kthrnsllvn

[kthrnsllvn]

Once upon a time, there was a woman who was well versed in the art of magic. She was beautiful, intelligent, and very sweet, helping anyone who needed it for nothing in return. She was called Dalaris, which meant beloved, and she was.

People came from great distances to seek her help, whether for a cure for their maladies or advice on how to go about life after the death of a loved one. Dalaris gave the people what they needed, and in return, they gave her life meaning. 

But there was something missing.

It was a cool, sunny day, and the leaves were just beginning to turn. Dalaris was in her garden, pulling weeds and picking herbs for her potions. Her cottage was on the furthest edge of town to the north, where she was most in her element and her magic was at its strongest. 

Humming a tune she didn’t know, she let her fingers drift along a row of lavender, the purple standing out starkly against the dark soil. 

A low ringing started in her ears, and Dalaris hurried inside. She had set up wards all around the small clearing she had chosen as her home, and someone had passed into the clearing.

Hurriedly, she pulled on a dark green robe, covering her exposed skin. Living alone was a blessing for her, as she could be closest to nature without the prison of cloth and judgment. Just as she was stepping into her well-worn slippers, there was a loud banging on the door.

“Who’s there?” she called, her voice strong.

“His Royal Highness, King Gregory of Baywood, requests your presence.” 

Dalaris was surprised when she opened the door. The gruff tone didn’t match the speaker. A thin man was on the other side, his armor making him unwieldy. His eyes never reached hers, his gaze frozen on the ground in front of her.

“May I ask why?”

“Yes.”

Dalaris laughed when she realized no answer was forthcoming. 

“I don't charge for my services, as I'm sure you've heard, but I do require an explanation if I'm to leave my land.”

Another of the Kingsguard came forward, his gaze locked on the ground as well. “The king is prepared to pay in lieu of an explanation.”

“I won't go without cause.”

The ringing in her ears reached its peak, and Dalaris barely held back a flinch, all at once grateful for the guards refusal to meet her eyes. More and more people were pouring into the clearing, the procession finally ending with an ornate carriage, pulled by some of the most gorgeous horses Dalaris had ever seen.

She kept her eyes on the horses as the carriage doors open and a stranger stepped out. Dalaris knew, of course, that this was the king. But she also knew that he did not have the best intent.

The wards she had made were placed at the very edges of her land, all imbued with a specific spell and placed at the north, west, east and south edges. The magic in the wards told Dalaris not only when someone passed onto her land, but also gave her a feel for their state. When the old crones came for an herbal rub for their aching bones, Dalaris felt their pain and their integrity. When a young couple came for a fertility tincture of virility tonic, she could feel their excitement. When the king crossed onto her land, she felt only a menacing evil. 

The king started to approach her cottage when she decided to step forward. Every guard was armed instinctively. A symphony of steel rang out as each man pulled a sword from his scabbard. Dalaris paid them no mind and went straight for the horses.

Two males, one a glossy black with a thin line of white running down his neck, and the other a shocking white, with a soft braided mane, both threw their heads in unison as she approached. Gently, she raised her hands to them, letting them take her in and decide for themselves if she was trustworthy. After just seconds, they both pushed forward into her hands, muzzles warm.

She felt their exhaustion, their anxiety, and their pain. It sang through her bones, and so she reached deep into the earth, pulling forward the healing powers of nature, and pushed it to them. The black horse let out a high whinny, and the white horse just pushed her hand away and rubbed his muzzle against her face. She gave a light kiss to the both of them and finally turned towards the king.

“Why are you here?”

He visibly bristled at her disrespect, but didn’t deign to speak to her. A guard came forward, the third to avoid her gaze. 

“The queen, Eliza of Baywood, is with child. It is early in the pregnancy, but there are complications. King Gregory requests that the witch, Dalaris of Grey Peak, come to the palace and tend to Queen Eliza.” With that, he stepped back.

Dalaris gazed around the clearing, losing count of the amount of guards surrounding her small cottage. Many still had their swords drawn, though they relaxed their stance. The silence continued, and she watched as many of the guards became uncomfortable.

“Why will none of you meet my eyes? Why has the king come all this way to ask my help, but refuses to speak to me? Why have so many of the Kingsguard come?” 

Her questions echoed, but went unanswered. 

She took a step forward, but stopped short when the carriage door swung open again.

A small child tumbled out, hitting the ground hard. She didn’t stay down, letting out a laugh like a bell, and ran toward Dalaris. Her hair was like fire, with curls sticking out underneath a cloth bonnet. She had no fear of Dalaris, running to her without hesitation, and reaching out for her. Dalaris took the girl in her arms without a thought.

Immediately, she was flooded with thoughts, emotions, and memories that weren’t hers. 

Zenith.

Dalaris came back to herself with a jolt. She looked hard at the girl in her arms, seeing deeper than skin. The hair was all Baxter, as were the piercing blue eyes. She could see Baxter, for a moment, before she realized it was a memory that wasn’t hers. The girl in her arms was looking expectantly up at Dalaris, as if daring her to figure it out.

She took a breath, and held it in her lungs long enough to figure out what she was doing. Gently, she placed the girl - Zenith - on  the ground. She took off, heading for the cottage door. She paused to look back at Dalaris, and, seeing her nod, the little girl slipped inside.

“That is why you will come with us.”

The king’s words shocked Dalaris out of her silence.

“How?” she asked, barely containing the angry surge of magic in her bones.

“Her father. Baxter, I believe. He was a spy who turned his back on the crown. He knew the consequences.” 

“You stole my daughter. You killed my husband. And I’m supposed to help you? Why shouldn’t I kill you where you stand?” 

Guards tensed again, raising swords towards Dalaris. With a sweep of her arms, the steel turned to dust, leaving them with empty hands and piles of dust.

The king was shaken now, his eyes flashing all around the clearing, looking for escape. Dalaris made a fist, and the trees surrounding the clearing started to grow, knotting vines and dropping branches until there was no way out.

She stalked forward, and as she walked toward the king, roots sprung from the ground wrapping around the legs of the guards so thickly that if they tried to move, bones would snap. Dalaris smiled darkly at the screams.

Reaching into her robe, she pulled out a sharpened dagger. The king flinched but didn’t fall back. Dalaris put the knife to his chin, staring deep into his eyes. She could feel his murderous hate.

With a prayer to the earth, Dalaris twitched her wrist, lodging her dagger deep into the king’s throat. She pulled back and let him drop to the ground, watching his dark blood seep into the dirt. The earth would appreciate the offering. Her magic would be enhanced. She could teach her daughter the craft. She was finally whole again. 

She spoke quietly, but her voice carried throughout the clearing. “I will give you one chance to leave. If any of you attempt to avenge your king, you will meet his fate.” With a flick of her fingers, the roots slid slowly back into the earth, and a small area cleared between the trees. “Go.”

The guards didn’t hesitate. The ones without injury grabbed their brothers with broken bones and started down the path. One stayed behind, just for a moment, casting a long glance at the fallen king. He reached forward to brush Dalaris’ shoulder, and she felt the spark of his magic. 

“Thank you,” he said, and started after the rest.

Dalaris stood frozen before the king’s body until darkness had fallen. It was then that Zenith swung open the window in the kitchen. 

“Mama, I’m hungry.”

Her voice was a salve on Dalaris’ soul, and she felt her heart soar. She hadn’t been called that for many years. This time, nothing would take that away. 

Nothing.

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #short story #fantasy

[kthrnsllvn]

The sun came up, like it always did. Its rays reached far, but worked slowly, timidly, as if afraid to say hello to the waking world. As the sun crept higher, light fell upon a new development.

Deep in an untravelled forest, there was a tree house where there had not been one the day before. The untreated wood stood out starkly against the usual darkness of the forest. As the sun rose higher, the tree house sat, unmoving, unyielding, unforgiving. 

The sun hadn’t been present in a while. The rain had taken its place. Time stood still as rain poured down, down, down, never relenting. The tree house still stood, wood dark and swollen with water as if the rain were trying to defeat it from the inside.

But the rain had to give up. When it did, the world took a while to recover. The sun was there to watch over the recovery, and eventually everything was right again. The tree house was still present, darkened now by the elements, but just as strong, if not stronger, than before. 

Time passed, as time is wont to do. The tree house stayed, used and unused, happy and unhappy, wanted and unwanted. It was haunted with the echoes of laughter long silenced, haunted with the memories of life snuffed out.

If a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? If no one is around to relive memories, did they ever actually happen?

The sun rises on an unbelievable sight. Another victim, claimed by time. The tree house had collapsed in on itself, some pieces fallen to the ground, some hanging on by barely a prayer. 

The echoes had faded now, and silence reigned. The forest took back what had been taken from them, and made it their own again. There was no proof that tree house had ever existed. The sun rose and the sun set, and the world was as it had been. But they knew. They all knew. The tree house had been. 

There was no forgetting that.

#writing #the tree house #writeblr #writers on tumblr