High King Drystin sits on his throne, staring at the man in front of him.  The man wears dark clothing and speaks in a deep voice.  His two henchmen wear the same clothes and don't speak at all.  The two other men are hulking figures with big muscles, but their smaller leader is far more intimidating.  He holds a fireball in his hand.  Drystin hesitates before calling for more guards-- the ones that had been present are now curled on the ground in charred heaps.  He's nervous, scared of what these men can do. 

    "We are going to kill you," the small man says.  "The Tairi have no king!" 

    I heard you the first time, Drystin wants to say.  The man has been going on like this for quite a while now.   He holds his tongue just in case.  Who knows?  The threats might come to pass sooner than planned if he steps out of line.  Instead he asks, "What are you waiting for?"

    "You only still live because we have use of you.  You will meet our demands, or else."  The man lets the sentence hang in the air.

    What happens next, Drystin can't fully comprehend.  a large -what? hole in space?- opens behind the man with the fireball, and another man steps out, holding three knives.  the first he plunges into the leader's back.  He throws the other two at the other men.  Upon impact, one man freezes in his tracks, unable to move, and the other crumples, writhing and turning a sickly green until he finally lies still.  The new man walks behind the paralyzed one and quickly finishes him off as well.  He turns to the King and bows.

    "Wha-?" is about all the King can manage.  His jaw hangs open and his eyes are wide.

    The new man speaks.  His voice is soft but confident. "Live forever, your Majesty.  My name is Artor, and as you can probably tell, I'm a Tair."  The King remains speechless, so Artor continues.  "I used to be comrades with the men you see before you, back when they were somewhat noble and good-hearted.  At that time, they spoke of doing good for all using the gifts we have been given.  As time went on, however, they lost that grander image.  They and their leader decided to overthrow the King.  This was back when the King was your father.  I turned away from them, choosing to counter their plans.  It wasn't until now they were able to make themselves known to you.  

    "I must warn you-- there are hundreds of these men, all with extraordinary gifts, many that make them seem inhuman.  Most of them have joined with these men to form The Clan.  There are, however, some Tairi that are not a part of the Clan.  These either do not know who they are or simply have not yet been recruited."

    The King finally finds his voice.  "But what are the Tairi?"

    "Nobody really knows," Artor says, "Not even the Tairi ourselves.  Something makes us different, and whatever it is is dangerous.  Once the gifts can be controlled, they corrupt the mind and make the bearer believe themselves to be worthy of something more.  The ones who succumb to this mindset are your most dangerous opponents, and make up the inner circle of leaders in The Clan."

    "What can I do to stop them?" Drystin asks.  "My people in their hands would be a disaster!"

    "I hate to say it, My Lord, but I don't know if there's anything you can do." Artor pauses.  "But I may be able to help you."

    "You?" Drystin looks the man up and down.  He has a greying beard and is dressed in dark green.  He's even smaller than the man at his feet had been, but he has a more noble bearing.  "Not to be rude," Drystin adds, "but you are just one person."

    "Not for long, if you'll agree to my plans."  Artor runs a hand through his shaggy hair.  "I intend to gather a new group of Tairi.  Together we shall form a secret society dedicated to countering The Clan's mission."

    "A secret society?"

    "Indeed.  What do you think of the name King's Ravens?"

    The bottle smashes against the wall, and I duck behind the table to avoid being hit by the shards.  The sound hurts my ears, but it hurts my heart more.  Daddy's had too much ale again.  He never used to be like this, before my mother died, before the neighbors started ignoring us, before no one would buy our produce.  Back when we had money and could afford nice things.

    Back before he thought I was a witch.  

    It's not like I started summoning things from the dead, or brewing creepy potions, or even killing anybody.  

    Another bottle flies past my head, breaking against a dish rack in the kitchen.  "Stop it!" I yell at my father.  "Stop it, you're drunk!" Another bottle is the only response.  I run outside, and he follows me to the doorway where he stops, yelling incomprehensibly.  I keep running, all the way to the edge of the huge cornfield we work every year.  I push my way into the corn and collapse between the arrow-straight rows.  I start to cry.  I don't want to.  I want to be tough, but I just can't.  Not when it's all my fault.  

    I look up at the sound of footsteps, tears still staining my face.  There's a man coming my way, walking down my row of corn toward me.  He's short, almost as short as me, dressed in dark green and wearing a strange pendant around his neck-- a raven with wings outstretched.

    "Hello," he says to me.  His soft voice is soothing somehow.  "My name is Artor.  Might I ask what the matter is?"

    "It's all my fault," I reply, fresh tears falling on my cheeks.  I feel sheepish.  I must be quite a sight, brown hair a mess and dark eyes hiding behind pools of moisture.  "If I had never got these stupid powers everything would have been fine.  Mother would still be here and Father would still love me.  Everything would be the way it should be."

    "You don't know that, Emelin." I'm not sure how he knows my name.  "You never know what would have happened, only what has."

    "That's not very comforting," I tell him.  "What has happened is worse than anything that might have happened."

    "And exactly what happened?"

    "It's a secret."

    "You said something about powers before.  I know what that means."

    "Then you know it's my fault!"  I'm crying again.  

    "So what?"

    The question hits me like a hammer.  So what?  So I'm the one that caused all this!  I'm the one who messed it all up!  I can't live with myself, and you ask 'so what'?  Before I know what I'm doing, there's a fireball in my hand and I'm ready to throw it.

    "Take it easy," Artor says, holding up a steady hand.  "I promise you won't hurt me."

    "Hurting people is the only thing I can do," I tell him, angry now.  He sees the part of me that wrecked my life, and he's not even impressed?

    "Good, I'd be disappointed if it wasn't."  Artor inspects his fingernails, looking bored.  

    "Why are you here?" I demand.  "You're not helping anything!"

    "I've been watching you, Emelin," he says.  "For a while I thought you might have what it takes to lead a different life, but you seem too caught up in self-hatred to be of any use to me.  Good day." He bows and starts walking away.

    I want to let him go.  Let him take his snobby self right off my land and never see him again.  But I can't.  Just two words caught my attention.  Different life.  Could I really have that?  A blank slate?  Start over, with no one knowing what I'd done?  Who I was?  I stand and run after him.  "Wait!" 

    "Yes?"  When he turns around, I can tell he's trying to hide a smile.  

    "Why did you come to me?"

    "I told you-- I thought you might have what it takes."

    "For what?" I huff.  

    "To be a King's Raven."

    "A what?"

   He almost looks amused.  "What if I told you that you weren't the only one with strange and mysterious powers?"

    I furrow my brow.  "I guess I would believe you.  I've always hoped I wasn't the only one."

    "Now what if I told you that most Tairi- that's what we're called, the powered folk- hated High King Drystin and wanted him dead, and that I'm creating a secret guild to counter their every move and protect the King at whatever cost?"

    I think about this for a moment.  "I suppose I don't have a good reason not to believe you."

    "And one last scenario: what if I told you that you've been invited to join us?"

    "It sounds like something out of a fantasy novel."

    "It is something out of a fantasy novel." 

   I giggle.  "What if I told you I accept the invitation?"

    "Then this is probably the last time you see your old home."

    I look back on the small farmhouse.  It holds good memories, true.  But those days are over.  Now everything here is pain.  "I could live with that."

    I'm free.

    Traveling with Artor, there's no guilt.  No expectations.  No history.  No fear.  The last one is my favorite.  Not only does Artor not fear me, he understands me.  He's more like myself than anyone I've ever met.  He's got powers, too.

    Artor describes his gift as 'opening a window in space.'  He can pick two places and connect them with portals or windows or whatever, allowing him to pass through from one location to another, or throw something one way and have it come out somewhere else.  Additionally, he carries four knives.  two are simply sharp steel, but the other two have quirks to them.  One is coated in fast-acting paralytic venom, and the other is dipped in a lethal poison.  "either way," he says, "I can kill you before you can react."

    Artor has also helped me experiment with my own gifts.  He says that with a decent staff I might be able to channel my fire abilities more effectively, and I take his word for it.  He promises to get me one at our next stop.  Artor also showed me that I'm impervious to injury- being hit only makes me stronger- and claims that he's really jealous.  "It's a rare gift, one that many people would give up an arm to have."

    We travel together for two days before he says, "At our next stop we're going to try to pick up someone else."

    "Who?"

    "His name is Ivon, and he's probably not going to join us."  Artor looks determined.  "I think I know how I can get to him, though, if I just push the right buttons."

    "What can he do?" I ask.

    "From what I've seen, his gifts aren't terribly helpful as far as fighting is concerned," Artor says.  "He's a ployglot, meaning he can instinctively speak any language he hears.  He would be very helpful in cross-kingdom negotiations that we may or may not have to effect... but I'll tell you more about that later."

    "So we're going to find some random guy that can speak other languages?"

    "Among other things, yes.  There's one other thing you should know about him." Artor pauses, looking thoughtful.  "Two other things, actually.  The first is that he's got a magical sword that can cut through anything that he wants it to.  It's not a Tairi gift like yours or mine, just something he was given.  The other thing: he's a snob."

    I laugh.  "Hearing you say that word is kind of..."

    "Ridiculous?" He grins.  I nod.  He continues. "That's how it feels to say it, too.  That doesn't make it untrue." He regains his composure.  "He was raised in luxury all his life, and if he doesn't get his way, beheading someone is within the realm of possibilities." Artor frowns.  "It's actually quite annoying.  He's got a lot to learn if he's going to be a King's Raven."

    As the sun sets, we approach an enormous city set atop a tall hill.  It's an impressive site, with massive gates in the eight-foot stone wall, towers stationed every twenty yards or so.  From our position at the bottom of the hill I can only make out the tops of the highest buildings.  There's one that towers over all the others.  It must be the lord's castle.  It's got four towers on each corner, with the keep rising up at least twenty yards above those.  The setting sun crowns the tallest spire with a halo of fire.

    "We're going to have to hurry," Artor says.  "When the sun is down they lock the gates for the night."

    We pick up the pace until we're flat-out running up the hill.  We're the last ones they let in before the gates swing shut.  We rest, panting, on the other side.

    "We should find a place to spend the night," Artor says after a moment.  "I hear there's a wonderful inn not too far from here."  We find the inn without too much difficulty.  The main room is brightly lit even at this hour, a cozy fire burning in the stone fireplace.  I nod when Artor asks, "you hungry?"  He flags down the young girl working as a waitress and orders an ale, a water, and two bowls of hot soup.  We sit down at a table, him across from me.  I smile down at the hardwood surface- they've got a striking image painted on it.  A vast red dragon stretches across most of the table.  Standing in front of it is a knight carrying a broad shield, which he uses to stop a blast of fire.  Behind him is a frightened maiden in a gorgeous dress-- or it would have been gorgeous.  It's covered in dirt and the hem is torn in several places.  I marvel at the detail of the work.  I look closer at the maiden and gasp.  "Artor!  Look at this girl.  Who does she remind you of?"

    The older man bends over the artwork and examines the young girl.  "She looks like... you.  This is interesting..." He strokes his greying beard.

    "How can it look like me?" I demand.  "How can I be on a table in some huge city I've never been to before?"

    "The tables in this inn are enchanted," Artor says.  "They show events that might one day happen.  The ones that come to pass change to show something else.  The ones that don't remain the same way forever, and lose the enchantment.  I wondered if we would see someone I would know..." He smiles grimly.  "Well, if you're ever attacked by a dragon, you can be somewhat sure a good-looking fellow with a shield will come and save you." His smile looks fake.  The waitress returns with our soup, and I place mine on top of the painted me so I don't have to look at it anymore.  After the meal, Artor rents two rooms and I retreat to mine as quickly as I can.

    After a good night's sleep, Artor and I set off to find this new guy, Ivon.  We stroll along the main roads for a while, and it's not long before Artor spots a servant with Ivon's family crest on his tunic.  We approach the man, and Artor asks for a private audience with Lord Tivus, who I can only assume is the lord of the city.  The servant bows and escorts us through the winding streets to the entrance of the castle.  My heart rate picks up as we walk through the expansive courtyard-- I've never been in a castle before.  I imagine living in one, but it seems too big to be thought of as a home.

    "You wait here," Artor tells me when we reach a comfortable sitting room.  "It would be best if I talk to Ivon alone."  I nod and take a seat.  "Tend to my young friend, please," Artor asks a young servant.  "maybe take her to dinner."  the young boy nods and bows.  

    "you really don't have to-" 

    He cuts me off. "It's a lot better than what I would be doing if I didn't.  Do you need anything?"

    "Um... no."

    "Exactly.  So my job is to wait around here instead of... well, let's not linger on that."

    I laugh.  "Glad I could help."

    The boy's name is Ekneus, and he tells me that he's the son of a local tailor.  "I work for Lord Tivus because I cut my arm badly on a plowshead on a friend's farm, and it hasn't healed right.  I can't help Father with the weaving, and my three sisters are more than enough help for Mother.  They sent me here, didn't want me around after... well, never mind."

    I don't know why, but I can relate to this guy.  Before I can really think about it, I ask, "After you learned to do something like this?" With a snap of my fingers, a fireball springs to life in my palm.  He looks a bit startled, but not like what I would expect from a normal person.

    "Not exactly," he says.  "More like this."

    Ekneus extends one hand toward me.  I feel terrified, afraid of what he's about to do.  Maybe its the way he's looking at me, cold and detached, or perhaps it's the fact that I don't know what's coming, but something is filling me with overwhelming dread.  I cover my face with my hands, curling up in my chair.  The feeling grows more and more powerful, and I can't hold back a scream.  Then, as suddenly as the fear came on, it stops.  I look up at the boy next to me.  He's lowered his hand, looking concerned.  "I didn't go too far, did I?"

    "That was you?" I ask.  "You made me feel that way?"

    He nods slowly.  "I can go a lot farther... I try not to use it, though.  Not since I nearly drove someone out of their mind."

    "That's... amazing," I gasp.  'Amazing' maybe isn't the word I would choose to use, but he looks like he could use the reaffirmation.  

    He just shrugs.  "We should go join the meal."  He leads me to a massive dining hall where an enormous feast is all laid out.  He shows me to my seat and goes to stand by the edge of the room, seemingly waiting for someone.  The lady I'm next to turns to me.  "And who might you be, dear?"

    "My name is Emelin," I tell her.  "I'm here with Artor, the man meeting with Lord Ivon."

    The lady laughs.  "Oh, Ivon is no Lord yet.  That would be his father, Tivus."  She points to the head of the table a few seats away from us.  "That's his seat, and he should be here any minute."

    As she speaks, the door is flung wide open.  A large man strides in, his barrel of a chest covered in a thick velvet robe.  His jovial mood seems to lighten the crowd and everyone applauds his arrival.  I can't help but join in.  I look around for Ekneus but he's nowhere to be seen.  

    The meal is served and I take a large bite of the bread on my plate.  It's wonderful, soft and warm.  I try the meat next.  I nearly gag.  It's tough and dry, cooked all the way through.  I look around at everyone else, but they seem to be enjoying it just fine.  I whisper to the lady next to me, "Is there something wrong with my meat?"

    "Do you not like the meat?" The lady gasps.  Several heads turn our way.  "What's the matter with it?"

    "It's no big deal," I mutter.

    "Nonsense."  The voice takes me by surprise.  It's Lord Tivus.  "What is wrong with the meat, my dear?"

    "Well... it's a bit tough, and maybe too well done." 

    "What's that you say?" Lord Tivus demands.  "Are you saying the meat is cooked improperly?"  His eyes bulge out and his face is turning red.

    "Um, maybe?  I just think it should have been a bit softer-"

    "SOFTER?" Tivus demands.  "You think the meat should have been cooked SOFTER?  I want you out of my home at once!"

    "But-"

    "No buts!  Get out!  Now!"

    I'm bewildered.  What did I do wrong?  Before I can move two guards take me by the arms and lead me none too gently out of the castle.  Before I know it I'm out in the cold as the sun goes down.

    "Emelin?"  I look up.  Ekneus is standing over me, a thick blanket in his hands.  "I didn't know if you were able to afford an inn, so I thought this might help you."

    "Thank you." I smile as he sets it by my feet.  "What happened back there?"

    "Oh, that's an old cultural thing.  Families tend to cook their food to hold meaning.  The wife is the one who makes the meal.  They cook the bread to reflect their own character, soft and warm and welcoming and all that.  The meat then reflects the character of the husband-- tough, strong, dry, battle-hardened.  By saying the meat was cooked wrong you basically called the lord of the castle a pansy.  In our region, that's quite a personal insult."

    "Oops."

    "I should really get back, but I'll come see how you're doing tomorrow morning."

   He turns to go. "Ekneus?"

    "Yes?"

    "Thank you."

    It's a long night.  The first one I've spent away from Artor since we met, I realize.  I notice I've started to think of the older man like I used to think of my father-- always there for me, ready to help or correct or support, always using good judgement.  

    I'm waiting at the gate when it opens the next morning.  Ekneus leads two other men outside.  One of them is Artor, and I want to run to him but I don't.  I just smile and say, "G'morning, Artor.  Long night, eh?"

    He chuckles.  "Emelin, I'd like you to meet Ivon."  Artor gestures to the young man behind him.  "Ivon, this is Emelin."

    I stand to shake his hand, the way the people in my village would, but he ignores my extended hand and instead gives me a tiny bow.  I'm not sure what else to do, so I simply say, "it's a pleasure, I'm sure," and return my hand to my side.

    Ivon looks at me with obvious disgust.  "The way Artor talked about you, I would have thought the pleasure would be mine."  He wrinkles his nose.  "But a common farmgirl?  Not what I had in mind."

    "Ivon," Artor says, "You're going to want to cool it around Emelin... she's not what she first seems.  Emelin, I'd like a word with you in private."

    "Okay..."

    Artor puts his hand on my shoulder and leads me away from the small group.  "You were going to back down."

    "What?"

    "You were going to just take the insult, weren't you?  Just roll over and let him use you as a doormat.  I brought you with me because you wanted to start over.  You're here so you can be a new person.  Step up next time.  Don't let him push you around.  He knows nothing about you.  You can be whoever you want to be with these people.  Don't forget that.  Show us all the new you."

    I nod.  The new me.  I like the sound of that.  Time to figure out who the new me is.