by JK Ensley
“Yes, Milord.”
“Truly? Why?”
“…Love.”
With Jezreel’s answer still ringing in the air, Prince Merodach snorted, pushed back from the table, and left her sitting there alone, drinking her third cup of tea.
She smiled as she swallowed down the last sip, relishing in her own determined thoughts… Now I know what I must do. Today’s the beginning of my path.
Chapter 21
Alastyn
(ah-LASS-tin)
Alastyn numbly took a seat facing the lonely, broken man. Markus sat the box on the small table between them, sighing. It contained various trinkets and memories their once happy life together had produced—a lace handkerchief from Markus and Alissa’s wedding, a broken piece of a saucer from their first set of dishes, a golden pendant holding Markus’s family seal: two facing falcons grasping a now unrecognizable object. There was also an engraved golden band identical to the one Markus still wore. A tiny ebony baby curl and an embroidered blue piece of cloth acknowledged Alastyn’s name and birth date. Markus laid all of these precious items and more out on the table. Then, he held up a worn leather diary and handed it to his son.
“This was your mother’s.”
Alastyn took the book and lovingly stroked the soft binding.
“She used the last few hours she had with us to write down everything she might want to tell you or teach you. She was terrified you would forget her. You were so young and the two of you were so amazingly close.” He smiled at the memory. “It broke her precious heart to think the bond you shared would be lost with time.”
“How could I ever forget her?” he whispered, mostly to himself.
“Real or not, it was her greatest fear. That diary is for you alone, son. I never opened it. It’s between you and your mother. All she told me was to make sure I gave it to you when I felt the time was right.” He sighed, wearily. “I know now, that dreaded time has come.”
Alastyn felt the burn of tears pooling in his unblinking eyes.
“The diary and all your mother’s precious things are yours now. They were preserved here by Alissa until you became a man. That diary you hold there is not for today, my son. Today… today is for other things.”
Markus fell silent, his gaze glassing over with a far-away look.
Alastyn furrowed his brow. “I don’t understand, Father. What else is there?”
“The story of your mother’s last day.”
He tried to swallow back the lump growing in his throat. “But, I’m not ready.”
“Yes, you are, my son. You have grown into a fine young man. Perhaps your mother’s story may help you find a way to cope with your own recent loss. My hope for you now, Alastyn, is that you can somehow find the peace that has so long eluded me. I want you to move forward with your life. Fulfill whatever destiny Fate has set for you.”
“But… Father.” His voice trembled. “I can’t do this right now.”
Markus continued, “We each have our own way, our own path we must follow. Each man must face it or it will ultimately destroy him. I don’t know your destiny, my son. Every man must find his own. You’ve tried in vain for many years to live in the past. I wish now only to set you free from those invisible chains.”
“But, Father, I need more time. I have something extremely important I must tend to now.”
Markus smiled faintly. “It can wait a few moments more.”
“All these years,” Alastyn whispered. “I have longed to know. But, after last night…”
Markus stared at the crackling fire as his words began to flow. “We were on our way back from a trip up north. We’d gone to the storyteller’s festival. Do you remember that?”
“Vaguely… perhaps… I don’t recall,” Alastyn said absently.
“Your mother always loved to hear the tales of those wandering storytellers. She could just imagine all of the wonderful places they had seen, marvel in the stories they’d collected. Can you remember the way her beautiful green eyes would sparkle with such vivid imagination?”
“Yes.” Alastyn smiled at the vision his father’s words had conjured within his mind. “She was incredibly captivating.”
“Ah, that she was, and so much more.” He sighed. “You’d fallen asleep on our journey home.” He fondly patted his son’s hand. “The wagon always was the best way to rock you to sleep.”
He matched his father’s smile at these fond memories.
“We were about halfway back when Alissa spotted a quaint little market, just up ahead of the turn we normally took coming home. I could never deny your mother her quest for the eclectic and unusual. Her amazing spirit was an odd mix of that of a child and that of an explorer.” Markus paused, struggling to hold in the swelling pain. “I stayed with you and the horses as I watched her disappear through the brightly colored veils hanging in the doorway. It wasn’t long before she came hurrying back to the wagon carrying that ancient looking diary you now hold.”
Alastyn’s gaze fell upon the book in his hands.
“I jumped down to help her, but she’d already scaled up the side. She was sitting in her seat, staring straight ahead, trembling.”
Markus broke off, giving in to his bitter tears. Tears forged by pain and rage. Alastyn waited quietly for his father to regain his composure. His heart was breaking for this man and the excruciating story he knew would soon continue.
“I begged her to tell me what was wrong, what had happened. She only said she wanted to go home as fast as possible. We’d traveled nearly an hour more before she could finally bring herself to speak.”
Alastyn held his breath, bracing against the words he knew were coming.
“The Prince had been in the market. She was so excited over finding such a marvelous little treasure, she hadn’t paid much attention to anyone or anything else. After paying, she reached for the diary. A man appeared beside her, grabbed hold of her hand, and kissed it.”
Alastyn’s held breath forcefully escaped. He felt dizzy. He imagined his mother with that same terrified look Jenevier had worn.
“She said the pain was immense. She wasn’t sure exactly what was happening. Then, the Prince simply turned and walked away. She said a beautiful woman with long red curls approached her, smiling. The woman simply said, You have been marked.”
Pain tightened Alastyn’s chest. The dreadfully recognizable story was becoming almost unbearable.
His father continued, “When the lovely red-haired lady left, your mother reached with trembling hands to retrieve her diary from the sympathetic merchant. He spoke some unfamiliar words over her scorched flesh and then blew upon it. We had hoped at the time it was some sort of blessing meant to save her.”
“What did you do, Father? How did you feel?”
Markus looked at his son, sorrowfully. “I think you know all too well how I was feeling, Alastyn. As for what I did, I hurried the horses along and prayed the wicked Prince wouldn’t know where to find us. I had no idea what we were actually up against at the time. Your mother began writing in that diary before we even made it back. When we got home, she woke you up and played with you all day. Anything you wanted to do, she happily did.” Markus smiled at the memory. “When she finally sang you to sleep, she sat by your bed, writing in that diary until…”
Grief washed over his father. He couldn’t go on.
“Until the wraiths came and took her.” Alastyn finished the sad tale for him.
Markus cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “Yes, until then.”
Both men sat staring into the dying flames as the overwhelming memories, haunting and beautiful, danced in the air about them.
“Come,” Markus finally said. “Help me fix us something proper to eat.”
*****
Father and son made small talk right along with the bread and stew they were preparing. The atmosphere in their home seemed much clearer now. The tension and dark clouds of their past were gradually dissipating.
Alas
tyn would catch his father staring at him. They would smile, not joyously, but lovingly.
As the new friends carried their meal back into the den to enjoy in front of the freshly stoked fire, their door latch popped.
Both men watched, curiously, as it slowly creaked open.
A frail old woman with long white hair timidly stepped inside. Her skin was too pale to be human. More like… death. Her tattered clothes and torn feet were filthy, bloodied.
All attention was fixed on this bizarre stranger when she finally raised her bowed head, gazing at them through piercing emerald eyes.
Chapter 22
Vareen
(vah-REEN)
Jenevier pulled back on Epona’s reins as she neared the dim little shack in the middle of the open field. A single candle burned in the window, glowing to reveal an interior as drab and lifeless as the outside boasted.
With curiosity being more alive in her than it should be, she dismounted and secured the reins. A polite rap at the door and a gentle hello brought a creaking of the hinges.
“You may enter, my child.”
Placing her palm upon the door, she carefully pushed it open. Her eyes focused first on the small fireplace, then on the window candle that had heralded her. Her searching gaze finally came to rest on a tiny, silver-haired woman. She was sitting in a rocking chair, stoking the dying flames. The woman didn’t turn, only motioned with a withered hand toward a matching seat beside her.
Jenevier could feel great warmth and love radiating within this little shack. She had absolutely no fear as she happily crossed the threshold and took the proffered rocker.
“Has your journey been well thus far?”
“Yes, Ma’am, it has.” She smiled then. “Rather pleasant, actually.”
The old woman laughed softly. “You are an incredibly brave young woman, Jenevier.”
Her brows furrowed as she studied the older woman’s withered profile. “Apologies, do I know you?”
She couldn’t imagine how she could possibly know this odd little woman, but felt it would be rude to just blurt out such a thing.
“I know your Aunt Marlise.”
“Oh. I am very sorry to have to tell you this… but, she recently passed away.”
The old lady nodded her head. “Yes, child. She suffered long.”
“I loved her so very much.” Jenevier’s whisper was pained, sorrowful. She stared blindly at the dancing little flames.
“And she treasured you as well,” the old woman assured.
“Were you very close? Why have I never—”
“Yes, we were very close. In our own way.”
The tiny woman turned to meet Jenevier’s questioning gaze with milky-white eyes.
“Oh, apologies. I didn’t realize you were…” She paused.
“Blind?” The old woman smiled as she spoke.
Jenevier blushed. “Yes.”
The woman laughed softly again. “I am not blind, child. I see many things.”
“Forgive me. I was being inconsiderate.”
“Do not trouble yourself, Maiden.” She patted Jenevier’s hand. “I am a seer for my people. We are indebted to your aunt for her talented gifts, as well as her magnificent heart.”
Jenevier didn’t speak. She only stared at the woman’s lovely silver hair and listened to her melodious voice. It reminded her of delicate wind chimes tinkling on a cool summer evening.
“My people are small in number and this land has ever grown more evil. To save but one of ours is a tremendous deed.”
“…Valadrog’s daughter.” The words fell from Jenevier’s lips before she even truly thought them.
A smile spread across the older woman’s knowing face. “Yes. Valencia.”
“That is an unusually beautiful name,” Jenevier said.
“Yes. She was an unusually beautiful young woman. A bit headstrong at times.” She chuckled. “But… she once owned a fair and pure spirit.”
“So, Aunt Marlise couldn’t fully cure her?”
Jenevier’s hopes were slowly fading.
“Your aunt’s cure was supremely effective. Alas, Valencia is a story for another time.” She clapped her aged hands together. “Now is the time for your story, my child. You wish to meet Valadrog?”
“Yes. I suppose,” she answered, unsure.
“He awaits you.”
The older woman stood. Jenevier respectfully mirrored her.
“I have seen your plight, dear one. My people know Marlise has suffered through The Quickening. We also know Prince Merodach’s evil heart well, and that he wishes now only for you.” The silver-haired woman toddled, making her way to the door of the shack. “My people have made ready for your arrival.”
“Do you believe Valadrog will be willing to help me?”
“Valadrog can be a rather difficult man at times. But he is not heartless. It won’t be easy, no. I fear your journey has spent all the peace it held for you, my child. From this point forward, your path will be trying and difficult at best. But the goal you seek is attainable. You must prepare yourself. You must gather all your strength, muster up your courage. Try to focus only on the blissful outcome, not the journey itself.”
The woman opened the door and motioned for Jenevier to exit before her. As she stepped across the worn threshold and into the growing light, she turned, holding out her hand to help the aged blind woman. A faint smile flickered across the woman’s wrinkled face so fast, Jenevier wasn’t even certain she saw it at all.
As the ancient seer stepped through the doorway, she grew to a height that towered over Jenevier’s petite stature. Stumbling backwards, she tried to regain her balance, but landed solidly on her backside.
“Do not fear me, little one. My name is Vareen. As I have told you, I am the seer for my people, the Vanir. I appeared to you in a form and in a place that would comfort you, ease your troubled mind. Now you see me as I truly am. Be not afraid for I am the same as when you sat with me by the fire.”
“B-but you must be n-nearly eight f-feet tall.”
Vareen gracefully inclined her head, smiling. “Yes… nearly.”
Jenevier gasped. “And y-your hair… it really is silver.”
“Yes. Such is the mark of my people.”
“Wow… You’re so beautiful, so magical looking. I’ve never seen anyone like you before. Ohh… may I touch your hair?”
Vareen chuckled. “The valiant determination of a warrior.” She lightly touched Jenevier’s cheek. “And the innocent heart of a child.”
The giant Vanir bent down so the tiny maiden could reach her ethereal locks, and released the doorknob. The dingy shack vanished, leaving only the two women alone in the open field with Epona.
“I came here to welcome you, little one, and point you in the way you must go. No one can enter our city without an invitation and a trial of the heart.”
“A trial?”
Vareen smiled. “Yes, my child. One must be pure of heart and intention for the way to be made clear.”
“…But…”
Vareen rubbed Epona’s neck. “A truly magnificent creature, isn’t she? I’m afraid she will have to come with me.”
“Epona? But, then how will I—”
“Be calm, tiny Princess. This journey is not one for a horse. Fear not. If you fail, Epona will find you. I promise to take excellent care of her.”
Jenevier’s bewilderment and confusion now mingled with a hint of doubt and fear. She looked up, meeting the giant woman’s gentle gaze.
“Have I done something to anger you? Did I offend you?”
“No, my child. This is the way. You are on the right path. Alas, your journey isn’t over. The only way to enter Vanahirdem is by trial. We are an ancient, powerful people. Many there are who seek us with ill intentions and blackened hearts. We do not wish always to be at war. We admit only those who are proven worthy.”
Jenevier ran her fingers through her tangled curls. “But, I fear.”
“That is o
nly natural, child. And yet, I see great courage within you. Now, eat. Fill your belly with the strength you will soon need.”
Vareen waved her hand, motioning toward a blanket Jenevier had not yet noticed. It was spread out as a proper picnic, with the sweet cakes and tea she had smelled upon entering the shack. There was meat and bread aplenty.
“Epona has already been tended to. Eat your fill. But do not tarry. He who seeks you is diligent.” Vareen took the horse’s reins and headed out into the open field. “When your appetite is sated and your strength renewed, walk between those winslet trees and the way will be opened unto you.”
Jenevier’s gaze followed the direction Vareen’s slender finger was pointing. Were those trees there before?
Not fifty paces from where they now stood were two gigantic, intertwined ancient trees forming the resemblance of an arch. Vareen lead Epona towards the entrance.
“What about my bag?” she called out. “I’ll need clothing.”
“Worldly possessions will only slow your journey. I will keep it all safe for you. Do not burden your heart, little one. Focus on your quest. Prepare for the trial that awaits you.”
With these final words, Vareen and Epona walked between the enormous trees… and were gone.
Chapter 23
Mordon
(MOOR-don)
The hunter stopped in at the Broken Wheel Tavern on the outskirts of Tamar Broden. He needed sustenance for the journey back to Wrothdem.
The strange woman he’d found in the forest spoke not a word, but she broke into a full sprint at the first glimpse of the little village. He saw no reason to stop her or give chase. His deed was done.
As he entered the tavern, his eyes quickly adjusted to the dimly lit, smoky interior. This place—as with all others like it—boasted nearly bare, unpainted walls, creaky plank floors, and dusty, splintered tables.
“Mutton pie and a pint, sir,” he said.
The wrinkled old man behind the bar walked into the back without a word.
“Mordon, I didn’t expect to see you here.”
