by Sam Ledel
Aurelia’s mind festered with the final moments of her brother’s life: the excruciating screams, the clenching agony in every bone in his body as he fell, clamoring, into the Otherworld. The contrast was staggering now, looking at his closed eyelids and still frame. As the candles threw shadows across his pale skin, Aurelia grew furious.
“It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
“Death rarely comes to us in the manner that we expect.”
Startled, Aurelia turned to find her mother standing over her right shoulder. She wore her long hair down, the top half pinned back behind her ears. The skin around her eyes was puffy, and her chapped lips down-turned as she pulled the edges of a gray cloak tighter around her.
Leaning back, Aurelia said, “I feel as if I’m in a dream.” Then she shook her head. “No. A nightmare sent to me from the darkest of fae.”
Her mother stood beside the wooden arm of Aurelia’s chair. She reached out and brushed a hand through Aurelia’s hair. “You should rest, sweetheart. The games begin at dawn tomorrow.”
“Has it already been two days?”
Aurelia caught a flicker of disbelief in her mother’s eyes when she responded. “Yes. We must reopen the doors. The kingdom will spend the next four days honoring him. You know it is our duty to be present for the events.”
They were quiet. Through a doorway across the room, the same trio of musicians entered. The men bowed nervously at the sight of their queen, then placed their offerings of gold coins next to the prince before scurrying away.
Aurelia mustered all of the bitterness she could before saying, “I don’t understand these silly traditions. Why can’t we let Brennus rest peacefully until the seventh day? Does the kingdom actually expect us to partake in such a celebration?” She slouched, her chin landing in her hand. “My brother is dead. There is nothing to celebrate about that.”
At this, her mother knelt. Her eyes rested on her son, and she placed a kiss on his forehead.
“I understand your anger. The gods have seen fit to bestow upon me the darkest of dreams these last two nights. I fear they can see the guilt in my heart.”
Aurelia frowned. “Guilt? Mother, this was not your fault.”
“If I had not given in to your brother’s whims so easily—”
Aurelia cut her off. “Brennus lived out a long-held dream. He adored leaving castle grounds.”
Her mother nodded. “He did.” She ran a finger through his hair, then turned to Aurelia. “Trust me, then, when I say that I know it is difficult to see through to the other side of such a dark time.” She took a breath as if steeling herself to continue speaking. “You are not alone in this. Your father and I lost a son. Your dear, sweet brother. The kingdom is without its first heir. You are right, Aurelia: there is no good in losing him. But we can choose to remember the joy wrought from the life he lived. That is the purpose of tomorrow.”
Aurelia trembled. Any words she wanted to say stuck in her throat. She could not see the light in this, that “other end” that her mother spoke of. Part of her feared she never would. A vast hollowness had taken root within her. She felt it like a missing limb, a part of her gone that would never return.
“Time will work its healing powers upon us.” Her mother’s words were spoken to no one, or maybe only to herself. She reached up and grabbed Aurelia’s left hand, which rested in her lap.
“Come. Let us ensure Brennus’s safe passage to the Otherworld. Then we will get you something to eat. Your father will watch over him until the morning.”
Aurelia’s legs were numb when she stiffly stood and pushed back her chair. It scraped along the floor. She took a knee beside her mother. With one final look at her brother, Aurelia bowed her head and clasped her hands, and they spoke in unison the traditional farewell prayer:
“The wound was red, the cut was deep, and the flesh was sore; but there will be no more blood, and no more pain till the gods come down to earth again.”
Chapter Thirteen
Alanna finished the last of her cornmeal across from Jastyn at their cluttered kitchen table. Alanna lapped up the sticky yellow mush while Jastyn sipped from her water cup. Their mother sat at the hearth mending a tunic sleeve, humming melodiously. When Jastyn exchanged glances with Elisedd, who sat beside Alanna on the rickety bench in his usual blue work tunic and leather pants, Alanna set her spoon down.
“Will you two please stop staring at me?”
Jastyn dipped her chin to hide her smile. Meanwhile, Elisedd wrapped a sinewy arm around Alanna’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, my dear. It’s been so long since we’ve seen you like this.” His words came out gruff, as if he was trying to keep his emotions from escaping his throat.
As Alanna hugged him, Jastyn felt a swelling of emotion, similar to the way she often did after a successful hunt. Upon returning home three days ago to her mother’s relieved embrace and surprisingly, a welcoming Elisedd, Jastyn had rushed to Alanna’s room to deliver the vial of banshee blood. Unquestioning, her mother and Elisedd followed at her heels, and the three of them watched with bated breath as Alanna drank half of the vial.
Jastyn had sat beside her on the bed. Alanna coughed after wiping her mouth clean. “Are you all right?” Jastyn asked.
Alanna hiccupped. “It tastes like week-old cabbage.”
Within an hour, Alanna was moving about the house like she hadn’t done in years. She even went and fetched water from the well to draw a bath for Jastyn. Alanna, bucket swinging gleefully at her side, had tilted her face upward to greet the wind that swept over the hillside.
Now, Alanna finished her breakfast—another feat Jastyn couldn’t recall in recent memory. Her sister’s face was full of healthy color, and her eyes leapt with new life.
“It’s incredible,” Jastyn said, reaching out a hand, which Alanna squeezed.
“I always believed in you, Jastyn. Thank you.”
Elisedd cleared his throat, and Jastyn shared a smile with her sister.
“It was a gift from one of Eegit’s friends, you said?” Alanna asked before carrying her bowl over to the wash basin.
Jastyn straightened, her eyes darting between her mother and Elisedd. They exchanged glances, then her mother quickly shook her head. Jastyn wiped her hands over the table and kept her eyes on the fallen crumbs when she spoke.
“Yes. We got lucky. Eegit managed to make a deal with one of her many customers. She sends her regards, by the way.”
Alanna returned to her seat, smiling. “Well, tell her I’m grateful.”
Jastyn kept her head down and tried to return her sister’s smile. She was thankful when Elisedd spoke.
“You have done well,” he said to Jastyn. Her mother stood from her place by the fire and joined them, placing a hand on Elisedd’s shoulder. She leaned down and kissed Alanna’s forehead, then held Jastyn’s gaze.
“I am so proud of you, my daughter.”
As Jastyn looked at her family, which included her now-radiant little sister, she was almost able to forget that this moment wouldn’t last forever. She willed the pleased faces looking back at her into the recesses of her mind, to the place where her most cherished memories resided. And for a brief second, Jastyn didn’t dwell on the impending journey that lay ahead for the rest of the cure, which she wasn’t sure how or when would begin. She was almost able to erase the terrible images from the Wood when a distant rumble sounded outside. Three deep, deliberate beats boomed over the moors and humble fields dotting the outskirts of the village. They all turned to the open window.
“The games are about to start.” Her mother scooped up their empty bowls and spoons. “That poor family,” she added quietly.
Jastyn fidgeted in her seat, fighting the onslaught of images overtaking her mind. Flashes of agonized faces. The tumult of arrows.
“The prince always seemed so kind,” Alanna said, brushing crumbs from her tunic.
Elisedd nodded. “He would have made a great king.”
“Jastyn?”
/> Jastyn looked to find both of her fists clenched atop the table, her right leg bouncing erratically.
“Are you all right?” Those formerly proud gazes now eyed her cautiously.
She swallowed, her throat like parched tree bark. “I hate to think what the king and queen must be going through.”
“And Princess Aurelia,” Alanna said softly.
Jastyn unclenched her hands. Admittedly, she had not thought very highly of the princess upon their first meeting. After all, the two of them had nothing in common and were vastly different people from opposite worlds. Nevertheless, Jastyn did understand the reality of playing witness to a suffering sibling. It very well could be Alanna on her way to the Otherworld, not the prince. So, despite her aversion to the princess, perhaps she should find a way to pay her respects. After all, Jastyn reluctantly admitted, she did help to attain the banshee blood with that bracelet of hers.
Jastyn fiddled with a wide gap in the wooden boards on the table when Alanna asked, “May we go to the games? Please?” Outside, another round of steady drumming beckoned.
Elisedd sat in his corner chair, pulling on his boots. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
Alanna ran to her mother by the wash basin. “Mother, may I go? Please? I feel better than ever!”
Their mother looked at Elisedd, who shook his head. Then she tilted her own head sympathetically. “Not today, my love. You should regain the rest of your strength first. There will be three more days of remembrance before his funeral.”
Alanna’s entire frame slouched, and she returned to her seat on the bench. With one hand under her chin and her elbow propped emphatically on the table, she stated, “Then you must go.”
Jastyn straightened. “Me?”
“Yes, and come back and tell me all about it.”
“But I never go to these things.”
Elisedd stood. “You can come with me. I’m to join the rest of the stable hands in a ceremonial song as an ode to Prince Brennus. Of course, you wouldn’t have to sing.” He said this last part so seriously that Jastyn, after being momentarily stunned by his talking to her, had to laugh. Her mother soon joined in, followed by Alanna’s quick giggles.
“Did I say something?” he asked, staring at them all. This only prompted more laughter from the girls.
Once they caught their breaths and wiped their eyes, their mother said, “You should go, Jastyn.”
The air in the room was dizzy with the unfamiliar trails of laughter. Jastyn felt so light she couldn’t protest. Additionally, her stepfather had spoken directly to her more times this morning than he had in the last five years. And when his own face pulled up in a smile, the pointed end of his beard suddenly less severe, she was sure she had to be dreaming. And if that was the case, why let such a blissful morning end? She would hold on to this enjoyment as long as she could.
“Let’s get moving. I don’t want to be late.”
With a quick hug to her mother and Alanna, who handed her a cloak from beside the front door, Jastyn waved good-bye and followed Elisedd outside.
* * *
The meandering path that led to the market streets in front of the rolling castle lawns brimmed with people on their way to the festivities. Jastyn and Elisedd joined the trickling lines of villagers funneling into thicker groups near the abandoned market where throngs of eager sympathizers greeted one another.
All around them, men with long, full red beards strolled beside women in plaid skirts with shoulders just as broad from working the fields. Wild-haired young children, recently scrubbed and dressed in their best clan colors, frolicked at their heels. Most attendees wore thick cloaks of navy and pleated belts over a long tunic to ward off the morning gusts coming from the sea.
Upon crossing the bustling roads and walking through the royal gates separating the village from the castle grounds, Jastyn and Elisedd encountered glistening lawns bejeweled with moisture from the previous night’s rainfall. On either side of the sprawling grasses stood two dozen royal guardsmen wearing their war uniforms and playing a glaring cacophony of sound on bagpipes. The lines they stood in created a wide lane. Within it, castle staff milled about at various stations. Some roasted whole pigs or deer on slow-turning spits over fires, others coaxed eager participants into a game of archery, and many circled in small groups to gossip and share never-ending casks of wine.
At the top of the lane, opposite the open gates, four high-backed thrones carved from black rock stood tall. King Grannus and Queen Dechtire sat next to one another. The queen wore a black breast pin atop her golden yellow tunic, which fell over knee-high boots. The king had a matching pin on the shoulder of his cloak. Princess Aurelia sat beside her mother in a slightly smaller throne. The fourth seat was adorned with flowers, wreaths, and candles covering every surface, every item donated from a line of generous villagers, each taking a moment to leave a token of sympathy for the fallen prince.
Passing through the gates, Jastyn pulled the hood of her cloak down and shook back her long braid.
“I can understand why you don’t come to these often.” Elisedd gestured to the hundreds of people wandering around. “I’m not keen on crowds either.” He tossed Jastyn a smile. When she only grunted and scanned the area, he added, “That’s why I prefer horses to people most of the time. Less conversation.” He chuckled at his own comment. Jastyn scrunched her face up, feigning amusement. Despite Elisedd’s sudden turnaround in attitude toward her, it still wasn’t the time or place to explain the actual reason why she avoided events such as these.
When she had been little, begging on the street or nicking goods from the market with Coran, she had noticed how women whispered, and men with bulging stomachs grunted at her. Her mother’s name always passed between nattering lips. The older she got, the less Jastyn was able to tolerate the hot licks of gossip that trailed her every move, even after her mother married Elisedd to aid in mending their tainted past. Eventually, not showing her face at all became the easier option.
Yet, here she was. Visible.
An older woman picked up her daughter and carried her out of their path. Her jaw clenched, and she resisted the urge to put her hood back on. Elisedd interrupted her thoughts.
“By the way, I want to thank you.”
She slowed, her mind still in a heated haze. They paused next to an exuberant horde of men Jastyn recognized as the family of pig farmers that lived two hills from her home. They drank from wooden cups, and one particularly skinny boy around her age with a pierced ear continuously refilled everybody’s drink.
Elisedd said something to one of them and quickly had two cups of his own. The same skinny boy filled them with wine.
Handing her a cup, Elisedd raised his. “Here’s to you, Jastyn. Thank you for helping Alanna.”
Jastyn blinked at the liquid sloshing in her cup. She was so unaccustomed to her stepfather even acknowledging her existence that words faltered on her tongue. Seeming to realize this, Elisedd continued.
“Your mother thinks I am oblivious. She thinks that because I spend my days in the castle stables, I don’t notice things.” He ran a hand over his goatee. “But not everyone would venture into the Wood at night to deal with a fae. Especially the Red One.”
Jastyn coughed on her wine. “How did you know?”
Her stepfather chuckled. “Your mother talks in her sleep.”
Jastyn shook her head. “I love Alanna. I’ll always do whatever I can to help her get better.”
In response, Elisedd clinked his cup to hers. “Cheers, then. You did well for our family.”
Another swell of emotion surged inside Jastyn. But this was different than this morning. This entire interaction with her stepfather was so foreign. So new. Her insides clamored with unfamiliarity, and Jastyn felt compelled to share more of the story with him.
“Elisedd, about the Red One’s gift…”
“Banshee blood. Yes, I’m familiar. Based on scrolls and what is known from those who have used the dri
nk before, I’d wager Alanna has three, maybe four months until she returns to her former state.”
Jastyn blinked. She had no idea he knew so much about fae properties. Granted, she never asked. Seeming to read her thoughts, he added, “When my brother disappeared, I tore the kingdom apart to find him. I grew knowledgeable of the fae that roam these lands and of their magic.”
She could only nod and take another drink. The liquid warmed her throat. “Does my mother know?”
“I told her my estimation, yes.”
Before Jastyn could respond, there was a chorus of cries from the archery targets to their left. Somebody hit a bull’s-eye.
Elisedd bent to speak over the noise. “Drink up. I’m going to join the stable men. I will see you at home no later than midday.”
This was the borderline intimidating talk Jastyn was accustomed to. She caught a flash of Elisedd’s former unapproachable self within his blue eyes before he disappeared into the crowd.
Jastyn, still stunned by the show of gratitude from her stepfather, not to mention his awareness of the Red One’s gift, gulped half of her wine down. Smacking her lips at the unfamiliar taste, she scanned the lawn and pushed her way between rowdy musicians and a group of young girls swooning over them. When she came to a gap in the masses, Jastyn breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of freshly roasted meats. Looking around, she realized she was standing at the end of a line shuffling slowly forward, the end point the four towering thrones hosting the mourning royal family.
She peered over the shoulder of a wide man carrying a bushel of potatoes. From her vantage point, she could see the king: hunched and staring solemnly at an elderly woman bowing before him. The queen, meanwhile, sat straight up, looking bewildered, her clear eyes unable to mask what had to be disbelief while she greeted each passing villager.
It was the princess, though, who looked as if she was taking the prince’s passing the hardest. As the line inched along, Jastyn watched Aurelia lift her gaze to acknowledge each sympathizer. Yet her eyes seemed to look through every face, beyond them and into the mass of activity in the distance. Her skin was splotched and red. Jastyn noticed a handkerchief tucked in the sleeve of her long blue tunic. She was mildly surprised the princess had decided to wear a tunic and pants rather than the dresses her mother had mentioned she often wore at public events. Perhaps it was an homage to her brother. At the idea of this, a pang hit in her chest. The princess was a lot of things: ignorant, sheltered, and presumptuous. But, Jastyn decided, swiping at her nose, she was still human. The pain of losing a sibling had to be unbearable.