22. Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Two
Effie
Silence has never bothered me before; I’ve grown quite fond of it. Although, I find the forest’s quiet is heavier than my island’s. There was a peace on Nedyah Isles, a peace I could only find sitting on the beach, listening to the steadiness of the waves as they pushed and pulled. That was before Mother disappeared. Before I was needed by more than just my father.
Raising my quickly fashioned bow, I lower myself to creep through the underbrush, hunting the way my father taught me as a child. Lying in wait. There aren’t many prey animals in these woods, but if I'm quiet... A fluffle of hareogs dart in front of me, creating their own path. Between breaths I release two arrows. Striking two of the largest. One in the eye and the other in the neck. I’ve still got it. Triumph makes me smile as I collect our dinner; the humans better not be picky eaters. Tying them together at their hindlegs and swing them over my shoulder, I trudge through the underbrush hoping to the gods that there was enough time for Astrid to talk to her sister. When Embla met my eye, I knew the spark of recognition wasn’t from when we met years ago, but from the festival. The anger that burned behind her recognition gave me pause. I can’t force her acceptance. I just hope they were able to get a fire started. I don't know how they'll survive outside of their city if Embla can't give up her prejudices.
My ears perk up as I get closer to camp, picking up angry voices. I don’t want to interrupt, but intrigue breathes down my neck so I decide to watch from the cover of the trees.
“You let her escape!” Embla rages, a fire glowing in the center of the clearing.
“I couldn’t let them kill her just because I wanted something.” Astrid raises her hands in a calming motion. There’s no quelling the rage burning inside her sister.
“Because you wanted something?” Embla sputters. “This has nothing to do with your imaginary homestead and everything to do with your family.” Embla steps forward, pointer finger raised as she presses it into Astrid’s chest. “Your family and keeping us safe should’ve been the reason you went through with it.” She snarls before turning her back on her sister. Embla plops down on her sleeping bag, facing the trees and away from where Astrid remains standing. Her silhouetted fingers curled into fists at her side.
“You’re the reason Erik is dead.” Ash’s voice drips with resentment. “You could’ve fought or tried. He might still be here if you had,” Astrid accuses, her voice cracking. Embla merely pulls the sleeping bag over her head. "Aren't you going to build your tent? I know you have one. I packed it for you," Astrid says, ignoring her sister's attitude.
"I did. See?" She waves at a sagging, barely-staying-up-right attempt at a tent. Ash sighs, stepping over to it and putting it together correctly. "I didn't need your help." Em says, but Astrid finishes and stomps over to the fire. Dropping to the ground, she cradles her head in her hands. I can't help but wish for a sibling, someone to be there for me even on my worst days.
“If you two keep yelling like that, the trolls are bound to come back for their meal.” I walk into camp pulling the two hareogs from my shoulder. I don’t know which of the sisters fashioned the tripod over the fire, but it's sturdy and well made for roasting the meat. No one makes a sound as I settle near it, awkward tension pulling the air tight over my skin. I ignore their argument as the warmth of the fire heats my cheeks, and I set to pulling the arrows from the Hareogs. I can feel Astrid’s gaze jumping from me to her sister before she scoots closer.
“Why did you leave your city?” My hands mechanically work as I look Astrid up and down. Her long, black hair glitters blue in the light of the fire, the scar down her left eye looking more menacing than it did the last time I saw her. She could be a warrior if I didn’t know any better. Demendian customs are strange, not just to me but the rest of the outside world. I know a thing or two about losing the power of choice. Maybe that’s why I feel a kinship with her. But the difference is I left my duty behind, choosing myself over my own people. I pull my knife out of my boot to start cleaning my catch.
Astrid releases a sigh. “We had to run.” I feel my eyebrow shoot up. “They were going to sacrifice Embla to Malia because our district was struggling to make the tithe. Some even blamed the plague on our inability to pay.”
“I’ve never heard of a god requiring human sacrifice. Demendia was the first place I heard Malia’s name. We have the seven Gods of creation.” Where did this new god come from? My curiosity sparks, wondering if there is anyone in the Renathian Empire who worships this god that requires human life. I see my questions mirrored in Astrid’s eyes along with her interest in a world she has been taught to hate, and fear. In Demendia, I heard stories being told to the children in the corners of the black market. Puppeteers bring them to life, blaming the fae for illness, missing children, and anything that afflicts their community. I’m surprised by what I don't see in Astrid's body language. She isn’t scared of the unknown like many from her city would be. Which plucks at my curiosity some more.
“You said there were different kinds of fae?” Astrid asks, quietly changing the subject, and I smile. I want to teach her about this world she has found herself in. I quickly finish cleaning the meat. Tying it to the spit in two movements, I sit back down next to Astrid.
“It’s a bit more than that. We were once a people united but more recently, we've let our differences separate us,” I say, picking up a stick and drawing three circles. “Now we’ve got the fae.” I draw a heart in one circle. “Faeries.” I draw wings in the next circle. “And underlings.” A single drop of blood in the last.
“Okay,” Astrid says cautiously, hovering over my shoulder.
“Fae, are those without wings. It includes ancient tribes like the Adoehte of the forest, the Nedyahn’s of the islands, Nyxian’s of Scandes as well as the Ankareeda or shifters,” I say drawing a line in the sand around the circle with the heart with each fae tribe I list.
“What about faeries?” Astrid asks, pointing to the next circle.
“Faeries are those with wings. The high faeries spend most of their time in the Bjartr forest: nephilim have feathered wings, pixies remind me of dragonflies, and the only exception to the wings rule are the gnomes.” I smile, remembering a bit of lore I learned as a kid. “Faeries are the beings that rose from the footsteps of our earth mother, Eris.” I pause, spinning the meat on the spit, letting the flames lick the skin. The smell drifts through the air already, savory, and even though I didn’t have any spices to work with, my stomach rumbles. I can’t help but feel like a mother teaching her children about the world for the first time. Those humans stuck behind those walls are sheltered from everything, and that can’t be healthy. You can't hide from your problems; they will find you. Eventually.
“Underlings are the last ones, right?” Astrid asks, pointing to the drop of blood.
“They are more animalistic than the fae or faeries. Some feed on the blood of others, and some don’t. It just depends on the type.” I try to think of some examples. “In the Obsidian Mountains, there are newtons who conduct electricity through their bodies to create a glow that lights up entire rooms. Shadow Wolves stalk the woods around Myrr looking for any unsuspecting person who tries to enter the city the wrong way.”
Astrid fingers her locket, her eyes not leaving the ground. I turn the spit again, excited to see the Hareogs starting to turn a golden brown. My hunger aches and is getting hard to ignore.
“Can you take me to a fae physician or a healer? Hel, a shaman even? My people need help.”
“There’s a city close, but you don't know anything about this world or the magic that’s in it,” I say, distractedly running a hand through my locs, I'm thinking braids next. But I really don't want to do them myself, my arms always cramp. Maybe I should try Bantu knots.
“I can’t let people I care about writhe in pain until they die. I won’t sit around and do nothing. Teach me about this world. Teach me about magic! I'll do whatever I have to if it finds me a cure to this illness and a way to save my people,” Astrid promises, she’s determined, I’ll give her that. It glints in her eyes like a beacon, and with the life debt I owe her, I can’t say no.
“I'll take you to Myrr and teach you our ways. I owe you a debt, one that I don't know if I can ever repay but I'll try like hel.” I turn the spit again before taking the first hareog down and tying the second one in its place.
“I’ll admit I’m scared of not knowing what to expect. But I find I’m more curious about this world.” Astrid rips a piece of meat from one of the legs, blowing on it before popping it in her mouth. She hums slightly off tune while she chews.
“The forest is full of monsters." My tone makes her pause. "You'll have to be ready because they are not just hunters from your city.”
“What is out there that could take on a powerful badass fae like you?” Astrid asks, surprised. I gaze past her scanning the perimeter of the small camp. I hate the way the large trees look like claws scratching through the earth to cast haunting shadows, thorns gleaming against the firelight. I turn my head to check on Embla who is still lying on her sleeping bag in front of her tent.
“Demons,” my voice is solemn and serious.
“Did you say demons?” Embla squeaks, rolling over to join the conversation.
“There are no demons, everyone knows they were banished after the war,” Astrid reasons, rolling her eyes. They truly don't know the true state of the empire and their city's hand in it. Has it been that long already? Embla nods her agreement as she rises to a seated position, pulling her knees to her chest, the sleeping bag falling around her. I have to stop myself from scoffing and instead remember they’re like children, but at least it seems like they want to learn.
“2500 years ago, the leaders of our empire were able to seal the demons on Mor Ed’ Hellen, with the help of the most powerful druid to ever live,'' I gush, turning the spit as the stories my father told me play through my head. “Hundreds of years later, the Banvaenn family united the humans, fae, and faeries. Back then Demendia was our capital, the pride of the empire. Things were quiet. Peaceful almost. Until about 30 years ago. A crack formed in Mor ed Helen's ward. Fae and faeries were the first to start fighting. The humans were set to join us, to fight with us and the rest of the realm. Our pride and joy then sealed its gates.” I sigh, I won't soon forget my father's anger when he found out. It was a dark day in our history. Many species, including dragons, were forced underground. They deemed it too dangerous to allow a demon to possess them and gain control of that kind of power. I long for the return of dragons soaring across the skies, and less fear in the air. Something I have only heard of in stories.
“When the wards around Mor Ed’ Hellen weakened further some years ago, a few were able to force their way back into our world. The druid who created them died after trying to reinforce it. The empire fell into chaos, every kingdom vying to keep its own people safe, and the world fell into isolation.” I remove the second Hareog from the spit before I continue. “It was a hard time for fae and faeries. Everyone was against each other, and none of the royal houses were speaking. Many still don't. Every noble wants to rule the empire, but no one will agree on who to submit to. The only thing they can agree on is it needs to be someone with Banvaenn blood.” I pick at the cooked meat with my fingers, tossing a morsel into my mouth with an amused smile. “Your Papa left that part out, didn’t he? Demendians paint us fae to look like villains instead of their partners. When the truth is, your ancestors left us to die.”
“Banvaenn? I’ve never heard of that surname,” Astrid says, her hand stroking her chin as she thinks. Her mouth moves silently like she is rushing through a list of names.
“An old human family a fae princess married into or so the written history says. The kingdoms throughout the continent rejoiced for the union. Freya was beloved by the fae, and the humans loved Ragnor. The world was ready for the peace they would bring, and they did. For a few years at least, until they vanished.” I watch the word sink into Astrid. Her eyes grow rounder with each word.
“Demendia’s ruler is King Daemon, and he’s unmarried without siblings,” Embla points out from her sleeping bag.
“No one knows what happened to them. Many say they were killed. Assassinated. But no one has any proof.” I turn to Embla, meeting her gaze as I explain. This is a story that has haunted me since childhood.
“Were you looking for them? Is that why you visited Demendia as often as you did?” Astrid asks, a comforting hand lands on my arm, and I cover it with my own before abruptly changing the subject.
“Enough. Our Hareog is ready. Let’s eat and try to sleep. I’ll take first watch.” I swipe the dagger clean before I start to cut the meat off the bone.
“It was probably a hareog. Go back to sleep.” Astrid’s groggy voice pulls me from unconsciousness, like coming out of water. I lie on my bedroll for a moment, absolutely still as I listen. The distant sound of voices reaches my ear. Quiet enough to be lost in the sounds of the forest, but not to my heightened hearing. The voices are still a way off but too close for my liking. If they’re Demendian we need to get moving quickly. If it's the trolls we should’ve left earlier.
“Embla.” I sit up straight, my eyes searching the camp for the sister who was supposed to be on watch. “Why would you wake Astrid and not me?” I hiss when I find her in the dim light of the fire’s embers.
“I—I—I—” Embla stutters looking at her hands, trying to come up with an excuse that will do us no good in this situation.
“Just, pack your things, we have to go,” I say, resignation tinting my words with more attitude than I intend, and I can see the hurt in Embla’s eyes. I stand, gathering my pack and sleeping bag before turning to shake Astrid awake.
“What the fuck, Effie? It's sleep time. The moons awake so I'm asleep,” she moans, trying to roll over and go back to sleep.
“Shut up, we’re leaving. Open your eyes and let’s go.” Irritation streaks through me, and I have to wonder what I’ve gotten myself into, offering to help these two girls. I kick dirt over the already dying fire, putting it out completely, while the sister’s stumble over themselves in their exhaustion.
Soon, we’re trailing through the forest. I don't know if Demendians are still looking for us, and we can't sleep outside for another night. We need some place to go. I can’t explain the protectiveness I feel over Astrid, or the wariness I feel toward Embla. I’ve never met someone so unwilling to fight and stand up for herself.
The women of the Nedyah Isles are the ones who lead. I was raised by warriors, women of power and prestige. I miss my cousin more than anyone, I remember the way she liked to keep her hair in fierce bantu knots that accentuated her high cheekbones. Her dag a?h —a golden lip ring passed down to her by her mother, her grandmother before that, and so on. The golden ring wrapped around her lip like a cuff before extending to the corner of her lips in a way that highlighted the warm tones of her umber skin. Her leather armor, pieced together to look like dragon scales then dyed red. I remember the fierceness in her eye. I miss her every day. I left her behind when I was given the choice of what role I would take on. It was something I trained for from the time I was a child, but when the time came for me to step into power, I couldn’t. I will never be what the people need, and that’s why I ran. I shake my head, clearing my thoughts, not wanting to relive the memory as we look for a place to rest before continuing our journey to the city I vowed to never return to. The forest falls away as we cross a dirt path, exhaustion evident in the silence that surrounds us as we trudge on. It won’t be much longer until we hit one of the small towns out here.