Aryanne Levell

The Wolfswood, Northern Jorden

THE STARS GLEAMED in the sky like flaming diamonds, Aryanne noticed. Embedded in the black and purple shadows above her, each star burned with the light of a thousand suns, proud of their existence, proud of how bright they could shine. There were thousands of them, but none were the same. Some were close together, others adrift in their own perpetual madness. Some shone with the brilliancy of dawn, and others with the quiet flickering of a candle in the wind. Aryanne remembered hearing of the stars from the man Danticus, long ago in the silent and decrepit halls of the place that was once her home. He showed them to her that night, through the murky glass of a window much older than either of them. She could hardly make them out, and they seemed only to be specks of white in a greater swash of darkness.

"What are they? These stars?" she asked him.

               Danticus only chuckled. "That depends on who you ask. I've always been told they were the souls of men and women who lived noble and true lives, and were noble and true in their deaths."

               "How does one know if they've lived a noble and true life?"

               Danticus frowned. "I...I don't know, I suppose if they've never harmed someone, and were loyal to their king, the Gods would deem them worthy."

               Aryanne looked once more through the window at the white specks that flickered in the night sky, at the souls of noble and true men and women. "Could an elf ever be deemed worthy in the eyes of your Gods?"

               Danticus didn't say anything after that, she remembered. He left her alone with the stars, as she was now. She wasn't far from camp, but she had wandered further than she was told to. Ever since her brother turned the village of Greensfield into desolate wasteland of ice and death, the man Seigfreid and Gabrielen had become more wary of another similar incident. They often spoke together in hushed tones, peeking over their shoulders and lowering their voices to ensure they were not heard. In truth, Aryanne didn't need to hear what they were saying to know what they spoke of. She could see it in her eyes that they spoke of her and her brother.

It didn't bother that they spoke of her, people spoke about all manner of things. It bothered her how they spoke of her, as if she and Valyn were mindless and unruly beasts that needed to be tamed.

As if we were cursed ones...

Aryanne let out a sigh as her thoughts gave way to anger. She didn't like being angry; she did foolish things when she was angry. Her uncle told her years ago that anger was the bane of many rulers, and if not kept at bay, could destroy empires. "Anger was what destroyed elvenkind," he'd say, after he finish his stories of the time before, when Aryanne and Valyn were young and growing. "Anger and rage burned our cities and slaughtered our people...anger has long been the culprit of many wars that have been, and many wars to come."

Her anger ran its course, and suddenly she was alone again in the woods with the stars above her. Gone was her uncle, gone were his stories, and gone was the Kingdom of Valadel. In their place was this new world of men, and she didn't know which frightened her more; the cursed ones or the men.

Both wanted to kill her it seemed. Both wanted to strip her and her brother of their flesh, and wash them away from the world in blood. It was the men that frightened her more though. The cursed ones couldn't be reasoned with, they were mindless beasts driven only by their hunger. Men however, Aryane thought. Men can be reasoned with, yet they refuse to listen.

She felt heat in her blood as her anger once more surged through her veins. It would have consumed her had she not heard a twig snap from behind her. She spun on her heel as quickly as she could, her palms glowing with the golden hues of her magic. "Who's there?" she shouted.

"Easy now," she heard a familiar voice say. The man drew the lantern he carried close to his face, and Gabrielen's uneasy smile glowed in the firelight.

Aryanne lowered her palms, and let out her breath. "You startled me."

Gabrielen approached her as he would a deer ready to prance away at the first sign of a threat. "I didn't mean to. I've been looking for you for some time now. We were worried."

He went to put a hand on her shoulder, but Aryanne shrugged him away. "Worried about what? There's no one out here in these woods."

"I thought the same thing in the woods of Greensfield...until that patrol found us."

Aryanne wanted to argue, but he was right. If that patrol hadn't found them, the town Greensfield would still be a town, and her brother wouldn't be the clammy and shivering mess he had been the past few days. "How's Valyn?"

Gabrielen shook his head. "He's been the same since Greensfield. He won't stop shivering. His teeth chatter like galloping horses, and his sweat turns to frost on his skin. Even near the fire and under those blankets, he's still freezing."

Aryanne felt as if some beast were gnashing at her insides and tracing her spine with it's gnarled and twisted claw. Her brother was all she had. To think this was him now, this broken and frozen mess, her heart sank at the notion of it.

"I'll try to heal him again...maybe this time, it'll be different."

Gabrielen nodded with sympathy. "Hopefully so." He looked around them and then up at the night sky. He stared there for a moment, and what he was staring at, Aryanne didn't know, but soon, he was staring at her again. "Let's return to camp. Whitelocke is no doubt wondering where we are."

Aryanne nodded, and followed him through the trees, but not before taking one last look at the souls in the sky. She wondered if his soul was up there, the young boy with the bow in his hand and the stars in his eyes. She missed those eyes sometimes, how they cast themselves upon her, how they saw only her. They were beautiful eyes made of emeralds and warmth, beautiful eyes of a young boy in love. But she had shut them forever. They were the eyes of a liar, Aryanne thought with fire in her soul. The eyes of a murderer. She would never again let herself be fooled by another man's eyes as long as she drew breath.

She turned away and said goodbye to the stars, and goodbye to Danticus Stormwell.

*****

Seigfreid was poking at the fire with a sturdy stick when the two of them rustled through the brush and into their camp. The trees around them were tall as castle walls, and nearly just as thick. They had come to be Aryannes favorite part of the world of men. The grooves in their bark reminded Aryanne of the swirls in her palm. Aryanne remembered her uncle telling her that some gifted elves could tell one's fate from the lines of one's palms. Aryanne wondered if the trees had their own stories and fates within the ridges of their bark.

Seigfreid handed each of them a piece of bread slathered in jam and a chunk of cheese and charred meat. Aryanne gave a sour look at the food. She had eaten so much bread and jam over the course of the past few days, and she wasn't sure how she liked it.  It was often too sweet, and it stuck to her fingers. She missed the fish and sea life her uncle would cook for her. It was always delicious, and it kept her full.

Seigfreid offered the food another time, and when Aryanne still gave that sour look, he shook his head. "Look, I know I'm no bloody royal chef, and these woods aren't exactly the royal kitchens, but would you just take the damn food?"

Aryanne sighed, and took her food begrudgingly. She didn't mean to offend the man Seigfreid. He had been kind to her brother after Greensfield, and had taken care of them both. She still found him rude at times, but he had been more tolerable than when they first met in that dank alleyway in Jorden.

He doesn't stink so much now, Aryanne thought. Perhaps that's it.

She sat close to her brother at the edge of the fire. Gabrielen was right when he described his state earlier. She could hear his teeth chatter from under the thick woolen blanket, like bones rattling in a cage.

"Has he eaten yet?" she asked either of the men sitting at the fire. They both shook their heads, and their lips were twisted with concern.

"He won't touch anything I leave by him," said Seigfreid. "I don't know what's wrong with him." Seigfreid took a bite of his own jam covered piece of bread. With his mouth still full, he said "If he doesn't eat soon, he'll starve and die."

"Shut your mouth!" Aryanne snarled. "He won't die!"

Seigfreid shrugged. "I've never known a man who could live without eating. He needs to eat, elf."

Aryanne turned away from him and back to her brother. She touched the cold lump that he had become, and felt it damp and slick with ice. Her heart twisted in her chest, and she felt tears pool behind her eyes.

We'll fix you, Valyn

*****

They were up early the next morning. Seigfreid and Gabrielen had mostly packed everything before Aryanne even woke. She hated that they did that. She wanted to help, but they never let her, as if they didn't trust her. As if I'd steal something and run away. And to where? There's no place for me and my brother in this world of men. The notion once again caused red to creep into her vision, but she closed her eyes and wished it away. She cursed herself for letting her blood heat again. They both did their best to help, she knew this. Gabrielen seemed just as lost as she was, and so did the man Seigfreid. Perhaps there is no place for them either.

Gabrielen was finishing strapping the last of his saddlebags to his horse when Aryanne went to him. He seemed so different now than when she first met him, all those weeks ago in the dark halls of her home. He was timid and docile, like a child separated from his mother, at the mercy of the wild. Now his once shaggy crop of blonde hair had turned to a mane that was just out of reach of his shoulders, and that lost look in his eye seemed too had found its way. He caught her eye when he looked up from his saddle. "Good morning."

           Aryanne blushed. Why, she wasn't sure, but nonetheless, she felt her cheeks grow warm and color themselves red. "Good morning. How was your night?"

           Gabrielen gave her a sideways glance, with just the hint of a smile at his lips. "My night was fine," he said with a chuckle. "How was yours?"

           Aryanne wasn't sure why, but she felt foolish, as if she said something foolish or looked foolish. Perhaps it was his smile that made her feel that way. It was the same way Danticus smiled at me...whenever I said something foolish.

           Gabrielen's smile slowly faded away, and he furrowed his brow at her. "Aryanne?"

           Aryanne snapped to meet his eyes, pulled away from her thoughts at his words. "Yes?"

           "How was your night?" Gabrielen asked again.

           Aryanne cleared her throat, and smiled uneasily. "It was fine, my night was fine."

           Gabrielen smiled and shook his head, and went back to his horse. "Good, that's good."

           Before Aryanne could say anything else that might have made her look foolish, she heard the other man call out for her. "Elf!"

           Aryanne looked back over her shoulder, and saw Seigfreid standing next to her brother, waving at her. She nodded at him, and left Gabrielen to his horse.

           "Help me get him on your horse. We need to get on the road."

           Without a word, Aryanne went to Valyn, and softly placed her hands on him. She still felt him trembling beneath the soaked blankets, which themselves were matted with frost and dirt. With slow hands, she drew back the blanket to see his face. Had she not know better, she'd imagine she was looking at a corpse. Valyn's face was gaunt and clammy, and pale like a ghost. When they first left their castle, she remembered their skin burning, turning red and then peeling away to reveal even paler skin than before. Hers still peeled at times, but now, it seemed to stay browned, even if it was only lightly so. Valyn no longer seemed to burn. She pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. He was cold as ice, not one trace of warmth left in his skin. His jaw trembled as his teeth came together, over and over and over again, and when it would stop, Aryanne didn't know.

           "Valyn?" she said weakly. He gave no reply, and she didn't expect him to. She didn't know if he could hear her, if he was dreaming or if he simply kept his eyes closed. She lifted her hand from his head and placed her palm on his cheek. Golden wisps and streaks of light flowed from her palms and over his skin, and his youth returned to his withered face. His cheeks grew full and round, and for the glimpse of a moment, color returned to his face and his teeth stopped their chatter. Any hope Aryanne felt soon disappeared after when his skin flushed and his teeth hammered together once more.

           She heard Seigfreid sigh from behind her, and he crouched down next to her. "Help me get him on the horse, we need to move."

           Aryanne took one last look at her brother before she wrapped him back up in his blanket. Together, her and Seigfreid hauled him up from the ground, and set him atop the horse. Aryanne climbed up into the saddle beside him. Seigfreid took his horse to the front, and Gabrielen to the rear. They sent their horses into a trot, and soon, they'd be north to find Gabrielen's grandfather.

          He'll have answers, Aryanne thought. She placed her hand on Valyn, a warm hand full of life on his cold and gaunt body. She felt a tear escape her eye and streak her flesh. She missed her brother, his dumb questions and his love for the old elven stories. She wanted him back, and she hoped Gabrielen's grandfather, whoever he was, could bring him back to her.

He must...

*****

"The village isn't much further from here," Seigfreid called out from the head of their riding party. It was near midday, but the warmth of summer seemed to vanish from the air the further north they rode. They weren't far from the border of Farrenhelm, they told Aryanne not long ago. Perhaps another week of riding, certainly no more than two. We've been riding for near two weeks as it is, what's another two? Aryanne thought. Weeks were new to her, as were days and months and years. Her uncle never kept track of time like the men do. It seemed that when the sun rose in the sky, the men marked it as a new day, and when the sun returned beneath the earth, that day was done. She never knew day or night, or of weeks and years, only eternal darkness that miraculously came to an end.

She wondered if her uncle had known of time, as the men know it. Was time the invention of men, or a construct of the elves? Did the men take that from them us well? What more will they take from me? She felt Valyn shiver from behind her, and the cold that emanated from him riddled Aryanne with goosebumps. She turned in her saddle as far as she could, and felt his forehead underneath the hood of the thick wool blanket. She gently tucked his wet stands of black hair behind his ears, and rubbed her thumb over his cheek.

They won't take you away from me, Valyn...not now, and not ever

She hoped this village would have what they needed. More packs, warmer blankets, tunics and boots made of fur, and hunting supplies. Seigfreid said they'd never last up north without any of those items, and that not even Aryannes healing powers could defeat the cold winds of Farrenhelm.

Gabrielen trotted up next to Aryanne on his horse, and gave her a nod. "How you holding up?"

Aryanne smiled weakly. "I'm fine...it's my brother that concerns me. I've never seen him like this, so...so broken before."

Gabrielens look was one of condolences. "Well, I've always found that the best way to deal with broken things is to fix them. We'll fix him, Aryanne. I promise."

His words gave her some small comfort, she supposed. If my healing powers have failed, what else in this world won't?

"This village, is it like the last one?"

Gabrielen shook his head. "Howlington is nothing like Greensfield. It's been abandoned for many years, ever since the the Wolfswood was burnt to a crisp."

That made Aryanne frown. "What happened to the Wolfswood?"

Gabrielen shrugged. "It was a long time ago. I was only a boy when it happened...thirty some odd years ago. The king of Farrenhelm at the time wanted the territory as a dowry for marrying off his heir to Amelia Freemane, the princess of Jorden, but the King Varrus wouldn't have it. Eventually, the kings called off the wedding, and the northerners marched on the land and took it by force. The battle didn't last long, and ultimately, the Wolfswood and the the village of Howington seceded to Farrenhelm."

He paused, and Aryanne felt dread in the air, as if she was waiting to turn a corner that she knew something evil lurked around. "What else happened?"

"In retaliation for their secession, the Jordeins took torches to the wood, and burnt it all down. They then slaughtered the whole village, and...well after that, there isn't much else to tell."

Aryanne felt her stomach upset, and she couldn't tell if it was from the story or from the food she ate last night. "It seems men have a history of slaughtering people."

She could see Gabrielen didn't have much to say otherwise. He just gave her a nod and drew back on his reigns to return to the rear. His story of the Wolfswood didn't sit well with her. Men slaughtering other men didn't surprise her much, what more could one expect from a people who rendered an entire kind nearly extinct? What bothered her most about the story was them burning down the wood. Why do that? Why ruin and burn the trees? They did nothing to no one.

It was some time later when they finally found the village of Howlington. Gabrielens tale of the Wolfswood seemed to have been a story grounded in truth rather than fiction. The trees surrounding the village were charred and lifeless, victims of a vengeful fire. The village of Howlington itself was desolate and decrepit, with only the smallest hints of having once been a place full of life, not the graveyard Aryanne saw before her. Some buildings rotted away, others were burnt down to their foundations, and only a lucky few managed to stay intact, though those were few and far inbetween.

Everything about this place is grey, Aryanne thought. Grey with death...

Seigfreid gave the village a look over, disdain in his steel blue eyes. "Let's hurry up and get what we need. I don't wish to linger here in this shit hole." He looked behind him at Aryanne and Gabrielen. "Half elf, take the boy and keep a lookout. I'll take the girl and search the place."

Aryanne started to protest. "I don't want to leave my brother, I need to-"

"No, what you need is to watch my back while we search the place," said Seigfreid. "There might be looters or thieves or wild animals lurking about. If they get me, you can stop them and help me. Your brother will be fine with the half elf." Seigfreid looked at Valyn, entombed within his frozen husk of a blanket. "Not like he's going anywhere anyway."

Aryanne sighed. "Fine." She looked at Gabrielen with firm eyes. "Take care of him while we're gone. Do not let anything happen to him."

Gabrielen nodded. "Of course."

"Good," said Seigfreid. "Let's go."

*****

    The heart of the village wasn't different from its outskirts. Buildings rotted and withered away, and it seemed only ghosts made their homes here. The skeletal remains of the village formed a circle, and along the curve was a large manor mostly intact, save for a few holes in the roof and the peeling walls.

Seigfreid pointed to it. "Let's start there. Looks in decent enough shape. Probably used to be the lord of the villages home."

Aryanne nodded, and followed his lead. The grand doors to the manor were old and dotted with rusted bolts. They seemed to tense up as they approached, Aryanne noticed. We're not welcome here...

Seigfreid looked over his shoulder and around the village center, his eyes unsettled. "Let's find what we need and get out of here. This place...I don't wish to spend too long here."

They gave the doors a mighty push, but the thick double doors wouldn't budge. "Push, damn it," Seigfreid said through gritted teeth.

Aryanne shot him a glare. "I am pushing!"

Seigfreid threw his shoulder into the door, and grunted. "Stupid fucking door!" He gave it kick and threw his head back in defeat.

"I reckon the problem isn't with the door," said a gravelly voice behind them.

Aryanne whipped her head around as fast as she could, as did Seigfreid. Behind them stood a man in a black cloak, a bow in his hands and an arrow notched in its string. Aryanne couldn't make out his face, but from the shadows of his hood sprouted a dirty white beard.

Seigfreids hand went to the sword at his hip. "Who are you? Put down that damn bow before you do something stupid, old man."

The old man kept his bow form tight and rigid, and kept his aim at Seigfreid. "No, I don't think I'll do that."

Seigfreids grip tightened around his sword hilt. "Look, we're just passing through, there's no need for you to go and do anything reckless."

The old man stood there firmly, rooted into the earth like a tree. "Just passing through is it? I've heard that before. Begone, and never come back." The old man kept his bow drawn, and still had the arrow tip pointed right at Seigfreid.

Seigfreid groaned angrily. "You're getting on my last nerve, old man. I'll say this one last time. Put. That. Fucking. Bow. Down."

Seigfreid's threat appeared to only have strengthened the elder archer's resolve, as he instead drew the bowstring back even further, and aimed the bow at Seigfreid's head. "Come and take it," he said with ice in his voice.

Seigfreid scowled and rolled his eyes. "Gods, I hate the elderly." He started walking towards the old man. "Give it here, you old fool, or so help me I'll-"

The old man let the arrow fly, and it sprouted from out the back of Seigfreids mouth. The former rangers blue eyes lit up with surprise with what little life was left in them, and his corpse fell to his knees and then to the ground.

"Seigfreid!" Aryanne cried out. She started to run to him but the old man had already notched another arrow.

"I'd stop right there if I were you."

Aryanne did, and felt as if her heart was beating out of her chest. She knew she was fast, but she had a feeling the old man thought the same thing.

The old man looked her up and down, and Aryanne could see his beady eyes from under his hood. He spat something from his mouth, and gave his lips a smack. "Now...what to do with you."