Vengeance Blooms Page 3

  Wasn’t this everything I’d dreamed of just three years ago? Isn’t this everything I’ve trained for?

  Whatever was to come, she knew deep down that her quest would be long and treacherous, for she had made a promise to avenge her parents. One she intended to keep no matter the cost.

  But what chance does one elf have against such evil? She could barely tolerate the thought at all. Still, Wezlan said I would not be alone. I am sure he will come with me, and with his power perhaps we can defeat it again, like he has done once before.

  Ashalea realised with a flash of irritation she sounded like a child, even in her own mind, hesitant and reliant, needing a hand to be held. She knew that Wezlan wouldn’t always be with her. He was an old man — a human — and wizard or not, he would not be around forever.

  Her fingers traced the scar on her stomach. She had no parents. She was an outsider — a lone wolf — and it made her dangerous, uninhibited. A hard smile crossed her face. She was a formidable woman with the tools to dispatch most evils, and when the time came, she would be ready.

  Ashalea sighed. She knew she was talented but as much as she talked a big game, in her heart she was an overgrown child coddled by a father figure who just happened to be a wizard, and, oh, just someone who saved the entire world from destruction. She shifted to her other side in contemplation, watching wings flash in the dark as a large bird approached the precipice. A beautiful, brown owl with golden eyes regarded her from a branch nearby.

  “Hello friend. Come to keep watch over me?”

  It fluttered its magnificent wings and nipped gently at its chest, grooming sleek feathers proudly. It looked at her again, blinking twice, and after a hoot, settled down, scanning the forest floor below.

  Ashalea was comforted by its presence. It was rare to see owls at any given time, for they usually cared little for matters that didn’t concern them. It was a good omen to see one and unheard of for them to stay in one’s company. Her thoughts quieted as she watched him, and a sense of peace returned. He appeared to be guarding her. She rolled onto her back once more and gazed at the moon, silver hair reflected in its light. Calm and collected, she closed her eyes and dreamed of all that was good in the world.

  Lady of Light

  It was just past dawn of the second day of their journey to Woodrandia. The trees were clustered closer together now, and the pebbled pathway they were following had ended several hours prior to making camp the night before.

  Wezlan was unbothered by that fact, navigating round tree trunk, across creek, down yonder and up hither as they travelled into the deepest part of the woods. Despite never seeing the elvish city, Ashalea felt a strange Magicka pulling her in. Something about it was comforting… Familiar.

  It had been a rather uneventful trek so far. They had fare-welled the tree and set off in a merry mood. Wezlan was rather fond of singing and his tunes had echoed in the trees, his beard swinging to and fro with each stride. One of Ashalea’s favourites was an elvish jingle which went something like this in the human tongue:

  Quick and quiet an elf does tread

  Winding down the riverbed

  Led by stars, the moon and sun,

  To our kin to have some fun!

  Dancing, prancing, past stone and tree

  A merry group of elves are we

  Birds are singing, swooping, flying,

  We are running, swimming, diving

  And home is just around the bend

  Our mission now has come to end

  The lady calls and so we come

  To elvish kin to share some rum

  Down the rabbit hole we go

  To sing and dance and yo ho ho!

  O it’s off to Woodrandia we go

  Yea off to Woodrandia we go!

  And funny enough a few rabbits hopped along while he sang, ears upright as they listened to the strange song. They weren’t aware of any rabbit hole elves were invited to. All the same, they turned around and Ashalea and Wezlan were alone again, though the first night she heard hooting in a nearby tree and wondered if she’d found herself a friend in the glorious owl she’d had the pleasure of meeting.

  This morning they walked without song or story, for a misty rain had set in, casting a gloomy darkness over the forest. Ashalea’s elvish eyes pierced the gloom without qualms but Wezlan’s steady stride slowed as his old eyes squinted through the fog. Even his jade staff with its pale green glow did little to shed some light.

  As they picked their way through the undergrowth, Ashalea thought about meeting the elves for the first time, and a small part of her was anxious they would treat her differently. Elves were known to be wary of outsiders and her unusual circumstance with her parents casting off the elvish provinces could make her a pariah of sorts. Then there was the unfortunate fact she had missed her sixteenth birthday celebration in Woodrandia.

  “Do you think they’ll like me, Wezlan?” she queried the old man, who was rather concentrated on finding his feet.

  Even as the words escaped her lips, she clenched her teeth in frustration. There she goes again, ever the child needing reassurance.

  “Hmm? Oh, the elves? They’d be silly not to,” he dismissed her comment absentmindedly.

  She couldn’t help herself. “What if they hate me,” Ashalea continued, “what if they cast me out, banish me from the city, or—” she was interrupted by a hard stare from Wezlan. Sometimes his grey eyes were a force to be reckoned with.

  “You are an elf with every right to make way through Woodrandia. If anyone opposes you, it is they who should be shunned,” he said fiercely. “Lady Nirandia is wise and kind and she will not take it lightly if her elvish kin are in any way less than hospitable.”

  He snorted for good measure. “Besides,” he muttered under his breath. “You have no idea how much you deserve to be there.”

  Ashalea didn’t catch this. She was too annoyed at herself, and besides, Wezlan could be rather stubborn at times but, well, he was almost always right, so she just shrugged and carried on. She cast her chin to the treetops so the mist could caress her face. Ashalea loved the rain. She imagined it held a different kind of Magicka; one that could cleanse her pain and wash away the fear. Its soft pitter-patter through the leaves was a symphony she could dance to. A simple joy. A secret pleasure.

  Ashalea wondered if all elves felt so in tune with nature. She supposed so. The elvish races did live in seclusion from the haphazard human cities, after all. Polluted air, poverty, murder, theft… Certainly not the most inviting place for an elf to live.

  She considered the three elvish cities: Woodrandia, The Aquafarian Province, and the Moonglade Meadows. Ashalea didn’t know much about them, but she had seen illustrations in books, and all were as beautiful as the next.

  “Tell me about the Elven cities, Wezlan. How are they different?”

  The old man cast an inquisitive glance over his shoulder, the green light shining an eerie glow over his face. “The Aquafarian Province is based in the north. Its border encloses the great lake, and beyond it, the elvish village of Windarion. Many of the elves there serve as merchants and sailors, given their position by the water’s edge. Their greatest resource is the crystal beneath the lake and throughout the town. Think of it as an underwater quarry. The tunnels run deep, and the minerals are vast.”

  “And who rules the city?”

  “King Tiderion and Queen Rivarnar. They have reigned for many years in relative peace, but they are yet to produce an heir.” Wezlan stopped for a breather by the hollow of an elm tree, leaning heavily on his staff. “You’d like it there, Ashalea. Its beauty is unmatched. When the sun is at its peak, the village sparkles like a thousand stars, and the crystals paint their own rainbows across the grass.”

  Ashalea closed her eyes, smiling as she pictured it in her mind. “I would never leave. It sounds incredible.”

  Wezlan nodded. “It’s a peaceful and prosperous town. There is no poverty. No crime. Visitors are only welcome if they ha
ve papers sanctioned by the appropriate authorities; council leaders, political ambassadors, royalty and the like.”

  He licked his lips and Ashalea passed him a water skin, which he guzzled gratefully. She studied him in amusement, watching each bead of water fall into his beard.

  She motioned to continue walking, and they set off again. The rain had stopped, and the woods were quiet, no sound except for the soft drip of water as it trailed down the leaves all around them. “And the Moonglade Meadows?

  “Ahh. I have only once had the pleasure of visiting, and it was a quick trip at that. The Moonglade Meadows is a mystical place. Those gifted with Magicka can feel a great power in the land, but no one knows why it resonates so strongly there. Most of the residents believe that Elvish deities blessed it when the world came to creation, but there is no proof in the pudding. The village itself is spread over meadows amidst rolling hills.”

  Wezlan paused and turned to face her. “It was once a prosperous city, but the last I saw, it was largely in ruins. Long ago, the royal bloodline was decimated by a vengeful murderer. Who can say why? But it was a big loss for the people, and now a small council governs the village in their place.”

  Ashalea ran her thumb along the scar on her stomach absentmindedly. Wezlan’s eyes followed her movement and she dropped her arm stiffly to her side. “Who can say why many people, or creatures, do bad things? I hope the people have recovered and rebuilt from that loss.” She frowned. “Hope.” The word rolled over her tongue as if she were tasting new food for the first time.

  Wezlan’s eyes narrowed but he turned and continued the trek. “Woodrandia is much like you already know. The trees, the animals, the peace that the forest provides; it is a sanctuary for the elves.”

  Ashalea brushed a hand over a mottled tree stump, feeling the fissures in the wood. She glanced at the mossy carpet and the evidence of life all around her. Plants, flowers, hollows in trees, nests in branches, dens in the ground. It was a sanctuary. One that she’d be leaving very soon. She had thought of nothing but escaping the confines of the forest, but now that she was about to, she considered what a fool she had been.

  A fool to embrace danger and death. A fool to hold on to the past. But what future did she have amongst these trees, living alone, with nothing but the ghosts of her parents’ past? It was her fool’s errand, and vengeance would fuel her fire.

  They walked in silence for a time, and Ashalea took in every detail of her surrounds, burning it into her brain, before Wezlan stopped suddenly. “Ha!” he exclaimed loudly, turning with a smile. “I found it! The entrance to the city of Woodrandia.”

  At first Ashalea saw nothing, but her keen eyes soon found the slightest semblance of a stone doorway carved into a rocky wall, hidden behind layers of overhanging moss. To the dwarven or human eye, it would not be noticeable.

  “This is the entrance to Woodrandia? I expected something more…”

  “Grander? Like I said, Ashalea, visitors are rarely welcome to elvish cities. But the Lady and I have history, and being a wizard does have its perks,” he winked.

  Wezlan placed his staff against the surface, drawing the elvish word, ‘ohelȃn’. Enter. The door opened inwards, revealing an earthen passageway that burrowed down, just like the song had said. They followed it for a few minutes and Ashalea marvelled at the roots that lined the roof of the dirt tunnel. After some time, the passage curved and began to incline, until up they came to light at the end of the tunnel. At the top Ashalea gasped in amazement.

  Before her a metropolis of giant white trees much like the one at home covered a mossy green forest floor, scattered with autumnal orange, brown and gold leaves. Brilliant arches scribed with elvish runes lined pathways, and stairwells climbed high up the trees. A sparkling river twirled its way underneath bridges, snaking towards a waterfall near the city edge.

  The grace and delicacy were clear in every detail. Doorways carved into trees and glass stained windows lined home after home. All was shrouded in a golden glow. Beautiful elves went about their work with precision and care, their brunette, red and blonde hair shining in the light. Others sang songs, laughed with friends or lay curled up in hammocks far above, book in hand. Yet all stopped what they were doing and looked at her at once.

  Ashalea shifted her feet, casting eyes downward, feeling out of place. It was like time had stopped, and she could feel eyes drilling into her skull from every direction.

  When she raised her face once more, a few men and women stood before her. Her body tensed in anticipation. But they smiled. A mixture of brown, green and hazel eyes all twinkled in excitement, and they embraced her warmly. Ashalea let out a whoosh of air, and she realised she’d been holding her breath.

  “Welcome to Woodrandia,” a woman with long brown hair said. “My name is Erania. I represent the council and the Lady Nirandia. It is a pleasure.”

  “I’m Ashalea.” She bowed clumsily, and the woman laughed; a pretty melody that seemed to echo around the trees.

  “I know who you are. We’ve been expecting you. Although, you’re three years overdue,” Erania winked.

  Ashalea glanced at Wezlan, who was now inundated with elves calling his name and tugging at his sleeves. She raised a brow and he guffawed in return. Erania offered her arm, and Ashalea took it gratefully.

  “Come, let me show you around.”

  They walked down the path scattered with leaves, and Ashalea gaped in amazement. “How can it be, that this place is so different from the rest of the forest?”

  Erania smiled. “There is Magicka in the trees here. We live in an endless Autumn, where the weather stays temperate, and the soil moist. We eat and drink what the land provides, and trade what we need to for the rest.”

  “Have you ever left Woodrandia?”

  The elf looked at Ashalea as if she were mad. “Why on Everosia would I want to? We have everything we need here.”

  “Do you not wish to see the world? Cross the seas? Climb the mountains? Meet the other races?”

  Erania began ascending one of the tree’s staircases, lifting her skirts elegantly. “I have been to all of these places and met all of the races through the pages of a book. That is enough for me.”

  Ashalea frowned. A boring way to spend a long life.

  They rounded the tree’s bough until they approached a red wooden door, gilded with gold leaf. Erania entered, welcoming Ashalea in with a broad smile. “This is my home. Please make yourself comfortable while I make us some tea.”

  The quaint treehouse held all the comforts one could wish for. A small library lined with old tomes and neatly bound scrolls sat in a room adjacent, and a four-poster bed adorned with rich silks huddled in the corner. A tidy kitchen, a chaise to lounge on by the hearth and a balcony overlooking the village completed Erania’s home. Everything was meticulously placed, and not a sprinkle of dust covered the surfaces.

  Ashalea took in every detail, finishing with Erania. The woman’s practiced hands made quick work of the tea. Her brunette hair cascaded down her back in a tidy braid, and she smoothed her skirts before carrying over the pot and two cups. She gestured for Ashalea to be seated.

  Ashalea reclined easily in the chair, and a slight hint of disapproval washed over Erania’s face before she schooled her features back to neutrality. She sat, straight-backed and looking regal as ever.

  Feeling awkard, Ashalea mirrored Erania’s pose. “What about Wezlan?”

  Erania chuckled. “Your wizard friend is no stranger to Woodrandia. He has many admirers and well-wishers to wade through. Someone will escort him here, or he’ll find us when he’s ready.”

  “Figures.”

  “Pardon?”

  Ashalea raised a brow. “I’m not surprised he’s made an impression on the people here.”

  Erania nodded. “Oh yes. He’s an enigma to the elves. Probably the first and only wizard they will ever meet, and the only human that could match an elf’s lifespan... Give or take a few hundred years.”

&nb
sp; Ashalea furrowed her brows as she sipped her tea. The herbal blend glided down her throat and a sweet hint of honey lingered on her tongue. It reminded her of Wezlan. Wizard or not, the old man succumbed to sickness like any human, and she would make him a blend of chamomile and honey to soothe him on those days. It amused her to see such a powerful man defeated by a common cold.

  “Have you met Wezlan before?”

  The elf smiled. “Once, when I was a child. It has been some time since.”

  Ashalea studied Erania over her cup. She looked to be in her late twenties, possibly early thirties, but that meant nothing. Once elves reached their thirty-first birthday, they stopped aging at the rate of humans, and it took hundreds of years for time to play catch-up.

  “If you don’t mind me asking, how old are you?”

  Erania inhaled, shock plastered over her face. “It’s not polite to ask an elf how old they are. It’s considered extremely rude by elvish standards.”

  Ashalea looked horrified. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know, I—”

  Erania burst out laughing. “I’m only joking. It’s not a crime to ask, but you’ll find many elves won’t willingly provide that information. Let’s just say that I’m still very fresh,” she said with a wink.

  So, there’s a personality after all.

  Erania raised a brow. “Would you like to see the rest of the village?”

  Ashalea grinned. “Do you really have to ask?”

  The two ladies left the house — after Erania cleared, cleaned and meticulously placed the pot and cups back in their rightful place — and descended the staircase once again. Twilight was approaching, and Woodrandia’s golden glow shimmered with pinks and oranges from the setting sun. They walked in silence, passing elves who bowed their heads or murmured greetings in silky voices.

  “On the left we have a tailor, a grocer, a shoemaker, and on the right we have a pottery maker, a furniture maker, a jewellery store…” Erania babbled on and on as she waved her hands left and right, identifying each of the stores and their uses.