CHAPTER 11 #3
My face contorts in confusion, but it seems I’m the only one thrown by the general’s sudden change of subject when Awri nods, turning to dig through a large wooden trunk beneath a rain pattered window.
A moment later a thick leather-bound book is dropped with a resounding thud on the table, fluttering the edges of the map.
“If I recall correctly the wood sprites are somewhere near the center,” the general says, offering me access to the tome’s pages by way of raising his chin toward it.
I’ve seen pictures of the creatures before, but it was long ago in a children’s book, and at the time Leanna assured me they no longer existed here.
When the ancients used the lifeforce of Terr to split the veils in the sundering, most fea creatures fled before the gateway between veils was sealed off forever.
I was taught that the few who remained behind died long ago.
I have to wonder how it is that the La’tari have no idea of their continued existence.
While Awri and Riesh seemed curious about the creature, neither appeared terribly surprised to see it.
Despite all the budding questions in my mind, I can’t help but feel a swell of pride that I have uncovered one more piece of valuable knowledge to bestow upon my king when I return.
Though I have no idea what he is likely to do with the information. What use is a wood sprite to my people?
I crack the book open near the center and flip through the pages until Awri’s hand shoots out, to halt the motion.
“Is that what you saw?” she asks excitedly.
“I didn’t really see it,” I explain, “Just it’s eyes.”
“Her eyes,” Riesh corrects me, and there is a sharp bent to his tone. I peel my eyes away from the pages to meet his, as he explains, “All of the wood sprites that remain after the sundering are female.”
“She’s been alive since the sundering?” I say in little more than a whisper as my eyes return to the pages.
“It’s possible. Though fea biology is quite a bit different than that of a human,” Kishek says as he leans across the table and turns the page.
Drawings of beautifully depicted wood sprites rest beneath the tips of my fingers.
Despite the fact that every drawing is colored black and white it is impossible to mistake them for anything but fea.
Their sharp features and pointed ears are similar to that of the feyn, though these sprites boast a leaf-like serrated edge along the shell of their ear that remind me of the leaves that fell from the tall oaks surrounding the La’tari keep when I was young.
As if they sprouted from a closer form of nature than the feyn, they are draped in vines rather than gowns and small branches protrude from their hair, most adorned with budding flowers or berries.
An unending barrage of questions forms in my mind.
So many that I could easily spend the entire day learning about nothing but the little woodland sprites, but my gluttonous eyes are glued to the sheets and my hands work of their own accord.
They continue to flip through the tome, hungrily drinking in all manner of fea.
Countless images of the creatures line the pages, drawn in vivid detail, and well over half of them are species I’ve never heard of.
“You drew all of these?” I ask Awri.
She dips her head and a blush blooms on the apples of her cheeks.
“They are incredible,” I tell her, “I’ve never known anyone who could put such an image to paper.”
The flush of her cheeks deepens, and I can’t help but feel a little bad that I’ve embarrassed her, though Riesh stands a little taller at her side and smiles proudly down at his sister.
“Did you copy their likenesses out of picture books?”
“Oh no. These are only the fea I have seen myself. There are still a great many I’d like to find and add to the pages,” she says, smoothing a thick strand of hair over her shoulder.
My mind reels delightedly at the thought. How is it possible I’ve lived my life alongside these creatures and never known? Another flip of the page and my breath catches on the dark image at its center.
“I’ve seen one of these,” I say.
Awri and the two males bracketing her share a surprised look among themselves. The floorboards creak as the general takes a step toward the table. He peers down over my shoulder, his eyes sweeping across the intricately detailed drawing of the crone that found me in the woods many years ago.
“Bagya?” He sounds as surprised as the others look.
“Is that what they are called?” I wonder, my fingers tracing the lines of her robe.
“She isn’t a species of fea, she is just … Bagya,” he says.
“How did you find her?” Awri gapes, and the males beside her look to me expectantly.
“She found me,” I say.
An odd, strangled sort of moan leaks out of Kishek’s lungs.
“You made a bargain with her,” Awri says matter-of-factly.
“How do you know that?” I balk.
“She would never have sought you out unless you needed something desperately, and even then, not unless you had something she greatly desired.”
I suppress a shiver, struggling to tamp down the memories of my past life, memories that still feel like a punch in the gut whenever they threaten to surface.
To this day, I have never been more afraid, and not for reasons I am willing to admit.
Perhaps the crone should have frightened me more.
I can tell by their faces she should have, but I suppose my fear was occupied elsewhere.
And even after everything, if I had it to do all over again, I would give the creature anything she asked, if it meant he would be safe.
“You made a bargain with her too?” I ask Awri, trying to break free of the downward spiral of my memories.
It’s written all over her face. She knows all too well what it means to encounter the crone.
“I did. She asked me to fashion a mask that would belie her face. The mask was the payment she required to save a life, that was the bargain.”
Just as I had, Awri seems to tumble down a deep well of her own memories and the air thickens with a gloom that I feel entirely responsible for.
“She must have misplaced it,” I quip, in an effort to lighten the sudden dreary mood. “The drawing is a true likeness, but I do recall her having sharper teeth.”
My sad attempt at humor is lost in another of Kishek’s mournful groans and some of the color drains from Awri’s face. The water in the kettle begins to boil, and Awri jumps when it whistles behind her. Our eyes meet, we laugh, and I turn the page.
The mood lightens over a cup of tea and Kishek busies himself in the kitchen, coming out with trays of seasoned butter, fresh baked rolls, and all manner of sliced cheese and fruit. He lowers a clattering stack of plates to the table, just in time to hide the growl that comes from my stomach.
An early spring rain sets in and once Awri’s sure I’m content to stay and wait out the storm, she sends a messenger to inform my uncle.
I’m pleased, if not a little surprised, when the female settles in beside me on a large chair by the crackling fire.
She hands me the heavy tome of fea, offering to answer every question I ask about the creatures contained within its pages.
My entire life, I’ve been taught that the fea who remained in our veil died out long ago, and I can’t say that I’m sad that my tutors had been wrong about that.
It feels like my entire world tripled in size in the span of an afternoon, and I begin to wonder what other secrets might be revealed to me before I complete my mission and return home.
Late in the afternoon a thunderstorm rolls in with a dense covering of dark clouds. The rain comes down in a sudden deluge with not a single break in the clouded horizon to promise its end.
“I have more than enough rooms for us all. You are welcome to stay here tonight,” Awri offers sweetly as Kishek brings a cake to the table, cutting into and plating it before passing the thick chocolate slices around.
“I really shouldn’t. My uncle will worry,” I lie.
In reality, the man is bound to be thrilled by the proposition, but I left my cloak in my wardrobe like a fool and the contents of my little pouch in its pocket.
My need for the herb is something I can hardly explain to the female without being firmly cast out of the inner circle I’ve somehow managed to find myself in.
“I insist. My letter said you would stay until the rain has ended, so he shouldn’t worry. It’s far too muddy for a carriage now and I won’t have you walking back in the storm.”
She squeezes my arm from where she sits beside me. “It’s no trouble, Shivaria. There really is plenty of room. Just think of it like the sleepovers we had when we were young. It will be fun.”
Her warm smile is full of expectation and all I can think about is the look of horror on Avanjelin’s face when my blade sank into her flesh, forever depriving her of her flawless beauty. I smile and nod, even as my stomach clenches with nerves, threatening to expel my dinner.
Late in the evening, Awri shows me to a room tucked back in the farthest corner of the cottage. The general is given a room directly next to mine, and I have no doubt the decision is purely tactical on his part. I will have to pass by his door to make my way into any other part of the house.
My room is every bit as quaint as the rest of Awri’s home.
Pink ruffled sheets tumble to the floor, falling from a bed that looks as if it was carved from a large bundle of thick roots.
A small window looks out over the river and once I’ve made sure it opens without a sound, I mark it as my quickest escape route.
I’ve folded my pants and laid them on top of a wooden dresser painted in sprigs of lavender when footsteps sound on the stairs overhead. The rest of the party settles in for the night and I tip my ear toward the ceiling curiously when only two doors close above.