by Casey Odell
Claire’s foot caught on an exposed tree root and sent her and the dagger flying. The wind was knocked out of her as she hit the earth with a loud thump.
She remained on the ground for a moment and listened, trying her best to keep her breathing even. The forest was quiet, too quiet. After a moment, she let out her breath in a momentary relief, but she was sure he was there. Somewhere.
She dragged herself up, leaned against a tree and peered around the trunk to scan the forest. Still nothing.
“Come out my little birdie.”
Claire’s body tensed. He was close. An arrow whizzed past her head and dug into the tree in front of her. A shriek escaped her mouth. He had missed her on purpose. He was toying with her.
The beast’s deep laugh echoed through the trees, making it hard to pinpoint his location.
With a last burst of energy, she ran deeper into the forest. Her legs began to give out as muscle fatigue settled in. She begged her body not to give in just yet. Just a little bit more. She stumbled down a sudden decline and the momentum carried her down the hill until she reached the bottom. Quickly, she ducked behind an overturned tree and clamped her hands on her mouth to dampen the sound of her breathing.
Hooves pounded the earth as he passed by on top of the hill, taunting her to show herself in a high, amused voice.
Claire waited. She kept her body as still as possible as she closed her eyes to focus her senses on the hunter. A familiar tune slithered into the back of her mind then; a song frequently hummed by her mother. It was silly to think of such a thing at a time like this, but it had always soothed her in times of stress and helped to calm her nerves.
The centaur’s heavy steps faded away into the trees. She waited for a few tense moments before she uncovered her mouth and took a deep quivering breath. The smell of mold and earth from the rotting tree almost overwhelmed her.
She peeked over the trunk and up the hill. No sign of the beast. Her luck started to improve. All she had to deal with now was the curse.
With a deep breath, she pushed back to her feet and urged her body on. Her steps were light and careful. She couldn’t be found again. Her body was at its limit and she’d lost the only weapon she’d had. Mother would have also been proud of that one, too.
The forest grew still once more. Almost peaceful. The trees seemed to grow bigger the further she went, their tops soaring overhead. Brush became sparse and green mold covered the massive trunks like a carpet. Pools of silvery moonlight dotted the forest floor. A sweet smell teased at her nose as she passed by a small clearing filled with wild flowers. It was as if she had entered a different realm. Quiet, beautiful, but strangely eerie.
Dread filled her suddenly and she fought the urge to turn and run. What’s a curse compared to a marauding band of centaurs? She’d already come this far.
Claire leaned back against a tree and rested her head back against the rough bark. Fresh air of the forest filled her lungs as she took long deep breaths, allowing her body to relax. Tension seeped away as she closed her eyes and listened. The forest remained quiet. The only sound came from the treetops rustling overhead from a slight breeze.
A distant scream pierced through the silence, deep and rough. Claire jumped and peered around the tree to scan the forest, tension back in full force. Then the scream stopped abruptly. Cut short. Her heart pounded in her chest once again. Something had happened to the centaur. Whatever it was that was in the forest had gotten him. Now was not the time to relax. Worry swept through her and her fatigued muscles trembled all over again.
There really was a curse.
A snap of a branch sounded from behind her followed by a strange whooshing sound. She whirled around, pressing her back up against the tree. It took her a moment to comprehend what she saw. The tip of an arrow hovered inches away from her face, seized at the last instant. She’d forgotten how to breathe at that moment. A second later and she wouldn’t have had to anymore. Her eyes followed the hand holding the arrow up to a figure obscured by shadow.
“Hold your fire,” said a deep voice, and then the figure dropped the arrow onto the ground.
The shadow grew blurry as her body finally gave in to fatigue and, then there was darkness. It was all just too much.
2
Claire stirred awake from a deep sleep. The sheets were soft and silky against her skin as she stretched. So, it was just a nightmare. She lay in bed half-asleep, relishing in the fact that she was safe, that the town still stood around her. She would have to lay off the wine for a little while. It always did give her nightmares.
She turned over to her side, her body strangely sore. Although her mother never let her wait on tables in the tavern, she still had to serve from behind the bar, clean mugs, tap wine and ale casks, clean, and all of the other work to make the tavern ready and keep it running. All those hours of standing and running around took their toll, and a maiden they’d hired was sick the past week, keeping her on her toes even more than usual.
Warm light fell onto her face and she stretched again. But something was off. The window wasn’t on that side. Claire’s eyes snapped open and she bolted up. Her head swam at the sudden movement.
A strange new room greeted her. Sunlight filtered in through thin white curtains, bathing the room in a warm glow. Small but inviting, it was filled with simple elegant ash wood furniture with the plush bed taking up half the room. A vase filled with white flowers sat atop a narrow table, which ran along the far wall by the door.
The night before was not a dream. She was alive, but where? And why was there a bandage on her right hand? Long strips of white cloth wrapped tightly around her hand and up her wrist to end halfway up her forearm. Strange, she didn’t remember injuring it. She also didn’t remember changing into the silky white nightgown. The thin straps and material were much more revealing than she was used to.
She threw her legs over the side of the bed and hobbled to the open window. Her muscles cried out, sore in places she had never been sore before.
The courtyard below was beautiful and completely different than the one in her small town. The buildings were elegant, made of marble and granite with curved archways and elaborate latticework. All weathered like it had been there ages. Flowered vines climbed up walls and columns. Trees sprouted out from buildings, but seemed to have grown too large, cracking walls and roofs, roots splitting the bricks apart. Soft light filtered in through the high treetops and captured leaves rode the breeze before they spiraled down to the stone pavement. A fountain lay in the center, sprinkled with lily pads and flowers, the water cascaded down an elegant stone tier in the middle. People filled the plaza, lounged by the fountain, strolled languidly like they had no place to be. Long colorful robes clung to their slender frames, with hair that fell straight and smooth past their shoulders.
It was surreal, otherworldly even. Perhaps she had died after all.
“Where am I?” she whispered as she took the scene in.
The door behind her slammed open suddenly. Claire spun around as a tall man strolled into the room. A woman clung to his arm, pleading with him in a strange language, but he brushed her away. His deep blue eyes settled on Claire as he stopped before her and bowed with elaborate flourish, his long honey blonde hair falling over his shoulders. Tall, lithe, and dressed in a cerulean silk shirt with several buttons undone at the collar, he was unlike anything she’d ever seen.
“I am Aeron Enionedhe Echersech Lyel the Third, Captain of his Royal Majesty, Ryaenon the Second’s Guard,” he said in an accented voice. He rose from his bow, and looked her up and down, his lips curling into a grin. “You may call me Aeron.”
Claire crossed her arms over her chest, feeling vulnerable all of a sudden. Her eyes narrowed as she examined the man. Long blond hair, slim build, fair skin, pointed ears, stunning looks. Wait, pointed ears? She gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.
“You’re an elf!” Disbelief filled her voice. She spun back towards the window, her eyes wide with
the sudden realization. There were stories about the Elvin race, but she’d never seen one before, hardly anyone had. She’d even begun to think they weren’t real, legends or tales people spoke of in the tavern, but never really knowing if they were true or not. She turned back to the elf waiting patiently in the center of the room.
Claire approached Aeron, looking him over, examining him. She walked around him as he stood still with arms crossed. He seemed amused by her curiosity.
“My lady, His Majesty has requested your audience,” Aeron said. “You may continue to examine me later in private, if that is your wish.”
“That won’t be necessary!” Claire’s face flushed red. “I have never seen an elf before, so…” she muttered, only getting more embarrassed with each word.
Was this why no one entered the forest? Have the elves been here all this time? And if so, why did they remain hidden? Too many questions flooded her mind at once.
“His Majesty is very impatient, so if you will just come with me,” Aeron said with a sigh. He grabbed Claire by the arm and pulled her towards the door.
“Wait, I can’t go dressed like this!” Claire protested as she tugged her arm out of his grasp to cover herself.
Aeron sighed again and muttered a foreign word, “Stacten.” He snatched a scarlet silk robe that hung on the wall by the door and flung it around her shoulders.
“Good enough.” He grabbed her arm again and pulled her out the door.
He dragged her down a hallway, her steps barely able to keep up with his. The floor was cold and hard under her bare feet. The stone floor gleamed from the light of elaborate lamps that lined the corridor.
She had managed to get her free arm through one sleeve of the robe and clutched it closed around her body until they could stop.
“Why does the king want to see me?” Disbelief filled her voice.
“It is the polite thing to do when you enter someone’s home.”
“That may be true, but why do I have to go dressed in a robe?”
Aeron only laughed.
Elves watched with curious eyes as they burst out into to courtyard. Gasps and whispers reached her ears as they passed by and her face flushed even more. She had never been so embarrassed. It wasn’t exactly how she would have imagined being introduced to a new culture or her first time meeting royalty.
They climbed up a set of steps that led to an enormous pair of carved mahogany doors. A guard stood on each side. Their sparse metal armor gleamed in the sunlight, looking more for show than function. They bowed before pushing the doors open.
The room inside was elaborate to an excessive degree. Floors shined like water, timber beams cut across the high ceiling, and stained glass was everywhere. Tapestries hung on the walls, framed by a deep crimson cloth that swept down to the floor. Metal chandeliers dangled from the beams, each a different shape with tiny cutouts that cast playful shadows across the room. Claire gazed in wonder at it all, her mouth forming a silent ‘oh’.
Aeron slowed his pace, his footsteps clicking on the floor, echoing loudly through the large, quiet hallway. He stopped halfway down at a little wooden table where a vase filled with red flowers sat on top. The area served as a crossroads of sorts. Hallways stretched out in four directions, the ends closed off by huge doors like the ones they had just passed through.
Aeron let go of Claire’s arm and plucked a flower from the vase. She used the opportunity to slip on the rest of her robe, tie the sash tightly around her and run her fingers through her hair. She sure wished that she had the time to clean up before meeting royalty, but it would have to do. Why would the king want to see her? Was it really because she’d entered their land?
In any case, she would apologize and thank them for their hospitality. She had to get back to Stockton and find Mother as soon as possible. Her chest tightened. The town, Mother, her life. Was it really all gone?
“This way, my lady,” Aeron said, and offered his arm.
Hesitant, Claire took it and they walked to the end of the hallway. Aeron sniffed at the red flower with an amused look on his face. He knocked three times and the doors opened, the hinges creaking as they swung slowly inward.
The throne room was small and intimate. Musky incense slithered into her lungs as they entered. A cluster of tiny metal chandeliers dangled from the ceiling, gathered in a group. They dangled at different lengths and cast the room in a soft, warm glow. A mahogany throne sat atop a platform, draped in burgundy fabric. Intricate latticework carved from redwood made up the wall behind it. Light from the candelabras that dotted the walls bounced off the gleaming marble floor.
The large doors closed behind them with a definitive clunk after they entered. A hush swept through the group of elves that stood scattered across the room. Claire could almost feel their eyes on her, intense, studying, curious, like she were a rare specimen newly discovered. There was something a little cold in that look, though, and she got the feeling she wasn’t exactly a welcome guest.
Aeron stopped in front of two elves and bowed. Not knowing what else to do, Claire followed with a curtsey. At that moment she was glad that Mother had taught her how all those years ago.
The male elf in front of them was magnificent to say the least. Dressed in silk robes of a deep red hue with long sleeves that swallowed up his hands. A magnificent gold necklace hung around his neck, adorned with great big purple jewels. Black hair fell well past his shoulders and framed a beautiful but emotionless face as Lapis Lazuli eyes examined her closely. He stood regally, tall, proud , his status unmistakable.
This must be the King. Her cheeks flushed hot again as she averted her gaze to the floor.
The King said something in another language, the words rolling off his tongue in a deep clear voice. He turned to the elf beside him. Wrinkles had formed around this one’s eyes and his long hair had grown grey with age. White robes draped on his withered looking frame. Thin fingers shook slightly as they unrolled a yellowed scroll, and held it up in front of the King.
Unable to understand any of the conversation, Claire looked around the room. A female elf stood to the right side with blonde hair framing charcoal rimmed green eyes. A cerulean silk dress formed to her body and in her hands she held a black ceramic jar. She waited silently, back straight, her gaze fixed on the King.
Claire turned back to Aeron but he had wandered away, abandoning her in front of the King to fend for herself. A gentleman that one, she thought. He strolled over to another elf that stood at the other side of the room with his arms crossed.
This elf’s appearance was striking, much different than any of the others she’d seen so far. Platinum blonde hair was pulled back from his face, leaving the bottom half to fall freely just past his shoulders. Ice blue eyes stared daggers at the approaching Aeron. He wore a similar outfit to the other elf’s, with a sword attached to a belt that encircled a slender waist.
Aeron bowed and offered the flower he’d picked up earlier. The silver haired one smacked the flower out of Aeron’s hand to the floor.
The room suddenly filled with Aeron’s laughter, drawing everyone’s attention. Claire had to hide her own smile. He may not be a gentleman, but at least he knew how to laugh it seemed. Unlike many of the other solemn looking elves she’d seen in the plaza.
With a scowl on his face, the elf with the silver hair marched over to the King. He pointed to Claire, speaking in the same flowing language the other’s had used. Whatever he was saying, she was sure it wasn’t the friendliest of words.
Confusion started to brew inside of her. She had been brought here to meet the king, but it seemed that he was not very interested in meeting her. Barely even nodding in greeting when she’d been introduced. He may be royalty, but at least he could display good manners.
The King gestured with a wave of his hand to the female elf Claire saw at the side of the room. She sauntered up to them, hips swinging wide, before bowing to the King.
Then the elves gathered close around Claire. Her st
omach dropped as she scanned their faces and the first hint of genuine fear swept through her. This wasn’t just a simple meeting after all. They weren’t smiling and neither was she. Perhaps she was going to be punished for entering their territory, for trespassing on their land without their permission. She’d escaped one horror only to stumble into another. Mother’s assumption that they’d take care of her was true so far. Why bandage her up only to punish her later?
“Sorry, mon lainí,” Aeron whispered as he grabbed her from behind. One arm circled around her waist while the other snaked around her shoulders. He held her tight against his body, his grip strong and firm.
“What are you doing? Let me go!” Claire shrieked. She struggled, her nails digging into Aeron’s skin as she tried to pry his arms away. “It was an accident! I didn’t mean to come here! I was just trying to escape!”
The silver-haired elf grabbed her bandaged right hand and drew a dagger from behind his back. The sight stopped her voice in her throat, her eyes growing wide. Her body writhed as she struggled to break free, but Aeron’s grip tightened around her, holding her steady against him. The silver-haired elf slipped the blade under the bandage, managing somehow to carefully avoid the skin, and cut through the layers of cloth with ease. When the bandage fell to the floor, he sheathed the dagger again.
All at once, the group gathered closer around her to peer down at her newly exposed hand, their faces curious, eager.
Claire’s struggles stopped as she looked down at her hand to see what exactly was so fascinating. Thin black lines traced across her hand and up her wrist like a vine. Its tendrils spread out in all directions, twisting and swirling to form intricate flower-like shapes. She stared at the mysterious new mark on her hand in disbelief. That’d never been there before.
The old elf held the scroll up next to her hand and spoke to the King in a foreign language, but it sounded slightly different, more harsh and guttural than before. That was odd. Was he speaking in another language?