Naradra, pt. 13

We are nearly ready. The helm has been contained, for now. Young Raynor’s body lives, but his eyes stare mindlessly ahead. He has no light, no spirit… no soul. The witches spoke true, on that at least. Their words still echo in my mind. Is a soul for a soul a trade I can make? If we destroy the helm, how many souls will be freed? And is the cost of that too high?

I regret I was not able to return to the Tree People. If things had been different, perhaps that would have been reason to stay on this isle.

Raynor will be saved… and Terri… will either return to his son, or fall at my side. I see nothing for myself beyond that.

There is little point in writing more. I doubt I will see this journal again. We must move quickly, and I can have nothing, not even this, slowing me down or being a distraction.

( * Carefully, the leather bound book is wrapped in an oiled cloth. With the edge of her sword, a narrow floorboard is pried loose and the bundle slid into the space between. Tapping the board back in place, she returns the desk above. Surveying the room, she gathers her bag and steps out into the cold morning. * )


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