The Tears of Kas̆dael

The mood in Arallû had never been higher. Aphora had known how much her people struggled with the perpetual twilight of the mystical caverns - how much she had mourned the loss of the celestial bodies - but she had underestimated just how much it had affected them until Selene had graced them with her hypostatization.

The elves had quickly come to call the new divine splinter the Lady of the Hidden Heavens, and her temple had been filled with new supplicants day after day.

The benefits were not limited to mood alone. The gentle light of the hidden moon had caused their crops to flourish, growing faster and better than they had when nurtured only by the strange lavender light of the caverns. Tentative attempts to introduce crops that normally required sunlight had even proved mildly successful, producing vegetables that, while not the equal of their sun-nourished brethren, provided a welcome diversity to their meals.

The boost in fertility was not limited to their crops. Perhaps this was nothing more than a side-effect of the people’s happier mood, but the introduction of the Lady of the Hidden Heavens coincided with a sudden boom in pregnancies amongst both the elves and the Fey. It was too early now to tell if that was a long-term trend, or simply the result of the raucous, drunken celebrations of the temple dedication, but Aphora took it as a good omen, not to mention a necessary development if their little community hoped to do more than merely survive.

With a sigh, she cleared her mind of those thoughts and forced herself to focus on the task at hand. The small goblet she was hovering over was already partially filled with a pale blue liquid. She crushed dried yarrow, wormwood, and calendula together, grinding it with the mortar and pestle until it was nothing but a fine powder and mixed it into the drink.

Picking up the goblet, she walked over to her bedroom window, and stared out at the little settlement. Much had changed in the year they’d been there; almost all of the rundown ruins of the destroyed Fey town had been either restored like new - or better than new, as Aphora privately thought, judging the elves’ craftsmanship to be superior to that of the Fey - and what couldn’t be restored had been torn down.

Her own villa had been meticulously restored and while it could not compare to the luxury of the one she possessed in Gis̆-Izum, it was still the nicest building in the city and the de facto seat of the government, as the young Fey had proven unable to stand as a true peer.

Her pride and joy, aside from the temple, was the gardens around the villa, which featured a well-blended mix of Arallû’s own unique foliage, and the seeds she had brought with her. Many of the plants could only be sustained with essence, but she had made the sacrifice, and as she stared at the burgeoning community around her, Aphora couldn’t help but feel a touch of pride. After dedicating most of her life to trying to restore the past, it felt good to finally focus on the future.

The future. Her determination wavered as she glanced down at the goblet she was holding. Turning away from the window, she placed the goblet on the desk undrunk and left the room. She was almost late for a meeting anyway.

“Oomph.” The girl grunted lightly as she slammed into the rock face. As soon as her foot had left the ground, she’d realized she misjudged her jump. If she was a bit heavier, the force of catching the ledge around her midsection might have cracked a few bones, but the girl still had the lightness of youth, and gripping on tightly, she pulled herself onto the top of the ledge with little more than bruised pride.

Hopping to her feet, she dusted off her hands and took in the view. The settlement stretched out beneath her, nestled into a low patch of ground that hugged the shores of the lavender sea. The waves twinkled softly as they crashed against the grey sands far below her, and hanging far above it all was the pale, almost bluish, moon which had appeared a few months ago, after the celebration in the temple. After the settlement came a mile or two of dense forests, before reaching the cliff she had just clambered up.

The cliff was certainly no Grand Canyon, but to Qas̆pa it might as well have been, and she surveyed her conquest proudly before turning to explore the new lands - for this was farther than she had ever wandered before.

Beside her, a tranquil creek meandered across the cliff top. She’d seen the creek a hundred times before - from the thin waterfall that tumbled down the shale cliffs into the lavender waters, but this was the first time she’d managed to get close to it.

She splashed merrily in the water, using her essence to toss sparkling waves cascading through the air as she trounced up the creek. A few fish darted between her feet, their scales sparkling a pale green and yellow, and she paused to look at them. As she did, her foot slipped on an uneven rock and she tumbled in the crick, getting thoroughly wet.

Scampering back to her feet, the girl cried out with delight when she spotted the creature her misadventure had dislodged - a small black crayfish that scurried unsuccessfully toward a new hiding place. She snatched it up, deftly avoiding its claws and played with it for a few minutes. She would have kept the creature, but she wasn’t done exploring the new area and she knew she couldn’t keep it alive, so reluctantly she finally let it dash back into hiding.

Qas̆pa slowly meandered up the river, getting deeper and deeper into the woods on the top of the cliff, which proved to be far larger than she had guessed. I wonder if Limmy has been this far? After a moment’s thought, she decided that he had probably had; Qas̆pa had watched the elven scouts hunt in the forest times and couldn’t help but be a little bit envious of their speed and grace, even if her mother told her that envy wasn’t nice.

She had wandered far from the sight of the cliff when she spotted the first strange tracks in the mud. The forests around their settlement had fewer animals in them than the ones she was used to back home; there were no wolves or lions to worry about, nothing save for a healthy population of miniature deer and wild goats.

But these tracks clearly didn’t belong to any of those. With just three toes, she might have attributed them to some unknown species of bird, but the depth with which the tracks had sunk into the mud suggested they’d been made by something far heavier. Her playfulness temporarily set aside, Qas̆pa scanned the bushes for any signs of lurking beasts.

The tracks led off into the scraggly underbrush beneath the trees, and she spotted a tuft of grey fur clinging to the edges of a broken brush, but there was no sign of movement. Shrugging it off, Qas̆pa headed to the other side of the river, just in case the beast had slipped her attention and continued her trek. Just a little longer.

She’d continued another fifteen minutes before she realized something was wrong. It was anything she could see or hear, no matter how many times she glanced over her shoulder. Instead, it was the water that warned her. Despite not being able to hear anything over the gurgling of the stream, she could feel vibrations, the whisper of the stream in her ear.

With her heart beating wildly, she waded deeper into the creek, until the waters had reached well above her waist and, preparing her essence, waited for her unseen stalker.

The vibrations paused, perhaps made wary by her ability to sense it, and she raised a blade of water in a threatening motion. “Go away!” She screamed, though her little voice was swallowed up by the woods.

Everything was silent, and she began to believe she had frightened it off, when the vibrations suddenly returned. Faster and closer than before, they surged on a direct path toward her.

She flung the blade ahead of her and immediately plunged into the water. Qas̆pa had never planned to fight the beast, knowing it was likely far more powerful than her. Instead, she tried to perform the same trick she had back in her village. Reaching out to the spirit of the creek, she begged the waters to carry her away.

The stream swelled around her, the waters quickening like the rampage of a flash flood as it pulled her back toward the edge of the cliff and the sea waiting below, but her escape was not meant to be. Sharp claws pierced her grey skin as she was picked up and flung out of the water.

Whether by purpose or accident, her trajectory took her into the path of a tree, and she crumbled at its base with a cry of pain.

The creature had finally abandoned its attempt at stealth as it rushed at her, and her eyes struggled to interpret what she saw. Alternating between running on all fours and standing up like a man, the creature was covered entirely in grey fur, save for a space around its neck which seemed to have some sort of bony carapace. Its nose resembled that of the jungle creatures she seen in children’s stories, a long, swinging appendage that moved with a mind of its own, but its mouth was filled with the razor-sharp teeth of a predator.

Balling her little fist up, Qas̆pa called on the river and it answered her. Two long tendrils lifted from the water’s edge and, wrapping themselves around the creature’s legs, sent it crashing into the dust. A tug of war ensued, but the beast was stronger than she. Inch by inch, it crept closer as the water strained to hold it back until she could feel its fetid breath against her skin.

She stood frozen against the trunk, cradling her broken arm, and praying to the goddess.

A loud crack disturbed their struggle, and the beast howled in pain. Her control over the river collapsed as she ran out of essence, but the creature no longer cared about her. It writhed on the ground, rivers of blood pouring from its grey fur, as long silver strands shot back and forth through its body, never ceasing until the body stilled forever.

She whimpered as a pair of arms wrapped tight around her, nuzzling close to the warm chest of her mother.

“Qas̆pa,” Aphora sighed. “You were supposed to be in school! If I hadn’t had Tesha put a tracker on you, you could have died.”

She happily drank the sweet healing potion that was placed against her lips and groaned slightly as her bone popped back into place, before apologizing. “I’m sorry.” For a change, Qas̆pa actually meant it. She wasn’t remotely sorry for skipping school - the kids there sucked, and the teachers did little to address the frequent bullying, but she had no desire to ever - ever - encounter this beast again.

Her mother shook her head, amusement, worry, and disappointment fighting for control in her eyes. “You keep saying that, but you don’t mean it.”

Qas̆pa shook her head. “I won’t come here again,” she promised. “Well, not alone,” she hastily added. Despite the close call, she had loved playing in the creek and wouldn’t rest until Limmy agreed to bring her back.

“Is school really that bad?” Aphora asked. “Is it worth risking your life?”

She hung her head. Yes, the kids bullied her, but that wasn’t the only reason she skipped. She’d been used to a life of freedom back in the village; there was no mandatory schooling there, and save for the brief periods of planting and harvest, she’d been free to do what she wanted. The whole idea of school chafed at her, trapping her in a tiny room to study useless stuff about long-dead people and irrelevant topics. She wanted to practice her magic. To play. To explore.

“I’ll try,” she promised.

She could tell by the look in her mother’s eyes, the elf wasn’t convinced, but Qas̆pa held the promise in her heart. She would try. For real this time.