Howling Wind of Change

“I heard that the queen almost doesn’t leave her chambers these days.”

“I am sure she is sick. Her skin is very pale.”

“And I think she is scared.”

“The queen?”

“Last time when I saw her, she followed that cursed child.”

Silence reigned among the guards. The service has been tough, especially under Lord Lavese, who’s rules were harsh and almost cruel. They were paid well though, as the safety in Karmala was an imperative. The king, leading the politics of the conquest, knew how many enemies are against him – and how many would use every crevice to slip inside the well guarded castle.

The king surrounded the city with a cordon of army. Many conquered lands didn’t agree with their rightful rulers. Army was guarding the outer terrains and was sent to keep these kingdoms in check. It wasn’t even needed to add that this army was powerful as a blast from the cannon. Nothing could stop them.

The queen was, though, another case.

She married Savras in the late age of thirty but she managed to bring three children – two boys and a girl. The oldest one, prince Dussen, was already a very insufferable teenager. She was always fragile and guards thought that sometimes stupid. But half a year ago, her behavior started to be strange. She didn’t want to take part in celebrations, didn’t want even to share her bedchambers with Savras, which was widely known, as the king wasn’t hiding his frustration.

Queen Rabra seemed a frightened couch puppy, witnessing her very first thunderstorm.

And there was someone who opened the window, to let the rain and lightning in.

“If you asked me, that elf is involved in everything bad that happens here.”

“But even he can’t endanger the queen. If he ever tried, Savras would tear his stomach up and order him to eat his own entrails.”

One of the guards, who till now didn’t take part in the conversation, laughed nastily.

“And you, what do you think about it, Rog?”

Rog scoffed, amused. His face, bearing a similar scar as the king, spread in an awful wide grin.

“I think we all dance to his music.” he just said. “If that depended on me, I would kill him. Not sending some stupid refined assassin, which he could easily take of with his cursed magic. We should go and stab him as he sleeps, overpowering him with our mass.”

“Hmmm…”

“This is risky to speak so. He has ears everywhere. And I somehow think, he would be prepared for this. The magic he surrounds himself with…”

“Better to have him on our side” said an older, white haired soldier. “Who knows what he plans. How all shifts.”

“Yeah, and soon, the pigs will start to fly and elves will rule Karmala. He is an easy target. He looks like a kid, for Anit’s sake! He is weak and small.”

The old soldier looked at him like he just found a very fat specimen of a cockroach on his pillow.

“Just shut up, Rog. This kind of talking won’t take you far.”

“Yes?” the guard in question gazed at him with anger. “You all are already lost to him. This is what he wants. Soon you will all wake up with a leash on your necks, with those filthy pointy-eared bastards holding its other end!”

Rog didn’t want to talk and the last hours passed with a stern atmosphere and hostility. The other guards never liked Rog, he was searching for conflict wherever he went. Searching for problems and putting others – purposefully – against each other.

When they were changed, the sun still was hidden behind the horizon. Rog, annoyed, decided to cool his head outside, clear his mind. They were such fools! He suspected since elvin boy appeared in the castle, that he plans something against this kingdom. The way he coiled Savras around his finger, the way he used his privileges to help the slaves. He plotted, oh he plotted, for sure! If all were seeing it as clear as he, Rog. But they were too cautious. They should blow him up in an explosion of blue fire, the quicker, the better.

He took a slug and lighting it up, he inhaled a big swig of the smoke.

He felt this, as soon as the herb reached his lungs.

It felt like he found himself in the water, he couldn’t take a breath, feelling how fluid fills him. His eyes opened wildly, in sheer panic, he tossed the cigarette and supported himself on the stone wall, trying all the time to catch a breath.

“It feels like you are burning. But you are, in fact, drowning. What an irony of elements” he heard an amused voice and at once, he knew who speaks. This… this…

“I would say that in every court, in every place led by aristocrats, keeping your mouth shut and minding your own business is profitable” said Raithea, approaching Rog slowly and patting him friendly on the bent back. “Court is a dangerous place and is built by… dangerous people.”

Water, bubbly, in his nose, his lungs… his cursed lungs!… he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t take air in!

“You… khhhh… you… bast—-“

Raithea just forced more of the magic into the guard’s throat. Rog’s eyes almost left their sockets, he tossed, until he fell on the ground, cut under his knees with a power of death. The water started to slowly trickle from his nose and mouth, sinking immediately into the ground.

“I actually showed you a lot of mercy,” he said to the dead body, still focusing on keeping a magical bubble around them both, aware that if someone saw them, his plans would have to change… drastically. He knew that the spell inside Rog’s body would utilize his corpse in an hour or more. He decided to stay, safely concealed and watch as the guard’s body changed into dust.

Now he had a face that he could use for weaving Arialin’s mask. Not a perfect face, as he will have to hire a human guard, so Arialin was always close.

Possibly that will be more problematic than giving him the face of a human washerwoman. But easier and connected with much less of a loss.

And he was sure that Arialin would have better things to do, than washing dirty underwear for spoiled nobles.

Much better.

He felt though that usage of magic drained him, his already tired body almost collapsed when a certain dose of elation evaporated.. This was an especially powerful spell and taking a life never was coming without consequences.

Magic takes and gives. Now he took, swallowed it, just as Rog. What he will have to give, will reveal itself in the morning.

He felt an itching in his left hand. And he guessed, even if that knowledge couldn’t stop it from happening.

Keeral sat in Raithea’s private library and as he ordered him to, started to search for more information about elvin tribes. His Master supposed that this… Arialin, may belong to some lost society, that strange his emanation was. Keeral was leafing through one of the books – a certain volume written after human conquest – but his mind was occupied with the guest.

Keeral was not exactly keen in magic, but as any elf, he could feel the darkness. That’s why he never truly believed in wrong gossip about Raithea – about spells and means that never belonged to elvin kind. He simply never felt darkness in his Master.

Of course, Raithea was a strict teacher and sharp as a dagger, but he wasn’t evil. This, he could easily put among impossibilities.

But Arialin was enveloped by dark magic, and even if Keeral couldn’t place if it was external or coming from his heart, he was worried that the newcomer may outbalance the already fragile situation of elves in this castle.

Raithea’s. And his own.

I am not afraid, he murmured to himself, while seeking information, this is common sense.

This darkness, though was something that was twisting him inside. What if humans find him out, and here of all places? The king has seen it as heresy to human order, to be bound with night. His magicians were seeking actively elves who were trying to dip their fingers in forbidden practices, to make their own lifes a bit better. He was aware that helping the darkness was performing it, in human law.

He knew that the king is afraid of any magical act against him, not unlike his ancestors, who also were very eager to remove dark magic from the human ruled cities and villages.

This elf could be their end… or the opposite. He couldn’t really place his own feelings, wanting only to trust Raithea and his knowledge.

He really tried to do his job better, but no book or manuscript ever spoke about amassing shadows in a person’s body. Yes, there were shadows, wraiths, but they were independent beings and never truly wanted to latch to humans or elves. That was happening extremely rarely and not in this age.

So… what other options did he have? Raithea should be here already. His master closed himself in his bedchambers, with Arialin, and he didn’t even know if this shadow didn’t attack him, and he needs help now. He knew though, that Raithea would be very displeased if he started to knock on his door, to make sure.

Few more books later and an hour more, Keeral dozed off, with his head on a volumine, cheek pressed tightly to a figure showing a genealogical tree of Samera family.

A voice woke him up.

“You need sleep,” Raithea said, not even looking at him, placing himself near a large desk next to his assistant’s. His hands at once started to rummage through books on it. “You are free until tomorrow.”

Keeral realized that his hair is ruffled and his face is red from pressing to a page. He felt deeply ashamed.

“I don’t want to go, Master,” he said, with a doubt. “This… elf… he is dangerous. I feel it under my skin.”

Raithea stopped going through the books and looked at him, his expression undeciphered. He shook his head then and smiled. It was a genuine, amused smile, that Keeral didn’t see often.

“Yes, he is,” he agreed. “But not to us. Not to me. And not to you, Keeral.”

“I didn’t mean…”

“You surely are worried that he may endanger elves in this place. But all he can endanger is a feeling of safety of those who feel already too safe.” Raithea patted one of the books. “I should regret ordering you to read through all of  it. He told me who he is. All we need to do is to focus on how to use it.”

Keeral rubbed his red cheek, which slowly started to gain more natural, pale colors.

“Master… please forgive me… but how do you… know if he won’t harm any of us?”

He knew he spoke foolish thing in the moment when these words left his mouth. But Raithea, ignoring it and spreading his hand, summoned a small void bulb, in which a not less small drop of blood floated, a tiny crimson tear.

“I taught you a lot of things,” Raithea said with a focused expression. “Taught you about languages, history, even gods. Taught you about talents, magic and soul. Tell me now, Keeral, what makes it all go run? What is a perpetuum mobile that makes life… live?”

Keeral exhaled heavily.

“Blood?”

Raithea pointed at the void sphere, nodding slowly, like he already was weighting possibilities.

“We are built from blood and even gods must listen to it. Legends are born from blood, which flows through invisible arteries, binding each living form. Magic is created in those small cells, which can command it and shape it, like a sculptor.”

Keeral was confused, but nodded. He knew about blood since his first lessons with Raithea, when he handed him spoken rules of magic.

“We have much work to do” Raithea eventually said to his lost assistant. “You really can go. Tired, you will be of no use. Tomorrow, we will start putting those microscopical elements together.”

Keeral slowly started to gather his own notes, a bit disappointed that he couldn’t be more useful in searching about the darkness that by force entered their lives.

When he was leaving the chamber, he saw Raithea, bent over a very old manuscript, his eyes dark and his face focused, lost in letters and ideas.

He bowed to him, even if his Master could not see it and left. He knew he wouldn’t fall asleep. But he had to try.

Tomorrow he has to be at use, or he will hate himself for not being part of it.

The king’s face wasn’t a pleasant sight. The face, marked with many wrinkles, seemed old beyond his human years.  But the worst wasn’t age or even the sharp jagged scar coming from his left ear to his lips. The worst was the light in his eyes, dark, almost soulless. A gaze of someone who long ago passed the border and now, every sin falls on the shoulders of others.

Raithea’s being one of them.

Now the king, playing with one of his iron rings, looked into emptiness. They were alone in the chamber, as the king didn’t trust anyone aside of his elvin adviser. Of course, spells working and right strings pulled, but to the court, it seemed that Savras was manipulated [ which all knew was impossible due to his untrusty personality ]. Nothing explained why Raithea has such a strong voice in the court and why on gods Savras genuinely trusts him.

He was an elf. Enemy which was put on his knees. Most of the court members were aware that Raithea uses the king’s grace widely and in a way that was at least frightening.

Adding to it his looks – allegedly a curse put on him by some vague – and now dead – opponent – no, people close to the throne had all reasons to suspect that Lord Rhuitaure isn’t even an elf, but some demonic being that plays with their ruler and with them.

The power shifted, the nobles fought for attention. And this cursed boy stood still, like a statue, which can’t be moved.

“He did it, even if you ordered him not to, your grace” said nonchalantly Raithea. “My kind may be broken, but such a mock can move even a mountain, if the shovel is big enough.”

The king still looked before himself, like digesting what Raithea said. His gaze slowly laid on the adviser, like it wanted to look through him, leaving debris.

“I am not intending to tolerate disobedience. But you are far from right, Rhuitaure. Your kind isn’t broken. If the shovel in the form of Lord Kesser can move them to revolution. This moron can’t even make his wife listen to him.”

Raithea rolled his eyes… in his mind. Typical human understanding of things. In elvin culture, women and men were equal. Humanity had a strange way of honoring the givers of life and an aspect of divine balance.

Seemingly, also persons which in most cases kept them under a delicate yet persistent boot, as far as he remembered from his spies’ relations. Nothing was information too small to fill his soul, mind and heart with.

“Your grace,” Raithea summoned his most charming smile. “If Lord Kesser was able to order anything to his wife, it would be time for godly descent.”

Savras looked for a moment at him, intensely, and then, laughed loudly, gutturally.

“He is  a fool, ha!” he swatted his knee with his palm. “Giving excuses for elves to raise their heads is foolish enough. His other mistake is his lack of taste.”

“Lord Kesser looks indeed amusing in elvin wedding robe, your grace” a little crooked smile.

“I wouldn’t call it amusing, Rhuitaure” , still with a wild expression on his bear-like face, Savras rolled his ring over his finger, once, twice, like he was breaking the neck. “Good. You can even announce it to him yourself. I would like that to happen! A prison sentence brought to him by my small elvin adviser!” he choked a bit from repressed laughter.

“I am sure that his face would be worthy of a portrait, to your private collection, your grace” Raithea grinned delicately. “If you lean to my other humble advice, though, his family also took part in the celebration. If they were due to offer a nice amount of gold to the treasury…”

“Good way of thinking!” laughed the king again. Raithea didn’t see him that amused in a long time. “A nice offering to the gods of gold. Coin never stinks.”

Raithea bowed slightly, with an undeciphered expression on his face. The human lord in question was openly mocking elvin slaves and to add to their suffering, was allowing human guests to wear sacred elvin robes, eat elvin food and feast on elvin celebrations. Raithea didn’t know if he is cruel or just stupid.

Probably both.

Not that Raithea’s tight grip wasn’t already gauging the metaphorical eyes of lord Kesser. He had so many occasions to blackmail him, push into submission or just kill – but he waited. Waited until a day comes, when he will be able do it with cold blood and when it will be justice, not a revenge.

Lord Kesser running through his easily visible garden after giggling human ail, belly fat and not completely concealed by his rich robes, was already dead, not even knowing about it.

“Of course execution would be pulling it too far. Let’s show elvin people that we are good lords, but without exaggeration. This fool is still more worthy that whole cave filled with slaves.”

Raithea swallowed the words with immaculate calmth.

But a small hand of his inner clock moved slightly, restlessly, into its destined direction…

Arialin felt the calm, collected and cold gaze of his host looking into him, like trying to make sure everything he speaks is true. It didn’t make him uncomfortable, more like it poured a certain confidence in him – that Raithea will listen and try to understand. He was telling this story for the first time in his life, but the silent elf in front of him didn’t press, only waited. And that soothed Arialin.

“My parents were descendants of the elves who survived the collapse of house Undun, in the northern forests… the person who you ordered to paint so viciously, destroyed my home. I belong to the tribe of Deathweavers. Raised on black soil of the woods, they were able to communicate with those who died. They didn’t have powers that humans were sure they possessed. They didn’t make bloody offerings, they never harmed any thinking creatures and even their hunts were seldom performed in a sacred way during winter and summer solstice… They never summoned demons, nor did they send a sickness on the invaders’ king, who after becoming ill, ordered to wipe my tribe from the face of the earth.

I was only a small child, when my parents, maddened by constant danger, decided to do what humans expected from them, even after all these countless years and decades of hunting on remaining Deathweavers. During one of darkest rites, which existed only to help elvinkind in grave danger, they casted a curse. It was them who inflicted all of this on me. They poured all grief they had into my soul and created a shadow. They thought I would be able to take revenge on the human king when the shadow grew. And then, when all was done, they took  their own lives.”

He laughed bitterly.

“That’s what a human family in which I grew up told me, at least. They were good people. They gave my parents home when they wandered through the burnt woods, which even now, after long years, still didn’t gain even one green leaf. They tried to stop my mother, but her rage was too strong. They closed the humans in the room, to safely perform the rite. When they freed themselves, chopping the door with a hatchet, it was all over.”

Arialin looked at Raithea, if he still looks and listens. He did, a stoic expression on his face, when he nodded at him to continue.

“I lived with a hope to avenge my family, and all elves who died, burned, in Undun, ages ago. But quickly, I realized that my shadow is far from making me invincible. It never harmed my body, but soon, after I reached tvelve, it was obvious that it’s my mind which is in danger. She… she spoke to me at night. Demanding, pleading. She wanted to be my friend and enemy, my salvation and my end. I even started to think that she is mad, like my parents. To ease my tormented mind, I was reading old legends about elvin kind” he smiled sadly. “I learnt a lot about Raithea Rhuitaure and his ail wife. Sometimes I wanted to use my shadow to be like you, a hero leading army to battle and find myself among folk tales. Other times, I wanted to be dead, also like you. Arasot, Kidran, Soothiel. Elvin heroes, who were inspiring me, even if they all died and were long gone. When the shadow was entering deeper into my mind, whispering things I never wanted to hear, I wondered if you and elves in the age of light also had shadow companions, delirium was making me dream that they fought it and came victorious. And my shadow… she didn’t like it.

Soon, I learned to talk with her. It was always in the corner of my eye, never truly seen, but always there. Waiting. I sensed darkness in her, but also curiosity. Will to understand. So I decided that I want to understand her too. Small steps, one after another and I learned to oppose her. She never truly understood my feelings for my human family. She felt my rage on humankind and one night, I woke up with blood of my adoptive parents on my hands. Delirious and almost mad, the shadow took me away for the first time.

She carried my feet to the worst district of the nearby town. Thieves and other ruffians left me alone, laying in rain in a trash that infested the street and which was tossed from the suspicious tavern’s window. I was crazy from worry, guilt and self loathing. But she told me she did that to hide me, among criminals and malefactors. I really felt like one of them, and I agreed to stay hidden. So she carried me through the land, taking my memory and senses, tossing me into the worst places, and I started to be sure she wants to lead me somewhere. And now I understood that she led me…”

“Here” Raithea nodded, his fingers forming a small pyramid, while she observed an array of emotion on his guest’s face.

“Yes, I think she led me here” Arialin sighed with resignation but also budding hope.

“For sure, she wants you to commit another crime. Do what your blood orders her to do” Raithea’s eyes became almost black when a candle flickered.

“That is…”

“To kill the king, obviously.”

Silence. The wight of this sentence fell on them like an hard stone.

“But… but… how could I even?” Arialin spoke. “I am alone, and the king is well guarded. I also heard that he is a strong, big man, who could break my neck like a stick!”

Raithea slowly stood up and approached Arialin. Then, he took his hand in his smaller one and within a second, he pulled a small dagger, Arialin instinctively backed off, but Raithea shook his hand.

“Your blood is the key. I need a sample, for magical tests.”

Arialin swallowed a ball in his throat and nodded. Do not do anything, he wants to help, he said inside himself.

He is dark. Darker that me.

And that’s why he is able to help.

To destroy me. To leave you weak and bleeding.

Arialin closed his eyes and only then, Raithea’s dagger stabbed him lightly in the middle finger. Small drop of blood appeared on the top. Raithea drew a void space with his finger and with another directed the blood into it, to later carry it to his laboratorium.

“I never saw such magic before” Arialin observed a small bubble with his blood floating over Raithea’s hand.

“Most didn’t see” Raithae chuckled darkly.

“So… you will test it now?” Arialin was curious.

“Now, I will go to my workroom to write down some orders connected with you. And you,” his eyes gleamed with slight amusement, for the first time since Arialin met him. “You will sleep. And that is a command, from someone who knows much more than you.”

A short snapshot of Raithea’s youth. I couldn’t resist.

“I have always wanted to feel how is to be a summer ail* kidnapped by spring bruthi**.”

This sentence, told to him in whisper, just two days ago, made him bolder. Everything was bathing in the summer glory. Wherever his feet led him, the nature was lush, green and wonderfully familiar. Tiny tree spirits were observing him, releasing spores, which danced on his hair and hands, touching him in almost intimate way – that was the only way spirits could connect with ailin***.

When he found her in the flower arbor, she was surrounded by her – he must have said that, even only if to himself – too loud and too drunk company, celebrating the summer solstice. Dressed in her white vest, with her white hair dancing around her face – she was a spell, cruel cruel spell. Cast in the name of the Mother herself and the Sun, her husband.

The celebration gathered all families, as one, in the center of the Rhuita, the great forest of birches. His own land, over which he kept protection as bruthi. Even Katri, the bottomless elves were present, and they rarely were leaving their caves and underground passages.

Summer ail laughed, like no one ever laughed before; clearly, purely, like raindrops falling on sun-licked skin. That made him reckless. Made his blood run hot. He wanted to show off, please her and win her once again.

When he took her by her slender waist and carried her away, the guests laughed and cheered. Summer ail screamed playfully, knowing that nothing wrong could happen to her, in this Rhuita forest, which smelled of amber and leaves.

“You are made of viciousness, Lord Rhuitaure” she laughed again, when they reached his destination, a small grove, which beamed with black-and-white bark.

He smiled mysteriously.

“My summer ail is not weeping. Does she like being kidnapped into the vast overgrowth, where no one can hear her?”

“Ah, you fool!”

“… or maybe my summer ail likes the person of her kidnapper?” his eyes gleamed, as he teased her.

“Stop that!” she swatted his arm, rather strong. “You fulfilled every bad thing of this tradition, now, can we have some good?”

“For me, it was rather good,” he grinned at her shamelessly.

“Yes. You and your jokes. One could think that you are not a spring bruthi but a youngling first time allowed to stay up at night.”

“Mmmm…” he got closer, much closer. “I wouldn’t mind staying up all night. As long as you stay with me, solstice princess…”

His face buried in her hair and she involuntarily sighed. They were together for almost twelve years but Raithea always was weaving new ideas, new tricks to keep her interested. He courted her, even if he didn’t have to, she was already his. That won her even more, he was a rare example of a bruthi that was both kind, intelligent and… curious. Just as she was. Curious of the world and everything that was binding them.

Curious of life, curious of her and who she is.

“So…” she decided to play along. “What does my kidnapper decide to do with his innocent prey?”

“Send her to the stars…” he whispered in her ear. “… and beyond.”

And so he did. Sent her into the heart of the woods, into soil wet from rain, and her hair filled with dew, and her fingers clenched on moss. They were just that and only that. Sun and Nature, feeding on each other’s passion, to create another grove. Summer ail and a spring bruthi, joined through a pure essence of the forest.

——–

* ail – princess

**bruthi – forest owner, lord of the forest

***ailin – royalty; elves

Arialin didn’t wait long for his mysterious host. The supper came, fruits and vegetables mixed with traditional elvin sauces, which made the boy weep from joy. He never truly had a chance to taste traditional elvin cuisine, aside from times where a good elf family or lone elf ranger shared their meal with him. He always felt guilty to eat those, though the elves didn’t have a lot and they shared their portions with a cursed unknown, tormented by shadow, which could kill them for their hospitality.

Do not eat it, it’s poisoned, he heard in his head, only I can truly feed you, only I can truly warm you.

Arialin shook his head, more annoyed, than scared. Shut up. Shut up. I will eat and ask for more.

He caught himself observing the fresco on the walls, pondering who could allow his host to paint the walls both with elvin historical events and humans’. It was almost a blasphemy.

Humans were ruthless in removing all signs of elvin culture from their society. It was almost madness to own them. Was no human allowed in this room? Or some powerful spell worked here, blinding invaders for the sight of all of this?

“The keen observer who would look at these paintings for long enough, could see hidden evil that resides in human hearts” he heard a voice. He turned his head quickly and saw a child, standing in open doors.

The child had a serious, almost frightening expression, when he approached a stunned Arialin and pointing at a fresco with a destroyer of the northern forests, he waved his hand at him.

“Come closer. I will show you.”

Arialin stood up and came closer indeed, there was something mesmerizing in the way the boy spoke, like his voice could hold secrets unknown to others.

“His heart was rotten. My painters put a small detail in his imagery. Look deep, Arialin, very deep.”

Flabbergasted elvin boy looked deeper, til his head started to hurt. He wanted, after a few good minutes to reply, that he sees nothing, but then, a shadow inside him screamed, almost tearing his ears from inside, and he saw a rotting heart in the eye of the human conqueror, filled with crawling vermin. Arialin fought an urge to take his head in his hands and scream too.

He backed off, scared, pained. This was blasphemy! If they find out, if humans find out…!

The child laughed at his reaction, it was not a pleasant laughter. Then, he took a flask and a chalice and poured wine into it. Sipping it slowly, he sat in the same comfortable chair Arialin was laying on, putting one leg on the knee of the other and looking at him with a serious curiosity.

Arialin shook his head. There had to be some explanation, it couldn’t be that this small boy is his host, the lord and royal adviser! It would be ridiculous, if it wasn’t in some way… frightening.

“Less keen eye could see your confusion” the child said, moving with his chalice. “But everything in it’s time.”

“Are you… Lord Rhuitaure…?” managed to say Arialin, still not believing in what he says.

“Lord Rhuitaure, yes. Raithea, for those who are close to me” his eyes narrowed dangerously. “… that means no one.”

Memories flashed through Arialin’s  mind. Raithea Rhuitaure. He knew that name. He had a book, elvish stories about long gone times. And there was Raithea Rhuitaure. Birch Lord. Nightingale, the Master of Lilac Clutches and owner of the key to the Garden. The last elvin mage, who led a heroic attack on human forces. But he was… he was…

“… you are dead” Arialin almost choked on these words.

The boy grinned at him, this time it looked like a wolf’s grin, looking at an especially innocent lamb.

“Death… What it is, Arialin? We could both be called dead. Because darkness eats us alive, it drills our bodies and souls and will not stop until we are hollow. But we breathe, feel and… eat,” he pointed at the finished supper. “There is nothing in us that can be called alive. But we live. Isn’t it… a miracle?”

Arialin involuntarily sat on another chair. Raithea’s words hit him deep. Is he dead? Will the shadow consume him in the end, tear his soul apart? The darkness of the room, which was lit only by a few candles, didn’t seem scary at all. It was inviting, touching his shadow self with tendrils of delight and relief.

Is it not better to be dead, than live in this awful, tormented world?

“When you laid before the king’s window, I thought you were a fool, a lamb that wants to feed the predator, which doesn’t even need to hunt for it” these words stung Arialin, but he didn’t say anything. “You know already, probably, that you were in grave danger. If any guards found you, you would be executed. The king is afraid of darkness. He feeds it on his own chest. But I wonder most, what brought you into the heart of the human empire. You, a darkling, who’s mere presence is a sin in human understanding.”

Arialin shook his head. If he knew. If he even knew.

The shadow was with him since he remembered and led him already in many places, dangerous places, sick places. And he couldn’t do anything about it, because fighting it was like trying to empty the river with a spoon.

“Now,” Raithae observed him from his shadowed chair. “Now you will tell me everything that you know about yourself. Birth, family, story of your life. And then, I will be in a good position to help you. Nothing goes for free in the human world, though. I will help you, but you will be useful to me, in another way… in another time.”

Arialin opened his mouth, but quickly closed them, not knowing what to say. It was a strange deal, as strange as this situation was. As strange as ten-years old royal adviser, who was mentioned in elvin fairy tales. As strange as fact, that they both could be dead. Nothing was too strange then, if the world stood on its head and opened its core. He inhaled deeply and…

… started to tell his tale.

What did he have to lose?

Arialin slowly opened his eyes. He was laying on a large chair, with a really comfortable blanket on his legs and chest.

Who transported him here? Who gave him a blanket? His memories were blurred. He only remembered a small hand of a child, which helped him to not drift into insanity.

A child? Not possible. Delirium? Most likely.

A small pang of primal panic reached his muscles and they tensed. He didn’t have shackles, so it wasn’t humans who would trap him and bind. Other elves?

Other elves would surely condemn him no less than invaders. His kin could sense the shadow that sat in him, they sensed it not with eyes or touch, but with their empathy. Maybe they would not kill him, but surely would tell him to go away.

He pulled the blanket delicately up, only to find out he is completely naked. Another touch of panic. Why? They surely wanted him to not run away. Or, his common sense added, your clothes were dirty and torn and they didn’t want you to lay in a wet shirt and underwear.

He slowly raised up. The room in which he woke up, was large and walls were decorated with scenes from human and elvin history. He could recognize the painting showing elvin age of light but also Landing on the Reech, a very infamous attack of human pirates on bottomless elves’ land. Bottomless elves were the first elvin nation that bent their knees before invaders, their cave homes were blown up with powerful explosives, burying everything under piles of shattered rock. It turned out that pirates would be the least of their problems now, he thought.

Creation of Manis, the Green Palace of Esenor the King, the Celebration of Lilac Clutches… all from elvin history. And Dark Bane the destroyer of northern forests and Attack on Sita, from human one. Whoever lived here, had a morbid sense of aesthetic.

Arialin felt as his body relaxed. Nothing indicated that he was a prisoner. Maybe someone really wanted to help him, in fact. Even among humans were good people.

When he decided to fast search for any robe or even take the blanket and find anything similar to the bathroom, the door opened and a young, slender elvin man entered, with almost apologetic expression.

“I am sorry, but my Master ordered me to take off your clothes’ ‘ said Keeral. “They really were unusable, you laid too long in the dirt on the courtyard.”

Master. So indeed it was a home of a human lord. That wasn’t encouraging, but he expected that.

“Who is your Master, unsl’ralith?”

My good host. Arialin used an elvin language, to show respect to Keeral.

“Lord Rhuitaure was generous enough to lend you his bedchambers” smiled Keeral, and seeing he raised a brow, he chuckled. “Do not worry, ahar’sat, he is an elf, like us.”

The expression Arialin made was not a wise one. Elf being a master, and lord and owner of bedchambers larger than thrice his family house? But to his astonishment, he recognized a very old elvin surname, from the age of light. Birch elves, Rhuitaure.

“He is a royal adviser, ahar’sat” said Keeral. “Now,” he pulled fresh fabric he brought with himself. “Here are clean clothes. When you are ready, Lord Rhuitaure will like to see you. No, he will come here, after all, this is his room.”

Arialin, feeling a strange wave of disbelief washes over him, slowly took the clothes from Keeral.

“I am… I am Arialin…” he managed to utter.

Keeral nodded and embraced the room with his gaze.

“My Master will call for late supper” he said eventually and smiled again, encouragingly. “You don’t have to worry, you are safe. Every elf is safe under this roof.”

Arialin started to clothe himself, he still couldn’t embrace the situation. How mad it seemed and sounded! But soon he will meet this mysterious Lord Rhuitaure.

Run, he felt as if a known voice filled his head but as much as he had a hard time to defy it, this time he managed to ignore it.

*ahar’sat – my friend.

Dreams. Amassing, cold, cruel presence. Each of them reach to him with shadowed vines, each of them a rusty nail to his coffin. They gnaw on him, like he was a delicious morsel, filled with blood, flesh and… memories. They trap him in the past, feasting on his regrets, on his losses and grief. And there, among all those creatures – monsters – craving for his pain, is her. Looking at him with a scorn, when he stabs countless of victims – in her eyes a heavy disappointment. His dagger falls off his hand, he reaches to her with scarred fingers… marked with wounds of the past days.

“You could be all…”

 It’s all what he hears, it rings in his ears with a reproach. She changes into a flurry of golden moths, leaving him broken, with only a bloodied dagger, a lonely dead soul against a world of living debris. He hates himself. Himself, the most, he is only a wretched life in ruin, flaming wicker dummy, tossed to the river to end the winter.

“You could be all…”

He woke up, in a dug bed, his face and hair wet.

That was only a dream. But why on gods it was so painful. Memories of another life, when he was another person, another being, not dragged through a road of rusty nails.

You will never age, trapped in this failure of a body. Cursed and hopeless, aiming the pit without end.

He huffed in anger. The rest of this dream will haunt him, but he was used to it. They always were returning, when he was least expecting them, but… not completely not awaited. They always lingered on the verge of his mind, seething… hungry… a price he had to pay for what he has become.

Deciding to leave his bedchambers, do anything to stop the dream from leeching on him, he stood up and wrapped a blanket over his arms. The air was chill, even with closed windows. Not chill enough to calm his tormented senses.

Dreams… human mages were saying they were the door to gods’ realm. He was sure they were dragging their victims into insanity of purgatory.

He had all means to end this, but he bathed in this feeling, knowing it makes him even more determined, even stronger. Even if for others, they seemed weakening and doomed, he was pulling the strings of power from his own demise.

A noise, not exactly loud, but his senses always were very acute. The glass separating him from the outside didn’t manage to mute it completely.

Tucking himself more into the blanket, he looked above the windowpane, annoyed that his smaller posture doesn’t allow him to see better.

Someone moved on the courtyard, in the darkest corner, where shadows persisted. A small figure, yet not as small as his own. He had not only acute senses but very good sight. Without problems he recognized an elf.

If the king was awake and saw a free and unowned elf before his windows, disrupting his rest, it could end quite unfortunate for this lost creature. Or if guards found him on a patrol, and that could happen anytime, any minute.

The elf looked completely ragged – clothes, face, hair, everything looked torn. If he ran from a cruel master, he chose the worst place to settle himself. A fool, young, naive fool. 

Raithea’s sharp gaze was searching for any signs, any sigil or tattoo, that could indicate that it was an escaper. Nothing. Perhaps, it was better hidden, under clothes that were hanging on him like on an abandoned scarecrow.

He could later also be useful, to pull out valuable information about his owner… or owners.

He can help him… of course for his personal gain.

And save him from a fate that awaited him, if he stayed under the king’s tower, moaning into the mud.

Raithea took the keys and closed his door, carefully, to never allow anyone to enter his rooms. Here, he kept things that could be dangerous, not necessarily for him, but more to Zakrivea. Or Keeral. If he was found with particular magical recipes or blackmail proofs – or other, more deadly items – they may not be able to harm him – after all, they were more like ants to the forces that stood behind him. But they could definitely use his student to break him. Use Zakrivea, tear her from his life, along with Keeral.

He made many powerful enemies, who had spies, just as he had his.

“You could be all…”

You fool yourself, Rhuitaure, he thought, feeling again a pang of anger, and the worst fool is the one that lies to himself.

Descending from the stairs, and going through a hall, ridiculously concealed in the blanket and with hair still wet from sweat, he disappeared. Guards could not see him in that state, and it was additional safety for the broken elf on the courtyard. He opened the door used by the servants, to not allow any guard to see a misty shadow coming through the suddenly open gate.

The elf was curled in the fetal position. If he had any wounds, they had to be internal; he looked even more like a broken doll now, when he was close. Raithea crouched next to him and then he felt it. Actually,he saw it.

Shadow. Amassing, cold presence. Colder than ice and embracing his body with invisible hands, fingers, talons.

It wasn’t easy to shock Raithea but he didn’t feel this kind of magic  – not even mention seeing it – in a very long time. This kind of creature. The shadow was imbued with darkest desires, darkest wishes and darkest nightmares.

And it was bound with the elf that lay next to him. How much of a torment for him, it had to be, being sewn together with darkness.

Raithea knew it, because he was sewn with it as well. Needles deep in his veins, reaching with dreadful threads into his mind.

The elf seemed to feel the Royal Advisor’s presence, because he opened his eyelids, with a great effort. His eyes were big, very blue, carrying countless nightmares in them.

Raithea knew them too, as he held them as well, just behind his closed eyes, rooted deep in his soul.

“He–help me… please.”

Raithea was impressed. Not only this dark child sensed him but also seen, even despite his protective spell.

“You found yourself in a dangerous place,” the blue elven eyes widened at that, but Raithea didn’t allow him to speak. “You chose indeed the best time to be a sacrificial lamb. But I have a soft spot for sacrificial lambs.”

The elf almost smiled. Maybe he felt the darkness in Raithea too, and that soothed his tormented heart. Lord Rhuitaure felt like shadows emanating from the boy reached him, wanting to touch his core.

No.

Too early for such experiments.

The elf’s hand, though, crawled in his direction and long, spindly fingers closed on Raithea’s wrist. Lord Advisor somehow expected him to use him as an anchor to reality. It was easy to see that the elf needed help. Raithea’s mind entered effortlessly the shallow waters of the elf’s mind and wrapped himself around his nerves, around his spine. He didn’t meet any resistance, he was welcomed in the elf’s mangled soul with a silent keen on his relaxing nerves. The elf huffed, a slight sigh leaving his mouth.

Good. At least now he won’t be protesting.

Calling for Keeral was the only option now. His apprentice won’t ask questions and his own child body would not be able to support the elf, not even mention carrying him. And he didn’t even want to try using any more powerful spells on the bubbling shadow that held the elf together.

Keeral. Why not Zakrivea? a dark voice rang in his mind.

Because I am not a fool, he replied to himself.

Not a fool.

Zakrivea tried to hurry while preparing the warm bedchambers for the queen. The queen loathed the cold, so she had to make sure the little coal stove works well and the bedsheets are warmed. The cold chamber was the only thing that could cause the queen to reprimend the girl, as she was cherished by her for her hard work she always did. Altough the queen knew nothing about all vicious threads in Raithea’s plan, she suspected something vile can happen soon and her nerves were shattered by the unknown. Maybe she thought as well, that treating Zakrivea in fine manner, may stop Raithea’s hand, when his plans come to fruition. Though the elven maid knew well, that once Raithea smells his prey, he never releases it, unless he chooses to abandon it in favor of some more promising pursuit. To be honest, Zakrivea partially hoped, that he will release the queen from his sharp grasp.

Zakrivea hoped for many things. She didn’t have to work for Lord Advisor, she came from another land, where elves were free and human fist didn’t put them into submission. She could always return home, to her family. If she ever wished, she could leave this dreary place, and the misery of thousand of elves it held inside its walls. She long ago realized that she can’t single-handed help the situation of elvin children in this land, but there was one elf, who was a hope for them, a solitary and dark figure, who would do everything to stop humans and free his kind. One elf, who’s position was higher than most of human invaders, yet he still fought for others, sometimes using very morbid means.

Raithea was wounded inside, even if he never would admit it. He woven so many layers of deception, that even himself started to believe in them. His lies were so complete, that she doubted he sees through them, yes, even as master of them all. He deceived them all, humans, elves, royalty, even his own pupil, who worked with him, not even knowing his real plans. But not her. She has seen thorough all of this and her heart suffered.

There were times that she thought that her love for him blinded her and Raithea is beyond saving, but there, suddenly, was a kind word, a fleeting smile, even an almost-apology and her doubt was changing imediately, her eyes were seeing clear again – seeing that his goal is virtous, even if his means are deadly.

Usually, her work was enough to keep her away from thinking about cursed Lord Advisor. But now, while Raithea haven’t visited her for so long and she didn’t know what happens with him, she felt out and worried about him. So many things could go wrong, so many spells could backfire. She was aware that the king wants him close, but that wasn’t making her fear lesser.

This time apart was a torture for her. Raithea looked like an innocent young boy, at least until one looked in his eyes, there could be seen more than a lifetime’s worth of anger and pain. Raithea may have been trapped in the body of a child, but his eyes were those of a man old beyond his years, nearly broken from a lifetime of struggle against unknowable forces. Zakrivea didn’t know if her love for him is a love for a man he really was, or a motherly care for a child he looked like…

“Zakrivea.”

A familiar voice. She sprung imediatelly.

“Raithea” she smiled, stopping her work. “What are you doing here!”

He smiled sadly.

“I needed a break from my studies. And I knew you will be here.”

“And you had to risk coming here” she almost lectured him.

“Why not” he sat on the bed, making a small destruction over her work she did so far. His feet dangled over the floor, he looked so fragile now. “I go where I wish to.”

“If the guards have seen you…”

“It’s impossible, I have ways to stay undetected” he laughed. “Not to mention that I helped setting all magical traps in this castle.”

“And you came straight here” she mused, really wanting to know the aim of this dangerous endeavour.

“Yes.”

That word has such final tone to it, that she didn’t know how to respond. She almost suspected, that he wanted to prove something, that he can go everywhere, without any consequence. With Raithea consequences were what happened to other people, most often people who displeased him. Not even king was safe, when he sensed weakness. And now he came to boast before her.

“What have you been doing lately?” she dared to speak, when silence was prolonging.

“I can’t tell you” his youtful futures shone. “But as always, I worked on my plans.”

“Are you joking with me?” she narrowed her brows. “Why then you came here?”

“My plans are never jokes,” Raithea looked at her with a mildly irritated expression before abruptly changing the subject, “Have you been avoiding me lately?”

The question caught her off guard. It had to be a trick, one of his knacks. He knew how to put someone in deep consternation.

“Well, have you?” he leaned in close, expression undeciphered.

“No, Raithea” she fell in defence mode. “Never. I had been busy with queen’s orders. She keeps me very close. I think she fears something.”

“Do you maybe know who?” Raithea gently coaxed as though he was a teacher and she a particularly slow student. Zakrivea hated it, but it was so him, that she thought that it may not even be under his control.”

“She is scared of you?” it was the obvious answer.

“No.”

“The King?”

“No.”

“Her lies being uncovered?”

“Maybe.”

“What is it then,” she blurted out, almost annoyed.

Raithea grinned and his hand landed for a brief, briefest second on her shoulder, only to fast retread, when he realized what he is doing.

“Find out, Zakrivea. It may be vital to my plans.”

He looked like he wants to say something more, but soon shook his head, and not even looking at her, he stood up.

He paused for a moment, like he wanted to say something, something important. But it was a fleeting thing, just as his hand on her shoulder. He left, leaving her in consternation and even more anxiety in her heart.

Keeral respected Lord Rhuitaure, he truly did, but there were times he wondered about his mentor. It was not Raithea’s virtue, or the rightness of what he was doing that Keeral questioned, but he still dared not speak out about his concerns. Since Raithea had rescued not only him, but his family from a life of misery he trusted his goodness. The questions he had were more general ones, how he had risen to his position, what his goals were. He knew better than to ask, for the last thing he wished to do was to anger his mentor. It was not that he believed the terrible rumors spread by those envious of Lord Rhuitaure’s standing, it was simply that he knew how fragile a position he was in and he had no desire to take any chances.

Still, he wished that he could ask Raithea questions more openly for so much about him was a mystery. He made it clear that his appearance was due to a curse of some form or another. Raithea surely took a lot f time to try to break it. Especially considering how old Raithea was. Certainly in all the years he had been alive he would have found some way to break the curse. Yes, it did cause those foolish enough not to understand who they were dealing with to underestimate him, as his ten-years old appeareance was sweet and innocent as every Elvin child seemed to be, but in Keeral’s opinion the disadvantages far outweighed any benefits there might have been.

The reasons for his wanting to know more about the curse were dark, especially when he was worried about his family. That curse actually filled Keeral with a mixture of hope and frustration. He longed to find out the source of the curse and dreamed of somehow using it to his advantage, perhaps to trick the human invaders into bringing the wrath of something immensely powerful down upon themselves, or even harnessing that power for himself to turn it against the humans and free his people. For what young boy did not dream of being a hero, the sort who legends would be told of in the ages to come?

That was something he had learned much about during the time he spent reading, heroes and legends. His interest in the history of his people had extended to their mythology and the individuals those tales spoke of. It was fascinating to learn of the great sorceresses and magic workers from long ago and the deities and demons that populated the times of legend. raithea seemed to know a lot about these times, he lived then and then he was cursed but there was something holding him back, some plan that had yet to come to fruition. When he pressed Raithea about doing something, anything, to better their people he would be told to be patient or given a long lecture about the situation and the value of prudence, depending on the mood Raithea was in and how much time he had.

It was frustrating for Keeral to be told to wait, but he respected Raithea enough to do as told, especially since Raithea seemed to be speaking from experience when he told of how important a trait it was to be cautious. Still, it was difficult for Keeral to follow such advice, as wise as it may have been. So he read the history of his people to keep their culture alive and so that he could feel a part of something so much bigger than himself. The Elves had been there for so much longer than the humans, had such a rich culture, yet they had lost to the invaders. To understand this he turned to the human histories.

The most recent accounts appalled him, but Raithea encouraged Keeral to read them when he learned of his interests, telling him that it was good for him to understand the humans and to be angry at them for their lies and atrocities. Keeral preferred to stick to the human’s oldest accounts of their land and myths, for the humans in those stories were so strange and alien in their ways that they may as well been another race entirely, yet there were some things that never changed over the ages. From the start humans had been a savage, bellicose people. Their story of creation was one of war, where great powers fought until the world was made to the liking of the winners. Following the lead of their creators, the humans spread and conquered, their tales full of hero kings who rode at the head of invading armies, bringing empires to their knees at the point of a sword, and magic workers who used their powers to make horrible, destructive spells to raze cities and burn fields to ash.

The closest thing to any of this in Elvin history and legends were the long vanished demons and other, darker, unnamed powers. Though he had not yet brought it up with Raithea, Keeral secretly suspected that there was a connection between the monsters of legend and the humans. It was prudence that kept him silent on the matter since Raithea disapproved of any talk of demons and unspeakable powers. To Keeral this was proof of how upstanding Raithea was at heart, proof that the stories spread were lies. That was the reason he never approached his mentor about the rumors to prove that they were false, in his mind there was no need to. The truth of who Raithea was, as far as he was concerned, was irrefutable.

Even when the horrible stories came from individuals he trusted on other matters Keeral was able to disbelieve. He understood where those rumors came from and it was the same reason that Raithea encouraged him to learn of the history of humans, because it would be the key to their undoing. Until humans arrived no Elf had ever made war, no king had set out on a mission of conquest, and no magic worker had plotted the deaths of thousands. These ways were unique to humans, which had resulted in the downfall of the Elvin Empire. Raithea clearly understood this, that to drive the humans away it was necessary to think like them, to use their violent nature against them so that they would tear themselves apart from within. The rumors were spread because other Elves were unable to understand that Raithea was not inherently horrible, he just emulated some of the negative traits of humans to use against them. Surely Raithea would never stoop to the mindless atrocities that humans were capable, no true Elf could.

“Stop woolgathering,” a deceptively soft voice spoke out behind him.

The gentle admonition caused Keeral to look up from the text he was supposed to have been transcribing.

“I’m sorry,” he started to apologize, only for Raithea to cut him off with a shake of his head.

“Don’t be sorry, be busy. The King wants copies of that manuscript in Low Common and I told him that you could do it,” it was a unique trick that Raithea had, the knack for combining a dire warning and a compliment into something that could be frigthening in some way, “He’d rather I not waste my valuable time with such matters and it’s best that he sees how useful you are as my assistant.”

“Of course Lord Rhuitaure,” Keeral said as he tried to find where he had left off in the text. The last bit he had transcribed had been about the currents of the stars and their effect on different sorts of magic, but that section went on for several pages.

“He knows I’ve taught you to read in Old Elvin, he doesn’t know that I’ve been teaching you magic as well, so he values your skill as a translator far beyond what he should,” Raithea gave another one of his mixed compliments, “It’s my hope that eventually he will decide to lend your services to some of his Wizards and Nobles. They’re all too lazy to learn what they think of as a slave tongue, fools that they are, and it will be valuable for you to go out and see what’s happening elsewhere.”

“But my family, Lord Rhuitaure, what will become of them if I were to leave?” Keeral knew that most of the assistance that his family received came directly from Raithea, but he still worried what could happen to them if they were gone for any length of time.

“I gave you my word that I’d keep them safe,” Raithea’s expression darkened, taking of a harshness that was out of place on his otherwise youthful features, “Do you doubt me?”

Then he laughed at Keeral’s stunned expression, letting him know that he was not as angry as he had seemed for a moment, or that he was willing to let the almost insult pass, “Don’t worry about them now, worry what will happen if things continue the way they are. You’ll do them more good out in the world gathering information and bringing it back to me. I may have eyes and ears through the palace, but they cannot be everywhere. I’m trusting you to work for me elsewhere, watching and listening, then bringing what you learn to me. There’s no tidbit too small to be of use, it would do you well to learn that.”

“Yes, of course,” Keeral finally found his place and went back to translating the text into the human’s writing system.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Raithea gave him a smile that was pure venom, “When you get to the part about ‘illequaa sei’taff’, ‘life water’, it would be an easy mistake for someone so early in his education to read it as ‘illequaa siet’affan’ and translate it to ‘silver water’.”

Keeral stared at his mentor wide eyed as the implications of the suggestion sank in, for that was what it was, a suggestion. He was to deliberately sabotage the treatise on alchemy he was translating and in a most horrifying way. In alchemical terms illequaa sei’taff was a harmless salt solution, noxious in taste if one were to drink it on its own, but a vital component in many healing potions. Illequaa siet’affan was strictly for use in the transmutation of substances into higher states of magical order and an insidious poison if consumed. The symptoms were indistinguishable from madness or possession and Raithea was suggesting that he deliberately mistranslate the text so that it was listed as being a necessary ingredient in potions meant to cure the any number of ailments.

Surely the human Wizards would know better if they were to begin mixing the ingredients, for they had to know what silver water was, yet at the same time the amount of confusion that would be created as to which was to be used in more exotic formulae would create no small amount of confusion. If they failed to catch the mistake though…

He looked at Raithea, hoping for some affirmation that he understood correctly.

“Their Wizards are hardly that wise, their alchemy primitive at best,” his mentor laughed, “Did you know that they’re only aware of four of the six states of magical order and that they still believe that we live so much longer than them due to magic?”

Ah, so that was why the human King was so interested in Elvin alchemic texts being translated into a language his magicians and scholars could easily read. It had never occurred to Keeral how little of Elvin learning that they had managed to absorb, nor had he given much thought to how much Raithea had taught him.

“I understand Lord Rhuitaure,” Keeral said silently, astonished by it, before he went back to work on the translation.

“Very good,” Raithea’s smile softened into an expression that was almost kind as left the room, leaving Keeral to ponder over the valuable lesson his mentor had given him that day.