It was a harsh, sickly scent that clung to the nose, sinking into memory never to be removed. In the disputed lands that bordered the Perimeter between the human kingdom of Ast Caran and the clan territories of the Sh’ijr elves, it was a thing that had become as common and accepted as the rising of the sun.

No wonder then that the pair of horsemen clad in the dark blue uniforms that marked them as Rimrunners, kingsmen of Ast Caran, were the only two interested in the ramshackle remains of the wood and adobe cottage. Fading wisps of gray smoke trailed from the cobbled chimney, disappearing against the twilight sky. Upon the worn wooden door an angular sigil had been etched in what looked to be dried blood.

"Ead’zahr." The harsh elven word was swallowed by the trees. The smaller of the riders reined his horse to a stop. "Betrayer."

The second man nodded and frowned. "You think it’s the same group then, Palir?"

Palir dismounted, tethering his huffing black mare to a young oak. "Likely, I’d say. But we’d best be certain." He pushed back the hood of his woolen cloak and unruly hair the color of new-fallen snow spilled across his shoulders. Tip-tilted eyes of a blue so light they were almost colorless squinted at the door, trying to divine an answer from the sigil. "If it is, we’re in for more trouble than we bargained for."

His companion followed suit, and patted his horse on the neck before joining Palir at the door.

"Have I ever mentioned how I adore your optimism?" Standing nearly a foot taller than Palir, he smirked as he pushed aside his own hood and let his hand fall to the heavy, curved blade that hung upon his hip. Long blonde hair was plaited in loose rows and secured in a horse’s tail, decorated with bits of painted glass and beads.

"You’re incorrigible, Thyme." Palir glared at his companion and set his hand upon the door, spreading his seven fingers wide. He pushed, and with the sharp crack of breaking hinges, the door shattered and fell aside.

The pair stared into the house for a long, silent moment.

Palir swallowed audibly, closing his eyes on the carnage inside.

"Elionin, Merciful Lady, Consort of Light, gather them close round your fire and grant them peace…" Thyme whispered the prayer, loosing the hold upon his blade as he crossed the threshold. It was by strength of will alone that he was able to keep his nausea at bay.

The scuffing of his boots was echoed by a tide of angry hisses. His entrance disturbed the pride of canine and feline sized reptiles that had been drawn by the scent of fresh blood. He kicked the small dragons away, sending the smaller ones skittering under broken furniture and into useless pots. A particularly large beast growled its displeasure and spat at Thyme before slinking into a corner.

The two bodies were barely recognizable, even without the shredded flesh left behind by the feeding dragons. Their throats had been slit, their faces pressed onto burning coals to char them beyond any recognition; an ancient elven punishment intended to leave the dead with no identity to bring with them into the next life. There was no room for doubt then as to whom was responsible for the murders.

The only thing discernable about the bodies was their sex—one body male, the other female To the Runners’ horror, the woman appeared to have been in the late stages of pregnancy.

Palir was grimacing as he knelt and placed his hands upon her swollen belly. The body was cold and rigid. "Burning Flame, we were too late."

"You couldn’t have known, Palir." No matter the truth of the words, there was little comfort to be drawn from them. "Fate has crossed our paths, and we must make of it the best we can."

"She was Sh’ijr," Palir held the dead woman’s seven-fingered hand, gently folding it against her belly. "The rogues are killing the elves now, and not just the human partners."

Thyme frowned, intensely aware of the growing restlessness of the reptiles in the room. Their hissing was now a constant presence; a looming, sibilant threat. Something was nudging the edges of his perception, calling for his attention.

Then he heard it—a soft scraping sound, the rustle of cloth against wood. Keen ears quickly found the source; he batted away half a dozen hatchlings and lifted the splintered remains of a wooden table.

Three more hatchlings scrambled away from the battered, bloodstained infant that lay beneath.

"Anaelle’s Savior!" The oath fell sharply from his lips as he tossed aside the table. "Lir, quickly!"

Palir was at his side in an instant, his ghostly features etched with shock. Thyme carefully shifted the girl-child into his lap as Palir soaked a handkerchief in water, and began to wipe away the blood that stained the tiny arms and hands. The child had barely the strength to try to pull her hands away, and no strength at all to cry. As the caked blood came away, the pair of Runners both felt icy fingers trace their spines.

"By the Five, what have they done?" Palir’s voice was filled with horror as he cradled the tiny hands in his. Though the child of elf and human, this little girl had been born with her mother’s elven features. Her skin had the texture of doeskin, her small ears were gently swept back against a head crowned with golden hair, her wide eyes were a rich emerald green, and her hands had seven fingers each.

Or they did until recently. The smallest two fingers on each hand had been cleanly severed and the half-breed child left to die with its parents.

"She still lives…" It had been at least two days since the family had been murdered, and still the child clung to this world. Miraculously, there was not a single scratch nor bite from the dragons upon her vulnerable flesh.

It was then that they both realized that the dragons were no longer hissing, but were now staring at them, the feral gleam of intelligence in their dark saurian eyes.

"She has a strong guardian," Palir replied, a ghost of a smile on his lips as he traced the stylized dragon emblem that decorated the blanket the infant had been lying upon. He shook the dirt from the blanket and began to bundle it around the child.

"We must hurry. Guardian spirit or not, she’ll die without help." Thyme glanced uncomfortably at the reptiles, his skin beginning to crawl.

Palir held the child close as he rose. "We’ll bring her to Aldous."

~~~~~~~~~~

Brother Aldous was a wise man; a man who’d spent the majority of his life serving his King before his God had lit the vocational fires within his heart. At a temple nestled along the border between Gryllyd and Vassar, he’d spent the past two decades fostering and training new acolytes. Aldous had been many things in his long life, but he was never a fool. He knew perfectly well what two Rimrunners would be bringing to his humble church upon the wings of dawn.

Trouble.

"Runners, Father? Do you know them?" The youth at his side squinted into the distance; his hands folded into the sleeves of his brown robes. Even at this unholy hour of the morning, Ames’ curiosity was indomitable.

Aldous snorted and clapped his apprentice’s shoulder. "Know them? Heavens forbid son, I should. I spent too many years a-saddle and in uniform with the likes of them."

"You just put that thought out of your head, Ames. Send word down, and have them brought to me with all haste. Pass word to Cook to start breakfast early, and send up some tea. I’ve a feeling we’ll be needing it."

Ames nodded, leaving Aldous alone with his thoughts for the moment. He watched the approaching riders, a frown darkening his face.

Nearly half an hour later the pair of riders entered Aldous’ warm office. Rising from the hearth, Aldous turned and grinned broadly at the pair.

"Palir, Thyme! Charris’ Blessing be upon you and welcome." He heartily embraced Thyme, and turned a wary gaze upon the albino. "What is it you’ve brought me this time, old friend?"

"A blessing and a curse, Aldous, wrapped all in one." Palir’s expression was grave as he folded back the dark blanket from the burden in his arms.

A soft cry of protest rose from the bundle, and the child tossed its golden head weakly.

Aldous fell back a step in shock, and he looked sharply at the pair of elves. "What is this?"

"A mystery, Aldous." Palir gently settled the infant in the priest’s arms before sinking bonelessly into a nearby chair. "I know you have other resources for information than Thyme and I, so I’ll not spare the effort of dissembling. We’ve ridden all night to get here, and I’ve no energy for subtlety. You know there is a group of outcast Sh’ijr haunting these lands."

Aldous nodded, unfolding the blanket and taking a sharp breath as he saw the babe’s mangled hands. At his side, Ames gawked openly at the elves.

"Aye," Aldous replied tersely, wasting no time. He laid the child on the cushioned chair, and soaked a cloth with hot water from the tea kettle. Carefully he peeled away the makeshift bandages Palir had bound her hands with, and cleaned away the remainder of the oozing blood. "They call themselves the Entiu, the pure ones. They hunt down elven and human families; kill the humans and bring the elves back into the Sh’ijr’ict as slaves. Their edict is that even now humanity is still tainted and weak, and will drag the elves into a second and perhaps darker Embrace by their contact. Extreme isolationists who want to make the Perimeter a physical wall instead of a mere line on a map."

Aldous folded the sleeves of his robes back, taking the girl’s hands in one of his own. A dark flame-shaped tattoo was clearly visible upon the inside of his right wrist. Aldous closed his eyes, and his brow furrowed as he turned his concentration inward, drawing on the store of energy that resided deep within. It had been years since Aldous had needed to use his innate healing talents, but once unlocked, such a power was never forgotten.

"They seem to have changed their ways, Aldous." The albino rubbed at his eyes. "No longer do they respect the bond of blood. They attacked a family; this child is all that is left. Her father was human, her mother elven, and pregnant with her sibling. The Entiu disfigured and murdered them, and mutilated the child, leaving her die alone." There was an edge of weary anger to Palir’s normally calm voice.

"She’s just a baby," Ames interrupted, stroking her tiny brow with one finger. "How could they do this to a baby?"

Aldous’ gaze softened a bit as he looked at his son, and felt a surge of paternal pride. Effortlessly he loosened his hold upon the warmth of the healing weave, and opened his hands. The child’s wounds had drawn to a close, leaving thick, angry red lines that marred her white skin.

"Aye, lad, she’s just a child. But the hands will tell, as the old sayings go. They took her fingers, to make her less than whole when she died, so that her half-breed spirit could not be reborn and taint the world."

"Old ways, for an old people," Thyme agreed wearily. "Old beliefs die painful deaths, if they die at all."

"Aldous; take the babe. This is her only chance for any sort of a life." Palir fixed his gaze on his friend.

The priest sighed deeply, looking down at the child’s bright eyes. "You ask a lot of me, Elinesi. I’m not a young man any more."

"We can take her, Father. If she can’t stay here once she’s well, I’ll bring her to Cantalon with me in the spring when I go to stay at the Temple. Brother Jerren would be happy to take her in; they’ve plenty of younglings there." Ames pleaded with his father and mentor. "Surely it is Charris’ will! It’s a sign, Father; you can’t turn her away!"

Palir and Thyme exchanged amused glances at Ames’ enthusiasm.

"Blessed you say?" Aldous chuckled, fingering the dragon-marked blanket as he shifted the child into his lap.

"Blessed with life, cursed by birth." Palir reached out to lightly caress the soft hair on the child’s head. "I have a feeling this young one is a survivor. I give her life to you, Aldous. Heal her and raise her as your own. Train her with book and with blade, with your heart and with your faith. When she is old enough, and ready, send her to me. Her hands will forever be marked, but teach her how to use them so than no one can ever harm her again."

Palir squeezed Aldous’ shoulder as he stood, clearly eager to be back on the trail.

"Make sure they pay, Palir," Aldous said, stroking the baby’s cheek in a tender gesture that belied the vehemence in his voice.

"With every last drop of blood," Palir vowed, his expression cold.

"Wait!" Ames called out, stopping Palir and Thyme as they turned to leave. "Does she have a name?"

Palir and Thyme looked at each other.

"Jir’kith aethel kai," Thyme whispered, looking back at the babe in Aldous’ lap.

"The forsaken soul," Palir translated, a smile of grim amusement on his pale lips.

Ames looked pensive as he touched her, and a tiny hand curled around one finger.

"That’s a bit of a mouthful for a little one to learn. ‘Jirakai’ is so much easier, don’t you think? And it still sort of sounds like what you said."

Aldous looked up, a startled smile on his face. He looked to the Rimrunners, who nodded.

"As you say, young one." Palir smiled at Ames. "Her name shall be Jirakai."