by JK Ensley
When Jenevier neared the solitary little home, the smell of burning coals all but drowned out the peculiar scent of the man. He was large, a good foot and a half taller than she was… maybe more.
Taka flew back to her, hiding within her curls as she knelt beside a tree, spying on the strange man.
“Did you catch that scent, little one?” she barely whispered. “Strange, isn’t it? I thought he was an Elf. But with all that black hair—there’s no way.”
Taka twittered, peeked around the side of her neck, then ducked back within her hair.
“Spooked ya, huh?” She glanced back toward the man’s broad shoulders. “Something about him spooks me, too.”
Jenevier stayed hunkered down as she made her way from tree to tree, nearing the back of the small house.
“This is an Elf’s home. That’s for sure. See how it seems to be literally pulled from out of the tree trunk?” She pointed as she spoke. “That’s how they do it, Taka. They sing their houses right out of the trees. It’s amazing. Wait until you see Jezreel’s. You won’t be able to believe it. They sang a whole castle into existence. The forest wove every single room, lulled by their magical Elvish tune.”
Jenevier quickly stood when she heard a familiar sound—thomp… thomp. She listened closer. Over the gentle popping of the small cook fire, she could make out the unmistakable sound of a bow being pulled taught… then released—thomp. She quietly flew up to the rooftop and sat cross-legged, watching the giant raven-haired archer put yet another arrow in the very center of a battered old stump.
As the man drew his bow back once more, Taka wrapped his tail around Jenevier’s neck and began to purr, ever so softly. At the gentle, barely audible noise, the archer spun and released in her direction. Jenevier reflexively snatched the arrow, stopping it only a breath from her right eye. She glanced back down at the man as she lowered the expertly crafted projectile. He had already notched his next arrow, releasing before she could even speak. It made a hollow, pinging sound when it bounced off of her wing. She slowly lowered her diamond shield.
“Are you quite finished?”
Already notched and ready, the man released the third arrow. It made that familiar thomping sound when it penetrated the tree behind his home. He stared at the place she had only just been sitting.
When Jenevier lightly tapped him on the shoulder, the man spun to face her as he reached for his fourth arrow.
“Ah, ah, ah,” she tsked, holding up the entire contents of his now empty quiver. “I’ll just hang on to these for a bit. That okay with you?”
The man growled as he lunged for her. Jenevier flew up to the nearest limb and perched there, looking down at the imposing, angry man.
“Jeez… you didn’t even let me introduce myself.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Rather poor manners, I should say. Not much for entertaining, are you?”
“What do you want?” he growled through gritted teeth.
“I only wanted to say, hello.” She wiggled her fingers down at him and smiled. “I’m not much on strangers. I like to make them friends as soon as possible. And to be completely honest… you smell funny—different from any other creature I’ve crossed paths with before.”
“I am not a creature!”
Jenevier tilted her head to the side. “We are all Father’s creatures. Every living, breathing thing is a creature. We just don’t all have the same form. Father likes variety.”
“What are you babbling on about?”
“I’m not babbling. I’m talking.” She raised a single brow. “What? You don’t like to talk?”
“No,” he spat. “And I don’t like being gawked at, either. Get on your way and leave me be. You’re not welcome here.”
“Wow.” Jenevier snickered softly. “With such a lovely personality, I am surprised you aren’t entertaining even more guests.”
“You are not a guest. You are a trifling nuisance. Be gone!”
“Trifling? Well now, that sort of hurts my feelings.”
“Come down from that limb and your feelings won’t be all I’ll hurt.”
Jenevier giggled. “Did you just threaten me?”
“No. I promised you a thrashing. And if I get my hands on you, I’ll make good on that promise.”
She glanced over the man’s broad shoulder. “I think your stew is burning. It smells scorched.”
“Well if it is, it’s your fault.” He turned toward the bubbling pot hanging over the little fire. “Trifling little nuisance,” he mumbled.
“Why do you limp?”
He spun back to face her, narrowing his eyes into a cold glare.
“Do you have a gimpy leg?” She tilted her head to the side. “Or did you get injured in battle?”
“I don’t have a gimpy leg!”
“So… a war wound, then?”
“No! It’s not a war wound. Now would you just go already?”
“That’s one really nasty scar on your face. Are you blind in that eye? Did it happen at the same time you hurt your leg?”
“I said, get!”
The angry man snatched up a rock and hurled it at her. Jenevier caught it, then simply let it fall from her hand to the ground.
She crossed her arms again. “Well, that wasn’t very nice.”
“Nice?” He snorted. “What would you know about being nice? You’ve been nothing but rude since you opened your perfect little mouth.” He removed the pot from the fire and began stirring the contents. “I’m not some sideshow attraction. It’s wrong for you to talk to me like that. I am more than just this form, you know… more than just my skin.”
Jenevier bit her lip. “Apologies. I am truly sorry. I wasn’t meaning to be rude. I didn’t realize mentioning your injuries would be a hurtful thing to you.”
“They aren’t injuries.” He briefly glanced back toward her. “…I was born this way.”
“Is that so?” She flew down from the tree then, yet kept her distance. “But… I thought Elves could heal with their song. Did they not sing to you?”
“Aye, they sang to me. The whole of my childhood—they sang to me.” He snorted out a sardonic laugh. “I guess Elf magic isn’t as all-powerful as they’d like you to believe it is.”
“So… did some Elf make your home?”
When Jenevier motioned with a nod, the man glanced toward the small house.
“Nah. I did that. I built it. It ain’t much, but it’s the best I could do—harsh, gruff voice. I couldn’t sing it into being… all fancy like.”
“You are an Elf, then. Hmpft. I thought I smelled Elf on you.”
“Of course I’m an Elf,” he snapped. “Well… part Elf.”
“Is that so? Then, what’s your other part? Not man. You don’t smell like a man.”
“My other part is none of your business. Besides, I’m certain a perfect being—such as yourself—has never smelled the likes of the creature that fathered me.”
“You know…” Jenevier furrowed her brow, a bit perturbed. “For you to accuse me of judging you based on your looks… you are certainly more than happy to do the same thing concerning me.”
The man stopped eating his burnt supper and looked up at her.
“You have called me perfect, twice now. And you didn’t say it in a very pleasant way, either. You hate me simply because you think I’m pretty, because my wrapper is pretty.”
He snorted out his disgust before going back to eating.
“Pretty is as pretty does, right?”
“Meaning?” he grumbled.
“Meaning…” Jenevier clicked her tongue against the back of her teeth. “It doesn’t matter how pretty you are on the outside, if you’re ugly on the inside, you’re ugly. Simple as that.”
The man only gave her a confused, darkened look.
Jenevier held out her right hand, palm up. “Pretty wrapper…” She did the same with her left hand. “Ugly heart…” She suddenly clapped her hands together, entwining her fingers. “…Hideous creature.�
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The man only snorted again.
“If that saying is true…” Jenevier shrugged her shoulders. “Then I am neither pretty nor am I perfect. You judge me wrongly, Brother.”
“I am not your brother, Angel.”
“So… you know I’m an Angel.”
“With sparkly wings like that—it wasn’t a huge stretch.”
“And do you think Angels are good just because they are pretty?”
“…No,” he grumbled. “Not all of them.”
“How very true.” She half chuckled. “So… you say you haven’t been injured—that you were born that way.”
“Yeah. What of it?”
“I have seen many abnormalities in my day. Never have I seen a birth defect perfectly matching that left by a knife’s blade.”
“I was born this way! Are you calling me a liar?”
She shook her head. “No. Not a liar, not wholly. But you are withholding the truth.”
“I am not.” He sat his empty bowl down. “I truly was born this way… emerged from the womb—cut and all.”
Jenevier remained silent, watching him closely, hoping he would continue.
The man sighed. “If I tell you my story, will you be on your way?”
“Perhaps.” She sat down and leaned back against a tree. “But if you do not tell me your story, my curiosity will keep me coming back for many, many years.”
“Trifling nuisance,” he mumbled again, spitting into the fire. “My mother was an Elf. I don’t know what the hell my father was.”
“She was an Elf?”
He nodded. “She died giving birth to me. That’s how I got this.” He pointed to the long scar that stretched from the center of his left eyebrow, down the length of his face. “I was too big—hadn’t turned properly. She couldn’t push me out.”
“…They had to cut her.”
The man nodded again. “But she was already in such a state… in so much pain. They were trying to hurry because… well, she was fading fast.” He glanced back towards her. “Anyway, I didn’t lie. I was pulled out of her belly, scar and all.”
“Yet… the Elven songs couldn’t close the wound?”
“Nope.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I guess I inherited that little gift from my father. He left me with many such reminders… reminders that I wasn’t normal.”
“You never knew him?”
The man shook his head. “No one did. Not as far as anyone would admit, anyway. It happened many years ago now. My mother was just outside the forest—not too far from where we now sit. She was picking some fresh flowers, just there.” He motioned with a nod in the direction Jenevier had just left Nilakanta. “They say she had a basket full of daisies when it happened.”
“When what happened?”
The strange man met her steady gaze. “When hell spilled forth onto Ashgard.”
Jenevier swallowed hard. “So… your mother was attacked by a demon during the apocalypse.” She lowered her voice. “…Just like Jezreel.”
The man perked up at the mention of the woman’s name. “You know Jezreel?”
Jenevier nodded. “We were childhood friends—spent every day together… right up until I was forced to leave.”
“Childhood friends?” He snorted out a laugh. “Childhood friends with an Angel?”
“I wasn’t an Angel then. I was born in Moorglen. I am an Ashgardian.”
He narrowed his gaze. “And you expect me to believe you were born a human and just became an Angel?”
“Yes. Just as Jezreel was born a human and became an Elf.”
The man fell silent and looked away.
“I was born and raised in Moorglen. Jezreel and I moved to Tamar Broden when we were eighteen.” She stared into the tiny, dying flames. “We were so happy there… for a time.”
“…What happened?”
Jenevier sniffed, wiping her eyes, replacing her tears with a soft smile. “Oh, the usual—death of a loved one, cursed by a Prince, taken in by Guardians. You know… teenage-type problems.”
The man huffed out a laugh, then smiled. He had a warm, gentle smile.
“You are quite handsome when you do that.”
He looked up at her. “Do what?”
“Smile.”
Jenevier couldn’t be certain, but she believed his cheeks flushed red.
“What is your name?”
He quickly glanced at her and then away. “Why do you care?”
“Just because I do. So, are you not gonna tell me?”
“You haven’t said your name, either,” he grumbled.
Jenevier stood, dusting off her bottom before walking over and extending her hand.
“Hello. I am Jenevier Olesia Embarr. Well, that was my birth name. I now go by another.”
The man stood, grasping her forearm. “Which is?”
She smiled. “Kagi Naga, Empress of Jinn. But you can just call me Naga.”
He returned her smile. “Baytac. Baytac Mossgrove. Nice to meet ya, Naga.”
“Likewise.” She bowed in her Dragon manner. “I’m glad we aren’t strangers anymore. My, you are a very large man… for an Elf. Standing beside you, I would have to call Kias… dainty.”
Baytac snorted out another laugh. “Standing beside you, I would have to call Kias… dainty.”
Jenevier quickly clamped her hand over her mouth to halt her coming giggles.
“That’s awful,” she said through her fingers.
“Awful, but true.” He smiled. “Elves are like that—elegant and noble and… dainty-like.”
“But not you.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I have been given many labels; dainty was never one of them.”
“The only thing that marks you as Elf, is your scent. Well, sort of.”
“So, you’re like one of those Guardians, huh? Nose like a hound.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Eh, I picked up a few things during my years with them.”
Baytac only snorted again.
“You do not claim the misty-colored locks of an Elf, my raven-haired friend.” She smiled. “What about your ears?”
Baytac pulled his long dark hair back. “Only partially. My tips aren’t pointed. They are gnarled and bent.”
“Tell me. Why do you live out here all alone? I thought Elves dwindled when they were parted from their kind.”
“Ah, yes. But the demon in me thrives upon solitude.”
Jenevier nodded. “Yes. They do try to find what bits of silence they can.”
“You know about demons?”
“I know of demons and devils, dark Angels and Archs. I even know a bit about Mermaids and Fairies. Just a bit, though.”
Baytac smiled with only one corner of his mouth. “So… you came here to see Jezreel?”
“In part, yes. I came to speak with Dofarel. Getting to visit with Jezreel is just an added bonus.” She sighed. “I haven’t seen her since the night of her wedding celebration.”
“That long?”
Jenevier nodded. “I’m not a very good friend.”
“Well, I’m sure you have your reasons.”
“I have been a bit busy, yes.” She studied him for a moment. “Tell me. Why do you get such a sparkle in your eye when you say her name?”
“Her? Her who?”
“You know who… Jezreel.”
Baytac blushed. “Princess Jezreel was kind to me… always. No matter what happened with the other kids, she always protected me—fed me sweets and told me stories.” He glanced down at her from the corner of his eye. “I can see now… most of those stories were probably about you. Anyway, she was the only mother figure I ever knew.”
“Is that so?”
He nodded. “My birth mother was one of her attendants. Jezreel doted on her. They were close because… well, you know.”
Jenevier only nodded her understanding.
“When what happened… happened… Jezreel took me in—raised me as one of her own.”
“I suppose your mother was alive when last I was here then. Hmm… I don’t recall any pregnant attendants.”
“She was probably already bedridden by that time. Like I said, I was a large baby. She was still in her second trimester when normal chores started to become impossible.”
“So, tell me. If Jezreel loved you and cared for you… why did you move out here all by yourself?”
Baytac snorted. “You’ve looked at me, right?”
Jenevier only furrowed her brows. She didn’t answer.
“Some things can be overlooked when you are a child,” he said. “Not so as you get bigger. And I got plenty bigger. The limp, the scar, only one good eye, my twisted back and crooked nose—kids can be pretty cruel. When my hair started getting longer, Jezreel showed me how to mostly cover all the bald spots. But it wasn’t enough. The teasing and taunting only got worse. One day… I just let ’em have it.”
“What did you do?”
“I turned on them—all the boys who were laughing at me. I beat them up pretty bad. I mean, they are just so… dainty.”
“And you are not.”
“Yeah.” He sighed. “And that’s not even the worst part. Prince Thandyl was one of them.”
“Prince Thandyl?”
Baytac nodded. “Jezreel and Kias’s first born.”
“…Oh.”
“Yeah. When I walked in and saw Princess Jezreel bent over her oldest son’s bed, sobbing her heart out while Kias was healing him… I couldn’t take it. Couldn’t take what I had done to the only person who’d ever shown me even a hint of kindness. I broke her heart. I couldn’t live with myself. I came out here that same day, and I’ve never been back.”
Jenevier lightly touched his arm. “I bet that broke her heart as well.”
Baytac jerked away. “I’ve told you my story. Can you leave me in peace now?”
“If that is your wish.” She turned to go. “I am truly sorry for the part I played in your tortured life, Baytac. Had I the power… I would change your world.”
“Your part? What have you to do with me?”
She turned back to face him. “I married the Prince of Hell.”
“You are wife to that devil?”
Jenevier shook her head. “Not anymore, no. But our time together yielded me my precious son, a son Apollyon had thought perished with me during childbirth.”
