The Valley was lush and green with meadows of grass for the sheep and cattle. The main industry of the valley was wool, followed closely by their cheese production. There were two villages that were somewhat close, that had an on going rivalry to come up with the best cheeses. At the last Fall Festival, there had been over two hundred different kinds of cheese. When the caravans came through on the way to the coastal ports, there were several wagonloads of cheeses.

The Sheep Shearing Festival in the spring was also a busy time. The whole village would come together to wash and card the wool, as soon as the men had sheared each animal. Then it would be sent to the village of the dye masters, they had the secret recipes to make the most unusual colors much prized by the women in the cities for their needlework. From the thinnest threads to the thickest yarns, all the weavers and spinners would be busy making cloth and other woolen goods to send on the caravan.

The Valley had many such festivals, many hands make short work was the rule for the families that made their homes there. This year though, the festivals seemed rushed, the autumn had come earlier than it should, and the weather was colder with more rain. It was still at least eight weeks until the falling leaves moon, yet the trees were already turning gold and red. The winds were blowing so hard lately that it seems the trees would be naked long before it was time. Soon, the frost would come, killing off the rest of the plants. It rarely snowed in Long Valley, yet the auguries and omens were predicting a unique and unwanted frigid winter season.

A smaller river called the West River cut off from the Long River about a third of the way down the valley from the northern end. A village called River Fork was set right in the fork of the two rivers. They collected the tolls from the bridges that had been built across the two forks, one to the east of town and one to the North side.

A feat of magical engineering, the bridges were made from solid stone curving up high enough over the river to let boats and barges pass underneath. Two stone mages who had been born in River Fork had come back after their training and had pulled the stone up from the depths of the earth and stretched it across like it was clay. The villagers had made waist high rock walls on the sides and gated them at the ends. The families who had run the ferries were charged with collecting the tolls, since their livelihood had been taken from them.

Raised voices woke the young woman. She lay still in the dark, straining to hear the words. Other than Olla, the old woman she lived with, there were three other people below the loft in which she had been sleeping. The voices were frantic, desperate, but she couldn’t make out any specific words. She wasn’t even quite sure if they were speaking the common language or something else. The voices had quieted, Olla making consoling noises.

“I’ll get it done for you, I promise,” The old woman said. The three people left, reassured by her promise. When the main door opened the wind blustered in, rattling pots and whistling through the house.

The door was pulled closed, and she could hear the older woman set the latch to lock it. It was quiet for just a few moments before she heard the call.

“Nim, come on down. I know that woke you up.” Olla went to the fireplace to stoke up the fire for tea. It was something she always did when something upset her, making tea. The ritual of it seemed to go a long way in calming her. Nimiri crawled out from beneath the covers and pulled her wool dress over her head. It was a chilly and windy night, unusual for this time of year.

The round house was warm and snug though, and she climbed down the ladder from the loft. Going to where the herbs were stored, she picked out a selection that she thought would help the emotional disturbance she could feel in the very air. Olla had set a large pot of water over the flames to heat. The fireplace was large, taking up a quarter of the round house’s wall. Many large rocks had been used to create the hearth with smaller stones going up the chimney. There were thick metal rods were wedged in between the stones at different levels. They had large S shaped hooks hanging on them to hold the cooking pots and kettles at different temperatures. Nimiri pulled the long bench closer to the fire and straightened out the thick padded cushion. The old woman took down two cups, poured the herbs into them and set the tea to brewing. Nim watched as she then reached into the recessed cabinet to take out her divining cards. She shuffled the cards stiffly with her gnarled hands several times before laying several of them out on the table. After a few muffled words, the cards were scooped back up to be shuffled again.

Finally after laying the cards a third time, she sighed. “Nimiri, come look at this.” She stood up from the bench and looked over the woman’s shoulder at the cards laid out. “The Caravan, The Shaman, The Scales,” she named them. The meaning slammed into her mind and she stepped back. “No, we can’t go anywhere. This is wrong, we can’t,” Nimiri stammered as her heart started to pound.

Olla handed her one of the cups of tea. “Drink,” she said. Nim gulped it down, burning the back of her throat. Almost in an instant, her heart slowed and the panic dissipated.

“I know you are upset, but I need you to go to Oldport. That is the only place to find the special ingredients that I need. You know I would wait for one of the caravans if I could, but I can’t this time.”

Nimiri felt her eyelids trying to close. Olla looked at her sharply, her gray eyes full of concern and told her to go back to bed. Tomorrow would be a busy day and they would need all the rest they could get. It would be a long time before either of them could sleep though the night again.

The next morning, Nimiri jumped from the bed almost before getting her eyes open. After getting dressed, she found her traveling bag underneath a pile of dirty clothes. Unhooking the latch, she opened it up to find a few things she had left in it from their last journey. They had gone to a neighboring village to help a midwife with a difficult birth, and ended up staying for over a week. The grateful new parents had given them gifts and food for their trip back. Nim had just thrown the bag in the corner when they returned home, not bothering to look at the gifts. It wasn’t that she was not appreciative; it was that they helped people without expectations. Gifts were unnecessary for their help.

She took out a long narrow bundle and opened it. A long knife with a carved handle lay wrapped inside. A wolf’s head carved from bone, she guessed, with a sparkling ruby eye. Setting it aside, she pulled out two round bundles. One was a ball of thick twine; the other was a round wooden box with a latch. She opened the box and found needles, thread and small bits of fabric. She put those next to the knife and reached into the bag again. It appeared empty now, so she found her clean clothes and started stuffing them into the bag. Looking at the pile of dirty things, she wished she had time to wash them before they left. She would ask Olla and then maybe get some of the washing done. It would take some time to get the round house ready to be left alone, they hadn’t planned to do the organizing and cleaning until closer to autumn.

Climbing down the ladder, she found Olla at the hearth, cooking the rolled oats for breakfast. There were different fruits laid out as well, Olla had a very firm belief in eating properly. A steaming cup of tea awaited her as well. Tossing the travel bag on the bench by the front door, she sat down at the table by the fireplace. Since she would be the only one going on the journey, she decided that it would be best to just ride one of their horses, instead of taking the wagon. Olla had trained her well enough to make the trip on her own. Nim was well versed in the safety of the road, knew when to hide and was exceptional with her protection spells. She decided to bring her book of chants so that she could practice on the way there.

She listened closely as Olla confided what the people last night had come for. They were from farther north in the valley, the village of the dye masters. The season had turned suddenly on them, and there had been snow. It was just a quick winter blast, but it was devastating nonetheless. The herbs and plants that they used for the wool dyes had all turned brown and crumbled away, leaving them with hardly any colorings. The earth colors were no problem, but the blues and red and yellows from the plants that they used would be gone soon. There were no more plants for more. There was something wrong going on, and Though Olla could help, she needed the secret rare compounds for working the magic.

Excitement slowly worked its way through her. It was only two days travel to Oldport, after all. Not like when Olla had taken her to Ardmoor. That time, they had taken the wagon and the roads were so bad that they could barely travel at a walk. When they were going around the edge of the Great Desert, the wagon had become mired in the sand so many times that Nim didn’t think they would ever make it. The desert people were afraid of magic, so Olla had to be careful when she used it so they wouldn’t notice. A quietly whispered spell had gotten them unstuck more than once. It had taken almost two weeks to get to Ardmoor from their village. This time it would be different.

Olla brought her out of her daydream by thrusting a piece of parchment in front of her. Nim looked at it, but was unable to read the runic script the old woman had written.

“You need to take that directly to Temple of Astara. Ask for Anat or Dreuen, and they will make sure that you get everything you need to bring back.”

Nimiri folded the parchment up carefully and placed it into a thin leather envelope. The packet was waterproof, in case it started to rain and was common there in the end of summer. She set it down on the table and broke her fast. After that, she needed to get through her chores. Feeding the animals, filling the water barrel and checking on the herb garden, it all needed to be done before she could leave. Her mind raced far ahead as she finished her food.

When she was finished, she went back up to the loft to collect her bow and the quiver of arrows. Picking up her book of chants, she tucked it carefully down the quiver between the arrows. It was a tight fit, and the book was unlikely to fall out. She looked around the room a final time. There was nothing else that she would need for a short trip. She climbed down and set the bow and arrows down by her travel bag. Going out through the back door, she looked over the garden quickly. There were a few weeds poking up, so she pulled them and carried them over to the compost pile.

Their small barn housed four horses, seven goats, and the two pigs. Nim dug into the grain barrel with a bucket and spread the grain out into the feed troughs. As the animals fed, she took a shovel and cleaned out the stalls. She took the manure to the compost pile and dumped it on.

When she was finished, she rinsed her hands off in the rain barrel just outside the barn doors. She put a hand up to shade her yellow eyes from the sun. Nimiri was the only one in the village with yellow eyes. Her closest friend Ofelia had told her they looked just like a cat, although most of the cats at Olla’s had green eyes. She supposed they must be rare, as she had never noticed a yellow eyed cat herself.

At the back of the house, she picked up the two buckets for the water and headed for the well. It was set away uphill from the barn and garden. Nim trudged up the hill and lowered the buckets in one at a time. The well was nearly full, there had been so much rain in the last week. The blustering storm that went through the night before had poured down in sheets. Lifting the now heavy buckets, she walked carefully down the hill, taking care not to spill.

Olla was packing up a basket of food for the journey. Two loaves of bread, a large roll of hard cheese and two good sized sausages should hold her both there and back, if she ate sparingly. There were also berries and a few apples to round out her meals.

“Take the red mare,” Olla told her, “she will have the most stamina.” Nimiri nodded, and sat down after pouring the contents of the buckets into the water barrel. Magga was a good horse, with the strength of youth, but smart. She could always find the apples Nim hid for her. Magga was her favorite of all the horses, and Olla knew it.

She bustled around the round house for a while longer, before sitting next to Nim on the bench. She composed her thoughts and began the singsong chant of protection, weaving it around and through the younger woman’s physical essence. Yellow eyes flashed and sparked as the spell took hold. Nim took a deep breath, inhaling the energy deep inside.

The chant ended and the two women looked deeply into each other’s eyes, yellow to gray and gray to yellow. Olla looked away first, and Nim could tell that her adopted mother didn’t want her to go. There was no other way.

“Please be careful,” Olla said to her, with an almost fearful tone in her voice. Nimiri suddenly had a thought that she wasn’t being told the whole story. Not that it mattered, she had not only felt the protective spells, but also the geas that had been woven within the chant.

Nimiri went outside to saddle the horse and pack the saddlebags. She led the mare out to the yard and tied her to the front gate. Going back to the barn, she took the saddle and bags out from the small tack room and took them to the front of the house. Dropping the bags, she laid a blanket across the horse’s back then hefted the saddle up on top of it. She pulled the strap under the mare’s belly and cinched it up tight. She threw the saddlebags across her rump and clipped it to the rings on the saddle.

Going back into the house, Nim grabbed her cloak off the hook by the door and collected the travel bag and basket of food. Olla followed her outside and watched as the saddlebags were stuffed and Nim swung her leg up over the back of the horse, settling into the saddle. Olla reached up and grabbed her hand, giving it a squeeze. In her other hand was a small pouch, Nimiri could hear the coins inside clinking together as Olla tucked it into one of the saddle pouches. “For the bridge toll, and just in case you need something when you get to Oldport. Take care.”

“I’ll be careful, I promise,” Nim said as she squeezed back. The old woman opened the gate for her and she gave the mare a nudge. Magga walked gently out to the road.

Nimiri looked back over her shoulder at the village of River Fork, feeling a bit torn. She rarely had left home, feeling safer and more comfortable there, but traveling would be an interesting change and an adventure.

Clucking her tongue, Nim urged the horse into a trot. Olla’s round little house disappeared in the distance. The road she was on would take her up to the bridge going over the West River and from there Oldport was directly up the road north.