A Curse of Blood and Power: A Chronicle of Fanhalen

by Viviene Noel

  As he remained quiet for longer than necessary, Emmerentia understood there was more to it. He had his secrets, they both did. But this, she could feel it. And it was the one thing she knew was not her topic to bring up. They were not children anymore, they hadn’t been for a long time. They were bound to split paths again eventually, although she profoundly wished it never happened. They had a right to their own choices, regardless of the wishes of the other.

  ‘I am asking you again, do you wish to stay and fight?’

  ‘I am offended you think I would even consider breaking my promise to you.’ So dramatic, her brother. So loyal and fervent. ‘But we are getting some answers first.’

  B

  Mahena crossed her arms as she stood in the tent again, Emmerentia having just informed her that they were going to split and take another route. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it is something we have to take care of, and it does not concern you.’ The tone was colder than necessary.

  Mahena sneered, ‘Do you think me an idiot?’ She tapped her fingers on the table behind her, calming her racing heartbeat. Don’t overthink. ‘How can you have something to do here, in this mess, that has nothing to do with me? Please explain.’

  Emmerentia batted her eyelashes. ‘Are you going to miss me?’

  ‘On second thought, maybe some time away from you will do my sanity some good.’

  Emmerentia bared her teeth. Mahena did the same. And on that note, they packed their bags.

  The men waited outside with two saddled horses she did not recognise. Fàaran was securing his travel bag on Farak’s saddle as they walked up to them. Darios waited, arms crossed on his chest, face unreadable.

  In the two days and nights they had squatted at the camp, she must have shared a whole of ten words with the Flatlander. As they approached, the man gestured to the animals. ‘A present for your voyage. They are battle and long distance bred. Shòra and Farsè. Their owners died recently, may they serve you well.’ As though they understood the Flatlander’s words, they neighed in answer.

  Mahena looked over her new mount, a slight twist in her heart at the thought of never seeing the horse that had accompanied her since she had found herself in this land. This horse’s caramel coat shone despite the sun’s absence, her blue eyes scanning Mahena in turn. It almost seemed like she was weighing whether she should accept her new rider.

  The Dartassi were horsemen—the best breed came from the Flatlands, although she didn’t remember the name—so maybe the horses themselves were more...aware. Her gaze crossed to Farak, Fàaran’s own mount, his dark brown coat of a similar shine now carelessly staring at her new mare. A smile stretched her lips.

  ‘Mahena,’ Emmerentia called, snapping her attention back to the humans around her. A very young woman appeared from behind the tent, dressed in fighting leathers, with a quiver and bow slung across her back that seemed twice her weight.

  How old was she? Seriously, a child was to babysit her now?

  Mahena reined in a sneer. This day was just a ball of bullshit.

  Darios gestured between the two women. ‘Mahena, this is Ayslinn. She will take you via another route. We shall meet at the tunnels by nightfall.’

  And that was that. Mahena mouthed a demand for further explanation that Emmerentia majestically ignored. Each of them mounted, Mahena asking Farsè’s permission to get on her back. The animal lowered her head in a welcoming gesture.

  Darios’ voice laughed behind her. ‘It seems she won’t be kicking you off her back.’

  Mahena turned around as she adjusted her saddle.

  ‘You’re lucky,’ Darios winked at her, then brought his attention back to the twins. ‘Let’s go.’

  They launched into a gallop through an expanse of lush greenery.

  What a strange character, she thought as she tightened the leads in her right hand, willing all her frustration to bottle down and stay down. She watched them ride through the field and disappear into the forest on the horizon. What were they going to do?

  Someone cleared their throat to her right.

  Shit, she’d almost forgotten her guide—her oh so young guide. Wasn’t babysitting working the other way around?

  Ayslinn clicked her tongue, drawing Mahena’s attention back to her, her face a mask of calm indifference. ‘We are going this way.’

  She pointed to the field behind them. Her voice was so empty of emotions that Mahena couldn’t prevent herself from sighing a little too loud as they launched the horses into a trot.

  Great, another enthusiastic companion.

  34

  Mahena would have bet her hand she’d be sulking atop her horse for how dismissive the twins had been—again. Yet, they had barely departed the camp before she was sucked in by the tiny woman escorting her, a bow thrown over her shoulder like it weighed nothing, although it looked as though it was about to swallow her whole.

  There was an ethereal feel about the rider—dimmed, dulled, but there, fighting to keep afloat. The pendant had warmed, ever so slightly, since she had laid eyes on Ayslinn.

  Fairy. Fairy. Fairy.

  It brushed against the back of her head, the back of her mind. And if she waved it off—

  Weakened. Weakened. Weakened.

  Pushing forward, insisting on that specific word—suggesting something to steal, something to take.

  ‘Shut up, you arrogant asshole.’

  Everytime, she swore at the little voice laughing joyfully.

  The woman of her dream flashed before her eyes, her face coming back in flashes, and she pondered the dream over during the first half of the ride. She willed the images and sensations back to her mind; that thing in her chest twisted. She had been out of the world beautiful, as though the gore and dirt heightened the perfectness of her. It was clear that she was a warrior and seemed that she was the commander of whatever unit had been responsible for the corpses lying in the valley. It was love and hate and passion and admiration and spite spiralling together in her heart, with a twinge of fear of her. The eyes...they had been the colour of blood. The colour of that nation currently sweeping through the world, leaving a trail of carnage in their wake.

  That woman, she understood there and then, was a Shadow.

  But if, for the sake of the argument, it was her in that dream, then she had been to battle. The prospect of killing did not appear as particularly troubling. But she hadn’t witnessed the fighting, the screaming, the pleading—the terror before death’s kiss.

  No, she had only seen the final result—everyone laid dead and silence reigned.

  She couldn’t picture whether it would be an overwhelming shouting or calming haze that would engulf her.

  Mahena cleared her throat as they slowed down to a walk. ‘How is it, the war?’ she asked tentatively. ‘The camp was the first sign of it I witnessed. I have never been to battle.’

  ‘You beheld the camp,’ the fairy retorted, ‘does that not give you indication enough?’

  Mahena ground her teeth at the obnoxious tone. ‘Of course, it does. But it seems like you have been in the thick of it and could maybe share the knowledge so I might prepare myself.’

  Ayslinn considered for a moment. The wind picked up its pace, blowing harder as they left the cover of the trees, whipping her braids back. She said, ‘Your deeper survival instincts take over. Your first fight, your first real fight, buries all the training you could have. You can be the best in your training group, if you freeze once the bones drum and death encircles you, you are good meat for the beasts. Nothing can prepare you for it. You have it inside of you, or you will fall on the first swords and spears.’ She paused for a second, perhaps swallowing a painful memory. ‘Everyone can learn to wield a sword, to raise a shield. No one becomes a warrior. The warrior in your guts, in your soul, comes out. If it isn’t there to begin with, you will crawl and hide until
death’s sweet embrace sweeps you away.’

  In answer, the wind blew louder, and the sun disappeared between the clouds, casting shadows and a grey aura on the plain they now entered.

  Would she crawl for shelter, would she cower before bloodshed?

  No. No. No. No. No.

  And she knew, deep down, that she would not.

  Ayslinn focused on the road ahead, forgetting the woman at her side.

  Mahena felt no need to force conversation again. The warrior’s silence was indication enough she felt no inclination for talking.

  The only time they stopped, it was to rest over the dead of the night. Mahena felt exhaustion grip her to her very bones. She unrolled her bedroll and Ayslinn sat down against the trunk of an enormous tree. The earthen looked at the woman she knew was a fairy, that strange dimmed light even more present in the darkness—the grace, the natural flawlessness of her movement, was still enchanting, almost surreal. She wondered whether fairies on the battlefield looked like deadly ballerinas. Instead of lying down, she crouched next to the young woman—who looked barely over sixteen—pointedly ignored her inquisitive stare. Her pendant warmed against her chest at the proximity.

  Mahena asked after a second, ‘Will you tell me a tale about your people?’ She lived for stories after all, and she might give her something the twins didn’t know.

  At Ayslinn’s raised brows, she quickly added, ‘As you probably noticed, I have never met a fairy before.’ She shrugged after taking a sip from her waterskin. ‘And giving the confusing reports we hear about your people, I would rather hear it from the source.’

  The tiny woman looked her over with a frankness that had her stirring—as though she could see right through to the core of her soul, of her heart, of her hidden truths. But then she said, ‘What would you like to know?’

  Well, that was easy. Mahena schooled her features to hide her surprise. She had been ready to plead her case. ‘Is there a historical fact that has been in a way tampered with, that the fairies hold the truth of?’

  ‘We do not share our secrets.’ Ayslinn said dryly—then angled her head and smiled at Mahena's crumpling expression. ‘How about a historical fact that does not concern my people. Would you like to know something of the like?’

  Mahena nodded.

  ‘How about the supposed fall of Elgona?’

  The little voice hissed, snarled, growled.

  Mahena dug her nails into her palms, freezing her reaction. She willed her voice to be casual. ‘It was a long time ago, wasn’t it? They were all massacred, and the land died with them after the castle was sacked.’

  Ayslinn straightened up, looking over to her horse, then back to Mahena. ‘Something like that. As you said, tales are a mere mirror of the truth. They are shaped to instigate fear or spread awe, not to display facts.’

  ‘So what are the facts?’ Mahena smiled, wanting to show that she was interested.

  ‘Well, there are talks amongst my people that the last King and Queen, to protect their legacy against the Shadows, opened the last portal and disappeared.’

  Mahena angled her head. ‘That seems cowardly.’ She sucked on a tooth. ‘So, you are saying that the heir to that kingdom lives on in another realm?’

  The fairy nodded. ‘My people believe it so.’

  Mahena tugged on the string, ‘Do they think he or she will ever set foot on this territory again?’

  Ayslinn looked her up and down, making Mahena wonder what manner of glamour the fairy possessed. Her eyes seemed to see through everything. ‘I have been away from my kingdom for a long while now, however the last time I visited our seers, they professed as much.’ She pulled a few pieces of meat out of her bag, extending a couple to Mahena.

  Mahena sniffed it out of habit.

  ‘If I intended on killing you,’ Ayslinn said in response, ‘it would not be with poison.’

  Mahena laughed. ‘I wanted to know what animal, not what plant.’

  Ayslinn hummed as she chewed on her bit of salted pork. She said, ‘You should rest, you will need it.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘My resistance to fatigue is far superior. Get some sleep, whilst you still can.’

  Mahena didn’t protest, even if a part of her stomach churned at the underlying meaning. Exhaustion gnawed at her, her limbs aching from all the riding. She crossed her hands behind her head and closed her eyes.

  Sleep claimed her soon after.

  35

  Emmerentia remained quiet for most of the journey to the old Rockery, not entirely certain how to assess the situation, or whether to entrust the captain with more truth than necessary. Fàaran yearned to, she could feel it in her bones. He missed male companionship, and meeting with his old friend only served to stir a wound not yet stitched up.

  The twin noticed the way her brother had longingly stared at the camp, at the wounded and the battle cries, at orders being shouted from side to side.

  He loathed himself for remaining safe whilst others suffered in battle, whilst others died pointlessly in horrendous ways. She suspected his acceptance of this journey, of the earthen now travelling with a fae warrior on the other side of the woods, a mere filling of that crack in his soul. That he secretly hoped it would bring them in a dire situation, where he might be able to help, to serve.

  Especially now that she had offered him to stay, to fight.

  Fàaran would have been the perfect head to their house, if only she had reined in her pain and rage, kept him away from it.

  But he had dived in to protect her, to defend her as he had always felt obligated to. And it had forced him into exile with her.

  Seeing him discussing the war, planning and plotting again, it brought a smile to her lips as much as it made her heart scream.

  Would she ever be able to give him his life back, to erase her mistakes? Would he ever be pardoned for aiding her? And although there were many other kingdoms, or continents even, they could explore and establish new lives, would there ever come a day they would not look over their shoulders anymore? At the thought of the ruler who had put their heads up for reward, she knew he would chase her to the end of the earth for what she had done. She had spent enough time at his court to know the type of man he truly was, the extent of his anger and cruelty.

  Emmerentia clutched the reins in her hands until her knuckles blanched. She didn’t really care about herself; she would choose hanging over begging for forgiveness, but Fàaran hadn’t made that choice. She’d bestowed it upon him that day she’d barged into his quarters, possessed with rage, despair coating her every word, and had taken it upon herself to do the one thing she knew would cost them everything.

  Emmerentia willed herself to focus on the two riders ahead of her. The road was peppered with people on the way to the camp, carrying weapons, cooking utensils, supplies. They rode by two wagons transporting heavy charges. Children ran wild, climbing trees for fruits or picking vegetables, herbs, tracking animals.

  This was the limit, the twin realised, between war and normality. The thin line that will soon exist no more should nothing change, should they receive no help, should the queen decide to launch a real offensive. At this stage, she was merely toying with them. Once that realisation hit, after hearing about the darkness that had already descended upon half the continent, it truly terrified her.

  Emmerentia had never witnessed a war camp. She wasn’t a soldier, and her training had been entirely different. Yet, the thread that pulled at her in face of the extremism of the situation was one of longing. Longing for belonging to a group, belonging to a cause, for wielding her blades day after day. No disgust, no pity, no pain for the children and women.

  She didn’t know what kind of person it made her.

  The twin had never heard of The Rockery, hadn’t the faintest inkling on what it was, or who it was; if they were looking for i
nformation, a specific object to protect them, weapons, bargaining chips. As resourceful and connected as her brother turned out to be, he kept his cards close to his chest, even from her.

  Emmerentia picked a spot on the horizon ahead, forgetting the weather and the enchanting surroundings, forgetting she should be running in the opposite direction to fight amongst the Flatlanders.

  She should appreciate it, should smell, and watch as much as she could the last parcel of land unplagued by the atrocities of war, take in as much of the beauty displayed before her whilst she still had the chance.

  Darios and Fàaran launched into a gallop along the riverbank, one of the arms of the Dasil accompanying them. If she’d shut out her thoughts, she might have heard the beautiful song of the water running past the small pebbles on the bottom of the river, or the wind whispering the stories it carried on its wings.

  There had been moments, more and more of them, where she felt the cage of her shattered heart opening slightly, mending the pieces slowly, whilst in the presence of the earthen. Emmerentia never imagined she could lack, or even miss, female companionship. The pampered and whiny girls she had known growing up made her skin itch quickly, and she often found herself with nothing to discuss, nothing to share with them. That one...the number of similarities she noticed in their temperament and thought processes made her smile more frequently than she cared to admit.

  It surprised her more and more at how comfortable she felt in Mahena’s presence, at that tug that constantly tickled her guts. The woman was changing by the day—small, barely noticeable modification of her appearance and her words. Yet it was there, and it was her eyes as much as that thread that pointed it out. She was witnessing a flower bloom, the stem timidly coming out of the earth and growing its core, its thorns, its petals, and opening up. There was little left of the scared thing they had found in the woods.

  Letting her train with others had been a mistake. Letting her train with mediocre fighters had been an error. Emmerentia should have known better by now, but she also needed reaffirmation that it was too early. The eyes that had stared at her when she realised her kill had been taken away, the shadows of rage and betrayal that had danced there—it had hit her fair and square in the guts. The state in which she had come back, the time of night she’d come back at, Emmerentia had then understood how truly similar they were. It made her smile and pity her in turns, for she knew how difficult it was to accept the darkness of those emotions, the means of how to deal with them, and how delightful the outlet was.