The Elf King's Shadow

“There… weren't always… dragons… in the valley.” My grandmother’s voice began to taper off at the end of every word, as though each breath took more energy than she had to spare. I knew our time was running out, but I still was not ready to say goodbye. She had been ill for quite some time, but never like this. Where she used to grow ever closer to the doors of Caelum, only to turn back, this time felt different. As though the gods had weighed her heart upon their scales and deemed her fit for an eternity of rest, before her last breath had even left her body. The gods envied us for having her still within this realm, or at least that was what Grandmother Mahitha would tell us.

At 633 years old, there were of course expected changes in her body, but her mind had remained strong through to the end. She was the heart of our family. The soul that kept alive hope when it threatened to be extinguished for eternity. I still had so much to learn from her, so many stories of my grandfather King Ophir and what our home country of Aranyak had survived.

“The dragons….were under the command of the orcs, who had settled in our valley when I was but a girl.” Choking on her words but determined to continue, I held onto my tears for fear of upsetting her. “What we did not understand, was that the orcs were not that unlike us. Just as your grandfather came to find during the great war with the northern vampire clans, southern elves, northern vampires, the orcs of distant shores, even humans who have been forced to live in seclusion for fear of being hunted, none of us differ enough to justify constant war. We all want the simplest things in life. We all wish to love and be loved, my sweet little Lolo.”

I caught myself wincing at the name. Grandmother was the only one who called me Lolo anymore, but it wasn’t embarrassment that bubbled to the surface this time. I felt my chest fill with a longing for those simpler times. For the days where my only cares consisted of what games I would play out in the sun, riding my horse Meira, or dancing amongst the flowers my mother Queen Elaria and Grandmother Mahitha had cultivated in my name.

Her coughs ripped me from the safe haven of my mind. “Here, here Mahti. Let me help you, please.” I helped lift her head a bit, reaching for the water glass on the nightstand with my free hand. She barely had the strength to swallow, but I saw her doing her best. Something in her eyes, in the way she was taking me in, forced me to realize the truth we had all been running from. My Mahti was leaving. She was my Mahti and I her Lolo, but before the sun could set on this day, she would be gone and the little names we had for one another would be spoken no more. I would be forced to refer to her as grandmother, or not at all, if she was to rest peacefully upon reaching Caelum. For our names, the ones we are given by our families and the ones we gather on our journey through life, hold more power than most know. It is said that names, when spoken with enough love and longing, can disturb the spirits where they rest. And so it was, when my grandfather King Ophir passed before I was born, the shift had to be made. The names my father had for his father were to be spoken no more, just as I had to let go of my Mahti.

Father’s attempts to contact the great healer, Najwa, who had lived in seclusion within the broad Arikaree forest to the north of the forbidden zone, had come to nothing. In spite of her strength and the doctors of Aranyak predicting us another twenty years together, this was the end. As my father entered the room, a heaviness came with him. The magnitude of what was happening began to settle in my chest once again, and I hadn’t the strength to stop it.

Father helped me get Mahti situated comfortably once again in her bed, the smell of the blooms mother had brought the day before filling my memories. The scent of red and yellow roses would come to haunt me, both in dreams and my waking state. The mind, more powerful than any of us know, has ways of capturing the memories we wish most to forget. Forgotten triggers left like land mines, primed to yank us surreptitiously backwards, into the core of what we try so hard to forget.

And so there we were, together in the fading light of our last day with Mahti, the sunlight creating rainbows across her bed as it danced through the stained glass window overhead. Grandfather Ophir had commissioned the window upon his engagement to Mahti. He told the artists he wanted beautiful bouquets of all of Mahti’s favorite flowers. Roses of red, yellow and pinks, cherry blossoms and lavender, the stained glass was filled with the flowers Mahti had helped raise in her childhood with her own father. He told Mahti he wanted to ensure she had at least one piece of this vast castle that was all her own. A connection to her roots, to the many treasured memories of a childhood spent harvesting from the earth, captured as a reminder of one of the many reasons he’d fallen in love with her in the first place. Her love of Aranyak, of the earth herself and an innate need to protect what we have been blessed with, as well as her sharp wit and insatiable laughter, had been what softened his all too often hardened heart.

Losing Grandfather had not been easy for Mahti to bear, nor my father King Gowan. A heartbreak she still struggled with all these years later. Where Mahti was the heart of our family, Grandfather had been the foundation. A quiet strength you could lean upon in the darkest of times, Grandfather’s love was always evident. It had been 200 years since my father held his father in his arms as he passed. King Ophir would leave him with the sage advice he knew his son needed to overcome the missteps he himself had made in attempting to right the waring factions of Aranyak. In his struggle to overcome the long shadow his own father, King Imamu, had cast.

As King Ophir lay dying in Prince Gowan’s arms all those years ago, he pulled his son close and left him with a lesson he would carry on long into his reign, “It does not one speck of good to see only the bad in others. Choose instead to see the beauty in difference, my son. Believe in the unbelievable.”, and with a few more gasping breaths, the king was gone. And now father was being asked to say goodbye once more.

Mother was tending to Father as my older brother Javaid attempted to contend with me. I had caught him crying on the balcony outside Mahti’s room the night before and chastised him for not having faith in her. I will not soon forget the look of heartbreak on his face. Javaid was always hard with me, always pushing and poking, but when he turned and our eyes met, all I saw was softness. He was letting Mahti go and as our eyes met now, I felt him assuring me it was alright. That the time for being strong had passed, and as I let him take me into his arms much the same way he had when I was still a little girl, she left us. One last haggard breath, and grandmother was gone.

With everything in me, I wanted to disappear. To run down to the stables, climb upon Meira’s strong back and ride until all of this was but a forgotten memory. How I longed to gaze upwards at the cotton candy colored sky and see grandmother there in the clouds, smiling down and letting me know she was safe in Caelum. That she may be gone from this realm, but never further than my heart and mind can reach.

Suddenly, I felt mother’s hand rest on my back as Javaid continued to hold me. “I’m so sorry, Lolo—“ I jerked away from the safety of my brother’s arms, locking eyes with mother. She must have realized what she’d said afterwards, understanding in that moment that the name had to die with grandmother.

My hope was dead, my grandmother was gone and it was time to let go of the pieces of me grandmother had kept alive and blossoming, like a flower in the garden of her soul. Where the world had attempted to harden me, to mold me into the elven princess they envisioned as my unavoidable destiny, grandmother watered my soul, quenching a thirst to belong I never seemed able to express whilst amongst the rest of my family. Mother tried once more, “Ololara, give me your eyes my daughter. Please?”

My attempts to lessen the fire set ablaze within me were futile. My anger and hurt swirling into a dagger pointed at my mother’s heart. I did not want her comfort, I did not want platitudes of how we would all get through this together, for there had not been an “us” in quite some time. I had grown distanced from my family, struggling with my own identity and longing to be freed from the pressure of a future on the throne. Mother viewed my running as a fear of responsibility, and so just as father had been for quite some time, she began to push as well. She pushed for me to find a suitor and settle down, pushed me towards my lessons as a princess when all I wanted was to get lost out in the forest, exploring the plants and discovering the many creatures grandmother had told me of each night before bed.

Grandmother had been the bridge between us. The one thing keeping us all tied together was gone, and as I felt myself backing out of the room and picking up speed in the long and winding halls of Castle Aranyak, I knew I too was going. As tears stained my cheeks, searing trails of regrets and words left unsaid onto my face, it only pushed my feet faster and faster, until I was sprinting out the front gate of the castle and into the courtyard. I was so lost in my desperation, unable to breathe let alone think, I nearly bowled over my best friend Imogen as she attempted to stop me. “Ololara wait, please!” I approached the stable doors, finding my Meira in the first stall, as peaceful as could be. As my tears continued to flow, Meira lowered her head so that I could rest my forehead against hers. She had seen me in states of heartache, my eyes all too often filled with the tears I refused to allow my family to see me shed. “You cannot outrun this, my love. I know your heart must be shattered beyond recognition, but we cannot outrun our own pain.”

I wish I could say I took a deep breath and found sense in that moment, but there was not enough oxygen in the world to right my heart. No words Imogen could speak that would get through to me, and so I mounted Meira without a word and rode out as fast as she could carry me, through the gates and across the long cobblestone bridge that stood above the portion of the Maluhia River which wrapped around Castle Aranyak. I rode into the setting sun, feeling my grief release from my chest, upwards and out of my throat in a cry that I hardly recognized. Another few screams and then my exhausted body slumped forward, burying my face in Meira’s cream colored mane, the tears refusing to slow as she continued to race across the land and towards the forbidden zone.

Growing up, we passed down stories and myths our parents had been told as young ones themselves, in hopes of keeping our curiosity about the forbidden zone at bay. Situated at the midway point between the southern and northern portions of Aranyak, the area had become known as Cimarron, a name bestowed by the elven and vampire refugees who formed the Chamillet Clan. They were referred to by most as undesirables, cited as the reason for keeping elves and vampires separated, though no one ever seemed willing to elaborate when I would ask as a child what had gained them such a title. What little I learned about them left me wondering if I too would be deemed an undesirable if I were to truly be myself. Those thoughts of my inability to conform, to truly belong, filled my mind as Meira pressed on, taking us across the edge of the tree line.

As stories of the Chamillet Clan spread, detailing their supposed abilities and subsequent ruthlessness, so too did the wariness of King Ophir. Though he was well informed and knew the Chamillet Clan to merely be a group of elves and vampires cast out of their homes for loving another species, no amount of wise words seemed able to counteract the stories being spread like wildfire. And so the area was deemed a forbidden zone, not to control the Chamillet Clan as it appeared on the surface, but rather as an effort by King Ophir to protect them from the ire of both the northern vampires and southern elves. He offered them peace, but at the cost of their namesakes. When the great war reignited upon news of King Ophirs’ assassination, it took father finding love to soften his heart once again and put a stop to the killings. First with his union to mother, and then the subsequent births of Javaid and finally myself. My name, Ololara, quite literally means ‘born at the right time’, and that had been the case for father. The last of his resentment began to chip away the day he first held me in his arms. I was the last push he needed to return to that once soft hearted, optimistic elfin prince who saw the potential for good in the world. He found a way to peace and the Chamillet Clan finally came to know the calm stillness within their portion of the Arikaree Forest they had always longed for.

A portion I now find myself riding into with far too much momentum to stop, and as I glance upwards, I see the light vanish as the many trees overhead create a blanket of darkness even the rising moon struggles to pierce through. “Whoa, whoa there girl.We’d better slow—“ A loud snapping of branches to my left sends a chill down my spine, the sort of chill that Meira must have felt as well. She quickly reared up, bucking me off her back and down the side of a steep ridge. Moments after she vanished from sight, racing further into the forest. I realized I must find somewhere to hide before I am discovered.

As the ground beneath my feet began to quake, I knew something or someone was headed directly for me. Meira crossing the boundary must have triggered some sort of perimeter spell and I knew the reprimand I would receive for crossing the boundary would be anything but pleasant. As I heard what I now realized to be a group of horses approach, the best I could manage was to hide inside the base of a massive tree, holding my breath as the horses and their riders raced past, presumably chasing after my dear Meira.

As I concealed myself within the base of the massive tree, measuring my breath so as to not give away my location, I was reminded of the tales we told one another as children about the Chamillet clan. In spite of my father attempting to dispel these myths, I retained the mythos as though the stories were some conspiracy hidden away from our view in order to make it all the more alluring. We viewed ourselves as truth seekers and deemed ourselves fit to explore exactly how true the stories had been. Had Imogen dared me to venture into the forbidden zone on any other day, I gladly would have. But I would have come equipped to defend myself. As it stood, I hadn’t even gathered water or food as my grief stricken mind was not capable of any sort of foresight or rationality. I needed to feel the breeze upon my skin, to feel the earth pounding beneath Meira’s hoofs as she galloped onwards in hopes of quieting the roar of grief that had overtaken my senses, only now I had gotten myself into the sort of trouble mother and father were always attempting to caution me against.

“You know, you picked probably the worst place to hide. That is, unless you are fond of being engulfed by a horde of hoop snakes?” Her voice was alluring and smooth in a way I had never—wait did she say snakes?

I shot out of my hiding place as though propelled via cannon, just in time to hear the thrashing of hoop snakes surfacing from their burrows within the base of the tree, and there she was not but a few feet in front of me. As glorious if not more so than her voice had been, the smirk that danced across her face threatened to melt me into a puddle where I stood.

“I um…I’m not exactly the biggest fan of snakes. I appreciate the warning, but I best get going.” As I turned to leave her smooth voice fell upon my ears once more. “Going so soon, princess?” her voice stopped me dead in my tracks. Was she calling me princess because she knew who I was? Or was she simply poking fun at the way I had all but leapt out of my own skin, shaking out my pants and flowing tunic to be certain I had not brought any stowaway snakes along for the ride? I had to admit that if the roles had been reversed, I’m certain I'd have had a good chuckle at her expense at the very least.

She took a few steps forward, her legs seeming to go on forever, easily closing the gap between us. It was only then that I noticed the orange tones swirled in with the deep brown of her eyes. The intensity was nearly enough to suck the air from my lungs once again, but I had to maintain my composure. I was an elfin princess lost deep in a forest the treaties dictated I was never to set foot in, she was a vampire and based on our location, most likely a member of the Chamillet Clan. I decided to attempt to press her, to see what it was she did and did not know already. Clearing my throat as I often do when nervous, “I um, what did you mean when you called me a princess exactly? Because I can assure you, in spite of my previous blunder, I am not some damsel in distress.”, her hand slowly reaching upwards, I caught myself just after I flinched. The way her face dropped was enough to break my heart, in spite of having only met her mere moments before. Speaking rapidly, “I’m sorry. It isn’t you, it is absolutely me. I’m just a bit of a skittish person is all and we only just met, so you will have to forgive me for reacting to your hand. I only—“, her hand had returned to its previous motion, softly grazing my curls and then just as quickly retreating.

“Only removing a leaf from your hair, love. No need for dramatics. And no, I don’t think you’re a damsel in distress. You’re a princess in distress. There’s a big difference, right Princess Ololara?”

Before I could turn to run, her hand firmly grasped my arm, “There’s truly no need princess and I…I apologize if I frightened you.” Her hand dropping, I still wanted to run but something in her voice had set me at ease. As fast as I was, she would always be faster. If she had wanted to devour me, she could have done so several times over by now or hell, she could have let me be overtaken by the hoop snakes. But she hadn’t. She had been calm, measured and patient with me and so perhaps it was my turn to allow her the benefit of the doubt.

“So tell me, what exactly is the princess of the south doing inside our humble Arikaree forest, hmm? Thought you’d get yourself a taste of the fabled vampire clan?” I wanted to shoot back at her, to put her in her place. For even amongst these trees, there was still an order to things. I was still an elfin princess and she, I assumed, a Chamillet. Though I had encroached upon their territory, there was a reverence and respect granted members of my family. But she didn’t seem to care about any of that and she certainly didn’t fear me in the slightest.

Before I could say anything, a woman dressed in white appeared behind her and as perfect as this younger vampire was to me, this woman was more sculpture than living being. It was as though her eyes could see through me, taking me in from head to toe and back up again, leaving me feeling naked and vulnerable. I felt the danger, the unpredictable nature of her energy rising to the surface and as she moved a step closer it was all I could do not to drop to the ground like a child afraid they were about to be punished.

“How many times must I tell you not to play with your food, Haizea?”Her eyes were darker than Haizea’s, the intensity enough to take the breath from my lungs and as she stepped forward, I knew this could very well be my end.