by L. P. Dover
“Elfreda Georgiana Suzetta Glaforia stands before High Council ...” The formal tone severed my rambling thoughts and brought me back to a frightening reality. What would they do to me? How bad could the punishment be for sneaking into a library? And stealing a book. Maybe it wasn’t even about that, maybe Fannie had told them I broke into the vault. But they were my family’s things, too; it couldn’t be that bad. She could lie. Maybe it was about something else, maybe something else. Maybe a dead bird.
A guard approached me. I had been rambling again, lost in my own thoughts. What had they said? The council leaders were each focused on my chest, the pendant there, lying flat against my skin in the V of the low cut gown, and I abruptly realized they had ordered the guard to remove it. Why would they want my mother’s pendant? He stood, facing me, and raised both hands to take the leather chain over my head as I stared on insensibly. I felt his touch linger and automatically glanced down, surprised to see he had a firm grip on the necklace but wasn’t lifting it … couldn’t lift it. I looked to the council leaders as the guard turned toward the table and decidedly stepped away from me.
“The crystal will not be removed,” he said, and though he spoke only to them, it set in motion behind us a wave of murmurs that filled the room and reverberated up the high ceiling.
A council leader silenced the witnesses and trained his gaze on me. “Who instructed you in fusion?”
I didn’t have an answer; I’d never heard of fusion. I didn’t know what to do. I looked toward Chevelle out of desperation. Maybe he had an answer, maybe he could help me. He was watching me, surprise clear on his face. Whatever I'd been accused of, he hadn’t expected it.
The council leaders mistook the exchange as an answer. “Chevelle Vattier, you have led this fusion?”
His head whipped back toward the council table and he shot out a forceful, “No.”
They focused once more on me. “I ask again, Elfreda, who taught you the magic to seal yourself to the crystal?”
I was at a loss. I stood, helpless, as Chevelle spoke up, “Elfreda.” He’d used my given name, I hoped simply because we were in a formal setting and not because of whatever horrible thing I had been accused of. He was pleading now. “Where did you learn how to fuse the pendant with your blood?”
Fuse the pendant with my blood? What was he talking about? I heard someone behind me. “… how did she know to keep it from being removed?” And someone else. “… who even left it with her?”
It came together then, the feeling I’d had when I woke and placed it around my neck, the part of the dream I shook off as I stood before the basin washing up, cleaning the blood from my hands, from the pendant. I wanted to explain, tell of what I’d seen in the dream, but it was foggy and I was too slow to pull it into thought.
I was too late; they had already passed judgment on me. Harsh judgment. The deep voice boomed with finality. “… convicted of practicing dark magic …”
I reached out my hand to plead for mercy, to beg to be given a chance to explain, and he began to list my lineage for the records. I was flooded with fury at the injustice as I heard my mother’s name and my outstretched hand became a fist. The speaker’s voice cut off. He grabbed his throat as the other council leaders rushed to him. His choking face stared directly at me, unquestionably an accusation, and I realized I was cutting off his windpipe, as if it were there in my outstretched fist. I released my grip.
He was surrounded now, and the room was filled with a roar of commotion and terror. My ears rang sharply, and I had to look away from it all. When I turned, I caught my reflection in one of the larger mirrors, but it wasn’t me. No, it must be me but … unrecognizable. Not unrecognizable. My hair was dark and windblown. The bell sleeve of the long white gown hung from my still outstretched arm, and the pendant against my chest seemed to be glowing. I ran.
As I ran from the chamber, I couldn't tell if anyone had even noticed, they all appeared to be staring at the speaker. Regardless, I concentrated furiously on not being followed. Do not catch me, do not find me, do not follow, do not find me, let me go, let me be safe, I was almost chanting in my thoughts. Out the building, out of the village, running as fast as I could, I kept thinking it over and over and over. I didn’t know where I would go, I just wanted away.
I found myself heading in the same direction I had the day before. But no, hiding in a briar patch wouldn’t work this time. Where was I going? I remembered my prior conclusion: they would find me if they wanted, it would be easy enough to find an elf with no magic and no clue. I stopped running. I tried to go back through what had just happened, but it was too painful. I was so confused, so tired. I decided when they found me, I would surrender. I could see no other option.
No one came. I wasn’t going back, but apparently they weren’t coming for me, either. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I had nothing outside of home, outside of the village. I didn’t know where to go, didn’t even know where I was really; just another clearing outside of the only town I’d ever known, or ever remembered knowing. I decided to find the briar patch. It wasn’t far, so I found it easily and crawled into the narrow path I’d made the last time. I hadn’t realized what a tight fit it was then. The stupid dress wasn’t helping. I settled in and reached over to brush the loose dirt off the papers I had buried.
I laid the soiled documents on my lap and unbound the laces. I couldn't believe what I was reading was true, but there it was, the ancient parchment against the smudged white fabric of my skirt, letters on the page as real and words as patent as could be. Details of a trial, and not only a trial, a punishment assigned as a result. The punishment of Francine Katteryn Glaforia, found guilty of practicing dark magic.
Her sentence included some sort of service to her community and a spell binding her from using magic of any kind except practical. I was dumbfounded. I had never considered it before, but as I thought about it, searching for proof the documents were wrong, I realized Aunt Fannie had never used magic for anything but service. It hadn’t seemed unusual to me, it was just the way it had always been and I could barely do anything besides light a candle. Was this why council was so quick to accuse me of practicing dark magic? It was rarely even discussed and never tolerated. What had Fannie done?
I kept flipping through the pages, and I realized something was out of place. It didn't make sense, official documents about Fannie would be among those relating the apparent extinction of the northern clans. Why had all the documents I’d found about the tragedy been separated, mixed up, and missing pages? I tried to sort it out and found there were other council documents there, too.
I kept reading, quickly scanning the pages for something of interest. My eyes caught it a second before my brain; I recognized a name … Chevelle Vattier. I backed up and read. Shock and disbelief turned to fury before I could even finish the page. Chevelle Vattier had been a volunteer watcher. He had volunteered to watch … me?
Brief confusion was followed by a swift, white-hot anger. As it flooded through me, the pages I held burst into flames. I stood, pushing out of the briars, and the brush around me caught, swirling away into an orange plume of flame. They had set a watcher on me. Why? Because Fannie had practiced dark magic? Were they afraid she’d teach me? I’d show them dark magic. I’d learn and go back and … But how? How could I learn without a teacher?
Chevelle.
The fire suddenly died as I thought of the concern he’d shown me in the clearing, the tender moment we’d shared. With one word, the flames caught again, burning with a vengeance through the field. Watcher. None of it had been real.
He was a watcher, he’d volunteered to watch me, to keep me in line.
So I’d teach myself, take the risk and learn the magic without guidance. What did I have to lose? The plan was formed now: I’d practice until I was strong enough to return to the village. Wasting no time, I spotted a small toad and concentrated on it, willing it to turn to a moth. It started to swell like a tiny green balloon
, but suddenly burst, spewing entrails that reached the hem of my dress.
Ack.
It took a while, but the anger eventually faded enough I realized I’d need a new plan. I regretted the flames had consumed the documents that had caused all of this to begin with. I should have fully read them first.
I heard a noise across the clearing. My fire had burned out, but the ashes were plenty evidence I’d been here. I ducked under the cover of a large spruce and watched in the direction the noise had come from. Chevelle walked through the tree line. I had to bite down against the urge to growl.
He was alone. He kept walking as he looked in my direction, surveying the damage from the fire. I was sure he’d know it was me, but he didn’t stop or even slow. I wondered why he didn’t; was he not looking for me?
I knew Chevelle was my watcher and now I was missing. So where would he be going? I remembered that before I torched his paperwork I had seen Junnie noted as his contact. Would he be going to her, to get her help in finding me? He was my watcher, I’d be his responsibility, and she was the only one who knew me besides Fannie. He was a good fifty yards farther as I considered. I started to follow him, but I didn’t know far should I go, didn’t know if he was even truly going to Junnie.
What else do I have to do, I thought, sit here and blow up frogs? I slinked out from the branches of the spruce and crept low along the trees and brush as I followed him north.
Chapter Six
Trails
Chevelle kept a quick pace and I found myself struggling to keep up. Though, unlike me, he didn’t have to dodge between rocks and trees, bent over while watching the ground to keep from breaking twigs and watching ahead to keep from being spotted. I cursed the formal dress I’d been dragging as it snagged on a low-lying thicket. I considered dumping it, but didn’t think it was the best idea to be sneaking around the forest naked. After crossing a few soggy patches of moss, the hem was damp and darkened. I might have ripped off some of the excess material, but Chevelle’s movement wasn’t leaving me time for that.
Finally, just before nightfall, we approached a small village. It didn’t look like more than half a dozen structures scattered against the base of a large hill. Chevelle dropped the simple pack he’d been carrying beside a tree and hunched down as he slowed his pace. I wasn’t sure what he was doing until I recognized the stance. It mirrored mine. He was sneaking.
I couldn’t figure why he would be stealing into the village as I watched him creep around the back of a small hut, but I knew wherever we were, that if he was hiding, I definitely didn’t want to get caught. He leapt into a rear window and I followed as low and slow as I could. When I reached the last tree I could use for cover, I darted up against the hut and tried to peer through a gap in the twigs. I heard whispers.
“… you mustn’t let them find you … shouldn’t have come …” It was dim inside, but I caught a glimpse of a figure through the wall and knew it was Junnie.
Chevelle was whispering to her. I couldn’t quite hear him, but he must have given her a short account of the morning’s events. I moved closer to the window and found a larger gap there.
“Were you able to track her?” Junnie asked in a low voice.
“Not exactly,” he replied smoothly. She looked at him questioningly as he glanced around the room. “She’s following me.”
Heat flooded my face. I couldn’t believe he’d fooled me again. I didn’t care what else they had to say, I stood and marched away, fuming at the idea that both of them were in on it. They’d betrayed me, lied to me, acted as if they’d cared. I was done with them. Fannie, the village, everyone. I wanted as far away from all of it as possible.
But I didn’t make it far. Exhaustion caught up with me a few miles later and I found an old oak tree, sliding down its massive trunk to rest my aching legs. I’d never run so far in my life and my head throbbed from the gnarl of thoughts. I didn’t sleep. I sat, leaned against the tree, probably looking like a sullen child. I held my hand up and flipped a flame, tossing it up and down, turning it above my palm. I was hungry, but I didn’t eat. Too stubborn and angry to find food, too resentful I didn’t have the magic to bring it to me. Yes, like a child.
When bright sun and chirping birds tore into my finally still senses, I squinted my eyes open and had to resist the urge to stop the birds. It was the first time I’d slept away from my bed; disoriented, I glanced around. It didn’t help. I’d never been far from home and the new landscape was unsettling. I looked away. Beside me lay a neatly stacked pile of fabric topped with a small loaf of bread, and I silently cursed the watchers that had apparently found me during the night.
I didn’t see them anywhere, so I assumed they’d left me out here as punishment. A large part of me wanted to burn the pile for spite, but my stomach overruled the thought. I grabbed the bread, devouring it, and—since I had already taken their ration—I figured I might as well accede and get out of this ridiculous dress. I listened hard and located the trickling sound of water before scooping up the pile of clothes. Following the sound to a small creek only a short distance away, I climbed down to a little area where the water had pooled and knelt, leaning over to splash my face.
Sheer panic shot through me as I saw someone looking back at me. I started to bolt upright, planning to flee, but caught myself. The woman in the reflection was me; that was my dark hair and flushed skin. I cautiously leaned back over the pool. The water was dark and so I hoped it made the image more frightening than it was. My eyes couldn’t have been that dark, my hair almost black. I straightened and held a piece of my hair forward to examine. It shimmered in the bright sunlight, glossy black. I dropped my hand away from my hair in distress. Maybe it was wrong; maybe I could wash it out. I stepped into the pool and sank down under the water. The thought of staying under crossed my mind briefly, but the cold water gave me a shot of reason. I stood, walking out in what was now a drenched, heavy gown that hung uncomfortably to the ground.
I loosened the wet corset ties and dropped the dress to my feet, stepping out of it onto the rocks. Shivering, I grabbed a shirt from the pile and slid it over my head. As I pulled on the pants, I noticed how nice the fabric felt, how good the cut. I laced the leather vest over the shirt. It seemed they were tailored for me; I’d never had such luck making my own clothes. These were trim and fit, much better for traveling. But where was I going? Back to the village? To be punished for my crimes? I glanced around, still no sign of my watchers as I slid my shoes on. I should have kept running during the night, but I’d been too exhausted.
There was a pack in the pile as well, so I picked up the dress, trying to decide whether to stuff it in wet or carry it separately and get my new clothes soaked, when the pouch I had hidden before the trial fell free of the material.
I tossed the dress over a branch and sat down on a large, flat rock to examine the leather pouch. I’d carried it for days now and had no idea what was inside. Tugging the binding loose, I dumped the contents into my hand. A small dark ruby, a silver medallion, and a tiny scroll lay in my palm. I held the stone up to the light. Aside from the depth of color, it didn’t seem extraordinary. I examined the medallion, but didn’t recognize the emblems. Dropping them back into the pouch, I opened the scroll and tried to read the first line of the tiny script. “Fellon Strago Dreg.”
Electricity shot through my hands and I dropped the scroll like it was a venomous snake. I held my hands up to inspect; they felt like they had been scorched. As I turned my palms inward, I smelled the unmistakable stench of charred flesh. There were curving lines and symbols covering them. Burned into them. I gasped. I’d been around fire magic for as long as I could remember, and it had never burnt me or any other elf as far as I knew. Usually, it would only burn what it was meant to burn.
I glanced back down at the scroll, realizing the fire magic had been meant to burn. I should have never had read the words aloud. I carefully picked it up and rolled it back in place, certain I would not be reading from it ag
ain. Returning it to the pocket, I bound the pouch as I had found it and looked again at my hands, trying to decipher the lines.
I realized I was looking at a map. Yes, it was burned into my palms, but it was a map. I wondered briefly why anyone would have a ridiculous spell like that when it hit me that I had taken it from the family vault, from my own family’s things. I bit down hard on my lip, fighting the impulsive urge that always got me into trouble. But I didn’t want to go back, not ever. And I only had this one chance, whatever small moment before they came to retrieve me.
I grabbed the dress off the tree branch threw it and the pouch—all evidence of me being here, all the possessions I could claim—into the tiny pack. Swinging it around onto my back, I started to run. I didn’t know where I was or where the map would take me, but I knew one thing … there were mountains burned into my palms and I only knew of one place to find mountains. North.
I couldn’t remember much of life before going to live with my aunt, Fannie. The village and surrounding meadows and forests were the only home I’d had, the only place I’d actually known. It wasn’t exactly a comforting place, but there was something to be said for knowing where you were, where to find food, shelter, and water. I'd been filled with determination when I’d started running, concentrating on north and not being found; nothing else. But as I made my way, I realized what a small little terrarium I’d been living in. The land here had started to roll gently, the trees were a deeper green and smaller; most wouldn’t have even been suitable for a single inhabitant, let alone a family. I didn’t think I’d gone that far, half a day following Chevelle and now today on my own, but it was already changed so much that it made me even more anxious to see the North.
