Heart of Farellah: Book 1

by Brindi Quinn

  “The world is said to be broken into the Westerlands and the Easterlands, two large land masses separated by the great ocean,” said Nyte, brushing a fallen leaf from the map, “but we know only legend about the Easterlands, since no Elf has ever returned from the great ocean.”

  So they too have theories regarding an Easterlands. Is it true, then? But even if . . .

  My thoughts started to trail, but Nyte was looking at me expectantly, so I quickly straightened up.

  Ah, I have to pay attention!

  “Umm . . . the Westerlands are divided into six regions!” I said too enthusiastically. “Errr.” It had been an impulsive cover-up that I immediately regretted, for he certainly already knew such a thing, and there was no reason for me to share what little knowledge I had.

  “Right.” He grinned and pointed to the map.

  I gave him an awkward smile but felt incredibly embarrassed.

  “So,” he continued, eyeing me with an amused glint, “Carouth is where you are from, northeastern Westerlands. West of that is Elenque, where we are now. The Elven Kingdom takes up two thirds of the region. South of Elenque is Rendalt. It is mainly dry and grassy, but there is a great desert in the northeastern part. South of that is Abardo, where the Yes’lech society is located. It is also where the Crystallands are.” He pointed to a dot marked ‘Crystair’. “I am pretty certain this is where Grotts is from. In the far south, along the coast, is Farrowel. Druelca’s castle is located there.”

  “What about this space over here? Is that the Mistlands?” I pointed to the western edge of the map where the land faded to black.

  “Yes, the Mistlands are next to Nor, this long skinny region that runs from the top of the Westerlands to the bottom. It marks the edge of the world.”

  “The world’s edge?”

  The same Mistlands that souls traveled through on their way to the afterlife were there looming on the edge of the map. It made me uneasy.

  “Elven legend says,” he continued, “that a living person can cross the Mistlands and enter the afterlife, but once they do they can never come back.”

  “That’s pretty creepy.” Without thinking I added, “So then the feather lady was from . . .”

  “Hm?” Nyte raised an eyebrow. “What are you speaking of?”

  “Oh! It’s nothing.” I’d almost let Kantú’s secret slip.

  I waved my hand to brush away the topic, but he continued to look at me with suspicion.

  Come on, change the subject! I studied the parchment in search of something to say.

  “Uh . . . I wish the maps in Farellah were this detailed!” Again, I was entirely too enthused.

  Damn it, why am I acting so spastically?! But at the same time, I’d piqued my own interest with the rapid avoidance.

  “Yeah. I really do,” I continued. “All we have are rough sketches.”

  I was beginning to realize just how cut off from the world the city of songstresses really was.

  Nyte brushed a lock of green hair from his face.

  “There were once great Elven explorers that traveled the world, plotting out the regions and recording them on maps. Before the Druelcan truce, the leaders of the races met together every decade or so to discuss their findings and update each other on the current layout of the land. One of Druelca’s treaty terms was that this sharing of information cease. Since it has been over two centuries since the last meeting, these maps are probably inaccurate, but they are better than nothing.”

  “Meetings, huh?” I wondered if Farellah had been included in the meetings he spoke of, certain I’d never heard of something like that.

  I stared at the map and tried to take it all in.

  What was Druelca’s reason for sealing the records and keeping the races apart in the first place? How had an organization I’d never even heard of been able to exert so much control over the world?

  I mulled over the questions, but they remained unspoken. Nyte became unusually reluctant whenever I brought up Druelca.

  I wondered why.

  I looked up from the map and realized that he’d been staring at me. I blushed, and he quickly shifted his gaze to a red twitfoot that was singing on a nearby branch.

  “Should we move on to the Elven Kingdom’s layout?” he asked after a few seconds of awkward silence, picking up a particularly tattered tome.

  Before I could answer, a strong wind ruffled the leaves of the surrounding trees, causing a low whooshing through the quivering branches. The same wind swayed the net and tried to carry our map away on its back.

  Nyte jumped up to grab the map too quickly and fell forward onto me as his foot became entangled in the net. The red twitfoot was bothered by the interruption and twitted away to a more peaceful branch.

  Nyte was against me for just a moment, but his warmth made my heart race.

  I’m feeling this way again? What’s wrong with me?

  He smelled curiously like the cherry blossom trees of my beloved meadow.

  His green eyes widened. “I apologize!” he said, rolling off of me. The warmth left with him.

  My heart was still pounding, but I resolved to stay cool.

  “Are you so clumsy with all of your captives?” I asked with a grin and tried to regain composure.

  “Just the non-evil-ish ones.” He reciprocated the grin and flattened out the newly-crumpled map.

  “And I’d always heard that Elves were such graceful beings,” I teased.

  “Hey!” His eyes were mischievous. “And what else had you heard of us Elves? I hope I have not disappointed you too greatly.”

  Belly buttons . . . There was no way I was mentioning that.

  “To be honest, you’re much taller than I expected.” I sighed and pretended to be ‘greatly disappointed’ at the conclusion.

  He chuckled. “Your records must be quite accurate if that is your only discrepancy.”

  If you only knew . . . But I decided only to share the least offensive of the ‘discrepancies’.

  “Well, I’ve also always heard that Elves age much differently than Sapes, but now I’m not so sure it’s true.”

  He appeared amused. “How old do you think I am?”

  I eyed him thoughtfully. “You don’t seem to be an old soul.”

  “Well, that is certainly a relief.” He grinned. “I guess you will never know for sure.”

  “Oh, I’m quite certain I already do.”

  “Oh? And what of your findings?”

  “I guess you are the one that will never know.” I smiled as though holding a great secret.

  He laughed.

  “Anyways,” I said, “it’s good that everyone from Edaw was accounted for.”

  He nodded, but his expression turned grim. “It is troublesome, though.”

  “What is?”

  He chewed his lip. “As I feared, it seems they were aided by an Elf.”

  They? Druelca? “Why?! One of your own?”

  “I do not know. The Edawians said they were forewarned by one of the prophets that strangers were coming to the village. They vacated in a hurry the night before the fire was set, but someone must have stayed behind.” He sighed. “I asked Elder Pietri, and . . .”

  Nyte’s expression was pained. I regretted that our carefree chat had turned into something like this.

  “And?” I asked cautiously, afraid to push him further.

  “And it was as those two from Yes’lech said; the barrier only allowed in those accompanied by Elf. Someone let the Druelcans in.” He stared down through the net and examined the handful of Elves that were relaxing on ground level, his face concerned. “Someone betrayed us.”

  “Nyte, that’s . . .” Terrible! Disgraceful! Obscene! I didn’t know which word best suited the atrocity, but before I could decide, he flicked his eyes back onto my face.

  “It is not something you need to concern yourself with, Miss Havoc.” He forced a grin, but I could see that he was only trying to conceal his concern. “You have things to learn,
after all.”

  “Wait!”

  But he shook his head. He no longer wanted to dwell on the barbaric event.

  Are you sure?

  But his face was determined. I nodded, succumbing to his wishes.

  If that’s what you need . . .

  ~

  We continued our lessons until one of the Elven women alerted us that it was time to eat. We joined a very disappointed Grotts and Kantú in the woman’s cottage as they poked begrudgingly at their plates of fruit.

  While the rest of the group knelt around the table, Rend sat in the corner, saying nothing. Nyte had tried to reason with her ever since arriving in Yh’tak, but their conversations usually ended in heated quarrels. Though Rend had no choice but to follow Elder Pietri’s orders, I had a feeling she’d try to make the journey as miserable for me as possible.

  “Enjoy your last day of rest,” said Scardo. “We will be setting out tomorrow at dawn.”

  “I don’t wanna leave!” said Kantú. Her tail swished about nervously. “What if those Druelca guys are out in the trees right now looking for us?”

  “We’re gonna take an outta-the-way, sorta way. It’ll take us longer ta get to headquarters, but it’ll be the route they’re least likely ta travel.” Grotts patted her arm reassuringly.

  Their shared distaste for the fruitarian diet seemed to have created an unlikely bond between them.

  “Elder Pietri has provided us with two tents. They possess strong enchantments that will shield us in even the most extreme climates,” said Nyte, eating a handful of morningberries.

  Most extreme climates? That didn’t sound fun.

  “Where will we go from here?” I asked.

  “South,” said Scardo, “through Wanzyr Grove.”

  “Hm. A grove, huh?” That sounded pleasant enough, but my gut told me it wouldn’t be quite so simple if we were truly taking an ‘outta-the-way sorta way’.

  We finished our meal and thanked the Elven woman before leaving to our respective lodges to prepare for the journey.

  As night fell upon the peaceful treetop village, Kantú and I decided to take one last stroll through the fruit bushes, admiring the better-fitting clothing the Elven women had donated to us. The clothes were made entirely from the puffs of dandrills, a material we’d never thought to use in Farellah, and as such, were incredibly soft and flexible. The only difficulty had come when trying to decide how to tailor them to fit Kantú’s oversized tail, but in the end a small hole had sufficed.

  “I still can’t believe we’re in a real Elf town!” said Kantú. She pumped her fist.

  “Me neither. It feels like something right out of one of the Songs of Old.”

  “If only Laria Lynn could see us now; that’d teach her to pull my tail!”

  “If only everyone could see us now. Can you imagine what my parents will do if we actually bring Illuma home?” I winced before adding, “If she’s still alive, that is.”

  “Don’t worry, Aura. We’ll rescue her. I was able to rescue you, wasn’t I?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t really call it rescuing.” The attempt had, after all, failed entirely.

  “Hey!” She put her hands on her hips and pretended to look mad, but a smile peeked through her pursed lips. “What’s your sister like anyway? I don’t know if I could handle two Auras.”

  It was my turn to feign anger. “Hey!” But my attempt was even worse than Kantú’s.

  We burst out laughing.

  “You’d love her,” I said, catching my breath. I meant it. “She was always a little over-the-top, but she’s as carefree as you and me. I’m sure you’ll be friends.”

  “I hope so.” Her gaze dropped to the ground, and her ears drooped. “Just don’t let her replace me, okay?” She sounded genuinely concerned.

  “Don’t worry; you’re definitely one of a kind.”

  She threw her arms around my neck, and I hugged back, but we quickly dropped our embrace when the sound of crunching footsteps alerted us to someone walking a short distance away. We stealthily peeked around a thick bush with small yellow fruit and searched for the source.

  They belonged to Elder Pietri.

  “What’s he doing?” I mouthed.

  Kantú shrugged.

  Whatever it was, it was weird. Elder Pietri walked up to one of the freestanding trees near the outskirts of the village, raised a hand against the bark, and rubbed a vertical line down its trunk. After a moment, the line glowed blue. It looked to sear right through the wood, for the tree broke open along the line like it was on a hinge, revealing a hollow space within. The elder slipped into it, and the tree closed around him.

  It was just like the eerie sketch I’d seen in the study.

  “What?” Kantú rubbed her eyes.

  No kidding. Did we just see that right?

  “The Thulian Pact,” said a voice from behind.

  Kantú let out a squeak, and we whirled around, startled.

  “Sorry, I did not mean to alarm you.” It was Nyte, and he smirked like he’d very much meant to alarm us.

  “The Thulian Pact?” I said.

  “It is an agreement the Elves have with the forest. When an Elf gains elder status, after many years of walking through the wood, they form the Thulian Pact. It allows them to sleep upright in the trees so that at the end of their lives they may become one with the forest.”

  It took a moment for the words to hit Kantú, but when they did, her eyes grew wide. “There are dead guys in the trees!?” She looked around frantically, face filled with horror.

  Nyte chuckled at her response. “No, not here.”

  “Where?” I asked, relieved.

  “There is a graveyard near Sredna. The elders make their final walk through the wood there.”

  “What if they die before they reach the graveyard?” Kantú eyed Elder Pietri’s tree carefully.

  “It is very implausible. The elders rarely leave Sredna. Indeed, it is odd that Elder Pietri is even here.”

  “But how do they know when it is time to make the final walk?” I asked.

  “That is a gift of the Elves. We can feel our end before it comes.”

  I tried to imagine how it would feel to know you were about to die. “Doesn’t that scare you?”

  “I suppose it would if I were to feel it now. However, after reaching elder status, I would probably be ready.”

  I studied him. He was mature. More mature than me.

  “By the way, did you two already pack?”

  “Er . . .” Kantú eyed me guiltily.

  Nyte raised his eyebrows.

  “We’d better get going.” I grabbed Kantú’s hand before he could reprimand us. “See ya tomorrow!”

  “Good Night, Nytie!” she said.

  He waved as we hurried away.

  At the foot of our hanging ladder to our lodging, Kantú turned to me, nose wiggling.

  “So . . . ?” she said, inquiry in her voice.

  “So?”

  She poked me in the chest accusingly. “What’s with you and Nyte?”

  “W-what do you mean?” My tone was falsely innocent. I hoped she didn’t mean what I thought she did.

  “Awful flirty, aren’t we?” She chittered.

  “Kantú!”

  But she scurried up the ladder before I could do anything.

  Flirty? We’re not flirty! We’re just friendly!

  Kantú peered at my stunned face from the top of the ladder and chittered even harder.

  “Grrr! Quit messing with my head!” I crawled up the ladder after her, shaking my fist.

  Flirty, eh? Her words stayed with me much too long.

  We finished packing and settled into our cots for one more restful night, unaware that the next morning would be anything but the quiet sendoff we expected.

  ~

  I awoke in the dawn-lit room to a hand on my face. I slapped it away and drowsily opened my eyes. Kantú was standing over me.

  “Kantú? What are you doing?”


  But it wasn’t Kantú that answered. “The white wind encroaches, Aura Telmacha Rosh.” The raspy voice of the feather lady poured from her mouth forebodingly. Her eyes were unfocused and dull.

  What?! Again?

  “Who are you?” I asked, unsure what type of answer I was expecting.

  “I am the Spirit of In-between. Leave this place now, Aura Telmacha Rosh. The Feirgh arrives!”

  “The Feirgh?”

  But my question went unanswered.

  Kantú fell limply onto the cot just as the window above our heads burst open with a fierce gust of wind. The wind carried with it a stream of feathers that danced furiously about the room before falling delicately around the dazed Squirrelean. I swatted them away and shook Kantú. She opened her eyes weakly in response.

  “Kantú!”

  “Aura . . . good morning.” Her voice was shaky.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Just a little tired.” Her eyes drooped shut.

  I felt her forehead. “You’re burning up. This isn’t good!”

  I got up to fetch her some bitterwater but noticed for the first time that the air in the treetop cottage was a little smoky.

  “What’s this?” I muttered.

  I waved my arm through the smoke, breaking it only for a moment before more rushed to fill the space I’d cut. Fire!? No, the smog had a strange, sweet smell that was unlike the charred scent of fire-smoke.

  “Strange.” But when I attempted to cut through it again, a shrill scream pierced through the now-open window. It sounded like . . . Rend?

  “Stay here for a sec; there’s something going on out there. I’ll be right back.”

  But Kantú ignored my words, answering only with a heavy snore, oblivious to the outside commotion.

  I opened the door to find the haven covered in a dense white fog.

  The white wind?

  I peered out of the door, but through the smoke I could only vaguely make out the heads of the village’s colossal trees. I was uneasy, but Rend’s scream had been distressed enough to push away my own apprehension. I had to go help.