by Linn Tesli
Birken returned with three ferrets skewered on an arrow and began preparing them. Everine was too famished to intervene. She briefly thought about putting out the fire so as not to be seen, but they should be far enough ahead of the Silverlings. Besides, they needed to eat.
Her stomach growled as she took the first bite. The lean meat nearly melted on her tongue. “This wasn’t our deal, Birken,” she pointed out. “I’m supposed to cook, remember?”
Birken managed a discernible response between mouthfuls. “I figured since I was supposed to protect the two of you, and you saved my life instead, it’s the least I can do.”
Everine didn't disagree, though in truth he had saved her first. As they ate, Ayva slept.
Birken stared at Everine with unblinking eyes. Uncomfortable and self-aware of her figure, she pulled her knees up in front of her, wrapping her arms around them. Her round and soft features had to be strange to him, as an Earthling, though she had a feeling he didn’t mind strange all that much.
Everine was not used to men looking at her like that. Aurora had always been the more endearing sister. Men passed Everine by in favor of Aurora. Even their parents had often put Aurora’s needs first. They had all assumed she would be the first to marry. She was as beautiful as she was kind and caring. Of course, Everine had seen in her sister what everyone else had, and she had been especially proud of her for her selfless nature.
As if he knew what she was thinking, Birken asked, “You said you had a sister? I’m sorry you’ve had to endure so much. What about your parents, though? Do they still live?”
Everine bit down on her lip at the memories. She had spent a lot of years trying to bury the pain of losing them into the depths of her heart. The thought of them, however, still hurt.
“Our parents died in a terrible accident when we were quite young—the ground opened up and swallowed them whole, along with a number of other traders on their way from Blanchess Bay to the city of Beregend.” She paused, dragging her fingers through the dirt. “It must have been my eleventh year. The cleft afterwards left in the earth now serves as a defensive trench near the village of Avionnè.”
The smoke from the campfire clouded Birken’s eyes. “Now I’m truly sorry. I know the incident you speak about.”
Everine stared at the ground. Never one for crying, she had not shed a single tear for the loss of her parents, but Aurora had been inconsolable. Left to care for Aurora, Everine had decided that her sister should never want for anything.
When times had been hardest, Everine attempted to conceal their misfortune from her sister. She was not particularly proud of some of what she had done to accomplish this, but she never doubted the necessity. Stealing for their survival had been better than starving.
“How did you manage to get by on your own?” Birken asked, blowing rings of smoke into the flames.
“The kindness of a friend. She was a Siren and a real blessing to us. We would have never made it without her help.” Everine smiled wearily, though her heart was laden with grief. If she had known she was going to run, she wouldn’t have told Sereana to leave. But there had been no time to seek her out once the decision was made.
Sereana had come to Beregend to work as a songstress for a rich lord who had fallen in love with her voice. Her mother had sold her for a bucketful of jewels and the promise that Sereana would be given whatever she needed, as long as she stayed loyal to her master. He had been true to his word, and sometimes Sereana had shared her master’s generosity with Everine. She would always be thankful for that. No matter their misfortunes, Everine had always been particular about making it seem publicly as though their situation was better than it was. No man would have wanted to marry either of them otherwise. Not that anyone ever had.
“What do you know of the unicorns and their healing powers?” Everine asked, hoping to change the subject.
Birken’s gaze fell on her uninjured wrist. “I know their power comes from their horns, but it’s closely linked to their hearts. If removed, the unicorns are simply large horses. One can reforge their horns into powerful talismans. Mind you, the unicorn must have shed the horn and its powers of its own free will, or else the talisman will simply be a worthless trinket. Anything performed with the horn is an act of love, and so it has no power if taken from them by force. Also, the unicorn’s magic can be spent.”
Everine glanced at her mare and whispered, “What happens if they spend it all?”
“They die.”
Birken sucked on his pipe and leaned back on one elbow. Changing the topic again, Everine asked something she had been wondering for some time. “I know we met on a merchant ship, but what exactly is it that you do for a living, Birk?”
He chewed on his meat and replied with his mouth full. “I’m a bounty hunter.”
Everine returned to her food. Bounty hunters would do anything to catch their prize. Given the low price for which he had agreed to travel with her, he didn’t strike her as someone who valued wealth. Perhaps he was in it for the action? It fit, though, given his references to his extensive travels and the explanation he had given Yirin about who Everine was. From what she knew, Earthlings rarely left the Chasm or travelled by themselves—not unless they had good reason.
The image of Yirin’s dead body flashed before Everine’s eyes. She had managed to shut the memory out of her mind during the ride, but now it flooded back, along with everything that had happened inside the stable. A tear trickled down her cheeks.
“I’m sorry about Yirin,” she said.
Shadows crossed Birken’s face. “Yirin was a close friend. She was one of the last wild elves to attempt to save the few free unicorns left in Aradria. The ones she cared for had escaped capture. More often than not, they were badly wounded. She would tend to them for as long as they needed, and they were allowed to stay if they wanted and leave when they wished. Those we saw in the stables would have faced a terrible fate if they were captured. I don’t know how far they’ll get, but at least we gave them a chance.”
The knowledge of Yirin’s sacrifice made Everine even more remorseful about her death. She worried about the future of the unicorns Yirin had died to protect.
Clenching his jaw, Birken stared through the smoke. “The Silverlings have long executed vile deeds in the name of the Heartless King of Êvina—the self-proclaimed King of Aradria, Archenon.” He spat the words in disgust. “Now it seems the Zila’r-nath have begun propagating this evil of their own accord. Sickness spreads from the plains of Caradrea.”
Everine continued eating her meal in silence. Birken fell into his own thoughts for a while before sitting up abruptly.
“I don’t think the two of you should settle down in Caradrea after all, Ev.”
She stared at him with surprise. “What else would I do?”
A puff of smoke escaped the mouth of Birken’s pipe. He seemed to ponder her question carefully.
“I think you should come with me. Now, hear me out before you refuse. I don’t think Caradrea is safe, but I know a place where the king’s eyes don't venture. I’m heading home, and I believe the Chasm of Bermunnos will be the safest place in Aradria for you to raise your child. I vowed to protect you, and this is the best way I know how.”
He sounded so sure of himself, but Everine was not as certain as he was. Besides, she didn't wish to continue burdening him with their safety.
As she slept that night, Everine didn't rest easily. Bleeding corpses inhabited her dreams. Crimson pools clouded her vision, and the sound of twisted voices made her insides revolt.
The taste of bile coated her tongue and the nightmares still pestered Everine’s mind as she woke to find Birken strapping a basket onto the neck of her mare.
He smiled and said gingerly, “I thought it might be better for the both of you if Ayva had a cradle of sorts. I’ve made it fit in front of the saddle.”
Nodding, Everine hid her distress. Birken must have spent most of the night making the cradle. Thankful for the
relief of not having to carry Ayva, she began preparing breakfast. She mixed wheat, rye, water and spices to make bread. She also made horse bread from beans and peas to feed the unicorns. They were quite content eating the tall grass in the forest, but it didn't hurt to provide them with something else as well. She placed the doughs on a grill above the fire and fed Ayva.
Birken and Everine ate without much conversation. They both knew they could not stay in one spot for much longer.
“Your mare needs a name,” Birken said when they had nearly finished. “I’ve come to agreements with my stallion that he should be named Blaze.” The black unicorn neighed proudly and stomped the ground. Both Birken and the creature looked equally content with their decision.
“Oh, I hadn’t even thought of that.” Standing, she patted the stallion on its chest. “Nice to make your acquaintance, Blaze.” Everine curtsied, and inclined her head. “Of course you need names.”
Turning, she went to stroke her mare’s muzzle. “What do you think?” The muscles in the mare tightened as she looked deep into Everine’s eyes. The mare was not as big or as sturdy as Blaze, but Everine felt she had willpower to compensate for her physical shortcomings.
She had protected Everine and Ayva in the stable with no concern for her own wellbeing. It was as though Everine could see inside her soul. She was a fighter, this one.
It came to Everine like a whisper in the back of her mind, as if she had known it all along. “How do you feel about Dandelion?”
A rumble of amusement sounded from behind her, and Everine turned to see Birken in fits of laughter on the ground.
“You want to name her after a weed? That’s a way to say ‘Thank you for riding me to safety.’” He pretended to hold onto tiny reins while galloping his fingers through the grass.
“First off, I wasn’t talking to you,” Everine said sourly, as Birken kept rolling on the ground. “Now, hold your horses, Earthling. Yes, it’s a weed. It’s a strong weed—resilient and forceful. It finds a way to grow and spread in the cracks of a mountain just as well as in the soil of the forest. Where nothing else will grow, the dandelion finds its way. I believe it’s a fitting name for a formidable survivor. Besides, it compliments her color.”
Dandelion whinnied in agreement and threw her head back, shaking her mane with pride.
Birken got to his feet, wiped his eyes, and collected himself. “It certainly fits her spirit. Fair enough. Now, we need to make haste.”
Everine could not agree more. She placed Ayva in the basket. Birken had not only lined its insides with soft moss, he had also made straps to hold the baby in place using thongs he had taken from the saddlebags. Ayva would be safe and shielded. Tucking her securely in a blanket, Everine strapped her in before mounting Dandelion. Birken had made sure Ayva’s basket was positioned carefully so that Everine could see her while riding.
Everine offered Birken a warm smile to let him know how thankful she was for his thoughtfulness. Grinning, he ran toward Blaze and mounted the unicorn by vaulting into the saddle from behind.
Once they rejoined the trail, the unicorns galloped toward the Caradrean border. Everine focused on the rhythm of the ride to block out all the horrible images that inhabited her mind. She allowed herself to think of nothing but the sound of the unicorn’s hooves racing through the forest.
Who knew what would lie beyond the borders of the Land of Air?
10
The Tale of Creation
- Pyralis -
Pyralis pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He leaned over the scroll of parchment while dipping his quill in the ink, recording his thoughts with careful precision.
Dear Gaija
I am concerned. Centuries have passed, and the second coming is almost upon us. With the Elemental regents gone, Aradria has been thrown into chaos once more. Over the past two centuries, nature has become unbalanced, and what dwells in the dark has begun to surface. It troubles me that the spirits have lingered for so long. I fear it might not be enough.
Pyralis lifted his head at the sound of footsteps from the hall. But he had bolted the doors to prevent anyone from entering, and the sound of footsteps soon faded away. More at ease, Pyralis returned to his letter.
Three-headed beasts and creatures of old have emerged from the abyss and other dark corners across Aradria. The lands have been plagued by nature’s untamed fury in the form of such catastrophes as typhoons, tidal waves, and wildfires. I hope you're safe in Catyan Forest. Nature cannot tolerate the unbalance much longer.
I fear for Aradria, though we both knew of the consequences. The king has gained many allies, and he has been able to see almost everything through his sorcery. I am glad to report that he has not yet seen the child.
Pyralis paused, smiling at a painting on the wall, which portrayed a white trunk twisted around itself and the roots of a tree as old as time. It was a vivid image. With a sense of renewed hope, he finished his letter.
I believe the new age is on the brink of unfolding. Perhaps we might have peace at last.
Until next time.
Yours always, dhin vèhn, Pyralis
“He’s found them, wizard.”
Pyralis turned to look at the squirrel dangling precariously from the top of the window frame.
“Greetings, Rhastoc. That is fortunate.” Pyralis picked up the parchment and waved it decisively to dry the ink before rolling it up and binding it with a red ribbon.
“Do you really think he can keep them safe?” The squirrel flipped around and landed elegantly on the windowsill.
“If anyone can, it would be him. Besides, I have paid him more than enough.”
“There might be hope for Aradria yet. You should have seen her, wise one. She’s but a few days old and has already performed magic.” Rhastoc ground a nut between his sharp claws and banged it thrice on the edge of the windowsill.
Pyralis pulled out another scroll. The image of a fire-breathing dragon covered the entirety of the page. A few lines in Ancient Arvish were scrawled across the dragon’s stomach. With his palms resting on the edges of the parchment, Pyralis read aloud: “Nier ith vaktir doder, ith Draykaer oth sveva ohm nhytt.”
“When the keeper is dead, the dragon will fly again.” Rhastoc waved his arms wildly. “It will come to pass.”
“Yes. We cannot avoid the second coming,” Pyralis said, meeting the squirrel’s gaze. “All we can do is give the children the best possible chance to survive it.”
“What of the king?”
“He must not know. I suppose he may find out, sooner or later. Let’s pray for later, shall we?” Pyralis shuddered and rolled the scroll back in on itself. He bound it carefully, buried it underneath a pile of other scrolls, and shoved them all to the back of the bookshelves.
Rhastoc watched him while nibbling on the nut, which he had successfully split in two. “This has proved to be a most interesting partnership, my friend. It’s been a long time coming, though it feels like only yesterday that we all met under the shade of the Mother Tree.”
Picking up the letter, Pyralis walked over to Rhastoc. He sat down in a chair next to the window and held out his arm. The squirrel bobbed his head, got to his feet, and bounded happily across his arm, to rest on the wizard’s shoulder.
“How is our old friend, by the way?” Pyralis asked.
“Fine. Waiting. She sends her best. Once the chosen one comes of age—”
“Yes, yes. I know. The fire will escape me.”
“Indeed.” Rhastoc put his long, bristly tale around Pyralis’s neck. Breathing heavily, the wizard scratched Rhastoc on his head.
“I have lived with this burden for so long. It might be nice to let go. Promise me you'll help them?”
“Of course. You know me. As long as I get to watch the show.”
“Oh, and Rhastoc—I have found another, and I want you to stay close to her. Guide her. It’s crucial that we keep them safe. Whatever it takes. You must ask for Hawthorn. He will know of whom I
speak.”
Pyralis stood and approached the painting of the white trunk of the Tree of Aradria. Rhastoc threw down the shell of the nut and jumped on top of the painting’s frame.
“Well, I had better get back to Sonûdor, then. Got a baby girl to see. A pleasure, as always.”
“Don’t forget this.” Pyralis tied the ends of the ribbon into a loop and hung the letter over the squirrel’s neck. “It’s been good to see you too, Rhastoc.”
The squirrel bowed and allowed the painting to swallow him feet first.
Pyralis sighed and went over to his desk. As he slumped down in his armchair, he closed his eyes. Perhaps if he had been a better tutor, things would have turned out differently.
He remembered a lesson spent with Archenon nearly half a millennia ago. There had been a number of these lessons for Archenon to attend over the years before they had even started addressing how to wield his powers. They might have been wrong to neglect his sorcery in the beginning.
If only I had made him understand its significance, everything would be different.
He recalled when Archenon was still young—and had a heart.
In his memory, Pyralis’s eyes darted across the endless amounts of scrolls in the immense Êvina library. Six stories of white, wooden bookcases spanned the walls from top to bottom across the oval room. They contained all of Êvina’s history, and there was no telling what secrets might be uncovered if one were to search the pages long enough.
“Your New Aradrian is coming along nicely, Archenon. You’ll be able to converse with humans and Devlings in no time.” Pyralis was pleased with Archenon’s efforts to refrain from using his mother tongue, Ancient Arvish, in their lessons, but teaching him history was proving to be a struggle. It was hard to keep his interest.
