Accursed

By David E Page

The Valley of Refuge lies under a powerful curse. Those afflicted with it are seen with fear and revulsion. They are the accursed! But could there be more to the curse than anyone ever suspected? How did the elves and humans end up sealed in this valley?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Aug 9, 2016
• ISBN: 9781483578477

Book preview

Content

Prologue

The sun is nearly in position, Sire.

Pentuliel set down his quill, folded up the parchment, and handed it to the young serving boy at his left elbow. He sighed heavily as he turned from his small, oaken traveling desk and stared off into the southern landscape. He couldn’t believe that it had come to this. This could very well be the end.

Directly below his vantage point atop Mount Last Hope he could see beautiful forested hills, clear blue streams, and meadows strangely silent for mid-spring. His homeland lay beyond that – completely destroyed. The bright glow of flickering fires across the horizon would have frightened him, if he hadn’t known what was causing them.

Milord? inquired the elf dressed in leather dyed to blend in with the colors of the forest. He had a short sword belted to his waist, a compact bow at his side, and a small quiver strapped to his back. A small rose embroidered near his collar set him apart as a member of the Roseguard. They were trained to protect the elven council and to show no emotion, but a concerned expression was twisting at his mostly calm face.

Signal to the Garden Lords and the Thot Druids to prepare for…for the celebration. At the sound of Pentuliel’s melodious voice, the grass shone greener and a few small, but brilliant wild flowers bloomed at his feet. At the same time the Elven High Lord’s face glowed just a bit brighter than the sun alone should have made it.

The Roseguard straightened, taking strength from the confidence in his commander’s voice. He saluted and hurried off, followed by the serving boy, still carrying the letter.

Poor man. He has no idea what is happening. But High-Lord Pentuliel knew; he had known for more than twenty cycles, and it terrified him.

The earth was dying. They had discovered it decades ago. The peaceful nations sent ambassadors to the tower of Tzdekl in the land of the dwarves. The Dwarf Technician began the meeting talking about abstract subjects, such as core cooling and relative densities. After a while he proposed a solution: build a machine to travel to another world. He didn’t get very far. The protests were many and the words sharp as knives.

We should have listened. Pentuliel thought, remembering, and just like that, he was caught up in his memories.

Wait for me! the young elf panted, his short legs churning furiously. He ran up the hill and stopped next to the two older elven boys atop the hill. He bent over, hands on his knees, gasping.

"Now, Sladren, where is this thing that you saw floating in the sky?" Glather, the eldest of the three asked. Barely breathing hard, he turned his grey eyes on the elf beside him.

Sladren was scanning the horizon, his eyes peeking out from beneath a length of tousled, dark brown hair. "I’m telling you it was…there!" he shouted suddenly. His arm pointing at a black smudge just above the trees on the horizon. His freckled face flushed with excitement.

That? It looks like a normal old storm cloud to me. Nothing too exciting. Glather responded, squinting his eyes. Looks like another wild goose chase, doesn’t it, Tuli?

Pentuliel, who had caught his breath by now, nodded fervently. He adored his older brother. He’d do anything he asked him to. Sladren, their cousin, was prone to see things that weren’t quite real. Pentuliel remembered vividly the time they’d snuck into his grandfather’s chambers because Sladren was convinced that he’d seen a wraith slither beneath the door. They’d gotten in big trouble over that one; you couldn’t sneak into the high lord’s room and not expect repercussions. Not even if you were his grandson.

Life was simple for the three boys because elves didn’t really believe that rulers were any more important than common folk. True, the security around their family was a bit tighter, but they had no mansion or servants. Instead, their family lived off of the land like all self-respecting elves. The boys were free to roam the great redwood forest that was their home. That is, of course, after their chores were completed.

Sladren often tried to convince them of his outlandish tales, which young Pentuliel was all too ready to believe. Glather, on the other hand, was starting to have serious doubts about anything Sladren said.

"I’m telling you. When it was closer, it looked just like a flying bird, but there were people sitting inside it!" Sladren insisted.

Is that so? Glather cocked an eyebrow and folded his arms, Just like the Skithra you saw last month? Or the unicorn before that?

Sladren opened his mouth to speak, but just then there was a crash in the forest behind them. They spun to see a large redwood come crashing down to the forest floor. The ground shook violently and more trees began to fall as a fissure opened up in the valley below.

EARTHQUAKE! Glather bellowed pulling his cousin and little brother closer to him. All three boys shook with fear as trees fell. Cries of injured elves were cut off as the monolithic trees came crashing down.

Elves were streaming out of the forest now and reaching the open ground of the hills above. They watched in horror as their home was shaken to bits, unable to help their trapped loved ones until the earth’s anger abated.

Tuli wake up! Pentuliel jerked to attention and looked over to see Glather trying not to laugh. I know this bores you. He gestured toward the hall of bickering ambassadors, but we’re here to accompany father and we must act with the proper respect.

Right. murmured Pentuliel. He’d heard this advice upwards of fifteen times that day, but it was difficult as the council chambers were stiflingly hot and the early afternoon sun was beating down on his shoulders through the stained glass window depicting a dwarf inventing something-or-other.

To keep himself focused, Pentuliel fixed his eyes on the back of his father’s head. Slithwin was young for an Elf-Lord, just sixty-four cycles next month. He’d been given that responsibility on the fateful day of the earthquake when his father had died while trying to help his people get to safety. Slithwin had been every bit as good a ruler as his father for the last decade and a half. He was a point of stability for the elven people while they rebuilt their homes. His hair, loose about his shoulders was pure white; a clear demonstration of his great power.

They had come to this meeting as a last resort. The dwarves had their own brand of madness, that made trusting their ideas difficult. The elves had only agreed to come after it became clear that nothing that they had been doing was helping in preventing the natural disasters that had claimed so many lives. They needed help outside of the elven people.

CRASH! Suddenly, the thick, wooden doors at the far end of the hall burst open and a colossal figure lumbered into the room. He was almost nine feet tall, with eyes so black that it was impossible to say where the pupils gave way to opaque irises. His light-grey skin was stretched taut over a mountain of muscle. When he grinned at seeing the shock on the faces of everyone present, Pentuliel saw bits of putrid meat lodged between his rather pointy teeth. He walked calmly into the open area of the horseshoe-shaped hall and didn’t stop advancing until he stood directly in front of Slithwin and Farwain, the human Thot Mage.

Good afternoon, gentlemen. His guttural voice sounded like two rocks being scraped together and his breath, which rolled over the delegates, stank of spoiled meat and rage. I believe that a slight oversight was made with my invitation, or perhaps the courier got… He cleared his throat pointedly, …lost. Regardless, I have come upon a solution and am here to offer it. I propose that we recombine the Ashcraft and use it to make the Earth younger!

A few nervous laughs echoed out in the silence, but were quickly stifled.

Impossible! piped someone from the dwarven delegation.

Perhaps I should have been clearer. the figure growled. Suddenly he whipped out a long dagger and slit the Elf-Lord’s throat, letting his blood fall to the floor.

"Thy blood I free; thy force to me!" he cried, thrusting his hand into the wound. The blood lifted up in a whirlwind and shot straight into the creature’s chest and disappeared. Pentuliel’s father, white as snow, sank slowly from his chair. His sons rushed forward and caught him before he hit the ground.

The council began to react, but, because of their momentary shock at the violent attack, the monster had already moved to Farwain and spilled his blood onto the rough-hewn stones.

"Thy blood I free; thy force to me!" Again the blood funneled into the beast and the colorless corpse of the human leader fell to the floor. Then the monster turned toward the dwarven delegation. The chambers were in chaos, with some representatives fleeing, others amassing to attack, and still others frozen in grief or fear. Some attacks were launched at the monster, but were deflected by a glistening web of power expanding from his body.

Then the screams started.

Glather grabbed Pentuliel by the cloak, smashed the window, and threw his younger brother outside, jumping out after him. They fell into a rather large rosebush, crushing several newly-bloomed flowers and earning a myriad of cuts and scratches. Pentuliel fought his way free of the broken branches and half-stood. A vise-like hand clamped onto his wrist and Glather began to run, dragging his shocked brother behind him. They raced through the garden and out a side gate, dwarf alarms blaring. Pentuliel found it hard to see through the tears, but he was sure he heard others running and screaming around them.

Suddenly, an explosion knocked them off their feet and, for the first time, Glather lost his grip on his brother. Tiny bits of stone pelted them, while loud thuds told of larger pieces of masonry hitting the ground around them. Pentuliel rolled onto his back and was shocked to see that the tower of Tzdekl had broken apart and in its place was a pillar of intense light and heat.

What in Ashteil? marveled Pentuliel.

We’ve got to keep moving! snapped Glather, You’re the High Lord now! Glather was red-eyed, bleeding in several places, and covered in dust and dirt, but he was right. Normally, the burden of leadership fell to the oldest son upon the death of the elven ruler, but if he were murdered, the oldest was bound by oath to seek revenge. Thus the heavy mantle of responsibility was passed to Pentuliel.

Are you going to go back after him? Pentuliel picked himself up and followed his brother south at a jog.

Glather shook his head, "If that didn’t kill him, I certainly can’t. Besides we need to gather our people. You need to lead them to safety. You need to be- he stopped in his tracks as he choked back tears. You need to be like father!"

Pentuliel gripped his brother’s arm and, together, they ran away from the destruction and the strange pillar of fire.

And here we are; the last survivors of the elven and human races: caught like fish in a slowly evaporating pond. Pentuliel looked north at the low valley below him. The last ten cycles of his life had been spent gathering his people and searching for a refuge. They had chosen this site because of the tall mountains that ringed it entirely. It was, in fact, impossible to see the outside world, except from the peaks of the closely packed mountains. The valley was also ideal because of its sheer size: hundreds of square miles of the rolling plains that the humans loved so much and an almost equal amount of the thick forests favored by his people. A huge ravine, almost a mile wide at its center, divided the valley through the middle.

Pentuliel, I’m not sure this will work. A man of twenty, dressed in a humble brown tunic, had appeared holding a large mirror. "It’s a good plan, but this is untested ground and there are a lot of variables. We don’t even know exactly what will happen."

"Haidson, it will work." Pentuliel murmured.

How do you know? If it doesn’t what’ll happen? What ramifications haven’t we considered? And what if it is successful? I don’t like where it’ll leave our people if it works.

"It’s more than a good plan; it’s our only plan and our only hope. The Elf-Lord paused and inquired delicately, You took care of Heyden’s library?"

Yes we’re certain that we got it all. replied the Thot Mage tersely, adjusting the mirror on a tripod, He almost caused a rebellion. Why is it so important?

You were the first to suggest that the sacrifice be complete. Pentuliel said softly.

Down in the valley, sixteen-cycle-old Setuthlin threw a folded letter to the ground and cried in dismay. He dashed to the door and, wrenching it open, ran out into the forest. At the first clearing that he reached, he looked up. He was too late; every mountaintop was pulsing with light. He didn’t notice, but the crystal windows of the cabin behind him began to let off a dull gleam through the trees. At the same time, the crystal in the celebration necklace he wore glowed, as did every other in the valley. Setuthlin began to climb Mount Last Hope, thanking Ashteil that he’d been in Heyden’s cabin halfway up the slope.

He arrived in time to see Pentuliel, his father, channeling light through Haidson, the human ruler. Haidson had a look of concentration on his face that almost seemed painful. Where in the Four Powers are they getting all that heat from? he half wondered, while trying to decide if interfering would save or kill them.

Then he saw it; the ravine was filling with water as it condensed from the cooling air. The few small streams and lakes in the valley began to overflow as the water fell from the cloudless sky. He started to feel light-headed. As he took two steps toward his father, he tumbled to the ground. The last thing he saw before passing out was his father catching fire.

Chapter 1

Lyrilia! The harsh voice stumbled in an attempt to say the beautiful name as tonelessly as possible. It came from the throat of Blithr, the heavy-set elf who ran the Grove Orphanage. Her jet-black hair was pulled back into a severe bun that made her pointed ears look like those of a wolf. What are you doing here?

What are you talking about? Said the young elf-maid. She tried to keep her hazel-colored eyes fixed on the grey ones that seemed to be boring into her soul, ferreting out lies. She felt her cheeks flush, but tried to maintain an innocent appearance. This was made difficult by both the large yellow sign, nailed to the fence just a few yards to her right, advising that the area was dangerous and off limits as well as the brown stains in her light-blue dress where she had knelt behind a bush to hide.

You know very well that the orchard is strictly off-limits to all but the best-trained elves, and only to those who don’t have… Her face darkened and a small, almost imperceptible, shiver ran down her spine, The curse! These last two words came out in a sort of strangled whisper and a deathly silence came over the orchard.

When Blithr regained her composure, the steely look in her eye returned and she fixed it on Lyrilia. Well?

Well…um…what with all the…excitement because of the festival and all, She invented quickly, "I…um…well, there are so many rules here and…um…I…kind of…forgot." she finished lamely.

Blithr glowered down at her. Straight to the dormitories, then! she snapped. Maybe some solitude will help you remember, next time! She grasped Lyrilia’s wrist and, with surprising strength, steered her through the golden apple trees toward the cold, grey walls of the city.

The rich smell of musty, ancient books filled Arsen’s nostrils. He loved the library’s back room. The high walls were invisible behind the shelves filled with the oldest books in the entire city. Because of the narrow, circular structure of the archive, the room had the feel of the base of a well. The air was heavy with knowledge and untold mysteries. Arsen longed to read even a few pages of the books that had been written just under five hundred years ago.

He didn’t dare touch them, however. These books were too delicate to be opened for mere curiosity. The public wasn’t allowed to enter the back room. The elven ancients decreed that this room should remain under lock and key except when the head librarian or his assistant came in to clean and preserve the books. Arsen doubted that most of the elves in the Grove even knew that this place existed.

The sun shone through a high window onto the floor, illuminating a column of sparkling dust motes. Arsen paused in the middle of it, looking up and absorbing the rejuvenating sunlight. The sunlight lit his reddish-blonde hair like fire. He took another deep breath of the history-laden air and resumed his cleaning.

As he finished sweeping the dusty floor and gathered up his cleaning supplies from the large table in the center of the room he felt a small arm slide into his. He jumped and whirled around to see a tall, thin elf girl smiling at him. Her long black hair framed her narrow face and her eyes shone a deep, soulful brown that always made him think of the worn leather covers of books.

Eletriss! He gasped, You can’t be in here!

I just wanted to surprise you! She said, a little surprised at his reaction.

I…well…just a moment… He snatched up his cleaning supplies and, pulling on her arm, marched the girl from the room. He released her arm and closed the heavy door, latching it tightly.

I’m sorry, Triss. He said, It’s just that…do you know what would happen if you were caught in there?

No. She was obviously still a little upset. "I don’t even see why that room is so important, it’s just another room full of books; this is a library, after all!"

Triss, Arsen explained, "That’s the archives. It’s full of the oldest books we have-the first written after the cursing. It’s forbidden!"

Triss’ hands went up to her mouth in horror. I didn’t…Arsen, you never…I wouldn’t have… She stammered in that adorable way she did every time she got worried.

He pulled her into his arms and shushed her. No one knows but us, and I couldn’t tell on you. Who would I take to the festival dance tonight if I did? You didn’t know. It’s not really a crime if you don’t know any better. I’m sorry; I just got a bit of a shock back there.

Again he marveled at the fact that this beautiful girl liked him. They had met ten years earlier when he’d been sent by his father to collect an overdue book about oak trees from Lyrilia at the orphanage. Eletriss was being brought to live at the orphanage and was walking up the stone steps just as Arsen walked out, talking over his shoulder to Lyrilia. He had slammed right into her and knocked her down the steps. His face had burned with shame, and he quickly helped her up. Once he saw that she was unhurt, he ran away, ears crimson. Over time he had befriended her and just last year they had started dating.

He leaned his head back still holding her and tried to cheer her up. Let’s go outside. The celebrations are going to start soon! Together they walked out into the bright city streets.

Lyrilia entered her room and closed the door behind her. The evening sun’s rays slanted in from the one window in the small room. It was in the wall opposite the door and it was a little too big for the tiny room; a few inches of window sill hung over both of the narrow beds on either side of the room.

At the foot of each bed was a trunk with just enough space between it and the wall for a person to stand in front of it and rummage through the contents. The room itself was made of huge stone bricks except for the sloping roof of wood that, at its lowest point, almost touched the top of the window.

The two beds were identical, except that one had crisp white sheets smoothed out and a fluffy, white pillow at the head