All Things in Time

Prologue

The Oracle of Lastarra

One child of Light

Doth through weakness rise,

To spread her joy

O'er a land that cries.

Though with fatigue,

Pain, and fear she's faced,

Within her heart

Darkness finds no place.

One special gift

To dispel the night,

Destroy the Darkness

And bring forth the Light.

One fragile girl

With a soul most pure,

Breaks Evil's strength

Thus, doth Good endure.

August 15, the year of our Lord, 1496

A single beam of moonlight shone through ominous black clouds, illuminating a lone figure atop the hill just outside the tiny village of Llytlesby. The young woman shivered slightly as she gazed at the strangely turbulent night sky. The normally warm summer air had been chased away by a foreboding chill, unheard-of for this time of year. A cold blast of wind stirred her hair and the girl hurried to don a faded and worn cloak. Even the long sleeves of her rather plain gown were insufficient protection against this chill.

Lyssanne Caelestis lived in a small cottage a short distance from the village below. She cherished the company of others, yet the young woman often found the relative isolation of her home comforting. For, this seemingly ordinary peasant maid had an unusual gift. Or was it a curse? She could, without making the slightest effort, sense the emotions of any person who came within a few feet of her. Her gift was such that she actually experienced the feelings of others, be they joy, sadness, anger, or any other, as though they were her own. She avoided large crowds for obvious reasons. While this empathy, as she called it, afforded her a rare insight into the lives of others, she never intentionally sought such knowledge, nor did she try to glean more than what came to her automatically. To do so would, in her opinion, violate the most basic rights and dignity of human society.

Pulling her cloak more tightly around her, Lyssanne began the descent toward the nearest cluster of huts and cottages. As she rounded a bend in the worn dirt path, her thoughts returned to the reason for her late-night journey. Something evil was brewing in the village. She had felt it even before the dark clouds had eclipsed the moon outside her window. She could feel the growing despair, sadness, and fear of the villagers even at that great distance. Never before had the emotions of others carried to her from so far away. She knew there could be only one explanation - Funestra.

A beautiful, but cold-hearted woman in her mid fifties, Funestra was known to practice the abominable art of witchcraft. Beyond even that, she seemed to find some twisted delight in causing pain. Though Lyssanne had heard the rumors surrounding the reclusive woman many times, she had seen her in person only once. That one chance encounter had told Lyssanne all she needed to know. The sorceress was simply evil.

The darkness engulfing Llytlesby grew more oppressive as Lyssanne neared the town square. Deserted streets and darkened homes gave the impression of a village long abandoned. However, the chorus of voices drifting from the central square seemed to indicate that the entire population was congregated in that one area. Attempting to steel herself against the tumult of emotion that would be emitted by such a large gathering, she rounded the last corner.

Lyssanne felt the piercing cold of Evil's shroud moments before she saw the slithering black mist coiling about the villagers' feet. The force seemed to be spawned from the night itself as it clutched at the unsuspecting townspeople, draining all joy and hope from their hearts. Funestra's favorite tool of terror dimmed even the light of the hundred or so torches held aloft in that square. As though sensing her presence, a hazy tendril broke free of the throng and snaked its way toward Lyssanne. With sheer force of will, she pushed aside the invading despair and allowed the light of her joys to repel this entity she alone could see.

Lyssanne turned her attention back to the unknowingly besieged villagers. She had witnessed the effects of the foul fog more times than she could name. Though she seemed able to shake its bonds easily enough, others who encountered it were quickly overwhelmed. She had seen ordinarily cheerful people lash out in anger, fall into the depths of depression, become physically ill, and be brought to the very edge of insanity while ensnared by this vile shroud. Normally such attacks were perpetrated against a single person or small group. Therefore, Lyssanne suspected that, since Funestra seemed to gain some sort of strength each time her shadowy parasite did its work; the witch did not wish to be noticed. But tonight, all subtlety had been abandoned.

Seeing a stout, middle-aged woman at the edge of the crowd, Lyssanne asked why everyone was gathered in one place. Straining to hear above the buzz of conversation, she learned that one of the village children had run away and could not be found. Every inch of the town and outlying areas had been searched to no avail. With the woman's next words she knew, beyond doubt, where the boy would be hiding.

The boy, Gareth Evans, had gotten into an argument with his parents. As he stormed from the cottage, he had shouted that he would find his own castle to live in. Lyssanne, whose task it was to instruct and care for the village children, knew of Gareth's fondness for the ruined keep that stood some distance to the west.

Without another word, Lyssanne rushed from the square in the direction of the old ruins. Normally, she would have attempted to draw the shadowy mist that hovered about the square away from the other inhabitants, but tonight it was too strong and she had too little time. If the boy had fallen into Funestra's hands... She didn't want to contemplate the possibilities.

Coming to a breathless halt near the base of a crumbling tower, Lyssanne found him. The once majestic fortress walls that surrounded the tower were now a mass of dark, broken stone, resembling decaying teeth. Gareth was crouched between the remains of an outer wall and a large stone, which had fallen from its place long ago. The boy shrank deeper into his hiding place as she approached. Lyssanne could feel the terror welling up inside him. He had not yet recognized her.

"Gareth, be not afraid," she said in a soft, soothing voice.

"M-M-Mistress Lyssanne?" he asked. When she confirmed her identity, he flung his arms around her neck and sobbed,

When he seemed to relax a bit, she continued, "Are you harmed in any way?"

Gareth shook his head and whispered, "Is she still here?"

"I know not," Lyssanne replied, well aware of whom he spoke. The young teacher felt a wave of relief now that she knew her pupil was uninjured, at least physically.

"She - she's unnatural!" Gareth tugged at Lyssanne's hands as if to pull her closer to his stone hiding place. "I was sitting on the steps...and then she was just there...right there in front of me...like the air opened up and she walked through it." He looked around franticly and continued speaking so softly and so rapidly that Lyssanne had to strain even her sensitive hearing to understand him. "She said I was trespassing upon her lands and then - " He paused a moment and look into Lyssanne's eyes. "She made red sparks come at me, from her hand! I tell you truly. She did. So I ran behind the walls and she kept flinging those sparks and laughing." He shuddered.

"Listen carefully," Lyssanne said in a hushed voice, her heart now pounding as much with Gareth's fear as with her own. "I want you to run to the town square. Run as fast as you are able. You will be safe there."

"But, you are coming with me, are you not?" he asked clutching her more tightly.

"I will be right behind you," she assured. Lyssanne pried his arms from her neck and looked very seriously into his eyes. "You are much faster than I, so I do not want you to look back or slow down to wait for me. Do you understand what I ask?" Without breaking eye contact, she placed her cloak around the shivering boy's shoulders and awaited his reply.

"But, Lady Lyssanne," he protested, the fear she saw in his eyes intensifying, "that horrid woman will find you."

Gareth had used the pet name the children had given her. For truly, Lyssanne was not of high noble birth, but a simple peasant whose only skill was tending children.

"You must have faith. I shall be safe; for, you will offer a prayer for me as soon as you reach the square. And I shall be protected."

The boy nodded solemnly, his eyes now full of determination and purpose. He rose to his feet and turned toward the village. Lyssanne watched briefly as his little legs carried him faster than she had ever seen him move. Though slightly relieved, she was well aware that the danger had not yet passed - for either of them.

Hearing a rustling noise behind her, Lyssanne closed her eyes briefly in a silent plea for strength and courage. She slowly rose to her feet and turned to face Funestra. The woman was elegant, standing atop the stone steps of the ruined tower like a queen emerging from her palace. She wore a gown of black silk, over which was draped an ebony cloak that swirled around her tall frame in the gusting wind. Her hair was a fluttering shadow amid the gloom, as black as the heart that beat within her chest. The coldness and bitterness of her emotions as she drew nearer assaulted Lyssanne with an almost painful force.

"So, I see that you received my little invitation," Funestra said in a voice that could have frozen fire. "Welcome to my ancestral home." She made a mockingly grand, sweeping gesture to indicate the ruins surrounding them. "Lovely, isn't it?"

"Invitation? Whatever do you mean, Milady?" Lyssanne asked cautiously. Not completely trusting the steadiness of her legs, she affected a quick, rather shallow curtsey.

Though Lyssanne would have preferred to make a hasty retreat, the younger woman knew that to seem less than polite would be unwise. She may fear and detest everything Funestra stood for; but, if she knew anything, Lyssanne Caelestis knew her place. She would show the proper respect due the station to which the other had been born. Besides, she had no wish to incur this noblewoman's wrath. No one really knew the extent of Funestra's dark powers. More importantly, if Lyssanne could engage the witch in conversation long enough, perhaps Gareth would safely reach Llytlesby before Funestra noticed his absence. And - just maybe - the distraction would be sufficient to break the vile hold the sorceress had over the village this night

"Oh come now, even you can hardly be that naive," Funestra responded with disdain. "You are most predictable. I knew you would not hesitate to come to the aid of a child."

"But, why -. How could you consider harming a child? Doth your soul not protest such things? And why would you wish to lure me here? If you wished to speak with me, why not simply follow the custom of society? I would surely have obliged."

At that moment, Lyssanne pushed aside her own fears and determined to do whatever she could to help her people, even if it cost her very life.

"My soul? I have no soul. That was stolen from me long ago by your 'good society'." Funestra paused to gesture once more at the crumbling structure surrounding them. "I lost all concern for such things when the good people of Llytlesby turned their backs on the family that had been their landlords for centuries. Branded as outcasts, exiled from our home, some even put to death.... Did your precious society consider the harm their actions caused me as a child?!"

"I can in no way imagine the pain those times must have brought to your childhood," Lyssanne said with true compassion in her voice. She unknowingly sent waves of soothing emotion in Funestra's direction, as always longing to comfort anyone in pain. "You must realize that, after all these years, the elders who made that choice no longer live. I am certain it was a most difficult decision for them; but, considering the alternative, what were they to do?"

"I am well aware of the options they had," Funestra spat. "But, no matter, I have begun to remedy the situation. And now," the witch continued in a sickeningly sweet voice that dripped of sarcasm, "Child of Light, you will assist me."

As Funestra swept over to a low wall that had once formed a small courtyard, Lyssanne wondered at the strange way the woman had addressed her. The phrase did seem vaguely familiar, but she couldn't place where she had heard it before.

"I would gladly help you to relieve the burdens on your soul," Lyssanne said sincerely. She truly believed that it was never too late for redemption. "But, to do that you must renounce these wicked practices and turn your thoughts from vengeance."

Funestra laughed, a high-pitched, mirthless sound that caused a knot of dread to form in Lyssanne's stomach.

"Spare me your sweetness-and-light babble. I neither need nor want your words of pity and redemption. I have an entire kingdom at my feet," the witch stated with sinister triumph. "And now, you alone stand in my way."

Moving as quietly as possible to her right, Lyssanne realized that Funestra was stirring something in a large, rusty pot that Lyssanne had not noticed previously. The cauldron was situated over a small fire, just behind the low wall.

"It is you who should be pitied now. For, you are about to help me prove the falseness of the Oracle of Lastarra."

"But what has the prophecy to do with me?" Lyssanne asked, now thoroughly confused. "I am no-one of consequence to affect such things." The Oracle, she recalled, was a prophecy from long ago that told of one who would save their people from a great evil.

"That, at least in a few moments, will be quite true," Funestra said, ladling something into an earthenware cup. The strange bubbling liquid hissed and steamed as it made contact with the much cooler vessel. "Enough useless chatter. Prepare to be extinguished, Child of Light!"

Lyssanne sensed the attack a split-second before it came. She moved even before Funestra drew back the hand holding the cup. Clinging to the knowledge that, no matter the outcome, she was in God's hands, she dove to her left. Even as she moved, Lyssanne's left hand automatically grasped the pendant she always wore near her heart, and she had time enough only to pray, "Deliver me." Reflexively, she threw out her right arm to shield her face. This proved to be unwise, as part of the scalding potion struck her inner forearm.

Clutching at her arm, Lyssanne fell to the ground and caught a momentary glimpse of the tree that had stood behind her mere seconds before. It had absorbed the majority of the potion and was changing before her very eyes. It seemed to be aging rapidly. Green leaves shriveled and fell, bark became blackened, then gray and crumbling. Then, as she watched the entire tree collapse upon itself and turn to ash, she felt a tugging at her right arm.

The next thing she knew, she was spinning and falling rapidly at the same time. Colors whirled around her in a dizzying blur. She offered one last silent prayer as she plummeted in an endless free-fall. Lyssanne closed her eyes and hoped that her arm would not be torn completely from her body. It was being pulled outward by an unseen force that gripped the spot where the potion had struck.

***

August 15, 1996

Severus Snape Apparated in a small clearing, near the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Glad to be headed back to the routine familiarity of Hogwarts after yet another summons; he trudged through the dense underbrush toward the open school grounds.

As he moved slowly along his customary shortcut through the trees, he caught a flash of white light and a slight movement out of the corner of his eye. Though he could think of a few Hogwarts residents who would be foolish enough to wander into the forest in the dead of night, only Potter was stupid enough to leave the path this deep into the forest. But that particular nuisance, along with the other students, was presently home for the summer. Severus knew of only one person, other than himself, who would dare such a thing, and Rubeus Hagrid was away on important business for the headmaster. This did not make the least bit of sense. If Voldemort had sent a spy, or something worse, without telling him -. He quickened his pace, no longer concerned with stealth as he drew near the lone figure he had spotted moving through the trees.

***

Suddenly, the spinning ceased, Lyssanne's descent slowed, and she felt the brush of leaves and twigs against her sides. The next instant she landed with a jolt amid thick grasses and dense foliage. Rising gingerly upon her knees, she glanced around at what appeared, strangely enough, to be a very dark and impenetrable forest.

The dense forest engulfed her, its massive branches clutching at her like the many tendrils of some prehistoric squid. Lyssanne stumbled along, trying to find an exit, a clearing, anything to free her from the shadowy web of foliage in which she was ensnared. Where she was, or how she came to be there, she did not know. For, no such forest existed even remotely near her home. Her right forearm burned ceaselessly and she still felt lightheaded from the fall, or whatever it was that had landed her in her current predicament. Lyssanne tried to ignore the sounds of nocturnal forest creatures, especially the eerie cries of creatures as yet unknown to her, but the night would allow her no such peace. Then she heard the most frightening sound of all - footsteps. And they were coming closer. Had she been followed? Was that evil sorceress approaching even now to finish what she had attempted barely a half-hour before?