Voice Of The Voiceless

By Stephanie Althea Tedman

None of this should be happening! How could I have messed up this badly?!

 

Elisabeth Delroy, Headmistress of the prestigious Delacourt Academy, has spent her entire existence desperately trying to fix the world, doing everything in her power to replace the actions of he who had been taken from it.

But it just isn’t enough, and she knows she is failing.

 

Until one night, when a beautiful creature, the Voice of the Voiceless, gives her one final mission: to save a child - yet to be born - and protect him until he comes of age.

The one that has the power to bring him back, before the world falls apart.

 

The one that would be called... the Dreamwalker.

 

 

Featuring Elisabeth Delroy in a Delacourt Short Story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookRix
• Release date: Sep 2, 2019
• ISBN: 9783748714392

Book preview

Copyright © 2018 S. A. Tedman

All illustrations copyright © 2018 Adrien Ballesta

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are used fictitiously.

Any resemblance to actual events, or persons, living or deal, is coincidental.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

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The Boy who Forgot: A Delacourt Short Story

None of this should be happening! How could I have messed up this badly?!

Elisabeth Delroy, Headmistress of the prestigious Delacourt Academy, has spent her entire existence desperately trying to fix the world, doing everything in her power to replace the actions of he who had been taken from it.

But it just isn’t enough, and she knows she is failing.

Until one night, when a beautiful creature, the Voice of the Voiceless, gives her one final mission: to save a child - yet to be born - and protect him until he comes of age.

The one that has the power to bring him back, before the world falls apart.

The one that would be called... the Dreamwalker.

Featuring Elisabeth Delroy in a Delacourt Short Story.

Elisabeth woke up sweating.

This was bad.

Elisabeth didn't sweat. She didn't even know she could sweat.

She threw off her satin sheets frowning, and stretched, her silk orange nightie sticking to her skin like honey to a dipper.

A flash of light caught her eyes through the swaying curtains. A storm was brewing, and it was close.

Oh yes. This was very bad indeed.

The Academy wasn’t supposed to have storms. She had made sure of that when the last brick had been placed in 1926. The best magic practitioner known to the Fold had put a spell on the grounds to create its own personal climate, very different from the one in London.

One without storms.

Bad signs come in threes. She knew how this worked.

Elisabeth sighed and stood up, wanting nothing more than a refreshing shower as she grabbed her dressing gown and headed to the bathroom.

Unfortunately, the second she opened the door, it slammed itself shut with a deafening bang.

Dammit, she growled, putting her hand on the wall.

Tell me. Why can't I access my bathroom?

Before she could determine just how desperate she was for a shower and if she was willing to break it down or climb through the window from the outside, she was distracted by a courteous knock on the door behind her.

Come in, she sighed again as she walked back to her bed, picking up the glass of whisky on her bedside table.

She would have preferred the taste of toothpaste, but this would have to do.

Madam, do forgive my intrusion at this ungodly hour but-

Yes Alfred, I am well aware of the storm, thank you, she said, massaging her forehead.

No Madam, I -

Yes, the Academy is a little on edge I have also noticed.

Elisabeth emptied the glass and set it back down on the nightstand, turning to the alabaster haired butler.

It is not that, Madam…

Well? What then?

Alfred nodded towards the window hesitantly, and she felt the hairs on her back prickle.

She moved to the window and peered through it, as she delicately pulled aside the curtains with her fingertips.

There He stood, waiting, in the middle of the grass, next to the apple tree.

His antlers reached far above the last branch of the fruit tree and Elisabeth recognised Him instantly.

The last Irish elk, majestic, as white as fresh fallen snow. The voice of the voiceless. His spokesman.

Elisabeth turned to the butler and cleared her throat.

It would appear I have been summoned, she announced, matter-of-factly.

Madam, do you know what it is?

Alfred's voice was shaking which was unsettling. He was usually the perfect representation of a stiff upper lip man.

Yes. I met with Him once, before the fall of the Great Dynasty.

But that was-

Eons ago. I know. Please Alfred, find Frank and ask him to make me a snack. Something - meaty. The more blood, the better.

The butler nodded, bowed and left the room.

Elisabeth turned back to the window.

The elk hadn’t moved, as was to be expected, and she knew He wouldn't until He had fulfilled His purpose.

Things had been so different at the time. There had been a specific reverence, and… a prayer, maybe? Yes, a prayer to be said before speaking to Him… but she couldn’t remember it, not if her life depended on it, and if He was here tonight… well, it meant her life possibly depended on a lot of things.

She closed her dressing gown. It was time to go.

As she walked out of her room and down the stairs, into the common room, she felt queasy and realised the air was supercharged with static electricity. It did nothing to help tame her already bushy golden hair, and she could feel it standing on end like a bottlebrush in bloom.

The glass doors leading to the outside were ajar, and she was about to go through them when she heard a voice from the kitchen behind her.

Ma’am, Frank sniffed from the other side of the open counter.

Oh, I wasn’t expecting to see you yet. I asked Alfred only a few minutes ago to call you over.

Wasn’t sleepin’ Ma’am. Couldn’t, not with the whatchamacallit.

Frank was biting down on his bottom lip, and his hands were shaking.

I see, she spoke soothingly, "yes, well I am the Headmistress of this school. I shall go and deal with this promptly."

Ma’am?

Yes Frank.

You be safe now Ma’am, the man said, removing his cap and twisting it between his fingers.

Elisabeth smiled.

Frank was such a lovable man, with his clumsy arms, stork-like body, and angelic, childlike face. His smile could fill you with more warmth than a fireplace any day.

Shame he was so different from the man she had known - in her other life. The Frank from the other world.

The world as it was meant to be.

He’d had his own successful restaurant, filled with friends and family, where the best musicians from around the world had been honoured to come and play for him. He’d even had