As Far As The Heart Can See

As Far As The Heart Can See
Prologue
“The End of the Beginning”

Rain pounded onto the roof of the small, wooden house as if wanting to break it. The wind howled as a wolf would to the moon.
Lightning pierced the dark night sky and thunder rumbled not far off.
The old man quickly shut the door, chuckling to himself. He limped over to the chair by the fireplace and sat down, drawing the cloak tighter about his thin frame.
Ever since he could remember he had enjoyed such weather. He loved the sound of the rain falling to the ground; the rumble of thunder always reminded him that there was a power much stronger than all else.
And the wind – he had always envied the wind, ever present, choosing its own path, seldom resting.
With a contend sigh, the man took a stick to poke the fire. Sparks flew and the burning wood crackled.
A vicious gust of wind rattled the door and window panes so that he only just heard the knocking on the door.
Wondering who might be out in this storm, the village healer stood and slowly made his way through the room. Droplets of rain hit his face when he opened the door and it took several seconds until he comprehended what was before him.
A young woman stood there, trembling in the cold rain and strong wind. The thin dress she wore was completely soaked, torn in several places and stained with dirt and blood. In her arms she carried a bundle that looked to be only dirtied rags, yet a soft whimpering told otherwise. She looked up at him and the healer saw her bloodshot eyes, wide with fear, pain and helplessness.
She whispered something in a language he had not heard in a long while. The old man nodded and tried his best to help her inside.
Once seated in the chair she thanked him with a smile and held out the bundle for him to take. Again she said something in the language she had used before and the old man understood. He took the small bundle of rags that was actually a baby and held it close to his chest. Then he focused once more on the woman, saw her smile in a gesture of thanks and close her eyes.
The healer could do nothing but watch her slide from the chair to the floor and remain there, unconscious.

“The woman passed away in the early hours of morning,” the healer told the village council the next evening. As an old man he felt sad that such a young life had been ended. As a healer he was angry, mostly at himself. Too late he had noticed the broken arrow in her right shoulder. There had been nothing left for him to do but to ease her passing.
He sighed and closed his eyes briefly.
“If I had only noticed sooner..,” he began but was interrupted by another male voice.
“Do not blame yourself, Halian. I saw her last night and you did all you could. The poison had been in her body for too long already. You could’ve done nothing more.”
Halian’s eyes found those of the speaker. It was Beda, his next door neighbour and he knew the man was right. He nodded in thanks, though his mood did not improve.
“What is to become of the child?” another man asked, bringing the topic back to the reason of the council meeting.
By now the whole village had heard of the events the night before. And, as Halian gathered during the day, the young woman must have knocked on at least three doors without success before she came to his house.
He knew that the days grew steadily darker. And he saw the weariness, fear almost, with which the villagers acted toward strangers in their land.
Yet, there was only one resolution: Someone had to take the child in. And if no one else came forward, he would.
Voicing the first part of his thoughts he was met by loud muttering and protests.
“Are you in your right mind, old man?” one of the younger council members exclaimed.
“Tarek!” Beda said his voice sharp and a stern look on his face. “Apologize at once. Halian is the village eldest and his council has never led us astray.”
The young Rohír nodded meekly and did as he was told. Halian only smirked and waved his hand.
“Tarek may have a point. I do not deny that I am the oldest here but that may not make me the wisest.” He paused and took a deep breath before he continued: “I know what you all think: She might be one of them.
“But by Bema – it is only a little girl we are talking about. She can grow up here, with us; as one of us. She would learn everything important from us and we make her a good person.”
No one spoke and Halian looked to Beda for support if need be. The man nodded and Halian sighed. It seemed as if the plan they had come up with during last night was really needed.
The healer cleared his throat, gaining everyone’s attention.
“From your silence I gather that no one will take her in.” Not expecting an answer he went on at once: ”Then I will!”
Eyebrows were raised, murmuring grew loud.
“It is a good plan, Halian,” a female voice said from her seat in a corner of the room. Instantly silence fell. The old woman stood, leaning heavily onto a cane. Wispy grey-white hair adorned her head and the look in her eyes was unfocused. She was blind. Yet, she seemed to know exactly where Halian stood and smiled at him.
If the old man was surprised, he did not show it but returned the smile.
“I am glad you agree with me, Moire,” he replied. Murmuring grew loud once again.
No muscle moved in the woman’s face. Holding up her hand for silence she spoke again:
“I believe that you will give her much and she in return will bring you much joy – yet, in the end…she will be your death, Halian.”
Wide eyes flew from one person to the next and were surprised to see their council head smile.
“Death already lingers near me, Moire and I do not fear it,” he replied and the woman nodded.
“I expected no less, Halian,” she continued and her smile was genuine. The old healer inclined his head although he knew the woman could not see it.
“I will teach her all I know,” he spoke quietly. “And by Bema – she will surprise each and anyone of you.”

A little while later Halian sat in his small hut, a wooden crib before him, and a used, dirtied envelope in his hands. Beda’s wife Asthryd had taken good care of the little bundle, even bathing her and fitting her with clean and dry clothes. The old healer smiled down at the now sleeping baby girl before his eyes once more fell to the letter.
Worry creased his brow. The contents of said letter had not pleased him at all. But there was nothing for him to do. With a sigh and a slight groan he stood from the stool walking over to the small book shelf and opened a small wooden crest.
A very old book was revealed and he carefully placed the letter inside it. The less who knew the better, he thought.
Returning to the crib he once again looked down at his new charge. He took in her dimpled cheeks, rosy with sleep, the small, closed eyes with soft dark lashes and the soft tuft of dark hair on the top of her head.
“Ósle,” he whispered. “Yes, that’s what I’m calling you. Ósle, my little Raven.”