Free Legend of the Ravenstone by M.S. Verish Page A

land for those who are unfamiliar with Freelander customs. One must be cautious where one goes, what one says, how one behaves.”
    Kariayla shifted uncomfortably. “But we should be safe as long as we are with the caravan.” It was more of a question than a statement.
    Jaharo moved the stones from the edges of the map and began to roll it up. “I just wanted to prepare you for what you might hear or see. It never hurts to be aware of your surroundings—even if you are in the company of those who can protect you.”
    She watched him rise and replace the map in the saddlebag. There was a sound from beside her, and she found Arcturus had slid back against the log, his eyes completely shut. “Arcturus,” she murmured, “your staff is still glowing.”
    He did not stir except to emit a loud snort, which evolved into equally loud snoring. She debated whether to try and rouse him, but then Jaharo returned.
    “I don’t know that I can wake him,” she said. “His staff is still lit.”
    “And you suspect that our fellow travelers might not appreciate the light as they try to sleep,” Jaharo surmised.
    Kariayla nodded.
    “I wouldn’t believe you would appreciate it either.” He reached over and gently took Whitestar from where Arcturus had propped it on the log. He withdrew an empty wrapping from their midday meal and covered the head of the staff. “That has helped a little, but maybe we will tuck this behind the log. He can extinguish it in the morning.” He turned to her. “You might follow his example. Our leader likes to make an early start.”
    Kariayla took his advice and pulled a blanket from the wagon. She settled near the Markanturian, and it was not long before she succumbed to dreams of lanterns, blue mushrooms, and specially trained pet squirrels.
    ~*~
    T he air stirred with unseen currents of power—a building force that swarmed around her and caused Kariayla to open her eyes. The camp was silent, calm, but her skin tingled, and her heartbeat sounded in her ears. The sky was dark, but if she stared at the horizon, she could believe it was growing lighter. She noticed that the stars and the moon had vanished beneath an amassing ceiling of obscurity.
    It’s a storm . Kariayla sat up and shivered as the magic grazed against her skin. There was a rustle of wind amongst the grasses and trees, and it toyed with the stray locks of her hair. She peeled back the blanket and walked toward the edge of the encampment, her eyes upon the blackening sky. This is not natural. It came too quickly, and I can feel a force driving it. Something powerful.
    A stronger wind crossed her path, sweeping her long hair behind her. Then she heard it: the faint reverberation of thunder. “The bird,” she whispered, spying the pale hawk before it disappeared amongst the shadowy branches. Could it be linked to the storm?
    “Kariayla.”
    Startled, she spun to find Jaharo looming behind her. “You are up early,” he said.
    “I felt the storm. You must have felt it too.”
    “I usually rise before the sun,” he said. “It is an old habit I have never tried to break.” He came to stand beside her. “There isn’t anything the matter, is there?”
    “I’m not sure.” She shivered again. “Where I come from, we believe the Spirits send us signs. I saw a white hawk in the city of Belorn, and I have seen it since. I can’t help but think it’s following us.”
    “As a warning or a protector?” he asked.
    Kariayla blinked. “I do not think it’s a warning, but what if it is connected to the storm?”
    Thunder interrupted them, more insistent than before.
    Jaharo rubbed his beard and turned his face up toward the sky. At first he said nothing, but then he placed a hand on her shoulder. “You should return to Arcturus.”
    His tone unnerved her, and she followed his suggestion. The Markanturian had not stirred since she left, and she knelt beside him to address him. “Arcturus, there is a storm coming.”
    He did not