Inheritance Book Two
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After being sent to the Iron Tower located in the Crater of Resentment, Eory is forced to fight the doppelgangers--the shadows of elves who died in the past who have lingered due to the immense hatred caked into the earth where a meteor fell. In the midst of a violent war between a faction of elves that had three eyes and a faction of elves who only had two, this meteor was dropped on the faction that only had two. While Eory is trapped in the tower, he debates whether the decisions he made in the ballroom were the right ones, and still strives to do the right thing, no matter the cost. However, this might be difficult to accomplish as an inner demon named Taylor has been released.
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Inheritance Book Two - Natasha Weber
Chapter One: Themistoklis
Themistoklis, or Them for short, was an unlucky waif cursed with too many misfortunes to count. His most recent misfortune was being recruited by the Astral Elves to go die in the Crater of Resentment. But truly, his chain of misfortunes had begun years even before that.
Like all waifs, at the age of twelve, he was sent to the holy mountain two miles to the north of Trella alone on a quest to trigger his magic—if he, indeed, had the capacity for magic.
At first, he had been excited. He thought once his magic was triggered on the mountain, he would have a long life of bliss ahead of him; he thought there was no other place to go than up, as his parents were banished from the waif homeland when he was six-years-old, and he had had to live with an adoptive family until he had gotten himself banished, too, at the age of sixteen. His adopted family did not treat him well and thought very little of him due to his former parentage. Children of those who were banished from the waif homeland were allowed to stay, that didn’t mean they were well-liked or accepted.
It did not help that Them had somewhat of a penchant for getting into trouble. Because he did not like his adopted home—a little home with a thatched roof sitting in the branches of a mighty oak tree—he would often steal from other villagers, tease the other boys and girls, and consume foods that were not kosher with his religion in his home village of Trauscus.
He was always starving.
He memorized the schedules of the other waifs in the village, and whenever he knew their homes were empty, he would sneak in, steal food and whatever else appealed to him, and then arrive late to the little schoolhouse which he only occasionally attended.
Most of the other villagers suspected it was he who was stealing their food, jewelry, and other items of interest, but because they had no proof, they could not accuse him directly.
Nonetheless, he was always regarded with derision and criticism by the other waifs and was otherwise ignored.
But when Them turned twelve, he was sure that once his magic was triggered on the holy mountain, that he would be well-respected. Moreover, he was sure that he would gain enough magical power to be able to hunt efficiently on his own and would no longer starve due to his family giving their biological children all the food, and only giving Them scraps.
When he arrived at the foot of the holy mountain, he was not without his worries, however. Like all waifs--regardless of whether he was able to awaken the magic that may or may not be coursing through his veins--if he didn’t come back to the village on his own, no one would come looking for him.
The mountain looked like an intelligent creature had made it. There was a path that circled around it in a spiral fashion, making it easy to ascend with no special equipment.All a waif needed was their own feet beneath them.
And so, Them had begun his adventure up the mountain in high spirits.
He walked for an hour on that ridge, expecting to see a vision that would allow him to tap into the magic hidden within him. The weather was warm--the path was jagged with sharp rocks. Them was sweating egregiously—so much that he felt it dripping from his forehead and into his eyes. His legs had eventually begun shaking and his stomach growled at him angrily.
He blinked and had thought he saw something glowing in an unearthly light through the sweat in his eyes, but when he had blinked the sweat out, the unearthly light had disappeared. Two hours later, he had passed out from the heat and didn’t expect to wake up again.
But wake up he did.
And when he had awakened, his muscles were still weak. He tried to lift himself to a sitting position, but he collapsed instead.
He had blinked rapidly--saw that he was no longer on the mountain. He was back in the green, shaggy forests of Trella, and he was looking at the feet of a creature he did not recognize.
He had tried, again, to pull himself to a sitting position, and this time, he managed it. He had sat up and seen that his rescuer was something out of legend. It was a will’o the wisp, a two-foot-tall, round and plump creature with an especially big head that doubled the size of its body and had large, cat-like ears jutting out from its head. It wore a tattered, brown cloak over its shining, white body. Round, black eyes blinked at the waif from under the cloak.
The wisp had floated effortlessly just two feet above the ground, inspecting the waif with intrigue.
Have I lost my way?
Them asked.
Them looked down sadly. That’s how the stories go. Wisps come to people who have lost their way…
__
While waiting for the large, horse-drawn carriage to begin moving, Them had drifted off into a wakeful dream about the past. He awoke now as there was a bump in the road that jolted his eyes open.
Across from him in the carriage sat many creatures of different species. There was an elf and a dwarf sitting to the left of an old, human woman with dark skin, and to the right of her was a…
Them grinned from ear-to-ear. Hello, beautiful! I thought I’d never meet you in person! Why are you wearing a man’s clothes, though?
The fairy, who had been sleeping, opened his eyes and looked at Them in confusion.
Who are you?
Eory asked.
-Chapter Two: No Time For Sulking
Twelve years ago, Pollyanna felt all life and vitality dissipating from her body as, for two months of her life, she had stewed in misery and given up.
She had faced failure for the first time in what felt like one-hundred years.
Laurence, the dishonorable and wretched cook in the kitchen--someone who had made himself out to be loyal to the Arrozan family--had put a strange cocktail of secret herbs in their food. Before it was sent out to be eaten by the Arrozan royal family, the guards tasted it to make sure it was not poisonous. It had no effect on them.
But later, Pollyanna would learn that the slimy, clever cook had figured out some kind of combination of herbs that constituted a potent sedative that would only be put into effect hours after it was taken, and only affected humans.
The day had otherwise been normal. Pollyanna had no other business to do but follow around and guard the king and queen all day, and so that was what she did.
But in the late afternoon, she had begun to feel drowsy. Drowsier than she ever had in her life. Her eyelids were heavy; her muscles felt lax—her vision began swimming. At that time, she had been in the throne room and listening to some rabble expressing their concerns to the king and queen about fights breaking out amongst the fairies and humans in the castle city.
The king and queen made it clear that they would send Pollyanna if necessary, but that the peasant should otherwise address the guards in their city to take care of the problem.
Pollyanna felt as if she were watching the human rabble leave the throne room with eyes that were not her own, and suddenly, she lost all muscle control and collapsed on the dais next to the king and queen.
The king and queen called her name, and the last thing she saw was King Herin kneeling by her side with his familiar, emotionally vacant face.
When she had awoken, four chains were manacled to her wrists and ankles. There were many swords, axes, and lances buried in her skin—her neck felt tender and a little off-balance. It seemed as if she had been beheaded, but the magic in her veins had quickly sewn her head back on.
She blinked rapidly. In front of her, a public beheading taking place in the castle courtyard in the waning light of an orange sun.
There was an incredibly loud crowd of bleating, human sheep gazing upon the people who were to be beheaded. She still felt incredibly dazed, but she awoke from her daze when she realized it was the king, queen, and their sons being beheaded.
The king was first in line. He was pushed toward the guillotine by a six-foot-tall, muscled, executioner.
Herin was screaming for Pollyanna to come rescue him—the most expression and fear he had ever shown since he was as young as six.
Pollyanna wriggled her chains, trying to escape; she tried to call back to the king, but a gag in her mouth prevented it. Around her, four guards pulled back on the chains around her ankles and wrists to restrain her.
Herin reached out to her with tears in his eyes as he was shoved into the guillotine. The executioner pulled the rope hanging off the side of the apparatus, causing the sharp cleaver at the top of the structure to drop.
Herin shrieked her name one last time in such an unearthly scream that the sound of it was seared into her memory forevermore. Pollyanna did not look away as the axe plummeted downward, severing the man’s head from his body. That was her self-imposed punishment for failing her king.
Gershom held his younger brother close as they waited for their turn nearby on the dais. Gershom had covered the younger fairy’s eyes, trying to comfort and soothe him as their mother was dragged to the guillotine next. Unlike her husband, she did not scream. Her expression did not change. But her eyes did meet Pollyanna’s accusingly.
It seemed as if time stopped for a moment as their eyes locked.
She knew what the queen was thinking; she was accusing the immortal warrior-maiden of failure.
The cleaver came down, the woman’s head came loose. The female fairy did not scream.
Pollyanna watched with unexpected tears in her eyes, still refusing to look away. She did not deserve to.
I promised myself I would never fail! I promised I would prove to myself and everyone else on this sorry earth that neither I, nor the Arrozans are to be trifled with! I cannot accept this failure!
Next, they grabbed the oldest Arrozan boy. They tore him from Eory’s arms as the younger brother screamed over the din of the crowd for his brother.
Gershom looked back at his brother regretfully, forcing a smile. Pollyana imagined that he must be telling his younger brother to be brave.
Within the crowd, a waif climbed up on the dais seizing the arm of the deceitful cook, Laurence, who had been cheering along with the crowd at the king and queen’s death.
The waif pointed at the older Arrozan boy, throwing herself on her knees before Laurence. Laurence shook his head, however, and nodded to the executioner.
The oldest Arrozan boy closed his eyes as he was pushed onto the apparatus. Tears that were accepting of his fate cascaded down his cheeks.
The rope was pulled again and the cleaver shhked downward, removing his head.
The executioner turned to the last Arrozan boy who was on his knees and weeping.
The waif—who Pollyanna recognized as Kori, one of the only waifs in all of Maribel— threw her arms around the younger boy. She glared at Laurence, her face dripping with hateful venom. The executioner pushed her roughly off the boy, dragging the screaming child by the wrist toward the guillotine.
With a determined look on her face, the waif pushed herself to her feet, engaging in a conversation with Laurence.
It took only a moment for Laurence to hold up a hand to the executioner who reluctantly released the boy. Kori called to the boy and he ran into her arms, weeping bitterly.
Pollyanna was dragged away after that, seeing no more of what happened. She was thrown in the back of a caravan with four guards still holding all four of her chains so that she could not move.
She was sure that, even if the youngest Arrozan child was spared for now, they would kill him very soon, and that would be the end of her.
As long as my family line survives, you will too. But if they are all extinguished, you will be, too. Fjorn’s voice teased her in her mind.
And so, Pollyanna was forcibly fed more sedatives and the soldiers dragged her to a securely built tower in the Dwarven kingdom of Ghar, where, night and day, she was kept chained on the freezing rooftop of a tower between two pillars, unable to move.
She had given up and waited to die.
Her failure haunted her, seeping into her bones and defining her.
If I am not the best at fighting—if I am not the best soldier—then what am I am?
The cold bit at her day and night up on that tower; her wrists were rubbed raw from the manacles digging into them. Her skin peeled--and if she hadn’t looked unsightly before--she certainly did, then. The dwarven guards would come by and taunt her from time-to-time, making her feel even worse.
She was put through such unforgettable pain on that tower as the dwarves poked, prodded, and tore at her body in an attempt to find a way to kill her for good.
As long as Eory lived, there was nothing that could succeed in that, however.
Time passed, and Pollyanna had little else to do but count the days that passed with it. And count them she did.
A week passed, and then another, and she was still alive. And then a month passed, and still, she lived. And then a year passed, and then another, and she still drew breath. And before she knew it, ten years had passed, and there was still a beating heart in her body. And suddenly, Pollyanna felt a burst of confidence and realized that there was no reason to sulk. The boy must be alive! Pollyanna thought to herself. They must be sparing him for good! And even if they aren’t, who cares? I’ve nothing left to do but try to escape--to prove that I am still a force to be reckoned with, even with my sires dead!
She smirked.
Pollyanna stepped forward as far as she could, pulling all the chains taut; she could hear the stone that her chains were attached to beginning to groan and give way.
She stopped for a moment, panting, after several minutes of pulling. Finally, with one last grunt of exertion, she yanked her arms and legs forward, and her chains were pulled from the stony pillar.
Gods! Why should I sulk? He’s not dead yet. I may as well give it my all!
By the time she was done with that tower, not a soul was left alive.
Pollyanna grinned at the memory as the adult Eory slept on her shoulder. Together, they waited for the caravan that would drive them to the Crater of Resentment to begin moving.
I’ve killed so many people to ensure your safety. I am willing to kill hundreds more. I never want to think of your mother's disapproving eyes on my face again. I will not fail ever again. She thought to herself as she looked upon his sweet face.
Chapter Three: Francis
Kori did not want to see the king after he had signed her son away over to the Astral Elves, and so, she dove into her work instead. She spent most of her time in the dungeon with criminals; she had returned, full-time, to her work as Redeemer, now that she had no Eory to visit or look after. There was something soothing about the work that made her forget about the horrors she had just experienced only a week before. For those first three days after Eory had gone, Kori could do little else but sit in her room in her nightgown, thinking of the cruelties visited upon her and Eory in that ballroom.
She thought of the king’s dirty and underhanded betrayal of his promise to set Eory free and kill only Pollyanna, and felt sick to her stomach at how he had so easily violated that promise. She thought of Eory’s hideous grin as he summoned that horrid creature from his dog’s corpse to devour all of those guards, feeling all-the-sicker. She thought of Pollyanna—a woman who she had no love for—with her tattered dress, bleeding from dozens of arrow wounds, and sincerely felt sorry for her, which made her feel all-the-sicker.
Lastly, she thought of how Eory had been ripped from her arms by a man she thought she loved, and sent to die a horrible, lonely death in the Crater of Resentment. That was what hurt the most, and made her weep the hottest tears.
The last smile he had given her was burned into her memory, and her mind would keep inevitably turning to it.
It was strange to think she had begun to prefer the company of criminals over the king’s, and yet here she was, about to spend all day with the most recent batch down in the bowels of the castle.
Kori hiked up her skirts, her heels clacking, on the stony steps leading down to the torchlit dungeon. At the bottom of the decrepit staircase were the dungeons, and alongside both walls, criminals were pacing, sitting, and exercising behind bars. The waif recognized them all but one. Curious, she sat outside the new prisoner’s dank, dark cell, looking in on them. Laurence, oddly enough, had not yet told her of this prisoner. It was very strange—the king almost always told her of new criminals before she went down to visit them, but not this time.
It was an elf. An ordinary elf, and not an Astral one. The elf was about five and a half feet tall, and did not have the long limbs nor the third eyes that Astral Elves did.
The elf’s legs were stretched out in front of him or her--crossed at the ankles--and Kori tried to discern the creature’s sex as her eyes roamed over their features. It was hard to tell with elves--especially since Kori was experienced with so few of them--but this one was practically impossible to tell. In a moment, she decided he looked more male due to his square chin and bigger nose.
Kori forced a smile, even though it was incredibly difficult for her to smile at a time like this. Hello. What’s your name?
The elf crossed his or her arms. My name is Francis, and I do not belong in this cell.
Kori still could not tell what sex the elf was from his voice nor from his name, so she was content with thinking of him as a man.
She felt sorry for the elf, as she did all criminals. Many of them were not entirely horrible people, after all. Many had just lost their way. She was getting that feeling from this elf.
You shouldn’t have disobeyed the law, then.
Kori replied.
I broke no law, little waif. I am a messenger from Alanheim. I was sent with an official missive from our queen to your king concerning your debt.
Francis answered with a roll of his eyes. You may be backwards, as all who are not elves are, but surely you know that taking an official messenger with a white flag captive is considered an act of war. Can you not pay your debts?
Francis queried.
Kori raised an eyebrow as she looked upon the elf’s dirty, blank face, cast in orange torchlight. What debts?
Kori demanded as she gripped the grimy bars worriedly. We have no debts!
Francis stood up from where he had been sitting, leaning against the wall, sighing heavily. Your king promised our queen an absurd amount of gold in return for helping you rid your kingdom of those Arrozans. Did he not tell you?
Kori blinked rapidly, her mouth open in shock. In a moment, she scowled. What is this? Some kind of lie you’re telling me to fool me into bartering for your freedom? Tell me what you are truly guilty of, elf.
The elf looked at her with sad eyes, I am guilty of many things that I am not proud of—including defending myself by killing two of King Laurence’s guards who tried to arrest me—but I am not guilty of anything that should have landed me in your dungeon. Ask your king, Lady.
Kori looked into his sad, green eyes, trying to gauge whether he was telling the truth. He certainly seemed sincere, but…
Laurence wouldn’t lie to me about something so important… Kori tried to convince herself. Gods, Maribel can’t afford a war with the elves. We’re still shaking off the damage the Arrozans did.
Kori didn’t wish to see the king. She wasn’t sure she was ready to see him; of late, she could still only see him as the villain who sent her son away and refused her request to join him. She had considered stealing the king’s crown in the night and summoning an Astral Elf to take her away, but the Astral Elves only obeyed the orders of kings and queens.
Regardless, even though she was fairly certain that Francis must be lying about the situation, she had to get to the bottom of it by confronting Laurence. If the lie proved true, Maribel was in deep trouble.
-Chapter Four: Corrupting Innocence
King Laurence rubbed his temples as he listened to the business of a fairy come before him who was asking that Laurence make certain towns and cities in the kingdom homogenous--with only fairies or only humans occupying certain cities and towns. His advisors were listening to this business as well, and so he let his mind wander. And where it wandered made his muscles tense on the arm of his throne.
He remembered that evil fairy’s eyes flaring with black magic and the resounding sound—like glass breaking—filling his mind. He remembered the Astral Elf taking the boy away, and afterward…
He thought the shadow dog would have disappeared once Eory had gone, but it roared and whimpered, ghosting through the castle’s walls until it ended up outside--the whole castle shaking as it did so. It was a miracle that, reportedly, no one had been killed during its rampage.
It was still out there, somewhere.
Peasants and nobles alike came to ask Laurence what had transpired in the ballroom that night, and if they should fear the return of this shadow dog. Laurence promised them that he had it under control, and he sent a regiment of twenty soldiers to go scout for the dog for seven days. If they found nothing, they were to return.
The roar from that foul creature filled his ears; its bared, glinting, sharp teeth filled his eyes. He could envision it feasting on those poor archers--leaving nothing but bloody splotches behind--even now.
Queen Harriet noticed her husband was not listening at all to the fairy’s problems and put a hand over his.
He felt like taking it away. It was Kori he wanted, but the waif wanted nothing to do with him at the moment.
Laurence should never have let her spare that fairy to begin with. If he had just said no to her when she threw herself to her knees and begged for his life, they all could have been spared his presence at the ball and the massacring at the still-bloody ballroom. It would not have stopped Pollyanna from coming and taking revenge on them all, but it would have spared Kori from becoming so attached to such a corrupt creature who had turned her simple heart.
Laurence remembered the moment she had saved the fairy prince vividly.
The executioner had just lopped off the older fairy boy’s head, and was hauling the youngest one over to the guillotine at Laurence’s approval.
But Kori had looked at the king with such hateful and judgmental eyes that he knew the waif would have never forgiven him if he had killed Eory. Kori marched to Laurence’s side and said quietly and fearlessly to him. Laurence, if you kill that boy, you will never see me again. If you kill that boy, I will have no respect or love for you and I will pray for your death everyday. That would be the only suitable punishment for you after killing such a young and innocent creature.
Laurence had retorted sharply, "Innocent! You know what the Arrozans have done to me and my family and everyone in Maribel! None of them have ever been honest and upright! There has not been a single moral or kind Arrozan for as long as they have ruled! Why should we expect this creature to be any different?"
He is six-years-old! His parents are the horrible people! Look at that weeping child! Does he look evil to you? Please… Let me take him. I will Redeem him like I have redeemed other criminals. I will raise him away from others in captivity where he will harm no one! Just let him live if you have any kindness in your heart! Otherwise, you are no better than the Arrozans you hate so much.
Kori had spat with vitriol in every ounce of her words.
And Laurence gave in.
He gave in because he thought there was a truth to her words; the boy was young, and perhaps he could still be saved. And it was true he would be little better than the Arrozans if he killed a boy so young without having any proof of his evil tendencies. Lastly, he gave in because he loved Kori more than anything, and he felt so guilty for being unable to marry her. He owed her for toying with her feelings and her heart; he owed her for making her his mistress.
She made that corrupt and horrid boy into her surrogate son because there was nothing she ever wanted more in life than to have children. Laurence knew that better than anyone, but Kori would be hard-pressed to have her own children at this point, and he knew that he was the only one she wanted to have children with.
Over the years, she would consistently bring him news about Eory—sometimes, she was hoping to convince him that he was fit for society, other times, she just wanted to tell him about Eory because it came so naturally to her. It was as natural to her as a biological mother discussing her child’s first steps with her husband.
At some point, she had become more loyal to that boy than she had to him. That was the biggest thing that was bothering him.
Your Majesty?
One of his advisors standing next to the throne called his name, breaking him out of his reverie. Laurence blinked rapidly, coming back to reality. Yes?
What’s to be done about this problem concerning the humans and fairies?
His advisor asked.
Laurence rubbed the back of his neck. We can’t afford to convert every city and town in the kingdom into homogenous ones. We must all learn to get along. Separating humans from fairies will not help in that. If there is trouble within your city, ask your duke and city guards for help. I can do little to help you on this, myself.
The fairy glared up at him from the bottom of the staircase leading up to the throne. He had come a long way just to be told that Laurence could not fix everything. Every peasant and noble came before him expecting him to fix everything. It was exhausting and beginning to wear on the human king. Laurence felt guilty, but, at feeling his concentration dimming and his eyelids becoming heavy, he realized he needed to stop for the day.
He turned to his advisor. Take over, please. I must rest.
Laurence stood up, then, feeling dizzy when the shadow dog flashed in his mind—so dizzy that he nearly lost his balance on the stairs. Harriet cried out his name and steadied him. Are you alright, my darling? You never feel so sick that you have the need to let Levi take over…
Laurence nodded to Harriet and then turned his attention back to reaching the bottom of the stairs. His eyes nearly sparkled with delight when he saw Kori standing in the shadow of an arch on his right that led to the hallway.
Harriet, can you go see how our son is faring at his studies?
Laurence asked.
Harried nodded slowly, worry pulling at her lovely features. She helped Laurence the rest of the way down the stairs and then she left the throne room through the arch on the left side of the hall.
Laurence straightened his clothes and then joined Kori at the shadow of the arch. What is it, Kori?
She looked at him like she had never looked at him before; with wariness and mistrust.
She said with a low whisper, I need to talk to you alone.
-Chapter Five: Fallen Hero
When the Astral Elf--whose name they learned was Tyrus--had warped Eory and Pollyanna away from the throne room, they entered a world that was not Yharos; it was a world where time seemed to move faster and yet slower at the same time.
Eory fell through a stream of colorful lines of rushing light in a black space, and had nothing to do but think on the past and the possible future. Tyrus had warned them to speak and move as little as possible while they fell through this strange world.
And so, with little to do but think, his thoughts inevitably led him back to Pollyanna, as she was his only company now.
Eory loved Pollyanna. He had admired her for the longest time when he was younger, but that admiration had turned into love at some point. Sometimes, while Kori was away, the fairy would grab a pen in his room and pretend like he was Pollyanna—the mighty warrior-maiden—battling dragons and other beasts.
His imagination was wild and vivid.
Every moment of battling those monsters with his pen felt completely real to him.
When Pollyanna swung her sword, he swung his pen-sword, when Pollyanna sweated with exertion, he did too. When her heart beat so loudly that she could hear it, his did too. When his imaginary crowd cheered Pollyanna as a hero, they cheered him, too.
But this Pollyanna was not the real Pollyanna. The real Pollyanna was right next to him, falling through the same stream of pulsing lights he was.
He shivered when he looked at her, feeling immense confusion and disorientation at his conflicting emotions regarding her.
Just hours before, he was pinned under her, drenched in her blood. Even now, he had her dried blood all over him--and her dress was still in tatters due to her arrow wounds from earlier.
He remembered the stink and the sweat and couldn’t seem to get it out of his nostrils. He seemed to be stuck in that moment with her, and found it hard to think of anything else. And his feelings about her turned from loving, to ugly. He didn’t know why this brave and kind act led him to think so poorly of her, when she had supposedly done much worse things.
Perhaps that smell had awakened him to who she truly was.
She had seized him by the collar and threatened him for wanting to go to the ball to prove himself. She had shown hatred and disdain for anybody weaker than herself—including himself, and she had mercilessly killed all those guards who were guarding him and Kori upon leaving the tower. Above all, he resented her because if he had only ordered her to go away, his dog might still be alive, and maybe he wouldn’t have been sentenced to the Crater.
He had come to accept, as he fell through that other world where he felt detached enough from his own thoughts and emotions that he could examine them objectively, that Pollyanna was a horrible person, no matter how much he wished she wasn’t.
But she was a horrible person that he nonetheless had feelings for in ways that he could scarcely comprehend--ways that would disgust other fairies.
Old women are sacred things; they are wise and all-knowing, just like the fairy goddesses. They must remain untouched by all but their husbands and children, or else they and those who touch them will become tainted by evil desires, and their knowledge shall become corrupted and evil as well--just like the youngest of the wizened fairy goddesses, whose heart was tainted black by becoming enamored with a young fairy.
His biological mother had told him the story so many times that he never forgot it. He took it very seriously.
-And everytime he had an errant thought about how pretty Pollyanna’s silver hair looked, or how lovely her luscious, firm her skin was, or how well-muscled her body, he blushed and felt sick to his own stomach at his thoughts.
He had seen so many other fine and beautiful young ladies at the ball and walking about in the castle as well, and yet he wanted none of them the way he wanted Pollyanna. He was beginning to realize it was not normal for someone his age to want someone as old as she; after all, everyone at the ball either seemed to have a wife who was very close to their age or, in some cases, much younger.
Then why don’t I feel anything toward those women? Maybe it’s because she’s the only one I have ever known—even if it was only from fairy tales that Kori told me.
Eory thought to himself as he gazed upon Pollyanna, whose eyes were closed. She appeared to be sleeping.
Eory was all alone, with no one but this woman to depend on, however. He was stuck with her, regardless of how he felt about her.
He thought about Gershom—both the fairy and the dog—and felt his stomach twist into knots and felt a lump form in his throat.
I just want him to lick my face and give me that stupid grin… Eory thought to himself sadly.
Eventually, Eory, Tyrus, and Pollyanna all fell out of the brightly colored, stream of light, landing roughly on their feet on a grassy hill. Eory fell on all-fours, the ground swimming beneath him. He hugged his churning stomach for comfort, swallowing a lump in his throat.
Pollyanna knelt next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. Are you okay?
Eory climbed to his feet and did not answer.
He thought about how he had been trapped beneath her. He thought of the stink and the arrows heads sticking through her skin, nearly piercing his own, and shuddered.
Pollyanna raised an eyebrow, removing her hand from his shoulder. Eory looked at the blue sky, eyes still wet with tears. He glanced to his right after drying his tears to see a small, stony structure—about as tall as Pollyanna--with four pillars supporting a roof, and under that roof, a giant, green candle was lit.
The caravan will be along in a moment. Do not attempt to run; you have signed the contract, and if you run too far, the magic binding the contract will merely bring you back to my side.
Tyrus said in his usual, monotone fashion.
Pollyanna recognized the structure with the green flame under it. Astral Elves needed to use those to make their way through that other world they were falling through. If they didn’t, they would get lost and perhaps never make it back to Yharos. In her long lifetime, she had been warped to one by an Astral Elf only once before. There were only a few of those green flames on Yharos, however, because only the Astral Elves of ancient times knew how to make them. The knowledge had since been lost.
I suppose that’s why they can’t warp us directly to the Crater… Pollyanna thought to herself.
Ah, here is the caravan now.
Tyrus said.
To Eory’s left, a female Astral Elf driving a long caravan--large enough to fit twelve people on the inside--arrived. Its wheels rolled over the grassy earth, its churning wheels hurt Eory’s sensitive ears as it approached.
Eory looked at the caravan with a flash of fear, fighting the urge to run. He had signed his death warrant, after all, there was no escaping.
What’s wrong?
Pollyanna asked.
I don’t want to die...
Eory murmured.
Pollyanna watched him bawl for a moment and was reminded of who he truly was again; a scared, awkward and sheltered young man who had spent almost all his years tucked safely inside a tower—only to be released and sent to die in a prison of a different kind despite doing nothing wrong, himself.
She wanted to hold him, but she resisted. Instead she said, I’ll protect you, Eory. I promise.
The caravan stopped in front of them. Eory looked at it with his heart beating wildly.
Pollyanna kindly took his hand, however, and led him to the side of the caravan. She clambered into the caravan, and then turned around, offering Eory a hand.
Eory dried his eyes. He let her pull him up on the step.
Inside the vehicle were many other people already seated on uncomfortable planks of wood jutting out from either side of the caravan that Eory was expected to sit on.
Pollyanna sat down first, and then Eory sat down next to her, closing his eyes. In a moment, he fell into a deep sleep.
When he opened his eyes, he saw that he was seated across from a waif--a waif made distinct by the fact that the tip of his ear looked like it has been bitten off, judging by the bite mark--and that all the seats on the caravan were now full.
The caravan had begun rolling steadily on toward the crater of resentment.
-Chapter Six: She Arrives
The waif’s eyes lit up with recognition, and he exclaimed, Hello, beautiful! I thought I’d never meet you in person! Why are you wearing a man’s clothes, though?
Eory was befuddled. Who are you?
He certainly thought he would have remembered meeting a waif with fluffy, silvery hair, golden eyes, and an ear with the tip chewed off.
You mean you don’t recognize me, beautiful?
Themistoklis asked, rapidly blinking. Come on, Taylor. Don’t play tricks on me!
Eory cocked his head to the side and pulled his legs uncomfortably up to his chest. Taylor…?
Pollyanna glared at the waif and said, What are you talking about, waif?
She then turned to Eory. Is he bothering you, Eory?
Them threw his hands up defensively with a grin. Calm down, old-timer! I’m only talking to your gorgeous friend, there!
The waif’s eyes returned to Eory and he continued, Since when do you have a female behemoth for a guard, beautiful?
Eory looked away from Them, his cheek pressed against his knee. He said nothing.
-Them leaned forward--face half-in-shadow, half-in-light, due to sunlight seeping in through the fabric ceiling of the caravan. He examined Eory’s face closely. Hmmm, I could have sworn you were her, though…
There was a bump in the road, causing everyone in the caravan to bounce uncomfortably.
Them steadied himself, grabbing onto the edge of his seat. Afterward, he leaned in close to the will o'the wisp sitting by him. Hey, Pete… Don’t you think she looks like Taylor? The old broad looks familiar, too…
His friend Pete, whose tiny little legs did not even reach the floor, nodded.
Pollyanna crossed her arms and her ankles. Who is this Taylor you speak of? And Eory is a man, not a woman.
Pollyanna was waiting for Eory to intervene on his own behalf, but he was oddly silent—even more so than usual. Eory, what’s wrong?
Eory turned away from her, his shoulders slumped.
Pollyanna examined him curiously. There was definitely something wrong.
Them was flabbergasted. Man? No way… Don’t fool me like that, you old witch. And don’t you fool me, either, Taylor. I know we like to tease each other plenty, but I think I’d know your face when I see it!
Eory was still silent, not meeting anyone’s eyes.
She didn’t know what was wrong with him, and she certainly didn’t know how to make him feel better. She just knew she owed him her life and she wanted nothing more than to thank him for it.
But who is this Taylor? Stupid waif must be confusing him for some other fairy. Pollyanna concluded.
Themistoklis gave a long yawn and a stretch—causing the will’o the wisp sitting next to him to giggle. Like all wisps, it spoke no words, but rather spoke in the sounds of a bell—a bell that only the person it followed and pledged itself to could understand.
Them rolled his eyes. Yes, yes, Pete, I’m tired. You know we waifs are naturally nocturnal creatures—I can’t help but be exhausted during the day.
The waif was quiet for a moment, and then decided he was bored. If he were to stay awake, he needed to have an entertaining conversation with either the old hag or the beautiful fairy.
So, not-Taylor and old woman, might I ask what you have been through to end up in this caravan of doom? I assume it must have been pretty bad judging by your tattered clothes and that dried blood.
Them said with a grin.
Pollyanna was beginning to get annoyed by this waif.
Why are all these damned waifs so infuriating?
She clenched her fists, her eyes narrowed. I suggest you shut up, waif. Eory clearly doesn’t want to talk to you. Besides, we have no wish to discuss our business with you.
Them crossed his arms with a sly grin, looking at the fairy with intrigue. She’s playing such a fun game! Perhaps I’ll win that third kiss from her!
You know not even this ugly mountain can stand between us, my sweet! You think I fear her? She is nothing when pitted against true—
Pollyanna stood up with her back hunched—she was too tall to stand entirely upright in the caravan—and seized the tiny waif by the collar. Her other hand clenched and unclenched reflexively.
You think I haven’t heard every pathetic joke in the book about my height in my lifetime? Oh yes, stupider and stronger men than you have slighted my looks and my height. I used to just let their empty-headed jokes roll off my back until I remembered that I was strong enough to simply kill them for their transgressions. I ripped their tongues out, first.
Pollyanna muttered threateningly.
Them gulped, thinking his life was over.
Pete’s ringing voice sounded in his ears, the wisp floating into the air, readying himself to defend his friend.
But suddenly, a voice cut through the air—a voice that was loud and commanding.
Put him down, you oaf.
Eory had slid off his seat and was now looking at them with a smirk.
Pollyanna glowered and protested, But Eory! He is insulting both of us and—
I order you to put him down!
Eory commanded.
Them’s heart was beating wildly, silence cutting through the air for a solid moment.
Pollyanna opened her fingers, letting the waif fall to the ground.
Anyone in the caravan who was awake was watching the scene unfolding before them unblinkingly.
Eory swept his hair back confidently, planting his hands on his hips, standing in front of the Them who had been dropped on his belly. You wanted me, my darling, and here I am. You want that third kiss, right? You better come and get it.
Pollyanna turned her nose up in disgust as Eory sat back down on his seat and motioned the waif to come kiss him with a pointer finger.
-Them stood up like nothing had happened, wearing an aimless smile on his face and straightening his clothes. He looked into the fairy’s alluring, rosy eyes determinedly. Done playing games now, Taylor?
Eory nodded as he pulled one leg up to his chest, wrapping his arms around it.
The waif stepped toward her slowly. Those who were awake in the caravan watched the scene with bated breath.
Them crossed the very short space between them, placing his hands on either side of Eory’s hips. The fairy puckered his lips. Them’s heart beat a little faster.
For as long as she had known him, Taylor had teased him about getting that third kiss to the point of torture--now was his change. He brought his mouth closer and closer to Eory’s. Their faces were an inch apart when Pollyanna roughly shoved Them aside. Eory, I will not have you kissing other men! You will surely never make it to Paradise if you do!
Eory shrieked in such an unfamiliar and high-pitched voice that it made Pollyanna jump.
He turned to Pollyanna, punching her weakly in the arm. Listen, you bitch! I was only messing with him and I can handle myself! You’d think I’d ever let anyone kiss me so easily? Furthermore, I am not Eory, I am Taylor!
Chapter Seven: Plants
Pollyanna was baffled by what had unfolded in front of her.
Not only did Eory and this waif seem to know one another, but Eory’s personality seemed to have become the opposite of what it normally was.
Never in a thousand years would Eory have called her a bitch to her face. Never would he have let out that unearthly shriek that this woman calling herself Taylor had moments before. He was quiet and sweet, and this woman was certainly neither of those things.
And Pollyanna, after thinking for a moment, realized what precisely had happened to Eory.
That damned Kori! Pollyanna thought to herself. She’s responsible for this!
Them was laughing raucously at the whole situation, returning to his seat. You truly never planned to kiss me, after all? You’re always teasing!
Taylor giggled a little in response, sitting on his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck. She pursed her lips, saying, You should know better by now, you fool. I’ll give you that third kiss when you have lost an arm for me or when you have earned me one-thousand gold pieces!
Them couldn’t stop smiling, despite the fact that she was crushing him under her weight as she was a whole head taller than him. He poked her pointed nose playfully. You’re just too much fun to have around! I’m glad I can finally, truly touch you! Meeting on the dream plains was simply no fun at all! I might just steal a kiss if you will not let me have one! It could be in a few seconds, it could be in a few days, or it could be no—
He thrusted his face at hers, trying to steal a kiss. She half shrieked, half laughed, as he did so—shoving his face away with a pale hand. She climbed off his lap, clapping her hands to her now red cheeks. You beast! You demon! You scallywag! You shall never take advantage of me!
Everyone in the caravan was now awake and watching the melodrama being put on by Taylor and Them with rapt attention.
Pollyanna furrowed her brow. She seized Taylor’s wrist and made her sit by her. You are not acting like a proper lady should! You must—
Taylor interrupted with an intentionally high and prissy laugh. Advice on being a lady from an oaf like you! Please! You think fairy women are like human ones? You think we are expected to sit up straight, cross our ankles and that the only things we are allowed to say is ‘yes’ to men! Fairy women are expected to have their own minds! We are expected to control our men and our children! We can be as outgoing, loud, and open as we please, unlike you!
You are not a woman! You are a man!
Pollyanna whispered in embarrassment.
All eyes in the caravan were glued to the situation unraveling before them. Everyone around them was whispering and chuckling.
-Pollyanna grabbed Taylor’s shoulders gruffly, Don’t you understand what has happened to you? You were never meant to exist! Your mother saw what you were like and decided she wanted a boy instead!
Taylor’s face twisted darkly, becoming hideous. She shoved Pollyanna with strength that the old warrior-maiden didn’t know Eory possessed.
Yes, yes. I know what mother wanted and what mother thought! She was a stupid, batty woman! She picked me to be a girl for the first five years of my life, only to change her mind and decide to change my name along with everything else about me even though she knew it would… It would hurt me. She took away my fine dresses, my cute jewelry and saddled me with—with this!
Taylor motioned to her man’s clothes angrily.
Pollyanna had only seen only a few cases like this before in all her years of defending the Arrozan Royal Family.
One particular case came to mind--a girl by the name of Rebecca.
Unbeknownst to nearly everyone who was not a fairy, all fairies started off as little seedlings, planted in patches of soil. Pollyanna remembered how amazed she was when she first found out this little secret, as she, like most other humans, had assumed that fairies were grown the same way every other species on Yharos was. Fjorn had hauled her by the hand to come take a look at the ‘recent batch of children’--dragging her out to a secret garden tucked away behind the castle--where little white-stemmed plants were growing. In a year, they will be old enough to pull from the ground, and they will weep for their mothers like regular children.
Fjorn had explained.
Rebecca had been raised the same way all fairies had been raised for the first fourteen years of her life, and was the great grand-daughter of Fjorn. She had started off as a seedling, raised as a girl, and took on the traits of a woman. Pollyanna was rarely expected to help with the seedlings or any newborn children, but she spent a lot of time with the child, Rebecca, because the poor thing’s mother wanted little to do with her.
Pollyanna remembered the young girl being a very silent, odd, and self-depreciating thing who always seemed to be pining for some kind of attention, but was too frightened to seek it.
Pollyanna was ordered to keep her company much of the time, but she also wanted to be a friend to the young girl of her own free will.
What are you doing hiding out here by yourself?
Pollyanna would ask when she would often find the girl hiding out in the garden by herself.
The girl brightened when she saw Pollyanna approaching as she always did, and she threw herself into Pollyanna’s arms. The old warrior-maiden lifted the girl up and spun her around which, eliciting giggles from Rebecca, and then placed her on the ground where the girl sadly explained, Mother wants nothing to do with me. She told me to get out of her sight.
And Pollyanna would reply with a comforting smile, That’s alright! We’ll have ourselves a game of hide-and-seek instead!
But one day, when Pollyanna found the girl out in the garden, she was no longer a girl at all. She was dressed in a man’s clothes and staring forward wordlessly at the white roses which were planted across from her.
Rebecca, what’s wrong?
Pollyanna had asked.
And the girl—or boy—as he now was, turned his back to her and smirked brightly--almost maniacally. Rebecca’s long braid had been cut off—her hair shorn—her bracelets, earrings, and necklaces had been removed, and her personality had either changed or gone. Her chin seemed stronger, her nose seemed bigger, and her arms and legs seemed to be more muscular.
When Pollyanna asked the queen why she had begun referring to Rebecca as a boy and why she had ripped the girl’s identity away, the queen replied, boys are boisterous. That girl was a wet blanket at the best of times. A change in sex can only improve her desirability.
Change in sex?
Pollyanna replied confusedly.
Fairies change sex based on many things. That girl wasn’t fit to be the head of any fairy family. She will live a greater life as a man.
The queen said with a sneer.
Rebeccea, or Myles, as he had come to be known, did not live a happy life. He lived recklessly and dangerously until he was killed by a group of humans. Pollyanna wondered if Myles ever missed being Rebecca--she knew that she missed Rebecca, even if no one else did.
Pollyanna stared blankly forward at Taylor as she wrapped her arms around Them, teasing him and giggling gaily.
Pollyanna realized what must be happening.
That damned waif, Kori, raised him like a woman and so Taylor never went away entirely!
She was worried she might lose Eory to Taylor forever if she couldn’t get him to start behaving more like a man.
Chapter Eight: Gold
Kori demanded that she and Laurence speak in his private cabinet alone. It was a small room tucked away in Laurence’s quarters. The cabinet was asimple room meant for private conversations between the king and his advisors. It had white wallpaper with decorative plants lining the top plastered on the walls and a small, ashwood table in the center of the room with three, red-cushioned chairs pushed into it. The king sat in one of the chairs, and Kori sat across from him. She took a deep breath before saying, Laurence, did you truly take out a loan from the elves to help us during the revolt?
Laurence hunched over, rubbing the bridge of his nose, and then looking down at his worn hands silently. Why are you asking this?
Kori bristled. Because there is an elf in the dungeon who is claiming that he came here carrying a white flag and a missive from his queen! He says he was wrongly attacked by some of your men and thrown in the dungeon! If this is true, it could be grounds for war, Laurence! You told me that the elves helped us overthrow King Herin because you had formed a mutual alliance with them! Tell me you didn’t pay for our revolt in borrowed, elven gold!
Laurence was silent. He clenched and unclenched his fists. His eyes were glassy; he looked very tired. In a moment, he was sobbing. I didn’t know what else to do, Kori! We had to overthrow Herin, but we didn’t have the weapons or manpower to do it! I negotiated with the elves—tried to arrange an alliance between our two kingdoms, but I had nothing to offer them because I was only a cook at the time. So they proposed a different deal; they would supply us with weapons and elves to retake the throne and, in return, we would owe them the money for the weapons they supplied and slaves who they could use as they pleased.
Kori grimaced in horror. "Slaves! Laurence, tell me you did not sell our people into slavery!"
Laurence gulped, shuddering in shame. He still would not meet her gaze. I gave them one-hundred fairies. It was more than fair—considering how many weapons and men they lent to us to take the castle.
Kori stood up and took a deep breath with her back facing Laurence. Maribel does not own slaves, Laurence, and we do not sell out people into slavery! Only elves are guilty of such awful deeds! Not even King Herin was guilty of doing such a vile thing!
Laurence’s eyes flared in anger at her accusation. He stood up—knocking his chair over—grabbing Kori by the shoulders—spinning her around. How dare you compare me to that monster! It’s true he never called his subjects slaves, but you know as well as I that he treated us all as slaves and worse! How could you compare me to him knowing what he did to me and my family!
His fingers dug into her tiny shoulders, pain coursing through them. Kori backed away, gulping. Laurence watched her cower until she melted under his gaze. She backed away slowly until she backed into a wall, and then she sank to the floor. She said shakily, "I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I know what you went through better than anyone else! I know how badly you wanted—no, you needed to dethrone Herin. Please forgive me for being so judgmental."
Laurence looked at his hands--teeth gritted--and couldn’t believe that he had dared hurt the woman he loved like no other.
He huddled down next to her and wrapped an arm about her shoulder—holding her close.
Kori’s eyes were wide and unblinking. She used her magic to slow Laurence’s heartbeat and calm his overactive emotions.
She wanted to put an end to this ugly thing between them; she wasn’t even sure she loved Laurence or even liked him anymore after he had signed her surrogate son away, but somehow when he put an arm around her shoulder, everything seemed like it would be okay.
Laurence, what were you thinking taking their messenger captive?
Kori whispered. We can’t afford a war right now.
Laurence took a deep breath. She felt his muscles relax. We can’t pay this debt, either. The elven queen says that if we can’t pay the monthly amount I promised her, that I have three choices; I can pay the debt in more slaves, I can pay the debt by giving up the kingdom’s sovereignty, or she will… Take the kingdom by force.
There was dead silence between them and Kori could feel her heart beating faster in fear and rage.
In a moment, Laurence spluttered, I’m sorry I brashly threw the elf into the dungeon, but I was so angry! I couldn’t stand another one of her high and mighty elves coming around to demand more gold that we didn’t have! I thought to myself… That I may as well start a war, myself, if I can’t pay the debt.
Kori let his words sink in for a moment as her thought began turning—began trying to think of a way out.
In a moment, she stood up determinedly. By how much gold are we short?
Laurence looked