Persepera

The 15th of Elaphebolion

The Year 4631 in the Era of Mortals

Rain broke over Dawnwood. Water soaked the wood, the grass, and the people. Many of the elves stayed inside their trees, not wanting to face the downpour. A few seemed to be enjoying it, chasing each other through the wet as they raced along the bridges far above the forest floor. It was the first time Arche had seen elves having fun and that it happened on such a dreary day was unsettling. They three were to be banished, but up above, the elves of Dawnwood were enjoying themselves.

Arche, and Helwan trudged through the mud toward the edge of the village, both completely soaked through. As outsiders without an escort, they were barred from the upper levels and forced to remain on the ground. Arche alone probably could have gotten through but he refused to leave Helwan behind. Every elf they passed made it clear they would rather kill Helwan than suffer a satyr in their home for a minute longer.

Lyssa met them at the line of trees that acted as a palisade for the village. She had a thick, green, traveling cloak wrapped over her armor and had the hood pulled high, masking much of her face. As they reached her, she tossed two packs to them without a word, then turned and left Dawnwood. Not a single elf was present to see them off, other than the guards in the trees above who menaced them with drawn bows. Not even Lord Cypress was present.

Arche and Helwan exchanged a glance before shouldering their packs and hurrying after her. Arche looked through his pack as they walked, finding it filled with food and, to his delight, a cloak just like Lyssa’s. Without wasting any time, he put it on. The pelting of the rain softened, rebuffed by the heavy fabric, and some magic or craftsmanship of the elves made the majority of the water run off onto the ground.

The rain continued all morning. The foliage above seemed to consolidate the water among huge leaves until the weight of it pushed it to the forest floor in huge curtains. More than once, Arche had been unfortunate enough to be in the landing zone. Twice it had knocked him off his feet, sending him tumbling into the mud. Both times, Helwan had helped him back up, his own cloak wrapped tightly around him. Before lunchtime, Arche’s new cloak was muddied, soaked, and had a small tear in the side where a thorn bush had caught him as he passed.

Lyssa stayed about twenty strides ahead of them. She hadn’t said a word all morning but she hadn’t left them behind, either. Arche knew from experience that she could easily disappear into the forest and there would be nothing they could do about it. He couldn’t begin to understand what she was going through but he was grateful she hadn’t left them.

Come lunchtime, the rain finally abated. They stopped and hung up their sopping clothes, using the inventory interface to instantly change into dry ones. Lyssa hung a shirt over a tree limb but kept her cloak on and her hood up. Lunch was simple. Oil-drizzled bread, cheese, olives, and slices of cooked deer meat. Lyssa kept to herself throughout the meal, quiet and distant. She kept her face down and refused to meet Arche’s eyes. His few attempts at conversation were met with single-word answers. They finished their meal in uneasy silence and continued walking.

When they stopped for the night, Arche asked Helwan to help him train with spears. After a small amount of wheedling, the satyr agreed. They outlined a large circle with fallen tree branches and stepped inside. Arche held a long piece of straight wood and Helwan held a walking stick uncertainly in his hands.

Helwan thrust outward, his steps unsteady and his grip weak. Arche stepped to the side and batted Helwan’s thrust out of the way. His riposte sent a swipe toward the satyr’s head but he pulled it back when it was clear that Helwan wasn’t able to block it.

They continued for ten minutes until Lyssa stood from her place by the fire and walked over. Wordlessly, she took the walking stick from Helwan and pushed him out of the circle. Helwan, grateful for the break, hustled over to collapse next to the fire, a mess of sweat. Lyssa held the stick horizontally in front of her, knees bent into a wide stance.

“I thought you said you weren’t trained with spears,” Arche said.

“I wasn’t. I was trained with staves.”

“With wha—?”

Before he’d finished his question, she had taken his feet out from under him. He landed on his back with a painful thud.

“Ow.”

Arche pushed himself to his feet and rubbed his shoulder. Lyssa had already reset her stance.

“Not again,” he whispered.

They circled each other. Lyssa’s grasp on her stick was centered, allowing her to use either end to attack or defend but greatly inhibiting her reach. Arche’s grip, on the other hand, favored one end of the stick, keeping the other end pointed forward, but allowed him only one end of the weapon to strike or parry with. He stabbed forward a few times, gauging the feel of the motion. Lyssa rebuffed him easily, but he found that he could rein in the thrust and try again with relatively little risk due to his reach.

Next, he tried swinging the stick. This proved more difficult, due mostly to the length, but it did force Lyssa to block or dodge the swings. The momentum of the swing often left him open for her to close the distance and attack where it was difficult for him to use the spear effectively. He learned between bruises that he would need to be ready to access his sword at a moment’s notice if an enemy got too close. Lyssa knew this and made him practice dropping the spear and drawing his xiphos from his side-scabbard at a moment’s notice. When he could reliably drop the spear and parry with the sword, they moved on.

Lyssa drilled him in footwork, which was often punctuated by jabbing at his feet with pointy sticks. She marked a point on a tree and had him thrust toward it with the Tridory, working on his accuracy with the point of the spear. Lastly, he held the Tridory in one hand and practiced thrusting and slashing. The weight of it made him feel slow and awkward, but he was starting to get a sense for how it moved. When he had finished, he checked the progression notification he’d been ignoring.

Spearmanship has increased to Level 3.

+2% Damage with Spears (+6%)

It wasn’t much improved from the measly level one he’d earned by letting the revenant run into his spear, but it was still progress. His skill wasn’t progressing as quickly as it had with the bow or the sword, but he suspected Lyssa’s Teaching skill had been the reason those skills had skyrocketed as fast as they had. Giving it a few swings, the Tridory felt much more comfortable in his hands than it had when he’d started training, but he was still off-balance using it. That meant more practice and more points dedicated to Strength and Dexterity.

When his spear training was done, Arche collapsed onto the loam next to the fire. His whole body ached. Helwan served their evening meal, a stew made from wolf meat, onions, and juniper, along with some wild vegetables he had picked along the way. After dinner, Lyssa drilled Arche in swordsmanship. Starting first with footwork drills, she progressed along to teaching him additional grips that would allow him greater control while swinging and thrusting his leaf-shaped xiphos. When he could no longer hold the blade steady, she called for a halt.

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They all gathered around the fire. Bruised and tired, but full, warm, and finally dry after the morning deluge. Helwan told a story of a satyress who shaved the legs of all who slept in her grove to get back at her husband, who had accidentally set fire to her legs while trying to cook some mushrooms. Satyrs apparently took great pride in the hairiness of their legs, which was why they often wore nothing to cover up their lower half. What Helwan had no doubt intended as a scary campfire story was instead rewarded with Arche’s raucous laughter. Even Lyssa spared a chuckle. Rather than be disappointed by the reaction, Helwan joined in with them. It was good to laugh. It seemed there had scarcely been a reason to, as of late.

Arche took the second watch that night, letting Helwan stay up first. When the satyr roused him for his turn, a peal of thunder sounded in the distance. An hour later, the rain began once more. A few drops at first, but then the torrent came down in a crash, rustling leaves. The campfire sputtered as the water landed on hot coals. Arche pulled up the hood of the cloak he had been given. He had nothing he could use to cover the fire, so he let it be drowned by the rain and peered out into the darkness, listening for any noises among the crashing of rain against leaves. He scuffle behind him, somewhere close, and turned his head sharply. His body tensed, one hand reaching for the handle of the Tridory. He saw Lyssa, still wrapped in her cloak, making her way toward him.

“Storm wake you up?” he asked quietly.

“I thought you could use the company,” She replied. “And perhaps an explanation.”

She sat down across from him, her back to a tree. He couldn’t make out her face in the gloom, but he was certain she could see him.

“You don’t have—”

“I want to. I…need to. You made the decision to come with me, you should know why. The full extent of my actions, and yours. Did Lord Cypress explain any of it to you?”

“No. But he did tell me that you’re his daughter.”

Lyssa nodded.

“I should have expected as much.”

“I don’t get it. If you’re his daughter, why did he send you on such a dangerous quest? You could have been killed.”

“Penance. The latest attempt to pay back my crime before I was properly sentenced. An effort that ultimately did not succeed.”

Lightning flashed, lighting up the forest and letting Arche see her for a moment. Her face was wet from the rain and twisted with pain.

“Elven children are rare. Not every daughter of the forest is capable of bearing children, nor is every son capable of siring them. My people can live for centuries, perhaps millennia. No elf in memory has died from age. Our barrenness is nature’s balance but not even nature can plan for war. Over time, my people have had our numbers thinned. As wood elves, we have always found our place to be in the great forests and woods of Tartarus, away from the struggles and politics of the other races. We thought ourselves above such things. Isolated. Safe. We were not.”

Lyssa cleared her throat and pulled the cloak tighter around herself.

“I was born as the younger of twins. My brother, Gregorinandiir, was heir to our village. He was a skilled fighter, already an Adept Swordsman by our fourth decade. I don’t think I need to impress upon you how rare twins are among my people. We were seen as a sign, a portent granted by Tartarus itself for good tidings. Gregori was good with our people. He understood them, connected with them in a way that I never could. They trusted him and would come to him with problems that did not warrant our father’s attention. I did not have my brother’s gift. My talents lie in archery, so when it came time for us to pick our Professions, I chose the path of the Huntress.”

Arche heard her sniffle, barely audible over the pouring rain.

“One day, my brother asked to go hunting with me. I agreed but I was jealous of him, of the way my people cared for him and not for me. I led him beyond the borders of our territory. He objected but I convinced him that a great hunter could not stalk the same paths forever. Unwillingly, he followed me out of the safety of Dawnwood. We followed the trail of a gigaboar; a large, tusked creature that carries enough meat to last the entire village through winter. We failed to realize that a monster was also stalking the gigaboar. As we engaged with the creature, we were attacked by one of the Kýklōpes. Similar to the one we saw together, but much larger. My brother yelled for me to run, but I was angry. It was my hunt and I wasn’t prepared to let it go without a fight. I could not face that shame in front of my brother. I attacked the Kýklōps, forcing my brother also to engage. He refused to leave me behind.

“We were outmatched, a fact I refused to recognize at the time. Throughout the fight, my brother called for me to run. I did not heed him. His sword, which he always used to wreak devastation, was like a splinter to the creature. Gregori’s luck ran out first, and he was caught in the Kýklōps’s hand. Throughout the fight I had been trying to hit the Kýklōps’s eye, which is said to hold the center of their life force. I failed, as it covered that weakness with its hand. Nothing I did came anywhere near to hurting it. Never in my life have I been so useless. As it grabbed my brother, I hoped to have an opportunity to fell the monster once and for all. I was down to my final arrow. As it lifted Gregori skyward, I knew the dark truth of the matter. I could not slay it. I wasn’t strong enough and my brother, now firmly in its clutches, would die a very painful and agonizing death. As jealous as I was of him, he was my brother. I loved him. I knew that whatever fate befell him would be weighed upon my head. So I did him the last kindness of which I was capable. With my final arrow, I killed my brother.”

Lightning flashed again, the light making it impossible to tell whether it was rain or tears that were streaking down Lyssa’s face. Her voice was steady, but raw. Her melodic speech low and mournful.

“I do not recall much of what happened next. In that instant, my heart was sundered and my spirit lost. I was struck by the Kýklōps, a backhanded blow, and lost consciousness. I awoke in the village, found by other hunters who had noticed our absence and tracked us. I was not the only one brought back. They found my brother, half-eaten, with my arrow sticking out of his neck.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Arche said softly, but Lyssa shook her head.

“For an elf to kill one of their own kind is the most heinous crime we have. It isn’t allowed under any circumstances, not even in ones that would seem merciful. For a crime such as mine required the Council, a coalition of lords across the Forest of Mycenia and into the territories beyond. Father recommended that I attempt penance for my crime before my sentencing, that it might lessen the punishment. The quest we undertook was only the latest in a long line of atonement. Attempts that were ultimately meaningless.”

“How long ago did it happen?”

“Ten years. It may seem long to a human, but not so to an elf. It took nearly half as long for me to recover from my own injuries. I did warn you that some are too severe to heal with Fortitude alone.”

“What exactly is your punishment? I get the banishment part but you make it sound like it’s more than that.”

“It is more. No elf of the Forest Tribes can offer me assistance. In their eyes, I am no longer a daughter of the forest. If I return, I risk imprisonment or worse. Lord Cypress ushering us out as he did was an attempt to spare me from what this sentencing entails.”

“What does it entail?”

Lyssa pulled back the hood of her cloak and looked Arche in the eye. Her hair had been cut short, barely enough to run a hand through, but the worst of it was her ears. Bloody bandages pressed what was left of her ears to her head. They’d been clipped, cut down by more than half.

“They came for me this morning, before the first breath of morning light. Our elders made my father watch.”

Rainwater splashed into Arche’s agape mouth.

“That’s…barbaric. I’m so sorry.”

“It is the way of things. The crime is irredeemable, the punishment is the same. All who see me shall know my crime. Shall know my shame.”

“You can never go home again.”

“That is what ‘exile’ means.”

“I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you.”

“Do you still stand by your decision? Knowing what I am, what I’ve done?”

Lightning flashed again, offering them just enough light for Arche to lock eyes with her.

“After all you’ve done for me? Without hesitation. Where you go, I’ll follow. I’m with you ‘til the end.”

“And I, you. Should I someday be worthy of that loyalty. You should rest now. I will continue the watch.”

“Are you sure?”

“Go, I doubt you can see much anyway. I will keep watch until dawn.”

Arche stood, hesitated for a moment, then left for his tent.

Lyssa looked up at the sky, feeling the rain on her face. Lightning flashed again, but she didn’t flinch. She stared into the heavens, eyes piercing into the dark clouds and beyond. Her lips moved, a whisper in elvish. Lightning answered her and thunder roared over the forest.