Evander and the Strangler's Quest

by Wells, L. G.

  Evander and the Strangler's Quest

  L.G. Wells

  Copyright © 2017 by L.G. Wells

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Evander was trudging through the thick snow that had piled itself onto the walkway leading back to Selvyn Palace when he spotted the sprites. Or rather, when the sprites spotted him, for he was too concerned with the fact that he would have to shovel again that day to notice much else.

  He stopped midway down the path and adjusted the baskets in his arms. He had barely reached his twelfth year, but even so his arms were much too thin and bony for his age, and no amount of working had improved his strength at all. His brother, Arthfael, had been the brawny one. He could have carried ten baskets twice the weight of Evander's and jogged back to the palace while Evander huffed and puffed with his measly two behind him. But Arthfael was gone now, and it didn't matter what could have been, only what would be. And what would be would undoubtedly not be in anyone's best interest except for King Anguis'.

  The snow was pummeling down harder than ever, and though he had a mountain of other chores to tend to, Evander would have to see to the pathway first: if not because King Anguis would surely keep his supper from him if he didn't do it, than because Queen Aeliana wouldn't want to miss her afternoon walk through the gardens. And though the walks were marred by the frozen flowers that would never bloom again, Evander knew that they still brought her some joy, and he wouldn't allow her to sit inside her dark bedchamber because her youngest son had failed to clear the path for her.

  It had been snowing in Selvyn since the year before Evander's father had died, and had only grown worse when Anguis, formerly the king's adviser, had taken his place on the throne by marrying the queen. The land had not seen bare ground in nearly eight years now, and Evander had all but forgotten the sight of trees thick with leaves and rolling green hills, and he could not for the life of him remember the taste of the fresh plums and pears that the kitchen staff spoke of so often and longingly.

  It was said that the land would return to its former prosperous and luscious landscape when the rightful heir ascended to the throne. The kingdom had all but waited with baited breath for years for Arthfael to come of age, but when just a few months before that event could occur he disappeared, the hope of seeing a spring day had faded away. It was only Evander who still waited for his brother's return, and who sat by the window late at night and looked out onto the bright white snow in search of a lone figure trudging up the back hill to re-enter the palace. He refused to accept that Arthfael wasn't coming back, even when the corners of Anguis' mouth curled up when the Queen had sent search parties out for her missing son.

  Anguis was a mystic who spoke with the gods, and had spent many years informing Evander's father of what would please them and make the kingdom stronger. There were dozens of sacrifices a year, and many rituals that the royal family followed closely, and Evander could remember being bathed in goat's blood by Anguis and Queen Aeliana when he had come down with an illness during his sixth year of age that had cleansed him of the sin that was burning from his insides and causing him fevers. Evander's father had been pleased with the successful treatment, but Aeliana grew more skeptical as time went on, and distanced herself from the holy practices.

  On one night, when the king and his two sons were sacrificing a wolf and her cubs in the Temple of the Seven Gods, Aeliana had refused to come. Anguis was outraged to return home and find her in the gardens singing to the birds, and when one landed on her outstretched palm and began to sing back to her, he had his proof that she was partaking in the unholy act of conversing in animal tongues. He brought her before judgment and, with permission from the king, Aeliana's tongue was cut from her mouth. It was the only thing other than death, Anguis assured the king, that could save her soul from the darkness.

  Evander had just closed his eyes and screwed up his face to try and erase the memory from his mind when the cheekiest of the sprites zipped by his face and brushed her powdery wings across his cheek. Evander's eyes snapped open and he lost his grip on the baskets: they plunked into the snow before he could think to catch them.

  The sprite threw her arms around her stomach and let out a spurt of giggles as she saw what she had done. The sound was like the jingling of bells at the Festival of the Eyes. The more she laughed, the more she dipped forward, and soon she was floating upside down in the air in sheer delight at the little mess she had caused.

  Evander simply gaped at her.

  He had never seen a sprite before. In fact, he wasn't sure that anyone had. The sprites, like all magical beings, had been outlawed in Selvyn because they went against the laws of nature and the true gods. Consorting with them was a crime punishable by the Mystic Leaders. Several years beforehand, when Evander was almost too young to remember, the kindly baker in the village had been accused of being in contact with a magical being. None of the Noble Guard had found solid proof of his wrongdoings, saving him from execution, but he was tried and had been imprisoned since.

  Evander felt a surge of heat plow through his chest and his heart began to beat faster, but he wasn't sure if it was from the fear of being caught doing something unlawful or if it was from the excitement of being greeted by a magical creature. All that he could be quite certain of in that moment was that he was, without a doubt, seeing a sprite.

  No, he realized a few seconds later. He was seeing three sprites.

  He blinked his eyes a dozen or so times and shook his head. They were congregated a few feet from him, each no more than six inches in size and dressed in different hues. The first one, who was still laughing, was wearing a shade of green as powdery as her wings; the second, who had her arms crossed and was watching the display with displeasure, was in blue; and the third, who was looking between the two worryingly, was in yellow.

  The green sprite stopped giggling and looked over at Evander.

  “You dropped your baskets!” she exclaimed happily before dissolving into another short bout of laughter.

  “I know,” Evander replied. He stooped down to pick them up from the snow, certain that the bags of grains that he had retrieved from the store were now soaked through and useless to the cook.

  “No, leave them there!” the green sprite said. She zipped over to him and fluttered near to his shoulder, giving him a coy smile. “They're already wet, it won't matter if they get wetter. Come and play with us instead.”

  Evander gripped the basket handles, but didn't lift them quite yet. He regarded the sprites with the same caution that he used when trying to discern unknown shapes in the darkness.

  “I don't have time to play,” he said. “I have chores.”

  “Of course you can play!” the green sprite said. “You're the prince – you can do whatever you want.”

  Evander dropped his eyes and heaved up the baskets. He shifted them until they sat somewhat comfortably in his arms before replying.

  “I'm not the prince anymore.”

  He plucked his booted feet from the snow and started again towards the palace, but had barely gone two steps before the sprite had zipped in front of his face to continue the conversation.

  “Not a prince?” she said. “What does that make you? An un-prince? How does one become an un-prince?”

  “The new king makes them one,” Evander replied.

  “He c
an call you one,” the green sprite said, wagging one of her tiny fingers, “but he can't make you one.” She zipped over to his side and tugged on the arm of his coat. “Come play!”

  The blue sprite flew over to join them. She re-crossed her arms immediately.

  “He doesn't want to play, Effer,” she said. “He doesn't have time.”

  “Of course he wants to play! He hasn't had fun in ages!” the sprite named Effer said. She looked over as the yellow sprite fluttered over to join them. “Doesn't he, Vee? Doesn't Prince Evander want to play?”

  “He wants to play, yes,” Vee said diplomatically, “but he knows he has to do his chores, too. He needs to decide which is more important to him.”

  “Neither is important to him,” the blue sprite said. She closed her eyes and raised her chin as she spoke, clearly pleased with herself.

  “What?”

  Effer, Vee and Evander himself all spoke the word at the same time. She looked so certain, but Evander knew for certain that she wasn't correct. He cared very much about his chores, if only because they protected him and his mother from Anguis' displeasure, and he also would have liked to take a break – especially if it meant he got to play with three sprites.

  “I think you mean that neither is more important to him, Scence,” Vee said. “It's a difficult choice.”

  “No, I meant what I said. Neither is important.” Scence said. “Not in comparison to what he really wants.”

  She gave a half-spin that made her tiny blue dress circle around in the frigid air like a flower that had miraculously bloomed in the frost.

  Effer looked over at him.

  “What could you possibly want to do more than play?”

  Evander didn't answer, so Scence did it for him.

  “He wants to find his brother.” A big, toothy smile stretched over her face that made her pointed ears poke out from beneath her hair. “And we all know that won't be easy.”

  Evander slowly slid his eyes over to her.

  “So he's somewhere out there?” he asked, his voice gruff from the cold air. “I can find him?”

  “Of course you can find him,” Scence said. “If you know where to look.”

  “And if you know who knows where to look,” Vee said with a nod.

  “And if you know where who knows where to look is,” Effer added.

  “Where's who knows where to look?” Evander asked, looking between the sprites. “Is it you three?”

  “Nope,” Effer said, “not us.”

  “Though how relieved you would be if it was,” Scence said.

  Evander turned to Vee and gave her an imploring look. If he could find Arthfael, who had become of age during his unexplained absence, then he would surely overthrow their mother's new husband and restore the kingdom to what it had been during their father's rule. His mother would no longer be forced to keep to her sewing and silence, and he wouldn't be forced to work for the scraps from the supper table to feed him, because Arthfael would lead the kingdom the way kings ought to have led.

  “Who do I need to find?” Evander asked her. “Who knows where my brother is?”

  Vee fluttered down so that she hovered just below his line of eyesight.

  “You have to ask The Strangler.”

  Evander felt his hands drop to his sides, and his whole frame swayed unsteadily in the two-foot-deep snow as he listened to the sprite's words. For though, like the sprites, no one was ever supposed to come into contact with The Strangler, it wasn't so much out of a fear of the law sentencing them to death than it was a fear that The Strangler would do much worse. For The Strangler, it was said, had much more unpleasant means of taking lives than simple beheadings.

  The Strangler was said to be something more than a man, or maybe something less, and was the embodiment of all things unnatural and unholy. He had been born of bark of the Tarrow Tree and the blood of its once-sweet berries, causing both to turn poisonous, and had fled deep into the forest where all of the tallest, grandest trees had proceeded to die. Dead souls would flock to his place and burrow down into the pits that he had created, never to rise again. And if any living soul had ever set eyes upon him, then they certainly had not lived to tell the tale.

  CHAPTER TWO

  They promised to take him to the tree at the dusk of the following day, and Evander rushed inside with the baskets in the hopes that no one had taken too much notice of his prolonged absence. Slipping through the servants' door and hurrying along the narrow corridor towards the kitchen, Evander reached the huge hearth that was burning to cook the food and plopped the soaking baskets in front of them, hoping that the warmth would dry out the grains and prevent him from spoiling dinner.

  The palace was a majestic place, with large open rooms whose ceilings were so high that they mimicked the sky, and walls that were adorned with intricate carvings set against various bright colored paints. There were fireplaces in every room lit with crackling flames and chandeliers filled with hundreds of burning candles high above that sent light down like the sun, and a thousand places to hide during a game of hare-and-fox that Evander and Arthfael had found so far. Evander had even found a place to hide where Arthfael had never been able to find him, even after a whole afternoon's game, and Evander had refused to tell him of the hiding spot as he hoped to use it again during their next game.

  But they had never had a next game, as Arthfael had disappeared days later, and now Evander's hiding spot in the bottom drawer of his mother's wardrobe – which only he was small enough to fit in – was useless for such childish games.

  Evander pulled off his wet boots and took a seat on the floor in front of the fire, holding out his hands and feet to warm them. Even though the cold never melted or went away, it was something that could not be grown accustomed to, like a constant illness or taste in the mouth that made eating undesirable. It was the type of thing that Anguis, as a mystic and holy man, might accuse of the high crime of being against nature, if not for the fact that he was the cause of it. Anguis preferred to blame the cold spell on Selvyn's former king, whom he claimed had dabbled in the unnatural and caused nature to strike against the kingdom. It was after making such a claim one evening that Arthfael had had enough, and he had bellowed across The White Hall that Anguis was not the true king before Evander could tug him back to the cellar. Evander had never forgotten the look that crossed Anguis' face as the words were thrown at him, and Anguis had neither forgotten nor forgiven Arthfael's words, for no more than a fortnight later Arthfael was sent to the frozen river to collect ice and never returned.

  A flash of powder green went by Evander's face and he jumped back in fright, but his shoulders relaxed immediately as he heard the familiar jingling laughter as Effer delighted in startling him.

  “Ooo, the Prince is jumpy,” she said happily. “Worried about finding The Strangler?”

  “No,” Evander returned boldly, but then his shoulders slumped and he shrugged. “Maybe a bit.”

  Effer flipped upside down and observed him with a tiny hand on her pointed chin.

  “Want to see a trick?”

  She didn't wait for his response, and instead held her nose and puffed out her cheeks as though readying to dive under water. But as she dove in a line towards the solid floor, instead of great waves of water rushing up around her, huge tufts of white fur began to sprout from her skin, and by the time her feet hit the floor they were not feet at all, but paws, and the sprite was replaced with a tiny pink-eared white ermine that grinned up at him with the same pointed smile that Effer had given him a moment before.

  Evander leaned down and held out his hand in awe.

  “Whoa,” he breathed, extending his reach towards the animal. It raised its paw and batted his fingers playfully. “You can change form?”

  Ermine-Effer pattered around him and looped beneath his legs and around his arms as she tried again to get him to join her in a game. Evander reached forward and scooped her up instead. Her white fur was so soft, and it warmed his finger
far more than the fire had.

  “I can't play right now,” he said. “I've still got chores.”

  Effer narrowed her ermine eyes into slits, then twisted out of his fingers and disappeared through a crack in the wall. Evander sighed. He had thought that she might keep him company while he worked. Shaking the disappointment away, he went upstairs to light the candles in the shrine and bedchambers for the night, and found a filled chamber pot that had been left for him to clean by one of the Noble Guards. He carefully carried it downstairs and out back to empty, not bothering to wonder why the guard couldn't have used the garderobe instead, and swished the pot around into the snow until it was clean.

  He was just returning inside when he caught the first glimpse of his mother that he had had all month. She was crossing the White Hall, trailing several feet behind Anguis as he spoke to his men, with her head bent low and eyes cast down to the floor. They had surely just returned from giving sacrifice at the Temple of the Seven Gods. Evander felt a pang of remorse that he was no longer allowed to attend the rituals with her, but then reminded himself that the Festival of the Eyes was in two weeks' time, and everyone in Selvyn – including princes turned to servants – was allowed to attend.

  Evander halted to stare at her. She was dressed as magnificently as ever, in her high-necked gown that was embroidered with gold threads that ran in and out of the silky green fabric like yellow flowers bursting from a fertile field, but the garment was hanging more loosely on her now as though she, like him, was being underfed to keep her strength at bay.

  She looked up briefly and her eyes fell on Evander, who smiled and waved at her. She put her hand over her heart as she watched him, and her eyes glistened in the distance with unmistakable tears.

  “You, boy! What are you doing?”

  One of the Noble Guards had caught sight of him as well, and Evander froze in place with his hand still in the air. Anguis' black eyes flitted over to where he stood. He took a few careful steps towards Evander, his heavy iron-plated jacket bouncing the echoes of his footsteps up to the high ceilings and back again, and he stroked his dark goatee as he observed the boy who had disturbed his conversation.