Ember: Echoes of Ashes - Book 1

by Jessica Schmidt

  Alleria sat down at the table as well, debating on what she wanted to ask, realizing suddenly that she had a million questions. It was overwhelming, and she couldn’t decide where to start. Just say something—

  “Could you… tell me about elves?” she blurted, instantly feeling embarrassed, and annoyed with herself that she couldn’t have come up with a better question. For some reason, she felt tears brimming in her eyes.

  Ysmira whirled around, like a child being tempted with some candy. “Could I?” she repeated, voice rising in pitch with excitement. “Why, young girl, you’ve come to the right place.”

  Laderic instantly began marching down the hill, heading directly toward where Elwyse was being kept. He didn’t expect Emery to join him, but he didn’t argue.

  “What are you gonna ask him about?” Laderic asked Emery as they walked together—well, he walked—Emery zipped along, flying at shoulder level, animated as ever.

  “I’m just coming along for, you know, information,” she said unconvincingly. Laderic eyed her incredulously, and she sighed. “Okay, okay, I’m curious about the bloodhungry canidae, and their connection to the nightwalkers, and why they’re after Alleria. I’m worried about her.” She mumbled that last part, as though she were admitting something private.

  Laderic raised his eyebrows. “Funny, that’s what I was going to ask him about. For the same reason…” They continued in silence, each feeling embarrassed but for different reasons. They made a silent agreement not to pry into each other’s reasoning.

  It was a bit of a walk to the jail, so they were able to see some of the town before getting there. They passed a section of the market where it seemed nearly every vendor was selling fish of some kind. Surprisingly, there were no fae vendors.

  “There’s not a lot of foot traffic through Strita,” Emery explained. “Fae usually set up their booths in major trade hubs with a lot of commercial activity, like Acrosa, Ulandyl, and Starpoint.”

  “Where have you worked?” asked Laderic, keeping an intense focus on their conversation so he could avoid the beckoning of the salespeople. He avoided any eye contact with them, not wanting to be sucked into their grasp.

  Emery shrugged, hovering close to Laderic in the crowd. “Everywhere, really, though Acrosa is my favorite. Mostly because it’s closest to Charandall.” She smiled faintly. “Not like it matters. I can hardly carry my own things back and forth as it is.”

  “Why do you take so much with you?” Laderic asked. “Like, what is so heavy in there, for you, I mean. Bricks? Er… pebbles?”

  Emery scowled, punching him in the arm playfully. “No,” she began, sighing. “I carry around a lot of my sister’s things… too many, really.” She frowned, mood darkening slightly. “I just can’t seem to let go, even physically.”

  Laderic felt bad for asking. “There’s nothing wrong with taking your time to get over something like that,” he assured, dodging the verbal bullets from another salesman. “It seems like all of us have things we can’t let go of… echoes of a past that won’t release us.”

  They finally made it out of the market. The mountain face was directly in front of them now, an intimidating presence. The jail was situated at the foot of the mountain before the incline started. It was absolutely dwarfed by the rock formation.

  Emery inhaled deeply, holding her breath for a moment. “It’s helped a lot though, traveling with you guys,” she admitted. “I haven’t really had friends since Wyndi died, and I think this has been good for me. And, well, something about Alleria too. She reminds me of my sister so much… something about her is just, healing, you know?” She felt her cheeks get red, glad though to see Laderic nodding in agreement as they approached the outside of the jailhouse.

  “Yeah, I know exactly what you mean.”

  Midiga and Prysmi took their time in town before heading to the fletcher. They went house to house, knocking on doors and warning people about the attack. They took Prysmi seriously, recognizing her with equal amounts of respect and fear. Most people said few words but did not seem as panicked as Midiga expected.

  “I’m surprised how well they are handling this,” she remarked after they left their tenth house. All of the residents they had seen so far had been humans, and to Midiga, they seemed quite independent and sure of themselves.

  Prysmi confirmed this. “Most of the people who live here are outcasts in one way or another. The sense of community in this village is stronger than anywhere else I’ve been.” She fanned her wings a bit, catching sunlight as it began to filter over the mountaintops. “Strita is quite a strategic location and Mavark—over the years—has organized evacuation drills for exactly these kinds of situations. There’s a very loose local government here, but I guess you could say he has become their unofficial leader, though he’s frequently gone. It probably has to do with him being a drake alamorph—people fear him—but they also respect him, and they listen to him, so they know exactly what to do in this case. They’ve all done it before.”

  Midiga noticed later that she was right. Though they had given hardly any instructions, soon, dozens of children and elderly began to file out of the houses in an orderly fashion, heading toward the dock and loading themselves and their belongings onto the larger boats. They were to remain on the ocean for a week unless they heard otherwise. Everyone cooperated so well, it surprised the felid and made her respect Mavark that much more.

  Finally, they reached the fletcher, as the sun was starting its descent. Outside, arrows in quills were displayed on a wooden porch, the arrows fletched with feathers of every size and color of the rainbow. Midiga was overwhelmed with excitement.

  “These arrows are amazing,” she said, resisting the urge to pick up and feel each one of them. Some were tipped with silver, others with steel. She itched to test their sharpness but kept her paws firmly by her side.

  Through the windows, she spotted a wall of bows, each hung precariously on a nail to display their perfect balance. Some were long, engraved meticulously with patterns and runes in a language she didn’t understand. Others were short and simple, carved from all different types of wood. Unable to wait any longer, she threw open the door, eager to begin testing them out.

  The store was quite small and more than a little cluttered. It was square with a long counter along the back wall. Another door was behind the counter, covered with a black cloth, likely separating the fletcher’s work area from the rest of the shop.

  Prysmi followed behind, finding it adorable how ecstatic Midiga was about getting her new bow. Though she preferred her natural weapons herself, she understood the bond a warrior has to their weapon of choice. It must have been difficult for Midiga to lose her bow, she thought. I’m glad I can do this for her now.

  Midiga was marveling at the bows on the wall, eying a few of the longbows in particular. Prysmi watched her, quiet, but taking notes in her head. They were there for a few minutes, admiring the fletcher’s work, but there was no sign of him.

  “Hello? Burlo?” called the dragon after a while, scanning the store. She heard some clamoring from the back of the shop, and she smiled. Midiga couldn’t wait, her tail whipping back and forth from the energy building in her core. This energy vanished, however, when she saw the fletcher come through the door.

  Without a word, Midiga turned and stormed out of the shop.

  “Midiga?” called Prysmi after her, confused, and turning to follow. “Just a second, Burlo,” she told him, exiting the shop behind the felid. Before she could even get a word out, however, Midiga rounded on her.

  “A canid?” she exploded, jabbing her clawed finger toward the dragon.

  Prysmi was confused. “What? He—yes… Is there a problem?”

  “What do you mean ‘is there a problem,’” Midiga hissed. “You expect me to buy a weapon from him? Canidae can’t make bows—everyone in the Far Land knows at least that much. I should have known from that shoddy craftsmanship I saw outside—”

  “You said the arrow
s were amazing,” interrupted Prysmi, narrowing her eyes. “I’m not sure what Burlo being a canid has to do with anything. You need a weapon, and—”

  “I wouldn’t be caught dead with a bow made by a canid,” Midiga sneered. “And I can’t believe you would try to get me to buy one from him! To give him my money? Don’t you know what canidae are capable of? I mean, they’re the ones trying to kill us!”

  Prysmi was taken aback. “Those are bloodhungry… Not all canidae are killers,” she countered. “How can you think that?”

  Midiga whirled around once again, stalking back toward Mavark’s house. “You know nothing,” she said darkly, shaking with anger. All she could see was red. She began to run, leaving Prysmi behind her.

  Prysmi was absolutely stunned. And, beneath that, she felt quite hurt. Tears sprung to her eyes, both of sadness and anger, and she dashed them away with the back of her hand. How… What just happened? She couldn’t believe how instantly racist Midiga had turned after Prysmi thought she had gotten to know her so well. Something terrible must have happened to her… but that’s not an excuse.

  With a heavy heart, she turned around, heading back to Burlo’s shop to apologize.

  Alleria and Ysmira had done nothing but chat the entire day about everything from elvish cuisine, culture, language, and history. The young elf soon felt as though she should have been taking notes, as it was almost too much information to take in.

  They sat on the front porch now, relaxing in handmade rocking chairs (courtesy of Mavark) and drinking homemade tea. The sun was setting, and Alleria could distantly make out quite a few large boats leaving the harbor and heading under the mountain, out to sea.

  “I have another question, and I don’t want to sound stupid,” Alleria began. Ysmira waved her hand as she took another sip of tea.

  “What did I say earlier? There are no stupid questions.” She smiled, reaching out and touching Alleria’s shoulder.

  Alleria took a deep breath. “Okay, why is your skin so dark?” Ysmira was quiet, and Alleria hurriedly continued. “I mean to say, I’ve just always heard—at least from Midiga—that elves are fair skinned, light hair… You know, like me.”

  Ysmira thought for a moment before responding. “That is a common misconception about the appearance of elves. Yes, we are beautiful, but what does that entail?” She frowned, eyes unfocused as if she were watching something unseen. “Somehow, in the last thousand years, the definition of beauty has translated to be only fair skin and light hair, which is where that stereotype comes from…” She turned then to look at Alleria, eyes filled with fire. “But they are dead wrong.

  “Elves have lived on this continent for thousands and thousands of years. We once had cities all over the Far Land, including far to the south, below the equator. And the people of some of our greatest kingdoms had skin black as night. In fact, in many paintings in the ruins that I’ve explored, just as many dark-skinned elves are present as fair-skinned elves. They were powerful, influential leaders who did amazing things for the Far Land. And then, as you know, they disappeared into the north, along with the rest of our kind.”

  Alleria was confused. “So… if there are just as many dark-skinned elves in the north as fair skinned elves, why do people think elves are only fair skinned?” She frowned, stroking Reia in her lap, who was fast asleep. “I mean, wouldn’t there be dark-skinned renegade elves like us? You’re the only other elf I’ve seen before, but I feel like there can’t be many renegade elves out there with olive skin like yours or darker if this stereotype is so prevalent.”

  Ysmira was nodding as Alleria spoke. “I know what you’re saying. In fact, I’ve traveled all around the Far Land—this was years ago—and encountered many renegades. You are correct in your assumption. I was by far the darkest skinned elf I met.” She sighed, looking up at the sky. “I just wish I knew what happened to all of them! My memory was wiped, as yours was too. I don’t know if we’ll ever know the truth until we reach Nara’jainita.”

  They were quiet for a while, listening to the peaceful ambience of the farm. The wind gusted down the mountainside, bringing with it the smell of the sea just over their ridges. The horses behind the house whinnied as they socialized with each other. Birds in the surrounding forest sang their hopeful songs.

  Alleria had finally gathered the courage to ask the question she was most curious about. “Why do you think I’m royalty?” she asked, feeling scared all of a sudden. “That doesn’t seem like me at all… How can you seem so sure? I mean, I’m sure other elves are alamorphs. And I know my eyes change color, but how can you be sure other elves don’t have that too?”

  Ysmira’s eyes drifted to Alleria’s eyes and then down to her hands. “Isn’t it obvious?” she asked slowly. “Your magic.”

  Alleria frowned. “So, elves can’t use magic normally, right? Like, you can’t?” Ysmira shook her head. “So, only royalty could use magic?” But Ysmira shook her head once again. She sat up straighter, leaning forward on her knees, staring down toward Strita, her eyes misty and unfocused.

  “Over the years, I’ve collected a variety of texts from elvish ruins across the Far Land. They are written in elvish, of course, a language I’ve had to teach myself, yet has come naturally to me. Perhaps it is in our blood. In any case, my research has led me to believe that all elves could use magic before their disappearance. How they lost that ability is still unknown to me.” She took a long sip of her tea, which was starting to grow cold. “It’s not the fact that you can use magic that has brought me to my conclusion, but it is the way your magic manifests.

  “Elvish magic was unique back then, as it was almost identical to modern-day light-bringer spectrals in that it is energy-based. However, in elves, the magic would take on a color representative of that elf’s aura. So, there was a rainbow of spellcasters once upon a time, and not only were the colors different, but the way the magic manifested itself was different, as well. You had magic coming out like a wave, magic flowing like water in tendrils, and even magic taking the shapes of animals as it presented itself.

  “Your magic intrigues me for two reasons—one, its color is white, a combination of all spectrums of light. This coloration was well recognized and documented by elves to be indicative of royal magic. The monarchy of the elves was heavily rooted in religion, with elvish queens and kings believed to be the living incarnate of Dietha and Bathur, the elvish gods themselves. The two were often depicted in paintings and murals as collecting the colors of magic from all elves and distributing it back to the people as bright, white light.

  “The second reason for my assumptions is that your magic manifests itself as orbs of light. I’m a little less certain about this part, but in all of my research, the only elves using spherical magic were royalty, specifically the ancient queens.

  “This, along with the fact that your eyes change color—a trait possessed by the last known elvish queen, Ophelina—has made me almost completely sure that, while you may not be directly related to the king himself, somehow, someway, you are connected to the elvish royal family.”

  She paused, allowing this to sink in for a moment. Alleria appeared a bit overwhelmed but now less skeptical about the situation. “I know this is a lot,” Ysmira admitted, “but you may be the key to both of us discovering the truth about our heritage.”

  She frowned then, turning away, her eyes darkening. “However, I will say, the more I’ve looked into things, the less sense it makes. Why did the elves suddenly abandon their cities for Nara’jainita? What happened to Ophelina? Why did elves suddenly lose their ability to use magic? Where are the elves from the southern kingdoms? There are too many questions... and I fear we may not like the answers.”

  Elwyse had spent most of his time staring out the single, tiny window in his cell, memorizing how the sky looked so he would never forget again.

  The color had started to come back into his face—slowly, but surely—since he had come back to the surface. Surprisingly, the drake alamorph a
nd the rest of his captors had made sure he was eating well… after punching him in the face. He already felt healthier, his shape beginning to fill out once again. He could still see his ribs, but they didn’t protrude from his skin as they had when all he was eating was whatever he could catch using his undead army.

  I will never go underground again, he promised himself. He sat on his cot, stroking Odie, who was, for once, calm. As the day passed, he noticed Laderic and the fae woman through the window approaching the jail. He sighed, preparing himself to answer more questions, as they had promised before to interrogate him further.

  Laderic spoke to the guards, informing them that he was there with Mavark’s permission, and they allowed them in. Elwyse was being kept in a separate room from the rest of the prisoners. Laderic was informed that he was wearing bracelets and anklets laced with levinium, or ward stone—a rare mineral used to weaken magic power.

  Elwyse knew this but didn’t care, as he had no interest in using his magic. He had relied on the energy from the spring for so long, he wasn’t sure he would be able to cast spells at all anymore. He sighed, dejected, resigned to simply wait for death to take him as he knew it would in these next few days, once the nightwalkers and their dogs came for him.

  “Hello, Elwyse.” It was Laderic standing outside of his cell.

  “Just ask me what you want to know and leave me be,” he muttered, completely uncharacteristic.

  Laderic and Emery made eye contact. “We just had a few follow-up questions for you,” Laderic began, “about Alleria, the elf.” Elwyse had no reaction. Laderic continued. “You said the nightwalkers were looking for her, and we know the canidae were as well. We know they must be working together now… I guess all we want to know is why do they want to kill her?”

  A memory flashed before Elwyse’s eyes, of that bottomless pit, the black fire, those cold, soul-void eyes—“Caine…” he whispered, barely audible.