Whims of Kiraan

Ithan slumped down against the tree as his companions stared him down.

“I-I don’t know where t-to start,” he stuttered, still shaking as he tried to regain his composure.

“Start at the beginning.” Taer’inar had crossed his legs as if he were meditating, but he was staring intently at Ithan. “And take it slow. We have all night.” His voice was calm again; his emotions were as fluid as his swordplay. He mumbled something, and the air around them grew still and warm. It helped Ithan to relax, even if only a little. If he was going to open up to anyone, it might as well be Taer’inar. But what would Kiraan do? It did not matter; whether he died here by Taer’inar’s hand or later by Kiraan’s, his fate was sealed.

“Okay,” he mumbled. He took a deep breath, lifting his head up to view the stars beyond the forest canopy. “You know of the kingdom of Sol’vara, right?”

“I do. Its founding king was once a great warrior of Nylserine. Many of my organization strive to be like him.” The elf, too, had begun gazing up at the sky. “To be honest, when I learned that one of his kin had passed through Greenreach, I hoped we might find him out here.”

“That is from where I hail. I’m…” Ithan took a deep breath. “I am Ithan Aranis, crown prince of Sol’vara.” Taer’inar’s mouth hung open for a few moments.

“I almost skewered a…” He cleared his throat. “It is an honor to know you. Especially so now that I know your true name. But why hide who you are?”

“Because I was being hunted,” Ithan said, frowning as he recounted the events of his past once again.

“By whom?” Irse asked.

“I was always scorned by the court,” Ithan explained. “They didn’t like that I was next in line for the throne.”

“So, they drove you away from the kingdom,” Taer’inar speculated.

“My mother took me away shortly after my coronation,” Ithan remembered, closing his eyes. “She said it wasn’t safe for me there anymore. So, we fled for a village on the outskirts of the kingdom. We lived there for almost a year before…” Memories began flashing through his mind, and he opened his eyes again, his vision now blurred as he attempted to stifle his tears.

“You are expecting us to believe you are actually a prince?” Irse questioned, her eyes filled with skepticism.

“He must be,” Taer’inar muttered as he held a hand to his chin. “Do you remember what Eleana said? Only those of the ancient bloodline could open the crypt. I always thought they had all perished during the Gods’ War.” He shook his head and glanced at Irse. “Anyway, I believe that he’s telling the truth. Let him continue.” He and Irse both turned back to Ithan, silently waiting for him to proceed. Ithan took a deep breath, trying to recall the events that transpired as best he could. He had been shown some mercy today, even if only temporary; it was only fair to give his companions the real story.

🙚🙪🙘

Around the time of the summer solstice, Ithan had been helping some of the villagers to prepare for their annual festival. He and his mother had become an integral part of their community by now, actively participating in the village’s affairs rather than sheltering themselves in the home they had been provided. Ithan had finally started making friends with the other children; although they knew him as their prince, they treated him as their equal, which made Ithan very happy.

“It’s still crooked!” Naomi exclaimed, pointing at the pole that Ithan and Aedan were trying to erect. “Aedan needs to push it just a little.” Ithan backed away as Aedan pushed, watching to make sure the pole did not topple over. “Stop!” Naomi cried. “Perfect!” Ithan and Aedan joined Naomi to view their work.

“You’re gonna ask Ren to dance today, right?” Aedan asked Ithan as he patted him on the back. Ithan’s face felt warm as he glared up at his friend. “Oh, come on, Mister Prince, I know you’ve got eyes for her.” He leaned in close to Ithan and started to whisper. “If you ask her, I’ll ask Naomi.” Ithan smirked as he thought of the two of them attempting to dance; Aedan had two left feet, and he was sure Naomi would try to take the lead.

“You’re on,” he laughed, excited but also nervous about the prospect of dancing with Ren. She had been on his mind a lot lately; he often found himself daydreaming about this day, trying to shape it as perfectly as he could possibly imagine. He would smile and bow, hold out his hand, and‍—

“How’s it coming?” a voice from behind Ithan called, causing him to jump in surprise. Aedan and Naomi started laughing along with this new voice, and when Ithan turned around in frustration, his face went numb. Ren was standing there, arms crossed and her head tilted to one side.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that!” he cried.

“I wasn’t exactly ‘sneaking,’” Ren laughed. “You were totally spaced out when I got here.” She looked past Ithan toward the pole he and Aedan had set up, and he managed to steal a glimpse of her eyes while she was not paying attention; her silver irises caught the sunlight just right from her position, enchanting Ithan with their luster. “The pole’s leaning a bit to the right,” she said, breaking Ithan’s trance.

“See, this is why you should be the one in charge,” Aedan grumbled. “Naomi told me to push it there.” He walked back over to the pole and pushed it back into position, and Ren gave him a salute of approval.

Later in the day, as the villagers gathered around the village square, Ithan met with his mother to prepare for their role in the festivities. Despite his mother’s protests, the villagers believed that they should honor their queen as was tradition for those fortunate enough to be visited by the royal family. She eventually came around, enlisting the aid of the local tailor to fashion clothes for her and Ithan for the occasion. Ithan never cared much for such formal clothes, but he did want to look his best today. Dressed up in the nicest garments that the tailor could make in such a short time‍—Ithan’s mother adored them all the same‍—the two joined the villagers at the square to begin the festivities.

“The first dance shall be for our honored guests,” Ren’s grandfather stated, “our beloved Queen Nelairi and our dear Prince Ithan!” The villagers applauded as Ithan took his mother’s hand and escorted her to the central square, and they shared the first dance of the evening as the musicians began to play.

“Are you ready?” his mother asked as they danced.

“For what?” he replied.

“You are going to ask her, aren’t you?” she smiled. The heat of embarrassment washed over Ithan’s face‍—despite his best efforts to hide it, his mother had known his feelings toward Ren for a long time. “My son’s first love. Don’t be nervous now, darling. I can tell she’s just waiting for you to ask.” His mother’s encouragement did little to abate his anxiety; he still wanted to make the moment perfect.

As they ended their dance and bowed to their audience, the square flooded with other couples who had been waiting patiently for their royal guests to finish. Ithan’s mother kissed him on the cheek and stepped away to converse with some of the other villagers, leaving Ithan to try to complete his mission alone. With a gulp, he sidled past a few villagers and made his way toward Ren, catching a glimpse of Aedan and Naomi nearby. Aedan’s mouth was wide in surprise as he watched Ithan slowly move across the square. Ithan nodded, and Aedan pointed him out to Naomi, who clapped excitedly. Since he had been distracted by his other friends, Ithan ended up stumbling into Ren, the both of them toppling over just outside of the square, causing a few of the villagers to laugh at the scene. He frantically helped Ren up and smiled awkwardly at her as he held out his hand.

“R-Ren,” he stuttered, already beating himself up internally over ruining his big moment, “w-would you care t-to‍—” Idiot. There’s no way she’d‍—

“I’d love to!” she exclaimed, grabbing Ithan’s hand and pulling him over toward the fountain. His mother was smiling enthusiastically at him as he turned toward her direction, clapping along to the music. A wave of delight flooded over him as he returned his attention to Ren, and as they started to dance, they became the only two people in existence. The other dancers, his mother, even the music began to melt away as he enjoyed this moment.

The moment ended when Ren stopped dancing.

Her mouth hung open in awe, and Ithan turned his head toward the direction she was looking. On the other end of the square stood a troupe of soldiers bearing the seal of Sol’vara, headed by‍—to Ithan’s horror‍—his father.

“King Varian,” Ren’s grandfather spoke, “it is a great honor to be graced by your presence‍—”

Ithan’s father held a hand in front of the old man’s face.

“Clear the square,” he ordered. The villagers quickly dispersed, leaving only Ithan’s mother behind to greet him. He stepped up to her and the two began to speak. Ithan could not hear what they were saying, but his father’s fury was met only by his mother’s unwavering serenity.

After a few moments of conversing, his father suddenly pulled out his sword, ran it through his mother’s torso and threw her to the ground. Ithan tried to cry out, but Ren covered his mouth and dragged him behind a nearby tree as panic ensued among the villagers.

“Come with me,” she whispered, pulling Ithan around the tree and toward her home, careful not to be seen by Varian as he stormed through the village. They scrambled around to the back of the house, and when they were inside Ren forced Ithan inside of the wardrobe in her room. Then, not long after, the sound of the front door crashing open made Ithan cringe.

“Where is he?” Varian shouted. It took all of his willpower not to leap out from his hiding place to confront his father. “You were the one I saw with him.”

“He is not here, my lord,” Ren lied. “He fled after you‍—” Ithan heard Ren gasp. “I swear it, my lord!” Ithan’s body tensed as he tried to hold himself in place. He was just about to give in to his baser instinct when, to his relief, the front door slammed shut and Ren opened the wardrobe. She draped his arms around him as the first tears finally fell.

“He killed her,” Ithan cried, tears flooding from his eyes. “Why? Why did he do that?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered, still holding him firmly as he wept. “But you’re safe now, Ithan. I promise.”

🙛🙪🙙

“The other villagers wanted to return me to him,” Ithan said. “But Ren and her grandfather refused to give me up.”

“He killed his queen?” Taer’inar mumbled, his eyes wide with shock. “Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know,” Ithan replied slowly. “I probably never will.”

“What did the villagers do, then?” Taer’inar asked gently after a few moments. “Clearly they did not go against the village elder’s wishes.”

“They started treating me the same way the court always had,” Ithan said, shaking his head. “Even Aedan and Naomi stopped talking to me.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t their choice,” Taer’inar assured.

“I know,” Ithan muttered. “I just… I was hurt. I needed support from my friends and they…”

“They left you to suffer,” Taer’inar finished, making Ithan shudder. “What did you do?”

“I stayed with Ren for a while. She and her grandfather took such good care of me, and I was so grateful to them both. But…” His hands started shaking. “But I betrayed them.”

🙚🙪🙘

Ren’s grandfather had asked her to help him quell the villagers’ fears that Varian might come back to punish them should he learn they were harboring Ithan. Ithan remained in their home, huddled against one wall of the room as he stared at the wall across from him. It had been three weeks now since he had witnessed his mother’s murder. He barely ate or slept, consumed by the emotions that had festered inside. He scowled as Varian’s sword pierced his mother’s abdomen once more in his mind. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll kill you.

A sudden knocking broke him from his brooding, and he slid into the corner of the room to evade whoever was at the front door.

“Ithan,” a woman’s voice called from the door as it creaked open. “I am not here to hurt you.” Soft footsteps approached his room until, finally, they stopped in the doorway. Peering over into the corner in which he sat was an elderly elven woman, one who Ithan did not recognize from the village. Her dark brown hair was frazzled and tinged with streaks of gray, and her eyes were a gentle blue. She looked harmless enough to Ithan, but he remained in his place as she inspected him. “You poor thing, having to witness such a tragedy.”

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Do you hate him?” she responded, earning a look of surprise from Ithan. “Do you want him to feel the pain that you felt?” After a moment, Ithan’s anger bubbled over.

“I want to watch him suffer,” Ithan snarled through gritted teeth, “and I want to be the one to end him.” She tilted her head to the side and smiled.

“I have a friend who can make that happen,” she said. The opportunity was too enticing for the grief-stricken Ithan.

“Take me to them.” The woman beckoned for him to follow her, and together they departed Ren’s home and the village.

The woman brought Ithan to a small clearing deep in the forest, where there rested a shrine engraved with words that Ithan did not understand. Dozens of corpses‍—some old, some new‍—were strewn across the clearing.

“What is this…?” Ithan asked.

“You need not concern yourself with them,” the woman said as she motioned toward the shrine. She led him past the corpses, and he tried his best not to look at them. Despite the blood staining the field, the shrine itself appeared to be left untainted.

“What do I do?” he asked the woman.

“You must call to him,” the woman replied, producing a dagger from her robes. Ithan backed up in panic, but the woman stood still. “Do not fear, dear Ithan. Only a few drops of your blood will do.” She held the dagger out to him, and he slowly reached out to take it. “Now, when I begin chanting, you will need to offer your blood to the shrine. Then, call out his name, and he will come.”

“What is his name?” Ithan asked slowly. The woman smiled again.

“Kiraan.”

🙛🙪🙙

“You bonded your soul to another,” Irse muttered as she poked at the campfire with a stick. “Such magic is forbidden.”

“So, he answered your call,” Taer’inar said. “What exactly was it that he offered you?”

“He promised me power in exchange for my soul.” Taer’inar and Irse both scowled at his words. “He gave me some time to make my decision, but I didn’t need much. I had so much rage built up inside, and I wanted nothing more than to unleash it onto Varian. I gave it willingly.”

🙚🙪🙘

Fire. There was fire everywhere. The villagers fled as it burned through the trees and ravaged their homes. Ithan tried in vain to quell the chaos around him as he writhed in pain. His new master’s magic coursed through him now, whispering so fervently that he could barely hear his own thoughts. Ren and Aedan were just ahead of him in the square. He started to run toward them, only to stumble to the ground as the bones in his legs began to shift with a sickly crack. He looked back in horror as his legs contorted into those of an elk, dark fur growing over them to conceal his pale skin. He felt the fur creeping up his body, and in his panic, he attempted to crawl toward Ren. His head began to throb with pain, pressure building to the point where he thought it would explode. Instead, the pressure was joined by two shooting pains at the top of his head, while he screamed out as his face began to stretch and reform itself. Teary-eyed, Ithan managed to drag himself the rest of the way to the square.

“Help…” Ithan said, though it did not quite come out the way he expected; it sounded more like an odd growling than an actual word.

“What in Torvik’s name is that?!” Naomi yelled as her eyes met Ithan’s. His heart sank as she backed away. He looked to Ren, still inching toward her in desperation, hoping that she would see past his horrid transformation.

“It hurts,” he sobbed quietly, looking up at his friends. “Ren… please‍—”

“Get away, monster!” Aedan shouted as he shoved Ithan’s head away with his boot, forcing him onto his back. Naomi held Ren’s shoulders, quickly escorting her away as they attempted to escape the spreading flames.

“I’m sorry,” he cried as he lay there, unable to pick himself up from the ground. “Don’t go away.” They did not hear him; they had already left him behind to suffer alone.

🙛🙪🙙

“Power, glory… these are things that corrupt the mind and make people turn to the dark arts in their pursuits,” Irse said. “And in turn, that magic reshapes them into twisted versions of the things they desire.” She looked at Ithan with a strange softness in her eyes. “You had to become a monster to realize your vengeance.”

“If we break the bond, the corruption will fade, right?” Taer’inar asked.

“It is not that simple,” Irse said with dismay. “Their souls are weaved together now, making them nearly inseparable. It would take powerful magic to undo it.”

“And Kiraan would never allow that,” Taer’inar commented, his face a picture of devastation. “Who exactly is this Kiraan, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” Ithan said somberly. “All I know is that he is my master… until the end.”

“The end being when you kill Varian,” Taer’inar clarified. Ithan nodded slowly. “What did he want with the urn?”

“He only said it would help,” Ithan responded. “He was never much for details.”

“What I’m having trouble understanding,” Taer’inar continued, leaning forward and pressing his elbows onto his knees, “is why he had you come all the way out here for such a trivial thing when he could have just helped you kill Varian and be done with it.”

“The urn must have held some significance to him,” Irse speculated. “If he is unable to move about on his own, he would of course use Ithan.”

“Maybe,” Taer’inar mumbled. He sat back up and craned his head toward Unit 17, who had been silent throughout the interrogation. “What do you think of all this?”

“Given the circumstances, I do not believe execution is a just punishment,” Unit 17 droned. “However, Ithan Aranis cannot be allowed to roam free while he is under the influence of this corruption.”

“What are you suggesting?” Irse questioned.

“He will remain under my watch until we find a way to cleanse this affliction,” Unit 17 continued. The corner of Taer’inar’s mouth twitched as Irse sighed next to him.

“What will you do when we cannot reverse this?” she prodded. Ithan was bothered by the word “when”.

“I’ll take care of it,” Taer’inar replied grimly. Irse nodded, stood up, and began walking away. Unit 17 followed close behind, but Taer’inar stayed for a moment more. “A promise is a promise.” He offered his hand to Ithan as he stepped toward him. His eyes had lost their cutthroat shimmer as he moved past the fire. Hesitantly, Ithan grabbed Taer’inar’s wrist and pulled himself up, then followed him away from the campfire as the elf doused it with a quick incantation.

“We will leave this between us for now,” Irse said. “As far as the others are concerned, you are still Mor’lavan.”

“I understand,” Ithan said. He held his hand to his side again, trying to feel the spot where that creature had cut through him. Eleana had powerful magic indeed to repair such a wound so completely; he would have to thank her after she had calmed down.

Soon the group came to another campfire beneath one of the taller trees. There, Ian sat atop a log on the far end of the fire.

“Hey, dingus!” Ian shouted as Ithan walked toward him. “You owe me fifty gold!”

“What for?” Ithan asked.

“It was my potion that that faerie lady enchanted to save your sorry butt,” Ian replied.

“Dryad,” Taer’inar corrected.

“Who cares,” Ian shrugged. He held his hand up to Ithan expectantly. “Pay up.”

“I don’t have to pay you if I eat you,” Ithan joked as he stood over the halfling, making sure to show his teeth. He had to keep up appearances.

“I’m not scared of you anymore,” Ian replied. A sudden silence fell over the group. “Okay, I’m still scared of you. But I know you won’t eat me while Fen’s around!” Before Ithan could respond, he felt someone grab him from behind.

“Thank the gods!” Fenvyre cried as she squeezed Ithan tight. “I was so worried!” Ithan yelped in pain. Whatever Eleana did to revive him could not get rid of the soreness he felt from being bashed around the crypt. “Sorry!” Fenvyre shouted as she loosened her hold on him. “Is that better?”

“Yeah,” Ithan replied. He was used to Fenvyre’s hugging by now, and he had to admit it felt… nice. He felt safe with the dragonkin’s arms wrapped around him. It was a familiar feeling; one he had not felt for a couple of years now. He closed his eyes and smiled.

“Nice and warm,” Fenvyre said as she settled her head between Ithan’s antlers.

“The fire or Mor’lavan?” Taer’inar asked jokingly.

“The fire,” Fenvyre replied without hesitation. “Lava’s ice cold. Don’t you see him shivering?” Ithan had not noticed, but Fenvyre was right. His body trembled like the ground after a lightning strike.

“He lost a lot of blood,” Irse said. “It is only natural that he is susceptible to the cold now. It will pass in a few days.”

“Well, maybe this will help some,” Fenvyre said.

“What is the status of our allies?” Unit 17 questioned.

“Dhurik said they decided to stay at the fort for the evening,” Taer’inar explained. “I want to take a look at the library in Myth Veri’Shantar, but the rest of you should meet up with them in the morning.” Unit 17 nodded knowingly, turning his head slowly away from the elf.

“We will still have a sending stone between us, so that is acceptable,” the terran stated. “I am afraid I cannot keep watch tonight. My reserves are running low.”

“I’ll handle it,” Taer’inar volunteered. “I’ve been meaning to get back to meditating more regularly.” He crossed his legs and sat up straight, taking a deep breath as he closed his eyes. The others started settling down in their own way; Unit 17 hunched over the fire as he began to recharge, Irse laid out a bedroll to sleep in for the night, and Ian climbed onto the exposed root of the tree the others sat under. As Fenvyre pulled Ithan down to lay on the ground, she huddled closer to him, her arms still wrapped around him as if he were her pet.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” she whispered.

“Same,” he whispered back. “I’ll have a line of people waiting to kick my butt if anything happens to you.”

“I don’t think Briryn would really do that,” she chuckled. “He plays it tough, but he really does like you.”

“I know,” Ithan sighed. He pictured the innkeeper in his mind, and he smiled as he remembered how supportive he had been throughout his time in Greenreach. They all had been‍—Sonys, Hisashi and Nazita, Alicrath and Yariel, Shalin… “Do you miss them?”

“Of course,” Fenvyre replied. “I think about them every day. This’ll sound silly, but I told Sonys I was going to find a nice place for us to live out here.”

“Any luck?”

“That old city seemed promising,” Fenvyre laughed, “but it’s so easy to get lost on the way.” She sighed deeply, and a moment of silence passed before she spoke again, more slowly than before, and Ithan knew she was falling asleep. “I don’t care what anyone back home says… This adventure was… totally worth it…” Ithan smiled at Fenvyre’s always positive outlook.

“Good night, Fenvyre,” he mumbled as he felt his eyelids beginning to grow heavy.

“Night… Lava…”

So, it is all out in the open now, is it? Kiraan whispered, startling Ithan to full alertness once more.

I had no choice, Ithan thought, panicking in his mind as he tried to keep his body still. They were going to kill me.

You were going to let them kill you. Worry not, boy. Soon you will have what I promised you that day. And there is nothing they can do to stop it.