5. Callum
Callum
Villagers hurry to gather what they can as the storm begins to peak. They bustle in and out of their homes, panicking. While I stand outside and listen to the gale.
Senses alert.
I’ve been told wind is unsettling. It howls, rages, and tears the realm apart. As an air wielder, I’ve only ever found comfort in the secrets carried on the breeze.
The corner of my mouth ticks up as I listen to the strum of whispers. The wisdom of the realm. If only others could hear all that is carried on the wind, they would realize that destruction is not why they should fear it; it’s what else it spreads.
Even now, when my magic is burrowed deep, I sense a warning. A darkness cast in shadows through the gust, as if something out there is trying to share a secret with me. Twisted among the visions of death are dark, shadowy tendrils. Singing with a single message.
My eyes fly open as I shove it away.
“Get inside.” I direct the villagers who have gathered by a carriage to grab the remaining food stores. “We don’t have time.”
Thomas doesn’t slow as he grabs another basket. Sweat has his honey-brown hair slicked back after a long day gathering food in the forest. Dirt dusts his skin.
He knocks my shoulder as he walks past. “We’ll starve without it. Not all of us are Fae like you and impossible to kill.”
Bitterness sours his tone, a constant reminder that I am not one of them, and they hate me for it.
“You’ll die with or without the food if you don’t get inside,” I warn him, and he stops where he stands at the doorway.
Resentment toward Fae is not new to the village, but the condition of the island in recent weeks has bred more. The remaining villagers eye me and Greer with disdain. Either for what we are or the Crown we used to serve.
Elorie has Fae blood as well, but they see her as one of them. They listen to her.
Me, they watch from the corner of their eye like they expect me to join the rest of the Guard who climbed on a boat and abandoned them here.
Little do they know those guards never made it to the opposite shore, and I don’t bother telling them because they wouldn’t believe me or care.
I wasn’t part of that group, but they resent me, nonetheless.
“I’ll get the rest of the food inside,” I tell Thomas.
His teeth work like he wants to argue, and while he can’t bring himself to respond, he offers a single nod before disappearing into the house.
I quickly get to work, carrying the remaining food from the carriage into the pantry.
With each pass, my eyes fix on the gate that hangs open, leading to the forest surrounding the village.
Elorie and Greer aren’t back yet. Not as the air chills and the clouds thicken.
So I stretch my senses to the edges of the island, searching for signs of them.
But it’s all drowned out by the choppy waves slapping against the shore.
Once the food is inside, I leave Thomas and his sister to inventory what we managed to save and return to Letia’s house.
She’s upstairs, pacing back and forth like she often is. I strip off my Guard armor and set it neatly on the chair by the door. The silver plates are splattered with dirt and water spots, so I’ll spend time polishing it tonight.
Greer keeps asking why I bother wearing it when we don’t even know if there is a Guard left.
And if there is, why would I bother defending a king who turned on his own people?
Those aren’t answers I can give her because her grief and anger are a wall that prevents her from understanding.
But this small routine is all I have left.
I rub the heel of my hand over the dirty pauldron; hints of my reflection stare back. I don’t wear this for the king. Malachi is a godsforsaken bastard hiding in his sister’s shadows, and he lost my loyalty when he betrayed his kingdom.
No, I don’t wear this for him.
I wear it as a reminder of a mission I once believed in. As a reminder of the male I once was. One with honor. One who stood for something.
What do I stand for now?
“Where are Elorie and Greer?” Letia jolts me from my thoughts, and I set my armor down.
I loosen the ties on my tunic so I can breathe a little easier. “Dorn and Isra didn’t come back from gathering berries. They went to search for them.”
Her eyes widen.
“Don’t worry, Dorn and Isra are back now.” I leave out the part where he was carrying his nearly dead wife in his arms when they returned.
That he could barely form words as he tried to explain what he’d seen. What nightmares Greer and Elorie hung back to face.
“But Greer and Elorie aren’t?” Her sapphire-blue eyes dart to the ceiling as a gust rattles the roof.
“They’ll be back soon,” I assure her, ignoring the irritation tightening my throat, knowing that might not be the case if what I heard is true.
Letia eyes me, sweeping her golden-blonde hair into a bun. She watches me skeptically as I straighten my shoulders and cross the room, taking a seat at the table.
“You’re still mad at her about the prison, aren’t you?” she asks, her eyes narrowing. “She’ll be okay, Callum. You know Elorie. When she’s chosen a path, she needs to see it to the end, or she’ll never let it go. Besides, she got out of the prison once.”
“When she was only human.”
“She was never only human,” Letia corrects me, meeting me at the table. “You and I both know that.”
As the one who was there when Laef carried his daughter from the prison the first time, I do know that.
He made me swear on a blood oath to my ancestors that I’d never reveal Elorie’s true heritage, and I kept that secret from my king.
My people. Elorie. It nearly ruined our friendship, but it was the only way to keep her safe.
No one could know the truth, not even Letia.
Although, I sense she always knew Elorie better than I did, regardless.
Letia’s blue eyes watch me curiously. She didn’t know how Elorie was different, just that she was. And unlike me, who was constantly worrying about Elorie’s safety because of it, Letia’s faith in her friend has always been unwavering.
Letia’s gaze falls to the books covering the table. “Why so many books?”
I glance at the leather journals spread before me. Some so old and messy the handwriting is nearly illegible. “I’ve been digging through the Guard’s archives, hoping they would provide some clarity, but they haven’t.”
Letia frowns, but there’s no point in offering hope when I don’t have it yet. That will only lead to more disappointment. Still, I’ve been poring over the journals of the first Fae guards who came to Alyssium in search of something—anything that might help.
Unfortunately, the records are mostly a collection of wild ramblings from when the first humans were brought from the Mortal Realm to Lyrichia.
They’re littered with bias. Back when the Crown first started utilizing the prison again, the Crown struck a deal with the mortal queen, trading human workers for resources.
The ones she sent had no choice in the matter, creating the start of what continued to be a tumultuous relationship for centuries.
It only softened when the Arch to the Mortal Realm closed, and the humans had no choice but to trust the Fae. We were all they had left.
“I did find something interesting in the notes.” I dig out a tan leather journal from the bottom of the stack as Letia sits across from me.
“Emual Leed.” She reads the name scrawled on the front.
“He was one of the guards who coordinated passage for the humans from the Mortal Realm to Alyssium. His records are thorough, detailing everything from the moment they were brought through the Arch to Ruse Village until they landed in Alyssium.”
“They came through on the continent?” Letia’s eyes widen, realizing what I’m saying.
Generations of Fae and humans have been led to believe humans cannot stand on magical ground and that the only reason they survived in our realm is because Alyssium doesn’t have a drop of magic.
For this reason, I worried when Elorie was brought to the Ley Court because I didn’t know if she would survive the journey.
Thankfully, her Fae blood heightened her tolerance.
But these journals paint a different picture—of a secret the Fae in the Ley Court have carefully protected. The humans were not brought to this realm through an Arch at sea, as we were told; they were brought to the shore of Rohldova.
Magical land.
The pages crackle as I peel them apart, stiff from years left unturned. To think the truth was within reach all these years I worked on this island, but no one bothered reading these old journals.
“This was buried in the back of the archives.” I flip it open to the page I marked.
“Emual mentions the Arch being sewn to the sand of the quiet village. It’s a name the guard uses for Ruse Village, since it’s always been a breaking point in wars.
A place where they would recover or change shifts.
He describes the humans stumbling onto the sand to the Fae’s amusement, setting a bad tone to begin with. ”
“Too bad that didn’t improve.”
I nod in agreement, flipping ahead. “It was only made worse when they boarded a boat that led them to the dead island. Some humans asked to return once they learned they wouldn’t have access to the main continent anymore.”
“The Fae wouldn’t let them?” Letia’s eyebrows pinch.
“They were conscripted under orders of their queen. They weren’t given the choice. Some tried to flee on boats, reaching as far as the opposite shore. But as soon as they did, they died in the sand.”
Letia pulls the journal from my hands, eyeing the page. “Why would the magic on the shore kill them upon returning if it hadn’t when they arrived?”
I point to a word circled at the bottom of the page.
“Aeraliss?” she reads.
“Emual noted the humans wore rings cast of a unique metal—a metal counterpart to obsidian stone. Where obsidian mutes magical effects for Fae, aeraliss does the same for humans. While wearing these rings, they were able to pass through the continent without dying.”
The fire crackles as Letia’s eyes snap to mine. “For how long?”
“There’s no limit noted.” I lean back in my chair, watching her process.
She pulls her lip between her teeth, considering what I’m saying. Her fingers twist over the open book.
“So you’re saying that with those aeraliss rings humans can survive on magical land.”
I nod. “They could survive anywhere in this realm.”
“We could leave Alyssium.” The hope in her voice burns my chest.
Because, by all accounts, yes, they could. But I no longer know if the rest of the realm is any better than this.
“Where do we find it?” Letia starts flipping through the pages. “The metal—aeraliss?”
“It was mined in the Mortal Realm. There’s no record of it here.” I frown. “But if we could find the rings the humans wore when they were first brought over, we might have a chance.”
Her shoulders deflate as she looks up at me. “That was centuries ago.”
“I know.”
“It’s a lead at least.”
“It is.” I just wish it were enough.
Letia sits back in her chair, glancing at the fire. We watch it in silence for a long moment. Flames lick the long-burnt stone, casting little warmth with the chill creeping beneath the door.
Even if we can find the rings, we won’t survive at sea trying to get back to the continent. Our only chance of leaving Alyssium is through a Gate, and I haven’t been able to get one to form in the months I’ve been trying.
“The rings must be somewhere,” Letia says, mulling it over. “In one of the old quarters, maybe? We could search all the homes.”
“The humans wouldn’t have them.” I frown. “The Guard collected the rings when they arrived to ensure the humans couldn’t leave the island. They might be in the Guard quarters though. Someone had to have known what happened to them.”
“That’s why you’re poring through these journals?”
I nod.
“Then let me help,” she decides, grabbing a book from the stack. “If it’s here, we’ll find it.”
A smile cracks when I’ve only seen her frown lately. But it’s interrupted as the door bursts open. Elorie and Greer rush inside, shoving it closed behind them. Mud cakes the bottoms of their boots, and their leathers are covered in thick black tar.
They’re a mess of blood and dirt as they slump against the door. They’re out of breath and…
Smiling?
Not just smiling. They’re laughing.
“What in the name of Sarrow happened to you two?”