Curse of the Akkeri

by Sara C. Roethle

  Saida stretched her tired arms over her head, then stood, the hem of her thin night-shift fluttering to her knees. First, she needed to get dressed, then she’d check on Merwyn, just like she’d done every day since they arrived at the settlement. It was her fault he’d been pierced by the poisoned Dreilore arrow, so it was her duty to see to him, even if Vail claimed her efforts did little good. Her shoulders slumped. She’d have to let that thinking go soon enough. Elmerah was right.

  She walked across the hard-packed dirt floor to her small satchel of clothing. Though the elves had provided her with a few fresh tunics and leggings, she didn’t have enough to keep the modest garments clean all the time. She could just imagine how her parents would react when she showed up dirty and bedraggled, dressed in clothes only servants would wear . . . at least in Faerune. The Valeroot elves did not seem to care about the finery of clothing. Rather than signaling status, clothes simply kept one from being nude, and the colors helped them blend in with the woods.

  Once she was dressed she went outside, her spirits livening as cool morning mist coated her face. A few of the other elves were already up and about, starting the morning cookfires and feeding the antlioch.

  She paused halfway across the cleared out expanse between structures as Alluin and Vail emerged from Merwyn’s tent, worry creasing their tanned brows. Spotting her, Alluin approached, Vail trailing him with her head down.

  Alluin tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear as he reached her. “He’s gone. Vail woke early to find the antlioch pen open, and one of them missing.”

  Saida swallowed the lump in her throat. “But he was in no condition to travel.” She looked to Vail, hoping there had been some mistake. If Merwyn tried to travel in his state, he would die.

  Vail bit her bottom lip, then replied, “The Akkeri are a strong race. While the poison is slowly killing him, he may survive for some time yet.”

  “Saida,” Alluin began, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You know why he left. Let us not refuse his gift.”

  She stepped back, pulling out of his reach. “Gift? He’ll die out there because of us!” She gestured to the forest beyond the settlement, then realized she was standing in front of two Valeroot elves, the most skilled trackers on the continent. She lowered her arm. “We can find him. We must leave at once.”

  Alluin and Vail did not move.

  “What are you waiting for?” she hissed.

  Alluin’s shoulders rose and fell with a sigh. “Saida, he does not want to be found. We need to move on to Faerune. We can avoid it no longer.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, but knew he was right, just like she knew Elmerah was right. She knew she had to face her mother. She had to explain to her parents why she’d run away from the duty placed upon her at birth. The fate of Faerune depended on her.

  Alluin’s hand landed back upon her shoulder. “Merwyn wants you to go to Faerune. He wants to do what’s right.”

  She turned her gaze down to her boots—laced up tight to her knees—to steel herself for the bitter truth. It was her responsibility to convince Faerune that not only did they need to prepare for war, but to ally themselves with the Valeroot elves and the Arthali. They didn’t listen to her at the best of times. Now, after running away, she’d be hard pressed to convince them she hadn’t gone utterly mad.

  “What’s all this yelling and hissing about?” Elmerah’s voice sounded behind her.

  She turned to see the rumpled swamp witch emerging from their tent. Saida’s knees felt weak. Her mother could perhaps be convinced that Alluin was a suitable ally, but Elmerah? Suitable was not a word Saida would use for her.

  “Merwyn is gone,” Alluin explained as Elmerah reached them. “He fled during the night.”

  “So we can finally leave?” She looked to Vail. “No offense, but I’m bloody tired of this place. I haven’t had a proper bath in ages.”

  Vail pursed her lips in distaste, but did not reply.

  Saida felt unsteady on her feet. She’d known all along she’d have to face everything she’d tried to escape. There was no other choice.

  She’d only hoped to avoid it for a little while longer.

  Alluin

  Alluin shifted his sore rump to a less flattened area of the antlioch’s wool. They’d ridden all day without incident, other than the reluctant farewells at the settlement. Once they’d agreed to depart, it hadn’t taken long to prepare three antlioch with supplies, and now they’d left the Valeroot settlement far behind. By Alluin’s estimations, they were nearing the border of the Dracawyn Province and the Illuvian forests of the Nokken.

  He thought back to Vail’s warning upon his departure. The Illuvain forests were dangerous, but in a different way than the deep woods up North. Some claimed they were enchanted, but in reality, they were just filled with devious creatures like Fossegrim, ready to lure travelers to their deaths. He glanced at Elmerah riding at his side. She was practically beaming with excitement. She hadn’t even thanked Vail for her hard work and kindness.

  He looked past Elmerah to Saida. Her slender fingers toyed with the antlioch’s thick wool, showing the nerves she refused to otherwise express. She’d at least been grateful. She’d promised Vail any favor she pleased at any time in the future, though in all likelihood they might never see her again.

  He’d thanked Vail too, though he knew she had hoped for a bit more from him. Perhaps in another life, they could have spent more time together, but not in this one. Love had no place in his life, not if he wanted to honor his fallen kin. He would think of nothing else until he had carried out his uncle Ured’s plan. He would love no one until Egrin Dinoba and Daemon Saredoth were dead.

  The sun began its slow decent, casting flickering shadows through the surrounding oaks, illuminating their small rounded leaves in sudden spurts of brilliance. They would need to make camp soon. It would be best to wait and traverse the Illuvian forests in daylight.

  “Do either of you hear singing?” Saida asked, startling him out of his thoughts.

  Alluin halted his antlioch and listened, hearing nothing but the gentle hoot of an owl preparing for its nighttime hunt.

  Saida dismounted her antlioch, her pointed ear tilted up to the sky.

  “You must be going mad,” Elmerah commented. “It was bound to happen sooner or later.”

  Saida scowled up at her.

  Alluin sighed. “We may as well make camp. If we cross into the Dracawyn Province as soon as the sun rises, we should be able to reach the southern border before it sets.”

  Alluin dismounted, then began unstrapping the supplies from his antlioch’s back. They didn’t have much—they didn’t want to weigh down the antlioch and slow their journey—just bedrolls, enough food and water to last a few days, and weapons. Many, many weapons.

  Elmerah swung her leg over the antlioch’s neck and slid off, landing with a balanced thud on the forested earth.

  While Elmerah piled twigs and branches for a fire, Saida unfurled her bedroll across the rocky ground scattered with oak leaves, then sat cross-legged on it. She glanced about warily, her fingers curled around a simple, Valeroot-crafted fighting staff at her side.

  “Do you still hear—” Alluin began to ask, but the words froze on his lips. He heard it too. A sad, sweet melody in a language he did not recognize. “Everybody up,” he ordered. “Be prepared.” His arms felt weak, too weak to hold his heavy daggers. He was tired. He needed rest.

  Elmerah sprung to her feet. “Oh bloody pig filth. It’s a Fossegrim, isn’t it?” She drew her fine cutlass, procured from a pirate captain, and glanced about. Unlike Alluin, she was seemingly unaffected by the eerie song sapping the strength from his limbs.

  Saida remained seated on her bedroll, her eyes unfocused as she blinked up at them.

  “I think so,” he answered, his hands trembling around the leather-wrapped hilts of his daggers. He hadn’t expected Fossegrim this far from the Illuvian forests, and only a day’s ride from the Valeroot
settlement. Even in the deep woods Fossegrims usually kept to the most remote territories, and only hunted at dusk.

  He peered through the darkening trees past Saida as the Fossegrim came into view. It swayed as it approached. Long thin tendrils of moss and pale hair flowed over its head, covering its face. In the lessening light, the hair and moss appeared almost white, but he knew close up he would see tones of green and blue. It lifted long clawed hands, bobbing them in rhythm with the song that seemed to emanate from its very being, rather than from a mouth, for no mouth was visible on the swaying shape. Long mossy tendrils draped its spindly arms, seeming to float with its movements.

  As Elmerah’s blade lit with fire, Alluin snapped out of the Fossegrim’s trance, still groggy, but somewhat freed from the sleep-like state the creature had cast upon him. That was how the Fossegrim hunted. They were highly vulnerable to direct attack, so they only killed once their victims were asleep. Saida slumped onto her side, not as lucky as he.

  “Why aren’t you affected?” he muttered to Elmerah, though his own voice sounded far away.

  She snorted, and it seemed to echo in his mind. “Fossegrim are common in Shadowmarsh. Witches learn early to block out their song. You’d think with all the time you’ve spent in the deep woods, you’d have learned to do the same.”

  Listening to her speak helped him come to a little bit more. The Fossegrim continued its slow approach. He licked his dry lips, his gaze focused on the Fossegrim’s long black claws. “How about you go ahead and kill it?”

  “Witches also learn early on that sleep spells are not the Fossegrim’s most deadly weapon. If I don’t kill it quick enough, it will release its . . . spores. They can rot the flesh.” She pursed her lips in thought. “If only I were better with a bow. We need a shot straight to the heart. That’s the best way.”

  The Fossegrim stopped roughly twenty paces away. It seemed transfixed by Elmerah’s fiery blade, despite its seeming lack of eyes.

  Alluin tried to lift his arm toward the antlioch where his bow was strapped, but instead his hand went slack, dropping his dagger. He looked down at it, then past it to Saida, now curled up on her bedroll, fast asleep.

  “You’ll have to do your best to kill it quickly,” he breathed, every word seeming to sap more of his strength. “I fear I will do no good here.”

  “Alright,” she agreed. “I suppose lightning is our best bet, though I’ll have to extinguish my flame, and I think that’s the only thing keeping it at bay.”

  “Do it,” he rasped.

  He watched Elmerah’s flame go out with a hiss as she lifted her blade to the sky. A rumble of thunder echoed, eliciting goosebumps across his arms. Despite their predicament, he couldn’t help but marvel at her power. With a shrill cry echoing through the chorus of its song, the Fossegrim rushed forward. Elmerah’s lightning would come too late, and he couldn’t move to fight it—

  An arrow sailed through the air and landed with a thunk in the Fossegrim’s side. The creature’s song cut off abruptly as it toppled over.

  Elmerah lowered her cutlass, and the pressure of the oncoming storm began to dissipate. “What the—” she began as two men and a woman approached, each aiming a bow. All three had long, dark brown hair, and bronze skin close in tone to Elmerah’s. Their clothes were mostly leather and fur, with a few roughly woven, undyed fabrics here and there.

  “What are you doing here?” the female demanded as the older of the two men lowered his bow and knelt to retrieve his arrow from the dead Fossegrim.

  Saida stumbled to her feet, then backed toward Elmerah, who was giving the newcomers a strange look.

  “Answer me,” the woman demanded, shifting her arrow so that it pointed directly at Elmerah’s heart.

  Elmerah didn’t so much as flinch. Thunder crackled overhead. “Lower that arrow before you get yourself killed,” she growled.

  Raindrops began to patter across the leaves overhead.

  The bow-wielding woman’s jaw went slack as she seemed to finally really look at Elmerah. “You’re Arthali,” she gasped. “Pureblood?”

  “Lower. Your. Bow,” Elmerah demanded.

  The woman instantly obeyed, as did the other man.

  Elmerah glanced at Alluin. “They’re Arthali halfbloods.”

  Saida rubbed her eyes, still seeming half under the dead Fossegrim’s spell. “This cannot be. No Arthali live this far south. Neither the elves nor the Nokken would allow it.”

  The trio each glanced at each other, then the woman turned to Saida. “You would question our existence, when you travel with a pureblood Arthali? Are you an exile?”

  Alluin shifted. This conversation was getting them nowhere. There was no possible way to explain to these people why a Faerune elf would travel with an Arthali, the two had been enemies for centuries. Any Arthali near Faerune’s borders were hunted down and expelled.

  “That’s none of your concern,” Elmerah interrupted. “From what clan do you hail?”

  The woman bowed her head. “Different clans,” she explained, slowly lifting her gaze. “I am Imra. My mother was from Northspire. Noa and Yahir,” she gestured first at the younger man, then at the older, “hail from the Coldpeak clan. We dwell in the Illuvian forests, where witch hunters fear to venture.”

  “Are there any purebloods?” Elmerah questioned.

  “Some,” the woman answered.

  Alluin’s eyes widened. Pureblood Arthali living in the Illuvian forests? As far as most knew, the remaining Arthali clans kept to the far North across the Kalwey Sea.

  “Take us to them,” Elmerah demanded.

  “Are you mad?” Alluin blurted.

  Elmerah glared at him. “You know, you’ll be seeing a lot more Arthali if Rissine is successful. You should wipe away your prejudices now.”

  He bit his tongue. He hadn’t meant it as an insult, just that confronting bloodthirsty Arthali powerful enough to survive in the Illuvain forests was perhaps not the best plan for survival . . . which he supposed was slightly . . . prejudiced.

  The three halfblood Arthali watched the exchange with interest.

  Seeming to have fully regained her wits, Saida cleared her throat. “Perhaps we would be wise to visit these Arthali and secure safe passage through the forest.” She glanced at the dead Fossegrim.

  The older man, Yahir, stepped forward, his eyes on Elmerah. “We will gladly escort you, but the Faerune elf may not enter our borders.” He aimed a glare at Saida. “Just as we may not enter hers.”

  The pressure of a storm returned to the air. For a moment, Alluin thought it was caused by Yahir, but the older Arthali flinched at the sound of thunder.

  “I was not making a request,” Elmerah stated cooly. “You will take us to the pureblood Arthali, now.”

  All three halfbloods bowed their heads, though Yahir did so reluctantly. Alluin was not sure of Elmerah’s intent, but given the deadly gleam in her eye, they were not likely in for a warm welcome.

  Elmerah

  It was full dark by the time they reached the light of the fires. It was a larger encampment than Elmerah had expected. Since the exile, Arthali had fled from the main continent. She was interested to learn if these clans had been here all along, or if they’d arrived more recently.

  The halfblood woman, Imra, walked at her side, casting wary glances from time to time. The antlioch stepped lightly behind them, their ears flicking in all directions trying to sense the dangers in the eerie woods. If only they knew the dangers were walking right in front of and beside them.

  Alluin moved to Elmerah’s side, opposite Imra. “Are we sure this is wise, walking right into their camp?”

  It wasn’t wise. She knew it wasn’t, but the Northspire clan had been involved in her mother’s murder. If the ones who killed her mother were here . . . they didn’t need to know who she was. The halfbloods were obviously respectful. Saida and Alluin were likely safe . . .

  She gritted her teeth then stopped walking. “If you and Saida want to remain here, aw
ay from the purebloods, I will understand.”

  Alluin stared at her for several heartbeats. Yahir and Noah had stopped to peer back at them.

  “We don’t need to remain behind,” Saida answered, stepping forward and placing a hand on Alluin’s arm. “If Elmerah can brave all of Faerune, surely we can remain by her side now.”

  Alluin nodded his agreement.

  Elmerah rolled her eyes, ignoring the irritating fuzzy feeling growing in her heart. “Let’s get this over with.”

  With hesitant nods, Imra and the other halfbloods turned and led the way toward the fires and the quiet murmur of voices. Elmerah knew Imra was too young to have been involved in her mother’s murder—especially as halfbloods were rarely tolerated among the clans—but she couldn’t help her glare as she watched Imra’s back.

  They reached the first of the fires, surrounded by a handful of men and women, some were darker than others, but all were clearly Arthali. They looked up at Yahir, the elder of the group, though Imra was more dominant.

  Yahir looked to the oldest female amongst them. “Where is Celen?”

  Elmerah’s jaw went slack at the mention of the name. It couldn’t be . . .

  The woman nodded out toward the darkness behind them. “He had last watch with Rissa. He should be back soon.”

  Elmerah fidgeted, glancing back at Saida and Alluin who waited silently behind her, avoiding the blatant stares of the seated Arthali.

  Alluin was the first to turn at the sound of footsteps, but Elmerah barely noticed. A man around her age, one half of his face lost in scars, with close-cropped black hair and a rough-sewn fur coat, sauntered toward them. She was overcome by an odd feeling, one she hadn’t felt since she was a too-skinny teenager. She felt compelled to rush toward the scarred man. To throw her arms around his neck and revel in the fact that he was still alive. Truly, when she’d left Rissine and the other Arthali behind, never seeing Celen again was her sole regret.