The Eelinad Princess

The Eelinad girl clapped her hands as she twirled, delighted with herself. A mane of light, sometimes silver and others gold, spun with her. “I am clever!”

Pinching her lips in disapproval, her mother lowered the velvet spined volume and raised a brow. “Cleverness ceases to impress when it is not governed by self-control.”

Clear as crystal and shaped like diamonds, two youthful eyes fastened on her mother in protest. “But I don’t want to impress anyone. I just wanted to beat the riddle.”

This time, her mother couldn’t hide her smile. “Esella, if you are to rule one day, you must learn—”

The peace of the Sasali evening broke as a man threw open the white iron doors. Three fires, each crackling on a different hearth, cast iridescent flickers of orange and red on the man’s metal armor. His burly chest billowed even further when he caught sight of his daughter, barefoot and curtsying.

“Esella.”

She rose, nobility in the small gesture as she straightened her posture and met his level gaze. “Yes, Father?”

He checked his tone. Even as a child, she had that gentleness that compelled him to pause and speak softer. A youth, he reminded himself. No longer a child, but not quite a woman. Maschiach be praised for that. “Your mother and I would like to ask you something.”

Esella dipped her thin chin, her cheeks, paler with each winter day, crimsoning. The sapphire color melded in her irises glistened like a wave bathed in sunlight.

He smiled. He’d lived among Eelinads long enough to know their eyes were their greatest tells. The ever-changing shades and colors often betrayed more truth than they realized. Perhaps if he’d been one of them, it would not strike him as so obvious. But he did notice. And hers spoke of anticipation.

“You are nearing your fourteenth decade,” Esella’s mother smiled at her daughter. “Another ten years and you will be a woman as you know, free to choose the life you want. Free to truly pursue queenship or walk away from your birthright.”

Esella’s irises flashed like thunderclouds at the suggestion.

Bouldrin smothered a laugh. She was his daughter after all, despite his doubts about nobility springing from a commoner’s blood.

Beadristel noted with pride her daughter’s reaction. Though she could not imagine being a queen herself, she knew the Words spoken about Esella. She knew, though she zealously guarded her daughter from finding out, what she would become if she chose it. Even prophecy must bow to free will, but she no longer doubted her daughter’s character.

That did not make her request any easier. “We do not want you to make your choice unprepared.”

Esella stepped around the long, knee-heigh table to approach her mother. “You’ve poured everything into me. Both of you, and I’m ready. I will not disappoint either of you. I promise.”

Beadristel flared her nostrils. “You’re too quick with your oaths. I do not accept it, and if your father’s smart, neither will he.” She fixed a stare on his impassive face.

He nodded. “I do not accept it. You forget a ruler is as subject to failure as any.”

Esella’s brow hardened into stone. Stuffing her nose into the air, she remained petulantly silent.

Her mother bit her tongue. This little spat was doing nothing but holding up the real issue. “Esella, there is more to ruling than your training can give you. You know many things, but great leaders are not born from delicacy. They are made by tests to prove their courage. Will you allow us, in your best interest, test you in preparation to rule? Will you forgo your comfort for uncertainty?”

Esella nodded, and, beneath the suspense written in drawn cheeks, Beadristel saw a flicker of relief.

Her heart warmed. She was a wise child. But it was only the beginning. “Go. Dress. Wear something that’ll cover you well and not betray your identity. You leave with your father in the morning, and it is a long, long journey.”

***

As the moonlight danced on Esella’s marble floor, she shivered. Bundled in layers of commoner’s clothing, she pressed her bony knees into her chest. “I must go. It’s the only way.” The ache in her chest only grew at the words. A shifting in the air made the hairs of her neck prickle. She scanned the bedroom. The silk curtains around her bed flapped with a breeze. Neatly arranged, shelves of books and notebooks nestled between intricate casings. A tapestry of a woman dancing among stars stretched from floor to ceiling, growing brighter and more detailed as the eye ascended. Women of nobility had weaved it at her birth. They’d based it off the Words spoken over the child to come. Over the one who would judge their city as queen. Over her. How empty those Words made her feel.

Alone on the tower bedroom floor, she shouldn’t have started at every shift in the wind or hoot from the city’s owls. But she did.

Resting her chin on her folded knees, she sighed. The leather boots weighed down her feet as though inlaid with gold. But the worn black material was anything other than valuable. “That’s what makes them perfect.” She rubbed her thumb along the toe. A tear dripped onto her finger. Tugging the cowl of her cloak over her head, she thanked Maschiach for the light snowfall. Even on a sunny day, few would have been able to spot the crying princess so high up. Without the frozen veil and night’s darkness, however, she didn’t feel safe from judging eyes.

Allowing a small breath, she scooted to the unrailed opening, spanning four feet and arching over her at twenty. She dangled her feet over the ledge, enjoying the thrill that made her sorrow slip out of focus.

Snow covered the elegant city like icing. The pointed, tiered buildings clustered in triangles, squares, and octagons. Between them, staircases, some on the ground and others above her, flowed like a million white brooks. The silver, map-like sight made her remember a spiderweb she’d seen walking early one morning. It’d stormed the night before, yet the industrious owner had risen before the sun to rebuild what nature broke. “The resilience forced by nature. That’s what mother wants me to find in this, I suppose.” Wrestling against exasperation, she looked to the stars, for which she was named. Obscured by the downy flakes and dark clouds, they could offer no comfort.

A man’s voice made her yelp and roll backwards. On her feet, she held a dagger aloft, unsure of where to point it.

A shadow emerged from the opening where she’d just sat. “Bouldrin sent me. It is time to go.”

Pride made her jut out her chin as she sheathed the weapon. Heart still pounding, she forced a calm voice. “You climbed my tower?”

“It is the first test. We are to climb down together.” He held out his hand in a gesture of peace.

Stepping back, she searched the tall shadow for something familiar. It was her duty to study the people she would one day rule. To know why they acted as they did. What made them hope, fear, or rejoice. After a lifetime here, few had missed the intensity of her scrutiny. But this one, she did not know. She only knew she hated him. He’d seen her cry, and she didn’t even know his name. Calculating and direct, his manner created an impervious wall. One that blocked her from her father’s plan. The plan he already knew. They’d left her out. And worst of all, they expected her to climb the tower in the snow.

Sensing her hesitancy, he gestured once again to their exit. “I will go first and show you what to do. Do not fear. I will not let you fall.”

Holding in something between a laugh and a snarl, she slipped her pack over her shoulders. He disappeared over the edge.

The descent marked the second most terrifying event of her life, but when she reached the ground, her anger had diminished like the night at dawn. She stared up at the tower for a moment, the mist clouding the upper half. Despite the chill, sweat soaked the neck of her tunic and back.

Intent on the gliding shadow of the stranger, she followed him to where her father waited with three horses. A half-smile showed Bouldrin’s relief as they approached.

“As you’ve already experienced, daughter, this is going to be different.”

Esella nodded, stowing the temptation to ask for a destination. Something in her father’s demeanor told her he would not answer.

He beckoned her forward. “Do not ask for details. Ride close at my side, and when it is time for you to know the next part of our journey, you will know.”

“Yes, Father.”

For three cold, long, days, they rode hard as if determined to leave the snow behind. At night, they camped under trees. Esella slept little, haunted by the hooting of owls that reminded her of home. Finally, halfway between Elanethel and Elium, they found life beyond the passing wild animal or single traveler.

The Boulern people lived in thatch-roofed dwellings that spanned the snowy prairie for hundreds of acres. It had been nearly 200 years since Bouldrin had visited his people, yet they remembered his father’s strength and skill in breeding animals.

Esella slowed her horse, falling in line between her father the Eelinad. She still knew little about him, except that he was half-human like herself and had wandered far, hence his name. Wanderer.

She soaked in the stretching farmland before her. It was ugly, and the people walked stooped, their bodies accustomed to bending with the plough. She saw no water, yet acres of large, chestnut colored rectangles quilted the flatlands. Rows of upturned dirt mixed with snow crossed each patch. Beasts, more monstrous than any she’d ever seen, pulled the triangular plows guided by the Boulern people. They snorted and stomped forward. When they tossed their massive heads, it shook the whole plough, but the pushers didn’t seem to mind. Underneath their curly, bushy coat, monstrous bodies strained to drag the heavy machinery. Their drooping eyes, wide and brown like an owls, drifted lazily over the riders as they passed. Thick horns curled outwards five feet on each side. Their shoulders alone reached over the heads of the men, and the people were not short. Even for humans.

“Esella.” Her father called as they stopped in front of one of the thatch-roof huts. It didn’t quite reach six feet, a hard prospect for her two tall escorts. Even shorter in width, she tilted her head at her father in question. “Is this where we’re staying?”

He nodded. “Dismount.”

She obeyed, and they entered the space together. A bug skittered across the empty dirt floor.

“We will sleep here.”

She nodded, but disappointment weaved its way through her chest. Determined to shake it off, she spoke. “Yes, Father.”

“You will help train the Xilyions. Those are the beast you saw pulling the ploughs. You are to learn from these people. They are tough, and they have survived here hundreds of years even though the ground is hard, and the winters long and brutal.”

She scrunched her brow, remembering the working men outside. “Why are they plowing in winter time? You can’t plant.”

“The Xilyions must be exercised all year round. And it softens the ground for when planting time does come.”

“So, they don’t get a season of rest?”

“The Boulern do not like rest.” Her father’s furrowed brow straightened, and he beamed. “They are men, tamers of the monstrous Xilyions and builders of this place and many like it. They do not waste time on frivolities, but only what is needed.”

She nodded. One look at their lifestyle had told her as much. “What do you think of them?” She addressed Wanderer.

Looking up, he studied her until she regretted speaking. “They’re stout. In body and spirit.”

“And?”

He shook his head. “That’s all.”

She sighed at them both as though it were obvious. “They’re joyful.”

Both brows of her father went up, and a smile tugged at Wanderer’s impassive expression.

“We passed three men. All doing back breaking work in bone-chilling weather, one with holes in his boots and two without cloaks, yet all of them were humming or whistling when we went by. And when they looked at us, they did not stare at me like some of the men we have traveled by. They smiled politely and dipped their hats like noblemen.”

Her father didn’t seem to know what to make of this speech, as he only grunted.

Wanderer left the hut, but a true smile now made his brown cheeks ball.

***

Esella hooked her arm underneath the baby Xilyion’s furry brown nose and lifted. It cried in protest, but once its dry lips found the hefty bottle, it sucked contentedly. She sighed. Everything ached. She’d fed over two hundred of the fuzzy, blockheaded creatures. They bumbled about their stalls like their wide eyes didn’t work, bumping and bruising her with their rock-like shoulders and sharp hooves.

But she liked their bushy curls and oval noses, and their fat lips that wrapped around her arm when they missed the nozzle of the bladder-bottle.

“Please, Gil. I have no other friends.”

The pleading tone made her start. The stable, which provided the animals with better housing than they received in their huts, had only a single window in each stall door. Between its metal bars, she caught sight of two passing men, both gray haired.

“A beast is not a friend. I am sorry, but debts must be paid. I can’t break the order of things. Not even for you, old friend. I’m sorry.”

“Please. My family is gone. If I do not have Masil, I have no one.”

Esella’s heart pounded. Debts did need to be paid. To say different would be to give into the tugging at her heart. A tug of pity. The kind of emotion a queen must crush to lead. It was his own fault for spending more than he could pay, and attachment was not a valid reason to keep the beast.

Sobs could be heard now. Shaking her head, she returned to her work. She couldn’t stand a man who cried.

That night, she collapsed onto the hut floor without a second thought of her goose-feathered mattress. Exhaustion sunk her into a dreamless sleep. Before daylight, Wanderer shook her awake. “Come. Something’s happened.”

Yawning, she rose. Still dressed in all her layers— the hut wasn’t much protection against the cold— she nearly stumbled over her father.

“Do not wake him.” Something like fear noted Wanderer’s tone. “He would not like you seeing this, but, if you are to rule, you need to know all of real life. Even the worst.”

Silent, they went out into the dark.

Flickers of orange dotted her vision. She blinked. A half-circle of torch bearers surrounded a fat oak tree, and from its grandfatherly limb, an old man hung, his gray hair just visible in the moonlight.

It was the indebted man she had seen before. Gasping, she stepped back into Wanderer. He steadied her with a hand on her shoulder. “He was crippled last year.” Wanderer’s grim voice made her heart tighten. “Unable to plough or harvest, his family suffered and died from starvation. He had only a Xilyion left, and he had to sell it to pay his debts. With no one left, he hung himself.”

“Why didn’t anyone help him?” As soon as the words left her lips, she realized how hypocritical they made her. Stiffening, tears flowed from her eyes. She wiped them away quickly.

“You should cry.” Wanderer tightened his grip on her shoulder, more for his own sake it seemed. She looked up at him. He stared at the corpse like it was his own brother. “It is good to be tough. It is good to be strong. But it is good so that you may help your neighbor. The Bouldern are so-called because their name means rock-strength. But I will call them Bouldfur, rock-heart, for they lack compassion.”

She fixed her eyes on the dead man’s feet, unable to see that face. The one she may have saved. The one she’d scorned. Shame pressed her in till her heart writhed as though looking for space to take its next beat. Frustration burned, too. He’d been weak to give up.

Yet, how many would stand strong under loss like his? How could she, who had so much, say? Her inadequacy as future queen has never seemed so obvious.

Fear clawed at her gut. Her dry throat swelled until she could no longer breathe. Opening and closing her mouth, she gasped for air, but none came. “I can’t…” she gritted her teeth, willing her heart to steady. She had to confess. The compulsion flooded her veins, but terror tied her tongue. As her body screamed for oxygen, she shook and stared, unable to move.

“Esella!” Wanderer’s commanding tone whipped her back to herself.

Gulping, the fresh air flooded her lungs. The sudden release made her knees knock together. “I knew.” Tears fell afresh. Too miserable to care, she told her story, omitting nothing.

Tight-lipped, Wanderer met her gaze with a level look. “This is not your fault. This is life. You will be a good queen, Esella, if you learn from it. If you have rock strength without a rock heart.”

Gaping, she wondered how such simple words could give so much peace. Doubt immediately swept the feeling away. “But I didn’t do the right thing.” She remembered the tapestry at home. The Words spoken over her destiny. The gap between the woman of the prophecy and the girl she felt herself to be deepened.

“No. But you learned. And sometimes that is better. This is just the beginning.”

• A. Faith.