Marcius thought on it for a minute, “So that's what Selene meant that we all do the role given?”
“Aye, but for her, it is bittersweet. She has no Fate.”
“What do you mean? How does someone have no Fate?”
“The tree was silent when she was presented. It refused to give her a role, or even acknowledge her existence. In the countless years since Selenthia existed, this was the first and only time something like this had ever happened.”
He ran over his words to Selene last night and at last understanding dawned on him. “So that's why when I asked her why her caste wasn't the same as her mother's. . . ”
“Indeed.”
But something still didn't click. “But why is that a bad thing? Wouldn't that mean it was her's to decide?”
Raloran shook his head, a bemused expression on his face. “Only a human would look at it so. Try and look at it from an elven perspective? We are beings of magic, rules entwined with our existence. There is countless years of tradition in a race not designed to change rapidly. To be honest, many feared her.”
“Feared her for what?”
“Said she shouldn't exist. Said that she was a loose thread in our tapestry. Some promoted killing her.”
“That's insane!”
“Aye, but thick is the fear of the unknown, young human. It was only through the graces of her mother and who she was that allowed naysayers to reach an agreement. 'Let her become a warrior,' they said, 'Maybe battle will get rid of her instead'.”
“What a terrible thing to say.”
“Indeed, and yet we look down on humans as monsters? The irony does not escape some of us.” Raloran had a profound look of regret, “Aye, indeed. She's had a hard life, proving that she has the right to exist. When most children were playing with others, she was studying and perfecting her swordplay, trying to drown out the whispers and rumors with hard work, sweat, and blood. Selene has done well for herself, but she had to earn every portion of it, and the scars run deep.”
Marcius didn't know what to say, it made sense now, a big portion that made the mysterious elf who she was. But there was one question that remained. He turned to Raloran, who had just finished cutting the last of the fabric. “Why did you tell me this?”
The elf shrugged, “Seemed like the right thing to do. I think mingling with other races will be a good thing for her. I am glad the council had the foresight to put her to this duty. She needs to know that things are never as black and white as they appear to be. A bit of perspective if you want.”
“I guess that's a—” and the words died in Marcius's throat as the elf's fingers and mouth began moving in a pattern he knew well. Raloran was casting a spell!
He could only watch as the thread on the table danced its way into a needle, which began to weave in and out of the fabric like a snake through grass. Buttons, like tiny insects, crawled their way across the table, laying with perfect spacing for the animated needle. In mere moments, an exquisitely well-done shirt had been made right before his eyes.
“I didn't know you could do magic.”
“We are beings of magic, Marcius. Such feats are far more common amongst us than superstitious bound humans. Here, try this on.” The elf threw him the shirt, which Marcius caught reflexively.
He took a few moments, feeling self-conscious in front of the elf before deciding that it didn’t matter in the end. He shrugged off his own top, letting it fall to the ground. The new shirt fit well and the fabric was exquisite against his skin. “Thank you,” Marcius said truthfully.
“Wait until you see the price,” the elf said with a chuckle.
“I don't have any gold to pay for this.”
“I was kidding. Of course Selene is going to pay for it all. Now go outside and select a cloak you like from the side of the cart. I'll finish up your clothing here.”
Marcius nodded, dumbfounded at the kindness the elf had shown him. He paused at the door, his hand on the flap. “Why do you care so much about Selene?”
There was only sadness in his response. “Why wouldn't a father care about his daughter?”
Chapter 25
The assassin tossed and turned in his bed, images of fallen comrades haunting him even in the sanctuary of dreams. Stillness dominated the room until a crack of lightless thunder split the silence.
“Greetings, assassin,” Erinaeus said as he appeared.
On pure reflex, his hands a blur, the once sleeping assassin spun. Three deadly daggers fell to the ground in rapid succession, bouncing off the wizard's robes like raindrops from a well-shingled roof.
“Please now, none of that, Erinaeus said smugly, flicking imaginary dust from his robes, “I’m not here to kill you. If I wanted that, you'd already be dead.”
The assassin regarded the fallen daggers for a moment, and then shrugged. He was a patient man; it was a job necessity. The mysterious wizard had the advantage now, but it wouldn't always be so. If the intruder wished to merely talk, he could consent. Not as if he had alternatives.
Still, something about the wizard unnerved him, something that he couldn't place his finger on, but it was if his basic senses were trying to warn him.
“Nice place you have here,” Erinaeus said, pacing the room, “It was a pain to find you, and I'd never have thought to look in this little section of Aralene. Well, I lie. I'd never have thought to look here if I didn't know your quarry was, in fact, a wizard. Am I right?”
The assassin nodded, intrigued. His hands flexed, anxious to grab several of the weapons he hid nearby, but he forced them to relax. Nothing was lost in hearing what this wizard wanted, though he mentally resolved that he'd kill him when the opportunity presented itself. He just wished he could at least see the wizard's face under his veiled hood, something, anything, to explain the sense of impending dread that oozed from the man.
“I've come to offer you a deal,” Erinaeus said, the only exposed portion of his face turning into a crooked wizened smile. “You've come here to kill a certain group of people, and I, too, want these people dead.”
“I do not need your help to do my craft, wizard.”
“Really?” and Erinaeus turned to the daggers on the floor. The assassin conceded the point reluctantly with a nod, “Anyway, I can give you the tools to kill these wizards that killed your comrades, if you're willing?”
The assassin stood. “What help would you give me? Why are you helping me when you can obviously kill them yourself?”
“I don't recall giving you permission to ask me questions?”
“Well,” the assassin said, his left finger hooking onto a dagger hidden in the waste of his pants, “I don't recall asking for permission.”
The tension vibrated in the humid night air and a single drop of sweat ran down the assassin's face. He tensed every muscle in his body, ready to drive the weapon home if he had to. He sincerely doubted he could touch a prepared wizard, but he'd be damned if he bowed to this man.
The tension broke as the wizard gave a dark raspy chuckle that sent shivers assassin's back. “It's been so long since I've talked to someone who had the fortitude to respond like that. Be relieved that I'm in a good mood, or you’d not leave this room standing. I merely need to eliminate these particular people with nothing that’d indicate magic was involved.”
The assassin raised a single eye, “What kind of help could you give me that wasn’t magical?”
“There’s the trick of it. Assassin’s are mysterious,” Erinaeus said, laughing darkly, “They’d just write it off as some inner secret of your organization.”
He thought it over. The trail had went cold after the ship, and even an intense “interview” of the ship captain hadn’t given him any leads other than the educated guess that they’d come to the Academy in Aralene. The wizard’s offer made sense, but his gut warned him against it. Something was off about the intruder.
Plus it was a wizard that killed his comrades. Once he killed the ones that did it directly, he’d start sl
aughtering every damn wizard he could find. Faelon would be a better place for it.
Still, if the wizard gave him the means to kill wizards even with their magical advantages. . . well, the ends did justify the means, right? It’d make it easier to kill this wizard too.
“I accept your offer,” he said, and to him, the words came out with a sense of finality.
“Good,” Erinaeus said, “Now, there might be some slight discomfort when I do this.”
The assassin was about to ask what he meant when the wizard reached up and removed his hood. He tried to see the wizard’s face, but the world went black and he felt himself falling in inky darkness, sucked in by a malevolent crimson orb that had appeared like a blood-red sunrise.
Somewhere, far away, he screamed.
Marcius felt like a new man as he walked out. From head to toe he was outfitted in fresh clothing. It hugged him just right, not too loose, but not tight. The cloak was of the highest quality and Marcius had fallen in love with it the moment he had tried it on. The insides were lined with pockets and for a few moments he felt a pang of nostalgia as it reminded him of Antaigne.
“What do you think?” he asked Selene, turning so she could see him from different angles.
She cocked her head, “It is an improvement. No longer do you look like a goblin in hand-me-downs.”
“Thanks, I think.”
“Battle-Mistress? There is the small matter of payment?” Raloran said, coming out from behind the flap.
Selene rolled her eyes, but unhooked a pouch from her belt, tossing it to the merchant who caught it deftly. He looked inside and nodded with satisfaction.
“We will take our leave now,” she said, and Marcius agreed, shouldering the backpack that contained the other things they had bought. Several custom made outfits, a small knife, a spare pair of boots, and extra gloves were all packed tightly inside.
The merchant waved at them as they left the trading grounds. Marcius secretly hoped he would see the charismatic merchant again.
The weight on his back and the feeling of new clothing made him smile. He was grateful for Selene's kindness, and that combined with the surprising information he had gleaned from the merchant made him look at Selene in a new light. Marcius was beginning to pick out her mannerisms, and it all brought the realization as to why they had even come here to begin with.
“Thank you,” he said sincerely as soon as they were alone on the road.
She didn't say anything immediately, but he knew she heard him. Finally she glanced back. “Thank me for what?”
“For getting me all of this,” he responded, jiggling the backpack for emphasis.
“There is nothing to thank. It is the host's duty to ensure her charge has necessary supplies.”
Marcius couldn't help but to grin, letting the elven woman know that he didn't totally believe her, “Well, thank you anyway. . . and I want to say that I'm sorry. For last night.”
There, it was out now, hanging between them. He had taken the first step and now it up to her to respond. She opened her mouth several times, but nothing came out. Marcius could see her visibly struggling with herself before her countenance softened.
“I shouldn't have struck you,” she said the words in a rush, obviously flustered in a way Marcius had never seen the elf before. He figured the proud woman wasn't used to apologizing.
It was if a dam had broken, the awkwardness drained like water through a sieve. “It's okay,” he said, smiling at the visible relief in her face.
He was about to continue when they were both interrupted by a shout. A young, out of breath elf ran up to Selene. There was a smattering of elvish and then he handed her a scroll from a pouch slung across his side. She unfolded it, emerald eyes scanning over its contents intently.
Selene gave a sharp intake of breath, and her face grew hard. Marcius had to stop himself from asking what was wrong. Last thing he wanted was to once again pry his nose into the elf's business and get it bitten off. Still, he fidgeted as she read the scroll.
The elven woman muttered under her breath, obviously not pleased in the slightest. She immediately crumpled up the paper, seeming just as surprised as Marcius and the young elf at her action.
“Selene,” he said tentatively, “Is something the matter?”
“No,” she said, but her eyes remained clouded. The woman was lost in thought.
The messenger said something in elvish and that seemed to jolt Selene from her reverie. She shook her head and indicated with a slight nod that the young elf should be on his way. It was several long moments before she looked to Marcius again. “Come,” she murmured, “There is someone that I must take you to see.”
She didn't wait to see if he followed, weaving her way through the moss covered roads and trails. Marcius continued behind her, confusion growing with every step.
He didn't have to prompt her any more, though, because she started talking, as much to herself as to him. “I tried to keep you safe, sheltered from our politics. But it seems as if the move for you has started and there is nothing I can do.”
“Move for me? I'm not an object to be possessed.” Marcius said, his face heating up with anger, “Anyway, why would they want to control me? I'm just a human.”
“Do you remember the two at the trial? The ones that made you uneasy?” Marcius did. Even the memory caused his stomach to twist and turn. “You are to meet him today. He requested your presence at his estate, and the missive was signed by an Elder. There is nothing I can do.”
“Why does that make you angry? What is it about him that makes him an abomination?”
“You will learn when you meet him.”
Marcius was astute enough to realize that she never answered his question, but he was wise enough to not press the issue. Maybe he would get his answers finally upon meeting this person? It was as if everyone was privy to secrets that he should know, but couldn't be bothered to explain it to him.
His memory settled on what the elven woman said when he was tested by that wizard. 'Should not exist', huh? By Avalene's mercy, he'd find out what she meant.
❧ ❧ ❧
Marcius didn’t know what to make of it.
Like dirt stuck between two carpets of foliage, the land stretched out, a single mistake on the otherwise pristine paper that was Selenthia. The land itself seemed to be gray and dark, as twisted as the few trees that grew around it. It breathed slowly, a dying creature in the throes of entropy.
A large gate and fence, wrought of storm gray metal, stretched around the borders. Ancient carvings were etched into the side, along with ashen statues of humanoids that appeared to leer at the two of them from above.
Selene noticed Marcius's questioning look, “The land adapts to the mindset of the powerful,” she said simply, “His presence even fouls that which surrounds him.”
The elven warrior then touched the symbol in the center of the gate, saying a word that Marcius recognized from the Kra’nael. The gate stuttered for a few moments and then, with a groan, opened slowly. The land exhaled, beckoning Marcius forward.
“This is a far as I go,” Selene said apologetically, “Follow the trail and don't detour if you value your life. I'll be here when you return.”
He nodded, stepping through the gate before he lost his nerve. Or at least he tried to. There was something in the air, and it was like slogging through mud. He had to physically strain against an invisible barrier, pushing and beating against it. Finally he burst through, stumbling and gasping for breath.
Marcius realized what he had done as he looked back. There was a ripple in the air, like a disturbance in a still pond, and even without the help of his familiar, he was able to see the slight shimmer of the nether.
He had passed through a magical barrier! Of course Marcius had read of such things, but never did he expect to be on the receiving end. It was supposed to be a powerful magic. Just who was this person that he needed a barrier to protect him? Or maybe, and the realization made M
arcius's stomach churn, it was to keep the 'abomination' trapped?
He turned around, intent on going back, but already Selene had closed the gate and melted into the surrounding forest. He felt truly alone now. There was nowhere to go but forward. Marcius steeled himself; the entire area had a presence that was throwing off his senses. It was if he was constantly off balance.
He didn't feel safe.
Remembering Selene's warning, Marcius did his best to adhere to the dirt path. It led him to the mouth of a cave, but it was obvious as he approached that it wasn't natural in any sense of the word. The sides were smooth, and the mouth was large. Flagstones lined the floor, meshing at the entrance with the dusty dirt path. Oil lamps, their flames flickering with every slight gust of wind, lined the sides and the entire place gave off an acute sense of timeless age.
Cautiously Marcius explored deeper and in the back a sturdy set of double doors awaited; twin portals that enticed Marcius to try the handle, if only to satisfy the curiosity of what lay beyond. There was no creak of rusted hinges as he opened it, only the deafening of absolute silence. Inside, it was if a castle had been built into the side of a hill. The walls were of sturdy brick and mortar and everything was well lit along the main corridor.
All too soon he reached the end, and it was here that the familiar sensation of dread returned, originating from behind a single innocent looking doorway. His hand shook as he reached out, hooking around the handle which was cool to the touch. Marcius took only a moment to consider his action, and then pulled, the door swinging open ominously.
The room was lit up intensely by candles, and expansive enough to have a large solid wooden table that spanned from one end to the other. But it was the figure that sat at the end of the table, staring directly at Marcius as he walked in, that stole the young apprentice's attention.
From the feral smile to the distinctly unelf proportions, Marcius recognized the elf in front of him as one part of the pair from the trial. Except this time there was no hood to hide the way the skin stretched taut over a face that looked more akin to a skull than a living, breathing creature.
A Dead God's Tear (The Netherwalker Trilogy) Page 38