Chapter 1 #3
I cross the river bridge that connects the main part of town to the road heading toward the Queen’s Keep. Our little farmhouse sits just on the border of Spoikos, and from the highest crest of the bridge, I’m able to see the outline of the castle.
I wonder if Queen Daphne knows how bad things have gotten. I picture her in her rooms, toiling away, hard at work, looking for an answer to our prayers.
The Smog is a cage. Whatever fuels it doesn’t allow us to pass into other lands, and I’ve heard the surrounding kingdoms have wards up that keep it from passing into their territory.
No soul comes in, and there is no way out.
I’ve often daydreamed of an army on the other side of the Smog, waiting for their chance to strike at whatever feeds the dark magic. Not unlike the way I used to dream of Father returning to us.
I think back to this morning in the healer’s quarters. There are some fae who could really use that army.
Something in the shadows makes a crunching sound, and my heartbeat quickens as I brave a quick peek over my shoulder, praying it’s just in my head. I’m far enough out of town now that not a soul will hear me if I scream.
The road behind me is dark, and even in the rain, the air is stagnant. It couldn’t have been the wind. The spot where I think the sound came from is within view and empty. There is nothing there. Of course there isn’t. I must be imagining things. I shake the fear from my mind and continue on.
All I’ve ever known is darkness. What I wouldn’t give to see the sun or stars unobstructed. I find it impossible not to wonder what my life would have been like if I hadn’t been born into a land cursed by the Smog
The fae who were alive before the curse are all aging much faster of late, and not many of them like to talk about what things used to be like, if they remember at all.
What little I have learned of our history comes from the older fae who like to drink and reminisce after a few too many.
They say the sky is a gorgeous shade of blue buried beneath the imposing swirls of brown and black, and breathing fresh, clean air was something they never knew they were taking for granted.
I heave a sigh of relief when I make it to the rickety front gate and up the moss-covered stone steps to my home.
There is a basket of food in front of the door that I recognize to be from the castle, and my heart warms knowing Queen Daphne ensures even the lowliest of her people are taken care of.
These baskets have come at least once a week for as long as I can remember, always filled with something useful or necessary.
Sometimes there are even special treats.
When I was too little to work, the baskets kept us alive. I’ve brought them up a couple of times to Phillipa and even the other healers, but if they’re receiving something similar, they’re too proud to admit it to me.
The baskets are what inspired me to volunteer in the greenhouses in the first place. I wanted to feed people, but lately the food is growing much slower, and rotting faster.
I silently pray that Demitra is sleeping as I unlock and open the front door with a creak.
“You’re home early.” Mother’s voice is dripping with malice; already attempting to goad me into an argument. She’s blocking my path to the stairs, watching me with glassy, bloodshot eyes. The air around her is sickly sweet.
My mother, Demitra, is a miserable pain in my ass and my own personal living nightmare. She’s been that way since before I was born. Ever since a group of rebels broke into our house and stole my father from his bed.
It’s been almost thirty years, and the rage I feel is as pungent as the day I was old enough to understand exactly what that meant.
The alcohol makes her angry, and I never know what version of her to expect on any given day. She has bright, shining moments of clarity, but mostly she drinks to numb herself and lays in her bed.
It’s not an uncommon occurrence. The Darkness seeps into some people and twists their will to live until it snaps.
It’s always the same, as if The Smog crawls into their head and whispers evil lies that eat them up from the inside out.
More and more people seem to be losing their grip on reality lately, but I think it slunk its way into Mother’s mind long ago, maybe even before Father. The woman is an empath and a healer, but she never uses her gifts anymore. I don’t even know if she can.
The ability to heal is sparse since the Smog came to be, and we could really use every skilled fae. It’s such a fucking shame she couldn’t have been bothered to snap out of it, not even for my sake.
She is the reason I have stayed for so long.
Each time I consider leaving, striking out on my own, the guilt of abandoning her here to rot in her grief and anger eats me alive.
You cannot force healing into the mind, especially not on someone who is resistant to accept it, and my power isn’t strong enough to fix her anyway.
“It’s been a long day. I thought you’d be asleep by now.
I’m exhausted and want to sleep, myself,” I say as I attempt to make my way past her and up the stairs to my room.
Exhaustion nags at me, and there’s not much I wouldn’t give to come home to a mother who—just once—will hold me and tell me things will be okay.
Crack.
My ears ring as Mother’s open hand meets my cheek in a familiar show of violence.
“Ungrateful cunt!” she screams, but I refuse to react. That would only feed into whatever beast lives inside her, provoking it to escalate even more. I stare straight ahead and allow her to throw her tantrum. “One day I’ll be gone, and you’ll regret the way you’ve treated me!” Demitra hollers.
When she’s finished, I turn and head up the stairs.
“I love you, Mother. I hope you sleep well. Goodnight,” I sing as I close and lock my door, shutting her and the rest of the world out.
I rush to light my lamp, illuminating the room in a soft, yellow glow.
My face still stings, but I refuse to use my magic to remedy it.
The pain festers and grows roots into my soul, fueling my desire to get out of this place.
The Queen’s Guard has to accept me. It’s the only clear path I can see that will get me away from Demitra guilt-free, but not so far that I can’t keep an eye on her and Phil, too.
By the time I change into my nightgown, my cheek is hot and red, but inside, I am mostly numb.
The book on my nightstand is calling to me, and I pull out the tattered note I use as a bookmark, running my fingers over the faded, smudged ink written in what Mother told me is my father’s hand.
You must save yourself.
Four words that remind me I’m the only person I can depend on. My driving force, and the sole reason I’ve been working toward securing a rank in the Queen’s Guard.
I spent much of my childhood wishing and praying he would rescue me, but as I got older and things got harder, and the world bleaker, I realized he was never coming back.
Nobody is coming to do the work for me.
If my fighting skills aren’t enough to convince them, then my healing abilities will certainly get me in. They can’t say no to a healer willing to work on the combat field.
My book is worn and smudged because I’ve read it a million times. There are very few books to be found in Lukasia, and none of them hold any significant history. Another thing the Smog stole from us, I suppose.
Tucking the note into the back pages, I begin to read and eventually drift off with visions of an entirely different world dancing in my head, a world where I’m finally free of my lusterless Smog-cursed prison.
I fall asleep with the oil in my lamp still burning.