Sunlight barely pours in from the dense trees, but it's enough for me to avoid stumbling over roots and rocks. The further I go, the more my hands seem to shake. How am I supposed to confront magic-users? If I tell them to leave, will they go peacefully? I doubt it; these people have always been violent.
"This is a bad idea," I whisper to myself. Arabella isn't even with me, and they probably aren't here anyway. If I could find them easily, then they'd have to be stupid. Violence and idiocy do tend to go hand in hand, at least in most cases.
The smell of rain is all over the woods, which starts to ease my worries. This isn't some mystical place, even though the trees are a brilliant shade of green almost like emeralds and their bark is smooth and intricately designed. If it wasn't for the dark and soggy ground, the whole image would be out of a storybook. A trace of sunlight pours through the leaves, casting a golden glow on the areas before me; it seems like a fairytale.
I remember noticing rough bark, dull leaves, and sticks scattered everywhere on the ground at the front of the woods. The stark difference is almost scary, but the beauty overwhelms that feeling. On my left, I notice a clear stream. My feet guide me to the water like I'm in a trance.
"Who are you?" I whip my head around and see a girl in front of me. She has a petite build and dark skin, but her hair is as white as snow. My eyes are drawn to the tattoos all over her body, but the most intriguing thing about her is the blank stare she has. She's turned in my direction, but her eyes aren't focusing on anything.
"I, uh…" I rack my brain for an answer. "I'm Isla." My grandmother's name falls from my lips. It's a name from two generations ago, so it might be unrealistic, but there are people my age with older names.
"I'm Syvii," she replies, and we're both silent for a moment until a broad smile falls on her lips. "I can feel the energy inside you. Come with me, Isla."
"Energy? My apologies, but I don't understand," I tell her, but she shakes her head and starts walking away. With nothing else to do, I follow her away from the stream and towards wherever she's bringing me.
The further we go, the more sunlight reaches past the treetops, but I notice torches in a few spots along the path. Perhaps she has some sort of home in the forest.
As we walk, I analyze the girl. Her white hair is in two double buns on her head, which is an untraditional style. The swirly, silver markings jump out against her darker skin, and I wonder when she was tattooed. She steps more confidently than me, despite seeming like she is blind.
"It's the forest," she says, and sensing my confusion, adds, "I'm blind, but the woods help me see. It's not quite the same, and it's more like feeling vibrations and seeing shadows, but it's everything to me."
"How?" I ask, glancing around at the trees. They're beautiful, but I can't imagine them doing anything except grow and drop their leaves. Plants are technically living creatures, but they aren't connected to us.
"Magic," Syvii returns. That can't be possible; magic is dangerous and violent. How could it possibly help someone? Deciding that she's bluffing, I ignore her words and decide she's just been in this forest so much that she knows her way even though she is blind.
Just when I am about to ask her where she's bringing me, we step into a meadow-like clearing. A creek bigger than the one before encases the area like a moat, and a small bridge brings us to the other side.
The trees seem to bend around to form huts, tables, and chairs. Stones and rocks fill in the gaps seamlessly to create stunning houses and furniture. The presence of nature is everywhere, from the dirt to the treetops.
"Incredible, isn't it?" Syvii asks, and all I can do is nod. How could something as wretched as magic create such a beautiful space? It couldn't, and yet somehow it has. Magic might not be so bad, after all.
Memories of my mother's state after the slaughter of her people fill my head. She had such a bony figure for years; never eating enough and barely sleeping. The worst part was her breakdowns. She would scream and cry for so long that none of us could bear it. We couldn't approach her or she would fall deeper into her grief, so there was nothing we could do about it. Despite that, I would choose the outbursts over her now emotionless self any day.
My mother lost herself because of these people. I lost my mother because of these people. They don't deserve mercy when they murdered all those innocent souls. I've managed to sneak in, and it's up to me to tell my parents about them. The King and Queen can quickly dispose of their huts and make our kingdom safer.
"Magic can be bad," Syvii informs me as if she can read my mind. She said something about seeing my energy; perhaps these treacherous thoughts have tainted my aura. "But it can also be good. It heals our people and gives us a safe haven. I won't lie and say that all magic-users are honest and trustworthy people; some of us steal and even kill. You cannot lie either and say the rest of the world is filled with wonderful people. Anybody can hurt someone else."
"My mother's family was killed by magic-users," I confess, "it destroyed her."
The girl's calm exterior crumbles in front of me. Her previously dull, expressionless face morphs into one of deep hatred. So fierce is her countenance that I almost have to turn away.
"My family was slaughtered by who you would call normal. It destroyed me. You cannot expect our people to be peaceful when we are born of hate. Death makes us who we are. Death shapes our magic and our lives. You know nothing of death."
"I'm sorry." My voice is small and cowardly against her murderous tone. In her pain, I can see the terror and hatred of magic. The magic-users' pain must be the cause of these attacks, just like how my mother's pain caused the rules and executions. All my life, I've been told that magic is inherently bad. How can I accept that there's more to that than just simple hatred?
"You don't know, do you?" Syvii's peaceful mood returns. "Nobody told you how you got that energy inside you?"
"Enlighten me." The girl shakes her head but offers no verbal response. By now, other people have emerged from the huts and are watching us with curiosity. If Syvii can sense this 'energy' inside me, one of these magic-users might be a real mind reader. I can't afford to have one of them recognize me; I'm certain that despite what the girl told me, they would kill me.
"Syvii!" Somebody hisses at her, but when I look over at them, they have a hood over their head. In fact, it's the same hood I saw with Arabella. Unless they all have the same cloaks, this is the boy… the fire-user.
He reaches out, grabs her hand, and pulls her away from me. Before I can ask what he's doing, he whispers something to her, and a disgusted look comes across her face. It's replaced with a milder look of anger than the one I witnessed earlier, but the fire is there just the same.
"She's like us!" Syvii exclaims and stomps her foot. "I can read energy, don't you forget." The boy tries to make a point, but she holds up her hand in his direction. "I don't care! Do you forget Adam's roots?"
He marches away with his hands in his pockets, still murmuring complaints. His posture reminds me of the Saludorians; not as proper as us, but more proper than the Kyrians.
"Sorry 'bout that," she says, "are you ready to meet Adam?"
Adam, one of the oldest Delphos, is actually only a few years older than me. When we enter his hut, I see him sitting on the ground next to a young girl, holding a glass of water and laughing his head off. The girl's young face disturbs me as if it's impossible. Nobody could imagine that somebody who looks so cute could grow up to be a monster.
"This is Isla," Syvii interrupts, and the two turn from their conversation to look at us. A loud crash sounds as Adam's glass hits the ground. He curses and glances away from me, but his eyes return and scan my face. A little smile graces his face, and the little girl jumps up and down.
"Can I do it?" She begs, and Adam nods, but he seems distracted. The little girl raises her hands above the water, and they start to glow. Steam rises into the air until the glow disappears. She taps her foot on the ground where there used to be water and grins. My hands itch to pull out my dagger and protect myself, but I don't even have it, and this is a child. She's a magic-user, a voice in my head urges, they all are. They killed your relatives.
No. She's just a kid, they're all so young. My brother is older than all of them. I'm older than most of them. There must be more magic-users; these can't be the ones I've heard about. Kids wouldn't kill people, even if they have freaky powers.
"Evie can harness the sun and light," Adam explains, "and she's been working on heating things up with it." He turns to Evie. "Nice job!"
"My parents will be expecting me. They worry incessantly," I lie, and retreat from the hut without another word. Syvii starts to follow me, but I quicken my pace and head away from the clearing, away from the magic-users, and away from the pounding thoughts in my head. Out of sight, out of mind.
The faster I run, the dirtier my feet become, but I don't care. All I care about is telling my parents about the magic-users and forgetting about all of this.
I hastily change my clothes back into my royal garments, wondering how long I was gone. A few hours, maybe. Not enough time for anybody to notice my absence, except maybe Arabella. She tends to notice things like that, but when she hears what good I'm doing for the kingdom, she won't be hurt that I didn't meet up with her. My parents will stop thinking I sympathize with the magic-users; a few comments I made in my youth have ingrained that into their heads. I'll prove myself as a Princess of Fostoria. I'll prove that I care about our kingdom and that I'll do the right thing. I'll prove that I'm going to be a proper Queen.
"Annette! Come quick!" Arabella rushes towards me when I enter the castle, but before I can explain where I was, she cries, "it's Father!"
Horrid images of magic-users sneaking into our palace to kill the King rush into my head, but I ignore them. My father can't be dying; Arabella must be overreacting to a simple cold.
"Oh, Annette, it's awful. He can scarcely breathe, and his fever is high. The physician said…" Arabella chokes back a sob, "he said that Father's time on Earth is… is coming to an end."
Instead of obeying my mind and crashing to the ground, my legs keep running toward my Father's chambers. He can't be dying; I need him, we all need him. I can't worry him with a group of magic-users while he's on his deathbed, how selfish that would be!
When I open the door, I understand Arabella's tears. My father lays in the bed looking deathly pale. A servant holds a wet rag on his forehead, but a shiver rushes through his body. My mother sits at his side, holding his hand with her eyes closes. The physician looks up at me and gives me a look of pity. I kneel beside my father and latch onto his free hand.
"Father, you're going to be okay." Tears flow from my eyes, but I don't bother wiping them away. "You'll recover soon."
The Queen stands and takes my hands to lead me back to Arabella. Once we're back, she gives us a brave smile, but I can see the weariness in her eyes.
"I'm sure your father will be just fine," she says, but slowly glances back at the man as she messes with her right sleeve. She clears her throat and continues, "he wishes for you to partake in dress-fittings and keep busy so as to not worry with him. All will be well in the end."
When I look up at my mother, I notice her eyes, although tired, are clear. The Queen, who cries over spilled wine, hasn't shed a single tear while her husband lies in bed, dying. I make eye contact with Arabella, and she nods with a grim look on her face. Our mother couldn't have anything to do with this sudden illness, could she?