long', he said, his voice breaking.

The leaves were no longer moving, but they didn't need to. Falk tilted his head low as he always did when she spoke with him before answering, 'Yes, I know. It was my fault. What has changed?'

A few seconds passed.

'The boy? Really?'

Falk still didn't turn, his eyes were closed and he felt a large body coming closer behind and towering over him.

'I'm speaking out loud because I'm out of practice. After all it's been many years'.

He reached up and stroked the soft fur.

'Are you staying?' Falk hated himself for the frustration evident in his voice, but she could read his thoughts anyway so it really made no difference.

The answer wasn't the one he had hoped for but at least it was so comforting that he gave a quick laugh. She had always had a sharp sense of humour.

'Good, so nearby, until the boy has made himself at home. Otherwise, he'll end up running away from us screaming'.

Us.

The word echoed within Falk and suddenly all the dams burst. The irony wasn't lost on Falk that he was now behaving like his thirteen year old apprentice this afternoon who had thrown himself at him and sobbed uncontrollably. It didn't bother him.

The night concealed him, the forest embraced him, and Selsena was back.

All was well.


The weeks flew by. Falk went with Ahren two or three days in a row through the forest, carefully increasing the tempo over the period. It was still more of a quick walk than a slow trot but the would-be Forest Guardian hardly stumbled anymore and he was certainly able to keep pace. And it was a while since he'd dropped the ball. Ahren was now using the left hand quite instinctively for a wide range of activities and so Falk had begun to incorporate both hands in the training. He thought if the boy had trained his secondary hand for all this time, it should be possible now to attain a limited ambidexterity.

Following the forest run there would always be a day at the ribbon tree and then one with Vera where Ahren could recover from his physical exertions. Instead he would learn about compresses and creams for scratches, cuts, burns and inflammations. The old woman was always very kind and whenever Ahren spent a day there, at least a dozen visitors would arrive, either bringing or picking up something, and there would always be an exchange of stories and gossip. They always had a friendly word for Ahren and he began, quite unconsciously, to think of himself as Ahren the apprentice Forest Guardian, and not Ahren, the drunkard's son, whenever he was speaking to the others.

After his day with Vera, the cycle would begin again and by the end of the summer Ahren had got used to his constantly aching muscles. Falk had no mirror and Ahren was far too busy to notice what the others could see – that his shoulders were slowly becoming broader, his arms and legs more sinewy. The strong soup prepared by Falk, laced with healing herbs and full of the vital substances which helped Ahren's growth spurt, was so completely different from the watery broths that he had subsisted on when he was in his father's care.

And so the first days of autumn arrived with their bad weather and the cool winds that had long ago driven Deepstone into the shelter of the forest. The forest marches were less fun than ever, the ground was slippery because of the rain and when Ahren arrived in the cabin at night he had to spend an hour cleaning his gear so that the leather would keep smooth and supple and the dagger protected from rust. Falk also began to leave the smaller household chores in his hands and soon he was getting up as early as his master so everything would be in order before the old man gave the order to set off for the day. And the ribbon tree was much harder to climb now, when the branches were wet and slippery. After the first autumn storm Falk had silently given him a pair of leather gloves with the fingertips free. Ahren was puzzled by them until he tried scaling the wet higher branches with his bare hands. It wasn't long before the gloves were like another hand and he began to imitate Falk's stoical attitude to the weather. Sometime in the middle of autumn, it was the evening of a surprisingly mild day, there was a knock on the door of the Guardian's little cabin. The two occupants looked up from their leather work in surprise and Ahren gave his master a questioning look.

'Don't ask me, I'm just as clueless as you', grumbled Falk and stood up. Falk opened the door and as soon as Ahren realized who had granted them a visit, he leapt to his feet and the leather jerkin he had been fixing flew to the ground along with the awl and string. Likis was standing in the doorway with a broad grin on his face. He was wearing the classical merchant's tunic, and two parchment scrolls were sticking out of his breast pockets. A little slate was hanging on a thin chain from his belt.

'Likis, it's wonderful to see you'. With arms outstretched, Ahren ran to greet the merchant's son, almost knocking over his master in the process, who was too slow to get out of the way. Falk was about to give out to them but on seeing the boys hugging each other in joyful reunion he simply shrugged his shoulders, sat down and continued with his repair work.

Likis held Ahren firmly by the shoulders and looked at him critically. 'Boy, but you've grown – and filled out! What's he feeding you with?'

Ahren shifted from one foot to the other in embarrassment. He had spent his whole life comparing his size with Likis and now he was suddenly aware that he was taller than his friend by a head, and it had only been half a head four months ago.

He answered without thinking. 'A lot of soup and stews with game and herbs. Wolf Herb for the muscles, Life Farm for regenerating stamina and Red Leaf as a protection against illness'. Even as he was speaking he realized that he sounded like old Vera rattling off a prescription for a healing ointment. His friend looked at him in bafflement until the two burst into laughter.

'A start', commented Falk stoically in the background, and Ahren laughed even harder.

The pair squatted down on Ahren's mat and spent the evening telling each other what had happened over the previous months. Likis rhapsodized about his work in the shop and the merchants from Two Waters who delivered merchandize to them and also brought the latest news from all over Hjalgar. Apparently a band of robbers had settled in the slopes of Greyjags and were holding up travellers. Quite a few mutilated wolf and bear carcasses had been found. When Ahren heard this, he looked up to his master and was about to speak. But Falk gave him a warning look and shook his head and so the boy said nothing.

The night was drawing in and there was no sign of the boys finishing their conversation so Falk cleared his throat noisily and said, 'Likis, it's not that we're not delighted about your visit, but you really need to be making your way home now'.

The wiry boy leapt to his feet and clapped his hand against his forehead.

'Of course, I nearly forgot. I'm here in the name of my parents to invite you to a meal on the eve of the Autumn Festival'.

Ahren was a little surprised. 'Is it that time again?' As he no longer took part in the daily life of the village, he had no idea what date the village council had set for the Autumn Festival.

'Yes, two weeks from today. Vera has forecast an early and hard winter'. The Healer had a sixth sense for the pulse of nature. In one of her lessons she had explained to Ahren that there were many clues for the upcoming weather in the behaviour of plants and the clouds. Falk said the same was true for the animals, but when he had looked for more information, Falk had stalled him with a shake of his head.

'You're not even six months with me out here. Ask me in five years again', was his sobering reply.

'That's why I came here today, to invite you', said Likis cheerfully. 'And, are you coming?' he looked expectantly from one to the other. Ahren looked pleadingly at his master. It was traditional on the eve of the three-day Autumn Festival to invite friends and family to take part in a relaxing, peaceful meal before the hurly-burly and excitement of the Autumn Festival. It was considered rude to turn down such an invitation.

But Falk was neither particularly diplomatic nor sociable, so you never knew.

Ahren need not have feared. Falk nodded and grunted, 'tell your parents thanks and we will come. And now get out of here or my apprentice will be unbearable tomorrow for want of sleep'.

The two boys grinned at each other in anticipation of another evening full of each other's stories, not to mention the good food. Now that his friend was going, Ahren realized how cut off he was out here, and how much he missed his chirpy companion.

'Take care of yourself', he said sadly.

'It's only two weeks', said Likis in a comforting tone and gave him a quick hug. Then he gave Falk a wave and disappeared out the door.

Ahren went to the window and watched his sprightly friend until he was soon swallowed up by the night. Falk's cabin was on the outer edge of Deepstone but tonight the apprentice felt that the entire wood separated it from the village community. With a sigh he went to his sleeping area and curled up under the covers.

Falk worked on at the leathers for another few minutes, then tilted his head as if listening to someone and after a few heartbeats nodded. 'You're right'.

He put down his tools and clothing, looked again at the outline of the sleeping boy and went out into the forest.