Chapter 63 #2
Clenching my jaw, I slowly slipped through, crawling on all fours at times to make any progress. Finally, I pushed past the last one and sprinted toward the archway, his silhouette smaller but still visible.
“Endymion,” I called out once more, and as I stepped through the archway, I tripped.
I fell face-first, barely catching myself in time.
Small pebbles embedded themselves into my little, fleshy palms, and I gritted my teeth against the sting, though my eyes burned nonetheless.
Confused, I shifted to see what I’d tripped on—something that should’ve been impossible given I’d known this cobbled road like the back side of my hand.
Seeing the reason for my bleeding palms, annoyance and indignation warmed my blood as I stared at the female who just lay in front of me like an abandoned toy.
“That hurt,” I groused. “Why are you lying just there?”
It took a moment to register that the words—and more importantly the voice—Too high. Too small. A child’s voice.
A lump caught in my throat.
Not just any child.
Endymion.
The world lurched as the truth settled into my bones. I wasn’t watching this memory. I was inside it. Inside him—seeing through his eyes, feeling through his body.
He’d shared this moment with me as we’d sat on the outcrop, high above the aquamarine lake.
I’d never forget the distance in his gaze as past had swallowed him whole.
And of course it had, this wasn’t just any day, it was the King Thaddeus Artimus Alton the Second had unleashed a great curse against the fae.
Sadness filled my heart as I sensed his confusion. I already knew what he was about to realize—how this would alter him—and I would’ve given anything to stop what happened next.
Only, like him, I was powerless against the past.
Conscious and unable to control the memory, I was stuck in his avatar, reliving the horror in real time as he experienced it.
Popping up to his feet, he crossed his arms and stared down at the female with consternation. “Get up. That wasn’t funny.”
Silence.
Confused, he knelt down. Shaking her shoulder lightly, he said, “Are you okay?” Coppery hair covered her face, and he tentatively tucked it behind her delicate ears.
I mentally gasped at what I saw through his eyes. The female’s irises were covered in a white film—like that of a dead fish—though, because it was something he’d never seen before, it took him an extra moment to understand the meaning of it.
Shocked, he fell back onto the gravel. Awkwardly catching himself, he ignored the fresh fiery pain that radiated through his palms as new pebbles lodged into his flesh.
Terror gripped every one of his senses, and he scampered backward, halting the instant he felt soft silk under his tiny hands—the sensation revealing a truth his mind hadn’t quite caught up to.
He turned his tiny torso, taking in the finery of the male’s clothing before noticing he too was lying on the ground, face up, eyes filmy.
Slowly, he took in his surroundings.
He was at a market, littered with scents and colors that were like home to him, having come to this market with his parents since he was a wee bairn.
He noted the silence, straining his little fae ears to hear anything, but they didn’t oblige. Worst yet, what he’d mistaken for textiles strewn about, were bodies.
An image of his parents flashed in his mind, and a fresh wave of panic like he’d never experienced had him bolting upright.
He sprinted toward home as fast as his short legs would take him, doing his best to pretend the bodies were logs in a forest as he dodged the recumbent fae littering the double-wide path.
He rounded the corner to the front of a beautifully maintained villa. It was rustic in a way. The most exquisite fall blossoms were vibrant against the stunning reds and oranges of the fall leaves that crawled up the stone face of the manor. It was warm. Beautiful. It was home.
He watched his feet on the stone path, knowing he’d fallen one too many times to make that mistake again.
Coming to the back of the house at full speed, he stopped so hard his knees buckled.
There, he stared down at his father, who lay on his stomach, an arm outstretched.
Endymion’s eyes reluctantly trailed the direction of his father’s focus to find his mother.
She was on her side, curled into herself, flowers in hand as if she’d been foraging on her knees for the bouquet’s finishing touches, falling to her side when the curse had claimed her.
“Momma!” his tiny voice croaked, and I knew I’d never forget the broken desperation in his voice for as long as I lived.
He ran to her, placing his hands on her side to shake her like he’d done with the first body. “Momma. Get up. Momma!”
Pulling his little hands away, he noted the small specks of blood he’d left on her white blouse from his fall.
Tears now falling freely, he closed his eyes in concentration and reached for his power.
He knew he was too young, that the Mother wouldn’t heed his call.
But he silently begged, pleaded, and grasped for any flicker of magic so that he might heal her—heal them.
He tried to remember what he’d learned. Remembered his father telling him it would be a time before he could talk to his magic, and that she would listen.
Tears continued to roll down his cheeks as he tried again and again and again
Eventually, exhaustion came calling for him.
Defeated, he did the only thing he knew.
Lifting his mother’s arm, he slid under it and nestled into the front of her, resting his head on her other one.
Pulling the top arm over him, he hugged her hand into his chest, and like they’d done countless times before, he pretended that she was asleep.
He lay in the warmth of her embrace, his body finally succumbing to exhaustion, his prayers to the Mother unanswered.
I was thrust out of the memory so violently it was as if the internal turmoil of the child had fractured something in Endymion, throwing me into a succession of memories so quick I could barely grasp their meaning.
Then, it all stopped, and I was standing as me in a place that was eerily similar to the void, only it lacked its beauty.
A deep, familiar voice pulled my attention. “No, Little Star, you can’t be here.”