The Last Larnaeradee

by Shelley Cass

  “You did that,” I told it. “Perhaps you could clean it.”

  The Granx raised another leg, bossing me about now.

  So I bowed obediently, and began cleaning again – this time under the dictatorial, multiple eyes of a spider as I in turn kept it in the corner of my vision.

  However the Granx watched innocently enough until I had finished, even prancing up and down the table in encouragement. When it seemed as satisfied by the room as I was, it scurried down the wooden table leg and led me to the next room, where it found itself another commanding perch to sit on.

  Confident and content now, I grew used to my new deadly friend as the Granx watched me fold and stack, tuck in and tame, dust, wipe and sweep until my face was flushed scarlet and my hands were pink and numb with effort.

  Finally, when the little bathroom was sparkling too, I stooped over the basin to wash up and examined myself critically in the looking glass. A bruise that had coloured my whole eye socket the week before had nearly faded, and the flaming zig-zags of red veins in my eye had receded.

  I wiped my face on the back of my sleeve and glanced down at the prickling sensation of many claws tugging at the skin of my bare foot.

  “Yes, yes,” I smiled. “Lead on.”

  The Granx purposefully scurried across the adjoining bedroom and stopped next to a discarded satchel – the only thing still out of place in the whole cottage.

  “Old Gloria will have to find another talking point now,” I told the Granx. “Though she never struggles to do that.”

  During one of her visits I had been caught listening to her for two hours about how Mother Nature must be ill, based on the weather and the state of the stall’s vegetables.

  I heard a faint tap, as a clawed foot was stamped indignantly on the floor, the spider demanding that the last bag be cleared. The Granx looked like it wanted to cross all of its arms at once as it waited impatiently.

  I stooped to pick up my new friend instead. “Thank you for the company,” I told it. “But we both need to seek our proper beds once this final job is done.” I lifted it gently across to the unshuttered window and placed the velvety little ball on the sill.

  “I promise,” I agreed as it waved at the bag again. “Gods know I wouldn’t argue with a deadly Granx anyway.”

  It appeared contented then, and scuttled off as if its job was done while I turned to hastily scoop up the worn out, patched pack, stained from long and gruelling journeys.

  But I frowned as something dropped out of the loose flap of the bag, thudding noisily against the floor in the warm silence.

  It was a simple stone Unicorn figurine shining in the light. A token I had stowed away for two years – unable to bear the sight of it.

  It had a faint fault line, like a healer’s incision circling its entire body, but it was beautiful, and filled with reminders of things that had happened to the loved ones who had given it to me before I’d been a hunter. Before Krall’s Warlord and Witch had crossed the borders into my childhood village to take everything from me.

  At once, I flinched and reeled backward at the sight of it, tripping in my haste on the forgotten, dropped pack, knocking the lantern from its position on the stool. It toppled after me, both of us landing roughly while the lantern smashed into a thousand twinkling shards and the warmth and light of the merry candle died.

  Darkness crept in, spreading slyly and cunningly like the phantom figure of an Other Realm ghoul. And with the darkness came the memories that normally haunted me in my sleep. But this time the ghosts seemed to trickle in around me even while I was wide awake.

  Chapter Six

  Granx hurried straight down from the sill and scurried across the large, wild yard.

  So fast.

  Her legs; so powerful, and very very dainty spiky feet, allowed her to grip her way over any obstacle.

  She danced over the fence, graceful, lithe.

  Then pattered over another sill, to where master Lady was waiting just next door.

  Master Lady was old, old, old. Wise, wise, wise. But more beautiful than catching the freshest crickets with crunch. Even better than flies or sparrows with feather puffs. A Gloria-glorious master to belong to.

  Master Lady, The Lady lady, had Nature running through her veins. Master Lady – Mother Nature Lady.

  Magic.

  Any dumb gnat would know that.

  Except for tricks that hid the magic now – master Lady’s old Gloria disguise. She put that on for Kiana girl. And because outside Forest, master Lady felt older and sicker anyway. Master Lady had been more ill of late.

  Master Lady’s hair was often now as silver as gossamer web.

  But could be as red as hurts with blood. She wore red hair at the moment, while nobody could see.

  Master Lady had left the Forest, so big things were happening.

  Hush things. Things to curl black leg hairs with fright.

  “Well done my little friend,” master Lady smiled.

  Granx hopped giddily in total agreement. So well done, so clever, yes.

  “We needed to make Kiana remember, and to make her ready. But I will watch over Kiana now. I will check on her in the morning.”

  Legs in the air: then what? Then what?

  “We will lose her again.”

  No good? Bad? Bad?

  “She won’t be alone,” master Lady’s fingers were soft on the Granx’s lovely, lovely velvet back. “The Three of them are getting close to meeting, and soon everything will come together. But we must help her find the other two in time, and at precisely the right time.”

  Dear, dear. Time business again.

  “Yes little one. And I am afraid you have missed them. The two others made it to Gangroah and left already, with a little of my help in evading the search. They were outside while you worked with Kiana. I shall have to send you back.”

  Back again. Make more friends?

  “Not this time. This time it is best if you watch over them secretly,” master Lady said. She was beginning to change. Youthful skin now had delicate lines. Master Lady was putting on her Gloria face again. “Don’t draw attention to yourself. We don’t want them to be terrified of you and not allow you to follow along.”

  Other one loved me. Much to love.

  “Indeed,” master Lady agreed, hair fading to silver. “But just in case. We need to keep them safe, and you are the only one that can follow undetected.”

  So fast. So clever. So true.

  “So brave,” master Lady added. “Now there’s no telling where you will arrive when you jump back in time. Just try not to land anywhere that they’ll notice you.”

  Right, right. Secret. Clever… beautiful.

  “Exactly,” master Lady’s warm magic washed around Granx like webs.

  Her lovely legs faded from sight, then her luscious body.

  “Good luck,” master Lady whispered, as she sat back; an old lady settling into her chair to wait.

  Granx was right. Big things were happening.

  Chapter Seven

  Kiana

  Though I knew I was alone in my Gangroah cottage, I thought I heard the footsteps of a small child running through my hallway. As if my baby brother, Tommy, was here.

  “Wait up!”

  I thought I heard his tiny friend, Jin, give chase. His soft shoes sliding on my floor, just as they used to in our family home, before it was all destroyed.

  Was that humming in my kitchen? My mother, Gwendis had always sung in our kitchen. She had passed her gift to me, and I’d become one of Bwintam’s star singers. I had sung at the festival on the day of the invasion.

  Could I hear whistling? It sounded as though it was coming from outside my cottage window. It was what I’d always heard as my father, Kires, had made his way home from the smithy.

  It was all just echoes of my loved ones. “It’s not real,” I told myself.

  “Oh Kiana,” the skin along my arms and back prickled as I swore I heard my best friend’s voice,
as if she stood behind me. “I’m so happy.”

  No – Joelle was gone.

  “Get a hold of yourself,” I growled, squeezing my eyes shut. “Send them to the back of your mind.”

  But when I opened my eyes, I could see my past as if I were back living in it.

  I was back in a warm time, when the sun had poured in over Joelle and I in her bedroom. The white of her bed covering had been almost blinding and we had traced our fingers over the delicate, raised lines of the lace.

  Joelle had never owned anything so beautiful. Her mother had given it to her, just as a long line of once wealthy females in her family had prized it and passed it down. Most girls in any village could scarcely dream of such quality.

  “One day I’ll make this my wedding gown,” Joelle had breathed in wonder at her new adornment. “It is too good for any bed.”

  The pure, white lace enfolded in on itself in connecting patterns. The material had been magnificent.

  “You will look like a Queen,” I’d told her reverently.

  Her porcelain-like features had lit up as she’d risen to snatch a tendril of ivy growing about her window frame. Tiny white flowers made the plant seem strangely beautiful.

  “And we will do your hair like this, some day when you are wed,” she had said then, placing the ivy about my head like a crown. “You will be a Fairy.”

  “Perhaps I won’t marry,” I’d said frivolously. “Perhaps I’ll find a mythical Fairy Prince and just fly away with him.”

  “You were quite taken by that green-eyed, gorgeous noble at the festival,” Joelle had teased then. “The one who watched you sing. They always say green-eyed people have lineage that can be traced right back to when the Lady first created humanity. And he did come with the royal party from the Palace. He may have been a Prince.”

  I’d traced my fingers over the white bed cover coyly and tried to jest. “Then I guess I’d end up being the Queen if I married him.”

  “You know,” Joelle had faced me seriously then, “I really can tell you won’t be like the rest of us. My parents are hoping I’ll marry next year, and that is all they hope for. Your parents have made sure you will have many accomplishments.” She had twirled a tendril of ivy between her fingers thoughtfully. “Your father has taught you your letters and numbers, to ride and to hunt. He’s taught you even to help him in the smithy – and nobody minds. Yet you fit into your mother’s world as well as your father’s dirty one.”

  “No man will want me,” I’d laughed, feeling heat in my cheeks.

  “Your mother will pass you the role of village healer,” Joelle had ignored me. “You have the sweetest singing voice, are a festival day celebrity, and,” she’d smiled lightly then, “the Gods wouldn’t allow you to never have a wedding day with looks like yours either.”

  Her light brown curls had spread across the white cover in loose twirling wisps as she’d laid back down next to me … But I felt myself frown then, as I looked through the brightness at her curls and the white cover.

  The whiteness seemed to be tinged with pink.

  Faint. Almost red. As if stained by wine that was spreading.

  “Joelle …” I said falteringly as her curls lifted in a light breeze.

  They were such soft wisps.

  Then they seemed to whither and dry up.

  I could smell burning.

  I gasped. “No,” I said, aghast. “The attack was later. You didn’t leave me yet!”

  She couldn’t seem to hear me as she played with the flowers and ivy she had picked.

  “I never saw you die!” I begged.

  I felt a moment of clarity. This was a distorted memory. I wasn’t really with Joelle in Bwintam. But I was mortified as my mind played tricks and let the vision of Joelle start to burn up and turn to ashes before my very eyes. Her porcelain skin became cracked like clay, and her clothes began to break up and blow away.

  I blinked in a haze of smoke as my mind shifted to a new memory of a time before the invasion, and I could hear the rhythmic clang of metal on metal as I passed my father, Kires’ forge.

  I could smell the embers, and peered in to find him, illuminated by sparks that were dancing with the heat. A hiss of steam burst outward while my father’s strong arm lowered an axe head into the water.

  I swung the hares I had caught over my shoulder and made to move toward him, into the heat of the smithy. Until I noticed the ringing sound ahead of me had stopped.

  The heat was intensifying, the steam turning to smoke.

  “But … it hadn’t happened yet!” I whispered desperately, freezing in my dream-memory’s tracks.

  But I blinked up to find the vision of a burnt out ruin. A few collapsed beams. Smoke curling out of the remains.

  “No, that never happened,” I was crying out, only to find that now there was the comfortable warmth of two small bodies snuggled against mine. This scene had taken place much closer to the time when Warlord Angra Mainyu and the Witch Agrona had come.

  The memory seemed so real, I could feel it. The big armchair in the corner had enfolded the three of us, as Jin and Tommy had cuddled into my sides.

  They had been tired, and messy, fluffy hair had tickled my nose as they’d leaned their cheeks on my shoulders. They had been my darlings. Jin with his wonder-filled eyes and Tommy, a miniature of father with the same sandy hair.

  “I think I would like to fly one day,” Tommy had yawned.

  “I’ll fly if you do,” Jin had agreed comfortably.

  “How will you do this?” I’d smiled, taking one of Tommy’s sticky hands in mine, and Jin’s in the other.

  The lengths of their chubby hands had fitted comfortably within my palm, and their fingertips could not reach mine. Their knuckles were dimpled and their palms were like soft little cushions, warm and untouched by hardship.

  “Look,” I had said. “Such tiny wings you have.”

  Then I noticed patches of crimson had stained their little palms.

  The blood was spreading slowly, following the lines of their skin.

  “No …” I said again. “No, it wasn’t like this.”

  I tried to rub their hands clean with my fingers.

  But I could no longer feel the warmth of their small forms as they nestled against me.

  Smoke began to curl in through the windows with coiling tendrils.

  I could barely see them. They would not move. And they gradually faded from view.

  From where I huddled in reality, all alone in my spotless cottage, I felt winded – for when the smoke of my vision cleared next, everything of this final memory was ringing true.

  Yes. This was when it had happened.

  It had been a joyous day, and there had been the fragrance of flowers from outside, and the sound of faint, gaily played music had drifted from Bwintam’s village square, in through the windows of our cottage.

  I’d savoured the smell of baking bread as my mother had hummed and kneaded dough, and Tommy had run past, in the rush of a four year old, chirping “happy birthday!” before whizzing out the front door to wait at the gate for Jin.

  I’d caught sight of my father coming home, his hand nearly covering Tommy’s whole head to ruffle his hair in passing at the gate. Father was early, the festival being the year’s most special rest day to celebrate a successful harvest.

  Bwintam had been famous for its prosperity for the kingdom, and our merrymaking had even once drawn the King and Queen, and that handsome green eyed noble who had watched me sing.

  Father had bounced in the open door, still ruddy and rosy from the smithy, and I had followed him to the kitchen as he’d sat at the bread heaped table.

  My father had been back for less than a week from a journey to find my gift and visit an old, auburn haired aunt I’d never heard of. So excitement had made my heart flutter as mother had paused to lean against the bench keenly, and as father’s big, rough hand had pressed a plainly wrapped gift into my own.

  “It’s beautiful,” I had
gasped when the twine and brown paper had been torn away to reveal the white stone Unicorn with a faint line that circled the entire body.

  My mother had looked as if seeing me with the little Unicorn was the proudest moment of her life, and I’d wondered at her expectant expression.

  “You have reached sixteen years of age today!” father had beamed, putting browned hands on my shoulders. “And your mother and I wish you to now learn some truths that may be hard to understand.”

  I’d tried to keep from frowning.

  “You know our families didn’t originally come from here,” my mother had begun eagerly then. “We were wanderers, of the entire land. You can tell for yourself that we are a little different to others around us –”

  “WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!”

  Tommy had sped into the kitchen, flying the lopsided toy wooden bird I’d once carved him. He’d obviously tired of waiting for Jin outside.

  “Thank the Gods,” I’d breathed. “Festival day is not the time for long speeches.”

  To my relief, my parents had been silenced and I had smiled. I’d had all the time in the world to hear their stories.

  “When you were younger,” my father said after a moment, stroking my hair and changing the topic. “You used to wish every night to meet a Unicorn, and you would beg and plead until I tucked you into bed and told you the story of the Fairies and the Unicorns.”

  “I remember,” I’d laughed, as I often had then.

  But a rapping sound at the door drew my attention, and a moment later Jin’s wide-eyed face had appeared at the kitchen window. “Food’s being brought out!” he’d squeaked elatedly.

  And I’d quickly embraced my father’s strong frame and kissed my mother’s soft cheek, hurrying after the ecstatic Tommy to dance and sing with Joelle at the festival.

  When I’d wandered contentedly away from the festival to rest beneath my favourite Willow tree, the largest on the border of the village, I had drifted to sleep with not a care in the world.