Stormchild: Emeline and the Forest Mage

Rise of the Last Apprentice: Sacrifice

'One last thing.'

The Mage's words burned in Denirya's bones. She trailed her knife along a stone surface in the Grù Forest. Rain drenched her hood and pattered on leaves around her. She did not mind a bit of rain, a fire burned inside her.

'I can have only one apprentice.'

Killing men was what she considered the lesser evil. The knife scraped and squealed against the rock. The trees rustled and whispered, the rain splished and plinged. She liked rain, she liked trees.

'You must kill Ajivr.'

Men were scum one and all. Pigs and scum, even Ajivr. True, Ajivr seemed gentler than the men who had raped her, but it was just a façade. The fat man had seemed nice at first too. She quenched the thoughts and gripped the hilt of her knife tighter before the memories could resurface. Beyond the boulder sprawled an open field hacked out of dense forest greenery. Grassy, with a fire pit in the middle.

'He cannot live another day; the Blood and flesh Art is forbidden.'

Denirya relished the thought of her blade splitting his skin. Past the fire pit sat handsome Ajivr, head in his hands. Tears would not save him. The fire in her bones raged. Shadow concealed her, no twig snapped beneath her toes.

'Warrior, be like the Sheia, silent in movement.'

For Mama, this man would die. The knife gleamed above his head. It seemed the rain paused, quieted. Did even the forest await Ajivr's death? She marveled that his one transgression could be so expensive--it seemed this 'Blood Arts' was a dire thing. Ajivr looked up at her with tears of blood spilling down his cheeks and green liquid leaking from his cracked eyes. Suddenly the sharp green of his eyes made sense, eyes as green as those could not occur naturally. They must have had something to do with being an apprentice to a Mage.

'I knew you would come,' he said, 'I did the same.'

Of course he had; there can only one apprentice. So he'd killed the apprentice before him. 'So what?'

'I won't fight you,' he said, 'It's no use.' Morbid, he held empty hands to the air. 'My arts are taken.' His voice broke at the end, swallowed by sobs.

'You will not suffer long,' she said.

The man seemed not to notice her words. 'I was in Skävia when I did it.'

Sheia spare her. She rolled her eyes. The black hood of her cloak was pasted to her head and her blonde hair hung in tendrils down her shoulders. Though drenched to the bone, she didn't shiver.

'You should know the Mage commanded that I kill him.' Guilt riddled his voice.

Denirya frowned. The Mage had commanded he kill the previous apprentice? Well, that was nothing strange, he'd commanded it this time too after she had vowed service to him so his words would burn in her until she had obeyed. 'Why should I care?' Rain dripped from her blade.

'The knife slid so easy into his chest,' he said, 'the bones scraping, blood washing his life away.' His eyes were far away, looking at the forest as if it were another place. For a second she imagined him piercing another apprentice's heart, blood pouring over his hands, but then the Mage's words throbbed inside her bones, urgent and impatient.

She crouched and put the blade to his throat.

'He was your father Denirya, Al'Sheeri Houik, the one whose tail you wear.' The rain had washed Ajivr's face clean and he looked up at her with virgin eyes, eyes no longer tainted green with the Forest's power.

The thumping and breathlessness returned. 'Papa?' She pressed the knife against his skin so it bulged, slid the blade so his skin broke. Blood soaked her numb hands, diluted by the rain she could no longer hear.

'Remember.' The strength faded from his voice, and he whispered, 'The Mage commanded it.'

Death clouded his eyes, blue eyes she realized, lowering his head to the earth where his blood pooled.

'A sacrifice for Mama.'

Burning bloomed at the corners of her eyes, the color of the Arts of the Magii bleeding into them. A yearning to obey every word the Forest Mage Kijs Magt spoke overwhelmed her, as if the fire she had felt before had been nothing but a spark. But deeper than that insatiable urge lay an anger of the kind that is cold and calculating.

The Mage had commanded it, had taken Papa from her.

The rain's cool kiss on her skin seemed less like tears of loss and more like the blood of vengeance. For now she bowed to the Mage's will, but a day would come. Her fists tightened on the knife's hilt. A day darker than the Blood Moon's curse, and nothing would save him then, not even his power.

P.S. Right, so that's the end of the glimpse into Denirya's past. Thoughts folks? You like her more or less now? What about the Mage? Thanks for reading, voting and commenting. You're awesome-sauce!

Oh, and please please give me some constructive feedback on the future of this short story. I intend to include it in future in one of the three Stormchild books that will one day subsist from this exercise. As with many famous fantasy books, Denirya will be one of the primary POVs of this future book. I would like to know, would you want to see Denirya right at the beginning of the books (book one, first section) as would be correct according to timeline, or would you want to see her story somewhere else, not correlating to a specific timeline but more to character-by-character events? Am I making sense here? Anyway, hope you guys get my meaning. Please let me know.

Also, few new chapter coming up in the following weeks thanks to the motivation of NaNoWriMo. yayy