by Karey Brown
“Humor. Just tell me.”
“King Breton was high Elf. He fashioned that amulet upon your birth for you to wear always. It keeps evil at bay.”
“Funny, when I was wearing its twin, the one your Pendaran—“
“He does not belong to me.”
Emily shrugged. “I wasn’t exactly safe. I had a ghost run me off the road, nearly killing me. They claim,” she snorted, “I suffered a broken neck.” Emily rolled her eyes. Placing the amulet back in the tiny chest, she settled the small box back into the larger trunk. “One does not simply sleep off a broken neck.”
“Great magic is interweaved with your aura. Much light surrounds you, but I am unable to discern how.”
“Yeah, so I’ve been told.”
“You should wear the amulet.”
“Not mine to wear.”
I’m not Aurelia. Fed up with everyone holding their breath, waiting for me to suddenly rear my head, exclaim I’m the long awaited queen, and step right into a role I’ve no idea how to fulfill.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“I sense a heaviness within you, Lady Emily. Why do you deny who you are?”
“In my time, reincarnation is shunned and laughed at.”
“I see. Do they burn you for believing?”
“Like witches?”
“Yes.”
“No, just roll their eyes and avoid you. And we no longer burn witches, if there really are any.”
“Shunned. I see. No better than burning, not really. Once, my lady, your powers were revered, never laughed at. I assure you, when you come into your full awakening, you will not be shunned, but embraced.”
“You make it sound so wonderful, but I have to be honest, Blade, it can’t be all that if Aunsgar and Broc become hush-hush towards my questions.”
“Their knowledge of your true power has its limits, though I suspect Aunsgar thinks to be protecting you.”
“Like how he protected Aurelia by burying you?”
“I concede your observation has grand merit.”
“I wonder how history would have played out, had you been around when Lumynari attacked the keep that day. The bodies, the children, Aedan’s wounded—oh, shit, there’s a warrior, crazed, coming at Maeve. He’d going to kill her! Where’s Ardra? I know she’s here! Must . . . save Maeve. She was kind when Na’Dryn—Blade!”
“You are awakening.”
“I can see everything as if I’m standing right there. I even know names!” Emily rubbed her arms, deeply chilled. “So, that’s what Lumynari look like? They seem more abhorrent than Dezenial did. These visions . . . it’s as if I’ve just left the theater after seeing some farfetched movie.”
“I do not understand this ‘movie’. Tell me what you see. I was not present.”
“I’ve pierced one of those shadow warriors—“
“Shadow Master. They’re not to be trifled with.”
“Well, my sword has just opened up his windpipe. Eeeewww!” Suddenly, she arched, pain in her back searing. “I’m lying down. Pain. Hurts to breathe.”
“Where is the Outlander? Aunsgar?”
“Broc seethes.” She frowned. “No one moves. They’re oddly still. As if someone hit pause.”
“Pause?”
“Like statues.”
“Great magic. If Ardra is present, it is no wonder.”
“Lumynari are everywhere, hundreds of them.” Emily gasped. Leaning down over her, cradling her, a face haunting her every moment. Heartache amplified. “Dezenial.” Whispering his name brought tears. “He whispers words I can’t decipher.”
“Take my hilt that I may share your vision.”
Emily complied.
“He calls upon ancient magicks to ease your pain.”
The scene began to mist over.
“This must be the moment you crossed over into Otherworld.”
Emily released Blade. “Otherworld?”
“An in-between of sorts until such time as Aurelia’s rebirthing.”
“Blade?”
“Aye, mi' lady?”
“I am not Aurelia.”
“That is where you are wrong. You are one and the same. You may be Emily in the here and now, with new traits adapted and learned from this age you find yourself in, but know this, High Queen of Quemori, within you lies dormant a power such as none in your time are obviously exposed to. From what you’ve told me, it would seem your kind now shuns their past as well as the bards telling of great victories, kingdoms lost, and legends.”
“We no longer have bards.” High Queen? What the hell?
“Who recounts your histories?”
“Historians. Archeologists. Books. Internet.”
“It is my hope we commence lessons of this present era in a very near future.” He sighed. “The Elders, even in Aurelia’s time, were becoming nothing more than legend. It was why a Keeper was needed. The Elders knew their time was ending, that they would need to remain dormant in order to remain safe.”
“Safe? If they’re all powerful, then what could possibly harm them?”
“Hunters from our home world. We are not from here.”
“Yeah, that was glossed over when things were briefly explained before.”
“We are from further away than merely looking up into your stars.”
Emily’s hand shot up, staying Blade’s tale. “Brain overload. Another time. For now, I think we need to get a move on.”
“Yes, I was about to ask if you wished to continue your escape.”
Emily’s chin jutted in defiance. “I’m not running. I’m simply exploring my options.”
“You may wish to broaden your exploration, and hope for better options. We are about to have company.”
“Blade, you said they were outdoors. You said they wouldn’t—“
“That was before Aunsgar began tracking you.”
“Tracking—“
“Elvish eyesight is uncanny when it comes to tracking their quarry.”
Emily turned and stared at the door. “Lucky me.”
“He stalks the stairwell as we speak. He is followed by several Elves. I assure you, Aunsgar’s mood is not for taking the noon meal with.”
Emily grinned. “You mean, he’s actually angry? This might be worth sticking around to witness. They never seem to have much in the way of emotions.”
“May I suggest we make haste?”
“That bad, huh?”
“Worse than you can know.”
Emily lunged, grabbed Blade’s hilt and observed through his strange power of sight. Aunsgar and a dozen or so men and Elves surged the stairs, Broc amongst them. Rage upon his face—he clutched his sword! “Is he coming to find me, or to remove my head?”
“He is Outlander. The latter would be his preference, when enraged. A foul breed they be. I warned Pendaran that he erred in his decision to grant Forest Lords guardianship over you. The Lumynari prince was better suited for you, but in their world—“
Emily squeezed the hilt as tightly as humanly possible.
“I recant long tales best saved for another time.”
“Aye, Blade. Tell me, why would a man be so enraged when seeking the castle whore, that he hunts her down with drawn sword?”
“Perhaps he fears you . . . did I hear you correctly? Why would you disgrace yourself with such a benevolent title?”
Pounding upon the wood door made Emily yelp. Muffled shouting erupted from the other side. She could make out the word ‘door’ and her name. It wasn’t hard to surmise their request.
“May we leave?”
“Definitely,” Emily stated. Several tugs were required before she and Blade could slip out through the rot-swollen door. “I’m not going to be able to hold you and crawl. Can you see through that opposite door?”
“I remain blind to its holdings. I am sorry, my lady.”
“Crawling along on this stone is murder to my knees.”
“Shall I carry you?”
“No.” Emily sear
ched either side of the crawl space. She reached out, but felt no wall. “Blade, can you make it brighter in here?” She glanced behind her, but the small door they’d escaped through was completely invisible in this near pitch black she found herself in.
“I would not suggest it. I do wholeheartedly propose you to station your hands in front of you for balance and brace.”
Emily stilled. Something was very wrong. “Blade, I command you make it brighter in here!”
Blade’s voice was coolly disapproving. “Very well.” Silvery light radiated from the sword. “Keep moving, milady.”
Emily ignored him. She didn’t like what she was feeling. Daring to confirm her suspicions, she looked over the edge of where she crawled—and dropped down upon her chest, flattening her body, hugging the crawl space.
On either side of her yawned a great chasm. She was on a makeshift stone bridge, and could very possibly plunge to her death! “What the hell was I thinking? What the hell was Broc thinking when he built this? Are you trying to get me killed?”
Blade hovered directly over her. “You must crawl. Just do not look down. Simple enough. Once, you would have danced across something like this.”
“Very . . . funny.”
“Take my hilt.”
Emily refused to move. Even blinking might spill her over the side. “I will lay here and let Broc rescue me.”
“I will not allow the Outlander to find you like this! I have respected your wishes and strayed from your mind, but not before hearing through you his contempt and vile words. You are not meant for him. You never were. Now, take my hilt!” Blade shimmied under her fingers. Relieved, she wrapped each one around his black leather hilt. And squeezed for dear life. Immediately, she was lifted, face down, and floated across like a corpse in water.
“Remind me to ask how you do this.”
“Do not let go,” he warned.
“Hadn’t planned on it.”
Behind them, the distinct crash of door splintering echoed.
“Oh boy. You better hope our next door opens.”
Cacophony of shouting ruptured from the chamber they’d luckily vacated long, long moments earlier.
“You can stand here. There seems to be a very wide ledge.”
“Not on your life.”
“The tunnel sweeps upward. You will be safe enough.”
Emily shook her head. “I’ll fall to my death.”
“Well, not exactly.”
“What? Oh, you mean I’ll just step into my next life? Don’t feel much like experiencing the pain of leaving this one.”
“I cannot open doors. We will require use of your hands.”
Emily grimaced. “Oh, well, got me there.” A cursory glance and then, “There lacks a door handle.”
“Elvish inscription.”
“I can barely speak their language let alone read it.” She studied the loopy letters. “Sure is pretty, the way they write.” On her knees, she scuttled closer. With her finger, she traced looping silver language of the Elves. Sheepishly, she smiled up at Blade. “Worked when I set you—“
Clicks and popping sounds erupted finalizing with a great sound of suction; the small door popped open a mere two inches.
“It would seem you are a key for a great many things, not just an iron box.”
“Lucky me. Shall we visit Fort Knox?”
“I am not familiar with that country.”
“Not a country. A place where we keep gold. Lots of gold.”
“I like gold.”
Emily pushed hard, nearly whiplashing the door. “Oops. Thought it was gonna be difficult like the other one.” Damn thing nearly batter-rammed her.
“Allow me entrance first, my lady.” Blade slipped in beside Emily. Behind her, echoes of the door being kicked followed by shouts and curses sounded extra loud in this odd chamber of death defying height. Chill and gripping fear returned—tenfold.
“Screw this,” she muttered and scrambled in after Blade.
Emily rooted on a small ledge she’d stepped out onto. She knew she looked ridiculous, her mouth hanging open, but it couldn’t be helped. Shelves overflowed with thousands of bound tomes. But, what drew her attention most, her marvel, her fear, her awe . . . a life-size painting.
Her likeness.
Literally.
Garbed similar to how Aunsgar dressed, sword grasped in her hand, bright white hair cascading as far down as her knees, Emily gaped at her twin. “It’s me,” Emily whispered.
“Princess Aurelia.”
“No wonder everyone is—“
“Emily!”
Her lip curled. Oh-so-slowly, she turned. Broc’s torch silhouetted him in the pitch black. Cold fury, such as she’d never felt, settled a deadly calm around her. “Close the door, Blade.”
“As you command.” She jumped down atop a table as Blade whisked past her, and gave the door a solid pounding with his hilt.
The door slammed shut, closing on a life she hoped never to see again.
She reverted her attention to the painting. “Spooky. She and I could be twins. To be reincarnated as, basically, the exact duplicate of someone who has lived before . . . kinda creepy, Blade.”
“Except, my lady, there are vast differences between the two of you.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
“You are kinder, gentler, and though—“
“I think that’s one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me.”
“Aurelia was trained from cradle until coffin to be a warrior, a queen, and never allowed to put herself first, nor feel the situation. She was expected to act, to mete out resolutions.”
“Isolated. Frustrated.” Emily stared up at her likeness before whispering, “I don’t know if I would survive it.”
“And there is the difference I spoke of. You find it acceptable to have faults. Aurelia allowed herself none. And tolerated none in others, if they were in commanding positions to lead.”
“Falling on our face is how we understand what others do. To be perfect, well, how are you going to understand faults if you don’t allow any for yourself?”
Blade turned so that his point now stared at Emily. “I think, if I may be so bold as to say this aloud, I rather like who you are in this life.”
Emily curtsied, then laughed easily.
And that’s when bone numbing cold assaulted her. Fear, the kind she used to feel sometimes when living alone and a particular corner in her house seemed darker than usual, skittered up her spine and squeezed her nape. “They might be gaining on us. We should probably go. Where are we, any idea? Might help to know so we can figure out our next route.”
“Elvish chambers, to be sure. A Memory Room, is what they used to call these. Only Elder Elves have these, centuries of their histories collected and entrusted to their care. Elven magic surrounds us. Perhaps this is what you sense?”
Emily gave a slow shake of her head, eyes wandering over cathedral high bookcases fashioned to resemble tree branches. And all done in palest cream and silver. It had to be the most beautiful room she’d ever seen. “This room is beauty,” she said in awe. “What I feel is darkness. Fear. As if we’re in a cemetery on a moonless night. And there’s footsteps. Coming closer. It’s not Broc chasing us. This is more . . . predatory.”
Numerous desks laden with unrolled parchment and various quills and ink offered a distraction. “Are they crawling towards us?”
“Faster than I thought possible. We need to make haste. It is never wise to wander through an Elvish domain.”
But Emily barely heard his warning. “This one looks really old.” She was pointing to a stack of yellowed papers, their leather and twine binding laying open. “And I see Broc’s name several times, though I can’t read this gibberish.”
Blade floated closer.
Emily shot a glance upward and rubbed her arms. “I find it odd that I can sense something rotting, yet you can’t.”
Sword tip swung around and prodded air at various location
s. A few minutes of this and he floated back down. “Aunsgar has spells cast around this room to protect it from various forms of intrusion.”
“Guess he forgot to add humans to his list.”
Blade chuckled. “Just the same, his magicks have matured quite nicely. He’s learned much during his punishment.”
“Punishment?”
“Elves live very long lives, centuries upon centuries. A few even step upon the threshold of millennia. None live as long as Aunsgar has. Unless cursed.” Blade’s point angled so that it faced Emily. “Aurelia slipping into Otherworld would be cause for such a curse.”
Emily shrugged. “Dezenial’s alive, so?”
“He’s a god.”
“What? No. Stop your stories. I don’t want to hear any of them. Read this page.”
Blade’s scratchy voice began narrating. “ ‘Tis a strange, warm day for this land. Nothing stirs. Perhaps Pendaran is upon us, watching to see how we fare. Broc masters his shape shifting, though his choice of being a steed—“
Emily wheezed.
“Are you ill?”
She waved her hand. “Go on.” No bit or saddle was allowed to be used on a certain horse. A certain horse Garreck and Urkani had her train on. My God!
‘Lass, should you find yourself in danger, this horse will know what to do.’
This was the same horse that had chased her all the way back to the keep’s main entrance, when she’d thought to make her escape. Oh, so help me, if ever I ride that horse again, I’m going to make sure I’m wearing spurs. Hear me, Broc? Your back is gonna resemble a pincushion!
Bastard would probably buck her off. She’d sell him to a glue factory. Mentally, she laughed. As for Garreck being in on the ruse, she’d burn him at the stake. Off with his head—no, wait, that line’s already been taken.
Blade continued. “The waiting disheartens us, stifling the very air we breathe. Oligin slips deeper into madness, though Broc has tried many times to draw him away from the precipice of misery. Seven-hundred winters have plundered the land, and still nary a sign of Aurelia. With much grief, Lord Broc, son of Lady Larrin, has had to come to a dreadful decision. Beyond my magicks, Pendaran’s curse remains outside my reach. I warned the druid, humans would succumb to madness from living the immortal’s life. The execution was swift, painless, merciful, and carried out by Broc’s own hand. He wanted none of his men to suffer the guilt of such a task. I was able to procure Oligin into a sleeping stupor before his beheading.”