The Chronicles of Oerlay-Chapter Two

Chapter 2

            "Oh goodness..." Celeste gasped, and then uttered through choking sobs, "Oh no! Father!"

All of her nobility and collected thoughts vanished. Diadorah attempted to console her, with little success.

            The grieving Celeste ran to the audience hall's entrance, and desperately slammed at the door as it slowly reopened. They were hardly fast enough for her at this point. As soon as the doorway was wide enough for her to fit through, she held her dress above her feet and nearly sprinted back to her chambers, struggling to muffle her wails and prevent alerting the rest of the castle.

            The door clicked shut behind her and she was seated at her desk, gazing out her window at the elven tree, yet again. Her eyes grew heavy, and her tear streaked face was cold, but she cared not. She observed the little blue speckles that had started to appear on the blue skirt of her gown from the saltwater that fell from her chin. Sharp pains coursed through her heart continuously, and she would occasionally release a brief weep.

            She closed her eyes, attempting to regain some form of tolerance, when there was a knock at her door. Three evenly spaced, soft and slow taps of a knuckle against the wood. She could not bring herself to respond, or tell whoever this person was that she was not currently accepting any company. There was a short pause before the door opened.

            She listened dully to the familiar patter of a man's boot approaching her. The extended silence assured her it was Sigmund who had joined her. Her room was gray and hazy, perhaps dark enough to light a candle. However the news she had just received had her miserable enough to want to live the rest of her life in darkness.

            Sigmund dropped a large book on her desk. Gentle enough so as not to be considered rude, but also aggressively enough to make her flinch. She glanced at the cover stubbornly. Its exterior was leather and ancient. She wondered if this was a legendary novel that she had not yet read. The pages appeared to be browning with a pleasant extravagance that intrigued her greatly. Before she had even considered what this book consisted of, she already could not wait to read it.

            The Healing Power of the Horn.

She glanced at Sigmund. He was the queen's highly esteemed jester and bodyguard. Celeste found this funny, as she had never seen him 'jest' a day in her life. He didn't speak much, and was rather mysterious, but had quite the background in the kingdom. One of apparent loyalty and strength.

            She had never seen his face.

He wore a strange mask, never once revealing his face to the public--or anyone for that matter. It was carved of wood, and held a most peculiar smirk. Its shape was odd, coming to a swerved tip at either end, each pointing in the opposite direction. From underneath, his golden, curly hair wrapped around his face, spiraling almost to his shoulders. He wore an elaborate, red cloak, with sleeves that nearly fell to the floor. She was unsure of how he could hold anything with his hands completely covered by fabric.

            She suddenly remembered the task at hand, but spoke slowly, "What is this, Sigmund?" She did not bother to wipe the tears from her cheeks, or remove loose strands of hair from her face.

            He lifted his mask just above his lips, and crouched to Celeste's seated level, "You could save him...if you wish it." His voice was soft and calm. Even now in this moment of pain and fury, she could not help but notice the beautiful shape of his full lips, and his seemingly perfect jaw line. It was the most of his face he had ever exposed.

            "How?" She breathed. Chills ran up her spine as he smirked at her casually.

He wiped the tears from her face with his abnormally long sleeve, "Read the book, princess."

            He returned his mask to its original position, and then stalked out into the corridor, silently closing the door behind him.

In a daze, Celeste turned her attention to the book, and then out the window toward the tree. It had grown even darker during Sigmund's brief visit, and storm clouds laced the sky. She could suddenly see her reflection in the glass.

            Her crystal blue eyes stared back at her with a new sort of fire, one somehow, of hatred and hope combined. Her light blond hair was tucked messily beneath her tiara. It had met such disorder in her fit of grief. Her brow furrowed as she came to terms with her inevitable intentions.

            She would not allow her father to meet such a meaningless end. Raindrops fell unto her window. The beginnings of this storm seemed to represent her emotions, the hate, the sadness, the incomprehensible desire.

            She opened to the first page of the book and began to read, as lighting screamed through the evening horizon...

            Merenek had waited for her. Together, they walked back toward the home tree through the rain.

            “I do hope you don’t become ill due to walking through this weather,” He murmured with a cocky smirk.

            She smiled back, her bow strapped to her back, and twirling a loose arrow around her fingers. She stared at him longingly, hands laced behind his back, his perfect, though wet locks, beginning to wave over his shoulders and down his muscular chest.

            Why must she love him?

            She knew she should have protested to her king escorting her home, but she did not wish to part from him just yet. He hardly seemed to mind, anyhow.

            His emerald green eyes flickered to her face and he gave a marvelous grin, “You’ve come along excellently. I couldn’t do better myself.”

            “Thank you King Merenek,” She nodded with respect, blushing with a fear that he may have noticed her staring, “But I have much to learn.”

            “Nonsense, you are too modest,” He laughed, but she could sense him weakening. Immediately after the gem had been taken from him there was a great change in the man. He would sometimes seem lost, and upset, his reactions to things would be delayed or too abrupt. She knew there was much on his mind as the gem had been what kept him alive far longer than any elf should have lived. There was a deadly fear that, perhaps, should the gem never return to its rightful owner, he may begin to age rapidly, and pass away before any action could be taken. As Salandra dwelled on the subject, her heart began to race, and her emotions manifested themselves into a simple sentence.

            “I will retrieve the gem, my King, you won’t be ill for long,” She was surprised that she had actually said such a thing aloud.

            And so was Merenek, as he had stopped walking and simply stared at her. His usual cool and collected expression had vanished, and his brows had furrowed together with distraught. Locks of hair fell in his face, some twisting over his nose and just barely past his mouth.

            Her cheeks burned with humiliation as she avoided his gaze.

            “I shouldn’t have said that,” Her hands shook, and she nearly dropped her arrow, “I’m sorry—“

            “Salandra,” His tone was stern, but not alerting, “Don’t apologize.”

She attempted to inspect a few of the trees that surrounded her from her position, anything to evade his face. But his gaze never left hers. The rain fell loudly, the trees hardly providing any cover.

            “Come. We’ve been gone for a while,” His features softened again, but his stare lingered a moment longer before he continued to walk again. She rushed to keep up with his quick stride.

            The conversation between them had ceased, and it seemed unbearably silent, even though she was surrounded by the crashing of the rain around her, the obnoxious collision of water and earth, she could not bear the stillness. She allowed herself a sideward glance.

            He appeared tired, and distracted. She observed the dark circles under his eyes, and then his perfectly straight and angled nose, to his full and firmly locked lips. His arms fell to his sides, instead of behind his back, and she couldn’t help but notice the slight but constant flex in his biceps, that displayed a subtle tenseness. Never had she seen him so anxious.

            “King Merenek…”

“Yes?” He didn’t look at her. He always made eye contact when he spoke to her.

            “Are you…okay…King Merenek?”

He slowed his pace, and stopped walking once again, “You are an interesting woman.”

            He studied her curiously, “I am as good as can be expected.”

There was further silence. The rain suddenly seemed less objectionable. Salandra wanted to say something, but was not sure what to expect. She clutched her miscellaneous arrow, pretending to inspect its shaft with interest.

            Merenek raised a brow, and then placed his hands firmly on her shoulders, “You mustn’t worry about me, Salandra. It is tragic that the gem was taken from us, but I won’t have you putting yourself in harms way for my sake….do you understand?”

            Her neck and shoulders burned as his grip gently tightened, “I do…”

He nodded and released her, then turned and resumed strolling toward the home tree. Yes, Salandra had understood him perfectly well. Her frustrations, however, had not ceased. Nor had her passionate desire to save him.

            She walked brusquely then, to catch up to him, stabbing her arrow into a tree on her way past it, “But I won’t make any promises.”