by Jeremy Craig
Gradually, my reason and sight returned, and I stared up into Gramps’ face where he knelt on the cabin’s polished hardwood floor holding onto me looking thunderously angry.
Looking about confusedly and seeing several enraged Elvish hunters with steam wafting off them, their deadly bows drawn back, now blackened but still deadly arrows trained on you definitely didn’t make it any better. Memorable perhaps, but definitely not better. Honestly, I really hadn’t a clue what was going on and it still irks me that Gramps had kept his and White Owl’s suspicions quiet for so long.
The King was struggling to his feet, armor that had once been beautiful now blackened and almost melted in places as he shook his head. His hand was pressed against his forehead as if trying to clear away something muddling and buzzing from his mind as he regarded me with a mix of fear and wonder—waving his hunters to stand down as he straightened.
The elves hesitated but slowly lowered their weapons. Though I noted they kept their arrows nocked and the waxed strings drawn taught in readiness to execute me in cold blood should things get hairy again, their king’s wishes in this notwithstanding.
“I’d thought its rebirth into the bloodlines merely a myth, nothing more than a legend of the Darks told to scare little Fey children around the Hallows’ Eve bonfires. All my father’s writings, the literature on the subject we’ve compiled, all of it eluded to the true blooded curse being lost after the first generation of Darklings was all but extinguished.” King Efferieal Rain all but hissed. “I’m not sure how I feel to stand here before you so harshly corrected.”
“You don’t have all the writings,” Gramps snapped back acidly as he helped me to the sofa. “We Darklings made sure of that, Your Excellency. And I DID try to warn you, did I not?”
“That you did. It was a costly mistake on my part to so rudely dismiss your warning, old friend. An unfortunate decision I now have cause to regret, deeply…” The Elvish Wizard King sighed as he studied the blackened rings on his fingers with trepidation, the once bright, colorful jewels cracked and colorless as if the luster and magic had been drained from them.
His eyes slipped from my confused expression as I sank into the sofa, then to Gramps and scowled. “He doesn’t know, does he?” he demanded in a cold, disbelieving tone as he stared down at me, arms folded crossly over his chest. “How could you not have told him? Have you any idea how irresponsible and dangerous that was to do?”
“We weren’t sure,” Gramps snapped back as he tugged at his flannel and glared back at the Wizard unapologetically. “We had to be positive of it before any steps could be taken.”
Obviously, they were talking about whatever it was that made me unique that no one would talk with me about. Though by the Elvish High King’s reaction, it didn’t sound like it was anything good.
“The boy must be trained; he simply cannot just live among Fey as he is—little more than a bomb waiting to have its fuse lit.” The King offered me a sad smile and shook his head. “All that stays my hand and persuades me to allow the boy to live, especially now, is me knowing the quality of his soul.”
“What in the blazing nine hells do you mean,” Gramps growled back, his battered face reddening dangerously as he helped me to my feet.
“The boy’s wish regarding the Vraad accused of killing his parents were unusual to say the least for one of your…well, kind. As was his concern for his family. Most peculiar for a Darkling, more still for one like him.” He nodded to me, something like approval in his face as he appraised me studiously.
Some of his hunters shifted uneasily at this, watching from beneath their hoods, suspicion and unease glittering in their cold hard eyes that are as unforgiving and savagely gentle as the untamed wilds in which they thrived.
The King’s unsettling gaze then slipped back to Gramps and gave him a scathingly incredulous look that softened into a slightly mocking smile. “It gives me hope that he won’t grow into the black hearted blunt instrument you’ve all become of late…No offence, of course, to present company.” The wizard’s words had quite the effect on Gramps who had gone very still and splotchy and seemed uncomfortably close to throttling the Elf, bow toting guards be damned.
“What do you think I’ve been doing, teaching him how to scramble eggs and trim hedges?” Gramps snapped. “You’ve no right to come parading in here after all these years and telling me how to raise my grandson and making threats. You all but abandoned this world, disappeared right when we needed you the most you did, and many good Fey and Darkling died because of it. So, why don’t you lot all hop back on your pretty horned ponies and vanish again. Perhaps this time, you could do us all a favor and stay gone. The world’s been a better place without you, after all.”
High King Rain stood in silence; his hand preemptively raised to stay any reaction from his hunters before it happened. It was obvious the powerful Wizard was far from used to being addressed in such a way and was finding the new and uncouth experience unpleasantly tiresome.
He also was likely painfully aware that all of his magic was all but useless against ascended ones of our bloodlines like Gramps. And should any undue harm befall one of us that he risked a deadly personal war with all Darklings that couldn’t be easily won and wouldn’t end until his skull was added to the catacombs.
“You don’t think he did it, do you…err…My Lord?” My question broke the uncomfortable silence that had icily gripped the room as both of them turned to regard me in surprise.
“Who, did what?” Gramps had obviously missed it, and as angry as he was, I wasn’t surprised. I’d caught on quick enough though.
“You said ‘accused’ Vraad.” I expanded as best as I could at the time. I’d heard that word tossed about a lot on tv or when my parents had talked and it always seemed to hint that they thought that the guilt was somehow in question or needed further proving.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about that in this situation and, by the way Gramps rounded again on the Elvish royal neither did he.
“So he did,” Gramps grumbled as he put his fists on his hips and fixed the lot with another dirty look, one puffy brow raised quizzically. “What of it? Is what my Grandson says true? You doubt the Vraad’s guilt?”
“Darklings now determine guilt or innocence on the weight of their own opinions and preconceived notions on a species alone, I see? Things have changed since I’ve been gone. I seem to remember justice used to matter more than that.” The King turned his back and made to leave with a disappointed shake of his head, hands clasped behind his back.
“It matters to me.” I don’t know why I said it as loudly as I did, or why I stood with my fists balled and eyes brimming. I think by this point I’d just had enough. Needless to say, even the hunters took a hesitant step back and made to raise their bows. Again the King waved them off, regarding me over his shoulder with a curiously arched brow.
“Why?” the King asked softly.
“Because it’s what we were made for, at least that’s what the books say. And that sounds a lot better to me than just hunting things, killing and fighting over things that happened ages ago. I want to KNOW who killed my family and why. If you know something, please, tell me.”
It was an impassioned little speech for a thirteen-year-old, I’ll give myself that, but it all came bubbling out in a long emotion cracking sentence that seemed to please the ancient Elf King more than a little all the same.
“You don’t approve of the feud, then?”
“I read about it, I understand it, I think it’s a waste.” I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and sniffed. It’d been a hard, emotional day and my head hurt and I wanted answers. Any answers that could account for all this mess as long as they were honest, then maybe I could get some sleep.
“Just like that?” he asked incredulously, a ghost of a smile on his lips as he turned about and peered down at me, arms now folded across his chest as one finger ran along his jaw in a curious, thoughtful way. Something like hope and something deep
er and cunning shone in those odd, other worldly eyes of his.
“It’s got to start at some point, doesn’t it? Why not with me?” I shrugged, rubbing at my throbbing head with my fingers as I tried to figure out why adults found this subject so hard. “I read about the Vraad, I know what they were before this blood feud with us Darklings. I even understand why they were afraid of us. I don’t like what they did, but it was ages ago and nothing anyone can do can change it. Only thing I can do is try to make things better. I just don’t think keeping on killing each other does that, do you?”
The High King seemed amused by this. Even one of the hunters, the one who had opened the door for us, seemed to find this odd and was contemplating me with that maddening, head cocked to the side, with the sort of perplexed look one has when trying to decide if a snake or spider one happened across is venomous or not.
“And you would do this, find peace if you could then? Even if all the others of your kind opposed you?” the Wizard king asked, looking meaningfully at Gramps then back at me. For some odd reason I felt that a lot rode on my answer to this. I’d no idea then how much but I remember it felt like this was a test of some kind and I was being called to the front of the class to answer a difficult question very publicly.
I remember reddening with unease, looking at Gramps who appeared deeply uncomfortable, resigned, pensive, and distant and decidedly avoided looking me in the eyes as he fidgeted with the ends of his flannel as he does when put in a squirmy spot. As if tugging out his old plaid flannel’s wrinkles would somehow smooth things over more comfortably for him.
“Of course,” I answered, and I meant it.
“No matter the cost?” he asked curiously, again eyeing Gramps as he continued to run his finger along his chin. The room had gone silent at this as all the Elves seemed to be listening intently.
“What isn’t peace and life worth?” I answered, my words raising many an angular brow among the Elves as High King Efferieal Rain nodded in obviously surprised approval. Studying me with the shrewd but pleasantly startled look of a teacher who’d gotten an unexpectedly correct answer to a particularly difficult question from the last student they’d expected from among a usually unruly, a bit dim, disruptive, and inattentive classroom.
“You swear to this?” he asked in a soft hiss. I stared, an uncomfortable knot forming as I slowly nodded. “I see.” He nodded once. “You are sure of your answer? I need to hear you say it and mean it. And be warned, I shall know if you lie.”
“I swear it,” I hissed, a rumble of finality in my chest as the Wizard King studied me, then, as if he liked what he saw as he peered into my eyes and beyond, he chuckled and smiled.
“I think I may like you, Ben Bright. I think, in fact, more than I like most of your kind.” The Elf King chuckled. “And in answer to your question, no. I don’t think the Vraad killed your parents. Would you care to hear why, Artur, or are you so angry that the truth doesn’t matter to you anymore?”
Gramps just stood there, bearded chin resting on his flannel shirted chest in silence, studying the floor, the Elf Wizard King shook his head again and sighed.
“It may be of interest for you to know that the same forbidden method that the foul Clampetts used to attack your home this morning was tragically used on your son’s home while he and his wife slept.” At this Gramps swayed on his feet and paled, he stomped his foot in pent up rage and frustration as he shook his head and thumped his fist on his thigh.
“The poor Humans never had a chance,” the King admitted sadly. “Even had their fire personnel arrived on time, nothing in Feydom or the Human world burns hotter or faster than Fiendfire. You were lucky my old teacher was here to stop them. It could have been much worse had he not.”
“No,” Gramps hissed over and over as he again stomped his foot and bent over, his hands on his knees, breathing long and heavily. “I missed it,” he finally said in a hollow, strained voice as he stood up straight and leaned against a timber beam. “How could I have missed it?”
“Because it’s difficult to see all of something larger when you are too close to it,” Efferieal Rain answered simply, a hint of understanding and sympathy in his large, silvery eyes. “I’m sorry, Artur, especially for your family’s loss. It’s something you know that I understand all too well.”
The King smiled in a way that hinted at great loss and tragedy and made him seem far older. Gramps nodded but had fallen into a silence he seemed determined not to break as he stared wordlessly out the window, eyes miles away as he obviously lost himself in thought.
“What’s Fiendfire?” I asked, my belly twisting up in knots as I listened.
“Fiendfire is a particularly dangerous compound derived of melding Fey and infernal magics with Alchemy. It is so potent, destructive, and unstable that few ever dare to brew it. Nothing but one of the infernal survives it. It’s so terrible and unpredictable that its use is outlawed by the Council. Thankfully there hasn’t been a Warlock of sufficient skill for decades capable of mixing it,” The King answered. “I won’t lie to you child. It’s a terrible fate your parents suffered. To use such a thing is beyond the normal definitions of evil. I am truly sorry.”
“Why would anyone do that?” I asked. It felt like a stupid question and I really wasn’t expecting an answer, but I remember feeling like the question had to be asked, stupid or not, left unanswered or not, all the same. “My parents weren’t Darklings, they had nothing to do with any of this…just…why?”
Gramps made an unhappy sound at this and worried the floor with his boot, a deeply guilty and troubled look on his face that I assumed had something to do with why he hadn’t spoken to his departed son, my father, in years.
Sadly, I knew he wouldn’t talk about it, and he absolutely refused to look at me as the King’s pace toward the door slowed, then hesitated. His hunters came to a halt behind him as he turned, regarding me sadly with his shining silver eyes.
“I’m sure you will find out, but, know this; Real evil needs no reason.” King Rain sighed. “It doesn’t think like you, young Bright. It can’t be understood by gentle or kind spirits, not really. It exists outside of morality and does things that at times, only it can understand. The problem is knowing evil when you see it, as it often hides in the form of friends, saviors, family, or goodly knights or worse still, the best of intentions. This is what makes it so dangerous.”
I didn’t really understand that at the time, but it really was some deep sage level advice that would have been helpful had I grasped a single thread of it earlier on, as it could have saved me bucketloads of heartache and trouble. Instead, I just watched the one who had opened the door for us open it again for his King, studying me silently like he still wasn’t sure if I needed to be hunted or not as the troop of Elves file out into the yard through the open door.
“Can I meet him?”
My question again paused the Elves as the King froze mid step, obviously considering before looking my way again and smiling over his shoulder.
“We shall see,” he answered cryptically before trudging down the steps with as much pride and dignity as an Elf King can manage, whose armor and magical rings and such was all but melted and charred off of him. He slowed a moment to eye the powerful and illustrious Fey that had assembled.
More than a few familiar, and openly unfriendly faces (to the Elves, at least) lining the path to the gate staring after him, taking in the odd exchange between child and King with unease and curiosity.
The Council had come to Gramps’ home once again, and the King of Elves spared them not a passing glance after his initial appraisal as he strode by. None of the Council for their part seemed to care very much about being snubbed. Though every one of them eyed his blackened armor and rings with a mix of amusement and curiosity.
The mysterious top hatted Doctor even laughed a low, cold, rumbling laugh that itched at my ears though oddly not a one of the pointy eared Elves seemed to pay it any mind. Or, for that matter even hear him as th
ey headed to their radiant mounts in lock step behind their king, the one who held the door sparing me another look over his shoulder as they marched away.
They came to an uneasy standstill however when White Owl, Manx panting at his side, refused to move for a long, unpleasantly chilling moment that had my heart racing as he stood before the gates, arms folded over his Levi’s denim jacketed chest. His staff sat in the crook of his arm, still and motionless as stone, fearless and frowning from under the brim of his hat at the elves with unblinking scorn.
The High King of the Elves seemed to be having difficulty meeting the cold, hard gaze boring into him. A strange look that oddly resembled shame forced him to stand there at the fore of his hunters, staring humbly at the clump of dandelions at his feet as the man he told me was once his teacher stared daggers into him.
Finally, White Owl shook his head, as if he found the High King unworthy and stepped aside, the Lodge gate creaking open with a wave of his silver and turquoise beaded braceleted hand. There’s a story here, I promise you. It’s sad, tragic, full of betrayal and worth reading, but it’s not yet time for it to be told.
I wandered out to the porch uneasily, Gramps awkwardly trudging after me, and we watched the troop mount up. The High King of the Elves looking back at the Master from the saddle, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand before pulling on the reigns of his mount and leading his hunters out of sight with a thunder of hooves.
The Doctor turned to look at Gramps and I. “There be something you both need ta see. You comin’ wif us now, yeah?”
Chapter Nine
Fiendfire, prophecy, and a pot of chili…
Two things you have to understand about magic portals. The first is that it’s the only instantaneous way we Darklings can safely be magically transported from one place to another due to the effects we have on Fey and their powers. The second thing is that it takes a great deal of getting used to, usually leaving new travelers on their knees gagging up their lunch on the other side of one.
