89 Autumn, Cycle 452 // Eastern Wood
The sputtering embers and low flames signaled that the fire was dying down. She watched with tired, fluttering eyes through slow puffs of white breath, the last of a measly dinner lying cold in her lap. The man sitting with her threw another log onto the smoldering coals and the splash of sparks jolted her out of her fatigue.
“You going to finish that, girl?” came his gruff voice.
“You know my name; if you want the rest of it then ask nicely, old man.”
“Who’s calling names now, Eliana?”
Eliana ground her teeth, trying to contain her annoyance. He snorted.
“But you are an old man, Zeno,” she retorted, bringing the meat up to her mouth.
Zeno pursed his lips, furrowing his brow. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.”
Silence came over their campsite once more as Eliana tugged her cloak more tightly around her. The last days of autumn were coming to an end and the cold was beginning to set in; she predicted the first snow wouldn’t be far off. She was glad as the fresh log caught fire and the flames started to rise once more. They would need to keep it burning tonight.
“Eliana,” Zeno said, sounding strangely genuine.
She looked up from the fire to look him in the eye, finding the tone in his voice strange. He continued.
“I have little else to teach you. There is only one thing left.” His wrinkled face looked troubled as the reflection of the flames danced in his eyes.
“What will I learn?”
“Tomorrow, you will find out, but you’ll be needing this first.” He turned to Eliana and she felt his rough hand take her own. He placed a small object into her palm. When he took his hand away, it revealed a small vial filled with clear liquid. “This is all that remains.”
“What is it?” she asked, bringing it closer to her eyes. “It doesn’t look like anything special.”
“In one thing, you have not changed, girl–”
“ELIANA.”
In a flash, Zeno raised his hand and struck Eliana’s face, the loud crack echoing through the trees around them. “Quiet! You are just a girl, a bastard girl, and you do not see anything except for what is right in front of you!”
Eliana yelped, more out of surprise than out of pain. She held her burning face, wincing as the stinging grew and tears started straining out of her eyes. “That. Hurt.”
“Good. I meant it to hurt. You think you know everything, Eliana Syris, but you know nothing.”
Eliana gritted her teeth as the metallic taste of blood leaked into her mouth. Her lip was bleeding. “I know that you’re a shithead.”
Zeno grabbed her wrist, yanking it away from her face and forcing her to look at him. She winced in pain. “You can be an ungrateful shithead yourself, girl,” he spat back. “Are you going to listen to me or not?”
Eliana glared into his fiery eyes. He looked as stoic as ever, as if striking her had been nothing to him, and it wasn’t. After all, he’d done it dozens of times before. Reluctantly, she remained silent, letting him continue.
“Good.” He let go of her wrist and she pulled away from him violently, spitting blood out onto the ground in front of her. “I developed that potion myself. I spent years perfecting the recipe. It may not look like much, girl, but that miniscule drop of liquid may save your life someday.”
“And how will it do that?” she asked skeptically.
“Do you doubt me, girl?”
She sneered at him. “When are you going to stop calling me girl?”
“When you grow up and start seeing the world for what it really is. And that is what you’ll be doing tomorrow.”
Eliana sighed and looked back into the fire, observing the small vial of liquid. It seemed so unassuming. How could something so small save someone’s life?
“Save that for when it really matters, Eliana.”
She looked back at Zeno as he finally called her by name. “Why can’t you just make more of it?” she asked.
“It takes a very special ingredients and processes to make,” he answered. “It would take many months just to gather the materials.”
Eliana looked back down at the vial, then squeezed it in her hand. “I’ll keep it close by.”
Zeno nodded his head once, then reached into his satchel and pushed some things around before pulling out a scrap piece of string long enough to tie around her neck. He took the vial and tied a knot securely around it, then placed it around her neck. “Never take it off, and keep it hidden.”
Eliana nodded and dropped the vial into her tunic. They both turned once again in silence to the fire. Eliana grabbed a couple more logs and tossed them onto the flames.
“That should be enough to last the rest of the night,” Zeno said. “We should get some rest. And remember this tomorrow, Eliana; survival is the one thing that matters out here. Trust–”
“Will get you killed,” she finished the sentence she’d heard and spoken hundreds of times since she met Zeno.
“Maybe you do know something, Eliana Goldmane.”
She snapped her head around to look at him, her eyes wide. She hadn’t been called by that name since she was a child. When Zeno had taken her off the streets of Nighthaven in the north of Antovia, he’d give her his own name of Syris and she’d been Eliana Syris ever since.
“Don’t forget that name, for someday it may come back to you,” Zeno spoke as he laid down next to the fire. “Now get some rest.”
Eliana stared into the ground with a furrowed brow, but nodded. She was beginning to feel fatigued either way. She grabbed her bow and quiver in case she’d need to protect herself during the night and laid down on the opposite side of the fire, tightening her cloak around herself. The warmth of the flames lulled her to sleep.
She was in her mother’s arms. Her hair was black as night, and somehow she knew she was beautiful even though her face was a messy blur. She couldn’t understand the words, but her mother was singing to her in a soft, sweet voice. Then suddenly, the serenity was broken when soldiers burst through the door and ripped her infant body from her mother’s bosom. As the baby screamed in fear, they took her to the edge of the river and tossed her into the black water to drown, sinking to the darkness.
Eliana’s eyes flickered open. The soft kiss of snow touched her cheek as the morning rays of sun began to creep through the tree branches. Smoke rose from the leftover ash of the fire and a shiver ran down her spine as the bitter breeze chilled her down to the bone. She sat up and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, and when she came to, she looked around in horror to find that she was completely, utterly alone.
Mane of Black is my first on-going fantasy story. It features Eliana, a bastard born to two people of different royal houses, Goldmane and Nightmane, in the land of Antovia. Because of this, was wanted by neither and was forced to live on the streets until she was taken under the wing of Zeno Syris, a mysterious wandering alchemist. Through him she learned potion-making and the art of survival until he left her on her own. Her story continues.
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