Excerpt of a Larger Work AUTHOR’S NOTE: TREASA IS PRONOUNCED TR-AH-SA
I wake with a sharp gasp and a surge of pain in my right side. The room is spinning so much that I need to close my eyes again, willing for the sickness in my stomach to subside.
“Damn it,” I hiss through my teeth.
My head pounds and all I want to do is sleep for a thousand years. But everything floods back into my mind all at once—the deer, the chase with Amara, the fawns...I wish I didn’t linger so much on how it all ended, Amara’s hand against me, burning into my skin. I barely remember what I said to her. I barely remember what she said to me—but it was no doubt accompanied by that infuriating laugh of hers as she left me on the ground to wither away.
There’s another stab of pain in my side that interrupts my thoughts and brings me back to some more pressing questions: Where am I? And how did I get here?
I look around the room. The bed I lie on is decently comfortable, made up of fur pelts on a wool-stuffed mattress. The ceiling above me is layered expertly in dark wooden shingles and the scent of the pine wood walls lingers throughout the space. Suddenly, my eyes zero in on various scrolls and papers littering a desk in the corner of the room. When I squint, I can just make out a language I don’t understand.
I raise myself onto an elbow, grunting from the movement. I can see my bow and quiver resting against the wall to my right, and turning my gaze, I see a single window that looks out upon a sea of trees and rays of moonlight. It seems like I’ve slept the day away.
“Hello?” My voice is scratchy from sleep, but I know that there’s more to it than that. Whatever Amara inflicted me with has something to do with it. I can still feel the leftover energy coursing through my body, gathering in my throat and lungs. Thankfully, somehow, the energy seems to be seeping back to the point of origin.
There’s no answer to my call, but as much as I’d like to get up and take my leave, my body is telling me that this bed will be my best friend for the foreseeable future. So, I huff and lie back down. I shift my head to the right so I can look down at my side, carefully pinching my tunic at the bottom to raise it up over the affected area.
“Shit.” I wince and shake my head at the stark red, swollen area of blisters that litter the surface of my skin. I graze my fingertips along the outer ring of the red patch and I have to bite my tongue to keep from crying out.
“Amara,” I spit out her name like it’s poison on my tongue and hold the soft material of my tunic in a white-knuckled grip. A fire deep within me roars to life, the burn growing fiercer the longer I stare at that venomous witch’s handiwork. I never expected to be on the other end of one of her attacks. Sure, we were never friends—but she’d never laid a hand against me like that until today.
Maybe it’s foolish to think something could have come out of our civil encounters and frustrating banter—her track record hasn’t exactly been stellar, according to the stories people murmur about in the taverns—but all of this? All for the act of obtaining the deer and fawns?
I don’t understand it, but it doesn’t matter. Whatever Amara is doing with those fawns can’t be good for anyone, and my mark was stolen. I’ll be going back to a very cranky, very disgruntled boss at the end of it all—with no money coming in, and it’s all because of her.
“I see you’re awake,” a voice calls in broken Elvish.
I jump, swiftly shoving my tunic back down to hide the wound. I whip my head up and stare at the figure in the doorway, raising an eyebrow at the dark brown eyes gazing back at me. The stranger has a patch of black hair on their head and thick, black eyebrows to match. I take the time to survey the rest of their figure, noting the slight hunch to their shoulders and their blue cloak that’s riddled with holes and tatters. Arms shrouded in a cloth of black runic shapes shift to reveal a wooden bowl in their hand. I peer into the bowl and see what looks to be a mysterious, rainbow concoction inside.
I say nothing in response, which causes them to tilt their head.
“Ah, yes, you’re probably very confused.” Their voice is light and tinny, grating my ears slightly. They walk further into the room and it’s instinct that makes me shuffle back a bit, or as much as I can while injured on a bed. I watch their movements carefully as they pull a wooden chair up to the side of the bed, placing the bowl on the small bedside table. They turn their eyes to me again and offer a smile. “Do you remember anything about what happened?”
I furrow my brows. Up close, I can see a series of scars on their neck that seem to be from a creature. Faded claw marks criss-cross along their throat, a pattern of chaos with clear intent to kill.
They clear their throat and it brings me back; I’d been staring so intently at the marks that I had neglected to answer their question. I take a minute to think, wary of this stranger and where I’ve found myself.
“Most of it. Before passing out, anyways,” I reply.
They hum and place their hand under their chin, as if looking to stroke a beard that isn’t there. Their hands are on the small side, but match their neck with a splash of tiny scars along their knuckles. Their nails are painted black, and I just now notice a pair of dangling jewelry, coloured like sapphires, on their small, rounded ears.
“You’re a Human,” I state. It’s odd to see them so far into the forest like this, as many of the humans choose to study at the Academies littered throughout the larger cities in the land, like the Fogreth School of Magics in Ushanta. Many of their species have made it difficult for others to live alongside them, but there are those that are welcoming when it comes to Elves and the like.
My hope is that this one will be the latter.
“What gave it away?” They say in jest, their smile turning into a lopsided smirk. “The ears or my terrible attempt at Elvish?”
They say this in their own language, called English, in an accent I’m unfamiliar with. I’d been learning English since I was a child. I’m not perfect at it, as Elvish was always my main source of communicating with my own people. However, I was always encouraged to learn other languages in the event I needed to communicate with others around Aramoor. It seems this is that moment.
“Both,” I say. They must be surprised by my knowledge of the language, because they raise both of their eyebrows.
They chuckle and shrug, reaching over to grab the wooden bowl from the table. “I’m working on it. I only just started learning properly a year ago.”
“Oh, right,” they say. “This is just something that can help the pain. I don’t know if the scarring will ever go away, but it might speed up the healing process. Don’t worry, it’s safe.”
I slowly raise myself onto an elbow again, wincing at the sharp streak of pain in my side. They frown at my state, but I continue to stare at the contents of the bowl.
“Tell me who you are first,” I demand.
They hesitate. Their eyes dart down to their lap. They seem to mull something over in their mind, biting their lip in the process. Eventually, they sigh and look me in the eyes as they say, “I was born with a different name. But I would like to be called Vyn.”
“Vyn.”
They nod.
“No surname?” I press a bit more, searching their eyes.
“I don’t think that’s important right now,” Vyn says, shaking their head. They clear their throat and once again try to get me to take the bowl.
“How did you find me?” A feeling of uncertainty wells up in my gut; I’ve been given no proper answers, aside from a potentially fake name since we’ve begun talking. It's about time I understand just how I got here after my fight with Amara.
“Well,” Vyn tilts their head back and puffs their cheeks, twisting their mouth as they stare at the ceiling. “I was searching for plants out in the forest for new recipes, when I stumbled upon a clearing where I found you slumped over. You were…practically unconscious, raving about deer and fawns. I rushed to your side, but that’s when you fully collapsed.”
“And you carried me here?” I interject in disbelief.
“Mm, not me,” Vyn replies. “I have a much stronger…friend that took care of that.”
“Where…is here, exactly?”
“Well, that’d be—”
“You’re in Daekrahm Village, friend.” A completely new voice jumps into the mix, with a stronger accent than Vyn, but no doubt the same. Both Vyn and I flinch and look to the doorway of the room.
“Treasa.” Vyn’s tone is biting as they scramble off their chair, whirling on the intruder. “I was handling it.”
The intruder—Treasa—rolls her eyes and crosses her toned arms that are left on display from where the sleeves of her tunic cut off. Her hair is a wild red mane, framing her freckled face in curls and waves.
“I’m sure you were.” Treasa grins and wanders closer, while my body tenses at her approach. She barely spares me a glance as she takes Vyn’s face into her hands. She stares straight into their eyes and says, “Lighten up, beloved.”
Oh.
Oh.
Vyn clenches their jaw for a moment and shakes their head, jostling the hands on their face. The two engage in a conversation through their eyes and seem to forget I’m even there. I watch silently until I find my eyes wandering to Treasa. More specifically, the ear poking out from underneath her hair.
Pointed, like mine.
“You’re an Elf?” I blurt out, ruining their moment.
Both sets of eyes look down at me. Panic flashes in Vyn’s eyes at my discovery. Treasa, on the other hand, smiles again and lets go of Vyn’s face, scratching her cheek.
“Half-Elf,” she replies.
It catches me off guard, but the longer I look at her, the more I realize that most of her traits are human-like, save for the pointed ears. Elves, like me, have pointed ears, of course. But alongside that, we tend to have darker hair, and much to my chagrin, tend to be a bit shorter than the average human. We stand at an absolute maximum of 5’5 , and although we can build muscle, it’s usually not a priority for many of us. Except for hunters.
Treasa? She’s everything opposite.
“I…see,” I say, desperately trying to find something more substantial to add.
Many believe that we should never intermingle like this, should never interact romantically or…sexually with others outside of our respective people. My family’s views on this were passed down to me when I was younger; they believed this line of thinking had grown outdated. But the risk that these two are taking by doing this…
I don’t say anything. Rather, I just nod at them both once, which seems to relieve some stress from both of their tensed shoulders. I’m unsure why my opinion matters so much to the both of them—we’re not friends—but I won't dwell on it for too long. I clear my throat and get back on track, looking over at Treasa.
“Daekrahm Village. I’ve only heard of it in passing. Why did you take the time to bring me here? And…what happens now?”
“My beloved can explain the first part,” Treasa says, “but I actually came here to talk about the second part. If they,” Treasa gestures to Vyn, who sports a childish pout, “haven’t scared you off yet, there’s been news. We’ve noticed you’re a hunter.” She points to my bow and my quiver against the wall. “And we need one.”
“What for?” I ask, intrigued.
Treasa takes a breath and sits down in the chair that Vyn had occupied before. She looks into my eyes.
“What do you know about Amara the Witch?”