Vengeance Blooms Read online

  Ashalea stared open-mouthed at the hive of activity. Everything had a purpose, and it was all arranged in tidy rows on the ground floor of the surrounding trees. Some of the stores had split levels, housing elves in the boughs above. The merchants all nodded their hellos as Erania listed their names. A baker named Frili, an artist named Jilann, a gardener called Weiyu. It was an endless stream of information too overwhelming to store. Ashalea’s brain switched off, and all she could do was stare at the winding paths of this glorious city.

  This was what she’d been missing out on all these years? Why would her mother and father have strayed from this place? Why would they choose to live in isolation, rather than embrace their kin and these good people? Or any of the other elvish borders, for that matter.

  Ashalea tried her best to snap to snap out of her stupor and realised they had wound up in the centre of the village. An oak tree larger than any other stood before her; its bottom hollowed out to form a manmade chamber pillared by roots.

  Erania stopped and gazed at its bulk. “Isn’t it beautiful? It is the heart of this village and has stood since the beginning of our records many millennia ago.”

  Words couldn’t describe how enormous the tree was. It stretched so high that its boughs were hidden from sight, and Ashalea knew, whatever Magicka dwelled in this place, it was because of this one tree. The power radiating from it was unmistakable, and she realised the strange familiarity she had felt earlier must have been this tree, calling to her. Ashalea marvelled at the unmarked trunk; pure white and smooth. She placed a hand upon its surface, and it seemed to hum in response. A flash of pure energy swept through Ashalea’s bones.

  Erania’s curiosity piqued as Ashalea’s eyes widened. “Most interesting.”

  “What is?”

  “It senses your strength,” Erania observed. “Few elves are fortunate enough to make a connection with the tree. It must see something in you. A purpose. A power.” Her brown eyes passed over Ashalea with unmasked curiosity.

  “What does it see?”

  “That is for the tree, and only the tree to know.”

  Ashalea gazed at its towering bulk. Tell me. Am I on the right path? Will I have my vengeance? Is it my destiny to defeat the darkness? She willed it to speak, but it remained quiet, standing in eternal vigil.

  Erania smiled. “You are young, little lamb. I am sure it knows much that you are yet to discover. Come. It is time to meet the Lady Nirandia.”

  They rounded the tree until they came before the entrance. Its roots twisted in spires around the room and at the end, the elves had carved a great wooden throne embedded with emeralds. The roots were thick, so the tree continued to flourish unharmed. They approached the dais, and Ashalea had to stop herself from gasping. An elf more beautiful than any other stood before her, with a cohort of well-dressed men and women. Erania took her place by their sides.

  The Lady Nirandia.

  She was garbed in a cream dress, with golden thread that glistened like the sun and long blonde hair that fell to her waist. Hazel eyes and red lips twinkled at Ashalea, smiling, as perfect and royal as the white wooden crown upon her head.

  “My dearest, Ashalea, how I have waited a long time to meet you.”

  “My Lady,” Ashalea bowed. “It is an honour.”

  Lady Nirandia cast her eyes over Ashalea and took her hands, studying the fine lines that crept across them. “You have known great sorrow and pain,” she paused, “yet still I see strength, compassion and kindness. And so beautiful,” she added with a wink.

  Ashalea’s eyes widened. “You can see all of this from one look?”

  The Lady traced the thin branches that crept across Ashalea’s palms. “Each line tells a story about your life, your health, your death. But it is not just your hands that tell me your secrets, Ashalea. It’s your eyes.”

  Her eyes pierced into Ashalea’s own, and Ashalea grew uncomfortable as the seconds ticked by.

  “I see you’re well acquainted already,” a voice boomed. The women separated as they watched Wezlan striding confidently into the chamber. His robes whipped about him as he pounded his staff into the ground with each step.

  Lady Nirandia held her arms out to Wezlan and forgetting all queen-like behaviour wrapped her arms around him, both laughing wholeheartedly. “Oh, my dearest Wezlan, it does me good to see you again.” She pulled back from their embrace to gaze upon his face. “After so long you have barely changed. Time has yet to catch up with you it seems.”

  Wezlan smiled at her. “And your grace could not shine any brighter than it does in this moment,” he returned.

  “Come,” she said. “We have much to talk about, but first let us show you to your rooms so you may rest and recover, and tonight, we feast!”

  They feasted for several nights in fact. Speaking not of darkness and danger but of great deeds that elf and man alike had done. They sang and danced and made merry with cups of fine wine and Ashalea was even awarded a special honour, in respect for her parents and for the sixteenth birthday celebration she never had.

  Turns out, she was well liked. Her anxiety had amounted to nothing, and Ashalea realised just how much she had longed for a connection with the elves. Her life of isolation had led her to believe she would be shunned, but instead her kinsmen had welcomed her with open arms. Oh, how wrong she’d been.

  Erania became a fast friend, despite her prim and proper ways, which Ashalea openly snorted at much to Erania’s indignation. They were complete opposites, but they connected all the same, and Ashalea realised she had wanted a friendship like this more than she thought possible. The only female companion Ashalea had ever known in her life was her mother. And she was long gone from this world.

  The two elves spent the afternoons together, reading in the balcony by Erania’s home, or spending time with the great oak tree. Erania admitted her envy to Ashalea, for she had long hoped the tree would connect with her as it did Ashalea, but such things were not meant to be.

  During the days, Ashalea spent her time wandering the elvish city, meeting folk and learning of their lives. She read old tomes that spoke of elvish history, the ancient language and use of Magickas — and one interesting excerpt on speaking with animals, if you were born with such an ability.

  I’ll be looking into that.

  Where Wezlan was during this time, she did not know, but Ashalea suspected his days were less about leisure and more about what to do in the coming weeks. Her friend was much too sly and cunning to waste his time, no matter how much he liked a good rum and a fire at his back.

  After the sixth day, Lady Nirandia called Wezlan and Ashalea for a meeting at noon. They met in the wide hall set at the bottom of the great oak. Ashalea and Wezlan approached the dais and sat upon two remarkable white oak chairs placed before it, waiting for the Lady to speak. The Queen was much more sombre on this occasion.

  “The council has met several times to discuss the plight that lies before us, but we are unsure what steps need to be taken. We have sent messages to the Elven provinces to discuss action, but our communication falls short with the dwarves, and it would seem the King of Maynesgate does not take heed to our words.”

  Ashalea had read about the city before. It was the human stronghold — the city of all cities — and it reeked of political power plays and a vast divide between the rich and poor. It was also the base of the human army, and served as a gateway for merchants selling wares, and transporting goods to and from Maynesgate to offshore ports. Its current ruler, King Grayden, was new blood, and he had much to learn if he were to keep his position and his life. Human rulers’ reigns were not so long and dignified as those of the elves. They were lucky to die a peaceful death, or an honourable one at that. Too many politicians with assassins up their sleeves, or nobles too greedy to care about what’s good for the Kingdom.

  The Woodland Queen sighed; irritation written on her face. “The dwarves are stubborn and their King refuses to meet with myself or the other elvish leaders. The D
iodonians are nomads, never in one place at a time — their leader is unreachable.”

  “What of the Gates of the Grove?” Wezlan asked.

  Perplexed, Lady Nirandia shook her head. “Everosia is at risk once more. Evil stirs in the east. Darkness is descending, but for now, the Gates hold fast. The portal remains undisturbed and as usual, under the watchful eye of the Grove’s Guardians and keepers.”

  “The keepers?” Ashalea cast a puzzled look at Wezlan.

  “The trees that encircle the Grove are ancient. Long have they been a last line of defence for danger both within the world of Everosia, and for any evil that, gods forbid, escaped from another world beyond the portal. Should danger approach, there are creatures of old that will defend the Grove.”

  “The keepers will not be enough should the darkness escape, Wezlan, you know this,” Nirandia said. “Better than anyone.”

  Wezlan bowed his head with respect and sadness and he seemed to age about ten years as his forehead crinkled.

  “All too well, my queen. It is with a heavy burden I live this long, knowing that knowledge and wisdom has passed with my friends. It pains me to think a new generation of wizards may be out there, untrained and unsure of their gifts, but such things will have to wait.”

  Lady Nirandia rose from her chair and paced the room, her lips pursed. “We have a larger problem at present. The Guardians’ Magicka is waning. Harken, the dwarf, and the human Willan, have passed on rather suddenly, before we could establish their replacements. The Diodonian chief, Razgeir, is old and his strength wanes. The time has come for a new order.”

  Wezlan stroked his beard. “Who defends the eastern lands?”

  “The dwarves are patrolling the mountains, but their interests lie with their own kind. As I’m sure you know, there have been new sightings of creatures around the marshes of Deyvall and the Dreadlands. It is time for us to act. I am sending a party of warriors to observe these creatures. Once we know about their movements, we can decide on the next course of action, but for now, it’s imperative we ensure the people in the surrounding towns are safe.” Lady Nirandia put a hand to her forehead, lips pursed thoughtfully. “It would seem time has passed all too quickly outside of elvish borders. A new age has dawned, a new generation has come.”

  “The circle of guardians MUST be complete,” Wezlan said. “I will find those chosen as the new protectors. It is my duty.” His vigour returned as he straightened his back.

  “And I will come with you,” Ashalea stood, determination on her face. “I don’t know what lies ahead, but I know I am ready.”

  Loyalty brimmed out of her pores as she looked at her friend. Her master. She couldn’t say why, but something told her he would need her in moments of peril to come, and she would rather visit the fiery pits of the scorned God, Vinditi, than let anything happen to the old man. He was the only friend she’d ever really had.

  “The journey will be treacherous, Ashalea. Not all evil lies in shadow,” Wezlan said.

  She nodded gravely, resolute in her decision. “I will help you find the next Guardians. Once we do, they may be able to help me find and defeat the darkness. I will have my vengeance, Wezlan, if it’s the last thing I do.”

  Lady Nirandia returned to her throne. “Very well then. You shall head north to Maynesgate. There is a soothsayer who lives in the lower capital with the means to aid you. However, she does not like strangers and hides her gifts well. Even with your Magicka, Wezlan, you will not easily find her, so you will need this.”

  She pulled a necklace from her pocket and passed it to the wizard. A plain, unremarkable piece that held the shape of a wooden eye. When he slipped it over his neck, the eye snapped open to reveal a bright blue iris.

  “When you are close, the eye will reveal the truth,” she said. “Look for her around the docks and follow her home. Do not approach until nightfall and knock twice quickly, two slow and twice fast again. Utter her name in elvish, Haralion, and she will receive you.”

  The queen rose, with Wezlan and Ashalea following suit. Smiling, Lady Nirandia took their hands one after the other in a heartfelt embrace.

  “Be careful. The darkness has returned, and he will surely have his spies everywhere. Ashalea, you will need to be discrete in Maynesgate. You will stand out in the crowd, as few elves venture to that city.”

  Wezlan glanced at his ward. “Nothing will happen to her on my watch.”

  Ashalea nudged him playfully in the ribs.

  Lady Nirandia smiled. “Now, please rest and join me for a final feast tonight. Your journey is long, and I would give you one more night of happy memories to take with you on your quest.”

  ◆◆◆

  The next day, Ashalea and Wezlan woke to a hearty breakfast followed with many gifts presented by the townsfolk. They were given supplies for their journey, and from the tailor they received new clothes. Elvish silks for Ashalea; an emerald tunic with golden embroidery, brown slacks, a burnt orange hood and a pair of new brown boots. For Wezlan, a burnt orange robe fixed with a hood, grey tunic and new boots. The quality was unmatched by most tailors across the realm. They would pose as upper-class merchants, selling medicinal wares from Woodrandia. Wezlan would have preferred to remain more discrete, but Ashalea’s elvish features and silver hair were hardly plain.

  The blacksmith offered Wezlan a short sword inscribed with elvish runes and made from the highest-grade steel. The wizard sliced the air, testing its weight and measure to his body. It was perfectly balanced from hilt to tip, and though he was old, Ashalea knew he would have no problems wielding the weapon, and better than many to boot. Wezlan bowed his head appreciatively.

  To Ashalea, he offered a new bow carved from white oak, imbued with Magicka to instil courage and true aim in the beholder, and a spell to prevent damage to the fine wood. It was magnificent and fit her form well, but she was also presented with a scimitar. The blade and hilt were elegant and crusted with an emerald, but she knew the weapon’s real purpose would serve to maim and tear without hesitation. Its sensuous curves would reap destruction when the time came.

  For Ashalea, the Lady Nirandia also cast a cloaking spell to protect her from the unwanted eyes of the darkness. Both the elf and wizard felt she would be sufficiently shielded. For a while at least. The pair looked at each other and exchanged worried glances, for they knew the time would come when its power would wane in the face of the darkness’ growing power.

  The most special gifts of all were those they received from the Lady Nirandia herself. Two beautiful steeds, gentle, strong, and proud, were selected from the stables. The horses themselves were free to wander at will, but those that offered their services were well looked after and always welcome in the royal house.

  After exchanging silent conversation with the Queen, Lerian the white and Kaylin the bay accepted to join Ashalea and Wezlan, for they longed for adventure and new sights. Ashalea gave her new steed, Kaylin, a welcoming pat, the young girl coming out in her again as she greeted him.

  Wezlan had a few words with Nirandia in private before they left. Ashalea watched them as she stood with the horses, aware of their sideward glances and hushed tones. She knew Wezlan was hiding something from her and it irked her to the bones. She pretended to fuss with the horses’ saddlebags and strained her elvish ears to spy on them, but they must have cloaked their conversation with Magicka because she overheard nothing. Wezlan embraced the Lady and glanced over to Ashalea, giving her an odd look, and, was that a slight frown?

  Erania approached Ashalea, tidied her hair, smoothed hew new tunic out and straightened the hood, her fingers clenching the fabric in distress.

  Ashalea laughed. “Don’t fuss. I’ll be fine.”

  “I know you will, little lamb. I’m just sorry to see you go.” Erania smiled. “In just a few days you’ve made me think of the outside world more than I have in years. You’re right. There are endless possibilities and sights to see. I might just venture out the nest after all.”

 
; “Fly, fly, sweet bird,” Ashalea said. “We are blessed with a long life, Erania. It’s time to start living it.”

  The two embraced, and Ashalea whispered in Erania’s ear, “I’m going to miss you cleaning up after me.”

  Erania pushed her away playfully, but her face turned solemn. She dipped her head respectfully to Wezlan, and he winked in return.

  With a final wave goodbye to the Lady and her cohort, they made their way to the eastern exit, ready to begin their journey anew. The townsfolk waved and called out to them from their various nooks in the trees and Ashalea smiled. The last thing she saw was the golden glow throughout the trees and a halo that seemed to grace the Queen of Woodrandia. Then it was gone.

  For two days they ventured through the woods once more, slow as it was weaving through the trees. They talked of the splendour of elves and mused at great sights they might see on the road. Wezlan told tales of his past life and at night he took to teaching Ashalea how to strengthen the mind and work her powers to speak to animals.

  It was a complicated process that required the user to weave thin tendrils of Magicka into the receiver’s mind. With humans, elves or dwarves, their physical makeup and brainwaves made it complicated, and both users needed to be gifted with Magicka to even try.

  With animals it was a different process altogether. The cognitive abilities of most animals were limited, so trying to speak with Kaylin was like clutching at straw, and she felt like she kept drawing the short one.

  She could feel the tendrils creeping out to Kaylin’s mind, but they failed to connect with anything. Once or twice she felt a stray thought, of green grass and red apples, and the question of what endless skies would look like. But the thoughts were broken, and she still had some ways to go until she could speak to her horse.

  Her cheeks flushed as she practiced, and her own brain reached boiling point as the tips of her ears turned red with rage. Wezlan put one steady hand on her shoulder. His gaze said, ‘enough was enough’ so she ceased trying for the night and stewed in her annoyance, aware of how arrogant she’d been to expect overnight success.