by JK Ensley
His tears were more than I could bear.
“You never even had to ask,” I whispered.
And with those words, I disappeared from his hands and darted into the clouds. Only to be welcomed by that familiar nausea.
Chapter 38
Praetoria
(pray-TOR-ee-ah)
The years I spent before my exile in almost constant combat, sent me to nearly every layer of this universe. Not once did I stop to take in the scenery or soak up the local culture. I was sent to execute, not socialize. Most layers I cannot tell you a single thing about. Yes, I may have been there, but like I said, I was busy.
Lyra, layer one, is where Princess Falls, my little paradise home is. Lyra is a small layer and only consists of three different races. Fairies live on the expansive plains, the Merfolk reside in the sea, and the mountain dwellers live in the Northern mountain range. I spent some time snooping around layer one and discovered the mountain dwellers live inside the mountains. Not upon them, as I’d previously thought.
In fact, now that I think about it, Lyra boasts no actual inhabitants upon its surface. At a glance, the whole layer appears deserted. The mountain dwelling Dwarves live inside the giant mountain ranges, the Merfolk obviously live within the sea, and the Fae live in hidden places across the great green expanse. Very few Fairies lived amongst the trees. The largest part of the feisty little winged people resided in magical grottos with lavish furnishings.
Lyra is a layer of diminutive races. I’m not much over five feet tall myself, yet I didn’t meet a single Lyrian that stood more than four. The Vanir may look like giants to me, but to a Lyrian… they were horrifying monsters.
Since I left Ashgard and all my beloved friends, I decided to let my wings fly on faith alone. I cleared my mind before I entered the transporting cloud bank and popped out wherever Fate decided to wing me. This time around I vowed to experience life, every moment of every day, no matter which layer I happened to visit.
Layer four was my birth home of Ashgard. Layer eight, Earth, was home during my exile. And now, I was leisurely strolling through a marketplace upon layer seven, Praetoria.
Praetoria is a rather large layer. Not as big as Earth, but nearly twice the size of Ashgard. Maybe I’ve never told you, I cannot recall, but this universe resembles an inverted pyramid, with Lyra being its bottom point, so to speak. The realms grow in size as the layer grows in number.
So now, Reader, if you aren’t too horribly confused with my simple but puzzling analogy, I shall continue with my story.
As I was saying, I emerged from the clouds over the city of Falacrin this morning and I’ve been immersing myself in the local culture all day. The food is delicious and the people are friendly. But they have armed guards posted everywhere, on nearly every corner.
I had used some of Aunt Marlise’s old scarves to wrap my little bottles of potion #4 and rosewater, and now I was very glad I had. My hair would definitely cause me problems on Praetoria, and I wished not to be hindered at every turn. My scar was another matter. The people here didn’t use face coverings, as I’d seen on some layers, so I was forced to find alternative camouflage.
At first I’d tried to cover it with dirt and mud. It looked bad, but I wasn’t here for a beautiful lady contest. I was here to blend in. Well, the mud on my cheek did anything but help me blend. I’m not so certain I wouldn’t have garnered as many stares had I left my sapphires untouched.
I walked into a little store just behind the large open market stalls lining the dusty main street. Not many shops were within closed doors, but I wanted away from the hundreds of disgusted eyes beholding my muddied face.
The pleasant middle-aged woman running the shop approached me as I entered. She didn’t speak. She only took my hand and stared at me, piteously.
“Apologies, Ma’am.” I instinctively covered my left cheek but she pulled my hand away.
“Never apologize for what you’ve lived through. Be thankful you yet live.”
“Gratitude, Milady.”
She laughed. “Oh, I’m no Lady, child. What can I help you with today?”
“I was actually just looking around. And, well, I tire of the busy streets.”
“And the judging eyes?”
“Yes, something like that.” I felt my cheeks flush.
“You have nothing to fear in here, little one. I don’t get many customers, well, not during the daylight hours.” She winked at me then. “Are you looking for a less dirty way to hide your marked face?”
“Umm, apologies. I have only just arrived, but I did not see women donning coverings.”
She laughed again. “Well now, you wouldn’t very well see them walking around in broad daylight with one, no.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Yes, I can see that.” She chuckled. “My shop isn’t normally open during the day. I had some cleaning and stocking to do, so I came by.”
“You only sell stuff when it’s dark?” I asked, puzzled.
“Ah, this one should work rather nicely with your coloring.”
The shopkeeper had been looking through the wares displayed in a large woven basket.
“My coloring?”
She handed me a pink ribbon with hundreds of strands of tiny pink and blue beads hanging from it.
“It will go perfectly with your eyes.” She smiled.
“My eyes?”
“Yes, child. Now, go in the back. There’s a place where you can get cleaned up and try out your new veil. Run along now. I’ll be right here if you need any help.”
The back she referred to, was obviously someone’s living quarters. It was small, but elegant and clean. I easily found the wash basin and hurriedly removed my intentional filth. Then I noticed my eyes.
How could I have possibly forgotten about my strange new eyes? And my skin? No wonder people were staring. I cannot cover all the things that mark who I now am. I cannot hide who I have become, not truly.
“I’ve never seen eyes quite like those before,” she whispered. “You must possess an extremely unique kind of magic.”
The kindly woman had entered and was standing next to me. I hadn’t even noticed.
“You were taking quite some time,” she said. “I thought you might need help. Besides, women like us need to stick together.”
“Women like us?” I asked automatically, numbly.
I was just standing there, staring at my nonhuman-colored eyes and my glowing ethereal skin, absently holding the beaded veil by one ribboned end.
“Yes. Women like us,” she said again. “The outcasts of this perfect world we’re forced to live in.” She took the veil and laid it upon the dressing table as she continued to talk. “The women who’ve had to live through some not-so-womanly treatment. The ones who are cast out. The ones who were born under the wrong stars… women like us.”
I half laughed. “I was definitely born under the wrong stars,” I whispered.
“We all were, Honey.” She placed her hand on my shoulder and gave me a sympathetic pat. “Now, let’s see what we have to work with. Wow, I don’t know what happened to you, child. But it had to be some extremely strong, terribly dark magic indeed.”
You have no idea, I thought. “Yes, it was unbelievably old and powerful,” I whispered, mostly to myself.
I was no longer focusing on anything. My mind was journeying through my strange past. I didn’t even notice she had removed my scarf until her sharp intake of breath drew back my full attention.
“I should go now,” I said hastily.
She grabbed my shoulders when I tried to stand. “You just sit right there. You’re among friends.” She placed her hand over her heart and released a long breath. “I apologize. I can’t remember ever doing anything quite so rude before. I’ve just never seen—”
“What’s your name?” I interrupted.
“M-my name? Oh dear, my manners are obviously absent me this day. Forgive me, child. My name is Larie. And what do you go by, if I
may be so bold?”
“Jenevier.”
“Jenevier… how lovely. I’ve never met a Jenevier before.”
“Not many people have.”
I studied her reflection in the mirror. She smiled brightly, even though the look in her eyes was positively frantic.
“Well, Jenevier, do you wish to share your story?” She leaned over my shoulder, looking back at me through the mirror. “I can’t even imagine the half of it, I’m all but certain.”
“It’s an unbelievable tale, to be sure. But I don’t wish to hear it again. Not so soon.”
“I understand.” She gave me another reassuring little pat. “There’s pain awaiting us just around the next corner. No need hurrying it along or adding to it.”
Larie held the beaded veil up before me and carefully let the ribbon come to rest just above the tip of my nose.
“Now, lift your hair, child.”
She tied the pink ribbon behind my head and I released my curls.
“I’ll tell you true. I’m certain my veils have never been used to cover something as beautiful as that cheek of yours. It almost seems a shame.”
“For all the good it’ll do.” I sighed again. “I can bind my hair, but my eyes and skin are what they are.”
“A treasure such as you should be displayed, not hidden,” she said with a smile. “Alas, people are terrified of different, no matter how beautiful that different might be.”
“I only wanted to see what your city was like. I wanted to see how you live. I probably should just be on my way now.”
“Nonsense.” She waved her hand in a dismissive manner. “Wait until the sun sets.” Her eyes were now sparkling as she spoke. “There are amazing things yet to be discovered. At the moment, I have much to do. Stay here and relax. Tonight, I’ll show you the real Falacrin. When the blessed ones sleep, the flawed ones rise.”
Larie left me for the rest of the day. I made myself at home, ate some fruit, and rested when I could. When darkness fell, my accommodating host returned with lots of packages and curious friends.
“Oh, Larie. She’s even more breathtaking than you described.”
“I’ve never seen curls such as these.”
“Cast off that veil, lovely maid. Your skin puts the heavens to shame, and your scar is the sun.”
The chattering women all danced about me, each doing their own part to get me ready for the mysterious night I was about to experience.
“But how can I go about as myself? Everyone will see. What story could I possibly concoct to explain my colorings away?”
“Ahh, but the night is dark and full of magic,” Larie said. “Perhaps you won’t be the most exotic dish on the menu. Hmm? Falacrin is full of enchantment, Milady. And only outside these city walls can you experience true freedom.”
The dress Larie unwrapped was the color of new leaves. The bodice was covered with beautiful flowers and colored stones.
I gasped. “Is that for me?”
“Of course it’s for you. You are my honored guest this evening. I have promised you a night filled with magic, have I not?” She winked and smiled again. “Our Oracle divined this dress to complement your essence. And I believe he was spot on.”
Larie turned me towards the looking glass. I didn’t recognize my own reflection. Their Oracle had been right. This dress was the very embodiment of nature, the very embodiment of me. Her giggling friends had tied my curls back with beads and flowers. My azure scar was as prominent as a star on a moonless night. I took my own breath away.
“How is this possible? I look as if I grew from a vine.”
“The most enchanting lily in all the field,” Larie whispered.
Tears filled my eyes as I was painfully reminded of Aunt Marlise’s Life Celebration. The very last night of my normal life, I wore flowers in my hair and a smile upon my broken heart… same as now.
“Why the tears, dear one?” Larie asked.
“Precious memories,” I whispered.
“Precious, or painful?”
“Both.”
She smiled knowingly. “Ahh, all the best ones are.”
Chapter 39
Cashiel
(ka-SHEE-eel)
Larie led our little group out of her modest shop and down the darkened street.
Many night people joined our procession as we made our way to the large stone arena outside the city proper, almost an hour’s walk away.
The night was pleasant, the company even more so. We arrived before I realized it. Altogether, slightly over two hundred sets of sandaled feet made the journey with us. A grand feast had been set and festive music welcomed our arrival.
Larie was right. No one cared about my scar, my eyes, or my hair. The only stares I drew were in admiration.
Perhaps there is some place I can fit in. Perhaps there are many places like Falacrin in this universe. I may not be as lonely as I had feared.
The last time I’d laughed this hard was while watching Vareilious and Vittorio act out a recent summons that had paired the two of them up, a rare thing.
Spending nights like this was exactly what I needed. Tonight, the pain was easy to forget. I savored it wholly. I ate too much, laughed too hard, danced too long, and partook of way too much wine.
By the time a drum roll announced the arrival of our honored host, I’d caught a bad case of the giggles. When I concentrated enough to focus on the balcony at the far end of the arena, I realized we had not one host, but thirteen radiantly garbed people who stood before us.
“Brothers, sisters, countrymen, and honored guests… Gratitude for your presence at our sacred gathering. The Feast of Frivolity has been too long in coming, dear friends. I do not look forward to its ending at dawn. Join me in a toast and let the Procession of Tribute begin.”
Everyone cheered and drank heartily after the enchanting voice had ceased its oration. The speaker was most certainly gifted with powerful magic. Not only his words, but the sound of his voice left me feeling warm. It washed away my cares. Of course, the wine helped a little, too.
When the music started up again, the dancing soon followed. The Thirteen descended into the arena, mingling amongst the joyous partiers. Even though I was a bit tipsy and prone to fits of giggling, I tried to focus on The Thirteen, tried to glean what I could by their appearance and mannerisms alone. I kept losing my concentration, easily distracted by the next sparkly thing that crossed my line of vision. I mentally punished myself for not maintaining focus. But no alarms or warnings were blaring in my head. I remained blissfully at ease.
The Thirteen didn’t dress as the day people of Praetoria, nor were they arraigned as the gathered night folk I counted myself among. They didn’t look to be of the same bloodline, they weren’t kin. But their apparel was similar, not identical, but very close in design.
Uniforms, perhaps?
There was something especially enticing about them. They weren’t any more or less attractive than all the other partygoers. But the grace with which they moved was captivating, they glided. Their elegance and posture reminded me of the ever-regal Vareen. They exuded a sense of power, a sense of nobility.
Larie was simply buzzing by the time one of The Thirteen reached our table.
“Oh, Josephine. You look simply radiant this evening,” she said.
“Gratitude. You look lovely as ever, Larie,” Josephine replied.
Everyone began to talk in unison, swapping compliments and idle chatter. I was enjoying the fun my new friends were having with one another when a different one of The Thirteen unceremoniously plopped down in the seat next to me—placing his booted feet noisily upon the table, rattling the plates and wine glasses.
I turned to find the man casually leaned back on two legs of his chair, women flocking around him.
“Ahh, I am weary from standing and wish only to remain seated now,” he said, to no one in particular.
“Show proper manners in front of our new guest, Decimus. She may mistake you for a co
mmoner, a mere ruffian.”
The tall, older man spoke with a voice that could only be described as dignified. He deftly swept Decimus’s feet off the table, causing the younger man’s chair to slam back down on all four legs. Decimus seemed unfazed. Apparently, this was a common occurrence between the two of them.
“Apologies for my young friend’s crass behavior, Milady. Sadly, respect often comes with age.” The older gentleman took my hand and kissed it. “Two things in which I fear he is greatly lacking.” He smiled at me but cut his eyes toward his younger companion. “My name is Cashiel.” He bowed. “I am honored to make your acquaintance.”
“Jenevier Embarr, and the pleasure is all mine.” I smiled and inclined my head.
“Oh, I doubt that sincerely, Lady Embarr. I say, without reservation, you are the loveliest maid at the feast. Alas, I must beg your pardon now, Milady. Duty pulls me from your side. Please enjoy the rest of your evening.” Cashiel once again bowed gracefully and then departed.
“Don’t let his sweet words lift your spirits too highly. He says such to everyone.” Decimus spoke without looking at me. He was examining his manicured nails, seemingly rather bored with the whole affair.
“Trouble not your heart, good Decimus,” I said. “Mere words cannot raise my spirits any more than they can lower them. I am not a child—easily swayed by flattery or disdain.”
He raised one eyebrow, turning to look at me for the first time.
We were approached by another member of The Thirteen. “Ah, I see you’re winning over new friends as usual, Decimus.” He was daylight to Decimus’s darkness, and all smiles.
I mentioned before that The Thirteen did not favor in looks. Cashiel had long graying hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. Josephine had extraordinarily light blonde hair pulled up in a harsh bun atop her head. Decimus’s plain brown hair was cropped short and laid perfectly in place. But the man before us now couldn’t have been more different were it his intent. His hair was parted in the middle, the tips of which brushed the tops of his shoulders. One side was as white as fresh snow, the other was likened unto fire. His hair blew with the breeze, flowed with his movements. But not once did I see the two sides mingle. His severe part was the border each side dared not cross.