The Elyrian

by D P Rowell

  “What’s the matter, baby Ace?” Julie said.

  “Don’t call me that,” He said under his breath.

  “Why not?” Julie stepped closer, pouting her face in mockery of him. “it’s your name, isn’t it?”

  He bit his tongue, keeping his boiling blood hidden behind his silence.

  “Julie, come on, leave him alone,” Cameron said.

  Julie dismissed her oldest cousin as she stepped closer to Ace. “What do you think you’re doing, baby Ace? All this running around secretly with that smelly drake. Do you think you’re better than us now? Because you’re not.”

  He kept his eyes on the floor, clenching his fists, and gritting his teeth as he fought back the words he wished to say.

  “Oh, oh, I know!” Julie said, a wide giddy smile on her face, “baby Ace is twying to make mommy pwoud, but. . .” she gasped and put her hand over her mouth, “Mommy’s not here, is she?”

  The silence following Julie’s remark was so still, a grain of sand could be heard, had one fallen on the bedroom floor. Even Tamara seemed shocked at what her sister said. For a moment, Ace hadn’t quite taken in what Julie said. Perhaps his subconscious tried to block it away. Pretend her words hadn’t felt like somebody stabbing through his chest and ripping him apart. If so, it didn’t work; for his rage soon stole the show. He lunged at Julie and pushed her with all his might; she fell back into Tamara. The Peppercorns collided with one another, they smacked against the door, then slumped to the floor in a deep thunk.

  “I hate you stupid Peppercorns! You’re a complete disgrace to Grandpa Marty! That’s why you don’t know what’s going on. That’s why he’s keeping you a prisoner under Rio’s control!” Ace leaned close to them, his veins popped through his neck. “Before he died, Grandpa chose me to lead the family! To lead his business! He told me you two were becoming witches, and you deserve to rot forever in a cold cellar! Because being a witch is all you two will ever be good for!”

  Julie and Tamara laid on the ground before him, eyes wide and mouths open. Julie’s bottom lip quivered, and Ace felt a soft touch on his arm. He turned to find Cameron gently pulling him away.

  “Ace, just calm down,” Cameron said. Ace yanked his arm free of Cameron’s grip, and burst out the bedroom door. He bolted down the stairs and out the front door, ignoring the warnings of Rio and Marg not to leave the house. It didn’t come as a surprise to hear Rio’s steps just behind him in the courtyard once he got outside the house. He turned to face the drake.

  “Leave me alone!” He shouted. Not a care at all of what the neighbors might hear. Rio continued to run after him.

  “Ace come back! Where are you going?” the drake said.

  “Anywhere but here. Stop following me! I don’t want to see you, murderer!” Pressure in Ace’s chest set itself free in great waves with every sharp word. Rio stopped in his tracks, his eyes watery. The boy’s remark must have caught the drake off guard. Not much longer, Cameron ran out of the house and grabbed Rio by the arm. He saw them look at one another, Cameron shook his head, and they stopped pursuing him. Instead they turned back to the house. Ace took the opportunity to run to the bushes he and Cameron had practiced in the other night.

  He fell to the ground. He locked his fingers over the back of his neck and buried his head in his knees, rocking back and forth. He thought he was going to explode.

  I hate them! I hate them!

  Tears fell from his eyes and the droplets moistened the dirt beneath him. Memories and dreams he had buried deep reared their ugly heads. He shut his eyes tightly and tensed every muscle, but he couldn’t fight them back.

  He saw his father, Colton, leaning over his mother in Marcus Peppercorns’ library, her face the palest the boy had ever seen. Dad held Mom close, rocking back and forth, saying the same thing over and over.

  “Who did this? Who did this?” Father said. Ace had walked to his dad, Cameron next, and all three of them wept over their mother.

  “What’s wrong with Mom, Dad?” Ace said. Ace turned to see Julie being dragged away by her father. Taller as a jag, light brown skin, and five o’clock shadow that must have been trimmed by an artist it was so symmetrical.

  “I didn’t do it, Daddy! I swear! It was an accident!” Julie said, her feet dragging on the soft carpet as her father pulled her by her arms. Her face a bright red, soaking wet from her tears.

  It was a set up. Julie did mean to do it! Ace thought. Her father told her to! He’s a parcel! It’s what he wanted!

  Ace let out a scream from the pain. Had something ruptured inside of him? He slammed his fist on the ground. Pockets of dust rose in the dry air. A terrible thought crossed his mind. Now, since he had the Emerson Stone, his father was no longer protected by Grandpa. Marcus! Was he going after Colton Halder now? Surely Grandpa would have prepared some way for Dad to be safe. The same way he set it up so the Peppercorns would be protected.

  Either way, Marcus had killed his mother. Ace was sure of it.

  I’m going to find him. The second I get a field assignment, I’m going to find Uncle Marcus and make him pay.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  The Elyr

  Ace sat in the dirt for what seemed to be hours, mulling everything over. The sun had begun to fall and shone like a ripe orange behind the staggered bush leaves. He had cried, screamed, and tensed himself to exhaustion. At some point he would have to return to the house. Where else was he going to go? He knew he wasn’t skilled enough to track Marcus down yet. He needed to train. But no longer was he training to abolish the seventh realm. He had a new mission. Everything else was far less important.

  He stood and walked from the shrubbery. The dry air carried the rich tang of the courtyard tree, and the collision of violet, orange, and blue in the sky spoke of the approaching nightfall. Ace breathed slowly to calm himself before he had to face the Peppercorns again in the house.

  Something caught his eye. Something he’d hoped to see again, but never thought possible. From the road heading north of the courtyard, a shining silver speck shone in his peripherals. He turned, and his heart melted. The fae he had seen from the train! The very same one traveled along the road. She moved swiftly, like a breeze. Where was she running? She stopped at a house at the end of the courtyard, then glanced behind her and all around. Was she running from someone? Ace’s eyes met with hers. He stood like a deer in the headlights. Unable to speak, unable to move at the sight of the fae girl starting at him.

  She went along the road again and disappeared behind the buildings. Was she up to no good? Practicing magic? Ace looked at Marg’s house, just a few steps ahead. The sorcerer! What if she was the sorcerer? But Rio and Keel told him not to go after them . . . and just as had been since he could remember, his curiosity took him over. He ran after the fae, landing on his toes to lessen the sound of his feet hitting the brick road. He peeked his head around the last building of the courtyard. A jag drove a carriage of two horses underneath a beam street light, and a thin mist hovered above the road. Ace squinted, combing the street before him. There she was! A silver dot rushed between two buildings down an alley. She moved like a piece of paper caught by the wind. Soundless and majestic. He ran after her.

  The dry air cooled to a gentle chill, and the wind brought him a sense of tranquility. He felt around his waist and pants. No AMHB. Good thing he’d practiced how to capture a witch without a weapon in the simulation. He looked around for a tree. There had to be one somewhere. Was he really chasing her because he suspected her? She seemed too young to be a witch, but she was certainly up to something. She kept speeding up as he followed her and glancing around her like she was worried. How more obvious could it be? Maybe he was just captivated by her and looked for any excuse he could to follow her. He shook his head. No, Rio had warned him of faes. They were all suspects, and this one was up to no good. He had to find out why she was running around the city.

  He caught up to the alley she had run into, but he only saw darkness. The air gr
ew even cooler. He looked all about the alley. Where had she gone to? The alley led to a dead end and the only thing Ace heard was the clip clop of the jag’s carriage against the cobblestone, now fading in the distance.

  Ace sighed with disappointment and nearly gave up. But just before he turned to leave the alley, the fae leaped from above, seemingly straight from the darkness, and fell in a swift, silent motion. Ace tensed and raised his hands in defense, ready to face a witch one on one. His heart pounded, and he wiped the sweat on his palms.

  She was dressed in a cloth robe of silver with streaks of purple winding about, mimicking her elegant tattoos. Ace dropped his fists, and all his fear left him at once. He stared blankly into the pools of purple surrounding her pupil. Then she spoke. . . and the strangest thing occurred to Ace. The fae did not speak in the common tongue, but in fae language. But he understood her.

  “Hum li rolldi frun?” the fae said. Which Ace understood as “Why are you following me?”

  To which Ace responded, “Hum ez’schdi frun andoom?” Which Ace knew to mean, “Why are you sneaking around?”

  And for what seemed an eternity, silence and shock filled the air. The fae stepped back, eyes wide, as did Ace. What just happened? How did he understand her? How did he know how to respond to her? It was just as if she spoke to him in the common tongue!

  “You speak fae!” She said, stepping back.

  “I—uh—I” Ace stammered, not understanding what had just happened.

  “Who taught you to speak fae?” she said.

  “I—uh—I”

  “I’ve never heard an Evelander speak fae before. . . Are you part fae?”

  “I—uh—I.”

  There was only silence for a moment. The fae gave Ace a moment to gather himself, until she finally broke the silence.

  “Who says I was sneaking around?” she said, changing back to their original topic. “Even if I was, it’s really none of your business. Just because you think you’re the next Halder doesn’t mean you have any authority here.”

  Ace stepped back, eyes wide. “What are you talking about?”

  The fae stepped forward gracefully, her calm eyes penetrating. “Please, you can’t fool me, Ace Halder. I don’t care what rumors are spreading around the city. I know exactly why you’ve come. And you’re wasting your time.”

  Ace tensed again and stepped back. “You’re using witchcraft right now. It won’t work against me you know,” he lifted his hands, ready for a fight, “I’ve become a decent hunter. I have no problem getting some early field practice in.”

  The fae smiled. “You Indies are so paranoid. Faes have dedicated their lives to destroying witchcraft, just like the Indies. How is it you know our language but are so misunderstood of our culture?”

  He kept his stance, unsure of what to believe. Was she deceiving him? Did she cast a spell on him to make him speak fae? But she couldn’t have. He was immune to witchcraft. And something about her drew him in a way he couldn’t explain. Her eyes were honest. She deserved a chance at least, didn’t she? He remembered Rio’s advice. Call out anything suspicious. Talk about it out loud.

  “You can’t fool me. Faes have a natural talent with witchcraft.”

  “I’d sooner die than learn the dark arts, human. We faes know the art of the elyr, and nothing else. But that doesn’t matter to you, does it? You Indies have let the council put fear in you. So much so, you’ve outlawed the only true weapon the council itself fears.”

  Ace let his stance down. “What’s the elyr?”

  Her face remained emotionless. She tilted her head, then raised it again, “What? How can you speak the language and not know its art?”

  Ace stared wordlessly.

  The fae tilted her head. “How about I show you what it is instead of telling you?”

  His palms grew sweaty again, and his body trembled. Was she tricking him? Was he falling victim to a witch’s deceptive power? But he lost himself in her eyes, her glowing skin, and her voice which somehow sounded like a melodic tune.

  “How do I know you’re not tricking me?” Ace said.

  “You’re a hunter, right? Do you perceive me a sorceress?” She stood arms wide, displaying herself before him.

  Ace stared blankly. His immediate response being no. But he was a new hunter and, as such, more liable to fail. “I don’t know,” he said, rubbing his chin. “You know practicing your magic is forbidden here. You also know I’m a hunter. And one who may become the next Halder. Why would you offer to show this power to me? Don’t you know how much trouble you could get in?”

  The fae half smiled. “I can sense something in you. I’m not sure what; but it’s there. You’re not like the other Indies.”

  “What? Yes, I am,” Ace said.

  The fae shook her head. “Never has an Indie spoken fae language before. Besides, any other Indie would have captured me by now simply by the words I’ve spoken. But you are different. You seem . . . curious. You have a desire to learn; to seek truth.”

  Ace had no words. The fae saw straight through him; her eyes truly did penetrate.

  “I’ll tell you something,” she said, “If I show you my power, and you still suspect me, I’ll walk to the cellar myself.”

  She smiled again, and Ace forgot his concern. (And quite possibly his sense). For if she were a witch, he no longer had the strength to resist.

  “Okay,” he said. “Show me.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Kareena Flare

  The fae led Ace through a maze of back roads in Gathara. Weaving through alleyways, conifer, and stout pine trees.

  “Will you know the way back? I’m afraid I might get lost trying to find my home,” Ace said.

  “Yes, yes,” The fae said.

  By now, night had swept over in a blanket of deep purple, and the only light they had for their path was a dim yellow from a half moon. The buildings surrounding them were swallowed in a grove ahead. The moonlight loomed on the edges of the pine’s shy branches and needles. She led him through the trees, entering a woodland part of the city, and leaving the residencies. He found himself surrounded by stubby desert shrubs, thin pine trees, and white fir. She took him by the hand and stepped through another couple of trees to a glimmering pond sunk into the ground. Surrounded by the wall of pine and white fir they came from. Unlit torches stood on staffs around the pool.

  The breeze came to a halt, and Ace could hear not even the sound of a chirping cricket. As if he and the fae were the only two people in Yutara.

  “What is this place?” Ace said.

  The fae circled around the pond, her eyes fixed on the water. “We call this place Throon High.” Ace translated it as Shywater.

  “We?”

  “The faes of Gathara.”

  “It feels strange. It feels . . .”

  “Alone?”

  Ace nodded, expressionless. “Yes.”

  “This oasis can only be found by an elyrian. We call it shy, because it often refuses to be found. Even elyrians search long and hard to find it now and then,” the fae said.

  Ace smiled at her, not sure how else to respond to her gibberish. Maybe she wasn’t a witch. Just crazy. “So, is this your power then? Finding strange pools of water?” He said with a chuckle.

  The fae gave him a cold stare. She then closed her eyes, placed her hands together under her chin, and took three deep breaths. At the exhale of her third breath, something like a pale fire appeared on the tips of her fingers. A pure white. She waved her arms and legs in a fluid dance. The fire grew to her hands and trailed along her arms, and with the point of a finger, bits of the fire left her hands and began to light the torches. She did this until all were lit, then she stopped in the same manner she began, and at the third inhale, the white fire evaporated.

  Ace stood speechless at the torches flickering against the surface of the crystal pool. The oasis now purely lit, the tree colors popping in explosions of green and yellow. The fae walked over to Ace, grabbed his wri
st, and pulled him to one of the torches.

  “Touch the flame,” said the fae.

  Ace winced.

  “It’s okay, trust me,” she said. Her face brightened, and Ace’s heart turned over. What was the harm? He reached out slowly but felt no warmth. He let his hand into the fire, and still felt nothing. The flames wrapped over his hand. He lost himself. Everything brightened around him. He breathed what seemed to be the purest air, and a surge of power flowed from the tips of his fingers to the bottom of his heart.

  “This is incredible,” Ace said. His words breathy and soft. The fae smiled at him from ear to ear. The first expression of emotion he’d seen from her.

  “The light of the elyr doesn’t burn the flesh of the innocent,” she said. Ace smiled back and let the energy flow through his body. Was he dreaming?

  What occurred to Ace a strange phenomenon is the familiarity this brought to him. He had felt this peace once before but . . . where? His eyes opened as he remembered. The day in Myrka! When he saved Julie from the witch! The pale light came like a screen over his vision and he saw the witch hiding in the dark.

  “So,” the fae said, pulling his hand away from the fire. At once the world around Ace seemed dull and gray. “Are you convinced?”

  “Convinced of what?” Ace said as he tried to gather himself from the wake of his high.

  “That the elyr is safe,” the fae said. “That I’m no witch.”

  Ace chuckled, he stepped forward and looked at the flickering light dancing on the still pond. “Of course I’m convinced!” He turned to the fae. “I’ve dealt with witchcraft before, whatever this magic is, it’s not witchcraft,”

  “It’s not magic either. It’s the elyr,” she said. “I dare not address the Light as magic.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  The fae stepped toward him as their eyes fixed on the oasis before them. “Everything is different. Magic spends souls, the elyr heals them.”

  Ace turned to her. “I don’t understand.”