The Clash of Yesterday

by Sawyer Bennett

  “You’re looking well, cousin,” comes from my left, and I turn to see Ilona on the bench next to ours. I smile, genuinely happy to see a friendly face, and lean over to accept a short air kiss.

  Ilona’s words are genuine. She’s sweet, humble, and non-judgmental. It’s hard to believe she can sit beside me with a welcoming smile… given I’m the one who cut her wings off a little over a thousand years ago.

  “Your dress is beautiful,” I compliment her. It’s a simple lavender creation of cotton, but it’s off the shoulders with an empire waist and flows to the ground.

  “Thank you,” she replies, chuckling as she glances down at it. “I made it myself.”

  “You really are talented.”

  If I want a dress, I go to Neiman Marcus, but if Ilona wants one, she puts hard work and dedication into crafting one. It’s a quality I can appreciate more than she’ll ever know.

  I study Ilona carefully. She’s definitely a leader among the Meadowlanders, and, by that, I mean she leads by example. Hardships—and learning how to overcome them—have made her wise, and something special within her has made her kind and caring.

  I’ve never quite understood why Ilona doesn’t hate me for what I did to her. Removing her wings was an excruciatingly brutal act because our ability to fly is one of the differences that sets us apart from other Light Fae. When Brevala was created with stone magic, its inhabitants were all gifted with the wings stripped from our ancestors. The gift of flight is dear to us all, especially while living in a place as stunning as our realm. In fact, since returning yesterday, I’ve spent most of my time flying over the Meadowlands, absorbing the true freedom found among the winds.

  Ilona’s wings eventually grew back. It only took a few hundred years, give or take. I suppose she doesn’t hold it against me because she knew she violated a serious no-fraternization policy by being with her Bluff Dweller lover. She knew the penalty was usually death to both parties, so she realized removing her wings was a mercy shown.

  Moreover, I think she understood I had no choice. When my father told me to do it, I had to.

  Still, it makes me sick to my stomach every time I think about that day over a thousand years ago. I’ve seen unimaginable death and gore over my lifetime, but that one singular act of hacking off her wings was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever been a part of.

  “…what games you’re going to enter?” Ilona asks, and I realize I’ve spaced out on her.

  I blink and smile sheepishly. “I’m sorry. I zoned out. What was that?”

  “The games in Faere,” she repeats. “Which ones are you going to enter?”

  “Hmm,” I ponder. “I’d like to enter all, but since some overlap, it won’t be possible.”

  “Well,” she says with a conspiratorial smile. “I’m putting my bets on you, so don’t let me down.”

  Laughing, I assure her that I’ll do my best.

  There are so many competitions scheduled. Ax throwing, archery, magic-wielding events, and the one I will most definitely enter… arena-style combat. I’ll be a favorite, given I spent so much time fighting during the height of the Roman Empire. Many Light Fae have led soft lives, and they only battle in these games once every century. Most will be easy to defeat.

  Then again, Ronan will enter and he’s just as good as I am. We’ve actually battled many times in the Coliseum in Rome, and before that, in the Roman amphitheater in Pompeii. Those were brutal days, but we weren’t warring with each other in Brevala, so what better way to keep our warrior skills up to speed than to fuel it on by the hate groomed into us.

  And just like the gladiator games fizzled out as civilizations evolved, so too, did Brevala’s clan wars. While our core hatred for the Bluff Dwellers still exists—and vice versa—there’s been relative peace for the last five centuries, give or take a few decades. Clans mostly keep to their sides of the borders and exist independently. Sure, some minor raids still occur, but no one has died in hundreds of years to my knowledge.

  The actual warring has petered out completely. There’s still no fraternization because, after Ilona’s wings were cut off, no Meadowlander would look twice at a Bluff Dweller. I’m assuming the arrow through the eye of their clansman keeps the Bluff Dwellers at bay.

  And yet… I’d essentially forsaken this rule two weeks ago with Ronan.

  My face flushes just thinking about that night, and it’s a good thing we’re sitting near a fire so I can use it as my excuse.

  The things he did to me… the things I did back to him… I’m sickened I had to turn to my sworn enemy for help, and I’m just as equally sickened that I’m still turned on by him. It was the most magnificent sex of my life.

  More than anything—and I truly hate this—I’m thankful for his help. He didn’t have to do it, and, yes, I realize he got pleasure out of it, but he would have been well within his right to just watch me get led out of that bar by that man to be raped.

  I wouldn’t have even blamed him; such is the enmity between our clans.

  But he did help me, so now I’m wondering if anything about our evening together two weeks ago will change anything…

  We haven’t spoken since. It ended when I said I needed a shower after hours in bed. When I came back out, he was gone as expected. He’ll be at the Festival, though, and we will run into each other, so I’m not sure how that will play out. I’m betting very awkwardly.

  He’ll most certainly enter the games, which means we’ll be competing against each other. The prospect of that alone ramps up the heat of my desire, because as much as I enjoyed all that raunchy, no-holds-barred sex, I’m going to relish drawing blood against him over the coming days even more.

  At past festivals, we had a long-standing tradition of being two of the most watched combatants, and over the centuries, we’ve probably earned the same number of wins and losses because we’re evenly matched. It’s one of the things I love about the Light Fae in comparison to the human world. The women are revered as equals to the men. We’re as strong and swift and smart. Ronan never pouts if he loses to me, just as I don’t to him. At the festival, there’s a truce in place, meaning we can’t kill each other, but we sure as hell will do everything possible to beat the other down.

  Again, my mind wanders to what effect our time together a few weeks ago will have on us. Admittedly, I don’t hate him as much as I usually do. For one long night, Ronan became my lover and helped me through that vicious, drug-induced sexual psychosis. Truth be told, in hindsight, I could have probably worked my way through it on my own, but it would have been torture trying to do so. Ronan’s cock and tongue worked so much better than my fingers or a vibrator could have, although he used several of those on me, too.

  I have never been fucked in so many different ways.

  So thoroughly.

  With so much dedication put into getting me off so I could come down off the drug.

  Ronan laid claim to every part of my body, and I mean every part. It’s something no other lover of mine has done, and I savored every minute of it.

  In fact, I started coming down off the drug long before I left the bed to take a shower.

  Hours before.

  It’s my shameful secret, which I can’t even stand admitting to myself.

  I kept up the ruse, hoping he wouldn’t know that I just didn’t want it to stop. And when the drug was out of my system, but we still continued to join again and again, it was better than anything I’d ever experienced.

  I’m not a romantic, probably fueled by the knowledge that part of Brevalian Light Fae history is learning the hard lesson that true love is for chumps. But if we hadn’t had that history, he would definitely be someone I could see myself mating with for life.

  I mean… for the sex alone.

  Sadly… it’s impossible. For no matter what we might want, we were nothing more than we’ve always been after he left the next day.

  Enemies with only hate for each other in our hearts.

  CHAPTER 5r />
  Ronan

  While the vast majority of Light Fae choose to live in Faere, it is absolutely not to my tastes. Nimeyah was lucky enough to get her hands on a nice-sized piece of the meteor stone, and she created a realm she hoped would be far more beautiful than the earth one. To her, that meant lots of vivid colors, so the grass is just too green, and the purple trees are too ostentatious. I could go on and on about how the scenery is an abomination to my eyes—like Nimeyah’s gaudy crystal castle—but it’s not worth it. I come here once every hundred years for a few days of competitions, good food, and potent drink.

  I hang out with my family, enjoy thrashing other Light Fae in the competition arena, and make connections with my roots. But then it’s back to the Earth realm for me where I much prefer to live my life.

  I spent last night in Brevala with my uncle Geseph in the Bluffs. My parents are travelers who live nowhere in particular. Sometimes, they settle in the Earth realm, while others stay in Faere or different realms altogether. It’s what immortals should do with their unnaturally long lives because settling somewhere for too long can get incredibly boring.

  Brevala—especially when compared with Faere—is an incredibly beautiful realm created with a care for authenticity. It mirrored some of Earth realms most stunning scenery with soaring snow-peaked mountains, rolling green hills, lazy rivers, crystal lakes, and endless fields of wildflowers. Whereas Nimeyah magically created her own species of creatures, Brevala’s creators brought over wild and domesticated animals, as well as crop seeds, from the Earth realm. It had been their home for millennia so why wouldn’t they want the comfort of familiarity?

  I suppose Nimeyah must think Brevala is boring while Brevalians think Faere is too fake.

  The Festival of Creation is held every hundred years in Faere, and it’s Nimeyah, Queen of the Light Fae’s, edict. She demands all her subjects attend regardless of where we live, but, honestly, not everyone obeys. There are too many of us spread way too far and wide for her to know if someone didn’t show up.

  I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for the fact my family likes to make a big showing, and again, the competitions and games are a fun way to keep my superior warrior skills sharp, which I just can’t do in the Earth realm.

  The games start tomorrow, but it’s about socializing with other clans, noble families, and the like tonight. While Nimeyah insisted on a truce with the Brevala Meadowlanders, they are the one clan we choose to ignore.

  Tents are spread across miles of fields outside the castle grounds, and an arena was magically erected to the east upon a flat butte. Vendors set up stalls to sell food delicacies, magical charms, and the highest trends in Faere fashion, which look overly ridiculous. God bless the United States of America’s penchant for good old-fashioned denim and cotton t-shirts.

  I’ve been walking among the tents, interacting with other Light Fae I haven’t seen in decades or even centuries. Some live here in Faere while others reside in the Earth realm. As the evening wears on, I have several beers as the festivities start to get more bawdy by the second.

  One thing can be said about the fae—whether they’re light or dark…

  They love to have sex, and it is never frowned upon.

  Nor is it something that needs to be engaged in privately at festivals. Around pretty much any tent corner, I can spot someone going at it in the shadows. Some of the less evolved fae even end up having orgies right out in the open as the hours wear on and the alcohol continues to flow.

  As for me, I’m sure I’ll be partaking in a bit of it all at some point, but for now, I want to hang out with my clan. The Bluff Dwellers are a close-knit community, and I don’t get to Brevala to visit often enough.

  Our tent is easily recognizable by our green and silver colors, with a large flag flying at the top post with our clan’s crest—a stag’s head and two iron swords crossed.

  The walls of the tent are rolled up, and there are tables set up inside where people are eating meals, drinking potent cocktails, and listening to music.

  I see my great aunt Lelita in one corner, her table filled with younger fae children. Their eyes are riveted on her, and I know she’s telling some amazing story. She has a gift for words, and I meander over to listen.

  “Now you all know the story of how we became Light Fae,” she says dramatically, looking each child in the eye. Lelita is much older than Brevala, which was created about four thousand years ago when the magical meteor came to earth. She was there at its inception, and though she’s ancient by most standards, she appears to be no more than thirty years old. Such is the gift of immortality.

  All the kids nod because it’s a history they learn early.

  “But,” she says in a low voice, “do you know how Brevala came to be the divided realm it is today and why the Meadowlanders are our sworn enemy?”

  Some kids nod while others shake their heads. It’s also important history which is usually not formally taught until the kids are older, but Lelita clearly doesn’t care. It’s important to indoctrinate early so there is no questioning.

  I walk away, not needing to hear our realm’s sordid past, which created a rift that split the society in two, spurred wars, and left far too many Brevalians dead over the centuries.

  When I was a kid, I learned about those “filthy, evil Meadowlanders,” and I was taught to hate them early on.

  The story was simple, and, as most feuds seem to originate, it came in the form of betrayal and was fueled by retaliation.

  Brevala was created by two mated Light Fae who possessed a portion of the meteor stone that had come to earth in roughly 2000 BC. Fae do not marry in the traditional sense, not the way humans do, but they will often commit their lives to each other. Dahlia and Oretell were two such fae, not original fallen angels, but descended millennia before. When the meteor came to earth, they created their dream realm together as a mated couple. After settling their family and extended fae community who lived together in the Earth realm, they used the stone to bestow basic magical powers, which had been stripped when the angels were expelled, back on its inhabitants. More importantly, though, Dahlia and Oretell gave their people something Nimeyah never thought to do for the ones who followed her to Faere.

  Wings.

  When God sent the angels tumbling to earth, the biggest part of their punishment, the loss of their wings, was the most mourned. But those in Brevala got them back in rich, natural colors of brown, black, white, and gray.

  For a few centuries, peace reigned over Brevala as the fae spread out and settled, creating new lineages through procreation. It’s not easy for two Light Fae to conceive, so fae children were celebrated as precious and divinely gifted.

  But peace didn’t last long.

  Dahlia found out Oretell cheated on her, and, in a moment of rage, she murdered him. Nothing can kill a fae except an iron strike to the heart or the brain, but Dahlia first took his head, then plunged her iron sword through his traitorous heart.

  It’s said that the minute she did that, her pearl-gray wings turned the color of rage and fury—crimson red.

  Oretell’s brother, Geseph, could not let that go unpunished, so he immediately retaliated by killing Dahlia. Before she drew in her last breath, she sent out her misery, her rage, and a request for justice to her family and supporters, asking them to take up arms and avenge her.

  Those loyal whose support stayed true found their wings had turned blood red to match Dahlia’s hate.

  Arnus, Dahlia’s brother, vowed to kill the entirety of Geseph’s family.

  Geseph, in turn, vowed to slaughter any of Arnus’ supporters on sight.

  So started centuries upon centuries of hate, war, and death. Eventually, boundary lines were drawn where Dahlia’s supporters and their descendants settled in the Meadowlands, now with blood-red wings. Geseph and his went to the Bluffs, which were the highland hills at the bottom of the mountain ranges.

  I learned of this history when I was given my first sword to pract
ice with at age nine. I was taught to brandish it with strength and precision and told there was never any shame in killing a Meadowlander if they encroached on our land’s border.

  Nowadays, there’s an ingrained feeling of hatred for each other. But millennia tended to dull tempers and time made the hurt fade, so these days, there are only minor skirmishes. The last truly violent act occurred when a distant cousin of mine fell in love with a Meadowlander and was caught by Arnus, the woman’s uncle.

  My cousin was killed on sight by Arnus’ daughter, Rishka, who shot an iron arrow through his eye. While the female Meadowlander could have been sentenced to death, it was Arnus’ other daughter, Eliana, who hacked off her own cousin’s wings as punishment, upon her father’s command.

  Since that time, the blood no longer flowed, and the two clans kept to themselves. No one tried to breach that divide again.

  At least not until two weeks ago when I spent several hours fucking Eliana’s brains out in her Seattle condo. I’m quite positive we’re the first Meadowlander and Bluff Dweller to have carnal relations since that bloody incident at Cernian Falls around a thousand years ago. The fact I’m Oretell’s nephew and Eliana is Dahlia’s niece would make it even more abhorrent to Brevalians if they ever found out what we did. It would be considered a betrayal far worse than what had happened between Oretell and Dahlia to begin with.

  Of course, Eliana and I had gotten carnal that one other time, but that was in our Roman days, long before the Cernian Falls incident occurred. And that was a fluke… nothing more than a hate fuck after a particularly brutal day battling at the Coliseum. It was wild, savage, and soul-shattering, and we never spoke of it again.

  Much like I’m sure Eliana and I will never mention what happened in her condo again.