Page 2 of Embers to Flames

Eulee’s fur coat has also begun to thicken. Another sign that the colder weather is fast approaching. Mikyl’s own coat lay carelessly discarded on the floor. Bending down to pick it up, I notice a deep crimson stain on the front, a stark contrast against the dark fabric. The smell of iron and salt mingled together makes my nose wrinkle in disgust. I stare at it, wondering what had caused such a vivid mark on his coat.

Is that—blood?

I tiptoe back into the bedroom. Mikyl has turned over onto his back and I can see his shirt also has the same discoloration. Carefully, I reach out to touch the fabric, my fingers lingering on the discolored spot. The texture is rough and sticky beneath my touch. A shiver ripples down my back as a feeling of dread cloaks me, its oppressive weight slowing my every step.

What happened last night?

Mikyl’s slumber seems restless, his brows are furrowed in a deep frown as if he is battling unseen demons in his dreams. The room is bathed in a soft glow from the morning sun, highlighting the contours of his face. With each shallow breath he takes, I can sense an underlying tension lingering in the air like a sinister omen.

I have to talk to him about this—blood—but waking him now would be like poking a sleeping beast with a stick. I’ll just have to come up with an excuse to visit the market later. Hopefully Mikyl has his vegetable cart set up by midday.

Returning to the main room, I slip on a soft green cotton dress, carefully lacing up the front. Untangling my bright ginger hair with my fingers, I let the long, wavy strands cascade down my back, reaching the peak of my behind. I twist the front pieces away from my face and secure them back with a worn-out silk ribbon. After downing a cup of coffee, I slip on my overcoat and make my way outside.

Eulee is already trotting towards the woods. Her coat, a deep shade of grey, blends into the shadows as she disappearsinto the forest. She’s off to scavenge for her own breakfast. Despite my efforts to domesticate her, she remains a wild animal at heart. Our shared sense of independence shines through as we both hunt for sustenance in our own ways.

Our small island within the realm of Quillyan, is known as Bahulya. We had always been self-sufficient before, our roots anchoring deep within the fertile soil. The beings beyond our borders were mere whispers, distant as the horizon. We hunted our own game and grew our own crops. Typically, smugglers were responsible for anything foreign crossing our borders. Even then, it was not gold nor jewels, but instead, majestic herbs and teas—elixirs to soothe the weary, to mend broken bones and cloud pain-ravaged minds. The Raven Witches, enigmatic and aloof, are responsible for brewing these concoctions.

The Witches are a mystery to most, their presence weaving through the tales of our land like threads in a tapestry. Their powers are feared by some, revered by others, but always respected for their undeniable power. They dwell alone in the northernmost part of the Endia territory, where shadows dance in the moonlight and whispers blow in the cold wind like forgotten secrets.

Nonetheless, the islanders once stood proud. Never relying on others; their hands tilled the earth, their songs whispered to the winds. Yet fate, like a restless tide, shifted.

Before the Elves asserted their dominion over our realm, the onset of Autumn was a herald for the island’s adept hunters—who now have either perished or relegated themselves to the shadowed alleyways of Mara—to embark on voyages toward the lands to the west of us—Elven lands—a territory both mystical and treacherous, in pursuit of the more formidable beasts that dwelled within.

But thirty years ago, the Elves took back their lands, along with ours, led by the formidable King Varitan and they began their time of ruling. Varitan, a master strategist and warrior, orchestrated a swift and decisive coup. He dethroned the human King in a single night, his elite Elven guard infiltrating the royal palace with unparalleled stealth. The human King, caught off guard and outmatched, was forced to abdicate, and Varitan claimed the throne, uniting the Elven and Human realms under his rule. Our provisions dwindled, and the Raven Witches teas turned bitter. The island’s heartbeat faltered.

Three years ago, the Humans led a revolution to reclaim Quillyan and force the Elves back to Edwardian. Men from every village stepped up to go to battle. Mikyl was among them. As the fight raged on, a single Elven arrow found its mark, piercing through his shoulder with unrelenting precision, signaling the commencement of his inevitable downfall.

Exhausted and bloodied, the Humans had no choice but to retreat. In the wake of defeat, a pivotal agreement was forged—the Elven Accords—cementing the Elves’ rule over all of Quillyan and the social order. Yet, their dominance is not merely a matter of might; it is a cultural conquest, their influence now permeating our art, music, and philosophy. As we bow to the Elven overlords, paying tribute to their supremacy. We stand on the brink, facing the possibility of complete destruction if we do not break free from our obedience. If we surrender, not only will we be dominated, but we may cease to exist entirely.

Something must change, lest we fade into the shadows of their reign.

Chapter Two

As I pass through the streets of Mara, the sight of our people lyingpassed outon the stone walkways, ensnared by theeuphoric effectsof a substance known asAuraroot, is disheartening. I have never seen this root firsthand, butMeemaw, an avid gardener, has delved into its secrets.

Auraroot, she says, is made from the crushed leaves and blackened berries of theaura bush. Scholars of old discovered that chewing the root grantedstimulationandelation. But one daring soul boiled the roots into ahallucinogenic tea, and another ground it into a potent powder. The euphoria, irresistible in its allure, drew in even those who had resolved to resist its call. Hours of bliss followed each consumption. And thus,AurarootDust emerged—a coveted commodity. People inhale it directly through their noses or mix it withtobacco, chasing both pleasure and profit. Yet, the cost is steep. The Auraroot users have grownpoor and frail, forsaking tithes and family care. They dance on the precipice of addiction, their senses clouded.

As far as I know, Mikyl remains untainted—for now. But doubt creeps up like a shadow. The island mourns its lost souls, and I pray to the Gods that Mikyl’s resolve continues to hold. For Auraroot, like any forbidden fruit, promises both ecstasy and peril. And so, I tread carefully, wary of meeting the Gods face to face.

The boat ride to Kaladis is always cold and misty in the early hours of the morning. I take my seat in the back of the boat and open the latest book I’d been reading. By the time the boat docks on the mainland, I should be done with it. I’ll have to try and sneak my way to the library during lunch to see if Alyndra has any other recommendations. She always seems to have the perfect book for me, as if she knows what I want to read without me even saying it. It’s almost like she can read my emotions. Sending me home with stories filled with action and romance makes me wonder even more about how much she knows.

My dreams these past few months have me thinking mostly about the mystery person who sends warmth through my veins like I’ve never felt before. That deep and majesticvoice that whispers to me and seemingly brings me to safety. Although I wish he really knew what he was bringing me back to.

“Nice weather we’re having, eh?” The snarky helmsman doesn’t normally say much on the ride over. His sarcasm is clear though today as I look up at the cloudy sky and give him a sly grin before returning my eyes to the pages of my book.

I’ve always been a shy and quiet girl. Keeping to myself is how I stay invisible. Being invisible in the world today is what keeps a person alive. I can’t argue with his satire though. We haven’t had much sunshine on the island since the war. Seems the fighting left its dreary mark on more than just the people. It’s as if mother nature herself knew how much had been sacrificed and just how sad the world has become. Kaladis, however, seems to be immune to the dreary feeling of the lands surrounding it.

We dock at Port Ula just as I am finishing the last page. The bright lights of Kaladis are shining through the haze of the fog coming off the sea. I’ve worked for the house of Erhorn for nearly three years now. Cooking and cleaning for Elves was not something I ever thought I would be doing. But it pays the tithe at home and keeps my belly full, thank the Gods.

Mikyl hasn’t brought home much gold lately. He sells vegetables from our garden at the market in Tanathil. I can only assume the gold goes to mead and ale. I often wonder if he has succumbed to the temptation of the Auraroot Dust. Notthat he would tell me if he had. In the past year, there have been only a few instances where he showed signs of something more than just being drunk when he returned home. Drunkenness usually comes with stumbling around and slurring words. When Mikyl comes home, he typically just passes out wherever he lands.

However, there had been a night not too long ago when he returned home full of rage. Like an evil presence had possessed him. He was angry, aggressive, and confrontational. I’ve tried to erase that night from my mind. I’d had no choice but to barricade myself in the bedroom while I listened to him run around the rest of the cottage, crashing into furniture, thrashing about and breaking things, screaming obscenities, and speaking of things I could never understand.

Even Eulee had been weary of him and she is a descendant in a long line of fierce warriors, belonging to the most formidable Wolf clan in the realm. She laid in front of me on the bed, guarding me in preparation for a battle she didn’t want to fight, but was willing to if it came to that. A shiver runs up my spine and I shake the memory from my foremind as I step from the boat and pay the helmsman his coinage.

It only takes me five minutes to reach the Erhorn mansion while strolling leisurely. Lord Erhorn is a senior Elf who expects very little from his servants. I had been very fortunate to gain employment within his house after the war.

I enter through the kitchen door and begin making his breakfast. Just as I am pulling a tray of golden biscuits out of the oven, the sisters arrive.

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