The Prophecy (Children of the River Book 1)

by Ren Curylo

  Chéile sat around the whole day fuming over Anoba’s illtreatment of her and working herself into a dither about every other aspect of her life at this point. She relived her tragic wedding day in Lasahala Run playing every second of it repeatedly in her head. She had even begun to imagine snickers and comments from an audience who had sat in rapt attention, as she was publicly humiliated in front of their entire population.

  Her desire to see her family finally overrode her trepidation about leaving Na Réaltaí and she decided it was worth the risk, though it had taken her until late afternoon to work up her nerve. Wanting nothing more than the comfort of her mother, she dressed and made her way to the transport station using a map she found in a dresser drawer. She hadn’t had time to learn her way around or to explore what talents or abilities she might have, so the map was her constant companion. She felt sure she could return to Na Réaltaí, though she was a little nervous about actually leaving.

  She felt somewhat sickened by the whole episode when she came solid on the surface of Lerien in a familiar place outside her village. It was a spot where the trees were thick with summer foliage so she was well hidden. It was almost evening—a time when many Elves were out of doors, visiting in the cool of the day just before dusk. Groups of them walked the promenade around the village— the path she had so often walked with girls her own age, before Ársa had spotted her and before Caolán had mortified her at their wedding. That was her last experience among her own people. She didn’t fully understand why, but she found herself afraid to step out into her village and face people. She felt the color flame in her cheeks as she pressed back into the trees and watched silently.

  Chéile was near her parents’ home, right in front of the huge flower garden that was the pride of Lasahala Run. They had brought those seeds and clippings with them, hidden away in pockets and in their hair when they had left the old world. It was flora the Elves had nurtured and kept alive throughout the devastation they had experienced before leaving to come to Lerien.

  She wondered if Ársa’s crew had known they ha d those things squirreled away. If they had, they never once let on and the Elves had been allowed to plant and cultivate this garden since their arrival in Lasahala Run. The flowerbed made a good hiding place. No one looked into the woods with the flowers in full bloom and especially fragrant at the end of the day. The Elves loved night blooming plants best of all, for it added ambiance to their evening walks.

  Chéile’s heart pounded with excitement when the door to her parents’ house opened. She hadn’t expected to miss them as much as she did. Her mother stepped out, followed closely behind by her father. They both looked mournful. They didn’t join the other groups that were stepping out of their own front doors, instead, Chéile’s parents sat in two wooden rockers on their small front porch. Why aren’t they joining the others?

  She quickly noted that members of the other groups whispered and giggled as they passed her parents sitting on their porch. Chéile’s father held his head up but didn’t meet the eyes of any of the hecklers. Her mother’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment and she cast her eyes downward. Why are they sitting out front if this is how everyone is treating them? Slowly, she became aware of jokes made at their expense, humiliating comments made about Chéile herself, and rude remarks made about the wedding.

  One group shouted at them, asking why they were still in the village when no one wanted them there. Another asked why they didn’t go join their joke of a daughter. Yet another group of young men put their hands out in front of their chests, mimicking Chéile’s breasts while swaying their hips and laughing uproariously. Yet another group replied to the others reminding them that they sat out in public by King Caolán’s and Queen Ly’wyn’tas’ decree—as a reminder of the defector Chéile.

  Anger swelled within Chéile at the public humiliation of her parents, who were innocent of any wrongdoing to anyone, including the king. In truth, Chéile herself was a victim of Caolán’s duplicity. Her rage consumed her and her mind went dark for a few seconds. When she could see again, she realized she was standing in the middle of the Elves prized flower bed, screaming her rage in a hoarse and ragged voice loud enough to make the birds quake and fly away in fear. Every Elf walking about or sitting outside stopped and stared at her. Many who were still inside, peeked out their doors and windows to watch her as she screamed and pirouetted among their precious flowers.

  She began to rip out handfuls of plants and flowers, ripping them to shreds and scattering them about while she screamed and raged and called the villagers vile names. She didn’t stop until the bed was in shambles. She Traveled away quickly as her rage began to spin itself out, amazed that no one—not even an Elfin guard—had stepped forward to stop her.

  1.5 weeks later

  Tarakal 16, 762 Amalith Island

  Adamen Adamen awoke feeling perfectly normal for the first time since childbirth. She told herself in the beginning not to spend much time with Girin since she wasn’t going to be involved in raising him. That promise hadn’t lasted long and she began spending every waking moment with him. She was glad to have Lessie’s help caring for him; it had allowed her much-needed rest to recuperate from the birth, as well as the kidnapping.

  She had a plan, at last, for what to do. Her priority was to keep him safe. Adamen felt sure that he would be safest among the Fae, even though the Lilitu must never know of his whereabouts.

  After careful consideration, she chose to look among the Daisy Fae. She picked the Daisy Fae because there wasn’t a continent on Lerien that didn’t have daisies of one kind or another, therefore the Fae who lived among them were also the most plentiful. Adamen decided it would be like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack to find Girin among them.

  Adamen had always been fond of the Daisy Fae and she thought Filigree would make a perfect surrogate mother. Filigree was a sweet, kind, older Daisy Fae who had never had a child of her own, though she mothered any child who came along and she helped all the Fae in her community to raise their children. Whether this was by choice or circumstance, Adamen didn’t know. She hoped Filigree would be willing to take on this task, and she meant to find out soon. Her only dilemma was deciding whether to take Girin with her when she approached Filigree about the matter. She knew he would be hard to resist but she didn’t want the Fae to feel forced into making a decision.

  In the end, she opted to leave Girin with Lessie, under the protection of Ársa’s cloaking spell. She hadn’t seen Filigree since the old home, and she didn’t know exactly where to find her. Knowing her search could take a while, she set out in the early morning and traveled to the first colony of Flower Fae she knew of on Amalith Island. She would start her search with them. A seeding of Daisy Fae lived nearby, for they were plentiful everywhere on Lerien.

  After asking around in several Daisy Fae colonies, Adamen finally had a lead on Filigree’s last known abode, and she was glad to hear it was nowhere near the Lilitu Grove. She decided to go there at once.

  A short distance down the forest path sat a Fae portal. The Pixies guarded it fiercely and were quite selective about who they let pass through it. It kept down the traffic from some of the less savory Fae. Not all races of Fae, she mused as she traveled down the path, were nice and sweet like most of the Flower Fae. Some of them, like Knockers, Spriggans, and Bogarts were wicked little things.

  Adamen saw the portal through the trees. It was a high, slender arch, resembling an arbor of twisted branches covered in flowering ivy. Rocks, brambles, and briars surrounded it with only a narrow path leading to and from it in the middle of the clearing. The center of the path under the tall arch was deceptive, she knew, for it looked as if one could walk down the path, under the arch, and out the other side and still be in the same clearing. That was far from the truth since many Fae portals were benign in appearance but led to strange and dangerous places. Generally, they wouldn’t allow humans to blunder into them, but on the rare occasion a portal was left unguarded,
disaster could befall the traveler. That would not be the case with this one, for she could feel the woods around her were flush with Fae.

  As she approached the portal, a band of Pixies flew out from hiding and hovered around it, blocking her access. She knew better than to try to shoo them away. There would be a bevy of arrows, little nasty barbs shot from the woods surrounding them, to stick in every part of her. One never knew when a Pixie’s arrow might be poisoned, either, which heightened her caution. Adamen stopped a safe distance away and waited.

  “Who goes there?” a male Pixie shouted. As with almost all Pixies, he was no more than eight inches tall, though Adamen knew he could shift into another form and become larger, if only for a short time. He was delicate in appearance, but that belied the ferocity of his nature. He had doe brown hair and bright purple eyes. His nose was a bit pug and his pointed ears jutted out from his roughly chopped hair. He had red cheeks, transparent brown wings, and his clothing looked as though he had dipped each piece in a different part of a rainbow.

  A damen inclined her head respectfully. “I am Adamen, of the Lilitu,” she said. She could have added more but didn’t because sometimes the Pixies were peckish when given more information than they requested. This little guy looked irascible and she didn’t want to ruin her chances before she even got started. It would take many days or weeks for her to travel on her own all the way to Ceann’nathair.

  “Where do you want to go?”

  “Ceann’nathair,” Adamen said.

  “What for?” the Pixie asked.

  “I am looking for an old friend of mine,” she answered. “Who is that?”

  “Filigree, of the Daisy Fae.”

  “Oh, Filigree,” he said with a laugh. “She’s a friend of mine.

  She used to live next door to us in the old world.”

  Adamen looked at him a bit more closely. “Drawstring?” she

  asked smiling at him. “Is that you?”

  The Pixie cackled with laughter. “I was wondering how long

  it would take you to recognize me, Adamen,” he said.

  “You’ve cut your hair,” she said, “and I never saw you in a hat

  before.”

  He pulled the bright orange, tattered felt hat from his head

  and swept it before him in a bow. “Whatcha going to see Filigree

  about, Adamen?” he asked.

  The other Pixie guards swarmed around Adamen kissing,

  pinching, and poking at her playfully. She was careful not to raise a

  hand to them, for to be sure, there were many of them she didn’t

  know. After a few moments, Drawstring snapped his fingers and

  said, “Enough. Adamen is our guest.”

  The Pixies all flew back to their hiding places in the woods

  surrounding the portal, leaving Drawstring and Adamen alone in the

  clearing. Once the twittering and fluttering in the woods had

  subsided, Adamen turned to Drawstring and spoke in a low voice. “I

  need her help,” she said. “I don’t know if you are aware, but I

  recently…”

  Drawstring interrupted her with a wave of his hand. “You

  had a baby,” he said joyfully, loudly enough to echo painfully into

  the forest.

  “Shhh,” Adamen said. “I don’t know if my mother has spies

  around or not. I don’t want any of the Lilitu to figure out where my

  son is.”

  “Oh,” Drawstring said, his bright purple eyes lighting up. “I

  see. Mean old Queen Erish wants to get him, does she?” Adamen nodded.

  “Well, I’ll let you pass, but Filigree isn’t in Ceann’nathair.” “She isn’t?”

  “No, she’s in Silverwilde, on Cardosa.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “For sure,” Drawstring said with an emphatic nod that sent

  his hat flying toward Adamen’s face. She caught it and handed it

  back to him.

  “Can I get to Silverwilde through this portal?” she asked. “Yes, but you have to go around and go through the back.” “All right,” she said, nodding. “May I pass?”

  “It’s all right with me, but we’ll have to ask Skill,” he said.

  “She is the guardian of the backside of the portal.”

  It seemed logical to have a singular portal guardian making

  these decisions, but these were Pixies and therefore, logic often had

  little place in their decisions.

  “I’ll go with you,” he said cheerfully. He flew up high over

  the portal while Adamen walked around the wide clearing. He met

  her on the other side of the ring of stones circling the portal. “Skill?” he called.

  “I’m here, I heard ya,” she said. A tall, slender female Pixie

  appeared beside Drawstring. She was much larger than he,

  towering at least four inches over his height. Adamen’s best guess

  marked her close to a foot tall, where all the other Pixie’s she had

  known were no taller than eight inches. While still delicate and

  slender, she was more substantial as well.

  She was pale brown, with darker mottling along her hairline.

  She had chestnut hair, growing in wild tangles, and gold-colored

  eyes rimmed with thick, dark lashes. Her wings were autumn

  shades and her features were refined. She narrowed her almondshaped eyes and pursed her bow-shaped mouth as she looked over

  Adamen.

  Skill’s outfit was festooned with shells, feathers, beads, and

  sticks. She was certainly woodsier in her dress than other Pixies

  Adamen had known. She wore knee boots, an article of clothing she

  had never seen on any other Pixie. Generally, they wore soft

  slippers or ankle boots, but Skill’s boots were red leather with a

  black and white checkerboard inset along the sides. She had tiny

  silver spurs on her boots as well as a silver-colored crossbow and a

  quiver of tiny bolts. She was far fiercer looking than any other Pixie

  Adamen had ever seen.

  “I suppose you’ll need to pass twice, then?” Skill asked

  sharply.

  “I’ll need to return,” Adamen said. She briefly wondered

  where this strange Pixie girl had come from—for she’d never seen

  one like her before, not on Lerien and certainly never in the old

  world.

  “Yes,” Skill said with a slightly condescending tone, “and

  then you’ll have to take your baby back, which makes two trips from

  here.”

  Adamen raised her head in understanding. “Oh, yes,” she

  said. “If Filigree will help me, I’ll need to return.”

  Skill nodded. “Go on, and don’t worry. If Queen Erish

  comes here, we won’t tell her anything. In fact, I might just shoot

  her with a bolt.”

  “She has nasty little poison arrows,” Drawstring whispered

  loudly, and in quite a happy tone.

  “It’s a crossbow, so it shoots bolts, not arrows,” Skill said

  with almost a condescending tone.

  Drawstring made a face and stuck his tongue out at his

  companion.

  “Thank you, I will remember your kindness, all of you,” she

  said. “If ever the Pixies need me, just call, I’ll help you anytime.”

  Adamen stepped through the portal. She found herself in a clearing

  remarkably similar to the one she had been in moments before. If

  one wasn’t paying attention and accidentally stepped through such a

  portal, they may not realize they had traveled to another place until

  they were too far away to find the path back again.

  Adamen took note of her surround
ings, knowing she could

  easily get lost finding her way back to this portal. She took a deep

  breath, checking the air for scents of flowers that could indicate

  which direction she should travel. There was a multitude of spring

  wildflowers off somewhere to the west, she decided. She took a

  narrow path through the forest in that direction.

  After walking and flying a ways, she came to a meadow full of

  flowers. There were many kinds here, and daisies were prevalent

  among them. It felt safe here, she mused as she focused on the

  Daisy Fae. At least there aren’t any humans here, she thought. As she passed among the patches of flowers and the few trees

  growing here, she heard the tittering and chatter of Fae. She turned

  and saw a dozen or so varieties of Flower Fae following her at a

  distance. She stopped and paused for a moment before turning

  around. She didn’t want to frighten them.

  “Good morning,” she said. “I am looking for Filigree. Can

  you help me find her?”

  An Iris Fae moved forward. “Who are you?” she asked

  suspiciously.

  “I’m Adamen from the Lilitu Grove. I used to live near

  Filigree in the old world. I haven’t seen her for so long.” The Iris Faerie turned to a Holly Fae and said something

  Adamen didn’t understand. Each kind of Fae had a language they

  spoke only to others of the same kind, and occasionally to close

  neighbors. They also had a common language that they all spoke.

  She assumed these spoke to one another in a Tree Fae dialect of the

  Fae language they all shared. Most Fae spoke a minimum of three

  languages, their common Fae, their racial dialect, and the common

  language that allowed them to communicate with beings of other

  races.

  The Holly Fae bolted off, darting in and out among the trees

  that Adamen noticed for the first time were holly. They were all

  short and scrubby as if this wasn’t a perfect environment for them.

  She stood, waiting, while all the other Fae gathered around her. She

  smiled at them a few times but she soon gave up when she was met