Named a changeling by some, Sarragh is certainly an unusual girl. That's why the intrepid Candela has chosen her for a task that no ordinary mortal might survive. Sarragh's quick, unthinking eagerness to accept will lead her to hidden places that reveal old secrets and truths that challenge her beyond her eeriest and most remarkable dreams.--------------------------------
'Daughter of the Sootstress,' Candela breathed, 'we have a task for you.' Candela paused, her eyes gentle pinpricks. She spoke the next words unflinchingly. 'It will test you.' The small hairs stood on my neck. My easy manner slipped from me as I placed my right hand upon my chest, below my throat, the way I had been taught, when... I could not remember...it was a memory of shadows. I looked Candela, the unicorn—the mother of all unicorns—straight in the eyes. 'Test me, then,' I whispered.
When a cryptic messenger reveals veiled words of prophecy, things change in Wish, forever. The high tower keeper, Hope, has gone missing. In her bid to complete the Circle of Light, everything depends upon Hope being found. The bleak invader leaks further into the land of Wish as the unicorns gather to battle the darkness. And so the plight of Sarragh deepens as she seeks the inscrutable Hope in places that even unicorns cannot go.
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Old tomes filled with secrets sometimes reveal things about others and ourselves that we could never have imagined.
If you were to have your greatest dream come true, how much of it would be wonderful and how much of it a burden?
Moonlight tiptoed to the domed windowpanes of the lowermost rooms of the Tower of Dreams. Trickling inside, it cast silhouettes, revealing stealthy portals and the inhabitants within. Basking in the glow of fluttering candles, herbs simmered in small indigo pots, and on a table carved from honey-wood, several vast books lay strewn. Slumped beside a massive tome, a reader lay in obstinate sleep, a frown etched upon her brow. In one ink-smudged hand she held a quill of speckled turquoise. In the other, she clutched an eagle's feather. Shifting with the rhythm of the night, a breeze slipped through a slit of open window to glide past the pots of simmering moat-mud which boiled on the windowsills. Flicking tenderly at the open pages of books, the breeze snuffed the waning candles. Moon-glow caressed the sleeper's face. At her feet, a dog snored gently, his grey muzzle twitching in dreams. The chamber deepened in peace. Gathering the skipping moments, the moonlight briefly faltered then surged in a steady rise—a strip of sheer radiance—until it reached the room's highest point. And there, in the ceiling-high bookshelves that lined the walls, gaps revealed that the books on the table were volumes taken from the top. But these were no works of learning, or even daily things. On their spines, dates were marked. Embossed, their titles read: The Beginnings, Life and Times of The First Ones. Exhausted by the enormity of what she had been reading, the sleeper was only half way through Volume One.