by Shelley Cass
“You could tell us a new story?” appealed the other.
“We asked your companions, but they said you’d be the better entertainer,” shrugged the first.
“We’re bored,” they repeated, as I glared toward Noal and Dalin.
“Can’t you play with your friends?” I smiled, turning back to their youthful faces.
I pushed down a flash of memory, of Jin and Tommy sitting against me, their small hands in mine.
“They’re all bored too. Could you tell us a story?” asked the first one again.
“Pleeeease?” added the other.
I noticed ten or so children, probably not even five years old, standing in a band, watching us and waiting.
“Are those your friends?” I asked the two little ones in front of me. They really did look just like Tommy and Jin.
“Ahuh,” they both nodded in harmony, motioning with little, soft hands for their friends to come rushing forward.
“Well,” I said, forcing good cheer to cover any melancholy, “I guess I could tell you one story.”
They cheered and instantly pressed in, taking handfuls of my shirt or grabbing onto my arms to pull me toward a grassy patch in the shade of a tree. They sat me down on a rock, and were gathered around before I could blink.
“What kind of story would you like?” I asked, getting my breath back helplessly. I noticed Dalin and Noal sauntering across to join the entertainment.
“A magical one!” they cried.
“With Fairies and magic!” called some little girls.
“With blood and gore!” shouted the little boys.
Dalin and Noal sat themselves on the grass too grinning at me.
“A story about magic,” I mused. I didn’t let knowledge of what I’d seen magic do cloud my mind or darken my face. Because when I had been young, my mother and father had told me good stories about magic.
These children surely had heard the basic myths surrounding the tale of the Larnaeradee and the Unicorns before, as every child grew up hearing them, but my audience was as captivated as I had always been by my parents’ detailed version.
“In ancient times. The times of heroes, kingdoms and magic …”
Father had always whispered the last word. Leaning forward so that the stone held at his throat by a fine chain had glittered, and a thrill danced down my spine as my voice took on a similar tone to his now.
“… Times where mortals and magical creatures lived in harmony, roaming freely, and animal and human treated each other as kin, there lived the two fair races of legend. The Fairies and the Unicorns.
The Fairies, or in their tongue the Larnaeradee, were a magical kind. They were fair and elegant, with eyes of brilliance. The Larnaeradee cared for the land, were strong and agile trackers and hunters. But their greatest wonder was that, at the time of their sixteenth year, their elders presented them with an earth stone necklace, and the ability to fly.”
I tried not to remember my own sixteenth birthday, and how I’d thought my parents had forever to tell me what they’d wanted to, to explain their own gift of the Unicorn figurine.
“The Fairies were particularly devoted to the Unicorns, a race they saw as kin after, by chance, a young Fairy drew them out of their seclusion in their mountain refuge, Karanoyar. They had hidden years before out of fear of enslavement, as their non-magical horse cousins had faced. To draw them out, the Fairy Farne had to make a big mistake in order to create a bigger miracle…” 1
I described how the legendary Fairy Farne had been rescued by Treyun, and convinced the Unicorns to come back from their isolation, beginning the age of the Larnaeradee and Unicorns. A peaceful and prosperous time when a language called Aolen had been created to unite all races.
My voice stopped at the end, as father’s had stopped, and I glanced about at the little faces staring up at me, and at Dalin and Noal’s faces watching me too.
“Is that it?” asked the first boy who had come to me with his mate earlier.
“That was lovely!” chirped a little girl at my feet, her eyes dreamy.
“It was good,” agreed the other original little boy. “But there wasn’t any blood or gore. You’ve got to tell a second story.”
I could swear I was looking at Jin. Craving attention just as he had every time I had minded him with Tommy.
“Don’t you have chores to do to help your mothers?” I questioned.
“Done them,” said the first boy a little too innocently.
“Done them,” agreed the second boy, his tone just as questionable.
I raised one eyebrow in doubt, looking at Noal and Dalin for help.
“We’ve done our chores too,” grinned Noal and Dalin at me.
I sighed resignedly. “Right …” I gave in, without any real annoyance. “As we know, the Unicorns and Larnaeradee shared a unique bond never before shared between any other race. They grew in skill together, sharing powers, connecting as pairs with a link between the Unicorn’s golden horn and the Larnaeradee’s precious earth stone. With their magic so completely melded, together they were more powerful than all others. For hundreds of years, after Farne and Treyun’s adventures, the Larnaeradee and Unicorns lived in harmony. They devoted themselves to keeping the world at peace, and during this time all living things flourished.
“Every magical race, whether in the seas, on faraway islands, or within Sylthanryn, was bonded – and the four kingdoms of men were also allied peacefully. From the rocky bounds of Krall, the green planes of Awyalkna, the vast desert lands of Lixrax, and the cliffy, mountainous country of Jenra beyond the Great Forest.
“During this time of amity, with the Larnaeradee and Unicorns acting as the keepers of the peace, there was no such thing as war, and death came only to the old. Fear and hunger didn’t exist and it was hard to believe in them. With the guidance of the Larnaeradee and Unicorns, the world shared the common language Aolen, and connected easily.
“Yet, the age of peace and goodness was ended as the first Sorcerer of Krall, Deimos, introduced corruption and greed. The natural world began to die and, to protect goodness, an Army for the World rose to face the darkness. And great sacrifices had to be made.”2
I poured myself into the story of ‘Sylranaeryn and her Unicorn’, letting the legend I knew so well roll from my tongue until I reached the conclusion.
“It has been told that the Kingdom of Krall fell into waste, and that, out of the ruins of the royal family, a babe was smuggled away into hiding. But, nobody is sure if the heir of Deimos lived. Many believe that Darziates is part of that bloodline, and has reclaimed the throne.
“It is believed though, that if evil were to ever rise once more, the Larnaeradee and the Unicorns shall live again to unite another Army for the World. The ancient pledge may still hold true for the earth’s pure protectors.”
My voice ran off, and I stared into memories of my father as he had told me those stories. I only stirred when I heard an awed voice say, “I wish I could see a Unicorn.” Just as I had always said.
I smiled down at the young faces around me.
“Me too,” I answered truthfully.
* * *
1 The ‘Tales of the Fairies and Unicorns’ are included at the end of this text.
2 The ‘Tales of The Army for the World’ and ‘Sylranaeryn and her Unicorn’ are included at the end of this text.
Chapter Thirty Three
Kiana
I’d felt a terrible sadness closing in on me as I had finished the tale my father had always told, knowing that father’s stories now only lived for me through my own voice. As the children had left in a happy garble of sound, I’d felt myself stiffening in response to the rising misery in my chest.
“What a captivating storyteller you are,” Dalin complimented me as he and Noal crossed to where I was still sitting. “I’ve heard shorter versions of those stories many times, but your telling was remarkable. It felt like I was there and that it was all true. It’s like there’s magic
in your voice,” he grinned in a friendly manner. “We don’t have such good storytellers even at the Palace. It’d be nice to meet the one who taught you so well.”
I felt my face hardening against the emotions, just as I’d trained it to, as I thought of how Dalin would never meet the storyteller I’d learned from, or anyone in my family.
I could feel that lump of hurt, an angry tumour in my throat that should have signalled the coming of a vulnerable outburst – instead prompting rising internal shields.
It was helpful to always be able to seal my internal sense of loss – or horror, at things I had witnessed on the hunt – behind a flawless mask. Being detached kept me from crying now, and at other times reduced hunting memories to just fleeting slashes across my mind.
Yet the mask also kept me separate, and Dalin was smiling obliviously as everything inside me flared up and was then locked away, and I knew he couldn’t understand.
“I thank you for your praise,” I replied, and heard the armour that was constricting my voice box turn my words to stone. My face was immovable, and I saw the inevitable flicker of hurt in his own expression.
Knowing conversation was hopeless from me for the moment, I rose and moved past Dalin, leaving for the solace of my private room.
“I guess she’s not forgiven me,” I heard Dalin murmur, and I pictured his puzzled face with a twinge of guilt.
But it was impossible. I had to reclaim my sense of calm without the aid of a wild hunt as I usually would. So I closed the door to my apartment with resolve, separating myself from them effectively. And the sun was in the late motions of setting before I next heard from anybody – with a tap at the door breaking my solitude.
Feeling sufficiently personable once more, I opened the door in anticipation of finding Noal or Dalin.
Instead, three dimpled, ample chested, beaming young women stood on the doorstep.
“Yes?” I asked, disconcerted.
“May we come in?” questioned the more robust girl of the three, glancing about herself furtively. Then before I’d had a chance to answer, they all toppled in, squeezing past me to perch themselves on the bed in a preening flock.
“Can I help you?” I asked them with an eyebrow raised, pushing the door closed.
“Yes, we want to question you,” nodded a curly haired, blue-eyed girl.
My eyes narrowed warily.
“You’re not in trouble! Far from it! We just want to learn of one of your companions,” giggled another.
I immediately put my guard up, suspicious that these girls may have recognised Dalin or Noal as the noble runaways after all.
I fixed a smile on my face. “What do you wish to know?” I asked with the best girlish tones I could muster, sitting on the bed amongst them to make myself part of the flock.
“Well, this matter is delicate,” confessed the robust one, drawing the words out annoyingly slowly.
“Don’t fear!” I encouraged.
“The tall one, with the dark hair – is he yours?” burst out the giggly one, giggling again.
“Mine?” I almost laughed myself.
“Are you together, or promised to each other?” asked the blue-eyed blonde.
“No,” I answered bluntly. “Not at all.”
“Isadora saw you together, sharing the same horse when you arrived,” robust girl said.
“Isadora?”
“You met Isadora when you first got here. The wretch has been boasting of how much he liked talking to her,” the giggly one became less giggly.
“Oh,” I sat back, crossing my arms.
“I couldn’t stand it if she had her way with him first!” sighed the blue-eyed one dramatically.
“And Isadora’s whole group are going after him tomorrow!” the giggly one complained, surprisingly with no giggling at all now.
“Her group?” I exclaimed in disbelief. “How many girls are chasing him? And why?”
It sounded as if he were going to be attacked.
“There’s Isadora, Betsya, Doreen, Lorai, Dertors and Perimay,” listed the blue-eyed blonde.
“So, there are six of them, and the three of you wanting that boy?” I exclaimed. “How in the Gods’ names was he fortunate enough to manage that?”
“Oh, he hasn’t done anything. Hasn’t spoken to any of us except you and that wench Isadora. It’s terribly vexing!” gushed the robust one, rocking back.
“He’s exquisite!” wailed the blue-eyed one. “Quiet men are mysterious men!”
“He’s gorgeous, he is!” giggly one. “Those striking green eyes! They say green eyes make you a descendent of the first men in the whole world.”
“And the way he dresses, he must be rich,” asserted the robust one.
“He’s tall, and muscular, and he’s witty, and handsome…” the blue-eyed one was now also starry eyed.
“How did you manage to find out so much about him, if he hasn’t talked to you?”
“Isadora has talked about him non-stop,” pouted starry blue eyes. “But this morning we spied on him when he was dining with that round boy, and we just happened to overhear him talking. He’s so clever, and, and …”
“Male,” I finished with an effort not to sound condescending.
Sighs filled the room.
“You were spying?” I asked dryly.
“Perhaps,” giggled the giggly one, predictably.
“But at least we came to you to see if he was promised,” defended the starry-eyed one. “Isadora and her rotten mob didn’t care.”
“Yes, that is so,” I nodded.
“But the game’s afoot tomorrow,” declared robust seriously.
“We are leaving after tomorrow night,” I warned. “There is no future in pursuing him.”
“It’s of no matter. If we can save him from Isadora that’ll be enough.”
“And a quick taste of those lips each would be nice,” giggled giggly.
“I think your fathers would worry if they were here,” I told them.
“Of course,” agreed robust. “But they’re not here, so we can jump at every rare handsome opportunity that presents itself.”
I tried not to grimace as the robust one stood, ushering the others up too so they could prepare for a competitive day. But I put them from my mind until I was interrupted from pouring over a map I already knew by heart the next day.
And again, the interruption came with a tapping on the door.
I did grimace this time, suspecting the girls again, until Noal’s mournful voice sounded, smothered through the door.
“Kiana, Dalin’s off with the billions of girls throwing themselves at him. Can you come and play runes with me?”
“Oh, you’re such a nuisance!” I told his glum face as I opened the door and he stepped in.
“I need guidance,” he said piously. “There are some old men that we were drinking with yesterday who said I should join in their runes game today. But, I need your wisdom and help to make sure I don’t gamble and drink away the coin that serves to fill my stomach.”
“I might be the one you lose to,” I warned.
“I’m quite talented at losing, so there’s a fair chance it could be one of the others as well,” he answered humbly.
I laughed. “Very well, but you’re buying my drinks.”
He beamed with enthusiasm at once. “My, my, I thought ladies didn’t partake in liquor.”
“I’m no lady,” I informed him as he led the way to the tavern next door, where some smoking, laughing old men were already lounging about a round wooden table on the veranda, each with a mug in their hands.
When we got to the table and they saw Noal had brought me, they stopped.
“You can’t bring a lass to a runes table,” rumbled one with rosy cheeks, as he picked some meat out of his teeth.
“A lady would just get confused,” another burped into his salt and pepper flecked beard.
“Aye, a lady might,” I smiled evilly. “But decrepit old men hardly stand a chance
against a woman.”
Of course they took the challenge and it was evening and the terrace was lit with burning torches when Dalin finally came over to find us. He leaned against the wooden railing that bordered the veranda, close to our table.
My fellow gamblers were all in an uproar, the old men and Noal singing drinking songs or griping about their losses, while I sat lazily beside my huge pile of winnings. My feet were up on the railing beside Dalin, my legs crossed comfortably. I rested my elbows on the arms of the chair, lounging in triumph.
“Noal can’t hold his liquor well, can he?” I smirked, flicking a coin up in the air and catching it.
“Heyy! I caaan tooooo!” he protested happily, sloshing some ale onto the wooden floor.
Dalin shook his head, “I’m surprised he got through that many pints,” he laughed, nodding at the six empty beer mugs on the table in front of me.
“Nah, I didn. Those one’sa Kiana’s!” Noal hiccupped. “Thosea mine,” he pointed to his three empty mugs.
Dalin snorted.
“Wanna joinus for the nex game?” Noal asked him.
There came a drawn out, female call from behind us. “Dalin! Where are you?”
“We just want to talk to you!” called another girl’s voice. “We’ll be good this time!”
I rolled my eyes at him.
“I’m in demand,” he shrugged airily before magnanimously walking back to where the voices had come from.
After another game I had won all that my purse could hold, and I decided it was time for Noal to go his chuckling way to bed. I slung his arm over my shoulder and helped him stumble, still singing cheerfully, to his room. I dropped him on his bed and left him to do the rest, but wasn’t tired myself and went to get some fresh water. Grabbing a pail, I headed down the path to the stream, listening to the night sounds of crickets chirping in the grass and a horse whinnying in the stables. But I frowned when I heard something different ahead.
I was close to the stream now, pail still in hand, and when I reached a small thicket of bushes I heard a giggle come out of the darkness.
Standing by the clear stream, illuminated by the silver light of the stars and the smiling moon, stood two figures.