Chapter 1 - Compass Rose

White Lilies blossom midst spring rain

Through harsh winters they’ll bloom once again

By the waters where spritely faeries dance

‘Neath summer’s moon, a mild romance

White Lilies slumber come autumn’s chill

Their soft snowy petals, a lover’s will

A lover’s letter and a lover’s song

White Lilies keep them still and holding on

A faerie’s wish, the grass’ whistling tune

Brings a youthful glow to the summer’s moon

Youthful glow to your eyes, it too, brings

Through all my summers, my winters, my autumns and my springs

I spend the early mornings down by the lake gathering mountain lilies and water chestnuts for market. A few butterflies dance near me as I walk past them. The water glistens from the reflection of the morning sun and ripples form from the frogs and turtles hiding just below the surface. It is late spring and the water chestnuts are sprouting tall from beneath the water. My brother used to tell me that these were the heads of tiny faeries who would grant you one wish whenever you plucked them out. Being a small little girl, I would wish really hard on them every time I pulled one. They were silly wishes like hoping for blackberry pie at dinner. I would tell this to my brother and I always seemed so shocked that my wish would come true. I didn’t think at that time that he would just suggest this to my mom. She loved baking pie anyway. This spring, I would have a thousand of those wishes if I so choose to, since the water chestnuts were plentiful, or if I believed in wishes any more. 

My brother disappeared four winters back. There has never been an explanation for his disappearance. He went out to hunt one day and never came back. I overheard some of the villagers say that he was probably killed by wolves but my brother was a better hunter than that to let that happen. I didn’t believe them. I didn’t want to believe them. So for the first few springs I would run down to the lake and pluck out the water chestnuts and wish hard for him to return. After piles of the slender stalks and a trail of tears running down my pale face, I knew that the faeries had heard nothing. Then I began to believe they didn’t exist in the first place – that they were nothing but stories. Now I just gather them because they sell well at market. The lake was on my family’s plot and water chestnuts only seemed to grow there throughout my village. The women would come on Sundays to market to buy them for cakes, breads and preserves. An elderly woman named Riza always bought the biggest ones I had for her medicine. 

“These things will cure anything if you mix them with the right plants.” She would always tell me. I would only smile and give her a small nod. It is impolite not to nod down a bit to those older than you. It is a sign of respect and usually it came with the back of their hand placed on your forehead. 

I also sell my flowers at the market. When I was younger my mother taught me how to turn them into wreaths and how to weave them into a girl’s hair when you braided it. Mothers bring their daughters to me before worship and have me braid their hairs with the fresh White Mountain lilies I had gathered. They smell of crisp snow and blossom only in the right weather and once again that seemed to be by the lake on my family’s plot. Most of the girls in the village don beautiful white dresses for worship, which is customary, so they feel even more beautiful after I finish their braids. My mother used to put lilies in my hair but she, along with my father, died when I was young in a brutal manner.

My village is a generally serene place in the plains between a vast mountain range to the west and the ocean, a five days travel, to the east. Unless you had specific business in my village, it was easily passed by and although it isn’t a poor place by any means, there is no gold or riches to be had. But when I was only a young girl, a small band of red haired barbarians came from the north and attacked our village killing all the men and anyone who stood in their way. I am always adamant to state that they were red headed because of all the roaming tribes, I’ve never heard of one where all its warriors had hair of a flaming hue. I was targeted to be taken as a slave but my mother had hid me away in the forest. The barbarians tortured her to tell them my whereabouts but she wouldn’t budge. She died with a strike of an ax while she was on her knees begging for my safety. I was looking down from above in a tall tree, holding back tears. My brother survived that ordeal too. He had run far into forest for safety. We didn’t reunite for nearly a week. During that time I had buried both of my parents and helped the women and children of the town recover. The men that did survive rebuilt the village. None of us had ever experienced such an onslaught. No one was prepared. Few, if any, were even trained, let alone skilled, to fight back. It was an absolute massacre. 

For months the only discussion anyone had was about those barbarians.

My village was also a center for education in our area. Students and scholars from around the country came to study at our small but highly regarded institution of higher thought. Young children were taught in the school next door. We were taught all about worship, the legends and the history of our land. During these history lessons we were taught about the roaming tribes. There was never a mention of a red haired tribe…perhaps it was just a part of history we had missed in our books.

Those who were blessed enough to earn a spot at the institution began to learn sciences and math. My brother was one of those people. He would bring books back home and I would quietly read one while he was out hunting or doing other errands for the house. He was my sole caretaker and I looked up to him very much. I learned a lot from the books he left open on the big wooden table that was still set for four. Electricity – which was rare to come by in our village and only the richest few had it, fascinated me. Also I learned all about machinery and medicine and even found a recipe that the old woman Riza spoke about using water chestnuts – it was to remove back hair though…not my first priority. 

These books made the world open to me and I was thankful that I poured myself into them when I could because not a year after that barbarian raid, Overlookers were sent from Pion, the Main City of the land, to protect us further from the unprecedented amount of barbarian raids. The Overlookers were meant to guard the cities and villages and warn Pion to send soldiers to protect us. It became clear short after their arrival that they were here for more than just that. It began with the small things. The Overlookers would begin to dictate what could be sold at market and at what price. Then they began to dictate how the city operated. They took away the books, shut down the schools and reorganized them to meet the standards from Pion. Some even took over as mayors of the cities or clergymen who denounced the very religion the village or city had worshipped only to establish the religion of Pion – Atheism. Let me correct myself, in Pion there is a higher power, just not the ones we were accustomed to. The King of Pion is revered as a God and is worshipped by all his people. He is also said to be immortal, living behind a white horned mask made of ivory and living within his ivory tower only to be heard through advisors. Most believe he has lived since light first touched our world but I’m sure they just replace him with another king after the old one passes away. There is no such thing as immortality.

Religion had always been something that connected villages, people and classes. The kingdom, until the Overlookers were sent out, practiced hundreds of religions – some endemic to a certain village. Initially everyone believed in one religion of warriors and heroes. Then as people branched out throughout the kingdom, so did religion. Most believed in a single God or Goddess while others, usually in the wilderness of the Northern Woods, worshipped multiple entities and even animals. 

My village worshipped one Goddess who brought the harvest to us and made the crystal clear waters flow throughout the town. We honor her with a marble fountain in the middle of the square and go to worship donned all in white, a symbol of her purity. Once a year at the end of the harvest season, the entire village celebrates with a huge feast in her favor. Having that connection to a higher power brought all the people in my village closer together. We had a purpose, a reason and an explanation for our gifts and our grief. It balanced us out and it gave us faith. Having the freedom of religion gave us hope.

But Pion eliminated that in most places, especially those shadowed by its massive white marbled wall. I would have thought that these villages would have crumbled without what religion gave us. But our Overlooker told us that the reverse was actually the truth. The villagers were elated and happier than ever before to be able to worship a living God, rather than an entity that may or may not even exist. I still wonder if that’s the case but that is the mystery of The Main. 

Pion, formally known as Pionnesis the Glorious City of the Kingdom, being the largest city and the center of the king’s realm is known as the Main City throughout the land. These days people just call it Pion or “The Main.” Here’s a thing about Pion…it’s completely shrouded in mystery. No one ever leaves Pion unless instructed by the King and those who are invited within its colossal white marbled walls are usually never seen again. The Overlookers explains that people never want to leave Pion when they visit it. They say it is so self sufficient that it is possible to shut out the rest of the world and never have to step out of its white marble gates. Every time an Overlooker mentions this or talks about the king, they tend to become overwhelmed and begin to cry because they can’t be near him. It is so strange, I think. 

My village is so small that they sent only one Overlooker to us. The Overlooker in my village is a bit different though. Although he dictated a few things as would any Overlooker, he is also a bit kinder. He loves the market on the weekends and even buys my water chestnuts from time to time.

“I like them in my salads.” He would tell me and wink as he dropped an extra bronze piece on my counter. He let the mayor of the town keep his position and he let us continue to worship as we had for as long as the village stood. He closed down the schools though and brought teachers from Pion to teach the young children the required curriculum approved from the main city. And that was as far as education went.
He is a kind looking older man with white hair wisped between the dark brown. But the mothers in the market gossip and once told me that he had killed a man in Pion and was banished to our small, feeble village where he had the least influence possible. This only made me more intrigued to find out more about him.
After my brother disappeared, people from all over the village consoled me during market, which I now frequented every day to make ends meet. The Overlooker surprisingly consoled me as well. He first started paying double for the same chestnuts he bought the week before, sometimes even paying me and “accidentally” forgetting to bring his produce back. He then would pay for the White Lilies for a few of the small girls that would come to me before worship. Finally, he would give me his name and from there we began to talk.

Wallon would tell me how he lived in a small village just a stone throw away from Pion when he was my age. My village reminded him a lot of his childhood and although he didn’t admit he was placed here for one particular reason or another, he appreciated that he got to be here. He wouldn’t say much else about his past though.

“They don’t check up on me too often.” He said. “If I were in any other village, I would have other Overlookers overlooking me!” He laughed as he bit into one of the water chestnuts I brought to him boiled and sliced. I enjoyed his company. He was sort of an uncle to me. Ever since my brother disappeared I lived in my house by myself. Normally a girl my age would not be able to do that but Wallon never told anyone. He told me that he felt that I’ve seen enough in my years and don’t deserve any more unnecessary frivolities.
Now two winters have passed and because I am considered a woman by village standards, I don’t have to worry about living in my house by myself. It’s my house now although I still sometimes smell my mother’s perfume – one she made from the lilies, tea leaves and mint – linger in the air. Also on late stormy nights I still pray that my dad will come home and tuck me in at night telling me that nothing would harm me ever as long as we were together. The emptiness of the house made me feel more alone so I try to avoid coming home until I have no other choice, usually from insistence for sleep. 

So this morning I leave extra early to go to the lake to gather more things for market. The sun is still breaking through on the horizon and a streak of pink, like from a painter’s brush, runs across the sky to push the darkness away. I want to see if the blueberries are ready for picking. Every few springs there would be a good bounty of blueberries by the lake and because it was a particularly warm winter, I am sure that there will be plenty this time around. I noticed they were beginning to ripen a few days ago and remembering what my mother told me, it should be ripe within three days of a meadowlarks call. I’m not entirely sure what that meant but I figure three days is long enough to wait for these blueberries to be picked. 

I am right as I pluck one berry and toss it in my mouth. The dark purple juice spills all over my tongue and I am elated at how delicious it tastes. I pick an entire basket full that I plan to sell at market today. I pick another small basket full for me to snack on while I’m there. I place my mother’s lace handkerchief that she had made when I was younger to protect the berries from the sun while I picked lilies and chestnuts. 

The sun is finally in the sky and the birds begin to fly around the meadow along with the butterflies and the buzzing bees that help make my lilies so beautiful. I decide to sit back by the lake and watch them pollinate the flowers figuring I have a lot of time before market since I left so early this morning. My eyes start glazing over as I can feel myself beginning to enter a state between a daydream and being awake. 

“I’m glad I found you here.” I hear someone say behind me. I shake to clear my head and turn around to see a young boy with sandy blonde hair and brown freckles all over his face. He is one of the small children, probably 8 winters old, sent to run messages from one person to another. The people in the village usually rely on the younger children to do this knowing partly because they would probably be uninterested in the news they need to relay and also they would probably forget about the whole thing the next day once they were preoccupied playing games with the other children. 

“Hi Tryst,” I say. “What are you doing here? You know I’ll be at the market later. Look.” I show him the basket of blueberries I had picked. “Would you like one?”  


He shakes his head.

“Wallon is looking for you. He says it’s urgent.” Tryst says. I can tell the anxious expression on his face is reflective of how Wallon probably looked when telling him to find me.

“What is it? What’s going on?” I say getting up and brushing my skirt from any grass that might have clung onto me.

“He wouldn’t tell me. But he wasn’t alone.” Tryst says.

“Who is with him?” I ask.

“I’m not sure…I’ve never seen this man before. He said for me to tell you to hurry and meet them at your house. They’re waiting.” Tryst says and turns to leave. He turns around again. “And yes, I’d love a blueberry.” He smiles. I toss him one and he runs off plopping the berry in his mouth. 

I pick up my things and begin making my way back to my house. I lose sight of Tryst only moments later as he runs quickly ahead of me probably to continue a game of stick ball he had to leave. 

As I approach my house I notice a group of children standing on their tip toes looking through the window. I notice Tryst there too. I guess he ran back to reclaim his spot in the middle of the group. I come up behind them and tussle one of their hair as I begin to enter my house. They all look at me with interested eyes. “I’ll let you guys know later after worship. Now go on…you don’t want to be late.” They all nod their heads and run off back to the village square. My smile immediately fades as I enter and I see Wallon sitting at my dining table with a worried look on his face. The stranger has his back towards the door but I can tell he is telling Wallon something serious, perhaps even grave.

“Hi, you wanted to see me?” I say, interrupting their conversation. Wallon finally notices me standing there. Surprised he gets up to greet me. The man sitting at the table turns his head around. I first notice his glass blue eyes as he scans me. I feel a cold shiver down my spine but I just brush it off. 

“I’m glad you came. This gentleman was asking for you.” Wallon says. We both sit down at the table and I notice a map of the entire kingdom laid out flat in front of me. I immediately notice Pion, represented by a tall ivory tower, in the northeast, the unknown woodlands of the north, the vast mountain range of the west, the coastal lands of the east and the expansive barren deserts of the south. In the middle are the plains, where I live, but my village is so tiny that it would never even make a blip on a map. I catch myself completely entranced by the map. The workmanship and detail of it is quite beautiful. I’ve seen maps in the books my brother used to bring but nothing as intricate as this one.

“You must be Claret.” The man says. I look at him and nod slightly, expecting for his hand to be placed on my forehead. For a moment, nothing happens. I look up, head still bowed, and see both men looking at me. Wallon is giving me a look as if to disengage and I take his cue and sit straight up in my seat. 

“She was only giving you the sign of respect in the village.” Wallon explains to the man. The man just smiles and continues.

“Claret, do you know what this is?” He says pointing to the beautiful map on the table. 

“A map of the kingdom.” I say. 

“Do you believe it is just an ordinary map?” He asks. I scan his eyes for an answer but he is not willing to tell me. I bite my lip and shake my head. The man gives off a small chuckle.

“Place your hand here.” He says indicating to the Compass Rose in the corner of the map. It is so intricately made with laces of what seems to be gold leaf embossed on it. A symbol of a white lotus flower with a snake intertwined, sits in the middle of the rose. 

“Why?” I ask not usually questioning authority, but something just felt off.

“Claret, do as the man says!” Wallon raises his voice before catching himself and returning to his normal character. The man smiles again.

“Where are my manners? I have been so rude.” The man begins, “I didn’t even introduce myself.” He gets up and it is the first time I see how much of a presence he actually is. Standing taller than Wallon by more than a head, with broad shoulders and a strong face beneath his short white beard, I noticed a long sword tucked away at his side. Even beneath his gray robe and burgundy cape, he is an intimidating figure for sure. I get up to meet him.

“I am Marrus, Prophet of the First Order.” He says. Prophets are integral parts of many places throughout the Kingdom. Many people still rely on them to foresee the outcomes of battles, the size of the harvest or even something as simple as tomorrow’s weather. I know there aren’t many Prophets left that haven’t been brought to Pion, so to be of the First Order, Marrus must be truly gifted. 

Marrus bows his head. I just stare and become confused that after a minute he does not get up. Wallon is equally as confused as we give each other a look. Marrus lifts his head. “Isn’t this how you show respect in your village?” Yes it is, I think to myself, but it is unheard of for the reverse to happen. I can’t help but chuckle a little but stop when I catch Wallon shoot me a glare.

“I’m sorry.” I say, apologizing for my laughter. “It’s just rather odd to see someone older than myself bowing their heads before me.” 

Marrus smiles. “Claret, the name doesn’t really suit you does it?” I nod and we all sit down.

You see Claret refers to a deep red wine drink mulled with cinnamon, cloves and other spices most of the people in the villages in the plains drink during cold winters. When I was born I did in fact have beautiful auburn locks that fell gently down my fair skin. My mother told me though that by the time I was two winters old my auburn locks began to lighten and turn golden blonde. By the time I was old enough for school, I was constantly told I had the most brilliant shade of blonde hair anyone in the village had ever seen. I loved my name though. My mother had beautiful red hair and my name connected me to her as her daughter. 

“Have you ever heard of the Trusted Key?”  Marrus asks. I see Wallon’s eyes open wide. I think for a minute trying to remember where I’ve heard that term before. It sounds so familiar and it’s on the tip of my tongue but I can’t grasp at it so I shake my head no. 

“You know, the Trusted Key of the Warriors from the Legends?” He asks. Instantly I remember now. “Ah, so you do know.” I’m sure he can tell the expression on my face has changed. 

“And what about this Trusted Key?” I ask. Marrus looks at Wallon with a smile.

“You don’t think,” Wallon starts, “that Claret?” He looks at me. “You think Claret is the Trusted Key?”

 “I don’t simply think she is. It is an absolute truth.” Marrus says. 

I immediately stand up in my seat as an audible gasp escapes my lips. I cover my mouth in a failed attempt. It’s as if all the wind in my stomach was sucked out by a vacuum and the words I want to shout out cannot be found. I want to say that there is no way that I could be who he thinks I am. I want to say that Marrus must have gotten the wrong person. I’m an eighteen year old girl who sells flowers and water chestnuts at market. I’m an eighteen year old girl who likes to spend long summer days down by the lake with friends. I’m an eighteen year old girl who doesn’t even believe in the Legends he’s talking about…now I’m part of the Legends?

“What are you talking about?” I finally say. I’m becoming agitated at the thought and seeing Marrus just smile makes me want to reach over and snatch it off of his face. And this is saying much since I’m usually a very passive person.

“You are the Trusted Key of the Legends and we’re going to prove it. Just place your hand over the rose on the map. If you are in fact the Key, we will know immediately. If you’re not and I am mistaken, I will leave right away.” Marrus says. He clears his throat. “Not only will I leave right away but I will denounce my title as a Prophet of the First Order.” 

Wallon gets out of his seat and begins to pace back and forth rubbing his forehead with one hand. He looks at us as if to say something but quickly decides not to and continues his pacing. 

“Now I know this is a bit overwhelming, I understand.”  Marrus says.

“But…” Wallon begins, “Hasn’t everyone given up on the idea of the Trusted Key? I know Pion denounces the existence of one in the first place.” 

“Just because Pion denounces it doesn’t mean it isn’t true.” Marrus says. Suddenly Wallon slams his fists on the table, shaking me from where I am sitting.

“Do not speak ill of Pion.” Wallon’s face turns red.

It is one of the rare occasions I see Wallon defend Pion. With his mysterious background, he is more apt to bash The Main but when it came to certain, seemingly random things like this, he doesn’t tolerate it. 

“I did not mean to insult you or The Main in anyway but I assure you the Trusted Key does exist.” Marrus reaches into his robe and pulls out a dusty rose colored bound book. It is tied with a gold silk strand that binds the delicate yellowing pages in between. He flips through the pages until he’s satisfied he has the right one. He clears his throat and begins to explain a passage.

“The Trusted Key was created by the Warriors of Legend as the connection between them and the world they created. This person is said to possess the ability to call forth the warriors when the world comes under imminent danger…”

“Danger?” I interrupt. Marrus stares at me, his blue eyes piercing, for a second then goes back to his book.
“Yes…danger. The Trusted Key is said to possess a few characteristics that make them standout from everyone else.” He flips the page, licking his fingers to do it. “Hair gold like wheat…” He looks up at me and smiles. “Skin as soft and white as porcelain, eyes as blue as the azure waves…”

“It looks green in certain light.” I say under my breath. Marrus raises his eyebrow but continues to read. “A voice of an angel and a heart that is desired by everyone.” 

“It couldn’t possibly be me!” I yell.

“Marrus, it couldn’t. With the way she’s been acting the last hour, I can’t imagine her heart being so desired.” Wallon says trying to reprimand me for my poor behavior. I can’t help that I’m being forced to believe that I am this…this…thing that is meant to help save the world from some destructive force. My mind is racing as I dart my focus back and forth between Marrus and Wallon arguing the validity of Marrus’ claim.
“Look.” Marrus says slamming his book shut. “We can settle this issue quite easily. The girl just needs to place her hand on the rose and if she is, then we go from there. If she isn’t, then my entire life as a Prophet is over. Shall we find out?” He looks at me and directs me to the map on the table. My body begins to shake. What if he is right? My life as I know it will come to a complete stop. I’m pretty sure I won’t be going out during nice summer days just to lie in the sun and eat berries by the lake any more. I’m pretty sure I won’t be seeing market days much either. But what if I’m not? I began to think about my family. Being the Trusted Key was said to be the highest honor anyone could ask for. I’m sure if my family was still alive they would have been extremely proud to possibly have a daughter who was the Trusted Key. If I find out I’m not, I might actually be sad. Sad to have lost the possibility of making my family proud and making my village proud. To do something greater than is requested of us. 

I shake my head trying to clear my thoughts as I approach the map, my hand stretched out. As I draw closer, my hand begins to feel a slight tingle. Is it a wave of energy or am I just making myself believe that something is actually happening? Am I starting to want this to be true?

“Go on, it won’t bite.” Marrus says. I look up at both of them as a bead of sweat rolls down my forehead and over my nose. “Just do it.” I think to myself. I close my eyes and place my hand quickly on the rose expecting a giant explosion to overwhelm us and destroy everything in my home. I hold my breath and shut my eyes tighter. Nothing. No big explosion, no fancy light, no spectacle at all was happening. I open my eyes and an unexpected rush of emotion begins to overwhelm me. I don’t know why my eyes are welling up with tears but I lift up my hand to my face to try and keep it from falling, as not to embarrass myself in front of the other two.

That’s when I see it. I look at my wrist and notice a mark that definitely was not there moments before.
“I have yet to be wrong.” Marrus says beginning to put the map away.

“What is it?” Wallon asks. “I didn’t see anything happen.”

I shoot my arm out and show them my wrist. The same rose on the map was now imprinted on my arm in a light blue. Wallon’s eyes grow large as he snatches my wrist to examine the mark. “Blessed be to Pion…I never thought…”

“Training begins tomorrow.” Marrus says having already gathered his things and ready to leave. “Well aren’t you coming Wallon? I’m sure Claret is exhausted from all of this excitement. She will definitely need her rest. Please lead me to my sleeping quarters. I will be in this village for a while.” He says waving Wallon to follow.

“Oh yes of course.” Wallon comes close to me enough to whisper. “Don’t worry too much about this right now…just go to bed and we’ll figure it all out tomorrow.” I nod, not because I agree but because it was the only thing I could do to keep from crying. I am the Trusted Key. I’m supposed to stop the world from being destroyed. Sleep is definitely not going to come easy tonight.

And I am right.