“Haven’t had such going-on’s for ages,” Missus Norne continued to grumble. “Strangers, threats, swords, and who knows what hullabaloo.” Her strained nerves quivered with a need for release and she pounced upon the sight of Tellie. “You! I spelt some soup when those heathens attacked us. You go fetch some water and clean it up!”
Without a word, Tellie ran past her, making for the back rooms where the buckets were stored. She grabbed a handle and reached for the door, all her mind swept away in dizzying possibilities of the future. Any moment now a shriek of delight would burst from her chest, and she threw herself out the door before it could escape.
“OOF!”
Her body collided hard against another person, and she fell back on her rump.
“Ow! Are we going to start making a habit of this?” a boy’s voice complained.
“Kelm?” Unhappily, she reeled her mind back into acknowledgement of the here and now. She stared at the boy in front of her. She knew boys could be filthy, but he surpassed them all. Dirt smudged his cheeks, his shirt was torn, sticks were tangled in his hair, and his hands were grubby with sap. “What on earth have you been doing?” she said with a frown.
He stared at her in disbelief. “What have I been doing?” His face turned bright red. “Blast it, Tellie! We were out in the forest searching for the magpie, remember? I chased the stupid bird through the forest, climbed to the top of a tree to look in its nest, and fell out of it climbing back down. What were you doing? Brushing your hair?”
An apology had begun on her lips, but that last bit sent annoyance skittering across her skin like ants. “You needn’t get so grouchy,” she snapped. “As a matter of fact, I was doing huge things, important things!” She shoved past him, bucket firmly clasped against her chest.
But she had not gone far in her march to the town well when he came hurrying after her.
“What things? What did you do?” he demanded.
Tellie hesitated. Kelm was about the only friend she had. Could she dare share her hope with him? Well, maybe not that yet, as it would probably come to nothing after all. “I met elves,” she announced as she might have spoken of any ordinary meeting.
He halted behind her. “What?”
She spun, clutching the bucket to her chest, and her flushed face proved her sincerity. “It was the most incredible thing, Kelm; you wouldn’t believe it! The magpie belonged to elves, and I met them in the forest!”
“Elves?” Kelm paled, and his eyes widened to saucers. “What are you talking about, Tellie? How’d you know they’re elves?”
“Give me a little credit on judgment! They’re hardly human, Kelm. I don’t know how to describe it, you just have to be there and…feel it. They’d come for a memorial out in Shadowshade. Oh, if only you’d seen them!” The earnestness in her eyes rang so true that Kelm’s doubt gave way.
“If only I had!” He kicked a piece of bark out of his way with frustration. “Darn it, Tellie! Why didn’t you find me before speaking to them?”
“It’s a long story,” she said, grabbing the wheel at the well and starting to turn it.
Kelm’s hand caught her elbow and pulled her aside. He grasped the wheel. “I’ll get the water,” he said firmly. “You talk.”
As night descended upon the village and candle-lit windows were dimmed, Tellie made her weary way up the creaking steps to her attic room. In a form of revenge for the unexpected events of the day, the Nornes had been especially unpleasant, barking at her every time they saw her face.
If only you knew, she thought. I could leave you forever.
She hadn’t told Kelm she still had the moon medallion. She’d left off saying that she’d given it to the king, and he had provided warriors to drive Daran and his men away. Kelm had been so excited by the story that he hadn’t questioned the hesitating pauses in her tale.
Throughout the day, the moon medallion remained in her pinafore pocket, tightly buttoned. Now as she latched the attic door behind her, she took it out and laid it reverently on the crooked table by her cot. The light and beauty of it seemed to richen the grey-boarded floor and walls, the sagging mattress, and the desk with the cracked washbowl and cloth.
Kneeling, she opened the bottom drawer of her cabinet.
There was only one other wonderful thing she had in this room, lent to her by a sympathetic and kindly old woman of the village. It was a leather-bound book studying the ancient races of Orim. Much of it was simply writing which she couldn’t read, but some precious pages were covered in faded paintings of creatures and people.
She pulled it from the drawer and spread it open on her cot. She flipped through the pages, stopping a moment at each one. She had memorized each name of the creatures as they were told to her. There was a painting of a girl in grey, half blending into the stone behind her. Chema, those who dwelt in cold mountains of stone, vanishing into its shadows at will. On the opposite page was a great winged beast covered in fur, soaring through the sky. Daisha, such fantastic creatures as were only spoken of in the rarest of fairytales. She continued on, passing the illustration of a handsome young man with dark skin and white hair, wielding a sword as the wind whipped around him. Alith.
At last she came to the final pages, to a picture that took up both sides. Through a forest at night, the moon glowing overhead, walked a tall and fair people. Her finger rested on their name. Elf.
They weren’t a fairytale. They weren’t a far-away legend that she would never see. They had come to her inn, and she had seen them.
Hugging the book to her chest, she stepped to the window and stared out into the night, listening as the branches rattled against the panes. There was such a wonderful world out there, one she barely knew. If it was possible for her to meet elves even here in her hidden corner of the world, what else might wait for her out yonder?
Just you wait, Tellie, Kelm had promised her once. When we’re older, I’ll take you to see Orim, anywhere you want!
Alright, she’d said, never minding how improper it was to even speak about wandering the world with a young man.
Taking a deep breath, she reached to the desk and picked up the necklace. Its glow brightened in the palm of her hand and she walked back over to her attic window to let it drink in fresh moonlight. Was it her imagination or was the moon medallion fuller?
After staring at it for long while, she tucked both it and her book away into her drawer. It was her nightly habit to kneel and recite the catechism taught to her by the orphanage, and it always served as a steady, if unconscious, comfort to her. Tonight, she stood still. Had Rendar meant it? Was there some divine plan for her life after all?
“Well?” she whispered. “Are you there?”
No one answered.
She hadn’t really expected anything anyway.
Outside, the wind whispered through the trees, urging all the villagers to forget their cares and slip into sleep. But there was one that the wind’s song did not enchant, one who clung in the branches of the great oak outside Tellie’s window. He was a creature grey as stone, lank and wiry, and as still as the boughs themselves. All during the day he had remained high in the tree above the inn, blending into the shadowy branches with ease. He had seen all that had happened, of Tellie’s going and returning, of the elves sending Daran and his men away, and of the conversation the elves had had with the girl.
At long last, with the fall of darkness, the grey creature slid down the tree and vanished into the night.
Shadows of lavender and blue cast over and through the forest as twilight fell, the trees shivering in the chill wind. The elves stood as sentinels in a circle amongst the groaning trees, their sharp weapons gleaming with the last of the light. In the center, the horses and other elves rested and partook in light fare. They did not speak, but kept glancing around the wood in unease despite the vigilant guards. No matter the beauty of the wood, this was the site of a terrible slaughter and no restful place to spend the night.
Rendar sat apart, looki
ng upon the memorial of his son without ceasing, while Flyfar preened on his shoulder. He knew the silence around him was more than just unease; he’d rattled them all with his declaration to the mortal girl. And they were afraid for him.
Since the girl had left, the momentary surge of life had left him like a candle bereft of its flame and hardened into cold wax. Every breath he took hurt. And he was so cold.
A slight rustle drew his attention and he glanced over to see Leoren kneeling beside him with worried eyes and holding a loaf of bread.
“Please eat something, Your Majesty,” he coaxed.
Instead Rendar reached out a frail hand and patted his arm. “I know I astonished you with choosing that child for a matter of such importance. I’m sorry I hadn’t told you earlier. There is so much I wish I could have told you, but you must understand, some burdens are too heavy to pass to another, and you already burden yourself too much already…”
Leoren only looked more alarmed. “Don’t trouble yourself, my king. I’m sure you had a good reason.”
“Still.” He reached into the folds of his tunic and drew out a sealed letter. “This will explain some of it. But…perhaps do not open it now? Soon.”
“All right,” Leoren said, taking the letter and tucking it into the inside pocket of his cloak.
Rendar sighed, words fluttering from his reach. It was hard to even think straight anymore. “I know you have always struggled to value your place in this world. The girl is the same. So take care of her. And…” He exhaled and bent his chin to his chest, unable to say more.
A cloak nestled around his shoulders, and then Leoren drifted away again to leave him to his rest.
The king closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of the trees, ferns, and mossy turf. He listened to the whisperings of the wind and all it knew, the forlorn cries of birds of the night, and the flittering of eager little bats. Even here in a site of such sorrow, there was beauty, life, and beginning again.
It had been a long and difficult road to this point. But it was here now at last.
When he opened his eyes again, it was to a world much brighter than the one he had left, and the memorial before him was haloed with a soft, warm radiance. The surrounding wood sparkled with thousands of lights as if stars beaded the very branches, and the air thrummed with music as hidden and vital as blood. He inhaled again, his chest rising and falling with the strength of his prime. He rose in one fluid motion, turned, and then knelt in highest respect.
“I have told her your words,” he said. “But I fear she will not understand what follows.” His silver eyes, gleaming gold in the light, were deeply troubled. “She is so young, so small. Are you sure she is ready for this?”
“I have chosen whom I have chosen. The time is right,” the Other replied. “Do no fear for her, Rendar. I am with her, even as I am with you.”
Rendar stood and took a step forward, but he suddenly felt the life of his body sag under terrible weight, and his spirit strained at the pull. As he wavered in the flash of pain, a hand slipped under his arm and held with the strength that supported nations.
“It is done,” Rendar said with a gasp, when he could speak again. “She is found, and her journey is now set before her. Let me no longer be bound to this waning shell, it is of no more use to me. Call me home, I beg you.”
The hand moved from his arm to his cheek, and he leaned into its warmth like a child. And then he heard the words, just a whisper, at last set loose the bindings that had frayed for so long.
“Come home, my son.”
A sharp tug at his ear stirred Leoren from light sleep and he opened his eyes to see the magpie staring down its beak at him. “Flyfar,” he murmured. “What is it?” He rose, the bird fluttering from his shoulder, and looked to where the king still slumped before the sword. With a heavy sigh, he slipped out from under his wife’s arm and walked softly over. “Come and rest in your tent, my king, please,” he whispered, taking the king’s hand.
Rendar’s fingers were cold as ice, absent of all life’s warmth.
Time, thought, and heartbeat froze in that single moment, and for many breaths, Leoren neither spoke nor moved. A guard sensed the strangeness of his silence and drew near.
“Wake the company,” Leoren said quietly. “His Majesty has passed beyond.”
5
oOo
Daran stared into the first flames licking around the logs in his campfire. The morning was cold and wet, and the sun had not yet risen to drive away its gloom.
He’d built so many castles of grandeur on this expedition, and now they were crumbling to dust before him. With the elves on defense, he had little chance of succeeding. What would the warden say when he returned without the moon medallion and without the king? Even more dreadful, what would the Voice say? The Voice, whose return was drawing so near.
They thought him a fool. A failure. Everyone always had. But if Daran had anything to say about it, they would not think that way for much longer. The elves simply saw him as a grunt of a greater evil, but they considered him no real threat.
An approaching shadow darkened the corner of Daran’s vision, and he turned in a swift wheel, hand on his knife.
A grey, gangly creature stared back at him before dropping into a hunched crouch before the fire. Light gleamed in its black eyes and white pupils, steaming breath curling from its serrated jaw. No matter how many times Daran saw the monster, a shudder ran down his spine. Perhaps because it hadn’t always been this way. Perhaps because the creature had once been different, something close to a friend.
“Where were you, Kilkus?” Daran growled. “It took you blasted long enough.”
A harsh, guttural series of clicks and grunts rattled out of the shard’s throat, and Daran stiffened at its words.
“What?” the man hissed. “You mean you were in the trees watching all along? What did you see? What did you hear?”
As he listened to the shard’s report, disbelief, then savage delight marred Daran’s features. “So,” he murmured aloud. “The girl was involved. The elves are fond of her, are they? Thinking of taking her with them?” He chuckled. “We’ll just see about that.”
The elves might be a match for him, even he had to admit that. But if they didn’t know about Kilkus, then the odds might have very well turned in his favor.
The king of Aselvia had died during the night.
The morning was gentle, soft, peaceful—it did not seem possible that someone reigning so long on the earth could pass away without nature itself bowing in respect. Dewdrops sparkled on every leaf and blade of grass, veils of morning sunlight streaming down through the trees to wrap the world in a warm amber glow.
Perhaps, Lord Leoren reflected as he leaned against a tree, the beauty of the day was not indifference to the king’s death, but an exultation of his life.
He’d warned them this was coming, but how unwilling they had been to believe it. And now here they were, the fate of the throne still uncertain.
One thing was certain, and it hit him with a small stab of pain to the chest. The link to the Higher World and their celestial kin had been severed. The Moonscript had never been for them personally, but knowing their king spoke to their holy brethren was somehow comforting. But never again. The Moonscript would remain locked in a room no one could open, unread and unwritten. A tragic reminder of all that had been lost.
The guards still stood at attention around the king’s covered body, waiting for the command to depart. Looking away with a sigh, Leoren turned to his wife as she stepped to his side. Her eyes were misty and tired. He swallowed his own misery enough to reach out and enfold her slender, ivory hand in his. She’d lost far too much in her life already, always bearing it with silent strength.
“It will be alight, Leoren,” she said at length. “He seemed at peace. We must be glad he is reunited with Cerene and Errance.”
“I only wish he’d prepared us more,” Leoren said, then winced in remembrance of the multiple hints. “He
hadn’t mentioned a new heir until now. And an unknown mortal girl to select him? It is so strange, so cryptic.”
“So like him,” Casara said, raising a droll brow.
Leoren laughed weakly, then winced. “I suppose that’s true. But what shall we do for the girl? This is rather an uncomfortable situation for her too, isn’t it?”
Casara sighed, folding her arms. “Well, she did seem eager to escape her current circumstances, and she was the one who suggested coming back with us. It does make sense. After all, it’s not like there are elves just wandering this world.”
“Well, there’s our son…” Leoren said reluctantly.
Her eyes widened. “No, it couldn’t be him. He would be miserable tied down to the throne. Anyway, I have no idea how Tellie would meet him, since even we don’t know where in Orim he is now.”
“Rendar was telling me something about taking care of her,” Leoren went on. “So it seems like he was suggesting she return with us…”
For the first time that morning, a little bit of light returned to Casara’s eyes. “I think it would be for the best. She seems sweet, and I would hate for her to wither under a harsh hand. But…she is still young. If the innkeepers could be persuaded, we would need to become her guardians. Her family.”
You have always struggled to value your place in this world. The girl is the same.
Leoren took a deep breath. No one in Aselvia had ever adopted outside their own people before. But this was an unusual circumstance. It was clearly Rendar’s will, or even that of someone higher, that her story be entwined with theirs.
Casara’s voice was hushed, barely above a whisper. “And…” Her eyes shone wistfully. “I have always wished for a daughter.”
Well then. He squeezed her hand. “Then let us go and speak to the innkeepers.”
After a miserable hour of cleaning out chamber pots behind the inn, Tellie staggered back inside, trying to calm her tossing stomach. It did not matter that she’d been cleaning them since she arrived at the Nornes, it never failed to disgust her. Sighing, she picked up two of the nearest buckets and headed inside. As she started through the back rooms, a familiar voice pinned her to the floor. Was that…Leoren speaking?
Moonscript (Kings of Aselvia Book 1) Page 6