Yelora

Kashur wasn’t making any sense. Perhaps he’d gotten too hard of a thump on the head.

“Kashur, that’s impossible,” she said. “How can Ivy be Nyla? She’s, what, ten years old? You were both children together.”

He tossed the wet curls off of his forehead and exchanged a knowing smile with the little girl. “Remember when I told you how Nyla came to be my sister? How there was a huge storm, and I found her drowning in the aftermath? What I didn’t tell you was that my boat got pushed upriver. Far upriver. And when I pulled her from the water, she was completely naked. I gave her my shirt, took her home, and my parents figured she was traumatized by whatever had happened to her and agreed to take her in. At least that’s what I thought happened that day.”

“I remember the story,” Yelora said. “How could I forget it? You thought she was an otter or a mermaid.”

“You do remember! That’s so great. I wasn’t sure you ever really listened to my stories.”

Ivy giggled, and he pulled her against him in a tight hug.

“Here’s the thing,” he continued. “I don’t think I found a drowning eight-year-old Imperial girl and pulled her out of the water that day. I think I found an Elf baby and grew her into an eight-year-old girl.”

“No,” Yelora said, shaking her head. “That’s impossible. Do you even hear yourself?”

“I think my boat got blown close enough to Creation Falls. Perhaps my curse developed because of this, or perhaps my curse came first, so that Ivy could come to be when we needed her most.”

Yelora opened her mouth to retort, but snapped it shut again. She kneeled in front of Ivy and looked into the little girl’s dark eyes. Gently, she reached out and tucked a strand of silky black hair behind her round ear. Her round ear.

“Kashur, look at her! She’s an Imperial.”

“She looks like an Imperial,” he retorted. “But she ages like an Elf. She even has the Elven bioluminescence in her skin. Didn’t you see her skin light up during the convergence?”

She had seen that. She’d thought she’d imagined it. Some of the girl’s features did appear more Elven than Imperial. Her cheekbones were higher, her nose and chin sharper. Most Imperial girls this age had rounder, chubbier faces. Ivy made a grumpy noise and turned into Kashur’s cloak as Yelora studied her.

“I think Ivy is special, very special,” he went on, jostling the little girl in a playful side-hug. “An Elf, brought into the world by an Imperial boy with Celestial powers, who would later become a Wizard. She has the engineering brain of a Dwarf. She has a bond with Elementals. She’s basically a crazy, beautiful mix of all of us! And she converts alien energy, too!”

He jostled Ivy some more, and she giggled and punched him in the side before finally running off to find Bayne.

Kashur turned back to Yelora with a radiant smile, but on seeing her, his face fell.

Yelora pressed her cold, hard hands to her face. Her body felt statue-rigid. She understood nothing. She was in control of nothing. She’d accepted that she’d failed, that the Elven race was doomed. But if Ivy was Nyla, and Nyla was a truly an Elf...

Kashur closed the distance to her as fast as if he’d done a time lapse. His hands, warm and soft and free of the gloves, coaxed hers free from her cheeks. “This is a good thing, Yelora,” he whispered, bringing her hands to his lips and kissing them.

The tenderness of his words, his touch, the heat of his breath, undid her. A queen was not supposed to tremble, to weep, to be terrified to her core. But the Yelora inside her monarch’s shell did all of those things.

“You were in the witch’s vision,” she whispered to him as he folded her hands in his and pressed them to the bare skin of his throat, just above his tunic collar. “You were in there twice.”

He smoothed the damp hair away from her brow. His eyes, coffee-black, shiny as riverstones on a moonlight night, studied hers. “What was I doing?”

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“Dying,” she said. It was a good distraction, this. To be held, caressed, cherished. “In my arms. That was the first time I kissed you.”

“You kissed me in your vision?”

“Like this.” She raised herself up on her toes and pressed her mouth against his. If only she could freeze time. Stay in this moment, where everything was good and possible.

The kiss broke, and those long, black eyelashes fluttered in a way that made her hunger for more.

“I’m not dying,” he whispered, circling her in his arms, holding her tight.

“You were—” Her bottom lip trembled. She’d made so many mistakes. She’s destroyed Creation Falls. Attacked and possibly killed Gorlo for nothing. She had no right to wish for anything at this point. She’d given up on that. Yet, things were happening that should not be happening. But could she bear to hope and be wrong?

“You can tell me, Yelora,” he whispered, touching his forehead to hers. “Don’t be afraid.”

She took a deep breath and pushed out the words. “You were holding a baby—an Elf baby. You were smiling and laughing and the baby was perfect and everything was...” She hiccuped, and two tears raced down her cheeks. “Everything was perfect.”

He erased her tears with his thumbs. “Then why are you crying?”

“What if it doesn’t work?”

He shrugged and smiled that unassuming smile. The one he’d won her over with so long ago, before she’d even been willing to admit it. “Then it doesn’t work. All we can do is try.”

“What if I’ve... ruined our chances? Something I’ve done. I’ve made so many mistakes.”

“No.” He smoothed her hair again, looking at her with wonder, adoration. “You did everything right. You will do everything right. I know it.”

A protest came to her lips, but she silenced it. This Summoner was foolish and romantic, and half of what issued from his mouth were mis-speaks. But at the moment, she found she didn’t mind it.

He smiled. “Why don’t you wait here while I find us a portal?”

“We won’t need one.”

His eyebrows jumped. “Horses then?”

She nodded toward the burbling spring refilling the small pond in the chamber. “The convergence still lingers. The magic here is strong. Besides, this is where you were in my vision.”

It was his turn to look unsure. “Are you certain?”

She held out her hand. Gathered her confidence. She had to be ready for anything—success, failure, the unthinkable. “Come, Summoner. You’ve talked me into it. Don’t let me down now.”

“Never, my Queen.”

They splashed into the pool, no longer tinged with purple, but clear and shimmering as a diamond. Yelora squeezed Kashur’s bare hand. “Are you ready?”

“Always.”

She closed her eyes and spoke the prayer. When her voice wanted to quaver she borrowed from Kashur’s faith in her, and forced strength and courage into her words. Her job was not to decide the outcome. Her job was to show up and do her part. To lead with a balance of strength and humility. In the end, Terris would decide.

When the prayer was done, her eyes flashed open. Kashur was there, ready. He gave a stiff nod and reached into the water.

Yelora felt herself stiffen as he swirled his hands in the freshwater spring, dark curls bouncing on his brow, onyx eyes searching. Please, she found herself praying. A simple prayer. Heartfelt and humble. Please. Not for me. For Terris.

Kashur cried out, “I feel something!”

Yelora didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until she gasped. It would not be a catfish this time. It would be a baby. Whether it was an Elf or something else, she did not know. Either way, it would be welcomed. A being of Terris, it would have a place.

Kashur scooped something up in his arms—something tiny and pink, with groping little hands and pointed ears, and a sprig of brown hair on the top of its tiny, round head.

“It’s a baby!” he cried, lifting the shimmery, blinking creature in the air, just like the scene from her vision. “It’s a baby, Yelora! And she’s perfect!”

Yelora tried to speak, but no words came out. Her legs felt rubbery and weak, but she forced them to work, to move closer to him to welcome the new Elf baby to Terris. The miracle she’d been waiting for.

Something bumped against her leg.

She glanced down and saw something else in the water, something that reminded her vaguely of an otter. She reached for it and felt slippery skin.

“Kashur!” she shrieked, pulling up a second baby. This one was also whole and perfect, with a round, bald head, pointed ears and smooth, brown skin. It was as heavy as a sack of sugar and so, so beautiful. She folded it against her, burying her nose in its neck that smelled of wildflowers and minerals.

“Yelora!” Kashur’s tone was warning.

Yelora looked up from the miracle in her arms to Kashur, who, with the baby cradled in the crook of his elbow, was fishing in the spring again. He’d hooked a third Elf baby under the armpits, dragging it, dripping from the depths.

Yelora laughed out loud, a combination of surprise and delight, just before she felt another light thump against her calf. She reached down and pulled up a fourth.

“Kashur, help!” she cried, balancing both slippery, naked Elf babes against her chest.

“I can’t!” he cried, and she saw why—he was now juggling three.

“Cast a spell,” she half-cried, half-laughed, fishing out a sixth with her right hand as she balanced the others against her body. “Make them float or fly or hover! Hurry!”

“My hands are too full! I can’t make the token!”

She saw that it was true. “Sochee!” she laugh-shouted. “Bayne! Anyone! Help us!”

***

Fifty baby Elves were born that day, in what Queen Yelora would name The Rebirth, not just in reference to the Elves, but all of Terris.

Yelora dispersed the Elf babies amongst her people, as was their tradition. The moons following the defeat of the Celestiri were spent destroying any leftover crystals or crystal gardens. A new peace was signed, and talks were opened with the Goblins. The floodwaters had made some of the desert lands of Terris habitable, and many of those previously uncharted territories were given to this new faction. War criminals were punished, including Kenji Zamora, but most of the ordinary soldiers and Wizards who had fought under orders were given pardons. Ronith was never found. Neither was Gorlo—not even his body. Ivy was welcomed into the Elf Queendom, living at court, although she visited Bayne often.

Kashur took leadership of the Wizards but gave much responsibility to Moyshec, his second. It was not an easy task raising the morale of their devastated faction.

Plus it was difficult to be at the Lair all the time when you were in love with two Elves: a beautiful queen and the baby you’d pulled from a magical spring for her—the first one, anyway.

They named her Elowen.

THE END