“Is he awake?”
“No, not yet, that is why I woke you. It would be best if he sees your friendly face first.”
They hurried down the ladder, bidding farewell to the kind hostess stirring a pot of morning gruel, and ran through the already lively village to the healing hut. The freshness of the morning air and light swept Tellie’s heart up upon wings. As she passed through the doorway, a brief memory of shadows and screams flitted across her mind, but she couldn’t see how such things could exist here.
The Ancient and the healer stood inside, speaking in low voices. Errance was now lying on a cot, and she winced to see his mangled body again, even though the bandages covered most of him.
“Ah, Tellie,” the Ancient said when they entered. “Good, you are here. Holivari has questions about our elf prince. Is there anything else about him that you think we should know?”
Tellie glanced down at Errance and watched his eyes open.
“Yes,” she said. “He’s awake.”
Errance took one look at the strangers standing around him.
And attacked.
13
oOo
The Darkness lifts. And as my strength returns and my eyes open, I see…
Errance lunged for Master Holivari, but fell short as the chema leapt backwards. The elf fell to the floor, clearly not anticipating his arms being bound to his chest. One arm ripped free of the bandages and propelled him to his feet with a powerful thrust. He grabbed the leg of a small table as he went and swung it with all his force at the Ancient.
The Ancient vanished, then reappeared by the door, calling for aid.
Frozen, Tellie watched in horror as Errance turned again to Master Holivari, reaching for his throat. She snapped from her petrified state, and without any thought of her own safety, she dashed across the room and grabbed the elf’s arm. “Errance, stop it, STOP IT!”
He swung around to face her, muscle and sinew straining the frame of his gaunt body, wild anger ablaze in his eyes. She paralyzed, unable to move or breathe.
But he made no move to strike. Confusion clouded over the anger, and he staggered backwards.
Then Tellie found herself against the wall, pinned in place by Errance’s arm as he stood protectively in front of her, bent and ready to pounce, facing the chema men gathered in the door. She pushed against his arm, but it felt more like a rod of iron than flesh and bone.
“Errance! Errance, these are our friends, for goodness sake!” She squirmed free and darted away before he could pull her back, running to the Ancient’s side. Spreading out her arms to shield them, she cried, “They’ve saved us, see? They saved us!”
For a moment more the wild craze flickered through the elf’s eyes. Then he blinked rapidly, and his gaze was clear, though no less hostile. He regarded the chemas with deep suspicion—defensive men, withered Ancient, and dismayed Tryss alike. He hunkered against the wall, rattling breath panting in the shaken silence.
Wheeling around to the Ancient, Tellie whispered, “You and your people better leave for a bit. I can tell him what’s happened.”
The poor old man’s eyes were stretched so wide he looked like an owl. He nodded at her words, but whispered in return, “Someone could stay…”
She knew at once what he meant. A chema could blend into the surroundings and remain with her in case Errance stayed savage. But no. Errance needed someone he could trust. She wouldn’t give him false security. “No.”
“Tellie…” Tryss whispered, eyes pleading.
“No. I’m fine, Errance and I are friends.”
The chemas retreated enough to shut the door, and while Tellie suspected they still hovered outside, the privacy would have to be enough. She looked back to see that Errance had sunk to the ground, knees drawn up his chest as if that could be a wall between him and the rest of the world. His fingers fluttered like broken wings over the wrapped bandages.
“Where are we?” he rasped.
When she stepped towards him, he started like she’d drawn a knife, so she remained where she stood.
“It’s all right, Errance,” she said, trying to sound both bright and gentle. “You collapsed, but we were found by some natives of the forest. I admit, I was scared of them at first too, but they really are wonderful. They took care of you as best they could, as you can see, but we were still afraid you wouldn’t make it. I can’t say how glad I am to see you awake.”
“They’re chemas.”
She shivered at the harshness of his voice. “Yes, that’s right. They’re quite extraordinary. I never heard too many stories about them, so I wasn’t—”
“Chemas live in the North.”
Even with their linens so tenderly wrapped around his wounds, would he spare them no grace? “They said so too, but apparently this is a different kind of chema—”
“How much have you told them?”
She swallowed hard. Here it comes. “Oh, everything,” she said cheerfully.
She might as well have drawn a knife and stabbed him for all the shock on his face was worth. “Everything?” he yelped. Quickly slipping a less honest expression over his fear, he hunkered down deeper and growled between his teeth, “Everything.”
“They’re quite kind, really, especially Tryss, who’s been taking such good care of you.”
He hissed, lifting red-rimmed eyes. “You are such a child.”
Heat flared in her cheeks, but she managed to bite down a retort. “Look, I know you’re scared,” she said, “but the fact is that we needed help and these people are providing it. You’re not in prison anymore. Not everyone is trying to hurt you.”
Clearly, he did not believe her. The pain, anger, and fear slowly faded from his face, but it was only replaced by a mask. A fragile wall, and if it fell, Tellie guessed the fire beyond it burned even deadlier than before.
She swallowed hard, touching the door’s handle behind her just to make sure she had a way out. “How about…how about you just try meeting them, all right? I promise, they are not so bad.”
His eyes followed her hand to the door, and his body tightened. “No. They will not touch me again.”
The veiled threat in his words clearly told he was not to be crossed in this matter. “How about some clothes then?” she offered. “It would look better than bandages.”
After a long moment of silently staring at the door handle, even though her hand had left it, he said, “Only if they’re black.”
“Black?” She wrinkled her nose. She wasn’t sure the chemas possessed such a color in their wardrobe, and anyway, it was sort of a depressing choice after prison.
He lifted his gaze, cold, challenging, and contemptuous. “My father is dead. What else do you think I should wear?”
Her heart squeezed. How could she have forgotten, so carelessly overlooked the only wound still bleeding? Shutting her eyes, she searched for some way to apologize, to make it right. And why wasn’t she more sorry about Rendar’s death? She’d looked into his wise face and though she hadn’t known him long, it was strange she didn’t feel his death more keenly. Why did she feel like was forgetting something, something that she ought to tell Errance? But no words came, so she silently left the hut.
The chemas stood just outside, the men taut with unease and the women wide-eyed with fear.
Wonderful, they probably heard everything, she thought with an inward wince. But she only smiled and said, “See, I told you we’re friends.”
oOo
Silence hung with perilous balance in the hall of the Voice. For the past several minutes he had neither blinked nor breathed as he stared at the man he’d summoned. Of course, he knew everything about the man before he had stepped through the door, but there was nothing like making a mortal wait.
This man was the sort who’d fought his entire life to make something of himself. Every pinch of respect he’d fought and clawed for, now clinging to it with savage desperation. A man swelling with poisonous pride in a bid to feel of worth around any
one better than him. Lack of love, evil taunts, and ridicule had turned him into this—a monster willing to hurt anything so long as it made him feel stronger. He was a common sort of man. A common sort that the Darkness loved to use.
“So,” said the Voice. “What did you say your name was, again?”
The man’s throat knotted in a hard swallow. “Daran, Your Greatness.”
The demon leaned back, fingers splaying over the edge of the throne arms. “Ah. You are the one who brought in the two children.”
“Yes.”
“Hmm.” He smiled at the mortal until he saw drops of sweat appear, then continued. “Well. Since you’ve proved yourself able, I have another mission for you. You must have heard by now that the Prisoner has escaped. You see, I’m playing a little game. And part of my game is that you go out and hunt him and—if you can catch him—bring my Prisoner back.”
Daran straightened, a glint flickering across his steely eyes. “As you command.”
The Voice cocked his head, like a hawk watching a mouse. He’d seen the look, however brief, and how delicious it was. “What’s this? Your interest intrigues me. Explain.”
Reddening, the man stuttered, “It’s just…it’s just that he’s a legend. All speak of the Unbroken Prisoner, and we…your servants…like to think of ways we’d crush him.”
“Oh?” The Voice widened his eyes. It was all he could do not to laugh. These little fantasies of the mortal men always amused him. Like they thought they could do what he had not accomplished. Yet perhaps all they wanted was the chance to be above and better than the elven prince. The only way they could ever delude themselves with that was for his bloody body to be ground under their heel.
“His resilience is remarkable,” the Voice continued aloud. “When I think of how he endures and recovers from so much, my desire for the celestial race turns to frenzy. He is only half celestial, you realize; imagine the potential of a true blood turned to my side. Of course, the prince turned to my side would be sweet as well, but he is stubborn. Ah, so very stubborn. It’s what I love most about him, truth be told. An individual trait, I believe, as I heard he was stubborn and somewhat rebellious as a youth. It is what drove him to my clutches after all.” He inhaled deeply as if he smelt some heady fragrance. “There is nothing quite like the consequences of indiscretion.”
His eyes flared open, fixing upon the mortal man. “Go then. Retrieve that which is lost.”
Daran swallowed. “Is there…there a reward for catching him?”
Reward. Oh, but this one was ambitious and all kinds of stupid. Refraining from rolling his eyes, the Voice leaned back and tapped his finger to chin. “That’s for you to decide. The Unbroken Prisoner…in your hand…well…I only require you bring him back alive.”
The embers of his wicked soul flared to life in Daran’s eyes, and with a sharp bow, he departed.
The Voice stared where the man had stood long after he’d left, chin in hand. He spoke to the thin air. “It almost makes one weep how thoroughly my corruption spreads.”
And he smiled.
oOo
“Black clothes?” Tryss blinked in surprise at Tellie’s question. “Well yes, we do have some human clothes for traveling when we need to blend in more than just by color.” She searched through the baskets until she found a black shirt and trousers. They were a little worn and loose, but they would work.
Tellie carried them back and announced her arrival. She couldn’t see Errance through the narrow crack of the door when she brought him the clothes, only his gaunt hand as he snatched the material inside and then slammed the door shut again.
She sat on a log outside to wait, Tryss perched beside her.
“I told the cooks to prepare a mild broth,” the chema woman said in an effort to make conversation. “Hopefully, he can keep it down. A starving stomach doesn’t handle food well.”
Tellie only half listened as the minutes ticked by. He was certainly taking a while to change. True, he’d be slow with his injuries—he should have had someone to help him—but nevertheless, she wondered if he’d fainted again. Still, from the fear he’d shown earlier, it could be that he was just dragging it out as long as possible.
She hopped down and trotted over to the door. “Errance? Errance, are you all right in there?” There was no answer. “Errance, if you don’t answer, I’m coming in.”
Tryss raised her brows.
Tellie blushed. “Or…or I’ll send some men in or something.”
The door flew open.
Errance loomed, glaring with all his terrifying might.
Tellie blinked. For a man who had looked like a corpse not too long ago…he still looked like a corpse. But one living, breathing, and ready to strike. One sleeve hung loose, his broken arm still bound to chest. As far as she could see, he’d been wise enough not to remove many of the bandages.
His gaze lifted above her and—he blanched. He retreated behind the door, pulling it in front like a shield.
The childish gesture pricked her heart. How very well she recalled that feeling, the moment she stepped from the orphanage to go by wagon to her new home. She’d hoped that something better awaited—a whole new world of opportunity and hope. And yet what if it wasn’t? What if it was worse and she’d be safer remaining in the cage she knew?
“Hey,” she said softly. “It will be all right, Errance.” She looked behind to see what had alarmed him so. “Oh, that’s Tryss. She’s a healer, and she found us.”
The Ancient approached them, leaning heavily on his staff. When he’d come quite near, he bowed. “Prince Errance,” he said, and the elf stiffened. “You would do my tribe great honor if you would sup with us this morning.”
Errance said nothing, and when he continued to say nothing, Tellie stepped forward. “I’m sure that would be very nice! I’m still hungry after a few meals, so I’m sure Errance is starving.”
The old man beckoned and headed for the fire pits where the chemas were gathered. After a tense moment, Errance stepped after him.
The girls followed a safe distance behind. “Don’t mind him,” Tellie whispered to Tryss. “You’re probably the first pretty woman he’s seen in a while.”
“Yes,” Tryss said, rolling her eyes. “You could tell he was utterly charmed.”
The chemas sat around their ashen fire pits, laughing and chattering as they awaited the meal, but the largest circle of all belonged to the Ancient and his family, and he led his guests to this one. Some empty seats on the log benches waited near the Ancient’s chair.
It might have been proper for the elf heir to sit beside the village chief, but Tellie took one look at Errance’s face and sat in the honored seat. No one made objections, and she patted the space beside her. Errance remained standing, staring at the empty seat next to his.
“Errance!” Kelm came bounding in, hair and face still mussed from sleep. “You’re finally awake! Oh, you gave us a scare.” He stuck out his hand to shake, and never had a glad grin been more honest.
When Errance did not respond, the boy sat with a hearty sigh, and after a few heavy moments, the elf sank slowly down between the two children.
The chemas, who had fallen to silent staring, returned to their gaiety, and many women of the village wove from circle to circle bearing great trays of fruit and meat. As Tellie took her breakfast with a grateful smile, she realized that in all the anxiety of the last few meals, she’d not noticed the food. Three sticks skewered with roasted meat and fruit lay on the wooden tray, along with rolled-up leaves stuffed with a grainy sort of cheese. She pulled off a chunk of meat and popped it her mouth, only to choke in surprise at the spice. She drowned the heat with a cup of milk. But even that tasted strange. It wasn’t goat or cow.
“Tryss,” she said as the chema girl returned from serving with a tray of her own. “What type of milk is this?”
“Oh, that’s from our milthi moth aviaries,” she said, pointing away to the jungle.
Kelm choked mid-swal
low. “You mean I’m drinking moth-spit?” he said.
Tryss lifted an eyebrow. “I suppose so. Do you avoid bee-spit for the same reason?”
“That’s different,” he said, wiping his mouth. “That’s honey.”
Though the idea of moth milk didn’t appeal to her either, Tellie didn’t want to come across ungrateful, so she took another swallow. It wasn’t really a bad taste, just thick and strong.
She glanced at Errance. Not to her surprise, he hadn’t touched his bowl of broth. “It’s not poisoned,” she said with a huff. “Here, let me try it.”
He pulled it back from her hands. “Chemas,” he said suddenly. “Are well known for their lies.”
The mood around the fire changed. The chatter stopped, and every face turned and looked at the elf prince.
“Errance, that’s rude,” Tellie began.
“Well,” Kelm interrupted, looking quite uncomfortable, “He’s not exactly wrong, Tellie.”
They all looked to the Ancient, waiting to see how he would respond. The old man gave one nod. “It is true,” he said at last. “Most chemas you will encounter in this part of Orim are hired as thieves, spies, assassins. Our gift is suited to such shameful acts.”
“They have ever lived in the North,” Errance continued, “hiding away in their cold mountains and cold halls, writing histories of their false self-glory.” He leaned back, eyes narrowed. There was a gleam in them and a lift to his mouth that sent a shiver down Tellie’s spine. It was too much like how she’d seen him with the prison guard. The moment right before he’d struck. “Who’d believe they were anything other than liars, thieves, murderers, and monsters whose claws are still scored across my body. So tell me”—his lip curled—“why should I trust anything you do?”
The folk around the fire were murmuring. Scowls flickered in the firelight. There was the creak of shifting in seats.
But the old man only nodded again. “All that you say is true. It is because of these things that we separated from those in the North long ago, rejecting more than their culture, but their beliefs. We are followers of God, not of our own Glorification, and no one here has murdered anyone. As for the scars you speak of, I am sorry, but there is difference to be found between the chema and their fallen kind.”
Moonscript (Kings of Aselvia Book 1) Page 16