by Linn Tesli
“We have heard from every member of our council. Now, it is time to hear our witness,” Ragnar said.
Everine shifted her attention to the only plausible witness present. The cloaked figure lifted its head, and folded away its hood. A tiny cauldron stood on the table in front of it. Steam poured over the edges. The light reflected off a head of wild, silver hair. Everine’s heart skipped a beat. She had not expected to see Gaija again so soon.
“What is it that you have witnessed?” Ragnar asked. Everyone turned to the healer.
Gaija winked at Everine before she faced the council. “I’ve had visions of her past, but—more importantly—also her future. The past is as it is, but the future is always more, well, unpredictable.” She paused for effect, waiting to ensure she had everyone’s undivided attention.
“Thorleif has a valid point. Ayva might prove to be a cause of grievance for the Earthlings. On the other hand, she is to inherit Aradria if she prevails. Like others here, I too have pledged myself to her, although I expect her chances are slim.”
Everine frowned. Gaija had never been more annoying. If the healer saw the look on her face, she ignored her.
“But, I for one am tired of living in this mayhem. Frida is right. War will inevitably come to your doorstep whatever your choice today. We cannot escape our fate, with or without the child.” Gaija bent forward, stretching her arms wide. “The question is—which side will you be on when that time comes?”
Sol briefly lowered her face. “We made the wrong choice once.” She twined her fingers. Turning to Thorleif, she enquired, “Would you have us repeat our mistakes?”
An awkward silence hung in the air. At last, Ragnar cleared his throat. “We shall vote. Those in favor, raise a hand.”
Only Thorleif kept his hands where they were.
Sol glared at him. “This needs to be unanimous. Please see reason.”
Everine’s jaw dropped, but she quickly regained her composure. She gripped the basket so hard the strands of red osier bowed inward. Everyone stared at Thorleif.
Disgruntled, he finally conceded. “Very well. If you are all fixed on such a vote, I will allow it. I want it noted, however, that I warned you all.”
The clerk hammered furiously to record what had happened. Thorleif huffed in annoyance.
“And don’t you expect me to be happy about it. When the time comes, I will not be the one accountable for our demise.”
9
The Nutcracker
- Birken -
Birken’s elbows rested on his knees as he stared into the chasm. The light was dimming, but he had a good view of his homeland from where he sat on the rock at the edge of the lookout.
“Why the square face?” Rhastoc startled him, appearing out of nowhere and bounding toward him. Jumping forward, he leaned his paws on Birken’s thigh and smacked his lips.
“Why are you here, squirrel?” Birken grunted.
“Just keeping an eye on you. The wizard wants an update. We tried to cover for you when you killed the guards. But the Zila’r-nath caught your scent and tracked you down—sorry about that.”
Birken put a hand inside his vest, retrieving a nut. “I only did what the wizard instructed if we were to be exposed.” He shook his head. “Here. I picked this nut when we were hiding in Elfen Lyconis.”
Bobbing his head, Rhastoc accepted the nut with a crooked grin. His eyes widened as he clawed at the shell of the nut.
“You could have told me who it was you hired me to protect,” Birken said, eyeing the squirrel.
“We were not entirely sure ourselves. How is she, by the way? The baby.”
“Her name is Ayva.” Birken angled away from the squirrel, and Rhastoc lost his balance. The squirrel danced on his hind legs and skipped forward, coming to land on Birken’s shoulder.
“I want no more part of this—no more killing,” Birken said. “I’m staying with them in the chasm.”
Rhastoc tutted and wrapped his tail gently around Birken’s thick neck. He fell away from Birken’s shoulder to hang upside down.
“Now, that won’t do, Earthling. You are a bounty hunter, are you not? We want you to continue reporting to us about her progress. Besides, those guards in Arvaex were necessary casualties. We cannot have the king finding out about the baby, don’t you agree? We’re glad you were able to bring them here safely.”
“The deal is off. I will protect them, but on my own terms.”
“You have been paid. A lot.” Rhastoc ground the nut between his teeth before he continued. “At the very least, you owe it to us to report back about what you have learned so far. Let me assure you that we only wish to keep her hidden and safe. If we had wanted her exposed, the king’s eyes would have already fallen on Bermunnos.”
Birken hesitated and cupped one hand around the squirrel, lifting him up to sit in his palm. He bit the inside of his cheek and stared at the squirrel.
“She is amazing. Her eyes reveal things that have happened in your life. She triggers your memories in such a way that you experience them all over again as if for the first time. Everine and Ayva have both been allowed sanctuary within the chasm. Now, what can you tell me about the mother?”
“Do you mean the mother who died or the one here in the chasm?”
Birken’s eyes widened.
Splitting the nut in two, Rhastoc sat back and folded his chubby feet underneath him to rest in Birken’s hand.
“Maybe you didn’t know?” Rhastoc asked. “The one you have travelled with is the child’s aunt, not the birth mother. She has taken it upon herself to care for the girl as her own—quite impressive, really. She is completely ordinary. No magic—a simple human following her maternal instincts. I am surprised all of you made it here. Although, as I understand it, you nearly didn’t.” He chucked the pieces of shell to the ground and flicked the nut into his mouth.
“She saved my life. Twice.” Birken untied a small brown pouch from his belt and handed it to Rhastoc. “This is what the wizard paid me, excluding what I used for provisions. I don’t want it. Tell him that and bring this to him.” He retrieved his pipe.
The squirrel lifted the straps of the pouch over his neck and jumped out of Birken’s hand to land on the ground.
“We will have eyes on you regardless, Earthling. You had best remember that the child’s safety is more important than all else. Even your beloved chasm—even yourself.”
Birken ground tobacco between his fingers and tucked it into his pipe. “I understand. And as long as you intend to keep them safe, we are on the same side.”
“Are you sure this is the path you wish to take? We won’t be able to protect you when things get ugly. It might mean risking your life for them again. And I’m afraid there will be more killing in store before this is all over.”
“I’m sure.”
“So be it.” The squirrel spun in a pirouette, then halted. “I’m going to let you in on a secret.” He lowered his voice. “Ayva is not the only magical child born this year. Safety for each of them is paramount.” With a flick of his tail, the squirrel bounded away from the lookout and disappeared from view.
Birken lit his pipe as he watched the squirrel go. He scratched his chin and puffed on the pipe for a while. Everine had lied to him. Though he did not like it, he thought he understood. Besides, he had not been entirely truthful himself. It did not change his commitment to her and the child. The vow he had given was unbreakable—no matter the consequences.
10
A Change in the Air
Sixteen years later
- Archenon -
Archenon seated himself on his throne to greet the visitors. Some sense of a change in the air was hard for him to shake.
Creos had brought an eyewitness before him. The captain of the Silverling guards had always been Archenon’s favorite minion. His kind had proved to be valuable allies since the dawn of the new age, but Archenon found he despised them just the same. The Silverlings were crude and unpleasant, though their lust for blo
od made them forceful associates. They represented a means to an end.
The Silverling witness was a youngling, barely old enough to have made it into the ranks of the Zila’r-nath.
Creos flared his nostrils. “We came straight here, my King. The moment this recruit told me of what he had seen, I knew I had to bring him to you.”
Archenon leaned forward. The young Silverling shivered, but held the king’s gaze. The past lay written clearly in the younglings’s memories.
“Where did this happen?” Archenon demanded as, cradling his royal scepter, he began probing the mind of the young Silverling in front of him. He experienced every part of the memory as if he was the youngling himself.
* * *
He sat comfortably on the back of a black unicorn with a sawn-off horn. The wind was in their favor as he and his steed sped across the plains of Caradrea. The saddle fitted him perfectly. He had only a moment to relish the run, however, before the wind shifted, pushing them to the left. The air currents continued to change, tugging them back and forth. Aching from the wounds he had sustained, he clung to the reins in an effort to remain upright on the unicorn’s back.
A sandstorm built up around them, slowing their pace and obscuring his vision. Clouds formed overhead and raced across the sky. Squinting, he shielded his eyes from the tiny grains of sand. Through the haze, he could see something moving in front of him.
A Caradrean boy, no older than seventeen, waved his arms above his head. There was no mistaking the boy’s red hair and fair complexion. A few feet to his left, a barely grown rainbow-colored gryphon hovered, rustling its feathers and watching the boy’s every move.
When the boy turned, the air rippled and bent along with him. He shifted his body at odd angles.
He was controlling the air.
The Caradrean air-wielder had been too preoccupied to notice that he was not alone. Shock spread across his face as they locked eyes. With one swift movement from the Caradrean boy, the air stilled, and the sand fell gently back to the ground.
The boy spun on his toes, flung himself in the air, and landed on the back of his gryphon. Arms stretched outward, he pulled a sheet of clouds around the pair of them as if closing the curtains on a stage. In the blink of an eye, they were lost from sight.
When the clouds eventually parted, they revealed only the clear skies of early summer.
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Archenon trembled in his seat as he wrenched himself free of the memory. He took no care easing his way out of the depths of the Silverling’s mind.
With a loud clang, the youngling met the marble floor on his palms and knees. His body convulsed as he heaved for breath—he would never quite recover from what had transpired between them. Not that it would matter.
“Who else knows?” Archenon’s words hung in the air.
“Just us,” said Creos, hauling the soldier to his feet.
“Good.” Archenon smirked. “We will keep it that way.”
With a slight nod from Archenon, an Èblazon stepped forward, pulled out a dagger and, without preamble, slit the youngling’s throat. Blood streamed from the wound and pooled on the white floor at Creos’s feet. Creos did not so much as flinch, and Archenon could sense a wave of understanding from the Zila’r-nath captain.
Archenon reflected that perhaps the reason he could stomach Creos better than any other of his kin was because of his extraordinary ruthlessness and unwavering obedience.
“You will have the Caradrean boy captured and brought before me. Captured, not killed. Ensure his hands are tied, his mouth gagged, and his eyes shielded when you have hold of him. Do not allow him to speak or move his arms more than necessary. In fact, you ought to tie up his fingers as well. You will provide no explanation. Tell no one of what you know,” Archenon commanded. He expected Creos to carry out his task as ordered.
Creos finally released the dead soldier, allowing the body to crumple in a heap on the ground in the midst of his own blood. Crimson drops splashed across Creos’s white leg armor.
Another Èblazon stepped forward to remove the body. Creos bowed respectfully to his king in consent of the orders.
“Your Highness.” He met the king’s eyes briefly before he touched one finger to his armor, staining the tip of it with the youngling’s blood. Creos put his finger in his mouth to suck it clean. Grinning, he left the room.
Whatever it was Archenon had sensed, he thought it must have had something to do with the air-wielder. A person could certainly have an affinity for an element without being Elemental at his core. Archenon himself was living proof of that fact.
Archenon closed his eyes to search through the minds of those under his control. Perhaps he would find more information on what was happening across Aradria.
It would be interesting to experiment on the air-wielder, if he truly existed. If by any chance he was connected with the elemental powers of old, Archenon would make sure the boy could not practice magic for long. Archenon might even be able to harness those powers for his own.
The Elemental rulers had been dead for over two centuries, but this boy he had seen in the Silverling’s memory reminded him of years long past.
Archenon slid his hand down the scar on his chest. He was not that man anymore, yet his mind always brought him back to her.
You never got to know your father. The words Rhonja had spoken when Archenon first arrived in the Land of Spirit still echoed at the back of his mind.
Had Rhonja known who his father had been? Would it have changed anything? Would the Elemental monarchs still be alive if she had allowed him that knowledge?
The wild elven women much preferred warriors—men with a strong build, tall, and dark-skinned to match their own features. They had to be passionate men, but, above all, strong of the mind.
He had always envisioned his father as a warrior in shining armor, with a high-ranking position as a Vulkan guard—a Vaexenna of Lycobris. It had been a child’s silly hope for a man he had never known. Even so, Archenon could not imagine his forceful mother having settled for anything less. Whoever he had been, however, it did not really matter at this point.
The pureblood wild elves grew fewer in number all the time, and the future of the Wy-alfen-Iliath was uncertain. The problem had only worsened since Archenon had assumed his throne. No pureblood wild elf had been born for more than two centuries. Allowing the wild elves to grow in strength had been one of Archenon’s deepest desires, even though they had not been willing to join his rule.
He shook himself. The unanswered questions should bother him, yet all they did was make his body burn with resentment. His first action as a sorcerer should have indicated what he would become. Everything that had happened since was not his fault. He had no choice in the matter.
Rhonja was long dead, and wielders of the elements had not been seen or heard of since the Fall of the Elemental Rulers. No matter what had come to pass, it was too late to change it. Pushing the memories of his past to the back of his mind, Archenon began searching for the air-wielder yet again.
Whatever the explanation for the young boy’s power, an affinity for air was not to be taken lightly. The boy he had seen was a curiosity, and the possibility that an elemental power had returned was preposterous. However, he could not have a teenage boy threaten his position.
Archenon might as well embrace his fate as a mixed-blood wild elf, sorcerer, and heartless monarch.
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Tenebrous
Book two in the Elemental Monarchs saga
Thank you for reading!
Tesli would absolutely love to hear from you. You can write her at any time:
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[email protected]
About the Author
Linn Tesli is an author of fantastical stories, for people of all ages. As a previous freelance journalist, she's also written both magazine articles, movie reviews, and
feature stories.
As a child, making up stories was how she made her days brighter. She believes that it's an extraordinary thing to be able to dive into words to escape the reality one lives in.
In addition to being a mother, a wife, a sister, and a writer, Tesli is a dreamer. She’s also an overachiever, and a klutz. However, she takes her writing very seriously, and began at an early age. She also loves to draw (but was never really that good at it. Don't tell her).
www.linntesli.com
Acknowledgments
There are a lot of people I would like to thank for contributing to this series. First, my childhood friends, for always believing in me, and for allowing the wonderful world of make-believe come to life when I needed the escape from reality the most—which, to be honest, was rather frequent!
To Michael Baker for creating the map. To my other helpful editors for going above and beyond what was promised.
And last, but certainly not least, a big thank you to my readers, whoever you are. I am grateful that you took the time to open Ominous, and I hope you have enjoyed the read!
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And to all the rest of you–you know who you are!
My wish is that you will always have magic in your lives.
Glossary
World:
Aradria
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