by J. C. Owens
What elven magic was this?
Tar and Naban stepped in front of their youngest brother, lips drawn back in twin snarls that displayed their fearsome demon teeth, eyes flashing dark red in rage.
The newcomer seemed to glow more brightly for long seconds, then she smiled, a gentle, soothing expression that seemed to ease something in Brenaith’s very soul. He found himself relaxing ever so slightly, and he fought the feeling, sure it was a trick, a subterfuge of some sort.
“Do not fear. I am Nalain, and I represent the elven gods.” They all heard the words, but her lips did not move.
Shaynith-una shook his head as though trying to cast aside her voice. “That should comfort us?” His fangs had dropped into sight, his eyes darkest red. “After what happened with my—with the High King—you would think your presence welcome?”
She shook her head slowly, her form briefly coated in gray mist, before the mist slowly dissipated. She became slightly more distinct, more real. Long, golden hair hung braided to the back of her knees, beautiful blue eyes seemed more gem than living flesh, and a blue dress covered her, indistinct at the edges, as though it were half physically there and half elsewhere.
“Our children make their own choices,” she said. “We were present that day to imprison Lutan, who had attacked our world, our people. We do not interfere on this plane. Except for this day.”
Shaynith-una and his brothers growled, a low, warning rumble which spoke volumes of their lack of belief. Brenaith stepped forward, some part of him realizing that there would be no attack, no threat here. Only words.
He glanced at Shay as the knight made a protesting sound at his movement toward the elf goddess. “We need to know what this is about. One does not ignore a visitation, as you well know.” He shivered, remembering Lutan’s touch and telling himself to remember that just because this being was beautiful, did not mean she was any less deadly than the demon god.
“Why are you here?” He tried to keep his tone level, but his mind was seething, memories of watching Shaynith-una tortured loomed front and center in his thoughts. Surely the gods could have done something, or had they condoned, even approved of what had been done to this bastard son forced upon one of their own?
If so, he could have no respect for any of them. But then, did gods see things the same way? Were they so above this plane of existence that pain and injustice had no meaning?
He corralled his bitterness, pulling it into submission. He wanted a clear head to speak, as he knew that the demon-born would attack rather than find out what this was about.
A goddess did not appear without great reason. If this reason benefitted them, then he would use this goddess as she and the others had used them.
“You are wise for a human soul.” Her voice lapped like cool water through his thoughts. “I have not come to do harm. I have come to see the future slide into place, to make wrongs right.”
Tar scoffed, and Brenaith held up a hand, scarcely believing his temerity at such an action. The demons had been pleasant enough in his company, but then he had never stood against them. But some part of him knew that what was happening held truth, held hope such as he had not found before.
Nalain met his eyes, and he felt her touch upon his very soul, and there was no darkness to it, no malice or threat of harm. It was beautiful enough that tears rose to his eyes. She turned then, just slightly, her hand rising to trace a symbol into the air, energy swirling around her touch.
There was light and a surge of power that made Brenaith’s fingers tingle, then a portal opened, encircled with blue green light, like a frame around an improbable picture.
He stared, feeling Shaynith-una and the others freeze, anger momentarily replaced by reluctant wonder.
“You seek this place, and that is right and good.” Her gaze fell upon the shadow knight. “You have come a long way in your soul, child of light and dark. You have made choices that showed you are worthy of this chance, of this future. There are those who need you, need your power and your birthright, both demon and elf. It was not known if you could step beyond your upbringing to achieve this, to understand this, but with your companions and your human consort, you have grown into what was hoped for.”
Shaynith-una watched her, cold and implacable. “You stood back and watched, perhaps even approved of my torture, took my father from me, and expect something in return? I think not.”
“As gods, we cannot interfere without causing ripples of influence, of reaction. By doing that, we disturb a delicate, fragile balance, of light and dark, and would give darkness a chance to retaliate. I know you do not understand, and it saddens me to feel your hatred of us. You are half elven, my lord, whether you accept that or not. It will have a part to play in your future, just as much as your demon side. You have found a greater balance than before, but you will have to learn to see that being elven is no better and no worse than your other blood. You are uniquely created to do what you must do for others.”
She made a slight gesture, and there, across her palms, lay Shaynith-una’s sword, its throbbing, sullen presence leaving red lines on her skin.
The shadow knight sucked in a shallow breath. He leaned forward, his whole being reacting to the presence of his weapon.
Brenaith found himself stepping back almost unconsciously, a sick feeling rising within him. He had hoped never to see the thing again, and yet, perhaps that had been foolish in the extreme. It was made for Shaynith-una, connected to him, to his very creation as a shadow knight.
For her to offer it to him, freely, seemed a foolish mistake on the part of the gods. With it, surely he was powerful enough to affect even them. With his hatred and prejudice at full capacity, Brenaith could imagine him attacking her, destroying her. He drew a shuddering breath, staring at Nalain, wondering if she were quite mad in her actions.
Blue eyes met his, and he understood with sudden clarity.
It was a test.
In these next moments, the future would be decided. For some reason, the sword was meant to return, but it was uncertain how Shaynith-una would respond.
Destiny hung before them, the sword its tool.
Tar and the others shifted restlessly, glancing at their younger brother, willing to take their cues from him. For his part, Shaynith-una folded his wings, took a tentative step forward, wary eyes shifting between Nalain and the sword. She held it out further, encouraging.
The shadow knight took several more steps before he stopped, hands clenching and unclenching, his uncertainty almost physical in its intensity.
Brenaith found himself holding his breath as Shay finally reached out with swift finality, snatching the sword from the goddess and retreating back to the safety of his brothers and lover. He watched Nalain’s expression as he searched for clues as to what this all meant. Was the test that Shay should have rejected the sword once and for all? There was no sign from her, she merely folded her hands before her and waited, calm and relaxed.
How anyone, god-born or not, could feel relaxed in the vicinity of the horror that sword represented was beyond Brenaith’s capability to understand. Its current proximity to his person was making the hair on his arms stand on end, and he could not draw a normal breath as a faint trembling took over his body.
Shaynith-una cradled the sword close, never taking his hostile gaze from Nalain, but at her motionless stance, he dared to look down, long fingers caressing over the ornate, black metal sheath that somehow contained that power, nullified it to normality. There was an easing of his expression, a relaxation of a great tension Brenaith had not even realized his lover was carrying.
Brenaith’s eyes flicked to the sword and he took a step back. The presence of its malignant power reminded him all too forcibly of exactly who Shaynith-una was, what his kind had done to Brenaith’s people.
Shadows seemed to rouse from the cave, and they traveled over the snow, dark against pristine white, that strange humming wail rising to their ears. They twined up Shaynith-una’s fo
rm, and he closed his eyes as though in ecstasy.
Fear made Brenaith’s pulse pound and he took another step toward the cave, though what possible safety there could be from what lay before him was unclear. At the movement, Shay’s eyes shot open, dark red and full of power. Their gazes locked and they were motionless, each reading the other in that fraction of a second.
The shadow knight’s eyes widened at whatever he saw within Brenaith’s face, then he closed his expression and turned away abruptly, shutting his lover out completely.
Brenaith felt a chill ghost over his skin and he shivered. Pensir stepped closer, putting a wing around him in shelter, and the human turned into the demon as a buffer against the fear.
“This portal. It will get us to the Sharda Mountains?” The question was brief and clipped, yet the knight spoke to Nalain and did not draw the sword as Brenaith had half expected and feared.
“It does. That is your destiny, and we will see you there. More we cannot do. It will be your decision as to how you go forth from there, how you will aid those who need you so desperately, so that the killing stops. All I can tell you is that you need to use your god-born senses and look into the future as much as you can, for your actions will have long lasting repercussions. Be wise, Shaynith-una, and find your own balance, so that you can show others how they might heal.”
Shay stared through the portal to the warm lands beyond, then turned back to the others.
“I will not make this decision for you. You can come with me. Or not. But I will not force anyone to walk at my side.” His head was held high, his expression closed and cold. His gaze lingered on Brenaith for the shortest of moments, perhaps seeing the fear reflected there, before he whirled on his heel and simply walked through the portal, not glancing back.
Leaving them.
Brenaith let out a gasp of pain, feeling as though his heart was pulled through after him.
Pensir’s wing tightened into a hug, before the demon withdrew completely.
“We go where our lord goes, always.” Tar’s tone held no doubt, nor was there any questioning evident in the other brothers. It was clear that they would follow and protect as they always had.
Spensa gave a half smile and laid a hand upon Brenaith’s shoulder. “If you choose not to come, there is no dishonor in that, my friend. You have done more than could possibly be expected of you. If you come, you will be forever isolated from your people. You must be sure that is what you want, or if you join him and doubt, it will fester and burn within you, in the end destroying what you have together. Think of this.” He pulled back, and turned, walked to the portal with sure steps, and disappeared through its opening without faltering.
Tar and Pensir both nodded to Brenaith, then followed closely. Naban appeared, leading the horse, who balked and sidled nervously at the portal’s presence.
“Be very sure, little human.” The demon’s voice was gruff but not unkind. “He needs you, but your current fear hurts him. He is a shadow knight. He is surrounded by fear. He does not need it from those he loves.” He said no more, but coaxed the horse to the portal and then literally shoved it through. As his broad back disappeared, Brenaith shivered.
He was alone with the goddess and the elements.
“How do I know this is right?” He hated the plaintive tone to the question, but could not prevent himself from asking.
“Listen to what you feel.” Nalain’s voice held gentle compassion. “Neither decision, to go or stay, is wrong. It simply leads to different paths in your life.”
“Am I meant to be with him? Will he hurt me, cast me aside? He did not seem to care, he just—left. Is that all I mean to him?”
“Being with him is one of your futures. As to what will happen, I cannot say, for that could change everything.” Warmth blew around him, blessed heat and a sudden lessening of the chill wind that had risen. It felt like love, like his mother’s hug and his father’s pride. Tears stung his eyes. If he left…
“Are they dead, my parents? My sister?” His voice choked off and he bit his lip hard, struggling to contain all that wanted expression.
She did not speak, but the compassion in her eyes told him all he needed to know.
He sank to his knees, covered his face with his hands and sobbed. Sobbed as he had not through all his fear and pain after his capture, under the tortures he had endured, or the death of his prince. Here, now, at realization of all he had lost, it released in a torrent of emotion that could not be held back, could not be denied.
He fell forward, arms wrapped around himself, head upon his knees, curled into a tight ball, feeling like he would shatter, that he could no longer go on.
“You are strong.” The whisper floated over his thoughts, encouraging, loving. “Cleanse yourself of the past. Reach for the future. There is so much more to come.”
His sobs finally lessened into shuddering gasps, his eyes swollen with tears, his chest aching. He stayed there, curled up, unable to rise. Clarity seemed a world away, but thoughts floated through his mind, forcing him to think once more, even if only in bits and pieces.
The world he had known before his capture was gone. The thought of returning, of finding the house he remembered destroyed, or worse yet, occupied by others, made him shiver with horror. To see what he had known become something else.
He could not do it.
But there were other human settlements, other places. He could help rebuild, help…
That path held no true desire, only a formless need to make things better for others.
His breathing slowed, his panic fading at the realization. He had already made up his mind, he had just had to eliminate the other possibilities.
Slowly, shakily, he straightened up, still kneeling, meeting Nalain’s concerned gaze. “I love him.”
Her smile blossomed, made the world brighter for a long, glorious moment.
“I know. That is why you will temper him, keep his gentler, more rational side to the fore. And he, in turn, loves you.” She gestured to the gate, and Brenaith knew somehow she would say no more, even if he should question her statement.
He rose on unsteady legs, wiping at his eyes with the backs of his hands. Time to deal with this later.
He had a shadow knight to catch.
* * *
He stepped through into warmth and humidity, his winter clothing suddenly much too hot. There was a sharp snap behind him, a sense of pressure, and he whirled to see the portal close instantly. There was no going back, even if he had wanted to.
Sucking in a deep breath, he glanced around, taking in the lush foliage, the richness of the thickly treed area. So much color and variety. So different than home.
His lips thinned in rising determination. This would be his new home. Far from his past and the attendant pain.
He turned his head as he caught movement from the corner of his eye, a sweep of thick, black hair gently moving in the breeze.
They faced each other, disbelieving joy slowly dawning in Shaynith-una’s expression.
“You chose…”
“You.” Brenaith strode forward, grasping the stunned shadow knight by the hair braided at his temples and gently pulling him down into a kiss, tasting him, reassuring them both that this was real.
“I could not make you chose. How can we move past what I am?” Shay whispered against his lips, a break in his voice. “I don’t know what I have become, or what I will be. I fear I could hurt you without even trying. I don’t understand…”
Brenaith kissed him again, stopping the words with a gentle murmur.
They stood then, forehead to forehead, breathing each other’s air. Calming. Believing.
“Together. Our path is together, whatever it will bring.”
EPILOGUE
Brenaith had to restrain himself from gaping in disbelief as they passed through the kneeling people. The half bloods stared back at the shadow knight and his companions, awe and burgeoning hope in their expressions. So many of them. So man
y mutations, showing that some races were not meant to crossbreed.
And also how they had been treated because of it.
Wings cut off as though others had sought to make them “normal.” Some bore deep and gruesome scars as though they had battled for their lives. Missing limbs, blindness. All because they had not been accepted by the people they had been born into. Scars borne of a deep and abiding hatred of demons.
The innocent children of rape.
Brenaith wanted to weep at what he saw, feeling an overwhelming urge to help, to teach them of family and friendship. That there were great things in the world and they could be part of that, never alone.
He felt long fingers grip his shoulder, and he turned his head to meet Shaynith-una’s calm red eyes.
The shadow knight lifted a finger to wipe any Brenaith’s tears. “Do not weep for them. That does them no good. Instead, see them for what they have achieved. The lame walk, the blind find their way. Those who have disabilities have found ways and means to cope. That is what they deserve to be known for. Their strength. Their ability to move beyond what would cripple most people.”
Brenaith sucked in a breath and looked again, seeing with his lover’s eyes. Now he could see it. The sheer determination that had kept these half bloods alive. Now he could see the closeness, the clustering of groups that held together in comfort and support. These were not helpless beings. They had created aids to every kind of damage that their bodies bore. The inventiveness was beyond Brenaith’s grasp.
His lover was right. These people did not need or want pity. Their only curse was what they had brought with them. The prejudice that they spilled onto each other, perpetuating what they most hated. Helplessly continuing the cycle because they did not know of a way past it. Those that had mostly elven features hated those who looked more demon and vice versa.
They instead simply needed a leader who would understand, who would teach them that their differences were not to be fought over, but to be gloried in. They were several races, but their strength and courage could unite them. They were the same, looks be damned.