Paul Thompson - Firstborn

“Only I may shed his blood!” she declared.

Voltorno laughed in response, but it was a laugh shrill with desperation.

Anaya got to her feet clumsily and stumbled in the thick leaves and fallen branches. As best she could, she jerked back, out of the way of Voltorno’s sweeping slash, but she could not avoid the straight thrust that followed.

Mackeli’s green eyes widened in shock and he uttered a strangled cry as the blade pierced Anaya’s brown deerskin tunic.

Though he saw what happened, Kith-Kanan was more shocked by what he heard—a roaring in his ears. For a moment, he didn’t know what he was hearing. Then he realized that the sound was Anaya’s pulse. It hammered at the prince like thunder, and he felt as if he would collapse from the pain of it. Time seemed to slow for Kith-Kanan as he watched Anaya. His beloved’s face showed no pain, only an unshakable determination.

Voltorno’s lips widened in a smile. Though he would surely die himself, at least he’d killed the witch. That smile froze as Anaya grasped the sword that pierced her stomach and rammed it farther in. His fingers still locked around the handle, the half-human was jerked toward her. His puzzlement turned to horror as Anaya brought up her free hand and drove her flint knife into his heart.

Voltorno collapsed. So tightly did he grip the sword that, when he fell backward, he pulled it from Anaya’s body. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Kith-Kanan struggled to Anaya’s side and caught her as she collapsed. “Anaya,” the prince said desperately. The front of her tunic was covered in blood. “Anaya, please…”

“Take me home,” she said and fainted.

Mackeli found the key to Kith-Kanan’s shackles in Voltorno’s belt pouch. Freed of his bonds, the prince lifted Anaya in his arms. Mackeli offered to help.

“No, I have her,” Kith-Kanan said brokenly. “She weighs nothing.”

He strode away from the gully, past the places where Voltorno’s men had died. Inside, Kith-Kanan concentrated on the sound and sensation of Anaya’s heartbeat. It was there. Slow, labored, but it was there. He walked faster. At home there would be medicines. Mackeli knew things. He knew about roots and poultices. At the hollow tree there would be medicines.

“You have to live,” he told Anaya, staring straight ahead. “By Astarin, you have to live! We’ve not had enough time together!”

The sun flickered through the leafless trees as they hurried toward the clearing. By now Kith-Kanan was almost running. Anaya was strong, he repeated over and over in his mind. Mackeli would be able to save her.

In the clearing, Arcuballis reared up on its hinds legs and spread its wings in greeting. The beast had returned from hunting to find everyone gone. Kith-Kanan paid it no heed as he rushed toward Anaya’s home—their home.

The prince ran to the hollow tree and laid Anaya on a silver wolf pelt that Mackeli had dragged outside. Her eyes were closed and her skin was ice cold. Kith-Kanan felt for a pulse. There was none.

“Do something!” he screamed at Mackeli. The boy stared at Anaya, his mouth open. Kith-Kanan grabbed the front of his tunic. “Do something, I said!”

“I don’t know anything!”

“You know about roots and herbs!” he begged.

“Ny is dead, Kith. I cannot call her back to life. I wish I could, but I can’t!”

When the prince saw the tears in Mackeli’s eyes, he knew that the boy spoke the truth. Kith-Kanan let go of Mackeli’s tunic and rocked back on his heels, staring down at the still form of Anaya. Anaya.

Rage and anguish boiled up inside the prince. His sword lay on the ground by the tree, where Voltorno had found and discarded it. Kith-Kanan picked up the blade and stared at it. The half-human had murdered his wife, and he had done nothing. He’d let Voltorno murder his wife and child-to-be.

Kith-Kanan screamed—a horrible, deep, wrenching cry—then slammed the flat of the blade against the oak tree. The cold iron snapped five inches above the hilt. In anger he threw the sword hilt as far as he could.

Night. Mackeli and Kith-Kanan sat inside the tree, not moving, not talking. They had covered Anaya with her favorite blanket, one made from the pelts of a dozen rabbits. Now they sat in darkness. The broken blade of his sword lay across Kith-Kanan’s lap.

He was cursed. He felt it in his heart. Love always eluded him. First Hermathya had been taken away. So be it. He had found a better life and a better wife than Hermathya would ever have been. His life had just begun again. And now it had ended. Anaya was dead. Their unborn child was dead. He was cursed.

A gust of wind blew in the open door, sweeping leaves and dust in tiny whirlwinds around Mackeli’s ankles. He sat with his head on his knees, staring blankly at the floor. The shriveled brown oak leaves were lifted from the ground and spun around. He followed their dancing path toward the doorway, and his eyes widened.

The green glow that filled the open entrance to the hollow tree transfixed Mackeli. It washed his face and silver hair.

“Kith,” he murmured. “Look.”

“What is it?” the prince asked tiredly. He looked toward the doorway, and a frown creased his forehead. Then, throwing the mantle off his shoulders, he got up. With a hand on the door edge, Kith-Kanan looked outside. The soft mound that was Anaya beneath her blanket was the source of the strange green light. The Silvanesti prince stepped outside. Mackeli followed.

The light was cool as Kith-Kanan knelt by Anaya’s body and slowly pulled the rabbit-fur blanket back. It was Anaya herself that was glowing.

Her emerald eyes sprang open.

With a strangled cry, Kith-Kanan fell back. Anaya sat up. The strong light diminished, leaving only a mild verdant aura surrounding the elf woman. She was green from hair to toes.

“Y-You’re alive!” he stuttered.

“No,” Anaya said sadly. She stood, and he did likewise. “This is part of the change. This was meant to happen. All the animal life has left me, and now, Kith, I am becoming one with the forest.”

“I don’t understand.” To speak with his wife when he’d all but resigned himself to never seeing her again brought Kith-Kanan great joy. But her manner, the tone of her words, frightened him more than her death. He couldn’t comprehend what was happening.

The green Anaya put a hand to his cheek. It was cool and gentle. She smiled at him, and a lump grew in his throat. “This happened to the other keepers. When their time was done, they became one with the forest, too. I am dead, dear Kith, but I will be here for thousands of years. I am joining the wildwood.”

Kith-Kanan took her in his arms. “What about us? Is this what you want?” he asked, and fear made his voice harsh.

“I love you, Kith” Anaya said passionately, “but I am content now. This is my destiny. I am glad I was able to explain it to you.” She pulled free of his embrace and walked off a few yards.

“I have always liked this spot in the clearing. It is a good place”, she said with satisfaction.

“Good-bye, Ny!” Mackeli called tearfully. “You were a good sister!”

“Good-bye, Keli. Live well.”

Kith-Kanan rushed to her. He couldn’t accept this. It was all too strange. It was happening too quickly! He tried to take Anaya in his arms once more, but her feet were fixed to the ground.

Her eyes rebuked him gently as she said consolingly, “Don’t fight it, Kith.” Her voice becoming faint, the keeper added, “It is right.”

“What of our child?” he asked desperately.

Anaya placed a hand on her belly. “He is there still. He was not part of the plan. A long, long time from now he will be born…” The light slowly dwindled in her eyes. “Farewell, my love.”