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Eldor. It was how the ancients had referred to the god-race, powerful and mysterious beings who existed on the other side of what the mortals called “the veil,” that mystical divide barring the spirit world from that of the flesh, the material from the immaterial. Upon arriving at the council chamber (she had simply appeared there, teleported by the will of the eldor), Ona had been startled to discover that there were three of them. Only three. She could see the small, circular platforms faintly glowing before her in the dark, where each of the three entities would soon appear.
Apparently, the various cultures across Allaca had redundantly created personas for the same goddesses over and over. The humans, for instance, believed in a goddess of the weather and a goddess of the ocean and had given separate names and personalities to both – though in reality, these two goddesses were one and the same: the goddess Mizra, who was believed to have created the mer people, as well as the two moons that hovered over Allaca.
Then there was Orazon, the goddess who many cultures believed responsible for creating Allaca’s star system. She was often referred to as the Mother of Avara, Allaca’s sun. She was the lover of Mizra and the older sister of Dizira.
Dizira was Death, the goddess who ferried souls back and forth across the Bridge. Every being on Allaca knew of the phenomenon of her existence. How could they not? But none knew that she was a person – not simply a natural occurrence − and very few had actually spoken to her while living on the material plane. Ona was one of those few. In fact, it was Death who had summoned her to the council chamber that morning, stirring her from dreams as she slept in the steamy heat of the rainforest.
As far as Ona knew, no soul alive knew what the god-race looked like. No one had ever seen them and lived to tell the tale. To most people living on Allaca, the goddesses were mere myths, bedtime stories used to frighten the common folk into obeying the law.
Modern Allaca had forsaken the ancient dogmas of the past. Very few still believed in the god-race. Their temples stood empty, swept in darkness and cobwebs and dust, riddled with booby-traps to frighten away treasure-seekers and adventurers. Those who still prayed to Orazon were scoffed as superstitious or childlike. It had been that way for centuries.
So now, standing in what she had often referred to as the “mythical” council chamber of the god-race, Ona felt . . . a bit sheepish.
The chamber was one room. At least, that’s what Ona assumed. The room was so devoid of proper light that even her nocturnal eyes could not cut through the darkness. For all she knew, she was standing alone in an immense hall. The only real light in the room was a single spotlight, which fell over her through a round skylight in the ceiling. Looking up, she realized the light was coming from a distant star, around which darkness pooled in gentle swirls. She was standing in starlight, in the light of a sun she did not know, for it was definitely not the Avara Star.
Ona felt light-headed and dizzy, as if she were at the top of a mountain, where the air was thin. Where she and the council chamber were actually located, she couldn’t have said. They were on one of Allaca’s moons for all she knew.
Standing there waiting for something to happen, Ona wondered what Takari was doing. She and the eemore had been sleeping soundly in the rainforest when Ona was whisked away by the goddesses. Knowing Takari, the eemore wouldn’t have noticed and would have kept sleeping in oblivious bliss. Even if there was something Takari could have done to save Ona – and there wasn’t, naturally – Ona was on her own.
There had been many stories of people who simply vanished, never to appear again. Ona was beginning to suspect the eldor were behind such vanishings. But what could they want with mortals that they should kidnap them? What could they possibly want with Ona?
Ona’s musings were interrupted by the sudden soft rustle of fabric. She watched as three beings materialized on the platforms before her and could just make out their figures looming in the darkness. They were immensely tall, at least nine feet, and appeared to be shrouded in heavy cloaks and hoods. They remained on the edge of the circle of light, partly in shadow, each standing completely still on their small platforms. They did not speak but simply looked at Ona, their eyes glittering like jewels from the dark depths of their hoods.
Ah. So Ona would not glimpse the faces of the goddesses, after all. She was slightly disappointed. The people of Allaca had argued about their appearance for eons. Some believed the women to be so beautiful that meeting gazes with them could kill a mortal. Ona was no mortal. And she was curious to know what Death looked like. She and Death had spoken many times before, and yet, she had never seen the woman’s face. For all Ona knew, Death was blue with tentacles for hair. Perhaps all three goddesses were.
Ona could only see the women’s slanted eyes, glowing like candle flames against the dark. Their pupils were narrow. They reminded her of Tizra’s pretty, catlike eyes.
When the silence ensued, Ona slowly knelt to the cold, smooth white floor, her long and furry loincloth bunching up between her knees, her raven feather cloak sweeping long around her. Bowing her head as the hot pool of light caressed it from above, she said reverently, “Eldor’hon.”
“The child shows the proper respect for us, at least,” said the figure standing in the center of the three. She spoke with a strong, womanly, deep voice that reverberated through the chamber, marking it as a larger room than Ona could have guessed. Ona had to assume the center woman was Orazon.
Ona thought Orazon sounded displeased with her about something. She spoke as if she had expected Ona to be indifferent or even rude. In fact, she felt indignation curling like steam from all three of them. Ona’s mind searched her memory of the last few days, wondering what she could have done to deserve the displeasure of these women. She had done nothing. She and Takari had spent a pleasant couple days sleeping beside a waterfall in the deep rainforests of wild country. They hadn’t seen another person in a week, and that person had been a fat orc that was too lazy to chase them and eat them.
“The offense was not so recent, ekara,” said Death’s familiar voice, coming from the left. She waved a hand, which was shrouded, hidden by her long, wing-like sleeve. “Think back. Think back a few years, a decade,” she pressed.
A decade? Ona thought. If her offense had been committed so long ago, why had the god-race waited until now to summon her?
“Because the offense has finally taken form in the material,” said the hooded woman on the right, who Ona had to assume was Mizra, Mother of Moon and Mer. Her voice was sharp and sounded younger than Orazon’s, though no less reproving.
“I don’t understand,” said Ona, no anger, no impatience or malice or fear in her voice. Though she felt anxious, her voice was completely calm. “Help me understand,” she asked the towering figures. “What have I done wrong?”
Orazon took a shuddering breath, her shoulders pulling back as she did. She was angry. But when she spoke, her voice was even. “The Oracle,” she said. “Years ago, the Oracle foresaw that the next queen of the Callimor Isles would become a tyrant, bringing blood and fire to the land people. But only if she were allowed to live.”
Ona stiffened as she slowly realized the purpose of her summoning.
“Ten years ago,” went on Orazon darkly, “you healed the princess of Callimor – The very one that was to become a tyrant. In meddling with mortal affairs, you meddled with the will of the eldor.”
“And sentenced thousands to die with your foolishness,” added Mizra sneeringly.
Ona frowned. “How is it foolish to save a dying child?” she demanded. “How was I to know this would happen?”
“Watch your tone, ekara,” warned Mizra. “You are not on Allaca any longer. Your spells and tricks have no power here, and we will not be charmed, nor heed your whining.”
Ona glared at the figures in the dark. She felt sadness and guilt from Death, but from the other two she felt only cold anger and hard disapproval.
“You know the Old Ways,” scolded Orazon. “Your people had strict laws that limited interaction with mortals. They had those laws for a reason.”
“And now my people are dead,” answered Ona. “I am no longer bound by their ancient rules and rites.”
“Aren’t you?” said Orazon softly, derisively. Her eyes, floating in the darkness of her hood, narrowed with laughing dislike. “Did you not feel compelled – as all elven feel compelled – to find another elven and mate with her? Did you not feel compelled to create a child with this elven? And did you not, as all elven do, release your child to the jungle and allow her to grow up wild?”
Ona was silent. She had done all those things, though Ozmora had been dusty ruins for a thousand years. She had done all those things, though she knew nothing of her people and culture, though she had been a mere child when Ozmora was razed.
“No longer bound, indeed,” hissed Mizra after a pause.
“You are bound to us,” said Orazon. “And you will do as we say.”
Ona’s head snapped up, and the three entities went still, startled by the tears that glittered on her face.
Ona’s face darkened as she demanded, “Why do you care so much about protecting the humans? And yet, you let Ozmora fall!” She was pleased by the guilty silence that followed, and if there had been a door to dramatically exit, she would have. But she knew she was in a room with no doors and no windows, but for the circular skylight above. And according to Mizra, she wasn’t even on the planet anymore. Perhaps they were floating in space.
Ona was trapped, held there by magick, by a power so immense, it was beyond her reckoning. She was a fly railing in anger at the giant whose fist she squirmed within. She must have seemed small and pitiful to the goddesses.
“The audacity!” hissed Mizra in quiet astonishment and disdain. “Do you understand that we formed the stars that eventually farted out the stardust from which your pathetic life took form?”
“I understand,” said Ona quietly. “I just don’t care.”
Mizra made a noise of disgust. “The irony,” she said, shaking her shrouded head, “of you screaming at us for caring about humans when you stand here for having protected one’s sorry life.” She sounded baffled, amazed by Ona’s lack of self-awareness.
Ona didn’t respond, swallowing hard as tears continued down her face.
“Ozmora . . . was a mistake,” admitted Orazon. She sounded tired. And sad. Her voice had become very low.
“We never meant for your people to fall,” added Mizra, who didn’t sound sorry at all. She sounded dismissive of Ona’s anger and hurt.
“The humans grew too numerous,” added Death, who actually sounded apologetic. She glanced at Orazon and said, “The Oracle foresaw, but we did not listen −”
“I did not listen,” interrupted Orazon heavily. “Tell the truth, Dizira.” She looked down at Ona. “I didn’t listen. I thought the humans a trivial child-race, not strong enough to do Ozmora real harm. I was wrong.”
Ona stared at her bare toes, so dark and brown against the white, smooth floor. She remembered the fire, the falling towers, the storm of dust, the trembling ground, how people ran screaming, how the ragged humans came with their swords and cut them down – cut down children in the streets in splashes of blood.
“So even the god-race can make mistakes,” said Ona hoarsely after a while. She slowly lifted her face. “What right, then, have you to judge me?”
More silence. The towering goddesses simply looked down at tiny Ona, who stonily looked back.
Eventually, Orazon cleared her throat and said, “The council acknowledges that you have made an honest mistake, Onicavora of Ozmora −”
“But it still falls to you to mend it,” added Mizra firmly.
Orazon nodded. “Travel to Pylia, ekara, and slay the young queen.”
“Slay her before she can do more harm,” said Death sorrowfully. “I have already ferried many souls from her islands.”
Ona hesitated. “Slay her? But how could she be queen already? She would only be sixteen summers!”
A solemn silence from the goddesses as Ona stood in confusion.
“What?” Ona begged, a feeling of dread welling up inside her. “What did she do?”
“She has slain her mother,” said Death mournfully.
“No,” Ona whispered. She remembered the pretty human queen, the tears fluttering from her long lashes, how she’d begged Ona for her help, how she’d cried tears of joy when her all-but-dead child suddenly sat up on the bed. The woman had hugged the child tight in her arms, had kissed her head and not let go for several minutes – and the girl had repaid her mother’s sobbing joy and unconditional love by murdering her and taking her throne.
“Slew her mother and didn’t even bother to make it look like an accident,” said Orazon darkly. “If I were cruel, I’d create a fire-realm and toss these black souls in to be tortured. But punishment and hellfire is a thing of primitive star systems. We cannot rule with tyranny while punishing our mortal children for doing the same.”
Orazon’s words made Ona think of other star systems, ruled by shrouded councils of scolding goddesses. Perhaps all the universe was structured in such a way, with elder races presiding over mortals, deciding their fate from mysterious places beyond the stars.
“The queen’s advisors and loyal bodyguards died along with her,” said Mizra, reflecting thoughtfully on the event. “It was well done, actually,” she said, and Ona was disgusted to hear the admiration in her voice. “What a brilliant girl. Pity she’s chosen an evil path.” Mizra sighed.
“But if I slay the queen,” Ona said helplessly, “who will rule in her place? There will be anarchy as humans vie for the throne. There will be blood.”
Ona was surprised to hear a laugh drift from Orazon’s hood. It was a soft, breathless laugh. Not derisive, just purely amused.
“She screams at us in defiance,” said Orazon, “then asks us for advice! If you weren’t so amusing, Onicavora of Ozmora, I’d have stricken you down long ago. The audacity.”
“You wanted to play goddess, to move mortals like pawns across a board to your liking,” said Mizra dismissively and waved a shrouded hand. “Now you have your wish.”
“You little hypocrite,” added Orazon.
Ona looked down, hating that the eldor had sensed the truth from her mind. If she was honest, she had healed the Callimor princess not solely from the goodness of her heart but because she loved being admired and appreciated by the mortals. She loved winning their respect. She loved feeling powerful and mysterious and inspiring their awe. As a being exiled to the shadows and the wildlands, hunted by humans and feared by other races, why wouldn’t she take the spotlight when she could? Now here she stood, in a different sort of spotlight, and she didn’t like it at all.
“This is your mess, Onicavora,” said Orazon, and Ona stiffened: the shrouded entities and their dark hall was slowly beginning to fade, the stars and night sky beyond bleeding through, until all of it suddenly vanished, and Ona was lying under a tree, in the rainforest, snuggled against Takari’s blue, furry side. Her eyes sprang open and she gasped, sitting bolt upright in the grass.
“You clean it up,” said Orazon’s disembodied voice, echoing as if from a dream.
***
THAT MORNING, ONA LAY under the green canopy of the Forzel Forest and listened to the birdsong and watched the butterflies and wished she had never lain eyes on Pylia nor set foot in Castle Callimora. Takari lay slumbering peacefully beside her, big body soft and blue in the sunlight, never having realized Ona had vanished (much as the elven had suspected), and Ona dreaded the moment the furry eemore would awake.
Takari had warned Ona not to meddle in human affairs. The humans were dangerous to elven, to eemore, to everyone who wasn’t human – and sometimes to other humans. They were a cruel, selfish, warlike people who had only known peace in the last few decades because the other realms constantly sent tribute to avoid becoming the next Ozmora.
The last human queen had been content with the offerings of the other realms: fine silks, ribbons, pelts, wines, gems, and piles of gold. But now, with a bloodthirsty queen at their helm, the humans would set out in their warships and would invade, raid, and pillage once more, as was their nature.
And it was Ona’s fault.
Lying on her back and staring dully at the leafy branches above, Ona wondered how long the council had been keeping humans in check. How many future war-queens had they quietly murdered with sickness and injury? She seemed to recall the last queen’s older sister dying after having been thrown from a horse – a nasty princess who Callimor only pretended to mourn. And years before that, there was a princess who unwittingly drank poison at her coronation. Another fell on a pitchfork that was hidden in a hill of hay. Yet another drowned in the bathtub. And on it went, the future queens dying left and right, sometimes in bizarre accidents, sometimes in their sleep, but always before the gold crown could be set upon their raven-black hair. Had the Council of Eldor been behind it the entire time?
And if they had, why hadn’t they stopped Ona from healing the last princess? Now that princess was a war-queen, ready to terrorize all of Allaca with blade and blaze. Why had the council sat back and done nothing after years of manipulation? After years of meddling?
Ona wanted to be angry with the council, but she realized now that she was no better than they. She had played at goddess and now she – and all of Allaca – would pay for it.
When Takari awoke to find Ona in dark thought, she asked what was the matter. Ona explained everything, pacing the forest floor with bare feet, arms folded, silently scolding herself as she shook her head. She was grateful when Takari didn’t say “I told you so.” Instead, the eemore listened in sympathy, then scratched her armpit and asked if “Ooona” was really going to go through with killing the human queen.
“I suppose I have no choice,” Ona said, shrugging unhappily as she recalled Orazon’s truthful words. “This is my mistake. I should fix it.”
Takari slowly pulled her big body up from the grass and mud and shook herself so that leaves flew in a splash of orange and yellow. She was so tall, her head blocked the sun, its light casting her in silhouette from behind. “Seems Oooona should let humans alone,” she said, tilting her head to irritably pull a leaf from her horn.
Ona looked up at the towering eemore in amazement. “Let the humans alone? Did you forget what they did to Ozmora? I can’t let that happen again!”
“Not your place to stop it happening.”
Ona’s mouth dropped open. “The hell it isn’t!”
“How will humans learn from their mistakes,” said Takari calmly, “if Oooona don’t let them make mistakes in the first place?”
Ona was silent, realizing the possible reason behind the council allowing her to heal the princess. As she stood in thought, Takari turned away, walking slowly into the trees.
“Where are you going?” Ona called after her.
“Takari find woman with big melons, shake bush,” said the eemore and kept walking, scratching her fuzzy backside as she went.
Ona rolled her eyes and turned the other away, changing into a raven and lifting into the air in a sparkle of light. She flew fast over Forzel Forest, it stretching below her in a sheet of rolling green. Forzel was a rainforest in giant territory. The gor’ki lived in the wild, alone or in scattered groups of twos and threes. They were not a unified people, which was for the best: large groups of giants living in one place, shattering the earth with their steps, upsetting birds and monuments, would have driven everyone mad, even the gor’ki.
Forzel Forest was located to the east of the lorna realm and the jungles of the eemore. It was a green, vibrant place, full of giant flowers, huge green flytraps, and lazy iguanas – or lel’onkel (“little dragons”), as the gor’ki called them.
A circle of megaliths rose above the rainforest, their ends reaching like fingers through the trees. They were known as the Moongate and had been built by the gor’ki one thousand years ago as a site for their worship of the goddess Mizra, who they knew as Mor’hi. It was believed that Mizra had used the pillars as a gate to visit the gor’ki, for during the full moon, moonlight always shone directly upon the circular space in their center, which supposedly gave her the power to appear there.
Ona had thought it all fairy tales and mumbo jumbo, but now that she’d met Mizra, she was starting to wonder if the goddess hadn’t indeed descended to visit the gor’ki. The eldor had powers of instant teleportation. They could come down to Allaca anytime they wanted from wherever it was that they stayed hidden – the moon, the stars, some other planet, who knew? But they certainly weren’t hiding on some spiritual plane in some afterlife beyond “the veil.” Ona knew that now.
She kept asking herself what the goddesses really did with all the souls they gathered. If they didn’t live in a spirit world and were, in fact, residing somewhere in the darkness of space, then what were they doing with the souls of the dead? Who was the Council of Eldor really?
Such questions burned in Ona’s brain as she spread her raven wings and prepared to dive. She landed lightly on the soft earth in the center of the circle of pillars, hopped a second on sticklike bird feet, then changed to her original form in a splash of glittering light and black feathers, her raven-feather cloak settling around her.
She stood there in the bright day, sunlight touching upon her dark hair, wrapped in her fur garments and wishing she were sleeping in oblivious peace once more. Elven were nocturnal, and the council had dragged her from her day-rest, had stirred her mind to agitation and ceaseless pondering. Questions. So many questions. Perhaps Elenwen would have the answers.
“Elenwen?” Ona called, looking this way and that for a sign of her giant friend.
A rustle from the press of trees made Ona’s pointed ear twitch. She turned her head and saw one of the trees coming to life with movement – No, not a tree but a slender woman with cracked, bark-brown skin and a long flop of shaggy, mossy green hair. She had been standing still among the trees, blending with them, but now she stirred herself, blinking tiny, dark eyes that were wreathed in long lashes. She must have been forty feet tall.
The giant woman was naked, as all gor’ki were naked, her narrow, angular body shrouded in green leaves and moss and vines. Ona watched calmly as the gor’ki slowly sat upon a great tree branch that was leaning horizontally from its trunk. It groaned under her weight as she lifted one leg and set her heel on the edge of the tree branch. And there she sat, hunched, long green hair swinging forward to obscure her face but for her small, glittering eyes. She simply looked at Ona. And waited.
Ona left the Moongate, walked to the trees, and stood before the giant woman, peering up at her calm face. Ona was short and quite small and thus, she was used to looking up at people. But whenever she visited Elenwen, she always felt especially miniscule. She noticed the giant woman squinting and knew that for her, it must’ve been like conversing with an ant. Her small eyes searched the distant ground for Ona, then paused in delight when she found what was to her a tiny talking speck.
“Why, is that you, Onicavora of Ozmora?” boomed Elenwen, her deep voice rumbling and yet bright with joy.
Ona smiled. “It’s me!” she called.
Elenwen’s drooping face lifted in a smile. She reached down and offered her great hand. Ona stepped onto her palm and was lifted slowly into the air, until she and the gor’ki were face-to-face in the slants of morning sunlight.
“What brings you to Moongate?” asked the giant woman. “And at this time of day? Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”
“I should,” Ona said, “but the Council of Eldor had other plans.”
Elenwen’s small eyes grew round. “Ah,” she said, smiling a knowing smile. “So you finally met the god-race.”
“Yes,” Ona said, somewhat bitterly.
She and the giant woman had been arguing for years about whether or not the god-race existed. The gor’ki were an elder race, meaning they had been living on Allaca since its ancient sun was young. They were as old as the elven, as old as the eemore and the mer. They were eldor’ekara – eldest children. And they were one of the few ancient races who still believed the goddesses existed.
“You were right,” said Ona, shrugging. “The god-race is real. But whether or not they are gods is another thing entirely.”
Elenwen smiled, her small eyes narrowing. “The gor’ki do not believe they are gods,” she said.
Ona lifted her brows in surprise. “You don’t?”
“Oh, no,” said Elenwen, slightly shaking her head so that her curtains of mossy hair waved. “But we are wise enough to recognize power when we see it. The god-race can do what they please with us – manipulate us, maneuver us, turn us inside-out. But you cut them with a sword, they still bleed. They are flesh same as we.”
“How do you know?” Ona asked with alert curiosity.
“Because we slew one . . . Long ago.”
Ona’s lips parted in surprise.
“The god-race grew too confident in their power over us,” explained Elenwen. “One of my people killed the fourth goddess in a rage. Stepped on her as she stood there defenseless. Broke her mask. She drowned in the air. After that, the eldor became more cautious. They withdrew beyond the veil.”
“You mean they went up in space, to the stars,” corrected Ona.
“I do not know either way.”
“But you’re older than the stars! You must know something.”
“I know only what I have seen. More than a thousand years ago, Mor’hi visited my people. After her sister was killed, she withdrew. We never looked upon her face again.”
“So you have seen Mizra – I mean, Mor’hi,” Ona said with interest.
“I have witnessed her power, yes,” Elenwen calmly confirmed.
“Did you see her face?”
To that question, Elenwen lifted a long arm and pointed a four-fingered hand with knobby, swirling knuckles. Ona looked where the giant pointed and noticed a large stone tablet. She had seen it before. She had been to Moongate many times, often to seek comfort and advice from the ageless giant. But she had never cared enough to inquire about the tablet. Now all her attention was focused on it. The tablet depicted a chipped image of a tall, slender woman with a mask covering her nose and mouth. She had wreathing tentacles for hair. Wreathing tentacles . . . and blue skin.
Ona held back a laugh.
“They are a race such as never has been seen on Allaca,” said Elenwen seriously.
“Really?” said Ona skeptically. She thought the goddess on the tablet looked a great deal like one of the mer. She was reminded yet again of Tizra, and with an aching heart, looked away.
“Who knows where they come from or where they hide when they are not here?” said Elenwen thoughtfully.
Ona looked up at the giant in disappointment. “So you don’t know anything?”
Elenwen smiled apologetically and shook her long face again. “No, Onicavora. There are some things even I do not know. If you really want the truth, perhaps you should seek out the Oracle.”
Ona looked darkly away. “No,” she said. “The Oracle likes to speak in riddles. I’ve no patience for that nonsense.”
“True,” said the giant with a chuckle. She frowned. “But there is more on your mind, isn’t there?”
“Yes,” Ona heavily confessed. She lifted her face and looked earnestly at the giant as she said, “I . . . did something unfortunate.”
Elenwen’s face darkened. “Did you kill another of my kin?”
“What? No! That was an accident!” Ona protested at once. She hesitated and admitted, “I . . . spared the life of a sick child who grew up to be a violent monster.”
“You broke the Old Ways,” said Elenwen, neither disapproving nor approving. She simply stated fact. Her small eyes watched Ona closely.
“Yes,” said Ona guiltily. “She’s about to go rampage across Allaca, and the god-race has charged me with killing her.”
“And you don’t know if you should,” predicted Elenwen.
Ona nodded. “Takari said humans would never learn from their mistakes if other races kept manipulating them into remaining peaceful.”
“And do you agree?” Elenwen asked gently.
Ona frowned. “I don’t know,” she said helplessly. “On the one hand, I still believe in the Old Ways. I know it was wrong to meddle. On the other hand, I don’t want thousands of people to die so the humans can learn to stop being violent bullies. They learned nothing from Ozmora.” She looked at Elenwen. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Why? You were so certain before,” pointed out Elenwen calmly. “You didn’t hesitate to heal the girl when she was a helpless child. Should you hesitate to kill her now that she is a dangerous warmonger?”
Ona sighed and pushed the hair back from her face. “At least she doesn’t have the Sword of Avara.”
“Yet,” said Elenwen pointedly. “How long before she captures Purvara and wields the starblade?”
Ona paused irritably. “Does everyone know where I left the Avara Sword? It was supposed to be a secret.”
“I stand in the forest by sun and by moon, listening to insects chatter and birds gossip,” answered the giant. “I have no ancient secrets, but modern secrets spread like wildfire through the branches and leaves.”
“Damn birds,” Ona muttered bitterly.
“The princess would be unstoppable if she obtained the weapon. It can cut through anything. Even the dragons couldn’t stop her.”
“So you’re saying I should kill her?”
“I can’t tell you what to do. Who am I but an old woman who sleeps between the trees?” So saying, Elenwen slowly lowered her hand to the grass again, allowing Ona to reluctantly step off.
Ona watched in disappointment as the giant woman slowly stood, the tree branch creaking as she left it. She returned to her place between two trees, folded her long, twiggy arms over her chest, and dug her long toes in the earth, preparing to sleep.
“So you have no useful advice?” Ona said irritably. “I would have been better off seeking the Oracle after all. Or perhaps a dragon.”
“Perhaps,” agreed Elenwen through a yawn that revealed twin rows of black teeth. She smacked her dark lips. “Now go away,” she said, closing her eyes. “I’m tired.”
Ona shook her head and stalked off, the giant rumbling and creaking as she settled into utter stillness behind her.
***
ONA DECIDED THAT THE only way to come to a final decision was to head to Pylia and speak to the human queen directly. She was a princess when Ona knew her, little more than a skinny child lying helpless in her canopied bed.
Now the girl was Queen Emeralle, a warrior queen and admiral of what was once her mother’s vast armada. As Ona flew fast over the ocean, she could see the warships in the distance. Ships that had been retired for more than a decade were now leaving port, preparing to sail across the Siporra Sea for the realm of the lorna. The islands celebrated, releasing fireworks and beating drums to the stars.
Ona seethed: the humans were already setting out to attack Purvara. After that, they would continue cutting a bloody swath across the continent, raiding and pillaging the villages of the eemore, setting fire to the rainforests of the gor’ki. Perhaps they wouldn’t stop until they had reached Ozmora and crumbled its ancient ruins to dust, driving out the last of Ona’s people.
The only people safe from the hungry rage of the humans were the mer under the sea and the skywalkers in the cloud realm. Those on the land were vulnerable to their fire and bloodlust. Those on the land would suffer.
Ona had been flying a night and a day for the archipelago, the salty breeze ruffling her feathers, her wings tired and yet determined. There was simply no time to warn Queen Francesca. Stopping the war rested entirely on Ona and how quickly she could reach Queen Emeralle’s ship.
The armada glided fast across the sea’s smooth surface, comprised of dark ships with dark sails and horrible monsters carved into their prows. Already, Ona could catch the grim laughter of warriors on the wind.
The human men were talking of the spoils of war, of raping and kidnapping women like treasures to be stolen, of stealing livestock and crops, riches and silks. These were commoners who dreamt of exotic treasures, who would never see a fat coin purse unless they took it in a raid, and Queen Emeralle had recruited them because of their hunger. Callimor’s system of poverty and wealth, rich and poor had created them, and now their queen would unleash them on the unsuspecting lorna women across the sea.
And yet, as she swept for the forward-most warship, Ona asked herself what would happen if she simply took Takari’s advice and let the humans behave like violent savages. Perhaps the dragons that slept beneath Lornac would rise up and chase the humans back to Pylia. Or perhaps the lorna would prove formidable and aptly defend their realm. What would happen if Ona let the races of Allaca settle their own disputes, rather than playing peacemaker and nursemaid?
She asked herself if her predicament wasn’t some experiment of the god-race. Were they using Ona to test decisions they themselves might have to make in the future? The very thought infuriated her, but she had to remind herself that she was responsible for her own actions. She had brought the situation upon herself. The Council of Eldor had simply seized upon the opportunity to use her.
As Ona swept through the high masts of the lead warship, sailors stomped back and forth on the deck below her. Some were men, some were women, and all were able-bodied, strong, and grim, swathed in ragged pants and shirts, bearing crude cutlasses, rings glinting in their ears and noses. None of them took notice of Ona, a black raven gliding low over their deck, for the armada was followed by a crowd of crows, feathered beasts eager for the coming carnage.
The window to the admiral’s cabin was open to admit the cool sea breeze. Ona sent her senses forth and could hear the soft swish of liquid, the clink of a glass, the rustle of paper. The warrior queen was sitting at her desk, drinking, reading maps in dark contemplation – planning her eventual conquest of the land. She was alone. Ona could smell the soap on her skin but could smell no other’s presence. She sensed the warm evil pulsing in the girl’s aura: Queen Emeralle was looking forward to the killing and the carnage. She wanted to rope up men and women and hang them as their houses burned. She was hungry for it. She longed to call herself empress of Allaca.
Bristling with indignation, Ona swept through the open window and landed just before the red rug, changing to her real form in a splash of light.
Queen Emeralle gasped. As Ona had supposed, she was indeed sitting at her desk, pouring over a scattering of maps with a drink in her black-nailed hand. Seeing Ona, she leapt to her feet and pulled her sword with a wild ching. Her eyes above the blade were deadly.
“Speak,” commanded Queen Emeralle. “Tell me who you are! That you dare to burst in here −!”
“Does it matter?” Ona returned almost tonelessly. She could feel the anger flowing out of her and wondered why it had been there, pumping in her heart, to begin with. After so many hundreds of years, why was she offended, angered, or remotely surprised by the savagery of the younger races? Her outrage did not serve her, but she was beginning to realize her pity did not serve her either. Had she let the humans alone instead of feeling shocked or saddened by their suffering, she wouldn’t have been standing there, being threatened by a violent teenager. Why was she moved by suffering? Every living creature suffered, and she had witnessed it a thousand times. Why had the princess been more worthy of saving than any other? As it turned out, she hadn’t been worthy of saving at all.
Such realizations swirled through Ona’s brain as she stood looking tiredly at the young queen. Perhaps the eldor had sent her here with the intention of her coming to such realizations. Perhaps all of it had been a lesson.
“It matters,” said the young queen through her teeth. She was still pointing the blade at Ona, her entire body tense. She hadn’t yet realized what Ona was. “Satisfy my curiosity,” she sneered.
Ona didn’t answer. Instead, she stood calmly before the window on the edge of the cabin, stood in the dim orange glow of candlelight, and appraised the girl.
Queen Emeralle was swathed in a black, breezy loincloth made of silk, and black sandals adorned her small feet, their straps winding up her calves. A gold bullring was through her septum, and her slanted green eyes had been outlined in black kohl. A helmet was pushed back on her voluminous hair. Its faceplate was that of a skull, and great orange feathers streamed back from its sides like folded wings. The helm was impressive. Ona knew it was a family heirloom; that it had been worn by generations of bloodthirsty Callimor queens, and with it on, the girl would look like death itself when riding into battle.
The helm’s faceplate was actually made of an elven’s skull, taken from the elven empress by Emeralle’s ancestor after the fall of Ozmora. Ona could feel the mana pulsing from the skull, how it leant power and strength to a human queen so unworthy of it. But at the end of the day, she was still just a skinny little girl playing at war.
Recognition clicked in Queen Emeralle’s eyes, and Ona realized the young queen had been appraising her as well. Slowly, Queen Emeralle lowered her sword as she said, “Wait . . . I know you. You’re the elf witch! The one that healed me when I was a child!”
“I am,” Ona hoarsely confirmed, as reluctantly as if she were admitting to some foul and disastrous deed.
Queen Emeralle sheathed her sword, a slow smile twisting her lips. “Have you come here to aid me yet again?”
No, I’ve come here to kill you, Ona thought.
“Yes, I’ve come here to aid you,” Ona said.
Queen Emeralle, looking very smug and pleased with herself, sat in her chair once more and put her sandals up on the desk. She folded her arms, leaned back, and appraised Ona again, her dark eyes glittering in the candlelight. Behind her was a shelf Ona hadn’t noticed before – a shelf full of jars that contained floating brains, hearts, and eyes. Ona recognized the eyes: the severed parts had belonged to the old queen, and the others belonged to her advisors and loyal bodyguards. Ona could sense it, could feel the anguish and anger rising from the ragged bits as they floated in sickly green liquid. The young queen sat before her trophies and was unmoved by Ona’s disgust.
Ona turned her back.
“Well?” said Queen Emeralle with tired disdain. “What is your sage advice, Old One? Do you know how I might take the Sword of Avara? I hear the last who stole it did not survive your wrath.”
Ona tensed. She heard Queen Emeralle’s low, mocking laugh and her jaw tightened.
“But I am no mere thief,” said the girl. “I am Queen Emeralle of Callimor, soon to be Empress Emeralle of Allaca. Land, sea, and sky will know my name and tremble.”
“And then what?” said Ona quietly.
A pause, and then Queen Emeralle said, most ineloquently, “Huh?”
Ona turned to face the girl, who had gone still, a look of confusion on her face. “And then what?” Ona repeated. “Once the land, sea, and sky are yours to command, will you turn your endless rage to the god-race next?”
Queen Emeralle smirked. “If I could but take all of Allaca, reaching the stars will have been a child’s game. But perhaps I won’t have to. Perhaps the gods will come to me – assuming, of course, that they even exist. You surprise me, elf. I thought the Old Ones above fairy tales and legends, being fairy tales themselves.” She paused, as if waiting for a reaction.
“You have no right to the sword,” Ona said, disregarding the girl’s words, “and what you do here is savage and cruel.”
Queen Emeralle laughed softly, derisively. “You elder races are all the same. You strut around giving grand speeches and lectures, delivering death and ‘justice’ while your own cities lie in ruin. What makes you so worthy of complete authority while the rest of us must bow and grovel in your shadow?”
Ona had no answer. In truth, nothing made her worthy. She knew that now.
“I will tell you a story,” said Queen Emeralle, placing her arms behind her head as she reclined, feet up, at the desk. She smiled at Ona when the elven turned to face her. “It is a story that has been passed down among my people for generations.”
Ona said nothing, her eyes intently fixed on the smug girl.
“A long time ago,” said Queen Emeralle, “when the sun was young and the waters new, a race of beings became stranded on a wild planet that was teaming with magick.”
The eldor, Ona thought.
“They feared the power of the natives, and so they devolved them to beasts and stole their power.”
The eemore, Ona thought.
“They didn’t think the natives worthy nor ready,” went on Queen Emeralle. “And they felt guilty for having stolen from primitives. So they took the power and placed it in a weapon.”
The starblade, thought Ona.
“And they bestowed the weapon on one who they deemed worthy,” went on Queen Emeralle. As she told the tale, her dark eyes went past Ona and stared dreamily out the window, at the twin moons that hovered over the mirror of the black sea.
“But the natives didn’t like being ordered around like children,” Queen Emeralle continued. “Especially not by uppity foreigners. So the warrior who wielded the starblade slew a few of the god-race to teach them a lesson.”
Tala, Ona thought, recalling Takari’s story.
“When they first came, there were twelve of them. When Tala had finished, there were five.” Queen Emeralle paused to smirk again, the smugness still glittering in her eyes. “Other mortals soon followed suit and attacked. The eldor were terrified. They retreated to the stars and never returned.”
“What did they expect when they had tried to rule people?” said Ona pointedly.
Queen Emeralle glared to hear Ona’s words and set her sandals on the floor, leaning forward, face twisted with dislike. “The god-race creatures were filthy hypocrites. They tried to rule an entire planet after bringing their own to ruin. They came here in the first place because they destroyed their own home!” She leaned back, eyes glittering quiet rage as she said, “And how are you any different from them? Your precious Ozmora lies in ruins while you stand here, trying to tell me what I should and shouldn’t do. My people don’t lie in ruins. We thrive! We thrive in spite of the meddling of the ‘gods.’ We thrive in spite of you.” She smiled. “We are worthy to rule.”
Ona sighed and looked out the window at the twin moons and wondered if the three remaining eldor were there, waiting for her to complete her mission. “I have never heard that story in my life,” she said, looking at the young queen. “For all I know, you’re just making it up.”
At this, the queen looked sincerely indignant. “Do not flatter yourself that you know everything there is to know, that you have heard and seen everything there is to hear and see. There are things even the ancients do not know. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be hiding in the stars, waiting for you to do their dirty work.”
“Ah,” said Ona. “So you know why I’m here.”
“Yes,” said Queen Emeralle darkly. “I made a guess when you stood there like an anxious hen.” She tilted her head. “Why don’t you end me, eldor’hon? Because you knew me as a child? You knew the lion princess as well, and you slew her. You slew her violently −”
“Shut your mouth about things you don’t understand!” Ona snapped, taking a lunging step forward.
Queen Emeralle, rather than appearing offended, seemed pleased by Ona’s sudden anger. She was not happy she had gotten under her skin, however. She seemed happy for a different reason entirely. Her eyes went to the red throw rug, upon which Ona had stepped in her anger.
Ona slowly looked down and froze: a circle had been sewn on the rug, complete with ancient runes and symbols from a language Ona didn’t recognize. It was a circle of enchantment, meant to trap her in place. Elven were impervious to magick, but the spell on the rug was not Allacan magick. It had not come from mana nor nature nor anything on Allaca. It was a power that had come from a different world altogether. Ona could sense it, the way she had sense the foreign strength of the god-race and their power. It was a power beyond her.
Ona could feel it now, how her bare feet had become fixed in place. She couldn’t have taken another step had she wanted. She couldn’t lift her hands nor summon a spell with her mind. But her tongue was loose and her lips relaxed, and her eyes could still look back and forth. They were the only parts of her that she could move.
“It worked,” said Queen Emeralle, staring at the rug. She looked up at Ona. “It worked!”
“What have you done?” Ona darkly demanded.
Queen Emeralle folded her arms and leaned back in her chair, looking very pleased with herself. She shrugged nonchalantly. “I suppose there’s no harm in telling you that. I’ve got time to kill before we arrive at Purvara.”
Ona seethed, frozen helpless in place. She glanced with a burst of sorrow and rage at the sword on the queen’s hip. A thousand years she had walked this world, expertly dodging fire and sword, arrow and anger, only to die at the hands of this grinning fool-child? Outrageous. She stood there and suddenly knew how the god-race must’ve felt when mortals turned their arrogance against them and took them by surprise, cutting them down where they stood.
“My people value knowledge highly,” said Queen Emeralle. “When our civilization first began, we searched the world for the truth of its story. Eventually, we found it in the ruins of the ancient eemore, deep in the western wilds.” She rose to her feet, pacing thoughtfully in the space before Ona.
“The entire story was there,” went on the child-queen, “depicted in moving murals for others to find.”
Ona thought of the moving murals that had led her to the Sword of Avara. The ancient eemore had left many things behind for others to find, it seemed. Perhaps they had always meant for future generations to rid them of the god-race forever.
“The moving murals led to a chamber,” continued the queen, unaware of Ona’s reflections, “and there in the chamber, a means to stopping the god-race. Spells. Spells that could be woven into fabrics and walls, steps and paths – Spells that could trap the star creatures in place, that they might be slain with ease.”
So that’s how it was done, Ona thought.
“These spells came from another world, so it was said. And their power outmatched that of the gods. With this knowledge, humans stand ready to defend Allaca against them, should they dare to show their faces here again.” Queen Emeralle smiled at Ona. “But they won’t. The eldor are hypocrites, but they are intelligent hypocrites.” She glanced Ona up and down. “Which is more than I can say for you.”
Ona’s jaw tightened again as she realized: the eldor had known about the spell-trap and had sent her here to avoid stumbling into it themselves. She hated herself when the fury darkened her eyes, when Queen Emeralle laughed at her and turned away.
The young queen sat with a sigh in her chair and folded her arms, observing Ona in her frozen predicament. “I loathe and despise the god-race for the murder they have done to my bloodline over the years – Oh, yes, we are aware that it was them,” she added when Ona’s eyes brightened in surprise. “They sought to manipulate and control us while you – you showed mercy and compassion to the same race that has terrorized your own for eons! My people have not forgotten what you did for me ten years ago.” Her eyes softened, for the first time showing emotion beyond smug arrogance, mirth, and malice. “In return,” she said, friendly in tone now, “I offer you a boon: leave here. Never set foot in Callimor again, and I will spare Ozmora. Humans shall no longer terrorize the Old Ones. We will forgive the ancient grudge. We will forget the wilds.”
Ona blinked in startled surprise.
Queen Emeralle remained seated in her chair, arms folded, smiling. “What say you?”
***
ONA AND TAKARI WALKED side-by-side through the Forzel Forest, picking berries as they went. It was day, bright and blue, and Ona was weary as they passed through the green veils of light. She’d flown all night to arrive here, and now she trudged all day, looking for a good place to drop down and sleep. She envied the god-race and their ability to teleport at will.
“Oooona didn’t kill human queen?” said Takari in bafflement.
“No, I didn’t,” Ona answered, summoning an apple from a tree with a gesture. The apple floated gently down to her hand and she took a weary bite.
“Why not?” Takari asked – as mildly interested as if she were inquiring about Ona’s favorite color. The eemore turned her back to a palm tree and rubbed herself against it, letting the rough bark scratch the narrow space between her shoulder blades. Sprays of blue hair spiraled in the beams of sunlight that reached around her, and her orange eyes dulled with pleasure.
Ona held back a laugh. It was comforting to know that no matter what soul-draining adventures she faced, she could always find Takari and thus find her smile.
“Didn’t you say I shouldn’t kill her? That I should allow the humans to make mistakes and learn from them?” Ona pointed out.
“Takari say a lot of things when she drunk,” was the eemore’s nonchalant answer.
Ona sighed. “I didn’t kill her because she promised to leave the other realms alone.”
Takari groaned and rolled her eyes. “And Ooona believed her? Humans not bound by ancient contract.”
Ona shrugged. “She seemed sincere.”
Takari’s long ears lowered and she darkly shook her head. “Oooona a fool,” she said.
Ona had opened her mouth to retort when the bright, sunny forest scattered around her – as if it were a mere reflection on the water and someone had thrown in a pebble. She gasped to find herself back in the council chamber, standing in the vast room under the beam of hot starlight, as three shrouded figures loomed over her from the darkness.
Ona looked at the council, and the council looked back at her, glowing eyes stony against the dark. She could feel the displeasure rolling off the women like hot steam smothering the air. Even Death was angry with her. Ona couldn’t believe it. She stood in the tense silence that followed, waiting for the goddesses to reprimand her. Eventually, they did.
“You’re a fool,” hissed Mizra from the right.
“She will march on every realm on the planet,” scolded Orazon sternly from the center. “Even sea and sky will not know refuge from her!”
“There will be blood,” said Dizira mournfully from the left. “So much blood.”
“Fool,” Mizra hissed again. “Why should she cancel her great plans of conquest simply because you asked nicely?”
“Because now I know about the trap spell,” Ona answered darkly. “I even know how to cast it. And unlike you, I won’t hide from her behind the stars. If she goes back on our contract, I’ll hunt her down and kill her where she stands.”
“Or,” said Mizra angrily, “since you have proven gullible and utterly useless, we will manipulate events to kill her ourselves.”
“Thus proving her point,” said Ona.
“That point being?” said Orazon darkly.
“That the eldor are not goddesses but fat hypocrites from some ruined planet putting on airs.”
Silence from the council. Ona could feel their shock. None of them had suspected that anyone on Allaca knew the truth of their origin. Their silence was proof enough that Queen Emeralle’s story had been true.
To Ona’s surprise, the eldor didn’t speak, didn’t reprimand, didn’t threaten. Instead, the council chamber scattered like a broken mirror, and in an instant, Ona was back in Forzel Forest, standing beside Takari . . . who was picking her nose.
Takari pulled her finger free to appraise a large green booger. She shrugged, sucked the booger from her finger, then turned and lumbered off. Ona jogged to the big eemore’s side, and they walked together through the shafts of warm sunlight.
“What council say?” asked Takari.
“They said . . . nothing,” said Ona with a shrug.
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
Takari shrugged as well and her ears went forward as she grunted, “Let’s go get drunk.”
