Prologue: Remembrance
Our beautiful dynasty,” Fae-Lyn said. “Life was easy. Or maybe we were just ignorant.” She waved her hand, bringing forth her Remembrance.
Color faded–then broke, splotching back into view, like watercolor dripping onto paper.
“There were many of us,” she said, stepping into her Remembrance, the soft plush grass on her feet. “Dozens.” Children all the way from toddler and up ran and played in a lush green field. “We had so much fun together.” She looked up into the cherry blossom petals that fell around her, touching the grass–blinking back memories.
From a marble-crowned hill, water spilled down next to steps of an ornate palace, gathering into a gleaming river and plunging off of the floating island into the cloud sea below.
“I was closest with Cor, Mardris, and my twin–Lexim.” Fae-Lyn paused, her breath hitching and jaw tensing. “Cor was the oldest.”
A boy ran by, looking about 11. His matte white hair fell just above his ears. He turned, staring out of Fae-Lyn’s Remembrance. His face flashed with shadow and a wicked grin. His eyes turned solid black and dripped tears like ink.
Fae-Lyn coughed and cleared her throat.
The image of the boy faded.
“Mardris loved her pets,” Fae-Lyn said. A little girl with black hair and a violet dress held a puppy, protecting her from the other children. “Even then she protected the ones others would see as prey.”
“Lexim,” Fae-Lyn said, ”loved the open air. He loved to befriend and rule over nature. His manner was not malicious–but shepherding.” The young boy, Lexim, planted and replanted various seedlings in the ground.
”Our parents ruled Deorum–our island.”
The king and queen towered, each standing forty feet tall. They stepped out into the courtyard overlooking the rolling green hills, and smiled, watching their children play.
”Everything was perfect. But, we, the children of titans, developed titan sized appetites. Some good.”
Lexim whistled and a bird landed on his shoulder as he laughed.
”But others… were wicked.” Shadow crept over Fae-Lyn’s Remembrance, then she turned away.
”Eventually, we descended from Deorum and discovered humanity. Our arrival shattered a barrier in the sky, and the Aether flooded in—bringing life with it.
”The Aether of Deorum transformed your world. Crops grew sweeter, more abundant. Animals grew larger—stranger—bearing traits we knew only from Deorum.
”Father met with the human royalty. Whether out of fear or diplomacy, they sought a treaty.”
The Remembrance shimmered, and the field dissolved into stone, giving way to a towering throne room.
The humans stood like children, their crowns barely reaching the Saiar’s midsections.
”We had peace. But peace bound by ink and parchment is a fickle thing.”
The treaty glowed in her Remembrance—then curled into flame. Its ashes rose, revealing a silhouette of Cor’s heinous grin.
”Cor gathered a sect of humans who worshiped him—not as a king, but as a god. If only they saw the devil behind his smile.”
The memory shifted, showing Cor’s gaze: humans bound in chains, backs scarred from disobedience.
”When Father discovered what Cor had done, he dragged him back to Deorum. But Mardris… she vanished. Took her pups—or they took her. Regardless, I never saw anything resembling my sister again.” Fae-Lyn blinked back a crystalline tear that shimmered like a diamond.
”When we returned, Cor was already waiting.” Fae-Lyn froze and shuddered. ”He sat inside Father’s chest cavity—devouring his heart.
The Remembrance reanimated the grotesque image.
”Everything changed. Cor had what he craved: Power fed by the obedience of slaves.” Blue-black light seethed at the end of his fingertips, hungry for blood.
”A century of war passed. We came of age bathed in blood not our own. Many of us died in it. Some reveled in it.”
A flicker distorted the Remembrance. A wolf’s snarling maw, blood dripping from its fangs.
Fae-Lyn grimmaced and turned away. ”We fought back and joined forces with the humans. But Cor’s strength only grew.”
The Remembrance lingered on Cor, now grown, standing atop a battlefield, black-blue light pulsing in his hands like venom.
”We didn’t know the full extent of his power. Or how far his sway had spread. Still, my siblings and I fought. When Mother saw what we had become, her body turned to stone from grief and cracked. Her passing fueled our desire to fight. Our mourning gave us purpose, and our resistance denied Cor what he truly craved: pain.
”What began as a desire for power twisted into a gnarled hunger for suffering. Our resistance stole that from him. Saiar and human alike found hope in our stand
”But we were dying.”
The Remembrance rippled, giving way to a scene of a battlefield with Saiar and humans laying in mangled heaps.
”Cor could have ended us. But then he would be alone with his lust for pain. So, instead, he bled us.
”In the ashes of that war, we did something terrible. We made a contract with Cor. Even now I still feel conflicted over what we chose that day. The contract sealed Deorum from the human world. We willed the Aether to withdraw. Cor and his legions were banished not only from your world, but from ours.
”Cor made a final demand: he would be allowed to inflict unrelenting pain on the ruler of Caer Mestin, the leading monarchy of your world.
”That pain would never cease. Not until the ruler died.” Fae-Lyn held her hands together, solemn. She stared straight out of her Remembrance.
”Was it right? To condemn one soul to endless agony so others might live? One man suffers—millions are spared. Fair, perhaps. Unless you are the one chosen to suffer. Still, I signed it. Even knowing it was wrong.
”And if we tried to intervene, if we sought to ease the burden, the contract would break. Aether would return. And with it, hell—in both our worlds.”
”It is a terrible burden. One passed down from ruler to heir, like a crown of biting iron.
”It was then I learned that despite their size, humans are stronger than Saiar. The humans did not break. The contract holds still. In the centuries since, your leaders have changed. Their bodies endure pain better now. So Cor adapted.
”He turned to cruelty of the mind. And when he mixes pain of both mind and body…” She trailed off, shutting her eyes.
”But, he is not allowed to break them. They must retain their faculties to rule.”
Fae-Lyn went silent for a moment, and stepped out of the Remembrance back into the tavern, sitting down at the table.
”Without this contract,” she said, ”everything falls. My world. Yours. And the ashes of war will once again fall like rain. Do you understand?”
Fae-Lyn stared at the older, one-eyed man across the table.
I
The Best Birthday Ever
Twin amethysts fall from my lord’s cheeks,
and I know I have witnessed the birth of my king.
—the haft of a spear, Sanguine Field, Unknown Year
Just a bite, Juice thought. She drooled over the box she had pulled out from under her bed. The smell used to make her gag. Now it was sweet, like fruit left too long in the sun. She needed it. She cracked open the box, hesitated, then shut it. No, she thought. I shouldn’t.
Sunlight poured through the window. Had she stayed up all night again?
Juice wiped the drool from the corners of her mouth and moved to wash her face. She leaned over the water and stared. Burn marks covered half her face; hair didn’t grow on half her head. When I grow up, will I be beautiful like them? She thought of the pretty women on the corner. How they smiled at men. How the men smiled back.
The door creaked. Juice jumped and wiped the dumb smile off her face. She’d never be beautiful like them. It was dumb to think she could be.
A tall, lumbering figure stepped in, leaning on his single-bladed greataxe like a walking stick. ”It stinks of death in here. Didn’t I tell you, no chicken bones left lying around?”
Juice scratched at her cuticles and rocked back and forth on her heels. ”Sorry,” she said. ”Did Gorf come back with you?”
”Outside,” the man said. ”Then clean up this mess!”
Juice smiled and ran outside. The fog clung to her feet. Everything was wet with morning dew.
”Now,” a voice said behind her.
Right in my blind spot. She stomped her foot and clenched a fist.
”If I were an eight-year-old girl,” the voice continued, ”What would I want for my birthday?”
Juice turned, trying not to smile.
A tall lanky man with a platinum-blonde bowl cut took exaggerated steps toward her, holding something behind his back.
”Hmm . . .” Juice poked her chin and looked up and to the side. ”Maybe . . . some cake!”
”Cake?” Gorf said. ”No, that can’t be right. I distinctly remember you had cake last year. Novelty, dear. Novelty!”
Juice laughed. Foolish man, she thought. Doesn’t he know you can have cake more than once? He really must be as sad as Glythe said.
Gorf leaned down, eyebrows so angled that each one looked as if invisible strings pulled them up. ”For milady,” he said, proffering a gift tied with a grand bow.
Her breath hitched. ”Mine?”
”Yours.”
She tore the bow off and threw the gift open. Inside lay an ornately carved wooden mask with bright feathers in every color, sticking out like a lion’s mane.
Gorf rubbed his neck. ”We found the feathers in the Harcynth Jungle. Glythe said they looked stupid, but I thought you might—”
Juice wrapped her arms around Gorf’s waist and squeezed, squinting her eyes shut to hold back tears. Now I can be beautiful.
”You like it?” Gorf asked, giving her a little hug back and patting her on the head.
She nodded and put the mask on. ”How do I look?”
Gorf laughed. ”Like the bravest-looking eight-year-old I’ve ever seen. Happy birthday, kiddo. Let’s get breakfast. Your old man will catch up after the church.”
Juice raised an eyebrow beneath her mask. ”He’s not my old man,” she said, voice flat and steady.
”Well,” Gorf said, going down on a knee. ”Not by blood, maybe. But he does care for you.” He remained silent for a moment. ”You see what I mean?”
Nope. ”Yes,” she said.
”Great! I’m starving.”
The street buzzed with voices. Gorf took her hand before they got swallowed by the crowd.
”Did he get a lot?” Juice asked.
Gorf looked to the side. ”What do you mean?”
”Of ears.”
”Oh. Yeah, yeah we did.”
They went inside and sat in the corner. The bacon smell was thick and hot in the air.
”How do you know if they’re cannibals or not?” Juice asked.
”There are signs,” Gorf said with a glance. Raising his hand, he shouted past the counter, ”Boy! Big plate of bacon–birthday big!”
”What kind of signs?” Juice asked.
Gorf looked over his shoulder toward the door. ”He doesn’t like when I talk about this with you.”
”Please?” Juice said.
Gorf sucked air through his teeth and tapped his finger on the table. ”Fine. First sign,” he said, holding up a finger. ”Their teeth start falling out. If someone’s missing too many, they’re either old… or they like to eat people.”
”I—” Juice started, ”I don’t want to know the rest.” Her belly twisted like she’d eaten something wrong.
”Then, their backs start to bend. But the real test is whether they can hold themselves back at the smell of fresh meat. Or blood.”
The doors slammed open and an older man walked in, slightly hunched over. Juice stared at him with wide eyes, then looked at Gorf.
”Probably just an old man,” he said with a wink.
Glythe burst through the doors, grabbed the old man by the shirt, and dragged him out screaming. With a crunch outside, the screaming stopped.
Juice swallowed hard.
Glythe walked back in, boots trailing blood.
”Here? In the tavern?” Gorf rolled his eyes, gesturing to the bag Glythe held in a clenched fist. It dripped.
Dit, dit, dit. Onto Glythe’s boot.
”‘Was just at the church,” Glythe grunted, sliding into a seat. ”Ears’ll keep until later. Happy birthday,” he said, smiling at Juice. Long, damp strands of black hair fell down past his neck and framed his face, which had the rugged stubble of a fresh shave with a rusty knife.
She smiled back. Glythe never smiled, not like this. But she liked it. It made her feel warm inside.
”You couldn’t have waited?” Gorf asked.
Glythe turned with a look that meant someone was about to bleed.
Juice had seen that look before. Glythe had that look the first time Juice saw him kill someone. She didn’t think she minded that Glythe did that though. The man he killed had wanted to hurt her, after. But that wasn’t a birthday thought.
The box isn’t nice to think about either, she thought. Feeling her breath hitch, she squinted her eyes shut and squeezed her head with both hands. No, no, no, don't go there! Don’t think about it!
”All I’m saying is that—” Gorf paused, breaking his staredown with Glythe. ”Forget it. Not my place to tell you how birthdays should be celebrated.”
”What now?” Glythe asked, looking at Juice out of the corner of his eye.
She let go of her head. Don’t go back to the box. Not this time. Just tell him. ”Birthday headache,” she said. She hated lying. No, she didn’t mind lying—she hated lying to him.
”Arnis!” Glythe shouted.
The boy ran to the table nearly tripping. ”It's almost ready,” Arnis said, voice squeaking as he tried to sweep curls of hair out of his eyes, push thick spectacles back up his nose, and balance several books in the crook of one arm all at once. The books lost the battle and fell to the floor with a clatter.
Juice giggled as Arnis stooped, watching his moppy hair bounce.
Glythe stood up. ”It’s her birthday. So bring our food, or I’ll show you how dangerous a book can be.”
The boy swallowed hard and ran off, leaving the books to their fate.
Gorf rubbed his temples and gestured at the boy’s figure receding back to the kitchen. Glythe sat down, then slumped his shoulders and sighed.
Juice smiled. He’d be nicer now. He always was when he sighed and his shoulders did that.
”So,” Glythe said with that tired smile, ”anything special you want to do?”
Juice shrugged. ”Bacon?”
Glythe nodded. ”Bacon. Arnis!”
Arnis ran back up to the table and set a large plate of bacon down with a slight bow. ”Told you it was almost done—”
”Go away,” Glythe said.
”Right…”
”You know,” Glythe pulled his hair back into a topknot, ”Gorf and I ran into some people on the road. Turns out there’s a circus coming tomorrow.”
”Really?” Juice asked, not sure if she was more excited about the circus or the bacon. Across the room, she saw Arnis eying their table.
”Really,” Gorf chimed in. ”Always thought this guy belonged in a circus...”
Juice turned her head, bracing to see Glythe let fly with harsh words or fists, but he never did. Instead, she saw him chuckling.
Arnis walked by. ”Is it—is it good?” he asked.
Gorf rolled his eyes. ”We don’t know, Arnis. We haven’t tried it yet.”
Juice blushed and saw her chance fading quickly. ”Want to go to the circus with us?” she asked, jumping up in her chair. Her heart fluttered as he looked at her in surprise.
”Juice,” Glythe said. ”What did I say about inviting strange boys to things like this?”
She frowned. ”Not to.”
”I–I should go,” Arnis said, then turned and hurried off.
Juice took a big bite into a strip of bacon—perfectly crunchy, yet melty when it touched her tongue. But it didn’t satisfy her. Not really.
”Is something wrong?” Gorf asked.
”I…” Juice looked around, ”I need some—”
Glythe slammed a barrel the size of a melon on the table.
Juice looked at it, then at Glythe, then back at the barrel. It had a spigot on it. ”Is that—”
”It is,” he said with an air of satisfaction, setting a tankard down next to it.
She positioned the tankard below the spigot and opened it. Golden, tangy liquid flowed from that beautiful little barrel as if it were flowing from Deorum itself. She closed off the spigot, brought the drink to her lips, and chugged. ”Juice for Juice!” She raised the tankard before filling it again. But it still didn’t quench her thirst.
At nearby tables, a few people raised their mugs and muttered along.
”First,” Juice began, ”you guys got home. Then Gorfy gave me this pretty mask, and then we came here and got some bacon, and then I got JUICE, and then we’re going to the circus and this—this—” Tears welled up in her eyes. Don’t cry, she thought. Be strong. ”This is the best birthday ever, Dad!”
They all paused.
Glythe’s lips drew to a line and his eyes fell to the table.
She looked at him, and her heart dropped.
Glythe cleared his throat. ”I—”
Juice jumped out of her seat. ”I’m going to throw up!” She ran out the door. Don’t cry, don’t cry. But she sobbed with each step, racing through alleys until she reached home. Slamming the door, she ran back to her room and threw herself upon the bed.
Tears stained her pillow.
The hunger came crawling back. It scratched at her belly, sharp and mean.
She stopped crying and rolled over, staring up at the ceiling.
One foot after another, she stepped off the bed. Slowly, she slid down to her hands and knees and peered beneath it.
The box was still there. Right where she’d left it. Quiet. Waiting.
Juice opened the box.
A freshly-severed human arm lay inside.
She reached in.
Took it.
Her fingers sank into the soft skin.
She waited only a second.
Then bit down.