White rose petals fell from the sky as I sang. The elf took my hands, her alabaster hair billowing in the wind.
“Do not stop singing, precious one,” she told me.
Who was this woman with dark copper skin and lavender eyes, dressed in a silver robe?
Life bloomed in the dead forest, a rush of color painting everything around me. The trees were rich and green and tall, a gathering of oak, birch, and ash. A line of blackberry bushes cut across the clearing, elves in silver robes picking them, filling baskets.
What the hell?
I couldn’t ask any questions, only sing my favorite lines repeatedly as shards of memory landed. Not mine, hers, showing me her story.
Her name was Caer, the deity of elves. Provider of elven magic, our representative in Heaven, and one of the four deities for each of the races of the world.
The others were Fenrir for the werewolves, Melusine for the merfolk, and Aidan for the humans/mages.
My heart twinged with sorrow, my head a place for a hundred drills. Was this a trick? Was all this some evil spell to yank the rug out from under me? It had to be. There was only one deity, and that was Aidan.
What does this mean?I thought, tears streaming down my cheeks.
Aidan. My Aidan. He couldn’t… This couldn’t…
Stop!I chided myself. I had to wait and watch, not resist. Then I’d rage about everything after.
“I’m sorry you are hurting, precious one,” Caer said tenderly. “But you must see the truth to understand, so we can begin.”
Only Aidan is the truth…
…and he tried to kill me.
No, that wasn’t him. A decoy, a liar, a dirty scumbag with a bag of tricks I wouldn’t be falling for.
What happened to not resisting?
Caer released my hands as white roses grew throughout the clearing. She snapped a thorny stem from a bush, holding the flower up to her face and breathing deeply.
I kept singing, details inscribing on my mind.
This clearing was called the Carving Glade, part of the Summer Forest that formed the entire southern region of the Elf Domain. A lot of the central parts of the forest had been felled to build Glimmer City, a metropolis of glass and stone, and the capital city of that domain.
But the Carving Glade remained, protected by Caer. It was where the rune disks were carved by her chosen elves. Her gift of magic would flow into them, and they would draw on the energy of the forest to summon wood to their hands. Then they’d carve the disks for the Druid elves to use, writing the runes onto the wood with blackberry ink.
The spells could only be used one at a time, but the same spell could be re-carved and rewritten to use again.
Carvers and Druids. Two types of elves working together under the care of their deity to defend their territory.
Back then, in the ancient days of Quintrealm, war broke out between the domains all the time. The deities usually started it, getting petty over borders and power. Playing with their creations like pieces of a board game.
But no country won, everything ending the same way each time. No land grabs, too many dead, and then a period of peace to rebuild before the next war played out.
What a messed-up time to live.
There were hopes to bring about a unified world, the deities constantly holding meetings in Heaven to broker a deal. But there were too many big personalities in the clouds, and nothing substantial would ever come out of those meetings.
I sang on, confused out of my mind, hurting from the Aidan shock.
One day, Aidan made a discovery in the Hinterlands—an untamable country no deity could get their hands on due to its volatile landscape and climate.
The memories went a little wonky then. I heard Silvanus release a sigh from the other side of the clearing. He was sharing this with me, his memories blending with mine in a melting pot of remembrance.
