The Elven Apostate

by Sara C. Roethle

  Finally, Isara smiled. Just a small smile, but it was enough to let Elmerah know they had reached a truce.

  Celen came into view in the distance. He slogged toward them with five giant boughs in his muscular arms, and a bushel of wide leaves gripped in his left hand. Alluin was barely visible carrying more boughs and leaves behind him.

  “Please tell me you ladies are done talking about us!” Celen called out. “We’re entirely soaked!”

  Elmerah grinned as he reached them. “My apologies, but I only talk about people who are interesting. You do not qualify.” She stood. “Now are you going to build us a shelter, or will you just stand there looking like a troll carrying all those branches?”

  Alluin laughed as he reached Celen’s back, then tossed his branches onto the ground, maintaining his grip on the neatly stacked leaves, each one as long or longer than his forearm. “At least help us hold up the branches, Ellie. Or would you rather sleep in the rain?”

  Elmerah narrowed her eyes. “Oh not you too.” It was bad enough when Celen called her by the shortened name.

  Isara laughed, then moved into the heavier rain to hold up one end of a bough that Celen had leaned against the earth. The weight nearly toppled her. With a grin, Elmerah took the branch’s end from Isara and leaned it against the mighty oak.

  Together, the four companions built a hasty shelter, then all huddled beneath it, temporarily safe from the rain. Elmerah knew the morning would bring more worries, but for now, she didn’t terribly mind being soaking wet, but fairly warm, with Isara’s shoulder on one side, and Alluin’s on the other.

  Saida

  Saida paced back and forth across the tent’s interior as day waned to night, waiting for Phaerille to return from her search for Malon. She was clean—she’d been baffled in the dark hours of morning to see the crystal clear spring surrounded by strange squat trees with great broad leaves, but she’d been more than grateful to bathe in it—and she was fed. The meat really wasn’t that bad, once one recovered from the initial shock of it.

  Those were about the only two things she had going for her. She’d been stuck inside this tent all day, by Malon’s orders, to rest and regain her strength. He’d explained to the Makali that she was simply ill from the heat, and that nothing else was amiss. She was yet to tell him about the whispers, and she wasn’t sure she ever would. Now darkness was falling outside the tent, and she was no closer to returning to Faerune.

  The tent flap opened without warning, revealing not Phaerille, but Malon, his features tense with a quiet, seething anger. “You have made my life exceedingly difficult,” he said, letting the tent flap shut behind him.

  She stopped pacing and stilled, unsure how to interpret his mood. She’d never seen him so deeply annoyed, and some folk grew violent in such a state. Still, she could not resist saying, “Any inconveniences I’ve caused are nothing in comparison to what you’ve done to me.”

  His laughter made her jump. He leaned his head forward and rubbed his brow, still laughing. He wasn’t wearing the Crown of Arcale, so it must be in the satchel slung across his shoulder, along with the Crown of Cindra. He’d not leave either ornament with anyone else.

  He lifted his head and walked toward her. She tensed, but he continued past, then sat on one of the plump pillows.

  She turned, tracking his movement.

  His shoulders slouched as he settled more comfortably onto the pillow. The tan robe that at first seemed startlingly foreign was beginning to seem natural on him. “Urali is now skeptical of our ability to harness the power of the circlets. She won’t say it out loud, but she obviously believes we are trying to trick her. I’ve spent the day convincing her you simply need your rest, but she has insisted we demonstrate our power before morning.”

  Saida stepped back toward the pillow furthest from Malon’s, then sat. “I do not believe I can agree to that.”

  His soft smile faded. “We’ve discussed this. We will not return to Faerune without an army. If we want an army, we must convince Urali. With her approval, we will be able to approach the other clans.”

  “It’s not right. If what happened—if it really is the power of the gods, I will not abuse it in such a way.”

  He arched a silver brow. “Will you wait idly by while Egrin attacks Faerune then?”

  Her fists curled. “No, I will not. But I will also not allow you to use me like a puppet. You have spoken as if a partnership is what you desire. If that is the case, then we must negotiate.”

  She’d been worried he’d call her a naive little girl, or he’d simply ignore her, but his gaze was considering. After a long observation of her, he spoke, “I see you’re beginning to grow up a bit. Good. What do you propose?” He held up a hand before she could speak. “And keep in mind, the Makali will try to kill us if they think we have hidden motives.”

  She closed her open mouth. Truly, she was so shocked he was actually listening to her, she wasn’t sure what to say. All she wanted to do was return to Faerune. She cared not for the Makali, nor this war Malon was attempting to wage.

  “Why would they even want to join you?” her thoughts poured out loud. “What do they stand to gain?”

  “The Makali have been at war with the Lukali for centuries,” he explained. “You’ve seen how they live. If a smaller clan wanders too far from an oasis, or if the one they arrive at has dried up, they may die. The Lukali cities are built around the greatest bodies of water within the desert, so they remain strong and safe. Quite safe, in fact, because no potential enemies would dare cross the desert to attack them.”

  She considered his words, assuming the oasis he’d mentioned was the natural spring she’d bathed in, though she’d never heard the term before. “But the Lukali and Makali, they are essentially the same? Other than being born either within a city, or to a nomadic clan?”

  Malon nodded.

  Such a notion would have made little sense to her before, but after what Malon had done . . . well, it was eerily similar. Elves turned against elves, all for land, power, and status.

  “So they want us to help them overthrow the Lukali?”

  He laughed. “No. Why claim harsh desert lands, when you can be given lands within the Empire? Even the southern villages with half the resources of Galterra seem like a great boon to the Lukali.”

  She nodded. “And if you can demonstrate to them the power of the gods, they will believe you capable of granting those lands.”

  “Precisely.”

  “There’s one issue.”

  “And that is?” he asked expectantly.

  “I don’t care about the Makali, or your war, and I won’t demonstrate the circlets for them.”

  “Saida—”

  “And,” she interrupted, “before you decide to threaten me with Egrin attacking Faerune, know that whatever you try to force me to do, I will fight you every step of the way. I will never give you the power you desire. You will never achieve any of your lofty goals.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You’re mighty full of bluster, Saida. You may hold your leverage, but I too hold mine. Without my help, you’ll be stuck here in this desert, and those left in Faerune will be slaughtered. Before you make any more idle threats, you may want to offer a solution to this issue.”

  Her mind raced for a way to avoid using the circlets for ill. The magic of the gods was not meant for displays of power. Not meant for enlisting an army. Arcale and Cindra gave life. They helped her people make the crops grow. They made the rivers run more fiercely.

  “The oasis,” she muttered, mostly to herself. “That’s it.”

  Malon watched her steadily. “What about it?”

  She stood. “Go to Urali. Tell her come morning, she’ll have her proof, but it won’t be through an empty display of power.”

  He watched her a moment longer. “What do you plan?”

  “Do you not trust me?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Well you’re going to have to
.”

  * * *

  Malon might have cursed and moaned about the delay to execute their plan, but Saida had managed to make him wait until the small hours of morning, when most of the Makali would be asleep. Urali had been skeptical, but had agreed to wait until dawn for the display of power.

  With Malon at her side, Saida approached the bank of the oasis. Soft grass squished underfoot. Squat trees with broad leaves surrounded them. She knelt and dipped her fingers into the water, disrupting the ripples created by the underground spring. The pool wasn’t large, just the size of a small pond, but in the desert, it was the giver of life. The water reflected the half-moon overhead, making the surface glow.

  Malon crossed his arms and looked down at her. “Will you reveal your plan now, or have you decided to drown me?”

  “Shut up and listen.” She took a deep breath, watching the water, hoping this would work. She did not have the gifts of a Sun Priestess, but hopefully with the circlet, she could access them.

  “I’m listening,” he said when she didn’t speak.

  “I’ve been thinking about the circlets, and where their power comes from. I—” she hesitated. “I don’t think the power just comes from the unusually pure moonstones. I really do believe it comes from the gods.” She still hadn’t told him about the whispers, but hopefully this explanation would be enough for him to understand her resistance to misusing the circlets.

  He knelt beside her. “Go on.”

  She nodded, then looked down at her fingers in the water. “I do not think the gods would will their power to be used for shallow displays to gain an army, but for this,” she gestured to the surrounding foliage with her free hand, “for this, I believe Cindra and Arcale would will it. They would like to see the plants grow, and the water expand to help sustain the Makali.”

  “I thought you did not care about the Makali,” he said skeptically.

  “I do not care to have them as an army, but no one should have to live not knowing if they’ll have enough water to survive.”

  “It’s a clever strategy,” he said. “Expanding the oasis is a far greater display of power than what we’d been planning.”

  She shook her head. “It is not a display of power. It is a gift to these people.”

  “If it helps you to think of it that way, I will concur.”

  She glanced at him, then back to the water. Would she hear the whispers again when she donned the circlet? Would what she was about to attempt still anger the gods?

  With no answers to her questions, she lifted her hand from the water and extended it to Malon. “The circlet, please.”

  Still kneeling, he pulled his satchel forward and removed both circlets. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but Moon Priestesses do not receive training in earthen magic, do they?”

  She shook her head.

  “Well neither do guardsmen. How will we know what to do?”

  She hardly noticed as he placed the circlet in her hand. “Malon, you can summon wisps and demons, you knew how to make the circlets work, but you don’t know how to make the plants grow?”

  He shrugged.

  She would have laughed if she weren’t in such a dire situation. Instead, she lifted the circlet and placed it atop her head. Her fingers came away numb, but there were no frantic whispers.

  She looked to Malon to see he had already donned the Crown of Arcale. Wordlessly, both stood.

  “I think I’ll need your hand,” she said grudgingly.

  He reached out, then laced the fingers of his left hand with her right. Power pulsed between them, more gentle than when they had faced Egrin.

  Malon squeezed her hand tightly. “What now?”

  She closed her eyes. She had little to go off, but since youth, her mother, assuming her daughter would become a Sun Priestess, had told her how to make the plants grow. Saida had always felt her mother had been disappointed to learn she had no such talent.

  Focus, she told herself. She thought first of the pool before her, imagining the small natural spring drawing water up to the surface. In her mind, the water surged with great volume, filling the pool far beyond its banks.

  She heard bubbling. Was that the spring? She was too nervous to open her eyes to check. Too nervous too see if her hand linked with Malon glowed with the light of the moon, for she felt that light coursing within her.

  Cold water soaked past the laces of her boots, then up the hem of her loose robe. She yipped in surprise, and would have lost her grip on Malon’s hand if he weren’t holding hers so tightly.

  “Keep going,” he instructed calmly.

  She nodded to herself, letting the water flow around her ankles. She thought of the water seeping into the earth, enriching it with minerals to make healthy plants grow. Then she thought of the plants, of those squat little trees growing tall and mighty. She imagined bushes with plump berries, and medicinal herbs sprouting all over the bank.

  She was beginning to sweat with the effort. The circlet felt like a great weight upon her brow.

  Open your eyes, Saida. Her eyes fluttered open at the voice’s command. Not Malon’s voice, but that of a woman . . . inside her head.

  She quickly recovered from the sensation of the strange whisper as her eyes beheld what they had done. They now stood knee-deep in a pool three times the size of what it had been. The once squatty trees towered overhead. A glance back at the bank showed a variety of new plants, peaceful and unmoving in the moonlight.

  Malon laughed. “Truly, I did not think this possible.”

  Tears were in her eyes, though she wasn’t sure why. All she knew was that this was a gift, and what they’d done with the circlets before to those Dreilore had been a curse.

  “Consider your power proven,” a voice said from the banks.

  Saida dropped Malon’s hand as they both turned find Urali standing on the bank, a look of zealous awe upon her aged features.

  The whispers returned to Saida’s mind, frantic once more. Only this time, she could understand a bit more of what they were saying. They were saying that she would never make it back to Faerune, for woman on the banks would be her demise.

  * * *

  Malon hurried Saida back into her tent as the first rays of dawn stretched over the sand. She wanted nothing more than sleep now, despite her gnawing worry. However, Malon seemed newly energized, practically giddy with excitement.

  He let the tent flap fall shut behind them, causing the flames in the oil lamps to flicker. He took both her arms in hers. “Saida, that was incredible. You’re incredible.”

  She pulled away, shaking her head. “Malon, I don’t trust Urali. We must leave this place.”

  His elation wilted, like a delicate flower left out in the Helshone. “What are you talking about? We’ve proven our power. Soon we’ll have the army I desire and we’ll go to Faerune, as promised.”

  Her heart raced. She longed to retrieve the circlet, which had been placed back in Malon’s satchel. Had she imagined the voice in her head, warning her against Urali? “No, there’s something wrong. Urali will not let me leave this place alive.”

  Malon watched her for a moment. Even with the lower half of his robe wet, he still seemed well put together, but his eyes were calculating—and his calculations were a force to be reckoned with.

  He glanced at the closed tent flap, then stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Tell me why you believe this, and keep your voice down. Urali is not the only Makali who speaks the common tongue.”

  She fidgeted at his closeness. “I—” she hesitated. He’d probably think her mad, and she didn’t really want to share the experience with him, but she knew no other way to make him believe her. “I hear voices when I use the circlet. Sometimes many, but one voice is clear above the rest, a woman whispering in my mind. She told me not to display my power for Urali when we met in her tent. Then just now, the voice told me Urali intends my death.” She shook her head, unsure of her own words. “Or she at least intends my downfall.”

 
He leaned closer, his loose silver hair draping around her on either side. “Are you sure of this? I have heard no voices.”

  She thought about it. Was she sure? Could the voice really be . . . She licked her dry lips. In her heart, she believed the voice to be Cindra, though why a goddess would speak to her was anyone’s guess.

  She nodded. “Yes, I’m sure. I believe without a doubt Urali intends me harm.”

  “I wonder why?” he muttered, his gaze going distant. “Does she not truly desire lands further north?”

  Saida suspected the question was not actually for her. He was calculating again, searching for Urali’s hidden motive. “You believe me?”

  He met her eyes. “Saida, what you did out there is something most priestesses train their entire lives to master, and even then, they’d need a group to accomplish such things, and moonstones to focus the power.”

  “I had the Crown of Cindra. I did nothing special.”

  He patted her shoulder. “Get some rest. I will speak to some of the Makali in the morning, see if I can’t find the root of Urali’s intent.”

  “There’s no way I can sleep knowing that woman is out to get me!” she hissed.

  He raised his brows at her. “Would you like me to stay with you?”

  “Absolutely not. Just give me the circlet.”

  “If the circlet stays, I stay.”

  She thought about staying in the tent alone with no way to protect herself. Then she thought about sleeping near her enemy. She found the latter to be the lesser evil, which surprised her. He was her enemy, what he had done to Faerune was unforgivable. And yet . . . he was the only person who had ever believed her capable of more. It boggled her thoughts. She wanted to hate him, he was the reason her mother was dead.

  He did not hold the blade, a small voice said in her mind. Not the voice of Cindra, but her own.

  She shook away the voice. He might have thought her mother would be safe during the attack, Cornaith and Immril had survived, but all the other deaths . . .