“Hear me, my children” she intones, her voice transforming into the born storyteller. “And listen well, for the tale I am about to tell you is older than the mountain, and as true as the sky.”

The forge’s heat laps gently over them.

“Long, long ago there was a great traveler. He walked among the peoples of Errea, seeking their wisdom, for he wished to learn all the secrets of the world, past and future both, that he might be the strongest and wisest ever to live. Alfur was his name, and he was already ancient, already revered, when he came to these lands.” 

Her hand sweeps to the far peaks and Morwen sees it; an old man, huddled and cloaked, weather-beaten staff in hand. The mental image captures them all.

“Alfur learned from a Seer, a Volya you might say…”  she adds with a wink that draws quiet laughter “that high amid the tallest mountains, beneath the grandfather of all trees, was a great well..and in its depths the secret of Magic.” 

A few children gasp outright.

“To reach it,  Alfur traveled farther than ever before, alone, with no shelter but the caves the stone granted him, no food but what the mountain begrudged, and no water but what the frost left in hollows. By the time he stood before the Great Tree, he was starving. Fevered. Nearly dead.”

She leans forward, crooking two fingers in a “come hither” motion and every child leans in. 

“There beneath the twisting roots was the well, cool and clear and deep, but a raven settled on the lowest branch… and it spoke to Alfur, warning him that if he wished to drink, he must pay dearly. For to drink from that water was to awaken magic, and magic… always demands a price.” 

A chill runs down Morwen’s spine.
A price…

Runa’s voice drops to a whisper.
“Alfur begged the Raven, he had come so far, alone, with nothing but what he had carried, and he had nothing left to give. Do you know what the old Raven said?”

The children all shake their heads. 

“You will be blinded then!” She cries, her fingers spread like talons.

Runa’s voice becomes the Raven’s, impossibly bird-like and children shriek and laugh with startled terror and delight. Frey howls with laughter, and beside her Morwen feels more than hears the blacksmith’s rumbling chest.

Runa grins like a satisfied cat and settles back into her seat to continue.

“Knowing that the wisdom to be gained from magic was worth any price… Alfur agreed. And so the raven plucked out his eyes.”

Another sharp intake of breath from every small throat.

“And ever after he was Alfur the Blind, from whose line came the first of the Kuunafolk, and from whose journey all of this,” she gestures to the village, the mountains, to them…“came to be.”