Page 21 of The Pastel Prince

“Help…”

A man’s voice. We rushed to the chunk of smooth rock and began pushing on it. Inch by inch, it moved, the man under it groaning then falling still. We shoved and pulled, finally moving the fallen ceiling portion enough to grab a bloody hand and tug. The man keened.

“Sorry, my friend,” I said as we wiggled the man free. I pushed his long white hair from his face and cried out in joy. “Eldar!”

He was alive, untouched by the stone curse, but barely hanging on. His dark green eyes flickered open, and in his gaze, I knew he saw me. “Little…brother.” I kissed his brow, uncaringif it was bloodied and grimy. “You have…grown since…last my eyes…touched your face.”

“Let us move him from this temple. It is unsafe to linger here. The ceiling may come down completely,” Beirach said. I nodded dully, clasping my brother’s hand, my eyes moving over his broken body. Beirach, steady and sure as always, set about making a travois that we shifted Eldar onto. The pain of doing so caused him to pass out, but that was perhaps for the best. Tying the stick-framed drag to Atriel, we then pulled Eldar out of the village, into a small copse beside the creek. There we tended to his injuries. Broken legs, shattered arm, a head wound that oozed rich red blood. Throughout it all, he slept. We dribbled healing draughts between his cracked lips, rubbed balms into his cuts, and splinted his busted bones.

I sat at his side through the night, combing my fingers through his hair and telling him about my life in the castle so far from our forest home. He never moved. Much of that due to the sleeping herbs that I had pressed to his tongue, but some due to the injuries. The sky was still dark when I felt someone sit down at my side.

“You should rest. Let me tend to him for a few hours,” Beirach whispered. Tezen sat in the trees nearby on watch, her soft songs giving Eldar some comfort as he rested, I hoped. The pixie had a lovely voice when she wasn’t cursing like a drunken Calaer dock worker.

“No, I…no, I have to stay with him.”

“I understand. Then stretch out, place your head on my lap.”

“That would be…lovely,” I confessed, exhaustion sweeping over me like the winter storms that rage down from the Witherhorn Mountains. I barely had my head placed on his thigh when my eyelids dropped. Beirach skimmed his fingers over my brow.

“Would you like your braids loosened?”

“No, just…touch me as you are now?” I asked around a yawn.

“Touching you is a joy that I will never tire of,” he gently replied as his fingertips danced over my nose. I remembered little else other than the warm press of his lips to my forehead, right where the white mark of the goddess rested, before I fell into a dreamless, fatigued slumber.

I awoke with a start, sitting up in a familiar glen, my head foggy.

Sleep lingered in my thoughts as it was known to do. Was I dreaming of this open area where my brothers and I played as children? My sight moved from the pink and purple dawn painting the sky to Eldar, and I knew this was no dream. I sat as still as a mouse spying a cat and only exhaled when I saw his chest rising and falling. His breathing was labored, but he still clung to life.

I touched his arm above the splint to check for signs of the stone curse. His skin was dirty, olive green yet, praise Danubia, and warm. His long, dark lashes flickered at my touch. He had always been an easy one to rouse as opposed to my other siblings. Mother had taken to beating on a pot with a spoon to wake the others as Eldar and I would be giggling into our morning oats and honey. My heart clenched in loss.

“There…” Eldar tried to speak. “Water…so dry.”

“Yes, of course.” I jumped to my feet to find Beirach striding to me with his water flask, a soft smile on his face. “Thank you.”

I took the skin and kneeled back down. “Let me aid you,” Beirach said, kneeling as well and then sliding his thick armunder Eldar to raise him up slightly. “Drink slowly,” Beirach warned Eldar, who gulped greedily until I eased the skin from his swollen lips.

“Kenton,” Eldar whispered as Beirach eased him back to his makeshift bed. The travois rested on the cool ground now. Beirach must have removed it from the horse after I had fallen asleep. A low fire burned in a pit lined with stones blackened with use, a small pot pushed off to the side to warm whatever it contained. The same pit the children of the village would light when we would adventure out on our own or as far out as our parents would allow. I was sure that the outlooks sat in the trees over us, smiling down at our bravery of sleeping in the wilds, bows at the ready on their backs.

“I am here,” I replied, grateful beyond words to hear his voice. “You need to rest more, Eldar.”

“No, I need…damn the pain,” he said through gritted teeth. Beirach placed a hand on Eldar’s brow, his hand illuminating with a healing spell. The magicks spread over my brother, easing the grimace on his battered face. “Thank you.”

“No thanks are needed, princeling,” Beirach replied. Eldar sighed, his eyes roaming the leaves rustling overhead. Tezen arrived, carrying a cup of tea for the patient.

“I am no prince,” Eldar said as the pixie poured tea into his mouth. “My thanks, princess.”

“Ugh, I’m no princess,” Tezen sniffed.

“Seems no one cares for titles,” Beirach commented, sitting down beside me, his hand seeking mine. It felt right and good to thread my fingers into his. “Eldar, my name is Beirach Dreyath, the archdruid overseeing the sanctity of the Black Lake temple.”

“The name rings familiar,” Eldar said, his words sluggish now. “Father spoke of your exploits in the skirmishes against the trolls.”

“I…I am honored that the wilder warden would even know of me,” Beirach stammered. I squeezed his fingers. “Son of the warden, is there anything that you can tell us about what happened here?”

“Necromancer of incredible power,” Eldar spat out, his face dark with pain and rage. “Arrived with an army of those who rest in the trees unexpectedly.” Eldar paused and licked his lips. I slid my hand from Beirach’s to give him more water. Tezen came to sit on my knee, her empty teacup in her hands, the smell of lilac wafting up from her. She had recently bathed. My skin felt clammy and chilled from sweat and gore dried on it. A bath would be most pleasing. “Did not…ask for surrender…merely began casting spells. The stone magicks rolled over the village…like a grisly fog off a lake. Every living being it touched was turned instantly. We did our best to drive off the undead. So many were turned…”

“You do not need to speak of it anymore,” I interjected.

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