Suicide. A terrible and taboo subject. Very few cultures accept it as anything close to honorable. Most religions revile it as something that guaranteed the worst possible afterlife. A coward’s escape.
The Ferhym are no different. Brodea knew to take one’s own life was selfish, and it hurt their cause. A single death of a Ferhym crippled their sacred mission. Self-induced harm was tantamount to attacking the mission itself, handed down to them from the Spirits. She was raised believing that should one take their own life in such a cowardly fashion, that their spirit would forever dissolve, unable to join with the Spirits of the after to help their people fulfill their solemn duty.
Everything about who they were would no longer exist. That included any reliefs of history made in their honor. Their name stripped and banned. The mate would retain their original family name, as would the child. Unless there was the rare brother, or cousin who bore the same honored surname, mere mention of it abolished for no less than a century. After that time, it could be carried again by the child or a new family, if they so choose. It was rarely chosen.
Brodea knew all of this painfully well, so when Eigron and Mehris found Hengrit slowly swinging from a vine noose the next day, it sent the entire city into an uproar.
The First Councilor had spent the night in the council chambers. She had drunk greedily of the amber wine. And she had taken greedily from Vooken’s body. She had not been humble. She had wanted and he had been more than willing to share.
Now though, her head throbbed from over indulgence, and a furious council sat around her, demanding to strip Hengrit of all of his accomplishments over the last two centuries of his life.
Brodea wanted to cover her ears and just will it all away. She received her much needed release, but now it seemed as if things were compounding upon her in even greater measure.
Suicide. A hunter hadn’t committed suicide in ages. Why Hengrit Elkhunter?
One look into the Druid’s eyes before her and she knew the answer. Hengrit was one of the three.
She wanted to groan and cover her head with her arms. She in no way was weak, but now to have one of the rapists dead. Was it guilt at what he did? Was she the cause of this?
Eigron looked at her plaintively. She could see that Hengrit’s passing troubled him deeply. She pitied the elf. He did so much for her.
Around her some of the councilors continued to rage at Hengrit’s suicide while others spoke of Whísper’s actions and throwing the wizard off the precipice. They were talking about stripping Whísper of her rank and status as well. Brodea’s own daughter! As if Brodea wasn’t even in the room!
Anger at everything happening welled in her like a building storm. She said in a whisper, “Out.”
No one heard her; they all continued to argue amongst themselves, their din sounded like a cacophonous howling in her throbbing skull. Louder, “Out.”
Still the Councilors spat amongst themselves. Eyes darted to Brodea, but she didn’t think that they were concerned about her. Quite the opposite, actually. They looked accusatory.
“Get the hells out!”
Everyone went suddenly silent, and looked at her in shock.
“I must commune with the Spirits. Now.” Her voice was razor sharp, there was no denying that she intended for them to leave right this moment.
“First Councilor…” Vooken tried to plead next to her.
His brown eyes shimmered. How the hells did he escape from the effects she was feeling? She looked angrily at him. It felt like the boulders tumbling through her head were part of a landslide, and Vooken looked no worse for the wear. In fact, he seemed refreshed.
Brodea lifted hand and pointed out to the city beyond. Her voice came out in a growl, “If you don’t leave right now, I will throw each and every one of you off that ledge just like my daughter did to the wizard!”
Instantly, a few of the Councilors scurried from her. No one wanted the wrath of the Spirits to come down on them. Vooken merely stared at her, disbelief at being turned away especially after the night before, clearly written on his face.
She looked away from him. She was the First Councilor. She didn’t need to answer to him. She heard his seat skid across the floor as the ponytailed elf stood and headed towards the stairs as well.
Brodea turned to look at Eigron. The druid still stood there. She mouthed, “You stay.” He nodded.
As the Ferhym fled from their enraged First Councilor, Brodea looked up just in time to see the Voïre dui Ceremeia watching her with concern. Her eyes swayed like mercury. The expression on her face, on the corners of her downturned mouth reminded Brodea so much of someone she cared for, so long ago.
“Would you like me to stay?” the Voïre dui Ceremeia asked. Her voice sounded, hopeful.
Even though she was First Councilor, Brodea did not make eye contact; she stared down at the smooth floor. “No, Voïre. I will have this young druid with me to convene with the Spirits.”
“I understand,” the Voïre dui Ceremeia said, and Brodea could hear sadness in her voice, and even a touch of, was it disappointment? But why? The thought of it made her angry all the more. How dare someone so young even think to question her!
The First Councilor heard the flutter of the green dress and then the Voïre filed out with the remainder of the Ferhym. The whole ordeal took over twenty minutes, but when they were all gone the mad pulsing in her head softened considerably. It wasn’t gone completely, but it was a dramatic improvement to what she had been suffering minutes before.
Sure that no one remained, Brodea stood up and strode to where the druid was standing. “You found the body. What else do you know?”
Eigron’s expression was tight as he looked to the stairs. “The Voïre…”
“Is of no concern to you,” Brodea finished for him. “What is it that you know?”
“He was murdered,” Eigron said flatly.
Murdered? Brodea wanted to laugh at him. Wild Elves who stayed true to the cause did not kill one and other. Not in Feydras’ Anula anyhow. That happened to the other cells. The forests further north. Never in their home city. Yet the look in his eyes. “You are serious?”
Eigron nodded. “Under his fingernails was the sweet ground paint that our hunters use.”
Brodea baulked.
“There is more,” Eigron interrupted her before she could make a snide reply. “There is something you need to see. You will not like it.”
Brodea didn’t like anything that was happening in these last few weeks. What more could there possibly be?
~ ~ ~
Staring in fury at the last moments of Hengrit’s miserable existence, she roared at Eigron, “Stop it!”
The basin of water showed a clear view of the back of Avrimae’s head, her back, and her naked buttocks. The body beneath him was immobile, sedated, and she could hear Hengrit’s hard breathing and a steady wet clap. She wasn’t an idiot. Her mind churned at the thought of what that miserable, soulless, spirit forsaken, piece of shit was doing.
“You need to see it all,” Eigron told her.
Seething, Brodea wheeled on him striking him across the face so hard it brought the druid to his knees. “You do not tell the First Councilor what she ‘needs’ to do!”
The grunts were getting louder, but Brodea did not look into the basin of water where Hengrit’s final act was playing out.
“I told you that was to never happen again!”
Eigron covered his mouth with the back of his hand. Blood ran freely from the corner and from his nose. She saw fear in his eyes. A fear she hadn’t seen from him in many months. He had grown too confident around her.
“It wasn’t supposed to!” the druid pleaded. “I was unaware that Hengrit had continued.”
Brodea stared hard at the cowering druid. It felt like a lie. She was going to hit him again for lying to her when she heard a curious sound come from the bowl. The heavy breathing stopped suddenly. Too suddenly. Replaced with a single, small wheeze. Her ears were attuned to the sound. Someone’s air just was cut off.
The First Councilor redirected her eyes to the pool of water by her side. She fought back the nausea of seeing Avrimae's position. Yet she was curious now at what she was seeing. Hengrit was jerking far too violently for it to be in coitus, no matter how rough.
The corners of the pool of water were fading. A tunnel-like vision closed in on the hunter. She could see Hengrit’s arms flailing in front of him. Suddenly he moved down hard into the small of Avrimae’s back. Not moved, Brodea realized, driven.
There was no sound coming from Hengrit. No gasping, just silence as he continued to writhe. Then he was viciously slammed to the ground so that all Brodea could see was the catatonic face of Avrimae staring at her at an awkward angle. The vision focused on her face, and then there was a gut-wrenching popping sound. Cartilage breaking. Brodea knew it well.
Everything faded to black.
Brodea stared quietly at the black waters for several minutes. Was it her imagination or was there a ghostly silhouette of the human woman still in the dark waters? She didn’t even notice when Eigron picked himself up off the floor.
“You are being hunted,” she said in a whisper. It didn’t seem possible, but there it was, unmistakable. Brodea was a hunter for centuries. She knew how to kill quietly like that. She had done so many times when camps of Skewers had out-numbered her and she needed to whittle them down silently. The First Councilor damn near perfected the technique. Strangulation. It explained the mock hanging. Brodea looked up to the wounded druid, “Have any of the humans escaped?”
Eigron shook his head no. “They are all accounted for. Even the deceased. Every single one. I checked myself after witnessing this vision.”
Brodea stood away from the basin. “They made this look like suicide. Whoever did this knew that the council would never accept that he was murdered without proof. They are trying to destroy everything about him.” Brodea’s eyes widened. “They are balancing him.” The revelation made her shiver.
“Then we show them Hengrit’s final images. We don’t let the killer get away with this!”
Brodea scoffed, “And reveal that we condoned him raping a human woman? Even if we deny any affiliation to his actions, the council will be abhorred at his actions. Not for what happened to the skewer, but for the fact that he could have created an aberration due to his continued lustings! A half-Ferhym aberration!”
She shook her head. “This will not come back to me, Eigron. Destroy that image. I’d rather he die by suicide than be responsible for creating a reviled skewer from his own loins.”
Eigron nodded. “Then the killer wins,” he mumbled, but Brodea barely acknowledged it. Her mind was working in high speed now. Thinking ahead. If this was going on the whole time, there was no telling how Avrimae’s womb was handling it. Humans were far more susceptible to pregnancy than the hym ever were. Even blasphemous hybrids were easier to come about than pure hym. She saw her Goldhym kin time and again make the hybrids, the man-hym. Diluting the purity of their species. It was weeks since the first occurrence. If Hengrit continued all this time…
“You have to kill her,” Brodea said suddenly. The thought made her stomach roil.
“I just spent weeks trying to nurse her back to health!” Eigron said astonished, “Now you want me to kill her?”
“Apparently healing wasn’t the only thing you were doing to her!” Brodea snapped. “There’s no way to know what is going on in her body until she is further along and it begins to show. You are responsible for this Eigron. He was under your command. I will not have a skewer half-breed born amongst our numbers. I will not! You have done this Eigron, your continuous negligence after all I have elevated you to.”
He shook his head no, and stuttered, “First Councilor, I had no idea Hengrit was still performing those acts on her! I thought it was only that one time, I swear.”
Again she could feel the wrongness of his words. He was lying to her. Lying to her to cover up his heinous actions.
Her hand lanced out before her mind could comprehend what she was doing. She grabbed Eigron by the throat, his eyes widened. She squeezed, cutting off any more blasphemous lies he might try to tell. “No… more… lies.” She hissed. “I have elevated you, perhaps wrongly, to this position and now you have fumbled. You have one chance to make this right, or you will find yourself as less than what you were when you sulked home in defeat from the Blood Wizard months ago.”
Brodea watched as his eyes bulged and his skin turned purple. She continued, “Whísper has long sought vengeance for the pain you caused her when you brought her back to health.”
She tightened her grip, drool oozed from the terrified young druid’s mouth as he was starved of air. It was pathetic. He didn’t even try to fight her. A hunter would have. Hells, Hengrit would have. To think only an evening before she felt grateful for him? It disgusted her. What had she been thinking? Part of her wanted to end it right now. He was only a Genrus, no one would notice if he disappeared. She could simply say she sent him out on a mission directed by the Spirits, and he never returned.
No. She needed him. Someone had to take the fall if this all turned south. An overeager druid who refused to accept his station and remain humble. It would work perfectly. Eigron was still useful, even as a patsy.
“You fail me in this again druid, and I’ll see Whísper gets that revenge.” Brodea released her grip.
Eigron coughed and sputtered as he tried to breath.
“No more delays from the Elder of Vines. I want you to bring Julietta here. I want that staff you keep telling me about. And I want Avrimae dead from ‘natural causes’ all before this season is through and people begin to suspect. Am I understood?”
Eigron was bent over in a coughing fit, but he managed a nod. He gagged reflexively a few times, and Brodea thought for a moment he might vomit.
“And what about the killer?” he rasped. “Clearly they must know something?”
“Perhaps.” The First Councilor thought about any of her people who had shown any leniency towards humans in the past. Only one came to mind, and that was when she had been a child. It was more than likely dissidents who still wanted things to be as they were when Tehirs had been First Councilor.
There was a semi-vocal minority of Ferhym who were displeased with Brodea reinstating the war against the wizards. They voiced their discord, mainly with the Council, but up until this point none was so bold as to take any direct action against her. This thought intrigued her.
“Call it incentive,” Brodea quipped to the Druid. “You deliver to me Julietta, and I’ll take care of your hunter problem personally. And you handle Avrimae.”
Eigron composed himself and stood up straight. Only his strained voice belied that he was still in pain. “You will have her by the next council convening. I hope that is adequate.”
Brodea smiled. One week. The Druids of the Vine had been dragging their collective feet for months, and now he claimed she would have the woman in a week!
This was the release that she sought. Not Vooken, not alcohol, or some crude half-fulfilled sexual exploit. She would hunt. She would finally have a chance to do what she was good at, and against the worthiest of prey, another hunter. The best part was she didn’t even have to leave Feydras’ Anula to do it.
It was for the cause, she reminded herself, stopping herself from letting her conscience dictate that fighting a Ferhym was wrong. This hunter killed one Ferhym, and at least two more were on the menu. One week. She looked at Eigron. “Let’s hope for your sake, my dear druid, that you make it that long.”
~ ~ ~
Jenhiro remained completely still as he held on to the bark of the great elm. Thick moss clung to his body from the sweet ground paint. Were anyone to look up at him, they would be no wiser to his presence. He was perfectly camouflaged. He had positioned himself there, over a hundred and twenty feet in the air the night before, just after he had staged the mock suicide.
He needed to see how the council viewed the suicide. He also wanted to see if Eigron would take the last moments of the hunter. Jenhiro didn’t realize that the druid would then bring the truth to Brodea. The revelation of his First Councilor both disgusted and infuriated him. The taint went deeper than he would have ever thought. She was the heart of the problem.
She was the pestilence. She was the disease. Eigron was nothing more than a boil. He was a superficial surface wound compared to the cancer that ate away at his beloved culture from within.
He couldn’t afford to be aggressive though. She would have to wait. Eigron was still his target. The druid knew where Julietta was. That was good, and it answered many questions for Jenhiro as well. It made sense why he couldn’t find her. She was at the very place he refused to go since coming back to Feydras’ Anula.
And why wouldn’t she be? A dui Nuchada was searching for her. It would make sense to keep her surrounded by magic.
What disturbed Jenhiro though, was that Brodea knew about her as well. Either that meant the dui Nuchada broke down, or she had been expecting him. And if she was expecting the dui Nuchada, then that meant she was willing to bring the threat to her people. That did not bode well with Jenhiro’s already burdened conscience. The more he learned, the less this dui Nuchada appeared to be his enemy.
Jenhiro knew his priorities now. Hengrit’s death had riled the nest of vipers, and now they were poised to strike. He needed to put a stop to Eigron and his hunter accomplice Mehris before they killed Avrimae. She didn’t deserve to die because Brodea was afraid she carried an abomination in her womb due to rape that Brodea endorsed!
When all was concluded he knew he needed to find a way to Julietta, and he needed to save Avrimae. It would be tricky, and he couldn’t be two places at once. He needed help. He needed a team.
Jenhiro looked down below to the lone figure watching the Water Pens. He shook his head at the very idea running through his head. I must be mad, he decided. There was no other way to explain what he was going on in his head.
The branch commander would build his team. He would retrieve Julietta, and he would save Avrimae. Then he would deal with the heart of the problem, and save his beloved Ferhym from the rot that was consuming them all from within.
He only hoped his instincts were right, and that he could trust her. Jenhiro slowly and methodically climbed down the tree, unseen by all. He was going to risk everything. He was going to reveal himself and his intentions to the one person who could do the most harm. He was going to ask for help. He was going to contact the Voïre dui Ceremeia.
It was all going according to plan, more or less.