Chapter 3 #3
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” I mumble. A soft brush of fur tingles along my lips, and I hush. I concentrate on restraining in the gag at the back of my throat. The beasts’ metallic stench burns my nostrils and nearly makes my eyes water.
The bright, familiar sound of Pluto’s enchanted whistle rings throughout the wood, and the baby klopses disperse from my body quickly, cascading off my arms and legs like little waterfalls.
His whistle is the one possession he’d brought with him to Nwatalith after his village was destroyed.
He carries it on a thick thread around his neck, and had I not known it was wooden, I’d have thought it was made of silver with the way it glimmers in the morning light.
Its power is ancient and mysterious—with it, Pluto can bend nature to his will.
But such power drains the energy in one’s eluviam rather drastically.
Pluto’s paling features communicate his need for rest.
Thankfully, after only a few seconds, I’m klopse-free. The sun breaks through the sky, and birds begin their morning chirps. The little beasts disappear under the warm rays of light.
My eluviam puckers in defeat.
Pluto staggers, a hand pressed to his forehead.
I offer my elbow, and he takes it, then drags me down into his slump. We sit together on the soft forest floor and breathe in the fresh scent of honey and moss hanging in the air.
Normally, we’d leave immediately after a failed hunt in case the creatures return for a counterattack, but when Pluto closes his eyes and rests his head against a stretch of uprooted oak, I erase my worries.
I relax my shoulders and turn my body to lie next to him, but a rustle in the bushes forces me to be alert. I whip my head toward the bright red Aldor-berries as they wiggle in the brush. At first, I figure there’s a small animal disturbing our peace.
Then, the familiar feeling of bloodlust sizzles within me, a longing to walk away from today with something to show for our efforts. The sensation brings me to kneel in the thick grass as I slip my dagger from its strap. My thumb flattens against the blade.
“Ether,” Pluto sighs. I don’t return his disapproving stare, even as his hand lazily grips mine, stopping me before I even have a chance to ready my aim. “Look, you’re starved. Pay closer attention to those bushes. You don’t want to be accused of treason , do you?”
“Treason.” I snicker, shaking my head. Replenishing magic requires killing a beast of the forest. Pluto knows every creature living in the forest is at our mercy, and this one is no different.
The bush shudders again, and from it rises something far grander than fowl or varmint.
Long pointed ears protrude from the silvery black hair that swirls around a slender body in several precise braids.
The creature wears the crest of Arioch, which glistens silver and crimson against the indigo robe tucked into a thick silver belt.
The creature’s eyes are sharp and fierce.
He’s a betrayer of the forest who serves the human king, and yet, my bones and limbs and mind are forced to praise him as an ancient respect stills my heart. Once walking the same ground as our goddess, they too suffer the whims of kings who have ruled our land for the past millennium.
He’s one of the Sanvira .
My throat tightens as I slip the knife behind my back, then bow my head in reverence. Pluto touches his forehead to the moist soil next to me in the deepest bow he can manage. It pains me to watch him lower himself, but I know he’s being forced against his will, just as I am.
“Pluto Astaroth,” the Sanvira bellows. His voice is still spiritually in tune with the forest, its timbre hardly distinguishable from the leaves whispering on their branches.
If it weren’t for my knowing that he is one of the human king’s messengers, I’d probably think he still loves our queen and passes along our prayers.
But he’s one of the traitors—I can tell by his smell.
Perfidy has a scent, and he reeks of it.
“Yes, Sire?” Pluto’s voice carries a squeaky, unnatural respectfulness and a dash of fear.
The Sanvira are unlike us in every way apart from their long ears and light weight.
Only twelve were created by Aldorin, wielding immense power which our people can only dream of accessing.
Of those twelve, the only ones I’ve seen appear were following orders from the king.
We all know this, yet our embedded, soul-binding reverence for them forces us to buckle under their superior power.
The tall traitor moves past the bush and stands over us, looming like a giant. I steadily return my knife to its sleeve, and Pluto shoots me a look with crow-colored eyes—terror consumes him. A Sanvira coming to Nwatalith can mean one thing, and neither of us wants to be involved.
“You are dismissed. As for Ether Malaphon,” he says, turning his gaze upon me. The power in his voice courses through the ground, and his flat gray eyes pull me in like a magnet. He holds me in his glare, forcing me to save my breath. “You are to come with me.”
“But—” Pluto protests quietly, and this time, with a hiss, I’m the one to warn him not to defy the throne.
The Sanvira reaches down with a meaty hand and I take it without hesitation, thanks to that damn instinct. His palm is cold and rough and clammy, but more than that, he grips me with such force, I wince. My heart pounds, and I soon feel my pulse in each of the fingers crunched in his grasp.
He doesn’t release me until we return to Nwatalith.