Origin

by Samantha Smith

  “It was torturous for me to watch as my wife grew ill and wasted away before my eyes. It seemed to happen almost overnight. Your mother became ill shortly after my Alesia. I was wracked with grief watching the two women I loved the most growing weaker by the day. I was consumed with rage because no one could do anything to help them. The agony of knowing that I would never get a chance to look upon the face of the child Alesia and I created together in love destroyed my will to live.”

  Her uncle attempted to smile through his tears as he tried, without much success, to hide the pain he was feeling.

  “Everyone was amazed that neither you nor I got sick. In your case, it was considered a miracle Elwyn, because every other child in the village of less than two seasons came down with the illness and died.”

  Her uncle’s bitterness was almost tangible as he continued telling her about the events he so hated to remember.

  “It was horrible for me to stay healthy and watch so many of the people I knew and cared for die from that accursed plague. I had to do something to keep from going mad, so I began to study the people who got sick to see if there was a pattern to be found in who lived and died. At first, it seemed that the illness struck people randomly with no apparent pattern; except for the children of course.

  As I continued the study, a pattern did begin to emerge. It seemed that any of the villagers over two who contracted the disease when their immune systems were compromised, died from it. Pregnant and nursing women, people who were ill or recovering from illnesses all quickly succumbed to the plague. Everyone else who became ill recovered quickly with no lasting effects.

  Something else that I found to be very strange was that no one in any of the neighboring villages became ill. It almost seemed as if the plague somehow targeted our village. I’ve always felt uncomfortable about that time, thinking that there was something going on I didn’t understand. As time passed, I grew to think that my suspicions were probably just the musings of a crazy old fool lost in grief. ”

  Elwyn found herself agreeing with her uncle about them both being a bit lost; she in a lack of identity, and he in a maze of grief. Growing up, Elwyn heard talk from a few of the older villagers, about how her uncle had gone from being friendly, outgoing, and involved in local leadership, to withdrawn, uncommunicative, and unwilling to participate in any village activities. Since that time, the only people he willingly spent time with were Clayre, the village healer, and herself.

  “Is that when you and Clayre came to be such good friends?”

  “I first came to know Clayre shortly after we discovered that Alesia was pregnant. She was to be Alesia’s midwife when her time came. The two of them became good friends over the next few months and enjoyed spending time together. She became a much more frequent visitor in our home after your mother arrived, trying to help her to gain some strength and prepare for your birth. When my wife and your mother became ill, Clayre worked by my side day and night trying to save them.

  After they died, I was so broken I just couldn’t face dealing with anything more. Clayre prepared them for burial and stood with me as they were both lowered into the ground. She didn’t push me when I was wracked with grief and fury and just wanted to be alone, but she was always there to listen during times when I needed to talk about what happened. There has never been anyone else since I lost my wife and my sister that showed me such loyalty and friendship.”

  “What a difficult time that must have been for Clayre as well. Having so many people that she cared about die must have broken her heart.”

  “That time was more difficult for her than most people realize. She lost her husband Liam, early on to the plague. He was at home recovering from a broken leg and was one of the first to get sick. Then our healer, who had been recovering from a hunting accident, died of the illness and the village elder begged Clayre to take the position. We had no apprentice healer at the time and she had the most medical skill. Clayre accepted, ignoring the fact that it would destine her to a life without marriage or children. At the time, she was desperate to fill her life with something besides her own personal loss.

  Clayre and I spent the next two months working day and night treating the mounting number of stricken villagers; refusing to give into our grief, or focus on the sobering outlook for the future.”

  It was easy for Elwyn to see how, in the aftermath of the death and destruction, the two of them formed such a strong friendship. Their relationship was fueled by their shared grief, the bitter pill that dictated their destinies, as well as their shared desire to love and care for her.

  Elwyn knew that Rhys and Clayre did everything possible to raise her as well as they could. Rhys protected her and treated her like a loving father, and Clayre viewed her as the daughter she never had. She worked hard to be obedient and tried to resist prying too much into the past. Elwyn grimaced as she remembered how difficult it had been to restrain her growing curiosity, and how frustrated she felt at her uncle’s terse responses when she was unable to silence her questions. Rhys seemed to have a difficult time speaking of her mother, and angrily refused to say a word about her father. It was obvious that her questions upset him, evidenced by the copious amounts of ale he consumed when she pushed him too far.

  As Elwyn grew older, she focused her attention on being a good and cooperative daughter to both her surrogate parents. She helped her uncle around the house with the cleaning, cooking, and shopping. When she wasn’t involved in physical training or doing school work, she acted as his assistant in the blacksmith shop. She was quick, strong, and enjoyed working with horses. Even as a young girl, she seemed to have an unusually calming effect upon the most nervous and unfriendly animals. She also tried to help Clayre by acting as her apprentice when she was needed.

  Elwyn always sensed Clayre’s love and support. She knew that Clayre understood and related to her desire to know more about her parents. She was also aware that Clayre pushed for as much information from Rhys about Rhianna that friendship would allow, but that it proved to be a very difficult task for her as well. At first, they both attributed Rhys reluctance to speak to intense grief. As the seasons passed however, they both began to think that he was being deliberately secretive and came to realize that he was as reluctant to speak about his own past as that of his twin. Elwyn listened carefully as Clayre told her what she knew of him, one afternoon while they were drying herbs.

  “I remember when Rhys came to the village to live. I didn’t see him much, but my Liam said that he was very tight lipped and refused to say anything about his life before he arrived. That seemed especially strange to the men, because he seemed to speak his mind freely on other subjects. It was quite a while before the men were willing to accept him. Many of them still don’t understood why he avoids talking about his past or his family. No one in the village even knew he had a sister until your mother showed up at his door. Eventually the men did learn to trust him though. He proved that he was a good man and could be counted on many times over, but he has never trusted anyone in the village enough to speak of his past. Rhys may have shared his secrets with Alesia; but if he did, they died with her.”

  Elwyn felt very anxious and was almost desperate to find out any information she could about her mother. Part of it was just curiosity, but there was a part of her that longed to connect with the woman that gave birth to her. Because Clayre seemed sympathetic to her plight, she often brought the subject up when they were alone. Clayre was always willing to share what she knew.

  “After your mother and Alesia died, your uncle asked me to go through their possessions. He didn’t think that keeping them around as reminders of the past would be good for either of you. He begged me to sort through their belongings and pass them on to people in need.

  As I searched through your mother’s things, I came across a few items I felt your uncle should save and give you when you came of age. The first was a beautiful gold pendant on a delicate chain that appeared to be woven from human hair. The hair was a
blend of reddish gold and jet black tresses that had been masterfully woven together into a chain of amazing dexterity, strength, and beauty. I never saw your mother without the pendant hanging from her neck. I removed it myself after her death.”

  This told Elwyn two things; her father had black hair and, most importantly, her mother must have loved him, whoever he was. It would have made no sense for a woman to wear her husband’s hair intertwined with hers around her neck if she didn’t love him. Somehow, thinking that her parents may have loved one another provided her with a bit of comfort.

  “There was also a diary in with your mother’s possessions. The cover was crafted from a soft finely tooled doeskin, very soft to the touch. On the cover was an intricately tooled square with the picture of a small black dragon clutching a golden crown in its talons. That same crown was tooled on the clasp. It was obvious to me that the diary had seen some wear and tear, but it was still beautiful to behold. I never opened it, not wanting to pry. I just handed it, along with the pendant to your uncle. I never saw either of them again. When you turned sixteen, it took some rather heated arguing on my part before I could convince him to give you the pendant.”

  Elwyn remembered how happy and excited she’d felt when her uncle and Clayre presented the pendant to her at her sixteenth birth celebration dinner. She remembered her uncle’s obvious discomfort as he handed her the pendant. He said almost nothing after handing her the gift. Later, when her uncle was not with them, Clayre told her all she could remember from her discussions with Rhys about it.

  “There is something about this pendant that makes your uncle very nervous. All he has ever been willing to say was that the pendant, along with the diary, was a gift from his father to your mother for her sixteenth birth celebration. I was really shocked when he also mentioned that his gift for that same birth celebration had been a sword, which he still possessed. I’ve never seen the sword, but the pendant and the diary are both of excellent quality. It’s my guess that Rhianna and Rhys came from a family with money. They both seemed well educated so I would not be surprised to learn that they were raised in a large city. I tried asking him about it, but he would say no more on the subject.

  I felt the diary should also be given to you when you came of age, but whenever I tried to suggest it to Rhys; he got angry and threatened to burn it. I’ve often wondered if there was something written in the pages of that diary that caused your uncle to feel so angry and bitter.”

  “Do you know if he ever tried to contact my father to let him know what happened to my mother and to tell him that I was alive?”

  “To the best of my knowledge, he never did sweetheart. But if he didn’t, I’m sure he felt he had good reason not to.”

  Elwyn was well aware that Rhys steadfastly refused to speak her father’s name, or acknowledge his existence. She also knew the quickest way to get him to shut down tighter than an old drum was to bring up the subject. After all these seasons, it was very possible that the man wasn’t even still living. She often wondered why her uncle continued to care so much. But one thing was very evident to her and to Clayre; Rhys wasn’t ready for either of them to learn whatever was contained within the pages of her mother’s diary.

  Chapter 2 – Strange Awakenings

  Ayron listened to the sounds of nature waking up all around him as he lay on his bed pad preparing to begin another day of border patrol. Light from the rising sun was just starting to filter down through the thick canopy of trees, bathing the forest floor in a soft glow. This was his favorite time of day and his favorite place to be. One of the benefits of his elven heritage was the ability to attune himself to the various forms of animal and plant life. He actually sensed life flowing in everything around him. It was a glorious and exhilarating feeling. He had postponed marriage and having a family for this very reason. The call of nature felt much stronger to him than that of any woman he’d met to date. Besides, he’d experienced firsthand how great love can also bring great sorrow, and he wasn’t sure that he would ever be willing to take the same risk his brother had.

  Azavon, his older brother, was a perfect example of how a love that seemed so right could go so wrong. He and Azavon were part of the ruling family that presided over the land of Silvendil. It was a land where elves and humans lived in harmony with one another. As the elder son, Azavon came to rule over Silvendil after the death of their father. At first Azavon viewed this position as a burden, often interfering with his desire to be a doting husband to his wife who was expecting their first child. After the sudden death of his pregnant wife, Azavon threw himself into the duties of ruling his land and his people with a fervor that went far beyond his responsibility to the throne.

  Azavon had been away from the capital city of Findara negotiating a treaty with the dwarf king of Grimsfyne, Sedrik Ironhammer, when his wife died. Returning home to find a simple grave and the news that his wife committed suicide nearly drove him to madness. He’d always believed that the two of them were almost of one mind and one heart; growing in the intimacy and joy they shared together. Just the thought that she might have been unhappy enough to kill herself, almost drove him crazy with guilt and sorrow. Azavon often said that he threw himself into ruling his land, so that he didn’t succumb to the incredible grief and despair that continually threatened to overtake him. His work became his sanity and the sole reason he hadn’t followed in his wife’s footsteps. When Azavon did find time away from his duties as ruler, he would spend it alone at his wife’s grave. Ayron often wondered if he continued to go there still searching for answers, or to beg forgiveness for some unknown sin.

  Then there was his little sister Alysan. Instead of seeking out a normal relationship based on love, she had chosen a political union. They’d had many discussions on this point. Alysan wasn’t brave enough to share her anger and bitterness with Azavon, but often felt free to lecture him endlessly about the sacrifices she’d made to ensure that the throne of Silvendil stayed in the family. He’d heard the same lecture from Alysan so often, that he could remember the words verbatim.

  “You know that the Council of Elders views it the duty of each of us to marry and have children. You also know how the Council feels about us marrying a human. You and Azavon have both let them down. I am the only one who was willing to do my duty.”

  “Oh come on, Alysan. You act as if the Council should be able to dictate our every move in life. They seem to want to tell us when to marry, who to marry, and whether or not to have children. I don’t intend to give anyone that much power over me. After all, the Council was formed to advise the ruler, not give him or her orders. ”

  “It’s about the future, Ayron. We are the ruling family of Silvendil. Do you really want to see that honor pass from our family to another? Marrying for political reasons to strengthen our bloodline and ensure that we continue to rule hardly seems to be too great a price to pay in return.”

  “Alysan, I refuse to live a life that I believe seems to value elven blood over human blood. We are a nation committed to living in harmony and equality with one another. If there was a human currently ruling Silvendil, how would you feel if their Council tried to keep them from marrying elves? Besides with our brother, dear sister, it was purely a matter of the heart. And what the heart wants………”

  “I don’t know why I waste my breath even talking to you. Good rulers put their responsibility to the people over their own personal preferences. I don’t understand how it is that I can put my responsibilities ahead of my personal desires, and my two brothers can’t. Well, I for one plan to do what I must to ensure that the throne stays in our family for this and future generations. I think it is a shame that the two of you look like elves but act like humans, and I, who look more human, act more like an elf.”

  Alysan was true to her word and chose as her mate a young elf, Gelmir, who was the son of Lord Daeglin, a member of Azavon’s Council of Elders. She gave birth to a son, Remi, after two seasons of marriage. Since she was three-quarters elf a
nd Gelmir was an elf, their son Remi would be easily accepted by both the Council and the people of Silvendil as a suitable heir.

  Alysan had been pregnant when Azavon’s wife committed suicide and the event seemed to have had a tremendous impact on her. She often mentioned it to Ayron when they were alone together.

  “I have to admit that I really didn’t like Rhianna. She kept trying to get close to me and I couldn’t allow that. I was afraid to be associated too closely with a human that the council didn’t approve of. After all, my husband’s father is an important member of the council and my loyalty had to be with him. You knew her pretty well. Why do you think she killed herself, Ayron?”

  “I really don’t know what happened and to speculate would only be gossip. Remember Alysan, Azavon and I were in Grimsfyne at the time.”

  “Do you think she did it because she knew that everyone in Findara was upset that she married Azavon? I don’t know of anyone who seemed willing to befriend her. Even mother didn’t seem to have much time for her. It is still hard for me to understand how a pregnant woman could commit suicide. She must have had some kind of emotional sickness just like Malac said. To kill her unborn child.......”

  “This is a dangerous topic to discuss with me Alysan. I loved my brother’s wife like a sister, and it did not escape my notice that you never made any attempt to befriend her.

  And while we are on the subject, it sounds to me as if you also consider elves superior to humans. That attitude does not support the principals that our nation was founded upon. In my humble opinion little sister, if you consider yourself better than the humans and refuse to associate with them, you are not fit to rule this land either.”

  As the seasons passed, Ayron found himself no longer angry at his sister. Instead he felt almost as sorry for her as he did for his brother. Alysan had chosen to sacrifice love for her own warped sense of political responsibility. Her marriage was formal, polite, and contained very little intimacy. Alysan and her husband Gelmir both respected each other and dealt well together on matters of state, but their personal relationship was almost nonexistent.