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Chapters 1-3
By Lori T.
Strongin
This is an original work, please do not
steal.
Chapter 1
“Aiya!
Aydin! Wait for me!”
Rosse’s twin cousins
disappeared into the
canopy of the iles tree, their black hair blending perfectly with the
shadows cast by the moss green leaves and late afternoon sun.
He
heard their laughter, shouting to each other as they played tag among
the thick boughs, leaving him alone in his mother’s garden
below.
You
never wait for me. “Well,
I’m coming up anyway.”
Rosse hated it when his cousins ran off
without
him. His mother said they were supposed to spend the day
together
while the adults were busy with the councilors and advisors in
court. He didn’t really want to spend time with
Aiya or
Aydin—they were always so awful to him.
But
they’re all I’ve got. No one else ever
wants to play with me.
“I’ll show
them,” he muttered,
getting a finger hold in the knotted bark. He scaled the tall
tree, ducking low limbs and snagging vines. Soft leaves
brushed
his cheek as he made his way through the maze of branches, feeling the
life of the ancient tree hum under his fingertips. The song
made
him feel more at home among the branches than he did within the stone
walls of his castle home.
Just
like a real wood
elf.
He climbed onto a long, thick limb,
wider than
eagle’s wing, and looked around for his cousins.
Branches,
leaves, even animal nests were easy to spot. But no twins.
“Where’re you two
hiding?”
Neither answered, but their laughter
echoed through
the early autumn air. A warm breeze blew tendrils of hair
into
his face, blinding him for a moment. He sputtered before
pulling
the blond strands out of his mouth. Rosse blinked to refocus
his
vision, then jumped in surprise.
His cousins had boxed him in, one on
each of the
branches parallel to his. They were dressed the same, in
matching
crimson tunics and brown breeches, and both wore the three braids
common to their grandfather’s house. Rosse had to
wait two
more years before he would be given his own braids.
Identical faces glared at Rosse; neither looked
pleased to see him.
“Why are you always following
us, Rosse?” Aiya asked.
“We’re supposed to
stay together after lessons. Mum said.”
Aydin jumped from his branch onto
Rosse’s,
making the limb shake below their feet. “Did you
ever think
we don’t want you following us?”
“Why? Is it because
I’m younger
than you two are? It’s only five years.
And
I’ll be eight soon. Or is it because you think
I’m
too little? I can keep up with you both just
fine!” “None of that
matters.” Aydin poked Rosse’s
shoulder. It
hurt. “We know the truth now. The full
truth. You really want us to tell you?”
“Are you sure you want to
know?” Aiya
asked as he joined his brother on the branch. He reclined
against
the rough bark of the tree and crossed his arms.
“You
won’t like it.”
Rosse nodded.
“I’m not
scared. Tell me.” He crossed his arms,
trying to be
brave like his father.
Aydin leaned forward and whispered,
“You’re a morretain.”
Rosse scowled. He’d
heard that word
before, mostly from servants who didn’t know he was
listening. But his parents always refused to tell him what it
meant. “What does that mean?”
The twins laughed.
“Don’t you know?” Aiya asked.
“It means you’re an
abomination,” Aydin said.
He didn’t know what that word
meant either,
but wouldn’t admit that to his cousins.
“I’m
not. You don’t know what you’re talking
about.”
“Yes, we do. So does
everyone else,” Aiya said.
Aydin sneered.
“Elves and humans are enemies; yet you exist.”
“Your mother is a royal-born
elf, and your father is a human,”
Aiya said, moving closer. “Humans are inferior to
elves. Everyone knows that.”
“No one will accept a
half-blood as the future king.”
“Morretain aren’t
natural.”
“Tana Kieren and Tane Elemmire
should have drowned you at birth.”
Their twin-talk hurt his head.
“Stop
it,” Rosse said, covering ears not nearly as pointed as his
cousins’.
“People died when your parents
got
married,” Aydin said. “Did you know
that? There
was this huge battle because everyone knew what they were doing was
wrong. But they didn’t listen, and now my
family’s
been shamed away from our homelands because your mother married a
human. We’re tied here, to the human’s
city.
Even the elven colonies won’t take us in because of what your
parents did.”
Rosse’s stomach
lurched. It
couldn’t be true. His parents would have told
him…his tutor…even his governess…
No,
no, no!
Aydin plucked a leaf and twirled it between his
fingers. “Didn’t you ever wonder why
there were so
few true elves in Cuhulaiin? Humans hunted the elves for
centuries as sport. They destroyed our cities and stole our
wealth and wisdom. No real
elf would come within ten paces of your traitorous mother without being
forced to, like we were.”
Rosse took a step back and bumped into the thick
trunk. He grasped the rough bark, trying to hold onto
something
solid and real.
“Told you that you wouldn’t
like it,”
Aiya said. “But it’s the truth.
We have to
live among the humans. What’s your
mother’s excuse?”
Rosse wanted to hide; to get away from
the twins,
away from all the questions they’d shoved in his head.
I
won’t cry. Not in front of them.
Rosse closed his eyes for a moment, hoping they’d leave him
alone.
Hands grabbed his upper arms.
Dark brown eyes
glared into his. Aydin’s grip tightened as he shook
Rosse
back and forth. “So what are you going to do about
it, you
little morretain?”
“L…let me
go…”
“You should leave,
Rosse,” Aiya said,
his face coming into view from over his brother’s
shoulder.
“No one wants you here, but they can’t say anything
because
you’re the prince.”
Yes! He was the
prince. Shouldn’t he act like one?
“Let me go right now or my
father’ll
throw you in the dungeons,” he said, proud that his voice
shook
only a little.
The twins snickered.
“You hear that,
Aiya? He’s going to tell his father. The
human.”
“I’m so
frightened.”
“Perhaps we need to show the
little blood traitor what we really think of him.”
Aiya stopped laughing.
“Aydin?”
The elder twin never broke eye contact
with
Rosse. “Yes, I think that’s exactly what
this dirty,
half-blood aberration needs.”
Chapter 2
Kieren heard the Call just as her
husband unrolled
the parchment map of the kingdom’s newest trade
route.
Noises tore through her head, and a barrage of images and impressions
flashed, each too fleeting to grasp. She felt pain, raw and
wild. And a voice, loud and full of fear like the roar of a
winter wind, broke through the sound.
Elerosse
is hurt.
She ran. Elemmire and the
other nobles in the
chamber room called after her, but she did not turn around.
Her
son was hurt, and nothing in the kingdom could keep her from him.
Her heart pounded as she pushed through
the crowded
stone hallways. Elemmire’s heavy footfalls fell
behind
hers, but she could not stop; would not waste breath answering the
questions he threw at her.
Her son’s edere, his elvish
Light, was cast in shadow. She felt the darkness as surely as
if the sun were eclipsed by the moon.
Kieren rounded a corner, then raced down
a stairwell
towards the Great Hall. Rosse and his cousins were supposed
to
spend the day in the garden when afternoon lessons were over.
She
sent a silent plea to the Gods that the elflings were still
there. Morraugh,
please do not take him from me. Not another one.
Last steps cleared, she turned left
towards the inner gate. Only a few more feet and…
Her mad dash ended at the sight before
her.
Javad, her eldest brother, stood framed
by a
sculpted archway, his straight dark hair and crimson cloak snapping in
the early autumn breeze. To either side, his twin elflings
stood,
pale faced, staring at the bundle their father held.
Kieren thought she would be sick.
“Elerosse!”
Elemmire ran past her, rushing towards
their
unconscious son. He took the motionless boy into his own arms
and
called his name over and over.
The scene reminded Kieren of another
lifeless child her husband once held.
Numb, she walked toward them, reaching
for her
child. She brushed shaking fingers across his forehead, over
purpling eyelids, then down Elerosse’s chest. The
weak
pulse faintly beat beneath her palm. His gray eyes were
closed in
unelven-like slumber and a stream of drying blood trailed from the
corner of his mouth.
Kieren tried to gage the depth of her
son’s Light, but her hands shook too badly. I cannot…He
isn’t…Oh Gods…
She bowed her head and
took a few deep breaths. Now
is not the time to panic. Elerosse needs me.
“Take him to Raneurin.”
Barely suppressed panic flashed in her
husband’s
gray eyes. He nodded, then turned and hurried as much as he
could
without jostling their son too badly and exacerbating his
injuries. Kieren ran by his side, supporting her
son’s limp
arm as it hung like a broken willow branch.
He looked so small, so still, like Death had
already claimed him.
There was no doubt. Should Elerosse
die, Kieren
would follow. She could not survive losing another one.
The race to the Healing Wing took both
seconds and
hours. Nothing penetrated the haze in her mind save the
coarse
rattle in her son’s chest. She knew that sound; had
heard
it a thousand times during the War, standing among the dead and dying.
No child should ever make that sound.
Elemmire rushed through the heavy oak
doors of the
ward, startling the lone apprentice standing by the potion stocks, and
shouted for the senior healer.
“Raneurin!
Come!”
The healer entered from his study off
the main
ward. Tall and lean, with a perpetual scowl, he broke into a
run
when he saw Elerosse’s near-lifeless form.
“Lay him on that bed
there,” he told
Elemmire before shouting orders to the other healers in the
room.
“Yarnick, I need some tamriel flowers seeped in warm
water.
Then get the bandages from the linen closet. Move!”
Activity swirled around her, but Kieren
took no
notice. Her eyes remained fixed on her little son, and the
tentative rise and fall of his chest.
She felt Elemmire’s hand slide
in hers and
give it a small squeeze. Neither spoke as they watched the
healers work to save their son’s life. Every so
often, the
young novice would glance over at them.
Kieren wanted to yell at him to stop staring and
focus on her son.
“Sires,” Raneurin
said, turning from the
chaos. “Let us do our work.
Please wait out in
the hall and I will come speak with you once I’ve seen to
your
son.”
“Never.”
Kieren shook her head and
glared at the man. “I will not leave him.”
The healer wiped his hands on the
stained apron he
wore. “Your presence is distracting. We
cannot
concentrate properly on the prince with you here.”
Elemmire cupped her elbow.
“Come, Kieren.”
She wrenched her arm away.
“My child is
injured. Where else would I be than at his side?”
Raneurin glared at her. “My
queen, you have
no healing abilities nor knowledge of herblore. The longer
you
argue with me, the likelier it is that the prince might not
survive.”
Her eyes narrowed. The need to nurture
her child,
to protect him, warred with knowing her husband and the healer were
right. She looked at Elemmire and spread her hands, trying to
make him understand. “He needs me.”
He cupped her face and pushed a stray blonde curl
behind
her pointed ear. His gray eyes, identical to their
son’s,
were like stone. “There is nothing we can do for
Rosse
right now. Let the healers do their duty. Now,
come.”
Kieren heard the command in his
voice. She
hated that he could act so calm, so in control, at a moment like
this. She herself couldn’t decide whether to
scream, or
cry, or hit something.
But it was her King, not her Husband, who
spoke. She had no choice but to obey.
She followed Elemmire out of the healing wing and
into
the corridor, the heavy door falling shut behind them. The
sound
echoed down the hallway like the closing of a coffin lid.
Elemmire whispered something to her
brother, who
waited with his sons in the passageway outside the healing wing, but
she couldn’t bring herself to care. The initial
shock began
to ebb, leaving questions swirling in her mind. She had to
know;
had to find something to replace her fear.
“Javad, what happened to
him?” she said, voice cracking only a little.
“Aiya found me in the
courtyard,” her
brother said, voice soft. “He said Elerosse fell
out of the
large iles tree at the far side of the garden.”
She narrowed her eyes. That
couldn’t be right.
“Pardon?”
Javad put his arms around the
twins’
shoulders. “My boys said he slipped when trying to
follow
them into the higher boughs.”
But, Elerosse has enough elvish blood that the tree would have
responded and caught him if he fell.
She studied the
twins. Aiya
pulled on his warrior’s braid, eyes darting back and forth
towards the door leading to the healing wing. Aydin, however,
returned her stare. Anger poured off the young elf like
morning
mist on the Taranis River.
Kieren swallowed the surge of foreboding blooming in her
chest.
“Please nephews. Tell me what happened to
Elerosse.
What did you see?”
Aiya, always the more reserved of the twins,
released his
braid and started lacing his fingers together. He bowed his
head,
hiding his face behind a curtain of straight black hair.
“Wewereplayinginthetreeandtoldhimhewasa…”
“Aiya, hush,” Javad said,
glaring at his
son. “Ignore him, little sister. He knows
not what he
says.”
The way the boy flinched when his father turned
towards
him made Kieren think the opposite was true; Aiya knew more than
he’d said.
Elemmire waved his hand.
“Javad, let the boy speak.”
Her brother nodded, but did not look
pleased. He looked almost…frightened?
The elfling took a deep breath and lifted his
head.
“Rosse wanted to play in the tree with us, but we told him he
was
too little.”
“That’s right,”
Aydin added, nodding. “He climbed the tree on his
own.”
Kieren saw the lie in her nephew’s
eyes. She
stepped forward, casting the boys in her shadow, and waited to hear
what they would say next.
She did not miss the look Aiya shared with his
brother. “We were playing Archers up in the tree,
and Rosse
wanted to join. We told him to go away, but he started to
climb
anyway. And…and then we…”
She clenched her fists.
“Yes?”
Aiya stepped backwards until he collided with the
wall. He shook his head, dark hair flying back and
forth.
“W…we shook the branch, trying to get him to stop
following us around everywhere. But we didn’t think
he’d get hurt. We didn’t want
that.”
There was something they weren’t
telling her, she
was sure of it. Anger slowly replaced her earlier
fear.
“Why would you do such a thing?”
“Kieren…”
Elemmire reached for her, but she pushed him
away.
She didn’t want his comfort. Not now.
“No. I want to hear what they have to
say.”
“Watch your tone, little
sister,” Javad said. He stepped between her and his
sons.
“We didn’t mean
to,” Aiya whispered,
looking away. He wrapped his arms around his torso and rocked
back and forth.
She found it hard to feel sympathetic.
If what he said was true…
“What do you have to say about this,
Aydin?” Kieren was glad her husband asked the
question; she
didn’t think she could speak just yet. Not without
losing
control.
Aydin wore his defiance like a banner; head
tilted as if
he were proud about Elerosse’s injuries.
“Rosse
isn’t even a full elf. He’s a blood
traitor and a morretain,”
he spat. “He got what he deserved.”
Kieren’s body tensed. Her
nephew was not the
first to say such harsh things to her since Elerosse’s birth,
but
was certainly the youngest. “Where did you learn
that
filthy word?”
The elfling crossed his arms. “Real
elves told me all about humans. How they used to kill our
kind
just for sport. They say you shamed yourself by marrying one
and
having his half-breed.”
Kieren pushed past Javad and grabbed the
boy’s
shoulders. She shook him, hard. Her fingernails dug
into
his skin and he winced. “Because of an idiotic
blood
prejudice, you would kill my child? Your future
king?”
“Stop it! You’re
hurting me!”
“Release my son,” Javad
warned.
She ignored him. “Is that
your excuse for
hurting my son? Speak, or so help me I will feed you to a
grigor
beast!”
Aiya pulled on her arm, trying to free his
twin. “Let him go!”
Javad pulled his son from her grasp and pushed
him towards his brother. His clenched fists were white.
Elemmire stepped between them.
“Javad, perhaps this conversation is not suitable for
elflings.”
He looked as if he wanted to argue, but finally
said,
“Boys, go to your chambers. I shall speak with you
later.”
Aydin cast a final, hateful sneer over his
shoulder
before following Aiya down the corridor. Kieren wanted to run
after them; wanted them to feel like she did. Angry, and
hurt,
and terrified she’d never see her child alive
again.
And
it’s their fault. How did it come to this, that
elves would turn against their own?
Javad stepped toward her, wearing that same smug,
self-important expression she had hated since childhood.
“I
understand the need to blame someone, little sister. But it
will
not help to get angry at mere elflings because of your son’s
unfortunate accident.”
She stabbed her finger into the center of his
chest. “Do not patronize me. Your sons
tried to kill
Elerosse.”
“Children get hurt during play,
Kieren…”
“Do not dismiss
me.” Her hands
shook. “Elerosse may be dying because of what your
elflings
did to him.”
“And what do you intend I do about
it?” Javad
asked, crossing his arms. “Nothing can change what
happened.”
“Calm yourself, Kieren,”
Elemmire said,
rubbing his hands over her arms. “This will not
help
Elerosse.”
Her whole body trembled, overwhelmed with
emotions too
powerful to tame. “Do you not understand,
Javad? Your
sons attempted murder. They tried to kill the Crown Prince of
Cuhulaiin. My son.”
He scowled. “My boys are not
murderers.”
“They deserve to be punished for what
they did.”
“How can you punish a child for a crime
he cannot possibly understand?”
She pointed in the direction the twins
fled.
“Understand what? They almost killed my
child!”
“You invited this trouble,
Kieren. Not I.”
She laughed, cold and mirthless.
“Tell me, big
brother, how is this my fault?”
“Leave it, Kieren,” he
growled.
“No. Tell me,
Javad. What crime did I
commit, what wrong did I do, to deserve losing my child?”
“It’s what you deserve for
marrying a human!”
Kieren felt like she’d been punched in
the
stomach. She couldn’t breathe; couldn’t
think.
Raw anger filled her, hot and violent as molten steel.
How
could he think…why did he say…
Javad raised his hands.
“Kieren, Elemmire, I
apologize. I did not mean that the way it sounded.”
She struck him, hard, leaving a red welt on his
cheek. “Go to hell and keep the Dark One
company.”
Elemmire grabbed her forearm and pulled her
back.
Kieren struggled against him, but he was stronger. She hissed
like a caged cat, growling low in her throat.
“Sister, please, just
listen…”
“Hear me now, Javad
Myrddion,” she snarled,
no tears or regrets in her voice. Just cold
sincerity.
“From this moment on, we are enemies. If you or
your sons
come near me or my family again, you will regret it.”
Javad stepped closer, his chest inflating like an
owl
defending its roost. “No one threatens my family,
little
sister. Least of all you…”
The door to the healing wing suddenly opened
behind them,
preventing Kieren from striking her brother again. Raneurin
stepped into the hallway and folded his hands.
The look upon the healer’s face made
Kieren fear the worst.
Oh
Morraugh, no.
Chapter 3
The sight would haunt Kieren’s
nightmares the rest
of her days. She stood, caught like prey in an
archer’s
path, forced to watch two of the young healers restrain an unconscious
Elerosse as his body stiffened, then started to convulse. His
hands and head jerked violently. The healers tried to hold
him,
but her son’s movements were too frantic; too uncontrolled.
Elerosse thrashed, tangled within the sheets of the smallest bed in the
ward, and grunted like a wild beast.
Raneurin cursed and ran towards the
bed. An
apprentice thrust a ceramic cup into his hands. The lead
healer
pushed on Elerosse’s jaw, prying his mouth open, then forced
a
green paste down her son’s throat with his finger.
Several tense minutes passed while her elfling
still
suffered. When the fit finally passed, Elerosse collapsed on
the
bed, limp as a broken leaf.
Kieren did not know which was
worse—watching her
son writhe in pain, or seeing him lie as still as a corpse.
She tore her eyes away from her too-pale son to
look at
Elemmire. His gray eyes reflected the same grief; the same
fear. He wrapped his arms around her and addressed the healer
without looking at him. “Raneurin, tell us
everything.”
The healer straightened his red robes before
speaking. “The prince’s injuries are
severe. Beyond
broken bones, there is also internal bleeding. The head wound
he
sustained worries me the most. It explains the seizure you
saw
when you entered the room.”
“What does all that mean,
Raneurin? What will
happen to him now?” Kieren whispered, holding her breath.
Face pale and lined, the healer turned away.
Kieren had her answer.
Only Elemmire’s strength kept her
standing.
She had to remind herself to breathe. The thought of never
hearing her son’s laughter again nearly made her retch.
Rhegin, Elemmire’s chief advisor and
their
son’s tutor, asked the question she could not
voice.
“How long does the prince have?”
“I cannot be sure. A
day. Maybe two.”
Two
days? No! That’s not enough time.
She felt dizzy; confused. There must be something we can do. I
can’t lose him. I couldn’t survive that
again.
“Is there anything else you can do for
him?” Elemmire asked, voice gruff.
The healer’s voice
trembled—something that
Kieren never thought she’d hear from the stoic man.
“I have given him herbs to keep him unconscious and repel the
pain. But other than that, there is little that can be
done.”
“Then could you all give us a few
moments alone with Elerosse, please?”
The other humans in the room nodded their heads
and left
the small room, shutting the heavy oak door behind them, leaving
Elemmire and Kieren alone with their dying son.
He bowed his head against her shoulder.
Elemmire
whispered her name as she ran her hands through her husband’s
dark, unruly hair. His body shook, though he tried to hide
it.
Kieren could think of nothing to say. All she could do was
run
her hand across Elemmire’s back in small soothing circles,
just
as she would to console their son whenever nightmares plagued his
sleep.
After several silent moments, she stepped away
from her
husband and looked around the room, counting the beds lining each
wall. The air smelled of blood and herbs, a scent that
triggered
many memories she did not wish to revisit. She had been a
patient
in these healing halls many times over the years, but never once
imagined being here now, healthy and whole, while her son lay dying.
Elemmire sat next to the small bed like a
sentinel on
guard against the demons of the night. Elerosse’s
face was
so pale, colored only by the red, swollen wound on his forehead and the
purple bruises marring his skin. His chest rose and
fell
with every hard-earned breath, each rattling the small body as it
wheezed through his injured body.
His eyes are closed. Elves never close their eyes
in slumber. Only the dead…
Kieren swallowed a sob.
But
he’s only half-elven. Half-immortal. Half able to heal
himself.
Half
is not enough to save him, is it?
Kieren’s eyes never strayed from the
boy’s
face, as though her son might simply disappear if not locked in her
gaze. She moved to him and lifted one of his limp hands,
wishing
she could channel her own life force into Elerosse, letting him
survive.
He’s
so small. Still a baby, really.
A voice in her mind whispered about all the
things he
would never do; the things they would never do together.
Elerosse
would never fire a bow again, or learn elfcraft, or sword
train.
He’d never see another sunrise or sunset, nor claim the
throne of
his people.
I’ll forget his face; forget the sound of his
laughter.
She couldn’t stay there any
longer. Kieren
ran, desperate to escape. Elemmire called after her, but she
did
not, could not, stop or turn around. Flying past the guards
stationed at the portcullis, she burst outside. The chilly
autumn
air burned her lungs. Golden hair whipped her face, catching
tears in its wake. She ran blindly, ignoring everything
around
her, tearing through her garden and into the woods beyond where she
finally lurched in a thick copse of trees, the only true sanctuary for
a wood elf like herself.
Nature Called to Kieren. The songs of
life, and
knells of death, surrounded her; overwhelming in their
normality.
Crickets chimed a melody as familiar as the stars themselves, leading
the forest choir in tales of old. The ancient trees
whispered,
trying to ease her pain. But nothing could. Nothing
on
earth could make this right.
She lifted her face, wet with tears.
The last she
remembered, before her world went to hell, was a beautiful sunlit day,
pregnant with the sounds of laughing children. Now, night
covered
the land—cold, overwhelming, empty, full of
hopelessness.
It made Kieren want to scream.
“Why? He’s only a
child!” The
fathomless night swallowed her screams, full of endless sadness and
longing. “Damn you, why give him to me just to take
his
life a few years later?”
She fell to her knees and dropped her head to the
ground. “Please,” she whispered, praying
to forces
beyond her reach. “I’ll do whatever you ask, but
please
save my son.”
Suddenly, the forest grew silent. The
air cracked
and something foreign and powerful invaded the canopied
glade. A
storm approached, quick and violent, moving faster than any Kieren had
ever seen before. Lightning split the sky.
Thunder crashed, shaking the ground.
Expectation hung in the breeze.
She couldn’t breathe; didn’t
dare move. Fear held her frozen.
Leaves blew by in a whirlwind. An
airborne stone
sliced her cheek and drew blood. She tried to protect her
face
and arms, but the debris continued its relentless assault.
Just above clearing, a blue fire erupted in the
sky,
churning like the sea after a storm. It grew, the blaze
consuming
the trees and grass. She stared in horror as the fire
destroyed
her beloved glen, its cobalt flame devouring everything it touched as
it crept closer. Kieren tried to run, but a song she had not heard
since childhood echoed in the flames, fixing her to the ground.
There, amidst the ancient wisdom of the
trees,
Kieren felt something within her blow away like dust on the wind.
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