Fury Lingers: Book One of The Foreseen Trilogy

by Ethan Spears

  Much like the road, the boughs were interwoven to create an effect like a natural roof. From that roof, paper lanterns hung at various levels. The lowest hanging lanterns were uniformly green, while many of the higher ones were brown, red, yellow, white, or blue. All those lanterns hung below the lower boughs, though, and these trees were so large that the branches were woven into two separate canopies of sorts: a lower one some hundred feet off the ground, and an upper one some distance higher still, separating each tree into distinct lower, middle, and upper segments. The stairways wound from the roots to the very top, piercing through these foliated barriers.

  It would be impossible to see through the foliage, but the trees were spaced in such a way that between every group of eight or so there were natural atriums where one could look up and see the balconies and signs hanging from above. In several places along the ascending stairs, there were huge areas where the trees had been hollowed out, some with small openings sealed with doors, which Mergau assumed to be homes, while others were large enough for a dozen elves to pass through at once. Those large opening were full of items of clay, wood, stone, and iron on tables to show them off to passersby.

  Hundreds of elves were moving up and down the staircases, moving across the forest floor, some even crossing from tree to tree on the interwoven branches themselves. The halfling towns she passed through were probably more populous but having so much activity going on in every conceivable direction made it look much busier.

  She didn’t want to just stand there and stare, so she moved forward, dragging Aoden with her. The wonders were unceasing. A wall of tight-knit trees circled the entire city, grown so close together that it would be tough for an adult elf to squeeze through and impossible for an armored foe. There were roads—left stylistically uneven from the looks of them—passing from stairwell to stairwell, always neatly avoiding intruding upon the atriums, whose short-cut grass centers were used as fairgrounds and parks scattered with benches, tables, and fountains. There was also a wide central road that led to a massive gate in the tree-wall, its two monstrous doors wide open and watched by a pair of guards that couldn’t conceivably close the doors on their own. Even the aggressive elves went lighter on security this deep in their own lands.

  She was still gawking at the gate when she nearly collided with a woman. She began to apologize, remembered that she didn’t know how, and instead offered a quick bow. She looked up at the woman’s face, realizing that—Reggy’s illusion aside—she had never seen an elven woman before. The differences were surprisingly striking. Compared to the men, her face was narrow and her chin ended at a sharp point. Her hair fell past her waist and was a lighter hue than the men’s. Her ears were also more graceful; smaller, closer to the head, and sloped back more gently. Compared to Mergau’s illusion, the face was thinner and more angular but not terribly different.

  For all her beauty, however, her eyes had a hard cast to them. She looked at Mergau with distaste and opened her mouth to say something, but stopped when she spotted Aoden, the vacant elf who nonetheless looked like a tall and proud soldier. She glanced back at Mergau, then said something quickly and made her way past, giving them a wide berth.

  In fact, now that her focus had been torn from the city itself, she noticed that many were looking at the two of them, shooting withering looks her way, specifically. It made her nervous. She scowled back at one lady who was staring at her and the woman looked so scandalized that Mergau decided it was best to go somewhere else.

  She pulled Aoden with her as she went further into the elven city, the wonder of the place and the horror of the events behind her the only things keeping her here, otherwise the presence of all these elves would have terrified her. The number of people on the ground was increasing, and the smell of cooked meat was filling the air. Soon she could make out instrument being played and voices singing. Despite not being able to understand them and finding the elven language, on the whole, a bitter and ugly thing, the voices made her heart ache with their haunting beauty.

  Mergau wandered aimlessly through the city with Aoden, unsure where to go or whether they should even stay here. They passed a group of people gathered around a large empty platform in one of the atriums. There were over a hundred elves spread around the area, waiting for something to happen. Mergau was halfway past the platform when three people stepped out of the audience on the far side and ascended the steps. They said a few words in somber voices, then one of them began to sing. She felt Aoden slowing behind her. She yanked on his sleeve to hurry him along, but he soon stopped altogether.

  “Come on,” she said, reflexively keeping her voice below those of the singers. “We don’t have time to listen to music.”

  Aoden didn’t seem to hear her. He was staring up at the stage, raptly attentive. Even as she pushed and pulled, he resisted, his feet planted firmly on the ground.

  Mergau was going to urge him onwards again when she noticed a single tear roll down his cheek.

  “Are you crying again?” she whispered. “And in public as well? You’re hopeless.”

  “It’s beautiful,” he whispered back.

  She sputtered in surprise. “Are you talking again? Finally? All it took was a little song?”

  “It’s not just a song,” he said with something close to a laugh. “This is a triktoch, the pinnacle of elven poetry.”

  “What’s a trickitch?” she asked, but Aoden remained silent, listening to the voices. Looking around, there were actually quite a few elves that were stopping and listening, and Aoden wasn’t the only one weeping. She was beginning to wish she could understand.

  The three singers, two men and a woman, sung in turns: first, they each sung by themselves, going around twice, then they sang in pairs, first one man and the woman, then the men together, then the other man and the woman, then they sang on their own once more, and finally all together. The pace was slow and rhythmic, sounding more like a chant than a song, all three voices deep and playing off one another. It was rich and beautiful, but something about it sounded a bit off to her ears.

  “It sounds like—” she began, but Aoden hushed her immediately. It was doubtless ill-mannered to speak during one of these songs, but she still didn’t like being shushed. The three voices rose together, carrying over the crowd. One of the men stopped singing, bowed, and backed away from the other two, who continued the song together. Another minute passed, and the other man bowed and moved away from the woman as well, leaving her to sing alone. After what seemed another five minutes, she finally brought the song to a close, and the three singers left the platform and walked off into the crowd.

  Mergau wasn’t sure if it was over. The elves in the audience stood in silence, still facing the empty stage, though some like Aoden stood with their eyes closed. A long silence passed before the crowd came back to life, their voices bubbling up and conversations starting again. After a time, the elves dispersed, though Mergau had to wait as Aoden stood there not making a move. She wanted to hurry him along, but she also didn’t want to sour whatever mood made him speak.

  After far too long, he finally took a long breath, sighed deeply, and nodded to himself. “It’s been a long time since I’ve heard that story,” he said, his eyes opening at last. “Truly wonderful.”

  “About time,” she said. “You’ve been standing there forever. I was beginning to wonder if we were waiting for something. No one even clapped when the performers left the stage. Do elves not clap?”

  “We do,” said Aoden, “but silence is greater praise. It says to the performer that you’re thinking back on the song and truly appreciating it. It’s rare for a triktoch to end with anything but silence.”

  Maybe Aoden had forgotten to be mopey, or perhaps he had recovered, but she wanted him to keep talking just in case. “It sounded like they were singing the wrong words. When they were singing together, each person sounded a bit different from the others.”

  Aoden smiled at her, such a departure from his previous depressi
on that all she could do was stare. “That’s what makes a triktoch such an amazing form of poetry. They require three singers to perform, their lines similar-sounding but mean completely different things.”

  “That sounds like it would be difficult to make sense of.”

  “Oh yes, they’re incredibly difficult to follow, but this is a well-known piece that doubtless everyone here has heard before. I myself know it by heart.”

  “You don’t strike me as a poet.”

  Aoden sighed. “I wish, but it’s so much more than a poem. It's a precise science, a mastery of the elven language. This triktoch is an ancient one, a famous story of the beautiful Isoder and her two suitors, the jealous Makorak and the dutiful and loving Porosh. When they sing in pairs, the men insult each other and praise Isoder, and she in turn picks at their faults. When the three sing together, their ideas are so mixed and mingled, they simply cannot be unwoven in one listening. ‘Jan iun tanna Isoder masoviit an,’” he quoted, “‘Dancing Isoder, with my heart in her hands,’ Porosh sings, so lovesick that his health deteriorates every time his advances are spurned. Meanwhile, Makorak mocks him: ‘Jun oon Taana insuda mes ovaat un,’ ‘This fool should sit in the Taana river,’” he gave an appreciative grin. “I believe the Orcish equivalent of that phrase is to ‘pound sand.’ ‘Jenwanta nainsoo dameso vaattan,’ Isoder sings, ignoring the quarrel between her two suitors. ‘Exquisite news born by the morning rains of the Va Valley.’ While they fight, she seeks out court gossip, so occupied is she with her own affairs.

  “Eventually, she shows her favor for Porosh and Makorak leaves in defeat. Isoder, however, is far from the perfect women Porosh thought her to be, being cold and insulting toward him, and even as he begs her to treat him more kindly, she says he complains too much and refuses to listen to any more of his requests. Finally fed up with her, he too leaves her and, despite her great beauty, she is forced to spend the rest of her days alone.”

  “That doesn’t sound like the kind of poem to cry over,” Mergau said with a frown. “It sounds like she deserves to be alone.”

  “Perhaps I’ve done a bad job of explaining it. She loves both men and both men love her, but she’s a pitiable woman who is afraid to show her affection and the men are short with her and unforgiving of faults. I know it’s useless to say, but if you were to read it in its entirety in the original Elvish, it is a heart-wrenching tale.”

  Aoden blinked like he was coming out of a trance. He looked around as if realizing where he was for the first time. He opened his mouth to speak when a darkness fell over his features. “Oh, right,” he said, his eyes losing their vibrancy and his voice becoming dull once more.

  And then Mergau’s foot was in his stomach. As the breath exploded from him and he doubled over, she stood above him. “Don’t you dare go back to being a useless, moping mess, you bastard. I’ve had enough of dragging you around these forests, and if you think I’m about to start again, I’ll have another kick ready to remind—”

  She was suddenly grabbed from behind. One arm wrapped around her neck, clutching her throat in the crook of the elbow. The other took her wrist and locked her arm behind her back. For a terrible moment, Mergau was sure another orc had discovered her after evading them for so long, but an elf’s voice spoke into her ear, a vicious and angry hiss. She struggled against his grip, but he held her tight.

  She didn’t understand. Her illusion was still working, so why was she being manhandled? Having her air cut off by his grip made her lash out with her feet and her free arm, her magic forgotten in reflexive fear, but she found his body locked away behind steel armor.

  The edges of her vision started to darken. Had she made it this far just to have the life choked from her?

  ***

  Aoden, still holding his stomach and fighting for breath, looked up in time to see the guard grab Mergau from behind.

  “Did I just see you strike an officer of the army, you little halfsy bitch?” the elf hissed in her ear, putting her into a brutal arm lock. “And in the middle of the Ahaja Day festival? I knew you mutts were stupid, but this takes a special breed.”

  Aoden took several deep breaths and tried to speak, tried to figure out what was happening, but couldn’t get the words out. Was someone defending him, a half-elf, from attack? That didn’t seem right. That scenario didn’t fit at all.

  The soldier put a foot into the back of Mergau’s legs, forcing her to her knees. “It’s bad enough you’re here tainting our festival, but you just had to create a disturbance as well, didn’t you? What, don’t get enough attention at home? Do you even have a home?” The guard laughed, pushing Mergau’s face towards Aoden’s. “Go ahead and apologize to the man, and maybe I won’t drag you off to the holding cells.”

  With her face within a hand of his, he remembered. He could see the rework she had done on her own illusion, adding the lobes, and recalled how she had done the opposite to him back in the forest.

  That was right. She was the half-elf now, and he the elf. But the guard didn’t know that. All he saw was a half-elf that he could abuse. That’s all they ever saw. Aoden’s blood boiled as he pushed himself to his feet.

  “There you are, sir. Don’t worry, I got a firm grip on the little—hey!”

  Aoden grabbed the guard by the fingers and bent his wrist back, dragging his hand towards the guard’s ear and away from Mergau’s throat. As the hold loosened, she sucked in a fresh lungful of air and pulled herself free, stumbling away from the elf as he fell to his knees, his free hand scrabbling uselessly at Aoden’s forearm. He looked up at Aoden with eyes wide with pain and confusion.

  “Is this how guards are trained to treat elven citizens?” Aoden said, squeezing the elf’s fingers until the knuckles grated and popped. “Tell me; do you assault everyone from behind, sneaking up on them like a coward without giving them a chance to explain themselves, or do you leave such drastic measures for the greatest dangers, like ‘halfsy bitches’?”

  The guard could easily have struck Aoden in the stomach or groin, even pull the dagger at his side, but the commander’s insignia on Aoden’s gloves stopped him. All he could do was look beseechingly up as his arm was twisted. “I was just doing my duty,” he said. Aoden pulled sharply on the man’s wrist and if he had any more to say, it was interrupted by his sharp gasp.

  “Thank you for your hard work,” Aoden said, his voice dripping sarcasm. “Had you not come to my—an army commander’s—aid, this unarmed woman would’ve torn me to shreds.” He couldn’t keep the disgust from his voice as he continued. “Maybe you’ve forgotten that half-elves are citizens too, otherwise I’d question why your duty calls for such harsh measures against civilians. Should I ask your superiors why they felt the need to drill that idea into your head?” He gave the elf’s wrist one last tug, then released it, kicking him away by the shoulder. The guard scrambled to his feet, his face red from equal parts pain and embarrassment. “I’ll handle things here. Get back to your post, and if I see you even looking at a half-elf the wrong way again…” Aoden let the threat linger.

  The guard turned on his heels and walked away as fast as he could, his dignity not allowing him to break into a run.

  Any other time, Aoden might have exulted in the feeling such dominance over a half-elf harasser would have given him, but not now. He felt like he had just woken up after being asleep for several days. He went over to Mergau and put a hand on her shoulder. “You alright?” he asked.

  She shook his hand off. “Stop doing that already!” she shouted at him.

  “Sorry?” he said, startled.

  “Just…” Mergau looked at him angrily for a moment, then closed her eyes and sighed. “Nothing,” she said, her rage deflating. “Never mind. It’s not important. What is important is that we hide. Those elves will be looking for us.”

  Aoden furrowed his brow. “How can you be sure?”

  “Because they were after that,” she said, indicating the pouch at his waist, the one that held the little go
lden idol. “They wanted it and were willing to kill for it. If that’s the case, you should toss it into the river.”

  “From the story I’ve heard, this isn’t the sort of thing that stays lost, and the last thing I want now is for those murderers to have it.”

  “Then we’d best get as far away from here as possible.”

  Aoden nodded. Those bastards killed half his squad for the idol and, for all he knew, they had done so with Keenas’s blessing. It seemed like an unlikely scenario, but the past few weeks had all been one long chain of unlikely scenarios. Keenas already knew the idol would be on him, didn’t he? He could have just retrieved it himself. Why order an attack? And, if he wasn’t behind it, what did his apprentices have to gain from it?

  “Which way is west?” Mergau asked, interrupting his train of thought.

  “That way,” Aoden said immediately, pointing behind her.

  “Come on, then,” she said, turning and walking away from him. He followed, his mind still reeling from the events and their implications.

  But before he got sucked down that rabbit hole, there was something he had to do.

  “Mergau?” he said.

  “What?” She looked over her shoulder at him.

  “Thank you. You most likely saved my life.”

  “Just keep walking,” she said, facing forward again. They walked along in silence. The massive gate loomed up ahead of them.

  “Hey… Aoden?” She said, still facing forward.

  The way she said his name was alien. He realized it was the first time she’d ever addressed him by name. “Yeah?”

  “…You’re welcome.”

  Aoden nodded. “I guess that makes us even.”