Fairy Tales (The Two Moons of Rehnor, Book 15)

by J. Naomi Ay

  The Two Moons of Rehnor

  Book 15

  Fairy Tales

  By

  J. Naomi Ay

  Published by Ayzenberg, Inc.

  Copyright 2012 - 2016 Ayzenberg, Inc.

  All Rights Reserved

  270116

  Also by J. Naomi Ay

  The Two Moons of Rehnor series

  The Boy who Lit up the Sky (Book 1)

  My Enemy's Son (Book 2)

  Of Blood and Angels (Book 3)

  Firestone Rings (Book 4)

  The Days of the Golden Moons (Book 5)

  Golden's Quest (Book 6)

  Metamorphosis (Book 7)

  The Choice (Book 8)

  Treasure Hunt (Book 9)

  Space Chase (Book 10)

  Imperial Masquerade (Book 11)

  Rivalry (Book 12)

  Thirteen (Book 13)

  Betrayal (Book 14)

  Fairy Tales (Book 15)

  Gone for a Spin (Book 16)

  The Firesetter series

  A Thread of Time

  Amyr’s Command

  Three Kings

  Exceeding Expectations

  Chapter 1

  Arsan knew who his parents were, although he wouldn’t admit it. In the beginning, the subject of his birth, his mortal creation, confused him for the longest time. The whole process of being born, of assuming this fallible form, had caused a temporary amnesia when it came to the other world.

  As the memories began to return, it perplexed him even more, isolating him from the other children, and alarming his poor, unknowing birth mother.

  At the time, Arsan was still living in the Karupatani village of Kirkut with Colinda, the unfortunate mortal woman who incubated his soul, and held him tightly in her embrace for lack of anyone else.

  “The Emperor is coming to visit,” Arsan recalled Colinda saying, somewhere near the point in time at which Arsan had reached six years. Colinda was busily fixing her dress, and brushing her hair until it crackled and snapped with electricity, a state Arsan had never been able to replicate with his own. "Change your clothes, child. Put on clean leggings and your fancy vest. We must all look our best when His Majesty is here."

  Arsan did as he was told, even though he didn't quite understand why. Everyone knew the Emperor couldn't see, and even if he could, certainly he wouldn't bother looking at insignificant, little Arsan. He may look at Colinda though. Colinda, with her shiny electrified black hair, and large, round, dark eyes was the most beautiful woman in the entire world, or at least in Arsan’s small portion of it.

  "Prince Shika might see you," Colinda called, when Arsan dawdled aimlessly in his room instead of getting ready for this most important royal visitation. “It is necessary for you to look presentable to him. You never know…” Colinda smiled wistfully, and her voice trailed off.

  Whenever Colinda mentioned Prince Shika, her face went soft, and her already dewy eyes misted over. “It was just like a fairy tale,” she’d whisper, more to remind herself, rather than to share the story with the child. “An ordinary girl and a handsome prince, two romantic, star-crossed lovers for just one night.”

  Even at this early age, Arsan didn’t think the aftermath so romantic, as the prince had expressed no interest in either his one-time, star-crossed lover, or the resulting bastard son. However, the boy didn’t really care either, as Colinda was all he needed. Frankly, adding the Prince or anyone else to their little family would only serve to loosen the tightly knit bond between mother and child.

  This event, the one which prompted Colinda to chastise Arsan, was merely a biannual religious ceremony, one in which Arsan was still too young to partake. The Emperor had arrived with as much fanfare as the man was due, but Prince Shika did not attend, having more urgent business somewhere else in the Empire.

  This disappointed Colinda tremendously. Her misty eyes now fully wet, her mouth turned down in an ugly frown, she snapped at Arsan for the usual things before heading out to the village hall. There she would assist the other women in preparing for the grand feast. Arsan would be left to his own devices, something he was well accustomed to in his few short years.

  Although the village had a school for the young children, Arsan was not welcome there. Once, late last year, when the boy had reached the requisite age of five, Colinda had left him for just one day, only to have the boy pushed back into her arms upon her return. Arsan had trouble sitting still, trouble paying attention, trouble following direction, and trouble waiting for his turn.

  “It’s best the boy be taught at home,” the teacher insisted, shoving the child out the door.

  “But, I don’t know anything,” Colinda had objected. “How can I teach him what I don’t know myself?”

  The teacher found that amusing, as did the other children, for the entire village was well aware of Colinda’s lack of mental prowess.

  The matter was then brought before the village elders, who sat on their mats as was customary in this village of laws and rules.

  “He is One of Them,” the village chief had mused, his dark eyes surveying Arsan from head to toe. “His father?”

  Colinda demurred, blushed, shrugged a little, and giggled.

  “Clearly,” the village priest interrupted. “He belongs with them. Send him to Kudisha. Let Rekah deal with him, as he is well used to this manner of a child.”

  This prompted a chuckle around the circle, bringing more tears to Colinda’s eyes.

  “He’s my baby,” she cried, clutching Arsan to her breast. “I’m not going to turn him out.”

  “Do as you wish,” the village chief said with a sigh. “He’ll likely leave soon enough on his own accord.”

  The elder’s words confused Arsan, as at the time, he didn’t know what One of Them he was. He also didn’t know where he would go on his own accord, as he had no desire to leave his mother. Instead, he walked back with her to their small house, nestled tightly against her side, the rhythmic sniffing and sniffling of her breath, a comfort since his earliest memory.

  Now, nearly a full year later, Arsan found himself dressed awkwardly in too tight leggings, his best vest, from the prior year, coming apart at the seams.

  “Oh,” Colinda had frowned, her mouth perfectly round before it dipped upside down. “You can’t go out looking like that. What would His Majesty say?”

  Arsan was certain His Majesty wouldn’t say a thing as surely, the fellow had far more important issues on his mind. But, Colinda was late to the preparations, and so without a solution to the boy’s wardrobe dilemma, she left him.

  Arsan went out. The forest was calling to him, something it did as of late. For some odd and unknown reason, Arsan wanted to fly, to sail high above the planet, floating on the warm currents of air.

  It was that night when Arsan first met the man, whilst hanging about the forest. It was late in the evening, and Colinda was still at the village hall where the sounds and scents of the banquet echoed across the quiet valley.

  Arsan, at that moment, was sitting in a tree looking down upon the river. He liked trees, most especially this one. It was very tall, nearly touching the sky, the place where the boy thought he wanted to be.

  However, Arsan could only climb up a few limbs. After rising ten feet, maybe a few more, he stopped, too afraid to reach any higher. Someday, he assured himself, he would go all the way to the top. Someday, he would master his fear and reach out to touch the stars. Someday, he’d let go and he’d soar.

  “Go ahead,” a deep voice said. “Do it now.”

  Arsan didn’t recognize the voice, the strange accent, the lilting tones, although something inside him told him he s
hould. He also couldn’t tell from precisely where the sound had come. There was no one below him, nor anyone on either side.

  The voice laughed, a chuckle really, as if he was enjoying little Arsan’s dilemma.

  “When I was your age, I was chased across the roof of a building by a bunch of blokes much larger and faster than me. It was either let them kill me, jump to my death, or learn to fly.”

  “So what did you do?” Arsan asked, feeling slightly silly. If any of the elders had heard him speak to this disembodied voice, they might chase him out of the village for being possessed.

  “I spread my wings and flew away, just as I will do now. Watch and then, follow. You may choose. Your wings may take any form, just do me a favor and don’t select a goose or a duck. Your choices in the past were quite poor.”

  Arsan didn’t understand what the voice meant. As far as he could tell, he had no wings, only arms and legs. There was nothing odd protruding from his back, and the only feather he wore was a scraggly old thing tied to the plait in his hair, and given to him by an elder instead of tossing it out.

  “You can be anything,” the voice continued. “You may appear how you wish to be seen. I have always been partial to eagles, great and noble birds.”

  A moment later from a limb directly above, an enormous black eagle soared down to the valley, his wings sending a gust of wind across Arsan’s face. The boy watched as the creature swooped into the grass, snatching an unknowing rat with the tips of his talons, before stretching upward toward the sky, toward the stars.

  “I want to be an eagle too,” Arsan impulsively decided, his heart caught up in admiration for the other bird. “I want to be like you, whoever you are.”

  “You always do,” the eagle screeched, circling on the currents high above. “Unfortunately, again, you have chosen unwisely for yourself.”

  “How do I do it?” Arsan cried. “Help me! I want to fly!”

  “This is something you must do entirely yourself. Spread your arms, summon your wings, and let go the limb. Gravity will pull you down, but your wings are stronger. Use them.”

  Hesitantly, the boy climbed to his feet. He stood on the limb, his arms hugging the trunk of the tree.

  “Go,” the eagle called. “Go!”

  Arsan held his breath, summoning all his courage. Then, he released the tree, stretched his arms, and reached for the sky.

  Not long after that, Colinda acquired a new companion. His name was Maytor, and he was from Shrotru. Maytor had wandered across the mountains during the worst of the summer’s heat, hitching rides on carts, or walking if no one happened his way.

  When Maytor finally meandered down Kirkut’s main street, dirty, aimless, and with long ragged hair, his scent preceded him by several blocks. Most residents shut their doors, or pretended he wasn’t there, except for Colinda, who was lonely and had a soft heart for wayward wretches.

  Maytor was ushered into Colinda’s tiny house, and there he stayed. After a thorough scrubbing, followed by an equally thorough scrubbing of the now offensive tub, Maytor’s hair was cut and combed, his face shaven, and his nails clipped to reveal a rather handsome young man of roughly Colinda’s age.

  Initially, Arsan was confused by Maytor's presence, as the boy was confused by so much these days. The stranger had kicked the boy out of Colinda's bed, and into a cot next to the fire. This new place, while warm, was certainly different than his mother’s side.

  Maytor was also at the breakfast table every morning when Arsan awoke, and he was at the dinner table, once again every night. Had Arsan been home, instead of the forest, he would have discovered Maytor present for lunch.

  But, Maytor was an amiable fellow, and Arsan's wariness was soon overcome, for having a father, even one like Maytor, was better than none.

  In a ceremony before a few members of the village, and with the appropriate pomp and circumstance, the young couple was duly wed together. Maytor wasn't quite the Imperial Prince for who Colinda had hoped, but Maytor loved her, something no one other than Arsan had ever claimed to do. They made a happy little family, and despite the odds against it, Arsan and Maytor became good friends, or as friendly as a six-year old, and an unemployed, formerly homeless wanderer could ever be.

  Maytor was well versed in the flora and fauna, and enjoyed sharing this knowledge with the boy, who soaked it up as if his young mind was sponge. Maytor also enjoyed hunting, chasing a buck, or a doe with his spear and bow, an activity that made poor young Arsan flinch and cringe.

  "You need to learn this," Maytor instructed, while skinning the hide of a rabbit, and then placing the little beast upon a spit. "Someday you might need to survive in the forest. You can't live on berries and bark alone. Ay yah, listen to the sizzle, smell that scent of cooking flesh."

  Arsan listened and he smelled, but all he heard were screams from the dead animal’s soul. The scent of the beast’s barbecuing turned the child’s stomach and made him retch. While Maytor turned the spit and split the skin, allowing a bubbling brook of bright red rabbit blood to fall upon the fire, the boy hid amongst the trees, pretending to be busy.

  Even though Arsan had chosen the eagle as his alter ego, he was the most timid raptor the forest had ever seen. At night while Maytor and Colinda slept, the boy would circle the skies above their little house, avoiding all other birds of prey, especially the other eagles. If he had thought about it, he would have realized how wrong it was to have impulsively chosen the raptor when he could have been something else. A thrush might have been nice, and blue jay was very handsome. Even a duck had redeeming features, despite the Black Eagle's taunts.

  The truth was, Arsan realized, he didn't fit in. Not in the forest world, and not in the world of his Karupatani village. Now, with Maytor in the picture, Colinda was interested in Arsan less and less. When she announced the impending arrival of a brand new baby, Arsan decided it was time for him to go.

  Colinda wasn’t hugely surprised when Arsan announced his intention to leave. She knew the boy had a wayward spirit and an old soul. It was clear he belonged somewhere else, a place where they would understand him better than she did.

  This is what Colinda told the boy, as she and Maytor walked him to the edge of the village, pointing east toward the sunrise, toward the ocean.

  “Go to Kudisha,” Maytor advised. “It’s across three mountains, and through the valley. When you come to the singing waterfall, and the bubbling pools, you’re almost there. I’m sure your Uncle Rekah and your many cousins will recognize you by your face. I am certain they shall welcome you into their fold.”

  Arsan wasn’t quite so certain of this, for he knew nothing of his paternal clan. Still, he set out with a bindle bag slung across his tiny, narrow shoulder. Inside was a bottle for water, two extra pairs of fur boots, and three pairs of leggings, although one was far too short. Colinda had packed the bag tight with dried fruit and cheese, knowing the peculiarities of the child’s diet, while Maytor coached the boy in hunting and preparing his game.

  However, Arsan, being exactly who he was, resolved not to kill or eat any flesh. He would survive on berries and plants, although his eagle co-inhabitant might object. It was a pity that he hadn’t chosen to become a sparrow or a robin.

  After journeying for three days along the path, stopping only to sleep and gather what little he found to eat, Arsan heard a noise in the brush beside the road. He could have sworn it was a voice, although he couldn’t understand a word it said. Leaving his bindle by a tree, he went to investigate.

  As he drew closer, the noise happened again, and this time, it clearly sounded like someone calling.

  “Brother,” the voice said, followed by the hissing and spitting sound of a large snake. “Brother, I’ve been waiting for your arrival.”

  Curiously, Arsan understood this odd language, although he didn’t stop to ponder why he might. Something else was bothering him. Arsan didn’t have any brothers of whom he was aware, although, the Imperial Prince was known to have been quit
e prolific in spreading his seed.

  “Who are you?” Arsan demanded with all the bravado the small child could muster. “Where are you? Come out. I cannot see you in the brush.”

  “I am your brother,” the voice replied. “You don’t recall me now from the other world, but I am here to greet you in this one, and ease your way.”

  To Arsan’s great surprise, the long grass parted to reveal a gigantic snake. It was black and yellow with giant triangles up and down his back. Raising his mighty head, the creature waggled his long forked tongue, and showed the boy his many tiny, sharp teeth.

  “I am your brother,” it repeated. “Remember me, for I loved you as well as you did me.”

  Arsan wracked his brain to recall a brother who happened to be a humongous, and most likely, deadly snake. Something flitted across his mind, something from another time, another world, but the boy was too preoccupied by the fearful shaking of his knees to pursue it.

  “It was lovely meeting you, but I’ve got to get to Kudisha,” the child explained, edging with tiny steps toward the road. “I’ve got relatives waiting for me there. I’ll just head on back in that direction. Good day, dear brother, who I don’t recall.”

  “Don’t move,” the snake chortled, slithering closer, his long tongue preceding his body by at least a foot. “I am the only relative for whom you need concern yourself. Come with me, and I shall teach you everything you need to know.” Then, the enormous head began to circle about the young boy’s waist.

  Arsan assumed he was about to die, a victim of this friendly, fraternal snake. However, at that moment, a rescuer appeared in sight. A fierce scream pierced the air above as the Black Eagle called to the boy.

  “Summon your wings. Fly away. Don’t be such a stupid fool.”

  Although Arsan was quite adept at flying now, at that moment, he was too scared to move.