Author's Note: In our last chapter, our main three found themselves lost in the Finmork Forest, a place filled with dangers and threats that used to belong to the fae. After spending a day there, they were attacked by a Nightcrawler and escaped only through Iridea's wit. Hawthorne caught sight of a familiar cart and led the group to it where he reunited with his friend: Ms. Mais.
19.1
Stellina
“I don’t see why we keep him here. He’s fucking useless,” Iridea curses as I wrap her split arm with cloth from the hem of my skirt. Insulting him seems to distract her from the sweltering gash across her arm. She barks another affront when the cart jumps and my thumb jabs at her bleeding wound.
“We would not be on cart if it were not for him,” I respond tranquilly as my thumb smooths over the cloth to rid it from wrinkles. Although being referred to as the Star Elf did not rub me the right way, I do think Hawthorne is a good and valuable person. He has skills Iridea and I do not have, as well as connections. However, I have an inkling that he does not want to be here. I tore him from his family, something I would not wish to do to anyone, especially when I would give anything to be with my own. Now, he has no choice but to see this through.
“I wouldn’t have this slash on my arm if it weren’t for him,” Iridea hisses, her eyes narrowed. I tie a knot in the cloth and declare it finished. The bandage is by no means an exceptional job of first aid. All my knowledge of the healing craft is owed to the basic skills Rixa taught me.
“You would not have slash if you had not given him sword,” I retort.
“Touché.”
I lean back against the rough, beige fabric that contains a mound of lumpy objects. Whatever rumbles inside is not comfortable by any means. Clacking, hard objects dig into my back but their support is better than none. I attempt to tune out their jagged edges as I gaze out. This path allows a glimpse of the night sky in all its dimmed grandeur. The waning moons outshine all other light and leave only enough room for the brightest of stars and their sister orb.
“What magic are you?” I ask as I look upon the wavering night. Iridea’s magic had terrified me earlier. Even recollecting it sends shivers down my spine. After all, its appearance is eerily similar to that which destroyed my home. I can not help but make the connection whenever she conjures it. But if she is a necromancer, like this Hyxver, why would she be determined to fight against him?
Iridea lets out a preparative sigh and kneads her fingers into the fabric of her skirt. Her wings pull around her body as if they wish to create a gilded cage.
“I’m not a necromancer, if that’s what you’re wondering,” she begins, “I never wanted the magic I have. I still don’t want it. It was given, forced, on me by the monster you search for. He gave me the scars on my back.” She turns slightly so I can see the webs of scars that shatter the soft skin of her back.
I reel from this information. Magic was given to us by the Gods. It can not be acquired or learned by unholy beings. That is why necromancers are such a threat. They steal magic; be it from Zyrona or magical creatures themselves. But to think they have resorted to building their abominable magic in children appalls me.
“When did that happen?” I tentatively ask, my eyes wide. I know I live in a world with evil but surely not an evil as great as this?
“I don’t remember when it started, but it ended when I was six. I don’t recall a time when I wasn’t in a lab before then but, then again, I don’t remember much of the lab itself.” She brings her knees into her chest and wraps her arms around them. “Anyway, Amara suffered the most, she remembers terrifying details that have been erased from my memory completely.
“Hyxver doesn’t only pillage towns and taunt the planet, he rips kids apart. He opens them up to see what’s inside so he can stitch them into a perfect, obedient, disastrous army. I know it's still happening and I want to stop it. I want to stop him,” she spits. Her eyes shine with fire.
“We will,” I promise, without being certain of who I vow that to; her, myself, or the extinguished stars in our ancient midnight sky, “He will hurt no one again.”
***
As the sky turns from dark blue to a bruised purple, the woods that surround us funnel into a valley. Ginormous, tawny mountains rise on either side like protectors of this hidden space. The path our cart clatters upon trails a rushing river that bounces over rocks and plays with the fish within. Before us is still obscured by looming trees but, as we rattle onwards, their trunks shorten and their leaves look less like deadly needles and more and more so like light feathers.
The sun hides behind the trees, it teases its arrival with streams of orange beams filtering through the leaves and pink wisps mixing with the lightening sky. With every minute, the dim cloak that enshrouds the forest lifts slightly and it becomes easier to keep my eyes from falling closed, a challenge Iridea failed hours ago. Her wings wrap around her body like a colourful blanket and her small form manages to fit snuggly into the corner of the plank of wood we sit on. Every so often, her head swings onto my arm and her mouth drops open to utter a soft snore. Observing someone who is furiously and abundantly alive when conscious but vulnerable and quiet when asleep feels uncomfortably intrusive. I keep my body as still as possible and fix my eyes ahead, only moving to shield her from falling when we run over a bump in the road. Even so, I can tell she is a light sleeper as, with every irregular bounce, she stirs and mumbles something indistinct before she balls back into an uneasy rest.
Before we were made the subject of the NightCrawler’s dinner, the three of us agreed to make The Castle of the Four our first destination. Iridea did not seem particularly thrilled at this option even though she suggested it and that was the only part of the conversation where Hawthorne piped up, suddenly, and with much enthusiasm. The Castle of the Four did not exist in my time, Iridea informed me it was created a few years after the annihilation of my people when the Light Elves left. The Light Elves’ abdication was something I had not been aware of and was initially shocked by. Now, I realise that the move makes perfect sense for Queen Ignis, the ruler of the Light Elves at the time, who was filled with love only for herself; why should she risk her safety to help beings lesser than herself? No one knows where they are, or if they still exist.
Iridea studiously informed me that there was a surging land and power grab between humans from the north, dwarves from the south, and elves from all over. But when Hyxver began increasing his Xeoserp attacks and lining up armies filled with abysmal creations, the elves, humans, and dwarves forgave their differences and agreed to share the land if they each fought to protect it. Somehow, though they were not involved, the Eastern Shadow Elves have a say in the politics of this monument and treaty. Their addition of halflings to the unity solidified the name: The Castle of the Four. It appears to be effective so far as Myan and the Scholk remain uncorrupted by Hyxver’s necrotic force but Iridea believes that, with the new King, Hyxver will flood into Myan any day now. My only hope is to arrange a counsel with the King to prevent this from happening. If not, the three of us will have to think of something else, quickly.
My eyes catch on the glistening river filled with sparkles like tiny, ever-dancing stars and bring me out of the future and the eventful past. The first morning song chimes in the air as birds awaken. The path curves away from the river around a grove of trees, Ms. Mais halts the cart on the edge. Iridea lifts her head, her eyes wearily blink open. I gladly jump out of my seat to finally move my stiff body.
“You two alright back there?” Ms. Mais asks as she hops off the cart. Her height immediately surprises me. From her seat up high, she looks like an average human, but she is, in fact, a dwarf. In the new light, I can see speckles of bristly hair dotting her cheeks and chin. Forgetting her question, Iridea speaks for me,
“Why have we stopped?” She leans over to peer around the side of the cart. Ms. Mais chuckles,
“Unless one of ye can steer a cart, we’re taking a wee break. I’ll look around for a bite to eat. While you’re waiting, I’ve a roll of cheese and some bread. But you better get to it before Hawthorne polishes it clean,” she finishes with a wink. Iridea’s eyes flare and she leaps to the front of the vehicle with a swoop of her wings. I stop Ms. Mais before she can vanish into the forest.
“Wait! Allow me,” I exclaim, eager at the prospect of foraging and exploring nature for the first time on my own. “I will collect food. You rest.”
A smile breaks across Ms. Mais’ face to reveal a gap between her front teeth. Wrinkles form around her eyes as she grins.
“Guder Madjun! You’re a dear, thank you.” She pats my arm. In an instant, her expression turns serious and she looks up at me from behind her eyebrows, “Now, be safe out there, will ya’?” I nod, suddenly reminded of Elix’s fierce protectiveness. “Good girl. Come right back once ya get something to eat.” She strides off to her horse, leaving me feeling much younger than I am, like I am back in the arms of my father. I swivel around before more thoughts can creep up on me.
Within the first minute of exploring, I come across a bushel of raspberries escaping from a knotted bush. Expertly, I pick them from their thorny stem and lift my skirt to create a makeshift basket.
Along the bubbling river bank, I find Coltsfort and an abundance of daisies to add to my stash. I skip from place to place, free, without a car for the mud that coats my calves, the scrapes on my smooth palms, or the water that splashes my knees. Rixa diligently taught me each edible, local plant and as I pull them free, I call their name into the sky. With each enthusiastic addition to my basket, I shout a beaming prayer to the gods above. Never have I been so free. Never have I been so far from the city walls. Never have my parents-
My eye lands on a singular magenta flower, lonesome in a beam of light. A rosea caelestus. The last flower Rixa gave me.
I stumble backward as if shoved by Xada once more. My collection falls to the ground in a spatter of colours. My knees meet the floor.
Memories swarm at me like phantom enemies, drowning my senses, pushing me back into the past. A breath of whistling wind whirs through the air beside me. I duck my head. My mother’s vacant heart. I stare through it. My pulse roars. My body convulses with uncontrollable shaking. Two moons stare at me. A wall of shadow. My teeth knock against each other, crumbling buildings of stone and white wood. Blood slicks my face, though it could easily be tears.
I wade through the storm, what was it Rixa taught me? Deep breaths. Five things I can see. Hear. Feel. The next barrage is not memories, but thoughts. How could I think those things? My parents loved me, they wanted only to protect me. And now they are gone and I am still alive and I forsake their name? How could I? I do not deserve to be here when my ancestors valiantly fought for my protection when I did nothing. When I was weak, too emotional, useless. Why did my mom save me and not herself?
But I know why. It is the same reason my parents kept me from the outside world. The same reason they asked me to perform with them at the festival: they loved me too much to see a world without me. And I repay them with reluctance and scorn. My duty is to avenge them and free those who lived on after us. I cannot do that on the floor of a forest. I breathe deeply, press my hands into the fallen prickly leaves, and wait for the thoughts to subside back into a murmur before I drag myself up.
I dully gather my soiled plants and avert my gaze from the bloom that started this violent fit. A tossle of noise whirls through the forest in a tumble of snapping branches and rustling bushes as a blur of orange and red breaks through the forestry in front of me. The blur, Iridea, comes to a firm stop and grasps my arm. A haze, soft as fog, lays over my thoughts and it becomes extremely difficult to register anything the fretting fae says or does as she leads me back the way I came. A buzzing static, like a breath of breeze, rushes through my brain and blocks out any sound. Two other figures bumble at the corners of my consciousness, but they do not disturb me. They let me rest on worn wood, close my eyes, and fall into a dreamless sleep to rid myself of the absence of feeling and the distant murmur of a thousand lives dependent on me to save them.
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