This village in the south of Rhighelza had as much of a bucolic atmosphere as any village in that sere country could have. The homes were built on firm, fertile ground, and in spring and summer, bright flowers dotted the dew-tipped emerald fields. Cows, sheep, and ponies roamed the lush fields, a lazy shepherd with a flute keeping an eye out from beneath the cool shade of a tree. There were children, and men and women; small stores, a school. Bahliefa was like any other village.

And yet, to the experienced eye, it had certain undeniable peculiarities.

Bahliefa had no paved roads. There was no need for them; there was no traffic from other places in Rhighelza or from the neighboring country of Amasuel to the south. Bahliefa lay just at the border of Rhighelza and Amasuel, and this lack of traffic was unusual for a border town. Neither did trade caravans pass through. Bahliefa was wholly self-sufficient.

It was the sort of village every painter longed to capture on their canvas. Nature's fertility was unrestrained in Bahliefa. Grass, trees, flowers, even weeds, were all allowed to grow as they would, as wildly or demurely as they pleased. Its trees merged gradually into the deep, dark woods surrounding it, but Rhighelza was famous for its thickly forrested terrain, so this simple fact alone did not make Bahliefa unique.

The shock for new arrivals lay in the freedom the forest animals had in this village. Wolves slipped into the town and prowled down its beaten paths with no fear of harm. Deer calmly picked their way through the tangled undergrowths of backyards. Foxes and felines led their plump, bright-eyed offspring through the village with no trepidation at all.

These wild creatures walked through the town matter-of-factly and never harmed their domesticated brethren set out to pasture.

One of the most disquieting things about the town was that it was not on any map. To the rest of the world, the sweet little village of Bahliefa did not exist.

Ellian Allarme had been traveling for a little over a year. After his friend and mentor Laith de Cascos told him about the village of Bahliefa, he stowed himself away in a ship carrying spices from his beloved island nation of Virengrai to the shores of sunny Engladess. He went north from Engladess to the Reskinikin Confederacy, in some ways even harsher than Virengrai in the stringent laws imposed upon mages, and from the Confederacy he cut east through desert Amasuel. Half-dead from exhaustion, he crawled his way up north and finally made it -- the border of Rhighelza, and the shelter of the Village of Mages.

He staggered into the town, which was marked by nothing more than a friendly sign stating its name, and finally, finally, he allowed his knees to give out and collapsed on the beaten path -- dirt had long since stopped bothering him. His worn leather satchel, which clung to him by only one strap, fell to the ground. His few possessions spilled onto the dirt.

Ellian didn't care. He lifted his head weakly to the skies. Clear, cloudless blue. He wanted to weep.

Safety. Freedom. Rest.

And beauty. No place would ever be more beautiful than Virengrai, not to Ellian, but Bahliefa was very pretty, and even Ellian, benumbed by endless months of fear, could admit it.

Laith had been right when he told Ellian about Bahliefa, the only haven for mageborn who had never wanted to hurt anybody but were hunted nonetheless. Only the mageborn could find Bahliefa. Only the mageborn could step foot within its enchanted borders. Laith had spoken of it so glowingly. Laith's sister Davria had fled there, and he would go soon, he had promised, as soon as his accounts were in order.

Ellian fervently wished him the best of luck. The journey was hard. He was lucky, he supposed. Young, without family or many friends or even a place to call home anymore, it hadn't been difficult at all for him to just pick up and run.

He heard footsteps on the path in front of him, interrupting his thoughts, just as a pair of simple leather boots came into focus. He blinked, too tired for embarrassment, and glanced up, supporting himself with his hands spread out on the ground.

He had to blink again. Backlit by the sun, the man was bright, too bright, and tears of pain seeped from Ellian's eyes. He rubbed the back of a dirty hand across them. The man reached out and hauled Ellian up. Ellian mumbled, "Thank you, thank you... ah, my things," he added, supported entirely by the strong arms of the man. "On the, the floor, ground, all I have, I must..."

"Shhhh," the man soothed. He had a low, smooth voice, very pleasant to listen to. "They'll be cared for. Come." The man hooked his arms beneath Ellian's legs and hoisted him up without any problem at all. "I'll take you to my home. You can bathe there, and rest for a little while, before you settle yourself in this splendid little town."

"Thank you," Ellian whispered again, before blackness slid over his vision, and his head lolled to the side.

He woke up in an unfamiliar bed. He didn't care about the 'unfamiliar' part. He took a moment -- several, in fact -- to relish the 'bed' part. It was easy to tell the mageborn apart from everyone else -- something about the furtive look in their eyes, Laith had admitted with a snort. It was something about the nervousness they could never quite conceal, and the powers they could never quite suppress. Because of this impossibility of hiding, Ellian had barely spent any time in beds at all since he left Virengrai. And this bed was particularly comfortable. The pillow was soft, the sheets clean and warm. With a wordless sigh, he pulled the quilt up to his chin, and sleepily, he opened his eyes.

A yelp of joy escaped him when he saw his small stuffed floppy moose, Viera, tucked in with him. He clutched the stuffed animal to him without shame. The year-long journey had taught him to appreciate the smallest of comforts, and Viera was very small indeed. And she was clean now, too. That was nice. She smelled like -- he took a sniff -- soap. He'd been expecting lilacs or something for some foolish reason, but plain soap was perfectly fine by him.

He pushed himself up to a sitting position and examined himself. He was clean, too, he noted with some surprise. He'd been bathed.

It was surprising how much more human a simple thing like being clean made him feel. And he was human, despite the prattling of certain parties back home. He was human. Just a bit... enhanced, and not through his own fault or will. What kind of maniac would choose to be a mage in a world where the nulls derided them all the damn time?

Ellian forced his mind away from those thoughts. They'd haunted him enough on the journey here, and he wouldn't permit them to lurk around him any longer.

He propped himself up with the fluffy pillow and glanced around the room. The walls were unassuming, wooden, adorned with exquisite Reskinikinian and Virengrese wall hangings. There was a closed wooden door opposite him, and the head of his bed was pressed against the far wall. There was a small window situated high to his left, which let in a great deal of pale sunlight. Also to his left was a night-table which had nothing on it as of the moment. There was a door in the wall to his left which Ellian assumed led to a bathroom.

A wave of dizziness washed over him, and he sank back down into the bed, clutching Viera. He'd done the last stretch of the journey almost without sleep, his funds completely depleted, unable to buy even the stalest, week-old bread. He'd relied on the kindness of strangers to help him survive, and there weren't that many kind strangers nowadays. Not for him. Not for any fugitive mage.

He heard footsteps in the hallway, and a man opened the door quietly. A smile of relief spread across the man's face when he saw Ellian's eyes open and lucid. He pushed the door open and entered the room.

Ellian presumed that this was the man who'd carried him to shelter when he passed out from exhaustion. The worthy gentleman stood tall and proud, his build lean with strength, dressed in a loosely-fastened leather jerkin beneath which pale skin was visible and loose brown pants which were tied with a knotted rope. His eyes were a strange shade of violet, the shade of twilight just before true night, and his hair fell over his shoulders and down his back in cascades of bright, sunlight gold. His features were bold and strong, from his large eyes and the arch of his brows to the firm line of his nose and his sensuous lips. There was nothing weak about the man. Nothing equivocating.

The man sat down on the side of Ellian's bed and surveyed him critically. "Are you all right?"

"Dizzy," Ellian admitted. "And hungry."

"That's to be expected." The man smiled -- his smile was dazzling -- and shrugged. "You've slept seventeen hours."

"Oh." That sounded alarming. "I'm sorry," Ellian rushed to apologize. "I didn't mean to infringe upon your hospitality. I--"

"You didn't infringe upon anything," the man interrupted, tucking a long strand of gold back behind the perfect shell of his ear. "I brought you here, if you'll remember. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions before I bring you some food?"

Beneath the blankets, Ellian's hand spasmed on Viera. "I don't mind," he said after swallowing.

The man looked at him shrewdly. "I understand that you've spent a long time in hiding, but truly, the time for hiding is past. Bahliefa is safe. I should know. This is my town. I established it."

"Oh."

"What's your name?" The man delved into the interview, leaning one hand on the bedspread. With the shift of his weight, some of his remarkable golden hair trailed over his chest to puddle on the bedspread. His violet eyes were quite intense, making Ellian want to shrink away, but Ellian chided himself for this fragility. He would answer the man's questions.

"My name is Ellian Allarme. Of Virengrai," he added.

"Virengrai..." The man's lips curled in an indecipherable smile. "Sweet little Virengrai. It must have hurt you to leave it. The Virengrese so love their country."

Ellian nodded. The decision had been one of the most difficult ones of his short life.

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen, now," Ellian replied. He glanced away from the handsome mage, his gaze tracing the familiar lines of Virengrese work on the wall hanging. "I left a year ago. Crossed the Irvemi Straits as a stowaway and walked across five countries. I'm a little... tired."

"Don't worry about it, you'll be fine. What made you decide to come here?"

Ellian curled up in the bed, not answering. His head was pounding suddenly, as though some impling had forced its way inside his skull, beating on a drum, stronger, stronger, stronger...

"Ellian?"

"I'm here." Ellian's voice was a whisper.

"Why don't I rephrase the question. What is the strength of your power, that you were persecuted so fiercely you felt you needed to seek haven here?"

"It's a sickening power." Ellian's fingers were curled tightly around Viera's little stuffed body. "Sickening. I can understand why they hunted me. In their situation I probably would have hunted me too."

"Which is fascinating," the man said shortly, showing impatience for the first time in the interview. "But the power itself, if you please?"

"A Dark power," Ellian stated, looking blindly at the wall hanging. "Blood power. Through spilled blood I can see the story of a life and trace that life to the blood's owner, whether he or she or it be living or dead. It makes Dark magic that much easier. That much more tempting. But I've never done it," he added, suddenly terribly anxious to reassure the man, sitting up. "Never. I know better than that. I know how it destroys and corrupts and erodes the soul, and I would never do Dark magic, not for anything. I didn't choose to have that filthy power. I was born with it. I --"

The man held up a hand, callused and firm. "Enough. I understand." His eyes were shining. Ellian didn't understand why. Usually the disclosure of his power alarmed, disgusted. "That's quite a unique power. Fairly rare, I'm given to understand."

Ellian shrugged. "Rare? Well, demons like to be selective with their targets, I expect. I despise it. I went to college for a little while --"

"Which one?" the man asked.

Ellian was surprised. "You're that familiar with Virengrai?"

The man snorted. "'Familiar.' Yes, you could say I'm that familiar with Virengrai." Ellian didn't understand the bitterness in his voice.

"I decided to go to the College of Druchae. Fall, season of the dying and all of that." Ellian brought his knees up, staring at the man from behind them. "It seemed appropriate. I tried to keep my power a secret, but a few months into the term, an acquaintance broke his leg. Mori. There was blood everywhere. When I tried to help him, I touched the blood, of course. Turns out he'd been raped as a child and brought to Druchae because of suicide attempts. I flashbacked from his memories." Ellian glanced down at his bedspread, a shudder wracking his thin frame at the hellish recollection. "I'm not god-touched, sir. Virengrai makes exceptions for magic if one of the Four have Touched you, and that's not the case with me. Saín had to expel me from his College, though I still believe he didn't really want to, since he gave me a head start. From then on it was a race against Klar's men, fanatic cityfolk, and the Police. I ran fast, and I didn't stop running until I reached Bahliefa."

"That is... a fascinating tale," the man breathed. "Utterly fascinating."

Ellian personally found it revolting, but to each his own, he supposed.

"Well." Another flash of a smile. "Thank you for the information. In case you're curious about me, and I know you must be, my name is Dae, and I'm a mage of considerable power. I work with nature, but I can dabble in most other realms of magic with success. I established this town because I was sick of my people being hunted for powers they'd never asked for."

"That's awfully nice of you," Ellian murmured.

The mage demurred, but Ellian could see that Dae was pleased. "Thank you. So that you know, I have your things in my room, and they're all cleaned and ready to go. I'll just host you for a few days until I'm satisfied that you're ready to find a place of your own and contribute to the community. Everyone works here. Even children. I could do everything on my own, but why bother? It fosters more of a sense of fellowship if everyone is helping in some way, doesn't it?"

Ellian nodded, because it seemed that Dae expected agreement.

"Excellent. Have you any particular skills that might be helpful?" Dae inquired.

Ellian was grateful for the change in topic. "I'm not sure," Ellian replied honestly. "I... just... it's been a terribly... frightening journey." Ellian looked directly into Dae's fierce twilight eyes, willing the mage to understand that being hunted had shattered his nerve.

Dae reached out and brushed the backs of his fingers across Ellian's cheek in a quick but comforting motion. "There, now," he said softly. "I understand."

He understood. The first person who had offered safe haven. The first person who hadn't recoiled at the knowledge of just what arcane power Ellian possessed. Even Laith had been an enemy at first. Ellian swallowed hard, feeling tears rise in his eyes. Dae looked at him with utter compassion, and when the first tears fell, Dae brushed them away.

The kindness undid him completely. Ellian started crying in earnest, so hard that he gasped air in harshly, so hard his chest felt tight, so hard that his only sounds were the whimpers that would occasionally escape him. Dae crawled closer to him at once and cradled Ellian in his arms, stroking his hair tenderly, allowing him to cry himself out.

It had been nine years since he'd cried. Nine miserable years of being afraid, of being hated, of keeping secrets, of hiding. He was in Bahliefa now. He was safe. Vaguely Ellian registered that Dae kept repeating those two things over and over.

Ellian pulled himself together quickly; he was used to controlling himself. He wiped his eyes and, lifting his head from where it rested on Dae's chest, glanced up at the mage, who smiled.

"That was a long time in coming, wasn't it?"

Ellian nodded weakly. He rested his head against Dae again, curling up in the shelter of the mage's arms. Dae continued to stroke his hair until Ellian slipped into an exhausted half-doze. He felt himself being tucked back into bed, Viera placed in the crook of his arm.

"I'll come by with some food in a little while," Dae said softly. "Don't worry. We're all mages here. We take care of our own."

Ellian remembered something he'd wanted to ask. "Dae?" he asked hoarsely.

The mage, who'd turned, on the point of leaving the room, glanced back. "Yes?"

"Could you please tell Davria that Laith is on his way?"

"Of course." Dae stepped out of the room as surely as he had entered it and closed the door quietly.

Ellian sighed and pulled the blankets tightly around him. There was a peace inside him that he hadn't felt for a very long time, and for the first time since he was ten years old, Ellian allowed himself to feel the first stirrings of hope.