Skirts & Swords (Female-Led Epic Fantasy Box Set for Charity)

by L. P. Dover

  I stared blankly at her.

  “What do you say we wrap it up for today? I’ve got some business with Council.”

  “So, um,” I said in what might have been a question, “all right.”

  I stumbled off the stool and made my way outside, legs half numb from being still so long, eyes squinting against the bright sun. I had no idea what to do.

  Deciding I was in no hurry to get back to Aunt Fannie, I started down a rambling, rarely used path from the village. It curved and twisted, taking me further and further away from the noise of the buzzing crowd that was the village center. After a while, I found myself wandering idly through the trees and eventually happened upon an abandoned, overgrown garden where I plopped down until I could work out what to do with my now empty afternoon.

  I sat surrounded by the various weeds, contemplating naming the species as I’d been taught for practice. It didn’t take long to determine that idea was about as unpleasant as going home, so I resolved to try and repeat the success I’d had on the thistle in Junnie's study. I leaned forward, focusing on one weed, and then on each of the others, pushing the magic in an attempt to develop them.

  Though I had no luck with the wild flowers and renegade vegetable plants, I was surprised to find a small thorn tree and a couple of noxious strains mature in response. So maybe Junnie was right, I just needed to practice more.

  “Well, well, what do we have here? Is Frey making magic?” Evelyn’s voice hissed with sarcasm and sourness.

  It had a way of burning right through me. It took everything I had to keep my reply in check, keep myself out of trouble. “Oh, I didn’t realize … is this your …” I was struggling. This wasn't her field. The forest and surrounding meadows didn’t belong to any elf, only your home was yours. But I knew from past experience Evelyn would punish me for being here, where she happened along. Oh sure, not physically—no elf did that—but I could just imagine the way perfect little Evelyn would repeat the story in town. Poor Frey, sitting alone in the weeds, couldn’t even make grass grow. What can we do to help her? We should have a council meeting on it, I’m sure. Poor, poor Frey. I stayed where I sat, forcing my eyes to the ground. But then I pictured the smirk on her face as she mocked me to our peers, and couldn’t stop the resentment from boiling up. My ears rang with it.

  “Choo!”

  I looked up at her through my bangs.

  “Ah ... ah … Choo!”

  Elves didn’t sneeze. Fairies sneezed. Forest creatures sneezed. Not elves. Never an elf.

  I couldn’t help it, I giggled.

  Evelyn shot a hateful glower at me from her adorable little face before she whirled in retreat, her two devoted followers on her heels as always, though they both appeared completely baffled at the moment.

  Her expression as she stormed away was too much. I wanted more than anything to hear her sneeze again when a muffled, “Achoo!” “Choo!” “Hachoo!” echoed through the trees.

  I burst out with laughter so hard my ears popped when she began to run toward the village. I knew it was silly that something as insignificant as a sneeze would give me such pleasure and I couldn’t help but wonder how much delight I’d get out of a choking fit. When my ears popped again, I worked my jaw, which was apparently completely out of practice when it came to laughing, and I strode toward home, confident I could face Fannie in my good humor.

  Or maybe I’d take the long way.

  As I finally approached the gnarled tree we called home, its branches misshapen and twisting in eternal imbalance, I caught sight of an aged elf leaving. It was unquestionably a council member. Tassels hung around his neck depicting lines and accomplishments: sky blue for receiving the calling, deep crimson for service to the guard. His chest bore a personalized crest, an oak leaf on a large shield of gold and acorn brown. I watched the rainbow of a half dozen tassels flutter behind him as he rushed down the path toward the village.

  When I walked through the door, I saw immediately Fannie had not expected company—I could spot the telltale signs of a hurried clean spell. I plopped down at the table to enjoy a bowl of berries set out for company under the guise of politeness. We didn’t often have visitors, and I could count the times on a new spruce twig we’d had fresh berries set out.

  Might as well enjoy them, seldom did I not have to gather for myself. I popped a ripe juneberry in my mouth as Fannie rounded the corner. She was on her way into the room, having dashed back to her stash of wine as soon as the visitor had hit the door. She peered at me oddly out of the corner of her eye while she opened the bottle. Maybe it annoyed her to see I was eating her berries. Not that she’d picked them; I was sure she had just set a charm on an unsuspecting squirrel to perform her manual labor.

  “Company?” I asked. I was enjoying the bitterness of a spireberry now.

  “It seems there was some trouble in town today. The elves are in an uproar,” she said, delighted.

  I didn’t question any further. Town trouble was usually of no interest to me. Actually, I couldn’t really think of the last time town had trouble … She huffed and I knew it was indulge her or face the wrath. “What sort of trouble?”

  “Apparently, Evelyn of Rothegarr came into town from the meadows at full speed wheezing and sneezing. She reached the village center, grabbed her throat, and fell to the ground without a breath.”

  I stopped chewing.

  Fannie continued, “They found a common thistle caught in her airway.”

  My stomach flipped.

  “A thistle?” I whispered.

  “Mmm. Council thinks she must have been working a spell that went awry." She peered at me questioningly; I might have turned pale. She threw the cork at me. Hard. I must have quit breathing, because when I drew in a sharp breath it didn’t seem to be enough. My thoughts twisted.

  Aunt Fannie wore a mean grin.

  “Something else?” I asked. It was nearly a whisper, but I knew her hearing abilities.

  She was enjoying knowing something I didn’t, dragging it out. I glared at her.

  Fanny smirked, tipping the bottle with a cautiousness that belied her nature. “The council was just able to save her in time. Almost couldn’t find the right words to turn the spell.”

  A gush of air escaped my lungs. She’s alive.

  Fannie continued to talk, probably berating me for looking so dumbfounded, but I was oblivious. My mind was doing somersaults like a pixie on sweet pea. It was impossible. A thistle. In her airway. Had the council known she went running because I laughed at her? Had the thistle grown as she stood beside me? Was that what caused the sneezing? She would surely tell I was there. I felt sick.

  There would be another inquisition.

  And what else had the council member told Fannie? He must have known I was a witness, why else would he have been here? I could still see the anger on her face. She would accuse me, I was sure. Somehow, Evelyn would make this my fault.

  “Well?” Fannie was in my face.

  I jerked back to reality, having no idea what she’d been saying.

  “Where were you during the commotion? I’d think if you were at Junnie’s, you’d have known all about it. Why didn’t you warn me?”

  This wasn’t going to be good. “I was,” I started, stopped, tried again. “Junnie sent me home early because I learned a spell.” Fannie looked incredulous, so I backpedaled. “Well, not a spell but I grew a … flower. And then I was so excited I was going to come home and tell you … but I took the back way and then …” Wrong choice. End it now, Frey, I thought. “Well, and then I got lost. Sorry.”

  Fannie was abruptly and irrevocably incensed. Her rant started along the lines of, “You pigeon-headed, imp-brained …” and it didn’t appear she’d run out of insults any time soon.

  After the first few minutes, the years of listening to it seemed to coalesce, and I was suddenly exhausted. I said evenly, “I think I’ll go lie down.”

  Which led directly to, “Do you think you can just sleep when you wa
nt to sleep? Whose tree do you think this is? You’ll lie down when I say you’ll lie down …”

  I tuned her out, knowing the outcome if I didn't, and the one-sided argument ran its course. Shortly after a tirade insisting I stay until I had earned permission to leave, my dear aunt Fannie tired of looking at me and sent me on my way.

  I trudged out of the kitchen, through the main sitting area, and into my room.

  It was dark except for a small beam of light from a knothole in the wall. Fire was the one magic I had mastered; I had been able to light lanterns and candles for as long as I could remember, but I didn’t bother. If I was in this room, I wanted to be alone. And in darkness I felt more so.

  Chapter Two

  Chevelle

  I was usually a late sleeper, but the next morning I was out of the house early. I wanted to get away before I had to face Fannie in the middle of her wine hangover, and I knew Junnie could tell me if Evelyn had turned the town or council against me. I rushed up the path and through the village gate, keeping my head down. No one generally went out of their way to speak to me, but I didn’t want to take any chances. The other elves didn’t have much use for one who wasn’t able to contribute. My lack of magic and skill had put me far from their minds. Except in the case of Evelyn, who sought to raise herself by lowering me, but always with such a thick coating of sweetness. It also didn’t help that I looked different and couldn't pull off the polished joyfulness of the other, normal elves. I wasn't wholly out of place, but unquestionably a blot on the family portrait of the clan.

  I slipped around the village and through Junnie’s back yard, darting past a trellis toward the door. As I ducked under the hanging ivy, I caught my foot on a vine and stumbled forward, cursing as I nearly ran into a large boulder.

  And then I realized the boulder was wearing a shirt.

  Gradually, my head tilted upward, and I peered through my bangs to find a strong chin, stern mouth, and the darkest, deepest sapphire eyes I'd ever seen. Sure, lots of elves had blue eyes, but bright—light and shimmery. These were of the deepest blue. They must appear black in the shadows.

  Suddenly, I flushed. Because I was staring into someone's eyes.

  And then, as quickly as I had come upon him, he was gone. He turned from me without a word and disappeared in a few long strides. I watched him go. Short dark hair, dark eyes, and a large, strong build. He certainly wasn’t from this clan, but there was something about him that seemed utterly familiar.

  Junnie cleared her throat. “Freya?”

  I hadn’t realized she was watching me from the open door. Watching me watch him. I flushed again. “Who …” I trailed off.

  “You needn’t bother yourself with him,” she said.

  She could see I would.

  “Chevelle Vattier. He’s from a northern clan. He’ll be here only a short while. Council business.”

  That brought me back to my mission. “Fannie said there was some trouble with Evelyn?” I asked.

  “Yes.” There was something in her tone I didn’t recognize. “She’s fine now.”

  “I was … yesterday, I saw her.”

  “Yes.” She half-smiled. “Don’t worry yourself, Freylinda. Come now, let’s study.”

  I hesitated. Evelyn had mentioned me, but not accusingly? Surely Junnie would have more to say. She placed a gentle hand on my shoulder and led me in. “What shall we do today?”

  I went back over our conversation, trying to find some meaning. Inspiration, or maybe distraction, hit me as I recalled the dark-headed stranger. She’d said he would be leaving soon. Before I could think it through, I’d said, “Lineages.”

  Junnie raised an eyebrow as I sped to the study, but I’d worry about Evelyn later. This was my chance to find out about this Chevelle Vattier.

  After pouring through a dozen or so volumes, my determination began to falter. There were so many lineages, but I needed something on the northern clans, something on Vattier, and Junnie simply didn’t have that. It was starting to dawn on me that I’d need a library, maybe even the council library. I shivered at the thought; I definitely wasn’t sure about that. Even if I worked up the nerve to sneak in, I didn’t have the magic to search so many documents to quickly find what I was after like the council members did. I’d have to stick to the village library.

  I made a short excuse to Junnie and headed out the door and around back. After I rounded a few houses, I cut back toward the village center. I wasn’t doing anything wrong exactly, but I didn’t want to advertise. I had no good reason for researching Chevelle Vattier, except I had been thinking about him all day. You just met him this morning, I chided myself. Not even met. Stared at. I felt my cheeks heat at the remembered encounter for no good reason, and picked up my pace to the old tree that housed the library. I knew my shoulders were hunched and I was glancing around too often, but I couldn’t seem to help it. It felt illicit. Twice I imagined a set of dark eyes on me, a prickling sensation running over my spine.

  I was going to have to pull myself together, I was being ridiculous. At this rate, I’d be fawning and flipping my hair like Evelyn by sundown.

  When I finally walked into the library, I remembered why I didn’t go there to study lineages. There must have been a thousand volumes and tenfold more scrolls in the main level alone. And no magic to lead me in the right direction. I went to the section which would most likely house the desired information, and then closed my eyes and concentrated. Maybe it wouldn’t work, but I could try. I wasn’t sure I felt anything, but after a few minutes I started to feel stupid and opened my eyes, reaching out my right hand because I imagined it might have tingled a little. I grabbed a close volume and leafed through it.

  It was a legacy of the Viridian Forest clan. So much for the magic helping. I pulled another volume down. A diary of Momar the Ancient.

  This was going to be like trapping a greased pixie.

  I sat for hours exploring the early texts, stories of the river clans and their battles with the Imps of Long Forgotten, firsthand accounts of the Trials of Istanna, and the long lineages of the eldest families. A whisper roused me from my studies and I realized it was late, so I decided to give up and start again the next day. Rising unsteadily, I heard the whisper again. No, not a whisper, I thought, wind.

  I glanced behind me to see paper falling to scatter on the floor. I looked around, but the library was practically empty. Someone on a higher level must have accidentally knocked the pages down. I bent to read the closest document—an account from the northern clans. Despite my disbelief, I somehow managed to act quickly, stashing the papers in my shirt before attempting a casual exit to read them at home.

  I was out of the library and almost to the gate when I noticed a dark figure behind Virden Day’s tree. It was Chevelle. He was speaking with Virden when he turned his head slowly toward me … and I was staring into his eyes again. Oh give me a break; he’s halfway across the village from you. But I was staring. I flushed yet again, despite my resolve, and turned away. I couldn’t understand why he was affecting me this way. The pages stuffed in my shirt felt like they were burning. I quickened my pace, caught my toe on a root, and stumbled. As soon as I righted myself, I wasn’t able to stop from peeking back to see if he had noticed, but he was gone. I didn’t know if I was relieved.

  As I made my way home, my mind went over the entire episode again. A rash of questions ran through my head: Did he always wear such a stern expression? Why was he looking at me so intensely? But I had my answer: Because you were staring at him, idiot.

  It seemed to me Fannie always knew when I didn’t want to be bothered and went out of her way to ensure I was. I quietly entered the house, hoping to slip right into my room, but there she was, smack in the center of the sitting area, drunk as a two-day jamboree. She stopped me on my way through and forced me to sit, her audience. I watched her as she rambled. She had the same dull blond hair and muddy brown eyes as I, though mine were specked with green. After a long evening ducking her
verbal jabs and listening to her theory on the council’s secret underground conspiracies, I finally made it to my room.

  A flick of my fingers and light flooded the tiny space. I took a quick inventory: the seal on my wardrobe intact, my drawings still scattered appropriately across the floor, a stash of cheese on the table beside my bed. My mother’s pendant hung from a woven leather chain above my pillow, shooting refracted beams across the bed, and I smiled as I sat beneath them.

  I scanned quickly through the pages I'd brought home from the library, trying to find some order. I hadn’t even considered there might be missing pages, but I sorted what was there as best I could. I sat rigid while reading through each page for some clue, unable to fathom why the notion had me so anxious.

  The first pages contained a detailed description of the writer, including his lineages and how he came upon the information. He was apparently a record keeper for the Grand Council, responsible for copying scrolls and adding new information for each of the northern clans from their various local libraries.

  Some of the information was sketchy: gossip from the neighboring fairy guild about strange activities and reports from travelers about deserted villages. Or maybe not deserted, one description seemed to imply the village was not only empty of elves, but also of all evidence it had ever been inhabited. There were maps of the mountains and forests, jagged lines and colorful insignias marking each village and town. Curled lines of azure cut through the page, rivers and streams, and I had a pang of regret for not studying maps with Junnie.

  The next pages were a copy of the record keeper’s report to Grand Council about his findings. And his horrible conclusion. There were definitely missing pages here, but something dreadful had happened without a doubt. His official report should have been factual and serious, but the description was loaded with superstition and fear. Even his script became shaky as it reached the final word … Extinction.