by Narro, B. T.
“Because your father survived the attack. Do you know anything about him?” Reela spoke in a rush, like she was expecting something to stop her at any moment.
“Just that he’s gone, along with the rest of the Elves.” Although it wasn’t a question, there was a lift in pitch as if Vithos was hoping for it to be answered like one. He leaned even closer toward Reela.
Her eyes were heavy with worry. “When the Krepps attacked the Elves with Doe and Haemon, your mother tied you and your brother to wolves that had been befriended over years of psyche. She had them run south in hopes of reaching the Humans in Kyrro. She was killed by Krepps soon after.”
Reela stopped so Zoke could translate. She watched Vithos patiently, waiting for any questions, but he said nothing when Zoke had finished. Instead, he nodded to himself with a tight mouth as if he already knew.
“Your father ran with the wolves,” Reela said, “doing everything he could to distract the Krepps away from them so they could escape. He was King of the Elves and the strongest psychic of them. But he got held up when Krepps tackled him. He managed to break free, but he lost sight of the wolves. He found a dead wolf later without any signs of you nearby. By the tracks, he could tell you’d been taken, while the other wolf made it out with no signs of your brother falling off.”
Vithos clung to every word as Zoke translated, but his eyes rarely darted away from Reela. “Neither my father nor my brother died in the battle?” Vithos asked.
“No,” she answered, but her face was not as happy as it should have been by her answer. When Vithos heard it from Zoke, his mouth twitched as if starting to grin, but it never made it there. “Your father followed the Krepp tracks and found you,” Reela continued, “but there was nothing he could do against so many Krepps that Doe and Haemon had guarding you. So he went to Kyrro first, hoping to find his other son and get help from the Humans to retrieve you. Your brother, Rek—his name is Rek. His name was the only thing they could get out of him when King Westin Kimard took him in. They spoke different languages, and Rek was very young. Do you recognize the name?”
Vithos made a face like the shapes of memories were taking over his vision. “Yes, I do!” he answered in shock. “Rek…” he whispered the name to himself.
Zoke had been so caught up in translating he hadn’t even noticed the Fjallejon wiping his back with leaves. That is, until she started rubbing something on him that made his scaly skin feel like it had caught on fire.
He jumped from the stool in reflex. “That burns!”
“Sit, still much to do,” the Fjallejon said sternly. “Sit.”
He wiped a claw along his back, bringing it around to have a look at the substance she was putting on him. It was a thick cream, colored bright orange. Reela waved her hand in front of her nose. “Quite a smell to it,” she said.
“You want quick heal, do you?” the Fjallejon asked as Zoke reluctantly sat back on the tiny stool. It gave a loud squeak.
“Yes,” he replied. He didn’t care about the Human’s warning from earlier. If it would get him out sooner, that’s what he preferred.
“Good. I make cups.”
Having no idea what that meant, he went back to translating Vithos’ last words for Reela.
Her smile doubled in length when she heard. “I had a feeling you said that you remembered,” she said with eyes locked on Vithos. “Even though we don’t speak the same language, I can still feel much of what you feel.”
Vithos was nodding his head in agreement as Zoke translated what Reela had said. “Keep going,” Vithos said when Zoke was finished. “What happened next?”
Zoke couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Vithos this eager for anything. The Elf stood with one foot forward, leaning most of his weight on it. Zoke imagined he’d feel the same way if he was about to find out whether or not Zeti was still alive.
“Once your father was in Kyrro, he looked for your brother, Rek, but there were three large cities, and no one spoke Elvish. When he finally came to Kyrro City, which has the King’s castle in its center, everyone was gathering there for an announcement from Westin Kimard. The King had a child with him—a small Elf, the only Elf in the entire city. Your father knew it was Rek but not what was being said.”
Reela waited for Zoke to finish translating. Vithos’ eyes went even wider when he heard, but he said nothing.
“What your father didn’t know,” Reela continued, “was that the King was announcing that the ‘mistreated’ Elf boy had come into the city tied to a wolf, and that the boy was to be looked after like a son by the King and his staff. While everyone applauded and cheered the King’s generosity, your father tried to push through the guards to get to Rek. They took it as a threat to the King and threw him to the ground. He used psyche to fight back, but he couldn’t get through, and he was eventually beaten unconscious.”
The Fjallejon returned and said something to Zoke while he was finishing translating. He didn’t catch it but could feel something round being pushed against his back. There was a sudden sharp pain like a knife piercing his skin. He jumped up and flipped around to see what it was.
He caught sight of a wooden bowl falling to the ground. Out of it came some sort of insect he hadn’t seen before. It was the size of two fingers side by side with a stinger on its rear that was just longer than a claw. It was straight and long with six legs. Its head was just an extension of its rod-like body, but with small eyes and a strange puckering mouth that looked out of place.
“I said get ready for puckersting,” the Fjallejon said with a hint of annoyance. Quicker than Zoke could pull his dagger, she scooped up the creature, tossed it back into the bowl, and pointed at the stool. “Sit. Puckersting make you better. Bring blood to wound. Ancient remedy. Krepp should know. You been in Ovira long as Fjallejon.”
“Krepp don’t know,” Zoke replied with frustration from the painful surprise. “Krepp never seen that before.” He touched his back where he’d been stung, sending a flash of excruciating pain through his heart and to his chest on the other side. He winced through his teeth.
“Be calm and sit. It hurt now but better later,” she said, pushing down on his shoulder with tiny hands as light as a gentle breeze.
“Zoke.” Vithos put a hand on his other shoulder. Immediately he felt soothed, and the pain became a mere distraction. “I need to hear the rest of the story from Reela.” With raised eyebrows, his face was pleading. In all the years Zoke had seen Vithos pass judgment, never did he have this expression. Zoke nodded forgivingly and asked Reela to go on.
She smiled as her eyes stayed on Vithos. It was a tranquil grin behind a sad face. “Your father was taken to prison.” She gave a quick glance to Zoke. “Do you know what prison is?”
“No,” he answered.
“A small room with locked doors,” she said. “No way out.” She waited for him to translate as best he could.
“How do you know all this?” Vithos asked with nothing in his tone to show he had any doubt that Reela spoke the truth. Zoke realized it was a question based on curiosity, not accusation. He tried to demonstrate this when he translated.
“The King questioned your father with the help of my mother. Her name is Airy. She was a translator for the King. Through Airy’s translation, your father explained everything that I’m telling you now—everything that Doe and Haemon and the Krepps did to the Elves that lead your father and Rek to Kyrro City.”
The moment Zoke finished translating, Reela continued without waiting for Vithos to respond. “Unfortunately, the King at the time was a greedy man. He was very power-hungry and nervous, for he’d just stolen leadership through force, and he was worried the same might happen to him. He wanted to use Rek for his psychic ability. There were hardly any psychics then, and they couldn’t do more than cause a pinch of pain to a Human. But your father was different, giving his Elf son great potential. The King wanted Rek to himself. So he banished your father, told him to leave the city and never come back.”
>
“The King banished my father?” Vithos grew angry. “The current king, Welson Kimard?”
Reela nervously shook her head as she heard Vithos say the name. “No,” she answered, not needing Zoke to finish translating it back for her. “It was the father to our current King. He was killed nineteen years ago by a long-range arrow. The shooter was never discovered.”
“I understand,” Vithos answered, although his face was still tense. “I want to know what happened to my father and my brother.”
“Your father couldn’t give up when Rek was so close,” Reela said. “But when he tried returning to the castle, he was attacked by the King’s Guard. They broke many of his bones and left him for dead. That’s when my mother found him. She took your father into her home and nursed him back to health. She wanted to help him get his sons back.”
Zoke felt the Fjallejon tapping around his back with the bowl as he translated. He was still calm from when Vithos had touched him but couldn’t ignore that he was being stung. The sharp pain made him grit his teeth and grunt whenever it happened, but he found focusing on the translations was helping to ignore it.
“Together, they tried to get Rek back,” Reela continued. “Also, your father travelled once a year to the camp of the Krepps to check on you as well. That went on for five years until Westin Kimard was killed. His son Welson Kimard—our current king—took over. He was never comfortable with his older brother, Rek,” she said with a disdain that Zoke tried to translate into words as best he could. “So, Welson happily released Rek from the confinement of the castle. With the help of Airy’s friend, Councilman Kerr, Rek was moved to Airy’s house in Oakshen to live with your father and her.”
“They’re all still alive?” Vithos asked. Zoke could tell Vithos had been holding in the question as long as possible. Given the first positive turn in the story, it made sense the Elf chose then to finally let it out, but Reela’s face was tight with grief.
“Your father died, Vithos,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
Zoke had no way of translating the word “sorry.” “Reela feels bad” was the closest he could do, he figured, but her face said it louder than any words, so he didn’t even try.
Again, Vithos was nodding to himself like he knew all along, but this time he couldn’t hide the sadness in his eyes as well as he had the last time.
Meanwhile, the Fjallejon brought the wooden bowl around to Zoke’s arm and then his chest. She tapped it with two small fingers as she slid it around, stopping to put her ear against it every few taps. The momentary distraction made Zoke realize how attached to the story he was. He found himself fearful about the ending, for Reela’s face was full of regret. Vithos’ family lives and dies in between her breaths. She’s already killed off his mother and father. The only one left is his brother.
“With Rek safe, your father focused entirely on getting you away from the Krepps and Doe and Haemon,” Reela continued. “There was no way to get the army he needed to take you by force, but Airy did have enough money for them to hire a very skilled assassin for a stealth mission.” Zoke didn’t know the words “assassin,” “stealth,” or “mission,” so it took some time for Reela to explain.
The Fjallejon returned the bowl to wherever she’d gotten it and started chanting a soft song heavy in rhythm while wiping petals of an orange flower over his body. Sometimes, she swayed back and forth, grabbing his shoulders to move him with her as best she could. The stool creaked so loudly that Zoke nearly had to shout to be heard.
When Zoke finished describing the stealth mission to Vithos, Reela continued. “Your father and the assassin never got to you, Vithos. They were stopped by Doe and Haemon and thousands of Krepps. It was impossible to sneak in. The assassin said so when she made it back. She and your father got closed in from behind. They tried to fight their way out, but Doe and Haemon saw them and cast fireballs the size of boulders. Your father was hit, killed instantly. The assassin barely made it out, coming back to tell my mother what happened.”
The Fjallejon had stopped chanting by the time Zoke finished translating. Reela didn’t continue right away, in case Vithos had something to say.
For a while, Vithos just looked at her with empty eyes. The Fjallejon went to the corner of the room to get something. The only sound was her tiny feet shuffling around the stone floor.
“I remember that,” Vithos said eventually. “They announced that we were attacked. I saw the charred body. I was happy to see him dead, to hear that Doe and Haemon killed him. I had no idea he was my father. I can’t say how old I was, as I never knew my birthday, but I was still a child.” A tear fell from his cheek. “I was happy for his death. I thought he was an enemy. I was so stupid. I saw my father’s dead body, and I was happy.” Vithos looked as if he wanted to leave the room, like he wanted to curl into a ball and cry where no one could see him. His eyes avoided everyone, staring nowhere specific.
Even without any translation from Zoke, Reela moved close to Vithos and threw her arms around him. He seemed to embrace it with affection, wrapping his arms around her as well. It was a hug, rare among Krepps, but the same concept. He knew Humans did this with each other—he’d read about it—but seeing it for the first time was interesting. It calmed him to watch.
“You couldn’t have known,” Zoke told Vithos in Kreppen before translating for Reela. “Don’t be mad at yourself for this.” Then he gave Reela the short version of what he’d said, knowing she already could see the Elf’s sadness.
“At least I can help you know your age,” Reela told Vithos with reserved excitement. “You’re nine years older than me, the same age as your brother, Rek. I’m seventeen. You and Rek are twenty-six. Your brother still lives, Vithos.” She raised her arms as if to warn him. “But he’s being sent hundreds of miles away, across the ocean. He’s going to Goldram. It’s north of Meritar, where the Elves came from and sailed back to when they were attacked here in Ovira. Rek wants to stay here and fight, but he was forced to leave. He knows about you. He’s been trying to find a way to come and get you.”
She took Vithos’ hand as Zoke translated. She leaned in and spoke with a soft, yet stern tone. “I know you want revenge against Doe and Haemon. I can feel it. Rek does, too. And so do I.” With those last words, her eyes were hard with resolve.
When Zoke finished translating, Vithos didn’t move. His eyebrows made no motion of rising, and his mouth remained a gentle frown. However, there was a palpable change in the way he looked at Reela. He knew something about her now. Even Zoke could feel it. But Zoke didn’t know what it was until Vithos spoke.
“You’re his blood. That’s what it is, why I know you. You’re half him. You’re half sister to me.”
Reela nodded before Zoke even began translating. “Your father didn’t know Airy was pregnant with me when he left,” she said when Zoke was ready.
“Sister to me…” His eyes were wide in shock. “Can I see them?” he asked, reaching a hand toward the side of her head. “A sister and a brother,” he said incredulously.
Reela understood without Zoke’s help. She started to reach into her hair, but she stopped suddenly, holding a hand up. “Someone’s coming,” she whispered. “This has to remain a secret for now. I’ll explain later.”
Realizing no one coming would know Kreppen, Zoke translated her whispers to Vithos as he saw Steffen speed into the room with a smile, completely oblivious to the solemn mood of everyone else. He was holding Zoke’s bow and wore the quiver around his back.
“I wanted to return this,” he said, holding out the bow to Zoke. “And thank you for saving my life.”
A flood of saliva came to Zoke’s mouth. The insult of offering back the weapon, along with the weak gratitude of thanking him, was too much for him to swallow. He spat toward a corner of the room. “The bow was a gift, and there’s no need to thank me when you saved mine as well.”
“No spit,” the Fjallejon told him. “This clean room. Very bad luck.”
“I d
on’t believe in luck,” he replied, readying his feet to stand. Just then, the stool gave one last squeak before one of its legs snapped in half. It sent him into the ground face first. He lay sprawled on his stomach for two breaths as he gathered the strength to get up. When he lifted his head, the Fjallejon was there in front of him with her arms folded.
“Now you believe? You have bad luck. You must kiss someone you like for it to go away. This is known. Do Krepps kiss?”
“Not this Krepp.” Krepps did kiss, but even more rarely than they hugged. He’d read that Humans kiss for many reasons, even on each other’s mouth. It was a strange concept, as Krepps would only kiss another’s cheek or forehead when welcoming another family member or when saying goodbye to them. The last time he’d been kissed was by his mother the morning before she died.
“Then you keep bad luck,” the Fjallejon replied. “You bring danger to friends.”
He lifted himself to his knees. Steffen walked around in front of him, holding an expression of embarrassment. “You can kiss me if you want, not that it would mean anything, just to repay you for your gift.”
“Gifts are not meant to be repaid, and don’t mention kissing again without expecting spit on your feet.” Zoke spat again, though he made sure to avoid Steffen.
The Fjallejon shook her head and let out a quick ticking sound. “Bad luck. Very bad luck for big-mouth Krepp.”
Chapter 57: Blanketed
EFFIE
When Effie’s eyes peeled open, she didn’t know where she was or how long she’d been unconscious. There was a soft roar. It sounded like a waterfall was somewhere in the distance. Her vision was blurred as if she was wearing someone else’s glasses. She tried to raise her hands to rub her eyes but couldn’t find the strength. It looked like people were still fighting, but the image of them was slowly turning away from her. Every time she blinked, they jumped back to standing upright, yet the slow spin wouldn’t stop.
The battle is still happening. Get up and fight. Again she tried to rub her eyes so she could see her enemies, but her arm never moved.
