Prologue: Fourteen Years Ago
Florie couldn't quite remember . . .
She had only been two years old . . .
When her father left their home in Earthville . . .
And never came back . . .
Florashy stopped her spinning. She saw a figure striding toward her. Long, determined strides. It was her husband, Meredith. He was looking straight ahead of him, as always, his emerald eyes glinting in the burning afternoon sun. So tall, so sure of himself. Even so, Florashy could tell something was wrong. Leaving her spinning wheel, she rushed toward her husband.
"What's wrong? What did Jackie say?"
Meredith smiled and put a callused hand on his wife's shoulder. Florashy knew he didn't want her to worry but she could tell something was troubling him behind the reassuring smile
"Tell me."
Meredith hesitated, but finally said, "My sister said that a wizard lady from Camelot is calling all the warriors from Earthville to go fight for Camelot." He paused. "It's under attack. Dragons."
Florashy shuddered. At least those dragons were just in Camelot . . . suddenly a horrible realization dawned on her. All the warriors . . . That would include Meredith since he was one of the best in all the tiny village. His huge, heavy battling axe was well-known throughout the land. For once, she wished it wasn't.
"You're . . . going?" she faultered.
"Yes." The answer was firm. Meredith smiled grimly at his wife and strode to the cottage. Florie, two years old, was playing quietly outside with some colorful pebbles.
Florashy blinked. She shuffled to her spinning wheel and sat down, but didn't do anything. What if . . . no, she musn't think that. She blinked again, and resumed her neglected spinning.
The following morning, Florashy bundled Florie into a blanket and walked with her husband to the town square where all the other residents of Earthville who knew the art of fighting were. That included Jackie, Meredith's sister; Bradburn, their cousin; Zena, Earthville's master of magic, and Rainbow, a lazy archer. Besides the rest of the Earthvillians who had tagged along to see the warriors off, there was also a strange lady in a purple dress and a young boy there.
They must be the messangers, Florashy thought. She hugged Florie to her. What was that? There appeared to be a slight commotion among the group.
Patsy Pie, Earthville's overly optimistic minstrel, and Ditsy Hoovins, the village's loopy mail distributer, were begging the purple lady if they could go along. The lady(her name was Twila, as Florashy later learned) seemed upset; her voice began rising. She looked up at Florashy. Florashy avoided her eyes. Twila finally, and reluctantly, agreed for the two airheads to come along.
Florashy swallowed hard and watched as the warriors mounted their horses and bid a final farewell to their loved ones.
Meredith hesitated before mounting Juna, his heavy-feathered shire. He turned to Florashy. Smiling, he wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.
"Don't worry, sweet. It'll be fine. Fine." He stroked her cheek gently. Florashy lowered her eyes. Meredith bent down and kissed her on the mouth. Florashy shivered a little. She loved his closeness, his long, orange-yellow hair, his bright, loving green eyes, his pleasant, gently curving lips. And now she was about to lose him . . . maybe forever.
Meredith brushed a kiss on Florie's forehead and straightened the huge axe that was strapped to his back. He quickly mounted Juna. Without looking back, he slowly followed the others.
Florashy stayed, watching, letting the hot, sorrowful tears run down her cheeks. Everyone else drifted away, back to their homes, but she stayed until the last of the warriors had vanished from her strained view. And even then, she stayed. Waiting, wishing, wanting . . . all in vain. Then she too, turned back for the cottage.
A week later, they all returned . . . all, that is, except Meredith . . .
After that, Florashy left Earthville and went to Gladdington . . .
There, she became quiet and reclusive . . .
Her daughter, Florie, grew, strong-willed and determined . . .
Just like her father . . .
Chapter 1: The Journey Begins
I hold my breath as the doctor leans over my mother, Florashy. What will he say? Can she be cured? The doctor straightens and looks me squarely in the eyes.
He clears his throat and says, "I'm afraid I don't know what is ailing her. Whatever it is though, will, by my reckoning, kill her in a month. I'm sorry." With that he hurredly packs up his things and hastily retreats out the front door.
I stand by my mother's bed for a moment, thinking about the doctors words. My mouth feels dry. Only a month? I swallow, hard, and glance down at my mother's sleeping form. Her long hair in spread out on the pillow in knotted disorder. The long, dark lashes are closed, but not peacefully. There is an unsettled look to them and her.
A month . . . if she dies, I think, then I'll be orphaned. I chew on my lip. Orphaned . . . Even the word itself seems cold, ominous and frightening.
A determined thought comes to my mind. Orphaned? Not in your life! I will NOT be orphaned! I feel uplifted, joyous even. When I made my mind up about something, it always makes me feel better. Mother said that I got that from father. Father . . . No, don't think of that, I tell myself.
I glance out the window. Already the sun seems to be shining brighter and the world a happier place. Almost. I look back at Mother. She's still on the brink of death. I start at the thought. Then what was I waiting for? Not a moment could be lost!
I flee from the room and enter my bedroom. As I grab a leather sack feverishly start filling it, I mentally plan out my quest. First, I'd go the end of town and grab a stagecoach. I'd travel to Earthville and find the wizard that was said to live there. I pause. Come to think of it, she was the same woman that came to Earthville telling the residents about Camelot's plight. After the dragons had been driven away(and after my father had been killed), she had moved to Earthville, along with her assitant, Sam? Seth? Spik? Skike. No, Spike.
Anyway, the wizard(What was her name? Tasha?) would certainly know a cure. I fling the bag over my shoulder and return to my mother's room. I kiss her on the forehead. How beautiful she looks . . . and so sad. I glance up at the wall. There, hanging on two wooden pegs, is my father's batteling axe. It isn't rusted because I clean it everyday. It's huge, with a large double-sided head and a long wooden handle. I won't be cleaning it anymore.
I blink back tears and retreat out the back door, without looking back. Maybe I'm being way too hasty with normal circumstances, but my mother's life is at stake so I can't take any chances.