The Evening Tide

by Jeremy Forsyth

  “If the Winds know you two are familiar, they will come for you to get to him. So, I say, enough!”

  “Papa… Papa, I won’t see him again. I fear…”

  “You will see him again, sweet Pebble,” holding me now in his arms. “I fear we will all see him again. And soon.”

  Chapter 8

  I kept the elvess close as Verid spoke, his voice edged with utter annoyance at the audacity of the subject matter.

  “Asharal and his brother scaled the northern wall, entering through a narrow window.” Verid shook his head. “The fools have handed themselves over to their doom. I only hope the Father of the Sun encounters them soon.”

  “Who gave you this report?” I asked.

  “The Son of the Father. It was he who sent me to you.”

  That took me by surprise. “I was under the assumption that my brother was on his way to the coast, to join our warriors fighting the blue elves?”

  Verid smiled that cocky smile of his. “You are not as informed as you would believe yourself to be. Your father called your brother back, he predicted trouble this evening, and once more his foresight did him credit.”

  I frowned. My father had revealed his premonition to me at dusk this evening. I had completely forgotten about it, and considered now that perhaps he had indeed been right to request that the watch of Wind Tower be doubled. The fact that Asharal and his brother were reported to have entered Wind Tower meant that I too should start realising the seriousness of the situation.

  “What is my brother doing about this break in?” I asked as we entered Glory Hall.

  Through the door on the other side were the stairs that led to the third floor of Wind Tower. From there, two more floors and the Father of the Sun’s apartments would be at hand; as would be the reality of facing Asharal. At such thoughts, the weight of this evening’s disturbance began bearing down on me, but in front of my lady and Verid I focused on concealing how unsettled I was becoming.

  “He has gathered with him the warriors he sought to take across the sea to the islands of the blue elves. He is battle dressed and seeks to intercept Asharal before he reaches the Father.”

  “Then let us hurry.”

  I began quickening my pace, forcing the elvess to do so as well. And so, truly, it has come at last, I thought. The day where finally the Evenings would make their move against the Winds.

  I was suddenly reminded of a very important enquiry, one which I should have made when Verid found my lady and I in the gardens.

  “What of the Tower Guard? Why haven’t they taken care of Asharal?”

  “Commander Alyran has led the entire Guard to the lower floors of the south wing.”

  “Why did she do that?!” I exclaimed, shocked beyond measure.

  I saw the blank expression on Verid’s face and tried to hide from him the fear now growing inside, for very quickly a theory beckoned.

  Commander Alyran oversaw Wind Tower’s defences. She was also the only female warrior on our island. Hers was an interesting rise. She had begun as a beggar, seeking food at our very gates, a few years before I was even born. Apparently, the Tower Guard had sought to send her off, yet Verid, my father’s prophet and seer, coincidently saw the commotion and ordered the little elvess be left alone. He brought her inside, filled her tummy, and cleaned her up. He presented her to my father, prophesying that one day, the elvess would exalt the Father of the Sun with her steel. According to Verid, the elvess would grow up to become a renowned warrior despite her sex. That was in the earlier days of his service, the days before all he prophesied about were moons.

  Naturally, the Father had acted immediately, and allowed her to join his warriors after being trained. As the years went by, her skill improved dramatically…under the tutelage of Asharal Evening. That fact was what gave me pause.

  Whilst Asharal had served as one of the Father’s warriors, his ability to teach had seen him rise as the Tower’s blade instructor. That was how the Winds and Evenings had become acquainted: Asharal seeing to Alyran’s training, my brothers training, and even mine; but it was Alyran who had always taken to Asharal. Though my brother strived to win Asharal’s approval, it was always Alyran who received it in the end. It was always Alyran who Asharal favoured. Never my brother… Never me.

  “I fear a trap, Verid,” I confessed, as we all hurried up the steps.

  “A trap?”

  “Yes. Why would Alyran send the Tower Guard to the lower floors?”

  Verid seemed amused. “I have sent word to her, rebuking her for her error. She will rectify it soon. And soon, Asharal’s head will be rolling on the ground. Now let us go.”

  Arriving at the fourth floor, the steps leading us steeply up towards a shadowed corridor, the three of us came to an abrupt halt. We saw the bodies lying still across the floor, all the way around the bend. I advanced gradually, looking in horror at the spilled blood, the fallen blades and severed limbs.

  The elvess by my side reacted, gasping but I kept her close none the less, my hold on her remaining firm. She needed to see that while she was with me, she was safe. She needed to know that I could protect her. She also needed to see Asharal defeated. Everyone needed to see Asharal defeated.

  “My Son,” she whispered, sounding as if on the verge of tears. “Please, let me ---”

  “My Son!” came the cry of Verid, who had gone ahead.

  I came quickly at his call, but when I saw who he was staring down at, I felt for a moment as if the world had shaken, and that what I was witnessing was a trick of the mind.

  “Brother!”

  Giving the elvess to Verid, I dropped to my knees and put my hands on the Son of the Father. He turned his head to look into my eyes and I saw the blood spilling from his mouth, the look of defeat in his eyes.

  “Brother?” he whispered.

  “Yes. It is I.”

  I saw how his eyes went to my hair. “Immortal,” he managed, shutting his eyes from the effort of speaking.

  Tears formed in the brim of my own eyes, for as I stared down at my valiant, obnoxious little brother, I saw that he was about to die. I tried to hold back my tears, but the more I looked at him, the harder it became.

  “Tell me what has happened!” I cried, struggling.

  My brother’s eyes rolled wildly but when they locked with mine, he swallowed, preparing to do as I had asked.

  “Be… betrayed. Alyran. Tower… Guard. She… killed… Tower… Guard.”

  “How many do we face?” I asked, fear taking a whole new shape inside my heart. Alyran! Why?

  Behind and before me, the bodies numbered eight or more. They were all dead and so I feared Asharal had brought with him warriors of his own.

  “Asharal,” said my brother. “Sharal. Nimdel… Alyran.”

  “Nimdel?” I hadn’t any idea who this Nimdel was.

  My brother gripped my arm. “The Father. Protect…”

  “I know, brother.”

  His grip on me tightened. “He is… weak. He is not… as…. strong… you… know. This.”

  But hearing it being confirmed wasn’t easy, for my hopes of our survival relied heavily upon our father’s power. It was our father who I needed to prevail this evening. My magic had never matched his. Even with my spell of obliteration and Windy, who I prided myself on inventing, did not fill me with the confidence I needed to stand against Asharal.

  “How could four elves kill your warriors? How could they kill the Tower Guard?”

  “Alyran. Be… betrayal.” My brother heaved and coughed.

  I could do nothing for him. But I needed to know what I was facing. I needed to be prepared. All I had was my spells. I had Verid, but he was no warrior. He was no sorcerer. Just now, he was useless.

  Then there was the elvess, my lady. I dreaded the thought of harm befalling her. She would die just by being with me, knowing Asharal. All who sided with my family were to die. None would survive. Not unless Father could defeat Asharal. Not unless I could… I must. I
had to.

  I stroked my brother’s cheek, suddenly caught up in regret at not having built a firmer relationship with him. We had never connected. He was always headstrong and emotional, prone to offence, prone to erratic behaviour, possessing a short fuse whilst always trying desperately to please.

  I had always enjoyed his humour, though. My brother could always inspire laughter when acting the fool. I also enjoyed watching him in the practice yard. I enjoyed and approved of how dedicated and passionate he was at developing his ability with a blade. What broke my heart in this moment was that despite his efforts, it couldn’t and hadn’t saved him. My eyes dropped down to the wounds at his stomach and chest, and the blood pulsating there.

  Knowing my brother, he had gone for Asharal himself. And knowing Asharal, he had happily obliged, most likely revelling in the opportunity to bring his cursed blade into the flesh of a member of the Wind family.

  When my brother breathed his last, I couldn’t help the anger that suddenly rose from deep within me.

  “Asharal has much to pay for, brother,” I whispered.

  I got to my feet, fists clenched. I turned my head towards the steps before me. Without looking back, I ascended them.

  “I am coming for you, Asharal!”

  Chapter 9

  The news Papa and I had missed that day in Wind Glade’s square was that there was to be a great celebration to mark the day of the Son of the Father’s immortality.

  He, being the heir of the Father of the Sun, would drink the waters of the Pool of Eternity. The word was that once the Son of the Father received his due honour in becoming the first immortal on our island, every sun elf would be given the chance to drink from the pool.

  As for the celebration itself, the Crier had dubbed it the Son’s Day, and all were invited to join. That was what Papa, Mother and I were all now preparing for. It would be a long journey to Wind Tower where the celebration would take place. The excitement budding within our hut was so jubilant that even Mother was gleaming.

  Mother tended to our garden so as make sure we were well stocked with food for the journey, whilst Papa spent more time by the river, exceeding the amount he usually caught in a day.

  As for me, I couldn’t exactly do much besides what I usually did each new day, which was help Mother in her gardens and visit Papa to bring back some of his catch whilst he remained to fill his nets again. On the third day since Papa brought back the news of the Son’s Day, Mother had me mend an old travel garment which we had not needed up until now, seeing as our family never travelled. I stitched up the tears and even sewed on a hood once Mother told me that the garment would be mine.

  “An old one, yes, but it will keep you warm none the less, sweet Rose. It used to be mine. My own mother and father saved for three whole years to buy me that. Now I give it to you. Do look after it.”

  I gave her my promise. After examining my efforts to revive it somewhat, I packed it neatly away. Then I looked about our home purposelessly, sighing, “What might I do now, Mother?”

  Mother thought about it and then smiled. “Nothing. There is nothing else to do. Sit or wander off…close by! Enjoy this glorious day.” Mother spun around with arms stretched out. She was clearly in high spirits. “To think, soon we will be embarking on a new journey of immortality. To think that those damned Winds intend to take death away from us, bless them!”

  I was happy that my mother was happy, yet when she stopped herself, poised in a considering manner, I asked her what was wrong.

  “Nothing,” she said, pensively. “It is just, well… It suddenly occurred to me that, maybe, the Winds intend for us all to pay for immortality.”

  “I don’t know. Would they?” I asked. “Surely it would be affordable if they did?”

  A shadow crossed over Mother’s brow, and suddenly she laughed, without joy but with much irony.

  “I have been a fool. Of course they will ask us to pay! We’re talking about the damned Winds here!”

  I was saddened that Mother wasn’t happy anymore. I stood up from where I was sitting, quickly took hold of her hands and drew her to sit upon our stool. “Do you believe Asharal might intend to overthrow the Winds, Mother?” I whispered, in such a way that one might think the Winds had ears here inside our small hut.

  “I don’t know,” my mother whispered back, her attention fixed now upon her daughter’s conspiratorial words. “You know him best, sweet Rose. Do you believe so?”

  I nodded slowly and very apprehensively. “Asharal has forged a mighty weapon, Mother.”

  “I know. Your father told me. He says it shines. It reflects the light. He says it’s tall and… beautiful. Your father told me that Asharal slew twelve Wind warriors. That all the people of Wind Glade saw.”

  “They did, Mother.”

  “Then by trying to arrest him in public, the Father of the Sun has indeed made a mistake. Asharal’s prowess has been displayed and the people will support him. They will rally behind him.”

  I could hear in her voice the evidence of soaring and hopeful expectations of the future. I could hear she too considered with much optimism the possibility that should Asharal take the Sunchair, things would be different on the island… the Sun might then, and only then, start its rise!

  “He has been up and about for a long time… making plans, I think. I think he really does intend to…”

  Both Mother and I were silent, too afraid to utter what we were both leaning upon as the inevitable truth: that Asharal Evening was indeed heading towards a revolution here upon the island.

  “Would you be happy, Mother?” I asked. “If… let’s say, the Winds… were off the Sunchair?”

  “I would, sweet Rose,” she said, as apprehensive as I.

  “And if Asharal, in turn, sat on the Sunchair?” I asked, having already a feeling as to what answer she would give me.

  Her eyes widened and gleamed, a smile booming into clear view upon her face. “Then you, my sweet Rose, would become Mother of the Sun.”

  The tension in our hut broke. Both of us at once jumped up and shrieked with excitement. I had never once considered what it would mean should Asharal take the Sunchair and then claim me as his own.

  “Mother! Mother! I can hardly breathe. Do not say such things!”

  Mother was as ecstatic I as was. “Just think, sweet Rose, just think! You will be the first of all of us elvesses. You will have a throne. And you will be the gladdest of us all.”

  Once more, her jubilation returned and she stepped back and swirled, lifting her arms in the air, celebrating the future.

  “But, Mother!” I exclaimed, in a hushed and once more apprehensive voice. “What if Asharal loses?”

  That ended all smiles. Mother returned to me and we whispered in fear once more.

  “Will he?” she asked me.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. He is clever, Mother. Confident. But the Father. They say his magic is incredible. They say he knows all, sees all…”

  Mother, however, laughed. “If the Father did see all, we would be killed by now. Do I not make it my daily prayers to slander such a family?”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “Mother, don’t say such things.” But it was no use. Both of us chuckled until the seriousness of our discussion returned to our lips. “But Mother, what if what they say of the Father is true? He has hundreds of warriors.”

  “Warriors who are as scared of the Father as they are of Asharal, I would wager. Do you know anyone who has seen or heard of Asharal who doesn’t recognise that he is no one to challenge?”

  “Do you think he could turn the Father’s army against him? Do you think Asharal could have them rally to him as the people would?” Then I had an idea. “What if he did rally the people? What if he made them his army?”

  “They would all die,” said Mother. “Unless Asharal has been secretly forging hundreds of blades like that one he revealed at Wind Glade, none would be able to stand against the Father’s army, who are trained and ha
ve blades of their own.”

  I grew discouraged. “Then what will Asharal do?”

  Mother brought me into an embrace. “You say he is clever, sweet Rose? That he has been planning? Let us believe then that he too sees how great is the mountain he must climb, if indeed he has decided to climb it. Let us believe that he has figured out a way to reach the top.”

  Mother released me and I looked at her. “Yes. Let us believe that Asharal can do it. He can.”

  “And when he does, he will call for you.”

  We both smiled like naughty children. “And when he calls for me, Mother, I shall then call for you and Papa.”

  That night a messenger came to the door. At the knock, I jumped up so fast that our tiny little table threatened to topple over. Papa’s one cup of beer a month spilled, causing his most suppressed profanities to spill out, whilst Mother merely scowled, uttering my name in a tone that evoked her utter displeasure at my lack of composure. I ran for the door and opened it. There stood a hooded figure as tall as Asharal, but by the structure of his jaw, the only part of him that the shadow of his hood did not conceal, I knew at once our new visitor was not Asharal.

  From beneath his cloak, he brought forth a piece of cloth. I took it without looking at it. I had eyes only for the stranger.

  “Who sent you?” I asked, believing it was Asharal, yet too afraid to assume with this unsettling fellow.

  He didn’t respond so I stepped closer and whispered, “Asharal?”

  I saw the corners of his mouth rise and when he took a step to leave, I grabbed his arm. The way he looked at it made me afraid that he hadn’t at all appreciated being touched by me, so I took my hand back.

  “Please tell him I miss him. Please tell him… please tell him to be careful, that I…” That I love him.

  “Heed the note,” said the stranger, quite curtly. His voice was hard and raspy, almost impatient.

  I watched him disappear past our property into the darkness and caught a vague glimpse of him entering the trees, and it was only then that I looked down at the cloth in my hands. I unfolded it and tried in earnest to stop my hands from shaking. I didn’t like how crass the messenger had been, and so I found that I wasn’t looking forward to seeing Asharal’s note.