by C. J. Krüger
“I know the feeling,” she tells me wistfully. “And so does Sivandar. We’re both strangers to this land, and human children can be so snotty.”
Without meaning to, I grin and start to laugh. “I can’t imagine anyone giving Sivandar a hard time. That man is frightening.”
“You just did,” she points out, her lips pulling up into a half-smile. “I just think you’re the only one who had a good reason.”
My cheeks blush deeply and I turn away to hide my reaction. Praise isn’t something I expected after disrespecting a teacher. “How long have you known him?” I ask, trying to change the subject.
“My whole life,” she says, starting to undress. “He’s my twin.”
“Oh?” I ask, glancing over and I watch her peel away the armor, revealing a light and lithe frame. I turn very red but don’t stop looking.
Under the armor she is wearing a tight spider silk shirt and leggings. It’s customary for Elves to wear such things under armor, as it protects the body from chafing, but it’s very sheer and I quickly turn away before I invade her privacy further. Father would be ashamed of me right now.
“Duncan?” she asks softly, stepping close to me. “Are you alright? You seem very red.”
“Nothing,” I say quickly, “I’m fine.”
She looks at me with furrowed brows, and I do my best to keep my eyes on her face, as she hasn’t put anything else on to cover herself. She seems to finally realize the issue because she starts to giggle madly.
“Oh, poor boy,” she says lightly, and reaches for a robe hanging on the wall. “I forget sometimes how silly you humans are about this.”
“I’m not human, though,” I say, suddenly feeling defensive.
“True,” she muses, “but you were mostly raised in human lands, no?”
I shake my head. “I spent about equal time in both,” I say, starting to feel much better now that her body is covered. “But I avoided the city and stayed in the forests with my mother and grandfather.”
“I see,” she says, looking over me with a curious expression. “You don’t really like being around anyone.”
“No,” I admit, looking down and unlacing my armor. It drops to the floor and I step out of the heavy chainmail. The cotton tunic I am wearing clings to my sweaty skin and the trousers are ripped at the knees. “My parents are always encouraging me to make friends, but I never do. I think that’s part of why they are making me go to school.”
“I never understood how they fell in love, to be honest,” Ayda says, her tone musical and light. “But I think I can understand it better when I look at you.”
My brows furrow and my cheeks turn red. “What do you mean?” I ask warily.
She smirks playfully. “I just mean I can see them both in you. Your father is a lot like you, very reserved, but your mother has never, ever, taken disrespect from anyone, and I see that in you, too.” Her hand brushes her white hair back behind her ears, and she seems to be pondering her words carefully. “I see in you how they make a perfect match, is what I mean.”
My head dips, and I feel my stomach do flips. I have never thought of my parents that way before, and hearing it said aloud fills me with a deep, warm feeling. For once, I feel proud of who I am. “Thank you for saying that,” I say softly and start to lift my tunic over my head. “It means a lot.”
“And I see the physical appeal as well,” she says, her voice low and sultry, but with a twinkle of amusement in her eye.
“Are you making fun of me?”
Her face takes on an injured expression and she asks sweetly, “Would I do that?”
“You know that I’m basically a child?” I say, quickly reaching for a robe and turning to hide my beet red face. “I mean, I’m not a child, but you know what I mean.”
“You could be hundreds of years old and you’d still be a child to me,” she says nonchalantly, “But if it makes you uncomfortable to be referred to as attractive, I’ll just keep it to myself.”
I laugh uncomfortably and keep my eyes firmly away from hers. “It’s not that,” I say, trying to find the words.
“What is it, then?” she asks, folding her arms over her chest.
“I don’t know you,” I say finally, regaining my nerves. “And I know you’re used to saying what you think and feel, but I don’t know you. It unnerves me how familiar Elves can be.”
I see one of her eyebrows lift, and I worry that she’ll be offended. However, a moment later her eyes soften and the corners of her lips rise gently.
“Then I’ll apologize,” she says, extending her hand to me. “And I hope to get to know you better, Duncan.”
Slowly, I reach out my hand to take hers, giving it a firm shake. “Why?” I ask, my brows knitting together. “What would getting to know me offer someone like you?”
She shrugs and pulls her hand away. “Because I want to,” she says. “Do I need another reason?”
“I’m just not used to people trying to be my friend,” I tell her, thinking of David and the strange voice, “and today has been a very strange day with others. I’m your student, extremely young, and you killed me six times in an hour.”
Ayda giggles, lifting her hand to her lips in order to stifle the sound. “I did, didn’t I?” She smiles broadly and lets out a deep breath. “I just think you’re interesting, Duncan Wolfe. I don’t really know why, and I don’t think I need to. I learned a long time ago to just trust my instincts. You’re my student now, yes, but you won’t always be. You think if I befriend you now, in a thousand years it’s going to matter that you were once my student for a blink of time?”
Will I really live that long? The thought chills me to my bones and I look away again. “No,” I admit, trying to wrap my head around the idea. “Assuming I live that long.”
“Is that why you don’t get close to people?” she asks me and sits down on a bench in the changing room. “You’re afraid you’ll outlive anyone Human but also grow old and die, leaving your Elven friends alone?”
A tear rolls down from my eye and I nod. “I heard my grandfather argue with my mother about it when I was young. He said she’ll outlive both my father and me.”
“And what did she say?” Ayda looks at me with sympathy and pats the seat next to her.
I cautiously sit next to her and look down at the floor. “That she would rather love us for a moment than never share her heart with anyone.”
“Your mother is an amazing woman,” she says and puts a hand on my back. “And I agree with her. Besides, Diarmuid might be mistaken. There has never been a half-elf before, and no one has any idea of how long you will live. Better to focus on the present and not some distant, unknown future.”
Hesitating, I lean my head on her shoulder. “Okay,” I say softly. “I think you’ve sold me on the idea that we can be friends.”
“Excellent,” she says brightly. “But don’t expect that I won’t kill you ten times the next time we spar. I don’t play favorites.”
We both laugh, and I sit upright. “Thank you, Ayda,” I say sincerely. “I’ve never spoken to someone like this before. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”
“I’m glad,” she says, standing up. “You should probably clean up and head up to dinner. The day is ending.”
I nod. “I have one question though,” I say, my brows furrowed. “Why does Sivandar need you to help teach his class?”
“Because of you,” she says, looking me in the eye.
“Why?” I ask, feeling like I somehow did something wrong. My stomach tightens and I look away, dreading her answer.
“He was worried that you would be too strong or fast to be paired against a Human partner,” she explains. “Elves are naturally magical, and that makes us extremely strong and fast. Humans haven’t had time to augment themselves to keep up with us, expect in one circumstance.”
“My father,” I say, looking up at her. “He found a way.”
“And even he doesn’t know how it happened.” Ayda pu
ts a hand on my shoulder and gives it a gentle pat. “Anyway, you didn’t notice it because my skill is so much greater than yours, but Sivandar was right and you wouldn’t be able to learn anything fighting a Human.”
“So I’m getting private lessons?” I ask, my heart skipping a beat. That I could deal with. “Besides Sivandar yelling at me?” Spending time with Ayda is worth his contempt, I realize.
“That’s right,” she says, her lips pulling up into a smirk. “So get used to dying a lot.”
Chapter Seven
After befriending Ayda and David, my days at the academy become genuinely enjoyable. Days pass me by and suddenly weeks form without me realizing. The work in my classes has become increasingly more difficult as we near the middle of the term, and I find myself needing to stay up hours after dark to complete my assignments. My father was right: school is challenging and pushes me to do more and dig deeper, and I make a mental note to write to him soon.
I look around the empty library and lean back in my chair, letting out a yawn. The oil in my lantern is nearly out, and I blink the sleep away from my eyes. Just how long have I been down here? I look up and see the pale moon pouring her light through the stain glass window.
“By the Lights,” I mutter and start wrapping up my scrolls into neat bundles. Carefully, I put them into my bag and stand. My knees are stiff and it’s painful to move at first. I really need to take breaks and walk around while studying, I tell myself, stretching out the hours of sitting still.
I sling my bag over my shoulder and start to head back to my room on the top floor of the castle. Perhaps I am lucky to have a room to myself, or maybe it’s a curse. As I walk through the moonlit halls, I visualize the others and the looks they give me—the narrowed eyes, the tightening of jaws.
Contempt.
Fear.
My heart begins to pick up its pace as a slow, bitter anger takes hold of me. When I was in my books, I could put this aside, but alone in the darkness, it’s easy for this seething feeling to come to the surface. They are your people, I tell myself. One day, I will be their King, and they will be in my charge. I think back on words my father once said to me:
To rule is to be lonely. Your people will not always love you, but if you always do what is best for them, they will have food on their tables. They will have love in their hearts for others. They will be safe. Every one of them have hopes and dreams and it’s your responsibility to make sure they have their best chance at reaching them. Your people will not always love you, but they will trust you.
The words calm me down and I realize the reason I am angry is because I love them. All of them. I stop walking and rest my head and palm against the cool stone wall. Emotion chokes me and my breathing comes in forced gasps. Tears roll down my eyes. Stupid. I’m crying because I love a whole nation of people that hate me. Why should I love them? Because they are your people.
Hate.
Fear.
My knees buckle under the weight of an unseen force. Pain slams against my skull and I feel as if my head is about to explode. I drop my books and put my hands on my head and thrash around in pain.
Burn.
Obey.
Kill them all!
“NO!” I scream at the unseen voice and instinctively drop the barriers around my mind. I push back with everything I have, and I feel my attacker recoil.
I will have you, little Wolfe, It says, the voice sinister and confident. And you will obey.
The pain recedes and I pant heavily, trying to gather my strength. When I try to stand, my legs shake violently and I nearly fall back onto the stone floor. With a deep breath, I force myself to rise and try to calm my trembling body.
“Duncan?” a soft voice asks from the darkness.
I jump in fright and slam my Arkana at the stranger. The stranger grunts and I hear them smacking the ground. Without relenting, I slam my magic against them again. They could be an enemy. They could be the Darkness.
“Duncan,” the voice pleads, “it’s Ayda!”
The magic pulls back. “Ayda?” I ask, my voice hoarse and strained. “Oh Gods, are you alright?”
“Yes!” she tells me, her face twisted up in rage. “What in the hell was that about, Duncan?”
“Someone attacked me,” I say feebly, not really knowing what happened. “I think… It was some evil sounding voice and I was in so much pain. I thought you were the attacker.”
Her face shifts from anger to concern and she puts a hand on my chin and forcefully moves it side to side, inspecting me. “I felt only your magic,” she says skeptically. “And then you went berserk. Are you sure someone attacked you?”
Nodding, I push her hand away. “Yes,” I say firmly. “I was thinking… well, it doesn’t matter what I was thinking. The point is the voice told me to kill and it felt like someone was driving a spike through my skull.”
Her lips purse and she places her hands on her hips. “Duncan,” she says softly, “I didn’t feel anyone else’s magic. It was just you.”
“Then I don’t know!” I shout, my heart pounding again. “But something or someone was attacking me. Like dark tendrils seeping into my mind. It felt like I was dying.”
“Alright,” she says gently. “I’ll walk you up to your room. You shouldn’t be out this late anyway.”
“I don’t think where I am matters,” I tell her flatly. “Could it have come from outside the castle?”
“No,” she says firmly. “The castle is warded with our best, most complicated scripts. No magical attack from outside could possibly pierce the barrier.”
Her words should comfort me but they only frighten me more. “If that’s true, it means someone was strong enough or smart enough to get past the barrier. Or they attacked me inside the walls and you felt nothing. Either way, it’s not good.”
“No,” she agrees and furrows her brows. “Did it say anything else?”
“Yes.” I frown and take a steadying breath. “That it will have me, and I will obey.” A shiver runs up my spine and I feel the hair on my arms and neck stand on end. Even my ears start twitching. “I’m not lying to you.”
“I know,” she says softly, and reaches out to offer a comforting shoulder rub.
The gesture is appreciated and helps my nerves subside, but there is still a deep fear gripping my chest tightly. “Have you ever heard of anything like this?”
She shakes her head and I can see behind her stoic appearance that she is as troubled as I am. Somehow, that makes me feel better and not alone.
“Come on, let’s just get you back to your room,” she says lightly, and gently nudges me forward. “What were you studying anyway?”
“Ancient Elven Ruins for Professor Duvox,” I tell her, grateful for the change of subject. “She theorizes that all Elves used to be one people before their empire fell. And gets very grumpy that no elf she’s spoken to will tell her one way or another.”
“We like our secrets,” Ayda says, her lips pulling back into a smile. “But truthfully, no one could tell her. Except Diarmuid. He’s the oldest of us, but he doesn’t speak about those times.”
“Surely he has parents or siblings still alive?” I ask. “I mean, Elves are immortal! Did something happen to kill a lot of you?”
“I really don’t know,” she admits, offering me a frown. “You should ask your grandfather or your mother.”
I nod and sigh. “I think the professor is right, to be honest. The evidence points in that direction. I just don’t see why the Elves would fall apart like that. The Borlesions had an entire section in their vast library dedicated to the subject… before my other grandfather had it all burned.”
“Old Wolfe wasn’t exactly pro-education,” she muses sardonically. “But I’m glad Young and Little Wolfe are.”
I freeze in place and feel another chill in my bones. “It called me that,” I say, looking down, feeling a strange sense of shame. Somehow the name is tainted and makes me feel filthy. “Little Wolfe.”
&nbs
p; “Oh,” she says apologetically. “Try not to think about that right now. Just focus on getting some rest.”
“To be honest with you, I’m frightened to sleep right now,” I tell her. “If that thing caused me so much pain while my guard was up, I’m afraid of what it can do while I’m asleep.”
“I’ll pray for you,” she promises me. “The night belongs to Mother Moon, and she’ll watch over you. When daylight comes, her Husband will take over.”
As she speaks a sense of peace and warmth flows over me, like I’m being submerged into a warm bath. My eyes glance up to a window and I see the moon shining brightly outside. “Thank you,” I say, both to Ayda and the moon, and take a breath to gather my strength. “I can walk the rest of the way, but I appreciate you staying with me.”
“It’s a pleasure,” she says brightly. “Oh, and before I forget. I really wouldn’t worry too much about this thing. You packed a hell of a wallop on me earlier. Even without the Gods watching over you, I think you can handle yourself.”
“I caught you off guard,” I say defensively. “And I was paranoid.”
“Well, wherever that power came from, Duncan, it was all yours,” she says firmly. “And I felt a lot of power. It’s like your fencing. You’re a lot better than you think you are, and you really need to dig deep.”
“I know,” I tell her weakly. “I just don’t know how.”
“Talking about what’s holding you back is always a good start,” she says, smiling. “Tomorrow, I can try to help you if you’re really willing to try.”
Without thinking, I almost blurt out a yes, but I manage to pull back my words. I think back to the words that assailed my mind, and part of me wonders if they came from me. Am I really willing to face my own demons? Lights please help me, I beg.
It’s time.
It’s another voice. A soft and comforting voice. I feel as if I am a child and my mother is holding me close to her heart, and all my fears and doubts vanish. Mother Moon? I ask in awe, unable to comprehend the vastness of this love.
