Echoes of Fae: Book One of the Divine

by Monica Doke

  She felt her heart beating. She wondered then what her own death would be like. She wondered if she would be able to return for another life after she died. She wondered if it would hurt when her heart stopped beating. She knew it did not hurt when she caused her heartbeat to slow or to quicken dramatically, but would it hurt to end? She thought it must not hurt at all since she knew the texts said that all life ceases to exist for beings when they die. She wished for lies or inaccuracies.

  The Vanishing

  The morning rose again, this day it rose much more peacefully. Only the servants were out of bed with the sun, as the rest of the guests and inhabitants had slept late. Thane woke first and made his way immediately with Genewen to see to his father's funeral. Thane looked sadly at Genewen. She returned his gaze consolingly.

  “We should tread carefully with this,” Genewen told him. “Melody is sick with grief and anxiety as it is. I found her locked in the study this morning, beneath the portrait of your father. She seems to have spent the night there in tears. When I found her she slept but she was crying.” Thane frowned sadly. He knew his sister struggled with all of the things that were piling onto her and their family all at once. The Healer felt similarly to his sister, but he knew the effects of such stress on the body so he kept to his meditations to clear his soul of the misery that swarmed his heart. Melody was so young and so used to living and loving her life. Thane had lost his mother before, but Melody was not aware during any other deaths.

  He could not imagine the pain she had endured with her knowledge of her prophesied fate. He had already begun hating the person who decided so selfishly to scribe the existence of the person and torture them with the fact that they were doomed to live their life knowing their own death. The thought of the ridiculous prophecy turned his blood to fire. Did not a prophecy create the conflict as well as the solution?

  He wished the survival of Agoura hinged on his fate, instead of his sister’s fate. Thane shook his head, shaking the dreadful thoughts of the future from his ears. He found his heart growing heavier by the day from all that happened to them.

  “What shall we do for him, Genewen? He needs a ceremony for him and for the people, but I fear what this knowledge will do to our nation,” Thane stated, his throat growing tight.

  The duo walked into the room in which his father’s body rested. There were two Seraren women, one of them being Acacia, making the Pacretine look alive. They pulled his hair back, which gave him a whimsical battle-ready look. Thane wondered what his valiant father would have been like in a fight. He imagined his father’s blade striking sparks into the enemy’s blade and the twitch of the veins in his neck as he struggled with every drop of will he had until the swords broke apart to crash into one another again. He looked at the Pacretine again. This would be the last time he saw his father’s face. Tears rolled into the C'ghalie Healer’s eyes and he turned to blink them away out of Genewen’s view. Thane wondered if Genewen would begin to do again what she did before Serendipity died. Would she once again be the second in command? Would she leave? Acacia looked up at Thane into his eyes. She stopped her hands and stared at him. Thane stood, transfixed.

  “Genewen freed the Helacorn women from their imprisonment - at least, the ones who remain. She also fought valiantly for Agoura in the war of Fae. She had been Serendipity’s spy and her right hand in combat,” Acacia said into Thane's mind. Thane’s silvery gray eyes widened at Acacia’s sudden answer to his inner question. “She used to be a warrior to the bone, my son. She was brilliant. Moreover, when Serendipity went into battle she made Genewen swear on her allegiance to the crown that she would care for the Pacretine and their children if something were to happen to her. Genewen had only sixteen summers when your mother told her this and two years later, she had to keep her promise. She did not tell your father of the promise, nor did she tell any of you what she used to do and what she is.” Thane gaped at her.

  “She had been the Helacorn SeRigh’, which is like our Macretine. The difference is, they had one ruler only and it was not one of blood or riches. The SeRigh’ of the Helacorn had to be the most cunning of all of the Helacorn, the swiftest, the strongest and the most brutal of all of the Helacorn. This described Genewen. You that are her half-children do not know the Genewen that war knows and you will not. She is not what she once had been and she will never be. When she joined our side as a spy and fought against her kin, she abandoned her role as the SeRigh’.

  “But, as their numbers dwindled, the race lost their strongest and eventually lost the majority of their dedicated evils. Some Helacorn remain bad, but they disengaged from the rest. Those remaining joined the nation and began to stand beneath their SeRigh''s rule once more. However, as her title changed and her position, so did the nature of the Helacorn. Most, anyway. Many Helacorn are still as they were but usually their hand does not waste lives and mouths are not left unfed to satiate their cruel hunger. They do not dominate, nor conquer. They rest peacefully beneath the firm, yet kind hand of their leader: your Macretine,” Acacia concluded. Thane stared, tears stung his eyes and he made no move to hide them. Acacia turned back to the sight of Thane’s father and continued to work on his appearance as if she had not spoken a word.

  “My… Gen… Genewen is Helacorn? Where are her wings?” His words tumbled over one another as he attempted a question in his mind.

  “She hides them beneath gaudy cloaks and dresses,” Acacia replied, not turning her attention away from her work. She placed her hand on the Pacretine’s bandaged wound and whispered a few unfamiliar words. When she uncovered it, his skin appeared unmarked. Thane knew she used some of her own Ether. He thought he recognized it as a Seraren healing incantation.

  “I always thought she dressed that way because she is quirky,” Thane said, thinking out to Acacia.

  “Well, she is that indeed, yet her dress is to hide what she is. Her skirts are long to hide the length of her body. Her cloaks are vast to veil the existence of her wings. She is Helacorn, my boy,”

  Acacia replied.

  “What about her hair? It is not light like the typical Helacorn,” Thane countered. “It was not light before age whitened it.”

  “Nor is your friend’s; the dark-haired sister of the servant boy,” Acacia reminded him. Thane blushed at the way she spoke of Cybil, so knowingly of the way he felt just thinking of the dark-haired beauty. He provided no more argument; silently watching the women work alongside Genewen. His thoughts ran wildly to and from every face in the palace, to that of his mother’s and his father’s second wife. Genewen, a Helacorn? How could they have not known? Did their father know?

  …

  The day’s evening ended with Melody’s small troop gathered together around a small, quaint room with games and a fireplace. It was comfortable with many chairs and floor pillows. There were paintings of the races before the war of Fae lighting the room with color and oddities. Thane sat drunken in front of Jennifer and beside Cybil, who had also drunk too much berry cider. Jax half sat, half laid on a pillow in front of the fireplace, staring into the dancing flames. Melody turned upside down in a chair, dozing uneasily. Haroah, Alastaf and the Helacorn sisters took their leave to assist the Macretine.

  “So,” Cybil said, staring at Melody. “Are you actually the legendary Divine?” Cybil asked the question carefully, as if it could break someone. Melody frowned groggily tearing her sapphire eyes away from the upside-down fire.

  “Seems so,” Melody said airily as she flipped over and sat upright in her chair. “I suppose we will just have wait to find out for sure.” The Pramacretine’s frown deepened and Jennifer shifted uncomfortably.

  “The Prophecy,” Cybil started as Melody pulled her knees up into the chair beneath her chin.

  “Says I have to die, I know,” Melody snapped. She chanced a look in Jax’s direction and saw his posture tense; his eyes remained fixated on the fire. “Whether or not it is fact has yet to be discovered. I cannot, for my own sake, focus on that eve
ntuality at this point in time.” Melody said, trying to keep her anger in check. Every eye in the room made its way to the waves of the fire, silently thinking of the words they had just endured. The Pacretine, their father, dead.

  Jax stood up and walked over to Melody. He picked her up by the sides and sat down with her in his lap. He wrapped his arms tightly around her as dread tore through him. Everyone had been quite aware of the connection between Jax and Melody, but they had not seen them so comfortable and together before. While Jennifer and Cybil both seemed unaffected, Thane was surprised to see the abrupt closeness in their company. They all stared into the fire wondering about their future losses. Cybil’s eyes watered at the thought of her parents and knew in her heart that they were not the last to be lost in this new, unusual war.

  Thane’s mind wandered painfully, the visions of his mother at war, her battle armor shining in the brisk morning sun and her long dark hair flowing evenly in the wind. He saw her long sword –the one that the next Macretine would inherit and the one that Genewen refused - dangling in its sheath neatly by her side. He imagined the look on her face. He knew it would be a reflection of the words in her mind. If I die in war, I do so for my children. He remembered how she would speak those words loudly behind closed doors to her beloved Pacretine and he remembered running into the garden and crying. Thane wondered if Melody would have lived without the existence of the war. He wondered if she would have come to be if his own mother had not died in battle. He knew that the war would rage on to this day had the battle she led not taken place. He knew the reason the enemy signed the plea. Not just out of the fear of a curse in order to avoid extinction or enslavement as an endangered species.

  Thane imagined the war. He knew little about it, as he did not enjoy reading the books that were in the library. The Healer was afraid to imagine his mother’s death. Disgusted by the genocide, he wanted nothing more than to make it all untrue. He wanted to bring his parents back. Thane leaned back despondently and let the fog from the drink take over his consciousness.

  After more than an hour, their silence ended with a bang and a crack where the door to the room burst open and a hooded figure lurked in, stopping right inside the doorway. Everyone stood at the ready in only a moment, their eyes sharing startled, but determined glances.

  “The Divine,” the cloaked figure boomed. Melody strode forward, cautiously holding her left hand before her to reveal she was unarmed. She reached arms-length to the creature and stopped, staring up at its hooded face.

  “Me,” Melody said, her voice trembling. The figure stepped forward and with absolutely no warning, its cloak enveloped Melody. Both of them vanished completely.

  Cybil lunged at the spot that just contained Melody and cried out when she hit the floor. Thane fell over the end table, twisting his foot tragically and causing Jax to fall on top of him. Jennifer ran out of the room and then straight out of the palace. The small group ran through the palace to where they knew the Prypacretine and the Macretine were and burst in.

  “Melody has been kidnapped!” Thane managed to cry, holding his ankle painfully. Genewen turned sharply in their direction, her eyes wet and red. Slowly her face contorted from a sallow pained look of a woman mourning to a point of complete rage. Under the weight of this news, Genewen broke. The Macretine collapsed into the floor where everyone attempted to tend to her. Jax ran to the window and looked for Jennifer. His eyes were wild and fierce.

  “Find her,” the Conjurer whispered, his breath fogged the window, interrupting his view of the wet, empty courtyard.