by Lee Dunning
“Do not finish that sentence. My personal life is of no concern to you. However, that does bring me to another subject—Lady Raven.”
Lady Swiftbrook stepped into the small room, and made a show of placing the bundle of clothing she’d brought onto one of the benches lining the wall. When she turned back, W’rath had settled back against the tub, and dutifully scrubbed his arms and shoulders with the sponge. He cocked his head at her intently as if awaiting whatever wisdom she chose to bestow upon him. She placed her fists on her slim hips in irritation. “Is everything a game to you?”
“Not at all, madam. Thousands of dead elves … I take that very seriously.”
W’rath’s sudden switch to sincerity took her by surprise. He was as changeable as the sea and about as easy to control. Her annoyance flamed up a tad higher.
“But you wanted to discuss Lady Raven? She’s a bright star of hope in this otherwise dismal situation. I fail to see why you approach the subject of her in such a dour manner.”
Lady Swiftbrook’s left eye twitched. “You’re trying to keep me unbalanced and it’s not going to work.”
“It already has.”
“Gah!” She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and then grasped the edge of the tub, bending over so she could look W’rath directly in the eye. “Enough of the games. I’ve seen you leering at her.”
“Admiring, not leering. She’s an incredibly lovely lady,” W’rath said.
“She’s also, despite appearances, a young, inexperienced girl. You and I both saw her before she transformed, so don’t pretend otherwise. Your smartass flirting is out of place, and if you have some fancy idea about bedding her, you’ll have to go through me first.”
W’rath politely refrained from commenting on the obvious interpretation one could take with her words, but she realized what she’d said and flushed. “You know what I mean,” she muttered, her eyes darting to an empty corner.
W’rath continued to scrub himself and studied Lady Swiftbrook. If he narrowed his eyes, with the aid of the steam, he could almost imagine Uruviel Stormchaser stood before him. She too had often had an angry tirade sputter out due to a poor turn of phrase. A sad smile twitched at his lips. She had been his only friend in those dark days. He could certainly use one now as well. Alienating this proud, angry lady over this, especially when he agreed with her, would be foolish. He sighed. “I apologize, madam. I’ve lacked polite company for far too long. I swear to you I shall conduct myself in an honorable manner in regards to Lady Raven.”
Lady Swiftbrook’s gaze drifted back from the corner. “You won’t lay a hand on her until she’s at least a hundred?”
W’rath resisted the urge to ask what was so significant about turning a hundred, and instead raised his hands out of the water. “Not even a finger. And most certainly not without her permission.”
The Sky Elf nodded her approval. “You’re turning into a prune,” she noted.
W’rath examined his puckered fingers in dismay. “I would get out, but I believe I’ve already scandalized you enough for one day.”
“Try a year,” she said. “There’s clothing for you there. You’ll find it’s too big, but it will have to do until we make land.”
With that she swept out. Just outside, a male First Born waited, brow furrowed. He had, no doubt, been posted there to make sure nothing improper went on while the lady visited the naked barbarian in the tub. W’rath pinched the bridge of his nose. All of this prudishness and stuffy decorum would take some getting used to. If only you genteel folk knew how your beloved “The First” had actually behaved. What a rude awakening that would be.
When W’rath finally made his way back to the top deck he saw no sign of Lady Swiftbrook or his unpleasant half-nephew, but a crestfallen Raven had claimed a bit of shade for herself.
“I thought I would find you deeply engrossed in your books,” he said.
She head shot up, startled, and stared at him as if he’d sprouted horns and a tail. “It’s the clothes, isn’t it?” he said, fussing with the too long sleeves. “It must appear as if the wretched stuff is consuming me.”
“That’s not it at all. I flat out didn’t recognize you. You clean up well.”
“Truly?” W’rath said, genuinely surprised.
She gave a shy smile in response and gestured for him to join her. “I’m not reading the books because I’ve discovered I can’t. The writing looks vaguely Elvish, but I can’t for the life of me decipher it. The lady who gave them to me said they’d been in her family for ten generations. I’m assuming they’re so old our language has changed to the point where it might just as well be Orcish.”
“I’m sure given time you will learn to read them,” W’rath said.
“Sure—maybe in a year, with a good instructor, I can learn, but I want to read them now.”
“Ah, the impatience of youth.”
Raven gave him a sour look. “It’s not just that … Councilor Stormchaser implied the contents were important for me to know. Important for us, to all the Shadow Elves.”
“Did you say Stormchaser?”
“Did you know her?”
“No, but I do know the name, and you should too. The Stormchasers can trace their lineage all the way back to the beginning. Most likely, Uverial Stormchaser was the original owner of those books. She’s responsible for creating the first written form of our language—or at least what passed for our language back then.”
“Of course! I knew that. I don’t know where my head has been that I didn’t make the connection,” Raven said, pulling the books back out to stare at them, her expression trapped somewhere between frustration and wonder. “I guess I’ll have to consult the scholars on First Home, but honestly I’m not sure it’s a good idea to share the contents too freely. I think these books may hold the full truth about Umbral and the First, and I’m not sure that will go over well with a lot of people.”
“The truth? What a remarkable young lady you are.”
“How so?”
“As you said, people won’t welcome the information contained in those pages if it refutes their beliefs. People don’t take it well when they find their heroes aren’t as noble, nor their villains as utterly despicable, as they’ve been taught. It takes a great deal of courage to challenge such deeply held beliefs.”
“Or stupidity. But it doesn’t matter—I can’t read them, and if they do hold anything truly controversial, someone will make sure they disappear.”
“Or you could let me have a go at them,” W’rath suggested.
“You can read ancient Elvish?” Raven breathed in deep, eyes going huge.
“I am more than just devilishly handsome.”
“I don’t recall phrasing it quite that way, but sure I’ll give you that.” Raven handed the books over and watched expectantly as he shuffled through them. W’rath settled on a red-bound volume and flipped it open to the first entry. He frowned. He turned a few more pages. His frown deepening. He squinted. He held his arms out from himself as far as he could.
“What’s wrong?” Raven asked.
“Are there truly words on these pages?”
“Yes, they’re plain as day. The books are ancient, but the ink looks like someone placed it there yesterday. It’s crisp and clear and utterly indecipherable. Can’t you see anything on the pages?”
“Just a blur. Someone must have imbued the pages with magic. Perhaps only the person gifted the books from the previous owner can read them.”
“Or,” Raven grinned, “you’re incredibly near blind.”
She took back the books, got up and moved several feet away. She opened one and aimed the open pages back toward W’rath. “What do you see now?”
“Fascinating,” W’rath said. “I can see it now, just as you said. I’ve never heard of near blind.”
Raven came back over. “And I’ve never met anyone ancient enough to be near blind.” She laughed at his offended look. “Near- or farblindedness are about the only ways
to tell if an elf is truly ancient—at least five thousand or more. Even though we don’t age like other races, we do tend to adapt to whatever lifestyle we’ve lead. A scholar over time may develop very acute vision for reading at the expense of their distance vision. You sir, seem to have spent most of your life avoiding books. I suspected you were old, but now I have confirmation.”
“Hmmm, that’s inconvenient.”
“It will raise questions in people’s minds if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Indeed. Not to mention I’ll find it annoying to have to read a book from across the room. I’ll need my psionics to turn the pages.”
Raven laughed again. “We can fix that particular problem easily enough. We have optics which will allow you to read up close. But someone will have to make them for you, and then the speculation will begin.”
“And why exactly do you think that would concern me?”
Raven looked at him levelly. “Is W’rath your given name or your family name?”
“As far as K’hul is concerned it’s my family name, and Lord should precede it at all times. On the other hand, you and Lady Swiftbrook may forego the honorific.”
“In other words, it’s something you made up.”
W’rath chuckled. “And you’re going to tell me Raven is your given name? It doesn’t even have the sound of an Elven word.”
“Ah, you’re right, it’s not. It’s a northern human word for the first living thing I saw when I came to the surface world. It sounded exotic to me, and, well, I felt a new life deserved a new name.”
“Precisely, a chance for a new beginning.”
Raven gave him a crooked smile. “That’s won’t satisfy a lot of people. You practically bleed secrets. Your age is just one more thing which will pique their curiosity.”
“If people wish to know where I came from, they should ask me. Not a single person, not even yourself, have questioned me about anything.”
“Well, I just assumed that Lady Swiftbrook …”
“Exactly, you assumed.” W’rath made a dismissive gesture. “Not to worry though, in the coming days, I expect First Home and its citizens will have much greater concerns than one mysterious Shadow Elf.”
Chapter 5
A cry of horror, followed by wracking sobs stirred Ryld from his stupor. He’d slipped into a state of torpor, staring into the black for … well, in truth he had no idea how long he’d been like that. Hours blurred into days in this hell he called home. He turned to his twin who half sat, half lay to Ryld’s left. “Caeldan,” he said. His voice broke from lack of use. He tried again. “Caeldan.”
“Hmmm?” came the drowsy reply.
“Is that Seer?”
“What?”
“Don’t you hear the crying?”
“Oh, I thought I was dreaming. I didn’t know Seer could actually drum up that much emotion.”
“She is stoic,” Ryld agreed.
Caeldan snorted. “That’s putting it nicely. Don’t you get sick of hearing how we deserve to rot in this hole?”
“You know I do.”
Caeldan groaned and struggled to his feet. Shaking with exertion, he swayed, bowed legs threatening to buckle. “What are you doing?” Ryld asked.
“You’re the one who woke me because Seer’s finally lost it. I’m damned well going to see what can bring that martyr to tears. Come on.”
Ryld used the cave wall to help him stand. The world spun and he nearly went down again. How long since he’d eaten? Not that it really mattered. The subterranean fungus that made up the bulk of their diet couldn’t possibly provide what their bodies needed to survive. We’d be dead by now if we weren’t elves. But even Mother Magic could only do so much. If something didn’t change soon, they’d wither away and simply cease to exist. Worse, it had become increasingly difficult to care.
“You coming? Or would you and the wall like to be alone?”
“Get stuffed,” Ryld replied, but staggered after Caeldan, back into the underground castle built for them thousands of years past. More like an elegant, unkempt prison these days.
It was slow going. They both had to stop and catch their breath several times, but eventually they found Seer. She sat hunched on the floor, face buried in the woven mat covering the wood, hysterical sobs emanating from her huddled form. Three other members of their sickly community crouched around her. They reached out to her, but fear kept them from actually touching her. They peered up as the twins approached, their bulging eyes making them resemble terrified frogs.
“What’s going on?” Ryld asked.
“Seer had a vision,” the one called Seismis said. His voice shook and he seemed on the verge of wringing his spider-like hands.
Ryld and Caeldan exchanged looks and shrugged. They squatted down next to Seer. Caeldan took her by the shoulder, giving her a little shake to get her attention.
Seer continued to wail until Ryld grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him and Caeldan. She gaped at them through her sparse, tangled hair, her grey skin slick with tears. “Ryld … Caeldan,” she said as if returning from a dream. Not surprising, her visions always had that affect on her. Being female, she wasn’t collared, as most female Shadow Elves had so little psychic power they weren’t considered a threat. Seer had only one true psychic gift, but it was a powerful one; she saw visions of events as they happened, and physical distance in no way hampered her abilities.
“What did you see?” Ryld asked. A trickle of dread made its way down his spine. Something truly awful must have happened. Only something disastrous could reduce Seer to such a state.
Seer’s face crumpled. “Second Home is no more,” she managed. “Thousands perished. Less than two hundred survived.”
“Traitor’s balls!” Caeldan gasped. Face twisting, Seer began to sob again. The brothers released her and she collapsed, burying her face in her hands.
“How could this happen?” Ryld asked. He looked to the others, but only blank, frightened faces surrounded him. They had no more answers than he did.
“They failed!” Seer suddenly screeched out.
“What? Make sense. Who failed?”
“Lord T’sane and Lady Reaper,” Seer howled. “They had their chance to redeem us, but they failed. They died and now we’re alone and still unclean.”
“That again,” Caeldan snarled.
“Always the same story, Seer,” Ryld sighed. “Why can’t you get it through your head that what happened ten generations ago isn’t our fault?”
“You’re wrong,” Seer said, pulling strength from her fanaticism to fix the twins with a deranged glare. She reached out with talon-like hands to clutch at their clothing. “We all carry Umbral’s taint. Only in selfless service to the Elven Nation can we escape his legacy. Now our only hope for redemption is gone. None of us have enough strength to do more than die, cursed and unworthy of the First’s forgiveness.”
“Would you listen to that?” Ryld said, brushing away Seer’s grasping hand with ill-concealed contempt. “Close to half the Elven population gets wiped out and the only thing she cares about is T’sane and Reaper’s failure to hold back a devastating attack.”
He took stock of everyone. He knew Caeldan shared his views, but the others stared at him as if he babbled nonsense. “What will happen to us?” Seismis whispered, tears starting to fall from his eyes. His two companions joined him.
“All of you have gone mad,” Caeldan hissed. “T’sane and Reaper ordered us to stay down here—they’re the reason we’ve grown sick and weak, and yet you lot act as if they were benevolent guardians. They’re why we’re pathetic, sick and loathed. Traitor’s balls! This is our chance to break free of their cycle of self-hatred.” He tried to stand, but his legs failed him, and he had to settle for waving his hands in exasperation.
“That’s the most I’ve heard you speak in ten years,” Ryld said, impressed “Too bad it’s wasted on the insane.”
“Screw this! They’re dead, they can’t force me
to sit here in the dark any longer. I’m marching up there and putting the two of us forward as candidates for the High Council.” Caeldan tried to struggle to his feet again, sputtering in frustration.
“We only just turned fifty-two,” Ryld said, dubious.”
“So? Name one person down here who’s over a hundred. There’s no adults left, and you and I are the only ones who still have any self-esteem.”
“They’ve already named new councilors,” Seer said, her voice now so soft they almost didn’t hear her.
“Who?” Ryld said, genuinely curious. As his brother had said, only a few of them still lived and not a one had reached adulthood.
“Two Exiles,” Seer said. “Outsiders hold our fate in their hands now.”
Ryld and Caeldan cocked identical eyebrows. “Fascinating,” they said simultaneously.
“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Ryld asked.
“They must have killed half the enemy by themselves,” Caeldan said.
“Yeah. To not only gain citizenship, but to be named to the High Council? That’s unheard of,” Ryld marveled.
Caeldan chewed on his lower lip, a sure sign he’d arrived at a decision. “I think we need to meet these two,” he said.
“I don’t want to wait for them to come down here and find us huddling in the dark.”
“No, we should go to meet them on the surface,” Caeldan agreed.
“Right. Seer, how long ‘til they arrive at First Home?”
“Three days,” she said. The emotion had drained from her as if her previous outbursts had exhausted her ability to feel. If anything, it was worse than her wailing.
Ryld frowned. “It’s at least two miles to the surface.”
“In our current state …” Caeldan began.
Ryld cut him off. “You three, stop your blubbering and go find the others. Tell them to meet us here, and to bring what food and water they can carry. If anyone has any of those blind cave fish, those would be best.”
Seismis turned away, sullen. “What’s the point?”
