LEANNA: Ok. It is not for everyone to make sense to everyone else.

JUDE: You befriend people who have hurt you, who have hated you!

LEANNA: Of course. I do not wish to have enemies, and the most certain way to turn someone irreversibly into your enemy is by refusing to call them your friend.

JUDE: You have spoken to the Spirit and yet you do not believe in it.

LEANNA: I do believe in a Spirit. I believe all of our spirits make up the essence of the Spirit, and that each of us individually is both the whole and only a part of it. Without each of us – all the beings of the world – the Spirit ceases to exist. We are not Its creations; we are It Itself.

JUDE: Then what does it mean that we have so often obliterated each other?

LEANNA: It means we are in pain.

JUDE: But we are in pain regardless! If I choose to spare people today, my pain will not cease.

(Pause. Beat.)

LEANNA: What could you spare people from?

JUDE: You really do not watch closely anymore, do you?

LEANNA: What have you done, Jude?

JUDE: Look.

LEANNA: I am. I am deciding not to be certain of what I have seen. I need you to say it aloud. I will not assume the worst.

JUDE: Assume all you wish. These are powerful detonators. There is one in the line every twenty meters. I need only light the fuse and the wall will crumble. It will fill the river and become a mountain of stoney graves that no one would dare to cross again.

LEANNA: You would die with them.

JUDE: And my pain would end.

LEANNA: Do not do this.

JUDE: Why? Your pain would end too.

LEANNA: I do not wish for that. I do not wish for nothingness, and neither should you. There is so much beautiful somethingness in the world, and now it is certain to only grow. You will not stop it, even with this. Do not lose your chance to witness it.

JUDE: You care nothing for me. You concern over your own life.

LEANNA: Yes! I too would like to witness the new world. I have waited so long – longer than you can dream! I know I will never escape the wall, and I have come to be content with that. All I wish for now is to live within a good world. I beg you not to end me now, not when we are so close. Stay alive with me, please. Let us watch the new world together.

(Jude begins to pace.)

JUDE: This is what all my work has been leading towards—

LEANNA: Jude, watch your step.

JUDE: I have people counting on me to follow through—

LEANNA: Do not pace so violently, my friend.

JUDE: There is a movement depending on this solution. It was decided: this would be our way. My bravery – my sacrifice – would chart a new course in the battle, the Unionists would fall, the Spirit would be proud, the—

LEANNA: Beware the edge!

(Jude falls from the great height, and in his descent he begs. He cries and calls out.)

JUDE: Dreamer! Save me!

(He hears no response. He closes his eyes against the rushing wind, hoping to hear the Spirit in his final hour, but the final hour does not come. The wind grows unfathomably forceful, slowing his fall. He feels himself find stillness and opens his eyes. He stretches out his legs and feels his feet make careful contact with the ground. He sees his hands and feels his heart, all of him miraculously intact. He begins to thank the Spirit, but he knows that is not who has saved him. He drops to his knees and allows his face to fall to the Forest floor. He weeps.)

The Legend of Leanna Page, VOLUME ONE: A Beginning is available now in paperback and e-book! Available at all major retailers. Visit the website of the publisher → ForElenvia.org ← to learn more.

Order Volume One Today!

Please note, all material released on Substack is from the unedited manuscript. The official text can be acquired through the website of the publisher: ForElenvia.org.

“My goodness. If you are this old, what does that make me?”

Leanna opened her eyes and entered her dreamscape to see she was not alone in the cerulean sky. Before her was a gruff human with a sparkle in their eye and a kind smile.

“Fantázo Fiala,” she said, recognizing the writer from her time amongst the sprightly theatre troupe in the far Northwestern Wood. “I knew you must still be out there. How goes the playing?”

“Oh, it is marvelous!” they said, eagerly joining the Dreamer cross-legged on the hardened sky. “That Iddy you sent to us is such a joy, and, of course, Kennedy sends her regards.”

Leanna smiled, but she was sad. Fantázo went on.

“We all miss you terribly. We so wish you could return home.”

“I believe this is my home now,” Leanna thought aloud. “With all those who have come to live upon the wall, I can no longer dream to wish it destroyed.”

“I know,” said Táz. “That is why I have come to you.”

Leanna chuckled. “I so desperately want to ask how you’ve all lived this long, but I suppose, as far out into the Woods as you are, it must really be impossible to say.”

Fantázo threw their arms in the air. “I could not so much as say what length of time has even passed! I could much less say how it has managed to do so.” Leanna broke into laughter. “I don’t see what difference it makes regardless,” they concluded frankly.

“Oh, I did miss you, Fantázo.”

“Well, of course. I often have that effect.”

Their laughter mixed together and, as they heard it, it went on, remembering all the times it had done so before.

Fantázo cleared their throat and took on a serious tone.

“Have you kept up your playing, Leanna?” They asked.

She shook her head. “I confess I haven’t had the heart for it. My environs are not exactly conducive to an atmosphere of playfulness.”

“The fault there is in your heart, not your atmosphere. You must find methods of play. The Woods are telling me you are in great need of it, and it is always wise to heed the wisdom of the Woods.”

Leanna took a moment to reflect on her friend’s recommendation and, in that moment, Táz snapped their fingers and was gone, leaving Leanna alone, all a sudden awake and trapped, fully present, within the utter darkness of her cell within the wall.

Play, she thought to herself.

For the first time, she reached out with a curious gentleness and felt the bars that had first enclosed her. A grin of humorous curiosity came upon her as she traced her fingertips over an intersection of iron where – apparently – had been engraved the now ancient original seal of Pavoline. They knew the cage would never be seen, and yet they needed their name upon it. She laughed and moved on to feel more.

She touched the mortar between the stones, feeling the overflowing ridges that were never cleansed and beautified. She knew they had taken more care with the exterior and now began to feel a hint of guilt that she had never done her part to beautify the inside. A flood of memories poured into her mind from her earliest days growing up within that cave which had held the Jewel of Nebulous that now sat above her heart. She remembered all the paintings she and Kennedy had done upon the cavern walls. Hither, now, she had no paint, nor light enough to see color, but she had her sensation of touch and crumbled pieces of stone with which to carve! With great glee, old Leanna took at once to her childlike artistry, singing her favorite tunes in the meanwhile. She carved lines and shapes, eyes and a jaw. One hand drew the carving while the other kept constant touch so the image would not fall out of the Dreamer’s makeshift sight. Leanna had not been so happily awake in nearly two-thousand years.

As her drawing came to a close, she could sense something emanating from it – a feeling, a heart. She put down her carving rock and placed both hands, fingers and palms both completely, into contact with the larger stone. It occurred to her now that this stone was entirely of the earth. It had been, of course, before the masons took it, but it still was even now. Even within these stones, she was still within the world.

She thought of all the people who worshipped this wall, all the people who turned to it in their times of hardship. For a moment, her anger at the wall faded completely. She smiled, and she said simply, “hello.”

Hello, my dear, she heard in response. It was her own voice, and it was the voice of the Wall-Spirit.

“All these years have passed,” Leanna said, “and you and I never spoke with one another.”

You would not have heard of it, little one.

Leanna laughed. “Little one?”

Compared to me.

The human kept her hands on the stone and took a deep breath.

“Are you real?” She asked.

You feel me, do you not?

“I feel a wall.”

Then you know I am real.

“What are you?”

I am everything. I am you, I am them, I am the Infinite Trees, and I am everything in between. I am me.

“Are you the Spirit they worship?”

I am only myself. To say it any other way would be a lie.

“I do not understand. Does that mean yes or no?”

It means there is no answer to the question. The answer is not to ask, but simply to see and understand.

A tear crept up in Leanna’s throat. “I have answered so many queries, quelled so many fears… But I have so many questions and so many fears, and I have no one to answer or quell any of them.”

Ask me.

Leanna’s heart began to race. “The world is in shambles. There is death and violence where there need be none. There are people who starve and people who feast. The humans do not trust the fairies, the fairies do not trust the alqumans, and the alqumans do not trust one another. The Sylvatians are angry at the Mashivallites, the Mashivallites are violently frightened of the Sylvatians, both of them hate the Hederas, and none of the three respect the River and Sky! They are all so different from one another, and nothing I do in all my years can calm the anger. I fear they will destroy themselves and I fear I am running out of time to stop it.”

There was a deep silence.

What is your question, my dear?

“What am I supposed to do?”

What have you yet to try?

“Nothing!”

Then do nothing.

Silence again permeated the stones.

“I don’t understand,”

You are the world, as is everyone, but the world is no one person’s responsibility alone. At times, there is nothing one can do, and in those times, it is best to do nothing.

“What if I sit back and watch the world destroy itself?”

It cannot.

“I don’t believe that.”

Yet it is true. This world has survived more than you know. It has seen ages of fire and ages of ice, ages of growth and ages of death, and it will see all these ages again. You are not afraid the world will come to an end, you are afraid your people will die. This is where you have erred. There is no difference between the people and the world, no difference between the creations of hands and the creations of dirt. There is no difference between the people. Many do not understand this, and that is why there is strife, but an understanding of this truth cannot be forced upon anyone. It cannot be lectured, fought, or bargained for. It must be discovered and felt by everyone in their own time. Some will never learn, and still we must know they are one with us, even though they will not change. We must know to hate anyone is to hate ourselves. To hurt anyone, without exception, is to hurt us all. To disregard anything is to disregard everything. This is no simple matter to digest, for it is difficult to abide. This is why we must be indefatigable in our patience.

“But I cannot simply do nothing.”

Then take the active stance of waiting. Today, there is nothing you can do, but listen and wait. One day there will be something you can do. When you do that good action at a good time, you will have served the world well. So wait.

“Wait?”

Wait.

“Wait.”

Wait.

Leanna took her hands from the wall and sat, wildly awake, absorbing her recent lesson. She then returned her hands to the wall and continued to learn.

*****

Dear Reader, Leanna did wait, just as her spirit taught. From then on, she was patient and cautious and always listening. She remembered Fantázo too, ensuring throughout the years that she took her time to enjoy the world, even while it was not its best. The horses, bears, birds, and snakes all became her closest companions, even if the creatures themselves were unaware. The Trees too became her dear friends. She would penetrate her mind as deep into the Woods as her powers permitted and remain there sometimes for years on end.

She did not, however, forget the World Within the Woods, nor the ever more complex creatures who endeavored to control it. She no longer revealed herself to them in their dreams nor permitted they hear her voice – that was now reserved for the Trees alone – but she aided them when opportunity struck her. She used the winds of chance to gently participate in the world, quickening a telegram’s delivery, intercepting another, helping the sun to shine on a particularly auspicious day, or dropping an ivy leaf before the eyes of a poet to point them towards the inspiration for their most meaningful line.

In the late 20^th century, her scope of influence grew especially dim. People began to stop utilizing the paper-bound communication methods which were susceptible to being taken by the wind. As the decades pushed on from the 20^th century to the 21^st, their technological marvels surpassed what any of them might have dreamed, and they evolved with blinding speed. In a mere blink of Leanna’s eye, the people of the World Within the Woods were communicating with each other instantly and over vast distances through the use of these small techno-magic devices that became a staple in nearly everyone’s pocket. No longer did Leanna have to bring people together in dreams for them to speak to one another across borders – across even the wall! – for they did so now as a matter of daily business. Tragedies continued to occur, but the response to them was multiplied to the billions, for all in the world could respond instantly to an outrage in any small corner of it. Leanna was thrilled at the development.

Yet, in the same turn, this world-wide web of communication spurred on division in a new way. No longer were the separations between people dependent on location and so the caverns which grew all the wider were based entirely on principle, faith, and economic and moral philosophy. Most nations progressed from their monarchical governing system to one inspired by the democratic practices of Alquoria and La Moore, yet still the powerful leading forces of the world remained so separated from the people they governed, and the people themselves so separated on ideological lines, that the world began to screech towards an impasse. They all knew things could not go on as they were, but they were finding it impossible to agree on the remedy. Endless hours were spent, day after day after day, with the poor and tired all trying to convince each other to think one thing or vote for the other, and many of their elected representatives did their best to replicate those arguments on the floor of the houses of power. All the while, wars went on, the hungry starved, the wealthy thrived, and all the travesties warned of in the histories of first-century Alquoria returned with a vengeance to haunt the world entire.

Serenity remained at war with itself while all the world watched with bated breath. People everywhere were killed and abused mercilessly every day at the hand of passion, and those who sought peaceful safety had no where to turn, for to cross a border to a new nation meant to invite the immense violence of unwelcomeness.

Leanna continued, now and then, sending her leaves of ivy, but people no more paid them any heed, if indeed they looked up and saw the leaves at all. The River and Sky were forgotten, as increasingly were the Woods. The people thought themselves so separate from the forces of nature, as though they were not one themselves, that instead of heading nature’s call they sought merely to control it. More specifically, they sought to break it apart and utilize its pieces for their economic games. Nature itself began to object, entirely independent of Leanna, and while the people continued on with their violence towards each other and towards nature itself, they too came to be dealt such storms and fires and temperatures that they were unprepared to withstand. Leanna might have been able to calm the Sky with her power, but she did not feel it within her right to do so. The Sky had been harmed, and this was its only recourse to plead for mercy. Even the Sky was going unheeded. By this time, Leanna was communicating only through the forces of nature; thus, the more they became unheard, the more she became silent.

So she watched, and she waited.

She watched, in 2020, when a sickness overtook the world and brought all the people, for a moment, to stillness.

She watched, in the years that followed, how small groups of people banded together, both while near and while far, to assure each other of aid and support when it otherwise could not be found.

She watched how, in small steps, ancient forms of wisdom began to seep again into people’s minds, combining with their knowledge of the new and reminding them of their duty to one another and to the world.

She watched, in 2032, when a handful small communities connected from far and wide and tied themselves together in a network, drafting a set of values they swore to abide by even while the world around them did not. She watched inside these communities how the people pursued independent interests one day and the next came together to share learnings, songs, skills, and supplies. She watched how many of them lived together, breaking bread at a table around which family and friend melted into one and the same. She saw them create, invent, fail, laugh, and make again. She saw them argue and reconcile. She saw them love and hate and learn and forgive. She saw one community send resources to another in their connected network when it was in need of aid. She saw the communities contribute to each other’s wellbeing. She saw them come together to discuss their practices and decide on more effective ones. She saw the people in this network of communities keep their collective oath and maintain their values of care, even while the rest of the world set upon them challenge after impossible challenge.

Throughout the 2030s and 2040s, Leanna watched this network of communities continue to grow, both in number, size, and influence. By 2048, there was at least one of these value-bound communities in proximity to every major city in the world. The more they grew together, the stronger and more self-sustaining they became, and their oath of values was being adopted by schools, companies, faith-houses, and even some houses of government.

The world was poised. It only needed a nudge. This is what Leanna had been waiting for.

At the dawn of March 1^st, 2054, Leanna spoke a whisper into the dreams of every susceptible heart. Countless people awoke that day thinking “If we know we all are one, why pretend at separation?”

The message began to light up every techno-magic screen and flow through every pair of lips as the thought of it rippled throughout even the Woods themselves. Before long, these people, soon known as the Unionists, began chanting and working for what they called the One-World Solution. As you know, Reader, they faced argument aplenty. Still, the movement grew, and it organized. The original network of communities used their skills and resources to develop a new strategy of self-governance that could be influenced by all voices without suffocating any. They put their plans to paper and named their document the Declaration of Unity; then, they sent it out throughout the world. It was decided that if two-thirds of the world population would sign their name to the declaration then the declaration would be ratified, and all borders and nation-laws would be invalidated.

The work went on for several years, but at last it was done. In 2063, the number of consenters to the unification was greater than two-thirds of the current count of the world population. Naturally, there were objectors and skeptics instantly upon the announcement, and so, with the support of a few sympathetic nation governments, it was agreed a world-wide vote would be held, one that could be verified and counted more officially. Truces and agreements were all drawn up in which those governing the current nations agreed – some only under threat of occupation – that if two-thirds of the world voted for unification, the current powers would step down from their posts, leaving space for the new system to arise.

It took five years to organize the vote, and when it was done it was counted three different times. Still, the results were indisputable. The One-World Solution had won.

*****

The Legend of Leanna Page VOLUME ONE: A Beginning is NOW AVAILABLE in print and e-book! Buy the paperback or e-book from any major retailer, or visit the website of the publisher → ForElenvia.org ← to order your paperback for 20% off.

Order Volume One Today!

Please note, all material released on Substack is from the unedited manuscript. The official text can be acquired through the website of the publisher: ForElenvia.org.

In Masor, the 18^th and 19^th centuries were witness to a remarkable social effect of the country’s industrialization. The raised trackways of their famous carriage-cars were, over the years, continuously built upon and expanded until it came to be that the nation was constructed of two entirely separate levels. Eventually, there was nowhere in all the land where any real earth was able to see the sun, for the “Upper Level” was developed over every inch. Everyone moved their lives to the Upper Level as soon as they were able.

Instantly, there came to be a great wealth disparity among the people. No one who owned land below was promised any space on the level above, and so only those able to buy or build anew were able to maintain any sense of comfort. Some companies with vast financial resources developed practices that allowed for farming where there was no land, but they quickly patented their methods and ensured the only way to secure food would be to purchase it at whatever price the companies chose.

The original land below – soon commonly referred to as “the underneath” – was entirely abandoned, with the exception of certain basements in city buildings that extended below the main level. As years passed, without any light from the sun, the underneath became overgrown with a swampy forest of gnarled shrubs and trees which pushed into the material above and twisted down in unending spirals of continual growth that had no direction to grow in.

As conditions became more and more difficult above, some determined individuals began to rebel by sneaking through construction holes and making a home for themselves in the underneath. The author of this next text did precisely that and gained notoriety as an icon of social freedom. He was later awarded the title of Lagif in honor of his poetic accomplishments.

(“The Song of Boy and Dove” by Altair, Lagif Tempelmann, based on true circumstances. Published posthumously in 1889 PV.)

****

Part I

Beneath the stones of cities high,
Hidden away from wealthy eye,
There sits a bird protected by,
A boy alone, afraid, and shy;
	A mocking phoenix dove.
The bird is rare, a treasured prize.
With every night it burns and dies,
But in the morn again would rise,
	The mocking phoenix dove.

A husband bought the bird to treat
His wife with songs, bright and elite.
Their words instead they’d hear repeat.
The bird reflected their deceit,
	This mocking phoenix dove.
So underground they drove the song,
Their serving boy they sent along
To keep their treasure living long
	And hush the mocking dove.

The boy kept silent, too the bird,
For it could sing only what it heard.
To the rich, the boy deferred,
Afraid to say an honest word
	Then hear it from the dove.
Their cell was furnished with a bed,
Perch for the bird to lay their head.
Little else in the life they led,
	The page boy and the dove.

A lonesome window gave them air,
But still no light was present there,
For under cities, this was where
A jungle grew thick as it dare,
	Concealing boy and dove.
Above them thrived a bustling town
With dashing suit and fitted gown,
And none there knew of jungles down
	Where lived the boy and dove.

Every day the boy would rise
And clean ash from a babe bird’s eyes
Then watch as it grew old and wise,
And hold it, silent, as it dies,
	The precious phoenix dove.
He’d light a match and set aflame
This bird whose soul could never tame.
The next day then would be the same;
	The life of boy and dove.

Part II

One day a sound awoke the boy.
He op’ed his eyes to songs of joy.
He startled, feared it would annoy
Those who liked them quiet and coy;
	A disobedient dove.
Birdsong ceased, he breathed a sigh,
Then to the window turned his eye.
Another song was coming nigh,
	Answering the dove.

The boy was frozen, statue still,
Gaze fixed on the window sill,
Nearly feared his mind was ill,
Waiting, listening, there until
	A boy appeared above.
From the vines a smile shone.
Carefree notes were gaily thrown
As this jungle boy alone 
	Gave music to the dove.

The hidden boy was fixed in awe.
He thought this voice could have no flaw.
Too, now, coal-black curls he saw
‘Round a face with handsome jaw
	Which sang now to the dove.
“Who is this? And what is here?”
Said the new boy drawing near.
“I never saw a thing so dear.
	Might I join thee, Dove?”

The hidden boy condensed and curled
But nodded still, his mind awhirled.
Jungle Boy came in unfurled,
Caring not for all the world
	Except this boy and dove.
He took the center, tall as towers,
Dueting with the bird for hours.
They charmed the first boy with their powers,
	This jungle boy and dove.

Throughout the day, the bird matured.
The first boy while still obscured,
Then too began to feel assured
Of silence he might now be cured,
	Thanks to boy and dove.
He joined their song and took the hand
Of Jungle Boy with smile grand,
Together dancing to the band
	Of song-filled boys and dove.

The night grew dark, the bird grew old,
The songs grew slow, the boys did hold
A close embrace, in whispers told
Of care that shone like brightest gold,
	Beside the dying dove.
The Jungle Boy then whispered low,
“In not too long, I have to go.
Upon me is a curse, I know,
	From frightened ones above.

I left the house in which I served
For rigid rules were there preserved.
My differences were clear observed
And punishments for me reserved
	For tainting land above.
I swore to leave and be alone
But seeds of vengeance then were sown.
Escaping, now, a curse I own
	To die alike our dove.”

“Wilt thou return?” The first boy said.
The Jungle Boy then shook his head,
“This night I find my final bed,
But thanks to thee, no tears I shed,
	Just sing for me, my love.”
“Without thee, though, I have no song.”
“Remember mine thy whole life long.”
He kissed his brow with heart still strong,
	Then moved to hold the dove.

Part III

As every day came with the night,
The bird began to grow less bright,
And soon entire lost its light.
The hidden boy looked on in fright
	As next boy followed dove.
He lit no match, he sang no hark,
He merely waited in the dark
Until the bird gave off a spark,
	Enflaming boy and dove.

Through all the night, the fire burned
While grief within the lone boy churned.
He did recall the song he’d learned,
But silence o’er him had returned,
	Alone with ashen dove.
The morn returned the dove to him,
But neither one could sing a hymn,
For smiles and hearts had all grown dim.
	A silent boy-watched dove.

There then was rustling in the vines
Outside the wall of his confines.
The window framed a new boy’s signs
Asking if the last eve’s lines
	Were sang by boy and dove.
“I heard notes wafting through the air
And so wished I in songs could share,
Was it you with voice so fair?”
	He asked the boy with dove.

“I do not sing.” The boy felt dead.
“I do not sing,” the bird then said.
At this the last boy shook his head.
“I beg you join in my homestead
	And sing again, you dove.”
“I know not how,” the boy relayed,
Then this too the bird replayed.
The boy appeared now so afraid,
	And too became the dove.

The window boy held out his hand.
“You will recall my friend, but stand,
Follow me and join my band.
We live here in the jungle land.
	Come with me, you and dove.”
The boy in stone looked to the new.
“You mean that others live here too?”
The tree boy nodded, “Yes, ‘tis true.
	We left the world above.

Each of us were silenced there
And yearned to live in freedom’s air.
Within the jungle, this is where
A home at last doth treat us fair.”
	The boy looked to the dove.
The baby bird seemed then to smile,
Recalling tunes from day erewhile,
Beginning then to sing in style
	As past boy taught the dove.

With hope like he had ne’er fore felt,
He stood from whither he had knelt,
And looked at where so long he’d dwelt.
Allowing now his fears to melt,
	He took the hand above.
He climbed up in the window frame
And called the bird with soul of flame.
They knew they’d never be the same,
	The songs of boy and dove.

The Legend of Leanna Page VOLUME ONE: A Beginning is NOW AVAILABLE in print and e-book! Buy the paperback or e-book from any major retailer, or visit the website of the publisher → ForElenvia.org ← to order your paperback for 20% off.

Order Volume One Today!

Please note, all material released on Substack is from the unedited manuscript. The official text can be acquired through the website of the publisher: ForElenvia.org.

Dear Reader, the war at the wall between Masor and the allied northern nations began a new era in the World Within the Woods. Despite the war’s intention, its primary effect was to engage the North and South with one another in a way no one had imagined for centuries. It was completely forbidden for civilians to cross from one side to the other, but military personnel moved across the wall near daily. Diplomatic matters had to be attended to, whether that was a clarifying of wartime law or sending threats between each other. Either side of the wall began to be built up with military bases whereupon knights lived, loved, and raised families. The faces of the wall became new area to be colonized and lived upon, and as years passed, they became very well utilized.

The culture of the northern lands also began to change quite significantly. As little as they would have admitted it, it was their clashing with the South that soon resulted in spreading the development of an industrial commercial market to the North. There, however, in distancing themselves from those they fought across the wall, they resisted the wider use of the natural magic which had led to the industrial growth around them, so they chose to rely instead on artificial mechanisms through which, over some time, they were able to achieve similar results. To clarify, Reader, while magic permitted mechanical objects to function through their mere proximity to the wonders of nature, these artificial measures required the destruction of some natural resource in order to operate. This quickly proved economically fruitful, as not only did commerce emerge around invention but so too did trade begin with these natural resources themselves which were providing an alternative fuel to magic.

This artificiality though was less sturdy than its magical counterpart and objects made of it had a tendency to deteriorate and cease their function over a period of time. The people of the North only had these marvels in their artificially manufactured form and thus rested in the assumption that there was no other way to possess them except to understand that they would not last. Those who took to creating, and selling, these artificial marvels came to a different understanding.

They noted how the people at large seemed entirely content to toss objects away at the first glimmer of them starting fail and would just as swiftly purchase a new replica of the same. It became unspoken tradition that objects would be crafted with this in mind, being designed to fail after a short period so that the trade of them would grow more robust. Word of this strategy eventually reached the South and creators there began to follow the North-born tradition of planning their own creations’ obsolescence. In working to do so, they discovered a vast reserve of oil underneath Seeker Country which could be burned as fuel, and once again the name of Isolda Oxbien was on every Masorian’s lips as they praised her for having promised them riches there all those centuries ago.

Soon, matters returned to an even more extreme replica of what they had been that far distance in the past. Magic was again known exclusively by the Alquorian fairies of the Wood while the human-ruled kingdoms, despite the diversity of their population, maintained strict taboos on the use of it.

By the 1760s, the human industrial renaissance was well underway. As a result, the World Within the Woods had come to encounter a predicament they had never expected. Both the Northern and Southern kingdoms were amassing such great extremes of infinitely survivable artificial waste with no place in their infrastructure capable of holding it. Some began discussing whether they should slow their pace, but it soon proved unnecessary.

The emperor of Edrin, encouraged by the high priest in Soendean, proposed that Edrin’s forces could take control of The Emptiness in the North and transform the useless desert into land that might be filled with the waste of the world so that productive life might continue without need for the hideous sight of it. Edrin itself had yet to contribute much to the productivity of the times (although its people certainly were reaping the benefits); still, the emperor said they would undertake this challenge for the good of the world due to the kindness in their Sylvation hearts, presuming, of course, the other nations would make clear their appreciation of the service though the payment of a healthy fee.

The need was such that all the world agreed without hesitation. The small nation of Brutivan was overtaken and became Edrin’s center of processing, regular shipments were made to and from the wall to ensure the inclusion of Masor’s excess, and the sands of The Emptiness became the world’s literal wasteland. All the while, new wars began, ended, and began anew with new alliances. Edrin, however, remained in collaboration with every nation and continued its service throughout it all.

Reader, in this next tale I offer you a look into the tall tower which stood directly in the center of what came to be known simply as Wasteland. It was constructed in 1782 to house the Wasteland overseer who was tasked with sending word of any intruders to Edrin’s knights at the Brutivan Processing Center, ensuring no one made use of what was meant to be lost and forgotten. In 1813, the tower had two inhabitants. One was the overseer, as dictated. She was the second to fill the role, for the first had died in service, and so too one day would she. The other living within the tower was her daughter. Any second inhabitant was in direct violation of statute, but the child had been born in the tower in the sixth month of the mother’s residency, and the law had never taken notice of her. The two lived there in that tower indefinitely undisturbed and completely alone.

Their tale lives on in infamy.

*****

How long had Peg spent staring at the bird, watching as it glided on the wind, tracing circle upon circle into the sky? The sky itself today was calm. Only a few whisps of white decorated the light blue dome. Peg felt no wind and yet she could see where, as she watched, the clouds had shifted. Leaning out the high tower’s south-western window, she noticed how the thin rectangular shadow that the tower cast over the mounds had shortened significantly while more of the sun’s glow was now reaching the apartment within. Except for the sun, those clouds, and that bird, nothing in all the great expanse Peg could see had moved in the slightest. It seemed she had followed their example of stillness all that morning.

The unfortunate part, dear Reader, is that in actuality all she now looked at was truly not still at all. Certainly within the bounds of Wasteland nothing much moved, but directly in her line of sight was the Brutivan Processing Center which bustled with activity. You may take ‘line,’ Reader, quite literally, for running straight out the upper right corner of her very window was a thick black cable, pulled perfectly taut and connecting the tower and processing center so that telegrams of morse code could be electrically transmitted between them.

Alas, so far was the distance this cable ran across that standing at either end one could never dream to see the other clearly. Peg could only make out the barren Lonely Valley Mountain Range which stood behind the processing center and the Infinite Trees stretching into the sky far beyond that. Of course, between those mountains and those Trees there lived all the people of the Northern kingdoms, but even were she the most visually talented of hawks, Peg would have no chance of seeing any of those.

The tower she resided in, and too had resided in all her life, was an entirely cement monolith with only two habitable stories. Between the desert ground and the first habitable floor was merely a long enclosed shaft containing the mechanisms for an elevator with the small chamber itself in the center which could carry only a single individual at a time up to the lower of the two high floors. Peg had never witnessed the machine, and more certainly never utilized it, for this first floor was reserved for official overseer operations only.

The current Wasteland Overseer was a stout woman named Narcy, and while she took her position quite seriously, she placed a greater importance on her other occupation: mothering her daughter, Peg. At her mother’s direction, Peg exclusively remained in the top-most level of the tower. This upper room contained every article of the mother and daughter’s life. Their shared bed centered on the northern wall with the mother’s armoire standing to the east of it and the daughter’s clothes all folded and stacked on the floor in front of the wall to the west. Continuing to turn thusly, you would come to the western window and then the small dining table, a simple circle of wood on three plain legs, which stood to its side. The table was accompanied by only a single chair. The two took turns with it.

Behind the table, in the south-east corner, was a small kitchenette with an ice box, oven, and stovetop, and cabinets all around. A piece of the eastern wall opened into a little hall which one way led to the stairs and the other to a miniature water closet. You can suppose, Reader, from thence whither flowed the waste.

Narcy had made quite clear to her child that, by official direction, neither of them were ever to leave the tower. Being that regular essentials would be delivered to them monthly by a mechanical cart which drove itself over the mounds and into their elevator, they really never would have any need. The mother brought the supplies from the lift to their home floor, ever refusing Peg access to the lower level even as she grew. Now, at the age of twenty-five, all Peg knew of the items outside her single room was the singular cable that ran from the working floor, up the stairs, around the ceiling, and out the window. Like this morning, a great many of her days began in stillness, watching the window for anything that might teach her of outside life.

When, day after day, nothing of particular interest stirred outside the window, Peg would eventually turn inwards and create her own entertainment. The regular supply shipments were always accompanied by a slip of parchment, pinned to the ropes tying the wooden crates together, detailing the contents. Peg had long ago begun collecting them and using each one as a canvas for sketching upon. She never did learn to read or write, but as a child she found she loved telling stories. Over the years, while her mother worked on the floor below, Peg had built up pictographic epics told through sketch after sketch after sketch. Her only artistic utensil was an unassuming bit of lead, but she taught herself to make the monochrome lines and shadows breathe a life of their own. Her favorite subject was a horse, for the shape of that large, majestic animal was stamped on the side of every crate that came from the outside world. Today too she returned to her drawings and lost herself in them until the evening came.

She was startled by the sound when her mother entered into the apartment, and she quickly stowed her drawing away under the bed.

“Hello dear,” her mother said. “Another day of boredom for us both, I suppose.”

Peg displayed a small smile, forcing a polite laugh through her nose, while still endeavoring to return to her surroundings and calm her mind from the excitement it found in her fictions.

Narcy sat at their kitchen chair and looked over Peg who sat on the floor under the window.

“Did you practice your stitching today?” the mother asked.

Peg’s eyes flickered over to the basket of sewing materials her mother had specifically requested on her behalf which sat in the corner, clearly untouched.

“I didn’t think of it,” Peg said.

“Peggy, you know we can only receive clothes in my measurements. If they are going to fit you appropriately, you’ll have to alter them.”

The young woman shrugged again and brushed some lead dust off of her oversized dress. “I don’t mind them how they are,” she said.

Narcy sighed, disappointed. “I would do these things for you, my dear, but one day you will have to do them on your own.”

“I am capable, mother, I’m just not very interested.”

Shaking her head, Narcy moved to a different subject. “Were you looking out at the mounds today?”

Peg did not respond, knowing in mere moments her mother would continue on regardless. Indeed, on she went, rising and beginning to make a meal for two.

“You know I do not want you spending time looking out there. The horridness of it can ruin your eyesight. Why do you think I need these spectacles?”

“I’m not really certain the two are connected.”

“What would you know? I’m the one who spends all her time watching the ground out there. Do you need spectacles?”

“No.”

“Well, there you are then.”

Peg thought of the bird, but she said nothing.

“Have you defecated today?” Her mother asked.

Peg quelled a familiar sense of irritation. “You really do not have to ask that every day.”

“I am your mother. It is my job to ask these things.”

“It isn’t, really.”

“Well, have you?”

“Why do you not look out at our waste mound and see if it larger than yesterday?”

Narcy looked at her disapprovingly. “There is no need to take that tone.”

“And there is no need to ask these questions.”

“Very well.” The mother returned to her cooking. “What of your blood week, has that begun yet? You know to just toss your cloths in the metal bin and I will wash them.”

“I can wash them.”

“I know you can, but I don’t mind.”

“I will wash them.”

“Again, Peggy, the tone. I do not appreciate it.”

“Can’t we speak of something else?”

“Are you the Queen of Conversation now?”

“I am simply uncomfortable with the topic.”

“I see. So, my interests are irrelevant then?”

Peg did not respond. She simply rose from the floor, assisted in finishing the preparation of the meal, filled a plate for her mother and set it at the table, then filled a plate for herself and enjoyed it in her place on the floor. Narcy made some comments throughout this time, but Peg, after twenty-five years of knowing what her mother was going to say, made a point not to pay any attention to them today. Later that night, Peg allowed her mother an embrace and they climbed into the bed to fall to repose. Peg slept as close to the edge of the mattress as she was able.

Now, Reader, I have told you of this particular day, but do understand I could just as well use the same to describe any other. Thus was the life of Narcy and Peg, and it was unchanging.

Then, one day, Peg saw something out the window. It was not a bird, or a cat, or any animal she had seen outside the tower before. It was a man. A human man, sneaking around the mounds. She watched him intently as he scavenged through the waste, looking for something special. Peg had only been watching for a moment when suddenly a large metal net shot forth from the tower and trapped the man underneath. Peg could hear his screams and even see the blood that began to color his hands as the edges of the net cut his skin and prevented him from pushing it away. He remained there, screaming, crying, begging for help for nearly two hours before a contingent of knights from the Brutivan Processing Center arrived.

They pulled the net away without any caution, cutting the man further, and they bludgeoned him with clubs until he was dizzy and hurt so he could no longer run. Then they threw him clumsily in the back of their automatic carriage and drove away. Peg watched in horror, frightened into utter stillness until they were entirely out of sight.

She did not draw that day. She did not move from the window. She only sat there, looking out, until her mother again ascended the stairs when at last Peg turned to face her, still in shock.

Narcy made no indication that the day had been unlike any other. She did not ask her usual questions, but she merely spoke on about an abundance of nothings, moving past the silence of her conversation partner.

Finally, Peg interrupted.

“I saw,” she said.

Narcy stopped her shifting around and looked her child in the eye. “I told you not to watch,” she said.

“Did you send that net?”

“Of course.”

“How?”

“There is a stick with which to aim and a lever with which to shoot.”

“No, how could you do it? How could you leave him there for hours, knowing he was in pain and doing nothing to stop it? How could you let him be brutalized and captured when all he wanted was something that nobody else will use?”

“What has gotten into you, Peggy? This is my job. This will be your job when you take my place.”

“No!” Peg shouted.

“What, no? You won’t do it?”

“I won’t be here. I can’t stay here! I do not want to be here, mother, not one more day.”

Narcy began to cry. “Do you have any idea how hurtful you are?”

“I do not say this to hurt you. I say this to protect myself, to protect my future.”

“It doesn’t matter why you would say it; it is a horrible thing to say! You want to leave your mother?”

“I want to join the world.”

“By abandoning me.”

“That isn’t fair. One person cannot replace the world.”

“You are my world. You have always been enough for me. I don’t need anything else.”

Peg threw her arms in the air, helpless. “Well, I do.”

“My Spirit, you are selfish.”

“Do you not find it selfish to keep your daughter trapped in a tower her entire life simply for the sake of keeping you company?”

Narcy scoffed. “Right. Certainly. I am a terrible mother. Never mind how I birthed you without any aid and provided your every need.”

“But you haven’t provided my every need. I need to do something that matters to me, and you can’t offer me that here.”

“We cannot receive everything in life.”

“I do not want everything. I simply want freedom.”

“There is no real freedom in this world. Living here, provided for, without responsibility, this is as close to freedom as anyone could hope for. All your little drawings, you think you would have the time to do that if you had to provide for yourself? You know nothing. You aren’t going anywhere.”

“I am.”

“No, Peg, you are not. Not while I’m alive and can lock the door.” Narcy dug to the bottom of a kitchen drawer and pulled out a key Peg had never seen before. “Come to your senses by tomorrow,” she warned, stepping into the hall and closing a sliding door to the apartment that hadn’t been pulled from the wall in years, “Or I will find a way to make this worse.”

Peg heard the key turn and the interlocking bolt slide into place, then her mother’s footsteps faded, and she was alone.

Peg stood very still, her eyes darting to every corner of the room, as suddenly what had always been her home was revealed as her prison. She violently shook her head and jolted her mind and body back into one. She ran to the window and looked down. It was far, but perhaps… She jolted up and launched herself to the other side of the room where a pile of the empty wooden crates once full of food had been amassing. The ropes which tied closed each crate always had unnecessary excess length, as though they had been cut by a machine with no concern for scarcity.

Peg released the rope from between the wooden slats and began braiding them together, breaking apart the crates and weaving pieces of wood into the braids at regular intervals. She had never felt so awake and did not so much as think to close her eyes at any time throughout the night, working in the darkness by candlelight and the shine of the moon. When the warm glow of the morning sun began to find its way into the tower, Peg finally slowed her work and secured a final knot. She brought her creation to the window, holding tight to one end and letting the rest fall outside. She smiled. Her ladder was long enough. It would work.

“I hope you enjoyed having that bed to yourself!” Her mother’s voice echoed up the stairs. “Do you realize how much I sacrifice for you?”

Peg looked desperately out toward the mountains but knew it would be impossible to secure the top of the ladder and start climbing before her mother found her. Peg began to reel the ladder back inside, her heart racing as she heard the bolt unlock behind her and the door slide open.

“What is that?” Narcy asked, standing in the doorway.

A few rungs of the ladder still hung outside the window. Peg gripped her fist around it like a vice as she turned to face her mother.

“I told you. I’m leaving.”

Narcy scoffed and held out her hand. “Give me that.”

“I won’t.”

“I am your mother. You will do as I say.”

Peg softly shook her head and genuinely wondered aloud, “Why should I?”

“Why?” Narcy’s brow shot high. “Why? Does your own mother’s happiness mean nothing to you? Are you so cold that you could run off without telling me and leave me alone to die of worry and fear?”

Peg thought for a moment. Narcy had asked these kinds of questions of her daughter before. As a child, Peg would fold and pitifully attempt everything in her power to convince her mother of the immense warmth she truly felt in her heart, but today the chilly accusation sank deeper and, for once, Peg almost did not seem to mind it. Perhaps it was not always a terrible thing for one to act cold. Perhaps embracing a sense of emotional cold would be Peg’s only way to escape.

Without another word, Peg turned and began to fasten her ladder to the top of the window. Her mother went on pacing and bellowing behind her, but Peg was no longer hearing it. Excitement grew within her as she looked out at the world and knew she would soon be out in the midst of it. There was a boundless sky and she yearned to explore everything beneath it. She pulled on the ladder to test it, and it held strong.

Then, behind her, she heard her mother turn quiet. Narcy sat on the edge of their bed and began to cry. Peg looked down at her ladder and out at the world and endeavored to maintain the cool demeanor that allowed her to happily imagine her freedom. Soon, however, she turned away from the window and gave her attention to her crying mother.

“Am I really so terrible?” Narcy asked.

Peg would not answer that, but she offered instead a question of her own.

“Mother,” she said, “why don’t you come with me? In truth, you are trapped here the same as I am. Your every day is the same. You see no one. You must know there is more to life than this. Leave this place with me and we can find it together.”

Narcy gazed into her daughter’s eyes and slowly stood to meet her at the window. She placed a hand around her child’s ladder and analyzed its every knot. Peg watched her intently, desperately attempting to deduce the meaning of her mother’s stoic expression. Narcy pulled an object from her pocket, flicking it open to reveal a knife, and sliced the ropes of Peg’s ladder, leaving only three rungs hanging from the window while the remainder fell to the wasteland below, tangling into itself at the mercy of the wind.

Peg was speechless.

“Child, you have not the slightest idea of your vast advantages. Be grateful for your life as it is.”

Narcy returned the folded knife to her pocket and left the apartment to begin her work on the floor below. Once her mother was gone, Peg dropped to her knees and allowed her tears to fall.

Throughout that day, Peg returned to her drawings. She did not create anything new for some time but rather reviewed the epic graphic tale she had crafted over all these years. In it, a baby horse was shunned by its family, though never knew why. The horse, living alone, went on countless adventures and saved many woodland creatures from harm; still, she never found a family who would love her. Some of the pictographic adventures lent themselves to humor, while others merely to pain, and looking at them now Peg recognized for the first time the way her own sadnesses, fears, hopes, and joys had been reflected in each one. She found a clear sided page and began to transfer a new image that now appeared to her mind onto the paper.

As she drew, the horse came to stand on a cliffside, rearing up and allowing the wind to blow her hair back in beautifully free waves. Then, growing out of the horse’s back, Peg drew two massive, muscular, feathered wings. The artist smiled.

Just as she completed the final stroke, a strong wind tore through the apartment and lifted the page out of Peg’s hands. She gasped, watching it circle the apartment like the bird had in the Sky then find its way out the window. The page landed on the cable that was strung between the tower and the processing center, and an unfamiliar voice suddenly invaded Peg’s mind. It had one word for her:

Fly.

Chuckling to herself now, Peg took her sewing basket and began to stitch together all her pages of illustrations, feathering them out into a grand pair of paper wings. As the Infinite Trees began to be silhouetted against the darkening purple-blue of the sunset, Peg strapped the wings to her back and pulled down the remaining rungs of the ladder from the window. Tying new knots, she secured one rung beneath her torso and one rung around the cable above.

Narcy entered the apartment that night to the greatest surprise of her life.

“By the Spirit! What in all the Woods do you think you’re doing?”

Peg did not look back. She only smiled.

“I’m flying,” Peg said, then she pushed off the ledge and began to soar. Once slipping out the window, her wings of pages flung open wide and lifted her as she slid down the cable at massive speed. She laughed and screamed in adventurous glee as she sped away from the tower and toward the mountains, toward the Trees. More, although she knew it would be madness to say so, she would swear the wind purposefully took up the task of keeping her safe and afloat.

“Thank you,” she said, though she knew not to whom.

*****

Dear Reader, it may not surprise you to hear that Narcy did not accept her daughter’s flight with the utmost kindness and grace. No, instead, she thought of herself, and of the trouble she would endure by having kept the child secret in the tower all these years. The overseer at once sent a telegram to Brutivan informing them that an unidentifiable, and utterly insane, young woman had managed to climb the tower, attack its sole inhabitant, escape on the cable line, and was now heading directly toward them.

Peg was captured by Brutivan knights before reaching the ground and imprisoned for invasion, destruction of property, and obstructing waste protection operations. Despite her circumstances, she had never been happier.

Later that night, Leanna Page came to Peg in a dream and told her of a band of displaced Brutivan natives who were working to return people’s focus to craftmanship and magical natural energies. They were also prone to rebellion and adventures. The Dreamer asked if Peg would care to join them and the answer was enthusiastic and affirmative. It was not long before that very group arrived to break Peg out of her cell and welcome her into their band with open arms.

My dear Reader, not only did Peg join them, but she helped them amass such a following that eventually the tower was torn down. The waste mounds remained and continued to grow, but they became a resource for anyone who cared to look through them for gold.

The Legend of Leanna Page VOLUME ONE: A Beginning is NOW AVAILABLE in print and e-book! Buy the paperback or e-book from any major retailer, or visit the website of the publisher → ForElenvia.org ← to order your paperback for 20% off.

Order Volume One Today!

Please note, all material released on Substack is from the unedited manuscript. The official text can be acquired through the website of the publisher: ForElenvia.org.

Forgive me, Dreamer, the Yfellan spoke her title with new reverence and new disdain, understanding now both her true form and her true power. My patience for your recovery runs thin. I know your feeling has returned to you. Mine, however, remains trapped in your ice.

She said nothing. What was there to say?

Another day was born and died.

Dreamer. Please. I must feed, and I choose to no longer do so on you.

At long last, the immortal human sent the creature a thought: Why?

I am not a fool.

Is that all? This war you insisted on, it was all a matter of foolishness?

No. It was a matter of fun. Leanna scoffed as the Yfellan went on. I did not know with whom I had been jesting. Now that I understand, it would be foolish to continue.

Because of my power?

Because of your heart. You are just as fragile as any of them yet were given abilities beyond your competence. No being who can feel so intently as you should have sole power over anything beyond themselves.

Do you feel no regret at your actions? No remorse over your choice meal?

I do not.

How? I take full responsibility for my own destruction, but you must recognize how you forced my hand.

I forced nothing.

I had to protect them!

They were unharmed! Silence fell again as the Yfellan composed itself. Dreamer, I understand you have not had the same infinite years I have to become wise, so allow me to share what I have learned.

Leanna snarled. I shall not heed the word of a monster.

Very well, but you will hear, and, despite your protestations, I believe you will understand. The Yfellan allowed no further moment for objection before continuing. You hate me, human, because you believe I sow hatred into the hearts of your fellows. This is not the case. It is true that those from whom I take my food lose a touch of their love-feeling, or the entirety of it in the odd circumstance that I happen to be in a war of wit with a loathsomely magnificent being who cared one way or the other, but the absence of love does not result in hate. Hate is a something, with a palpable and positive existence. Love is the same, except it is sweeter. Hatred has a bitterness I prefer to avoid, otherwise I could consume them both. Apathy, in contrast, is no feeling at all, a negative, a nothingness. What I leave people with is apathy. If hate grows up within it, that is no fault of mine.

But Yfellan, Leanna interrupted, apathy leaves no instinct for tenderness. Surely you see how the love you take away would keep out the hate which even you have no taste for.

That is not at all what I have seen. The Yfellan’s voice carried a solemn touch. Tenderness, gentleness, kindness, these are patterns of action and are independent from feeling. When one reasons that to be gentle will lead to a more pleasant life, or that to be kind will result in a more healthy world, that one acts gentle and kind. If, instead, one who is apathetic has reasoned that to be harsh and cruel will result in the acquisition of their desire, that one will be harsh and cruel, entirely without the presence of hate. In contrast, the presence of love too invites passion. From passion, one just as easily moves toward fury and hatred as they might toward kindness. No, love is not the opposite of hate, Dreamer. The two are siblings, and more often appear together than apart.

What then, Yfellan? You are doing humanity a favor?

Not in the slightest. That would require a level of care for you creatures that I do not possess. I am simply responding to your query as to why I neither feel regret.

Leanna sighed and held back her brimming emotion lest the Yfellan mock her for it. What is left for us? She asked. If love cannot end our wars, are we to go on fighting for all time?

Perhaps, but it needn’t be so. You are left with reason. Besides, your ability to determine right from wrong is best left out of the hands of emotion.

Are the ideas of right and wrong relevant without their effect on emotion?

Perhaps not, but it makes perfect sense to reason that it is bad to make someone unhappy if you have agreed unhappiness is an unfortunate state. You needn’t feel any sadness yourself to come to that conclusion.

You make it sound so simple.

It is, really. That is the confounding bit. Humanity’s greatest gift is its ability to reason, yet its most pervasive flaw is the reluctance to use that gift. Only when it begins to utilize its reason will the world of humanity at last make any sense.

Leanna had no reply.

I do regret the extent of your sorrow, Dreamer. Truly, if I had realized you were capable of it, I would not have provoked you.

Thank you, Yfellan. I know you do not care; still, you are kind, in your way.

I see no reason to be otherwise.

Against all feeling, Leanna could not help but laugh.

To that end, Dreamer, I need you to release me. I will have to feed again soon. Do not sacrifice more for them than you have.

You cannot affect them as you had been.

I will be as subtle as a summer wind. You have my honest word.

In a great release, the Dreamer dropped the walls of wind that had served as the Yfellan’s prison, and she was struck with the remembrance of how it felt to have one’s mind at ease.

The Yfellan stretched wide and rained hail from its frozen edges over the river.

Thank you, it said.

Yfellan? She stopped it from drifting. Will you help us? Feed only from those whose passion has made them mad, and take in the bitterness of hate when you can to relieve us of it?

Hmmm. You see, I would, Dreamer, except that altering the course of humanity is your chosen challenge, not mine. If you succeed, I won’t have you resenting me for making it easy on you.

The Yfellan’s laugh rippled through the air as it dissipated among the fog.

Leanna, alone with herself again, shook her head, then smiled.

The Legend of Leanna Page VOLUME ONE: A Beginning is NOW AVAILABLE in print and e-book! Buy the paperback or e-book from any major retailer, or visit the website of the publisher → ForElenvia.org ← to order your paperback for 20% off.

Order Volume One Today!

Please note, all material released on Substack is from the unedited manuscript. The official text can be acquired through the website of the publisher: ForElenvia.org.

Centuries of suffering, sacrificing your heart to my gluttony, all for them, and yet they remain on hatred’s course. Pitiful.

She pierced her freezing winds into the Yfellan’s air, hoping it might feel pain.

You know I only grow stronger still, despite your pesky winds? You feed me, Dreamer. I can outlast you into eternity.

Leanna knew only one feeling: fury. The Yfellan’s hunger had left her with nothing else. She raged at the Yfellan; she raged at the people of the world, the thankless, heartless, small-minded people. She looked out at them and saw only the rusted hearts, and in them, she recognized her own. How much had she sacrificed? Centuries. Family. The dream of touching another. She had given everything and still, save for a small few, none so much as knew her name. As was constant now, she felt the Yfellan’s pull on her spirit, but in this moment she no longer wished to pull back on it, returning it to herself and to the endless cycle she had entered with the beast those many years ago. She sank her claws of icy wind deeper into the beast, drawing it nearer still, and released the last of her spirit into its depths, falling into a barren, loathsome despair. Before she was conscious of her doings, the rigid air from her icy wind began to spread from its place atop the wall. It went out first, devouring the blue of the sky over all the World Within the Woods, from Kiefston to Brutivan. Then, the chill began to sink, eliminating any hint of warmth from the land. Leanna could see it now and understood with perfect clarity what she had set in motion, but she made no effort to end it. The freeze settled over the land, and it turned the Gwahanu to ice.

What are you doing, Dreamer? The Yfellan at last allowed concern into its voice.

Having released herself from her greatest struggle, Leanna found she was sufficiently unencumbered that she might answer with ease, but she offered the Yfellan no such prize.

They cannot survive this for long, it told her; although, she already knew. You will destroy them all.

She smirked. What will you feed on then?

There was silence between them, and the Yfellan saw anew what it had done.

You do not wish for this.

You know nothing of what I wish, the Dreamer sneered.

Watch them, the Yfellan implored. Watch their pain. You do not wish for this.

But, for some great time, the Dreamer did not watch. She looked only to her stones and listened only to her own mind. Nothing else seemed of consequence to her now, and the Yfellan – the only one who knew – felt powerless at last.

*****

In Reen, a young girl left her home to find her mother who had gone in search of something to warm themselves by. The girl lost her way in the stone mazes which surrounded their local houses of prayer. She died from the cold, shivering into stillness at the end of a directionless corridor. The mother returned to their modest home that eve with a sphere of magic heat, but by then the child was gone.

In the seeker country of Masor, where the land had been devasted unusably by generations of excavating and mining, an elderly man of Gemland was caught on his return home from his annual trip to the river. The horse that moved his carriage slipped on ice and, having broken its leg, could no longer walk. Without the sheltering protection of his carriage, the old man knew he would not survive the cold. He died of thirst, waiting for the freeze to lift.

The Anwansi Pool had frozen completely. The original creators of the heat spheres grew incredibly wealthy while those who could afford them survived with relative comfort. Some who could not sought refuge in the castle caves, and others saw their final days.

The Yfellan allowed itself to starve rather than risk feeding on any feeling that might return to the Dreamer. It could not die like those below, but its essence shrank to a more conceivable size. It was not accustomed to hoping, and yet it did so now, wishing the Dreamer to regain what it had swallowed out of her soul and what it had no power to return.

Days passed, and suffering continued, all of which Leanna refused to see. She felt no satisfaction; she felt no despair; she felt nothing at all.

There was a young Alquman named Esper who lived in the mountains of New Moore, the little nation of people that originally had snuck into the unguarded ruins of Ancient Pavoline and revived them. New Moore was founded on the virtue of being able to fly above the wall, but now with the militarization nothing of the sort was permitted. Still, the people there remembered their history. Esper could not fly, nor command any great magic, but the pair of tiny wings which decorated the outer corner of each of her eyes gave her the most incredible sight, including the power to look through stone as though it were invisible.

Having a direct line of ancestry to their parent nation, La Moore, Esper was well informed of Leanna and the legendary adventures which had gotten her trapped in the infamous wall but now could not fathom what reason she might have to allow this terrible storm to continue. There had been no word of anyone speaking with the Dreamer in a long time, and – although she tried – Esper too could not reach her. Upon great reflection, Esper came to wonder if there was in fact no great reason for the storm at all, but merely a deep, unattended sadness for which the Dreamer had no other outlet. She asked her family and friends if it were possible they could help Leanna in some way, but she was dismissed. Everyone she spoke to felt only anger at the Dreamer. If Leanna felt some sadness it was irrelevant, they said, for nothing gave them cause to forgive her of this.

Esper became only more determined. If none were willing to help this great figure of their legend, she would have to do so herself. Armed with every article of warmth at her disposal, as well as the climbing tools that those flightless heroes of New Moore had used to conquer the wall in their own way, Esper set out along the river, following its frozen edge until she managed to reach the center of the wall. Every person of the Masorian military that might have stopped her was hidden away, taking shelter, permitted to abandon their posts under the circumstances. They were certain no one would dare to face the freeze.

Esper stood at the bottom of the wall and quaked at the daunting task. Using her sight, however, she indeed could see Leanna within the distant heights of the fortress. She gathered her strength and pierced her climbing axe into the mortar.

She climbed for weeks, unexperienced as she was, surprised as each passed to have survived even a day. It seemed to her that the freeze was eased slightly so near the wall and had been getting slowly less chilled as she climbed. She thanked the Dreamer each morning for having taken mercy on her in the night, even though she knew the warmth of the wall might have merely been a result of the Dreamer’s self-interest.

Finally, Esper pierced her gaze directly through the stone in front of her and found herself looking directly into the Dreamer’s angry eyes.

You shouldn’t have come here, child. She heard the Dreamer’s voice in her mind.

Leanna, I beg you. Release the world from this cold.

In reciprocity for what? The world never gave any care to whether I froze to death.

Esper sighed, crestfallen to know she had been right. You are sad.

I am nothing.

The girl shook her head. You are sad.

What concern is it of yours? Go die with your family like the rest of them.

The girl shook her head once more. I will not leave you.

Why not?

You should not have to be alone when you are sad.

I prefer it this way.

You do not. You are only accustomed to it.

Leanna’s expression clenched around its center as she fought down a sudden onset of tears.

Esper offered her a compassionate countenance. It’s alright. You can cry, Dreamer.

She had forgotten the girl could notice her expression as they spoke, and it almost lost the Dreamer her composure, but she grasped hold of it again.

I cannot cry. I’ll freeze.

No, you won’t. I won’t let you.

You can do nothing.

I can see you— really see you, Dreamer. I can stay here, watching you, and ensuring your tears are not your end. Please, let me help you.

One, timid tear began to form in Leanna’s eye. I’ve caused so much pain. Why would you help me now?

Because, Esper said, It’s what you would do.

With that, Leanna’s tears fell in streams. For hours, they remained like that: Esper clinging kindly the wall and the Dreamer weeping within it. As Leanna regained herself, the storm began to lift, the freeze to thaw, and Leanna smiled sadly, knowing the child would see her thankfulness without the need for words. Esper smiled in return and, with no more to be said, began her long descent down the wall.

The Legend of Leanna Page VOLUME ONE: A Beginning is NOW AVAILABLE in print and e-book! Buy the paperback or e-book from any major retailer, or visit the website of the publisher → ForElenvia.org ← to order your paperback for 20% off.

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Please note, all material released on Substack is from the unedited manuscript. The official text can be acquired through the website of the publisher: ForElenvia.org.

Dear Reader, the following is an excerpt from the published journals of Glaucon (575 – 650 PV) who apprenticed with Devot De La Moore in the final years of her life. This dialogue in particular rose to wide circulation centuries after Glaucon’s death at the turn of the second millennium, and would recurringly resurface century after century whenever the times seemed to call for its wisdom.

****

De La Moore: Imagine this: Generations ago, a small group of ten newborn children were thrown into the river. As they never learned to adjust to the air, they adjusted to the water and were able to survive. They’ve all grown up by now and have created a small society beneath the surface of the water.

De La Moore: As I’m sure you know, human eyes see a blurred picture when used underwater, and thus these people under the water have never seen clearly a day in their life. Besides the few hours between birth and submerging, of course.

Armidon: Well, that society must be quite flawed. How could they operate if none have clear vision?

De La Moore: Much like the average human would.

De La Moore: They go about their day assuming the details of their surroundings, but never stopping to attempt a clearer look, and all are quite satisfied. For, it being all they can ever remember, they have no reason to think there’s anything else to desire.

De La Moore: One of the ten, we’ll call them the dreamer, awakened one morning after a dream with an alarming sense of discomfort. You see, the dream had shown them a memory from the day they were born before they were submerged. They saw the clarity that is possible but were unclear where or how it could be achieved. They reported the phenomenal dream to the other nine but was discouraged from pursuing the clear vision further. The nine assumed that the clear vision must be either an illusion or a danger. However, the dreamer continued to consider the unimaginable possibilities when they suddenly remembered an aspect of the dream more incredible than all the rest: breathing. And with that they could no longer live under the water, for they knew that breath was necessary for life and that they had been deprived it for too long. They swam up (all other directions had already been explored) until they finally reached above the water.

De La Moore: The experience was exhilarating.

Armidon: Naturally!

De La Moore: With the first real breath, everything came into focus. The dreamer spent the day and night seeing. They walked everywhere and saw everything they could, for no longer did they have to make guesses at what they were seeing, guesses which were often incorrect I might add, they could simply look. And it was beautiful and clear.

De La Moore: At once, they knew they had to bring their friends up above the surface and help them see clearly. They braved the blur and jumped back beneath the surface, although as soon as they did they knew they would have to come up for air soon.

De La Moore: When they explained the wonders they’d experienced to the other nine, they were again shut down.

“There’s nothing else beyond the top of the water,” the nine would say. “We see just fine.”

To which the dreamer would respond: “No, you can’t possibly understand until you see it. You have to trust me and just look above. It is so beautiful.”

De La Moore: But do you think they listened and trusted?

Armidon: Highly unlikely. They will stay stuck in their ways.

De La Moore: Precisely.

De La Moore: Not only did these nine stay in their ways, but they refused to allow the tenth, the dreamer, to infect their minds further. After several hours of suffocating ridicule beneath the sea, the dreamer could no longer breathe and had to rise to the surface to take a breath. The nine, however, would not allow it. They grabbed the dreamer’s ankle and pulled them down, all the while screaming at them to give up their foolish pursuits. The dreamer of course refused but was held down until they drowned, and the society of nine lived out the rest of their lives, dying peacefully in age, having never once taken a single breath.

The Legend of Leanna Page VOLUME ONE: A Beginning is NOW AVAILABLE in print and e-book! Buy the paperback or e-book from any major retailer, or visit the website of the publisher → ForElenvia.org ← to order your paperback for 20% off.

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Please note, all material released on Substack is from the unedited manuscript. The official text can be acquired through the website of the publisher: ForElenvia.org.

“What is it you do there? Does it have a purpose?” She asked him.

“A purpose!” He exclaimed. “It has the greatest purpose! I seek to comprehend our beginnings, to know all there is to know about the first of us to step foot on these very rocks.” He held one up and the weaver bent to see its ridges.

“You see all that in little stones?” She asked.

He shrugged. “It seems a decent place to start.”

*****

Aldo chuckled now as he thought on the memory. Thirty years had passed by since, and in that time he had married, had a child, and had seen his own son, Coswol, grow into an inquisitive young fellow himself. His wife, now Regina Flyte, being the daughter of a wealthy jewel merchant, had brought the family into the capital city, Ivydene, where she became a successful tutor; still, even in the city, Aldo continued his ever-impassioned search for the unknown.

He had conferred with The Dreamer several times throughout his years, the first of which during his young adulthood when he would sit silent on the benches in town. His mind was often much louder than his voice, and he had learned how to call to Leanna during the day. The enthralling surprise had been that she too had very little understanding of how their world had come into being and she was eager to follow his discoveries. In subsequent dreams, he told her of new understandings as he arrived at them, and she always encouraged him to continue. Still, he had often sensed that she knew something more than she would reveal. Indeed, once, in the midst of more relaxed discourse, she confessed to having commissioned a mystic artifact from an Alquorian some centuries ago that would be of use to him now, but she refused to allow him access to it. It was secured in a protected place on the river, she had said, and she was incredibly watchful to ensure it fell into no one’s hands. She had refused to explain further.

It had been some years now since that encounter and, despite his frequent efforts to contact her, The Dreamer had since gone entirely silent. In that time, his every inquiry had led him on hopeless expeditions from whence he returned with no more, and occasionally less, understanding than he had departed with. With each of these failures, his irritation with The Dreamer grew, despite how he tried to suppress it.

“I am lost, Regina,” he said to his wife. They sat at their dining table, although he would not eat. “I feel that I am on the verge of something, yet I do not know around which corner it hides.”

“Is it possible you have discovered all you were meant to? If not for you, we would know nothing of the nature of the sun, or the ways that trees communicate, or of our own chemistry. Perhaps that is enough for one life.”

“But those were each like pebbles I examined only after they tripped me on my path,” he objected. “All this time I have sought to understand what came before us; still, with the exception of a variety of myths, I have found nothing, nothing at all.”

Regina recognized it would be of no use to argue against his further searching. She merely took his hand and kindly met his eyes. “How can I help?” she asked.

He sighed. “I do not know. I wish I could speak to The Dreamer. I cannot comprehend why she has shut me out.”

“It is not only you, my dear. There has been no word from The Dreamer at all in many years. Some begin to wonder if she has finally passed.”

“I do not believe that.”

“Then perhaps she is tired.”

“No,” Aldo rose from the table and took some paces away, nostrils flaring in anger. “She is hiding it from me.”

“Hiding what?”

“She possesses a key which would open every locked door that has stood in my path. It is time I retrieve it.”

“Why have you not done so before?”

“She forbade it.”

“Then perhaps it is not wise.”

“I no longer care.”

Regina now stood and turned away, pounding the table. She took a deep breath. “Where is this damned key?”

“The Dreamer holds it on the Gwahanu.”

“The river! Aldo, the skies around the wall have been mysterious, it is foolish to travel there.”

“I have no choice.”

“Of course you do. You can choose to remain here and release this obsession.”

“Regina…” He waited until she met his gaze. “You know I cannot.”

She leaned over the table and focused her eyes on its wood. “Does it concern you that your son could lose a father, or that your wife could be widowed?”

“We do not know the danger is so great.”

“What if it is? Yes, the dark state of the skies may be meaningless, but you mean to directly defy The Dreamer beside her very wall! Do you truly expect to succeed?”

“I have to try. You understand why I must do this.”

“I understand why you think that is so, but I wholeheartedly disagree.”

“Alright, I accept that – so would you forgive me?”

She scoffed. “You will do this regardless of anything I say, is that so?”

“I must find the answers, Regina. I have searched too long.”

“Then you do so alone. I will make no apologies to our son if you perish.”

He nodded. “I accept those terms.”

*****

Two days later, Aldo Flyte was the sole occupier of a small canoe that set out on the river from the deserted banks of La Moore. He never before had reason to visit the river, and had thus never witnessed its majesty. Religion was scarce and secular in La Moore, and Aldo more than most chose specifically to believe in nothing of kind, and yet even he could not deny the sense of spiritual wonderment that could be felt from his environs. They were dampened only slight by the odd cloud formations above the wall which had everyone frightened.

He paddled on now, out into the center of the vast waterbody which grew continuously wider as he traveled away from the wall’s crossing. On and on he went, leaving behind the rocky cliffsides of La Moore, with their moss blanketed vines erupting between the seams of water smoothed stone. Further on, the cliffs lessened into floating banks of algae and cattail, but Aldo allowed it all to blur into his periphery. The paddler gazed straight ahead, losing himself in the sparkling glints of pure white that disappeared and reappeared on the crest of each rippling wave caused by the soft, steady wind that mindlessly guided him further and further into the center of the river. A brief glance into the sky nearly lost him his balance as the sight of the endless wall dizzied his senses. He kept his gaze forward.

He could not say how far he had travelled, nor for how long, but it seemed irrelevant to the man, for it could not possibly be in vain. He stopped for a brief repast, swiftly devouring the dry pieces of sustenance he stored in his travelling pack, and he remained still a brief moment more to rest his arms from the rowing. When he returned his eyes to the horizon, he suddenly noticed something anew resting directly upon it. It was she, The Dreamer. It had to be. It was the shape of a woman standing upon the water; even with his tired eyes, he was certain. She was turned away and did not see him. She was perfectly still, waiting.

Passion filled him. He took up his oar and paddled viciously, his end at last in sight. Although his arms grew increasingly fatigued, it was still some time before he noticed how the wind had grown stronger. He fought more and more against the water, more and more unable to progress toward his sighted destination without exerting full force and speed. The waves around him rose taller and crashed with greater ferocity. Leaves of ivy got caught in the wind and flew past his cheeks, pointing back to where he’d come. He scowled, recognizing now The Dreamer’s work. He rowed on.

“Face me without your winds!” He bellowed to the figure in the distance.

A gust came at him from the side and forced his boat to turn towards the northern lands. He steadied his stance and reoriented the course, pointing a vicious gaze to– but then he saw the figure from another angle. It was the shape of no woman, merely an oddly grown tree bearing no leaves. Still, slightly closer now, he noticed a glint of something attached to one of the branches. Perhaps The Dreamer was not there herself, but surely this indeed was the place she had concealed the key to his quest. He would not be stopped now.

He pressed his eyes into the wind, squinting as they dried from the force of the air which grew only stronger. The canoe was difficult to keep steady now as waves continued to crash into his sides. Determined, he kept on, and, determined, the wind came harder still until a forceful gust at last thrust the canoe off balance and pushed Aldo into the water. He came up underneath the turned down boat, coughing and gasping for a breath.

“Whence comes this villainy from you, Dreamer? My quest is the same you once encouraged – aid me now!”

He worked desperately to revive his boat but could not manage to maintain his place on the river throughout the attempt. Worried of losing his opportunity, he left the boat behind and dove under the waves, swimming always forward, rising to the surface only when it became necessary to breathe, diving underneath again to circumvent the will of the wind. In time, he felt before him the roots of a river-tree and dragged himself up by them, grasping the tree for strength, panting, and smiling, looking up now to see the artifact he had traversed the rages for. The wind continued on, but with the tree to steady himself against it, Aldo managed to stand upon its lower outgrowths and reach up to the branch which he had seen glinting in the distance. Indeed, upon its side was attached a scroll, the golden encasement of the parchment catching the light from every way it might be looked at. He stretched up to loosen it from its place then returned his footing to the stable outgrowths below to examine his prize.

Inside it was a map; or, at least, on the parchment, there were all the components of a map, save for the actual geographic drawings. The border was decorated with elaborate designs, and the edges held a legend, a compass, even notation of scale, but the center was entirely empty. Aldo began to panic. Surely this had been what he set out to find, but could it be that it was entirely useless? How might he find his answers now? Whither could he dream to continue his quest?

As he asked these questions, the map began to shine. He watched, eager and terrified. As he looked on, a precise geography appeared on the parchment, detailing everything within a radius of where he stood, even including landmarks south of the wall. A green line began to grow out from the center – from his place – and continue on straight off the page, pointing directly down the river to the west. He looked behind him and beyond the tree, seeing only the Infinites on the horizon, and he knew with absolute certainty that the map had answered his cry. His continued quest was to the Infinite Wood, and this map would guide him all the way.

The wind now pounded so forcefully and precisely upon him that he was nearly deafened as the vibrations of the air replicated the booming voice of The Dreamer in his ear.

“Restore the map to its place, Flyte!”

He clenched his hands over his ears and held tight to the parchment. The Dreamer’s voice was not deterred.

“I will not permit you to depart with it – not alive.”

Aldo cried out above the wind. “How is it you have come to despise me so?”

“I bear you no feeling at all,” she said. For, indeed Reader, the Yfellan had consumed whatever feeling the Dreamer might once have contained. “My interest is with the map alone,” she told the man.

He desperately objected. “Without it I will never discover the end to my quest!”

“That is no concern of mine.”

“I beg you! Have mercy! I am lost without my questions, and I am lost without my answers. Without this map I will become nothing.”

“So be it.”

“No!” He made to leap into the water once more, but the wind resisted, lurching his back into the tree.

“I should never have told you of the map.”

“Please,” he implored. “I must understand. I have spent too long in the search. With this map, I can finally learn of the past!”

“This is not the way.”

“It is the only way!”

“Trust me, Flyte. You will not find what you are seeking this way.”

“I do not understand,” he sobbed. “Help me understand.”

“This map will not bring you to answers, only to more questions.”

“How can you be certain? Have you followed it?”

“I know whither it leads.”

He scowled. “You lied to me. You have known the answers I seek and yet you have told me nothing.”

“That is not so. I know only little, as I said, but I know our distant past is not what it should have been.”

“What does that mean?”

“I have seen it.”

Aldo ceased his struggling and rested the back of his head against the tree in awe. The wind eased, slight.

“Seen it? I thought you could only see the present.”

A gust of wind passed by wordlessly. “I have seen that too,” the next wind whispered. “The present is not what it should be either, not what it could be.”

“Questions of ‘should’ and ‘could’ are irrelevant to my quest. I am not interested in change, merely in discovery.”

“I know, Flyte. It is honorable what you seek, but it makes you all the more unworthy of the precious item you now hold.”

“Who, then, is worthy?” He sneered.

“No one from our current age.”

“Wherefore?”

“Only the future can change the past. It is not yet time.”

“The future? Do you too know what will come to be?”

“I have come to understand what is possible, and I must believe it will come to pass.”

He held the map before him and stared in wonder. “How could learning of the past result in changing it?”

Another wordless breath of wind. “Restore the map to its place, Flyte; then, when you are home, speak of it to your child, and ensure that he will speak of it to his, and so on. When time is ready, your progeny may return to this place, and your quest may be fulfilled.”

“When?”

“Not within your lifetime, but – with good fortune – perhaps in mine.”

Flyte continued to gaze at the map for some time. At last, he sighed.

“I will never know the answers, will I?” he asked the wind.

Finally, the air settled, and it left him alone in the silence of stillness.

*****

Dear Reader, I have on good authority that Aldo Flyte dutifully obeyed The Dreamer’s commands.

The Legend of Leanna Page VOLUME ONE: A Beginning is NOW AVAILABLE in print and e-book! Buy the paperback or e-book from any major retailer, or visit the website of the publisher → ForElenvia.org ← to order your paperback for 20% off.

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Please note, all material released on Substack is from the unedited manuscript. The official text can be acquired through the website of the publisher: ForElenvia.org.

LEANNA: You will find a name for yourselves. You will chose something that rings true.

JUDE: I will choose nothing. No one gives any care to what I have to say.

LEANNA: I do. In fact, I would genuinely like to hear what you believe the perfect world solution would look like. I am not expecting, nor even asking, to hear something I will necessarily “like.” I am asking to hear something true.

(Beat.)

JUDE: Alright. I believe all this talk of the “people’s government” owning the land and distributing the shelters upon it “equitably” to said people – whatever they decide equitably to mean – is a preposterous insult to the Spirit who has clearly divided us into familial lineages. Each separate lineage – under the leadership of their most prominent male – should own, govern, and reside upon their own land, a land that can never be taken from the family through any means but bloodshed. That is how it was in the days of scripture, and that is how it should be.

LEANNA: Interesting. I think I almost agree with you.

JUDE: I hardly believe that.

LEANNA: Well, not to the level of specifics; still, in essence, I do somewhat. In fact, depending on how you define familial lineage, your vision and that of the Unionists is really quite the same.

JUDE: Ha! I think not. How do you arrive at that conclusion?

LEANNA: You see, we understand so much more now than we once did about how the people of the world came into being – about how world itself came into being! I assume you understand the facts of our evolution?

JUDE: I understand what they are stated to be.

LEANNA: Acceptable for my current purposes. You know then, everything began with a single seed. This one seed held the makings of every piece of material that we have come to know. We still do not know why, but suddenly, in a great burst, that seed began to sprout! Our whole world began to grow, the disparate stuff of the seed coming together in small, infinitely numerous pieces, forming the dirt of the Forest. One type of dirt was attracted to another type of dirt and they combined their energies to become something new. What had once only been dirt was suddenly a Tree. All the Infinite Trees were once simple sprouts, but they have been growing since the beginning of time. They are still growing! All of the creative material from the original seed, finding new forms, continued to move and merge and fall and grow, creating all the landscapes we know. Now, it is true, no human or fairy ever crawled direct out of the dirt, but our ancestors did! Our oldest ancestor was nothing but dirt themself. We were nothing but dirt until some piece of dirt combined with water and began to live and grow. We were fish, then lizards, then rabbits and birds, and on and on, larger, wiser, more complex, until we reached the state of humanity and faeity we have known throughout our history. All this life in the world – in fact all the world itself, living and not – is quite literally a descendant of a single familial line. Humans and fairies are our own unique branch, a family unto ourselves, but everything in this world can trace its ancestry back to one original seed. We are all family. So, I agree with you, we should divide the land based on familial lines. That is precisely what the Unionists are doing. They are creating a government that is reflective of the facts of our common lineage. As the world is all one single family, we shall commonly understand that the world, inclusive of all who live within it, belongs to itself, and we shall handle the land with tenderness to see that every creature upon it is cared for. We shall do this because we are a family, and we must respect each other as such.

(Beat.)

JUDE: Would you agree it is the prominent men who should govern this family?

LEANNA: No, I think that is quite a silly suggestion.

JUDE: Of course.

(Beat.)

LEANNA: What are you thinking?

JUDE: I think we define family very differently.

LEANNA: I know. Still, it is interesting, isn’t it?

JUDE: I suppose. Yes, if you believe all that— Yes, I suppose it is interesting.

The Legend of Leanna Page, VOLUME ONE: A Beginning is available now in paperback and e-book! Available at all major retailers. Visit the website of the publisher → ForElenvia.org ← to learn more.

Order Volume One Today!

Please note, all material released on Substack is from the unedited manuscript. The official text can be acquired through the website of the publisher: ForElenvia.org.

The Dreamer pierced her thoughts through every cloud until again she could feel the soft purring laughter of the Yfellan seep into her consciousness.

Did you really imagine two spoiled, love-sick children could save the world?

It doesn’t matter. I am ending this.

You are weary, Dreamer.

I am vexed.

With me? I cannot imagine the cause.

Thunder crashed at Leanna’s beckon, and The Yfellan took on its facetious air.

How frightening, It said coldly.

Your time of havoc is finished.

I quite disagree.

You can only feed on those over whom you fly?

Hmmmmm.

Very well. You shall fly over nothing but stone.

Ha! You can make no such demands.

The skies trembled. I am The Dreamer! You are nothing but cloud. You shall bend to my will.

I refuse.

It was not a request.

Over every head in the World Within the Woods, the clouds began to shift with sudden ferocious winds. Although there was hardly a breeze to be felt by the people below, the clouds flashed across the sky in stampedes, crashing into themselves above the wall, whence most of them were vanishing. Directly at the wall’s center, however, a great dark mass was resisting the winds.

I am no mere cloud, fool! The Yfellan spoke as though with confidence, but anguish and fury charged the voice with a quaking timber. Your gusts can do nothing to destroy me.

The wind blew harder still on every side of The Yfellan, holding it to an air-formed prison atop the wall. It tried to dissipate into mist, but there was no free air into which to expand. It pressed the edges of its vast form against the Dreamer’s walls of wind, refusing to be misshapen by the wind’s force, but the air grew cold. Leanna watched from every angle as the outer extremities of The Yfellan turned to ice, now solidified and stiff, and all the more in her grasp.

The people of this world do you no wrong and yet you ruin them; you tear them apart! I have done all in my power to aid them, speak to them, remind them who they are, but you are too wicked to allow even parents to retain a love for their child! I told you I would not allow you to harm them, and I will maintain that oath – no matter the cost.

A great roar rang out above the river as the wind cinched ever more tightly in a suddenly strengthened attack, and The Yfellan was flattened into a prism of frozen blackness which covered the entirety of the wall and extended it another mile into the sky. The Yfellan ceased its resistance, and the wind-enforced cell was steadily maintained.

You are finished, Yfellan.

I am very much alive, Dreamer.

But you can do no harm.

Hmmmmm. The wall rumbled with the Yfellan’s laughter. Not so, my friend. I am only more powerful now than before.

Impossible. You will thirst here; you will die.

I will thirst for nothing. I feel you here, Dreamer. The Yfellan laughed once more. If I had known you were the heartbeat within the wall, and – better – that you were one of them! I would not have resisted at all.

Leanna clutched her chest, knowing with piercing clarity that The Yfellan worked at her heart. She wished to respond, but found she required every bit of her concentration to maintain both The Yfellan’s containment and the strength of her own will.

Hmmmm. It went on in Leanna’s ear. You cannot manage to speak to me even as I listen with all intent. How ever might you reach a people who are no longer interested in your words? What ever will they do without their precious dreamer?

A thousand cross sentiments flashed into Leanna’s mind, but she could not filter them into a clear thought.

You are weak, Dreamer. With you alone, I still will grow, and you will release me in due time.

Although she could not project the thought beyond herself, Leanna swore now that even if she were to suffer for eternity, she would never release The Yfellan.

The beast could sense her determination and answered it with a laugh.

The Legend of Leanna Page VOLUME ONE: A Beginning is NOW AVAILABLE in print and e-book! Buy the paperback or e-book from any major retailer, or visit the website of the publisher → ForElenvia.org ← to order your paperback for 20% off.

Order Volume One Today!

Please note, all material released on Substack is from the unedited manuscript. The official text can be acquired through the website of the publisher: ForElenvia.org.

Everywhere else in Masor was being overtaken by the rush to build these raised trackways for the carriage-cars. The trackways were constructed more widely than was required for the carriage-cars to pass through them, and the excess space on the side of the carriage-track was beginning to be built up with shops and apartments and convenience ports at carriage-stops, such that it was becoming easy to forget, gazing out the carriage-car window, that there was anything beneath the carriage-track at all. To Valentine, neither was this anymore a novelty, nor did she require any aid in forgetting what she rode above. It was the farthest issue from her mind.

As a child, her parents, King Wolmingrain and Queen Amirah, had spoiled her with schooling, but now that she was of age and permitted to take to her own devices, she discovered that all the names and numbers of history and science bored her terribly and she yearned to find something more personally engaging with which she could interact and attach to. It was to this end that she had taken to riding the carriage-cars each day from the castle in Masor City into the central – and glisteningly new – Masor Market, a raised platform of shops and ports which now stood above the hills that for so long had been left empty. From thence, she would transfer to another carriage-line on whims, sometimes to Agoshany or Fairiton, otherwise to Keifston or Charit, even to Gemland on occasion, and she would wander the city all the day, hoping to discover something, or someone, that could sufficiently hold her interest.

In some ways, Prince Anderson Ranzentine of Pavoline simultaneously faced a similar discouragement. His parents, Queen Intissar and King Eze, had decided it was time he chose a noble woman to queen and continue the dynasty with. Their kingdom was smaller now than it had been in their historic past, especially since they lost control of their colony in Serenity, but despite the lessening of their lands the Ranzentines’ pride had not diminished in the slight. In an effort of helpfulness, the king and queen provided their son with a lengthy parchment containing a complete list of eligible maidens for him to peruse and from which he might choose a wife. Since that time, he had met and conversed with every one of them, and while some were wonderfully intellectually stimulating and others maddeningly stimulating in a lower sense, none combined those attributes and affected him emotionally the way he read about in fictions. It was this emotional excitement, this love, that he yearned for and he refused to settle on any choice other than the one that would provide it. The king and queen were displeased with this, but the prince continued to be useful in governmental matters of higher priority, so for the time being they allowed the issue to pass. Anderson, however, grew more restless by the day, fearful as time continued on that he would never find the woman who would content his heart. Still, he was not one to concede in important matters. The greater grew his fear, the greater too grew his determination. He lay down to repose every night, thinking of she who would one day take his heart; thinking, yearning, and dreaming.

Then, in the solitude of sleep, both Anderson and Valentine were met with a dream. Each was alone walking beside a short wall, just a stones height taller than themself, which was covered in a blanket of ivy. They walked over a field of wild grass, nearly floating above the tips of the blades. The grass continued on in infinity and surrounding them on every other side was a spotless, cerulean sky. There was no wind, no sound, only their soft footsteps grazing the ground.

Two leaves of ivy drifted from each side of the wall and floated on a wind that was so soft it could not be felt. Anderson saw one leaf and Valentine the other. The leaves seemed to see the humans too, and the leaves twirled and spiraled, goading them into a playful dance. Gamboling like children, they laughed and skipped, reaching for the leaves which always floated out of their grasp. They remained so for some time, following their ivy leaves an unknowable distance, until the wall beside them ended and they saw one another. Their leaves crossed paths, then disappeared, leaving Anderson and Valentine staring into one another’s eyes, unmoving.

“Could you and I have met before?” He asked her.

“I do not imagine so,” she replied, for there was something in the shape of his features she had never seen before in Masor. Something beautiful.

“I am called Anderson,” he said. Then he smiled, shyly. “Andy, by some.”

She returned the smile. “Val,” she said. “Valentine.”

Andy glowed with feeling. “Surely this is a dream.”

“Surely,” she agreed.

“I hope it becomes one that recurs nightly.”

“As do I.”

Val accepted Andy’s arm, and they walked along the grass, a light warm breeze circling ivy leaves around them. They spoke of nothing but the sudden intensity of their feeling, emboldened by the unabashed freedom found only in our dreams. The couple walked on thusly until the cerulean sky grew dark around them and they awoke.

As dearly as they wished it, the dream did not return, and the longer for it they waited, the more the hope of it consumed their every hour. Valentine returned to her carriage-cars and Anderson to his duties, but everything was changed for the royal pair. Every color around them turned bright and every sound more lovely as everything was shrouded in a vibrant haze, covered in remembrances of that one perfect night.

Everywhere Valentine turned, she hoped he would suddenly appear within her gaze. Continuing her daily travels, she no longer sought for some mystery, but sought only for that man, despite how foolish she felt. He was too marvelous to be found. Perhaps he truly did not exist at all.

Or did he?

She was riding the carriage-car out of the citadel when an ivy leaf stuck asudden to the window beside her. It remained there under her anxious gaze until she reached Masor Market, whereupon she dashed out from the car and sought wildly for the leaf in the air. Thither it flew, travelling northeast, and though certain she was mad, she jumped within the eastbound carriage and rode it to Fairiton, praying the leaf would stay its course.

Now in the city, she saw it again. The leaf danced on a light wind, the mystically bright shape contrasting against the industrial nature of the environs. The wind picked up and Valentine ran to keep up with the ivy, hardly taking notice as she reached the eastern outskirts of the city and passed through a handful of poor, outlying villages. She did not again take notice of her surroundings until she stopped just a step before the Infinite Woods, watching as the leaf flew within.

Her every limb held perfectly still while her eyes darted from one Infinite to another, seeing the high enormous leaves of one than the incredibly wide base of the next. Valentine knew that the fairies who had migrated to Masor over the years were civilized enough, but it was said those who continued residency in the Woods were wild and dangerous. Still, she could see the ivy leaf flying onwards within, circling the air, slowing for her as she wavered, teasing, beckoning, promising something she had only yet dreamed of… promising someone. Valentine forgot her fears and walked hurriedly on into the sea of Trees.

It was not long before her ivy leaf met another, and together they danced away into the Treetops. She lowered her gaze, and there he was. Anderson was standing mere paces before her, breathing heavily from his own lengthy journey. Neither moved; neither believed, until, finally, both began to smile.

“It is truly thee,” she said.

“And thee,” he replied in equal amazement.

They waited not a moment more to wrap one another in their arms, falling together onto the Forest floor.

Val chuckled, staring down at his eyes as he lay beneath her. “I can hardly believe it took a day following a leaf of ivy to discover thee.”

“Art thou from Damland then, or Reen, to have to have come here in only a day? I have spent a week travelling from Valorville.”

“Whither is that?” She asked.

“Why, it is the capital of the great kingdom of Pavoline, of course.”

She rose onto her knees, pulling away from him, suddenly stoic. “I know nothing of those other places, but I know well of Pavoline. Art thou then not of Masor?”

“What is Masor?”

“Dost thou not know? We are the kingdom South of the wall.”

Anderson sat up and shook his head in confusion. “There is no kingdom in the South. Thither live the demons which the Spirit’s Wall protect us from.”

Valentine laughed, then ceased on the realization he was sincere. “I assure thee that is far from the truth. Our two kingdoms built the wall to separate from one another. The Spirit had no hand in it whatsoever. I know some believe differently, but our histories are really quite clear on the matter. If I may serve as evidence, I swear we are no demons who live in the south.”

Anderson had thought to argue, but with her last sentence he was convinced. He took her hands once more and said, “Of that I must trust thou art proof indeed.” He kissed her fingers in great passion, and she sighed. “How can two kingdoms grow to despise each other so?”

“Seeing thee now I have not the faintest idea.”

She fell upon him once again and they kissed tenderly.

“Oh! How I wish thou wert nearer to me,” Anderson cried, holding her close.

“I do not imagine nearer would be possible.” She smiled and rested her cheek on his chest.

“But we cannot stay in the Woods, and I certainly cannot bring thee to Pavoline. Simply to travel there we would have to pass through other countries whose people would have thy head if they discovered where thou wert from. Frankly, I am not certain my own parents would feel any differently once we got there, and I do not imagine I would be any more welcome amongst you South of the Wall. We cannot risk entering each other’s realms; yet, I do not know how to go about my life without thee.”

“Perhaps we can change things.” Valentine rose up and Anderson followed. “With one, small, meaningless exception, Masor is still the only country to the South, and I do not only live there,” she told him, “I am its princess!”

“Oh! I am Pavoline’s prince!” Anderson replied.

“A prince!” She shrieked in glee. “Who may yet bring our realms together more easily than us?”

The wind picked up around them, spurring on their eagerness.

“Let us speak to our parents on the matter,” Valentine continued. “After all these many years, mine may agree there is nothing to fear North of the wall.”
He stroked her cheek. She leaned upon his hand with shuttering eyes and turned to kiss his palm. “Neither is there anything to fear to the South,” he said. They kissed once more.

“I swear to thee, Anderson,” Val whispered in his ear, “I shall see thee again.”

Tearing herself away, the princess ran back toward the South, finding her way back from the Woods.

*****

A week later, after gathering her courage, Valentine spoke to her parents while they supped in the great hall.

“I have met a wonderful man,” Valentine told them. “A prince in fact.”

King Wolmingrain drew up a look of confusion. “There is no prince of Masor, dear. If there were, I would loathe to hear you speak of him so.”

“No, I mean not of Masor.”

Queen Amirah turned to her husband. “Does Alquoria have a prince now?”

“No, mother, he’s a human prince.”

“Has New Moore changed its practices?” The king asked. “I thought they had no royalty.”

“No. It’s true, there are no princes South of the wall…”

The king and queen looked to each other a moment then broke into polite laughter, shaking their heads and returning to their meal.

“A splendid jest, my dear,” King Wolmingrain said. “But even our carriage-cars go not so far as North of the wall.”

“Yet, I have been there. I have been to the Infinite Wood and it was thither I met the prince of the Kingdom of Pavoline.”

“Nonsense, dear,” the queen said. “You must have been dreaming.”

Valentine sat up on the edge of her chair. “Indeed, I was at first, but then a leaf of ivy led me to the man in truth! You must believe me. We must take down the wall and reunite the North and South!”

“Silence!” cried the king. “Daughter, I choose to believe this is nought but fiction from you. Entering the Woods remains a highly dangerous endeavor, and if I come to understand you have done so and there fraternized with any so-called ‘Prince of Pavoline,’ I shall have you locked away for your own protection and that of all Masor. Before our trade with the Alquorians helped to secure our unwalled borders, our nation endured quite enough infiltration of northern faith and superstition. I only thank the River that the New Moortains brought no such religious fervor with them. Now that the northern fanatics are keeping to themselves again, busy with their variety of wars, I shall certainly not invite a northern flood into the south. Is that quite clear?”

“But Father—”

“Is that clear?”

She turned to the queen for aid, but it was evident her parents were in agreement.

“The royal ancestors built that wall to protect us from the people beyond,” quoth the queen. “You are never again to disrespect them so.”

Princess Valentine balled her fists. “Oh!” she cried, throwing her napkin upon her unclean plate and stamping out of the hall.

*****

The moment Prince Anderson stepped again into the castle courtyard at Pavoline after his journey, he stampeded through the grand entrance and ran through the halls, calling to the king and queen. He met them in the middle of some hall between the kitchen and armory. They were full of concern by the urgent nature of his cry.

“I have found the girl I wish to marry!” He declared.

The king and queen were delighted and rushed to embrace him.

“Well, do not maintain our suspense,” said King Eze.

“Whoever is she?” Queen Intissar asked.

“She is the Princess of Masor,” Anderson said, smile wide.

“What is Masor?” the parents queried together.

“Is it a new Aralideric country?” the queen added.

“You must hear me with an open mind.”
“Very well,” said the king.

“And you, Mother, you swear it?”

“I do.”

Anderson glowed once again to report, “It is an entire kingdom South of the Wall! And it must be a lovely one to have brought forth a princess such as she.”

Queen Intissar scoffed. “No openness of mind can make sanity from such madness as that.”

“It is the truth! I have met her; I have held her hand!”

“So this is the vital mission that caused a full fortnight’s neglect of your duties?” Asked the king.

Anderson stood tall to protect his pride. “It is.”

“There is no knowing what wicked mirage you saw, my son, but it was no princess of the South.”

“Mother, please!”

“No! The Spirit has separated North and South for Its own reasons and none of us are to defy it. Is that quite clear?”

Anderson looked to his father with desperation, but these parents too were clearly agreed.

“As the Prince of Pavoline, you are forbidden to pursue this any further,” declared the king. “It is not befitting of our ancient house. Tell us you understand.”

Anderson scowled, but he nodded.

*****

That evening, as the lovers slept, they found themselves surrounded once again by the cerulean dream-sky. They turned and saw each other, but then saw another as well: a woman, old, with dark skin, a curly halo of grey hair, tired eyes, and a brilliantly bright, though ancient, tunic.

“Hello Anderson. Hello Valentine. I am glad to finally make your acquaintance. I have waited such a long time.”

Val and Andy looked to one another, then back at the woman, stupefied in awe.

“I am the Dreamer,” the woman said, and she grinned as the two lovers’ eyes grew wide, amazed and understanding. She continued. “I have brought you to one another because I, and all the world, need your help. End the era of the wall. It is time.”

With a stern, yet hopeful, glance, the Dreamer faded into her sky and left the lovers alone.

Overcome by each other’s presence, they ran to one another and embraced.

“My parents have forbidden me to pursue thee,” Anderson said, pulling away from her in grief.

“Mine refuse to believe thou art even real,” said she.

“It is the same with mine of thee.”

“But now nothing in all the world feels real except for thee.”

“It is the same for me of thee!”

“Oh, my Andy, what are we to do?” Valentine fell into his arms.

“We cannot deny the Spirit,” he said, stroking her hair.

“Whatever dost thou mean?” She remained against him, hesitant to see his expression.

He held her out from him and met her eyes. “I mean that the Dreamer herself is our matchmaker. Surely such powers as hers come from the Spirit direct! We cannot deny her wish.”

Valentine smiled and further grew giddy as Anderson lowered himself onto one knee.

“Valentine…”

“Oxbien,” she added for him,

He smiled to hear the full name of his beloved.

“Valentine Oxbien,” he started again, “wilt thou take the hand of I, Anderson Ranzentine, in royal matrimony, uniting our worlds and our hearts into one?”

“Yes! Oh, by the River and Sky! Yes!” She squealed.

Anderson rose and lifted his love in the air, twirling her round as she slowly fell upon him in a kiss and embrace. The next moment, they both awoke in anxious excitement.

Directly upon opening her eyes, Valentine rushed to her parents’ apartment, not caring of the hour. She pushed open their door, startling them awake with the sound and magic-aided light from the hall.

“The Dreamer herself endorses us,” the princess proudly declared. “I am going to marry Prince Anderson, the wall is going to be torn down, and that is the end of the matter.”

She began to stride away but the king called for the guards and, despite her kicks and screams, she was taken at once to the dungeon. Anderson was informed of this that very night – Reader, I am sure you can reason as to how – and he set out at once to rescue her, leaving a simple note on his bedside informing his parents that he was journeying South and would return with his bride.

*****

Valentine had spent now just over a week in the dungeon of Masor castle and, despite its rank stench and dreadful darkness, she would not forsake her engagement to the forbidden prince. The king and queen, in contrast, had forsaken their every royal obligation in favor of pacing round the throne room and fretting over their daughter’s state.

“How long can she mean to maintain this?” wondered the queen. “She takes hardly an interest in anything for all that time and then suddenly this! I do not understand.”

“Can you suppose it is somehow our doing?” the king offered. “Have we encouraged her too little?”

“Perhaps too much!”

They shook their heads and continued pacing while a few guards stood at attention feigning not to hear what was not directed to them.

Queen Amirah now held in place and faced the king. “Do you suppose, Wolly dear, that we may be wrong in this?”

He stood still to address her. “I am afraid to confess, but I have wondered the same. Val’s feelings are so deep, I cannot help but feel for her myself.”

“That is my feeling precisely.”

“Still, I fear so to take any action which may anger the ancestors,” he said.

“Besides,” said the queen, “we have no reason to expect that the Pavols have not remained our enemies. And we have no relationship at all with the other northern nations. All we know of them is that they are always at war. The risks of even attempting to remove the wall are unthinkable.”

The king nodded then shook his head in compassionate confusion. “Should we at least have Valentine released so we may speak with her more comfortably and kindly?”

The queen began to agree, but the room then darkened, a cloud now covering the sky. She gasped, her hand flying to her heart, as something sudden changed within her. She recalled thinking just a moment ago that releasing their daughter would be right, but could not now explain her reason behind it. Did it originate in some kind of care for the princess? Some sort of gentle love? There was nothing of the like she felt now. Valentine was nothing but a reckless fool, the queen thought, an immature child at her worst. Why shouldn’t the child sit in the cells until she found her sense? It would do the kingdom good, that was certain. The king, in his own heart, felt suddenly the same, and together they laughed at his prior suggestion of the princess’ release, both now certain it must have been entirely in jest. The guards met eyes from across the room, but dared make no other move.

Just then, the grand doors to the hall flew open and a tall, ancient woman strode within, pale as the moon with flat gray strands of hair falling behind the shoulders of the elegant violet gown which draped down around her and trailed the ground behind. On one of those shoulders there sat a silent gray pigeon. All in the castle of Masor knew well of the pigeons of the Oxbien ancestors and, though none had seen one accompanied in the past, none would have dared step in the path of she upon whom it perched.

The king and queen fell to their knees in awe, certain they were witnessing the dead returned to life.

“With whom do we speak?” they asked.

“I am the first Isolda Oxbien, she who raised the wall.”

“Oh!” The king and queen bowed further, remaining low as they were able while keeping their eyes transfixed upon her. “Have we angered you?” They queried.

“You have tired me. I shall not have it be my own descendants who stand so directly in the Dreamer’s way. Release your daughter at once and send her to her love. That is my final command.”

The king glanced to the queen who glanced to the king. The queen’s courage proved greater, for she said, “But, Great Queen, are we not to preserve the wall?”

“Obey!” The ancestor bellowed, and she threw the pigeon from her shoulder. It flew between the royals and up into the rafters of the hall, holding the king and queen’s rapt attention. When it began to simply prune itself, they turned ahead once more, but the ghostly woman was gone. They sent one guard to fetch the pigeon and the other to release the princess, ordering her, on the word of the ancestors, to find her prince at once.

Within the hour, Valentine was again riding the carriage-cars, though now she was armored and armed with sword, prepared to battle for the sake of her love. When she reached Masor Market, remembering the path of the ivy leaf, she bounded toward the north-east carriage but the wind picked up and a flurry of ivy flew around her, disorienting her and turning her the other direction. Then she saw him, standing across the square, a strong wind parting the now attentive crowd and clearing a path between them. He had come all this way to find her, and now she was found. The couple ran to each other one final time, taking the other again in their arms.

“Thou didst journey all this way for me,” she marveled.

“I had to,” he said, angering at her recent condition. “I heard of how thy wicked parents confined thee and I could not stand for such abuse. I could not stand to have thee held away from me by such monsters!”

A canker of darkness overtook the sky as the Yfellan slithered through the air and placed itself over its meal. It knew the Dreamer had orchestrated the couples’ affair. It knew she would be watching.

Watch this, the Yfellan thought, and it knew the Dreamer could hear.

Valentine startled and shifted back, her hand landing over a place that felt suddenly changed in her heart. With the shift of clouds, she saw the man before her in a different light. She saw his eyes and they appeared… unexceptional, plain. She heard his words now in a new tone, “wicked… abuse… monsters.” Then she remembered what he thought of the people in the South. “Demons.” Her parents had been right. She was acting a fool, and nearly a traitorous one. This princess would not destroy their peaceful wall-protected kingdom. As the ancestors commanded, she had found her prince, and now, as certainly they intended, she would end him. Without another word, she drew her sword and plunged it into his chest, drawing it out again in the next moment and allowing his lifeless body to fall to the floor.

The air became painfully still. The wind itself was holding its breath. The market crowd watched in shock as the princess turned away from her deed without a second thought and boarded the south-bound carriage, heading home.

Thunder cracked in the dark cloud above, almost as if the cloud were laughing.

It took time, but eventually whispers of the event traveled from Masorian human to Masorian fairy to Woodland fairy to a Pavol knight fighting at Aldorfall and from thence to the Pavol throne. When news of their son’s assassination finally reached Queen Intissar and King Eze, they sent full war in retaliation. Knights of Pavoline marched west through Yane and Serenity while more marched east through Stamen, Damland, and Reen, and no one dared stop them under the well-known circumstances while they made their way to the edges of the wall, charging into the Woods to reach Masor.

In that time, Masor too saw great violence and change. The perception of sudden madness in the royal family caused a great stir throughout the nation, and all the lagifs avidly opposed the fact that they were unable to decide the course of their kingdom more directly. Supported by mass militias of converted knights, a revolution swiftly conquered the castle, and a new type of governing took over in the South, one reflective of what Masorians had begun to see in Alquoria and New Moore. Masor became ruled by the principles of a republic, with all the gentry having an equal vote in who would serve as the next Crown, finally ending the reign of the Oxbiens. Lagif Truest of Fairiton had been the foremost general in the revolution and was quickly voted into Crownship so he might take care of the forthcoming attack they had received word was coming from Pavoline. The recent military mobilization was easily maintained, strengthened, and transferred to the wall-adjacent Wood where the vengeful forces from the North were halted in their tracks.

War was fought there at the ends of the wall for many years, galvanizing the Northern nations into an alliance against the South. Only La Moore maintained neutrality. New Moore endeavored to follow its parent nation’s lead, but being so close to the battleground, they could not entirely avoid involvement. New Moore became the primary hospital for injured Masorian soldiers who returned from the eastern battleground. Alquorian forces tried to return peace to the Woods, but as they were no longer unique in the use of magical weapons, they had no power to overcome the rage of the kingdoms’ war. They ceased their trade of the weapons, but too many fairies capable of crafting them, and teaching the same skills to humans, had transferred their loyalty that it made no difference. Still, the strength of north and south was matched and neither managed to advance on the other. At long last, the rulers of Masor and Pavoline agreed to a ceasefire; however, both forces remained on the quiet battlegrounds and were built up to full strength all along either side of the wall. Little La Moore firmly sustained the only nonmilitarized length of it, but their length was so small that it served more as a metaphor of peace than as the practice of it. It was declared that no creature – not human, fairy, nor even bird – would be permitted to cross from one side of the wall to the other alive. What had once been a treacherous but sailable gulf was now a river of flame that no boat could cross without turning to ash.

The Legend of Leanna Page VOLUME ONE: A Beginning is NOW AVAILABLE in print and e-book! Buy the paperback or e-book from any major retailer, or visit the website of the publisher → ForElenvia.org ← to order your paperback for 20% off.

Order Volume One Today!

Please note, all material released on Substack is from the unedited manuscript. The official text can be acquired through the website of the publisher: ForElenvia.org.

Dear Reader, we are certain of very little in regards to the Yfellan. There is nothing to indicate Leanna spoke of her conflict with the creature to anyone in all her days; still, whispers of their encounters grew louder as years went on and, eventually, the Yfellan became known as an integral character in the tale. It is suspected that during this period of our story the Yfellan had taken to blowing between the nations, traversing north to south and north again, perhaps to satisfy a growing curiosity regarding the wall. What we do know is that shortly after the Masorian Civil War took over the South a new flame of war was ignited in the North, one fueled by the most horrible combination of hatred and self-importance that had been seen in The World Within the Woods for some time. It began with a man named Rilteh of Brutivan.

A sense of Sylvatian righteousness had been boiling up in the township of Brutivan which lay just north of the Lonely Valley in the Emptiness. It was place where people of all faiths had been living for many decades, but given its proximity to Soendean in Edrin – the center of Sylvatian leadership – the governing powers of Brutivan had long held strong Sylvatian influence. Rilteh was an emissary for the town, often traveling to Edrin to gather support and supplies from within Soendean. Over a period of several years, he employed a series of deceptive and manipulative tactics that eventually poised him to stage a coup. He took control of Brutivan and Edrin combined, naming it all his own kingdom. It was designed to be led by and for those of pure Sylvatian faith, and pure Sylvatian blood, alone. Rilteh ruled with the promise that he would cleanse the kingdom, and even the world, of all those with lesser cultures in their blood. The mission was executed with vigor, and he pushed his new larger kingdom of Brutedrin, along with its bloody directives, into the borders of several neighboring nations. The Mashivallites were a particular target. A great many of them were captured and then murdered at the hand of one of Brutedrin’s many militaristic arms.

Eventually, Rilteh was stopped and Brutedrin dissolved, returning the borders of the North to what they had been before, but the scars that were left on the population were unthinkable. All the next century, they wondered if they would ever recover. Still, throughout the tragedy, a new strength of will emerged among the Mashivallites and, with the endorsement of the crown of Pavoline, countless of them flocked to Serenity, took up new arms, and won themselves a sovereign nation in the land they had always considered their rightful religious home. Their new nation was to be a place where the Mashivallites, after all they had now endured, could at last be assured of their protection.

Of course, even in this new, sovereign, Mashivalllite-led Serenity, the land was still populated by all who had been there before. The River-Deychallews had long ago established townships in the north of the Serene land along Lifollen Creek. Over time, their proximity to the border of the Aralideric nation Yane caused the two cultures – River-Deychallew and Hedera – to mix. Between the obstacle of the wall and the ever-present Spirit-faiths of the northern lands, it was near impossible for River-Deychallews to maintain their original ways, and in large part they adopted the faith and culture their Hedera neighbors.

The ruling council of Serenity was adamant that this land was meant only for the Mashivallites and, though others could live within it, they could not be allowed the same good treatment, or these others might think themselves too mighty and attack. Serenity maintained a militaristic watch over all its inhabitants who could not identify themselves as being from a family of Mashivallites. So, although many Mashivallites, Hederas, and even some Sylvatians all lived together within their Serene holy land, there was never a true feeling of safety, despite the peaceful promises of the ruling class. Unrest remained steady throughout the land. Still, there was no active war, so by and large they said peace had returned.

The Yfellan remained above them. Watching.

*****

Two people stood in a Serene field like two distant blades of grades, long having been connected and yet rooted to their place, never knowing the other. One was Ezra, the son of a tailor, and the other Raz, the daughter of a blacksmith. Both were born and raised on the south side of Serenity. Within them both was a yearning, and they strode now along the river, hoping to discover what would satisfy their hearts. Ezra walked from the West and Raz from the East, each now returning to a shrine of Prophet Dagan, a mile north from them, from whence they had departed that morn. It was then the other came into view.

He was only a form in the distance, and no more was she, but something in the shape before them made them each stir, and they both kept along the river path instead of turning aside to the shrine. Before long, it was evident they were walking toward one another, with calm, steady strides, and eyes fixed upon the other. As they neared, they made no show of bashfulness. He stopped before they might be close enough to touch. She stilled as well, and waited.

“I have seen you before,” he said.

She smiled. “Is it not that everyone has seen everyone in Southern Serenity?”

“I suppose.” He smiled back. “Have we been introduced?”

She shook her head, and assured him with a sultry eye, “I would have remembered meeting you.”

“I am Ezra,” he said.
“Raz,” she replied.

“Raz.” He sighed the sound of the name. “Might I continue your walk with you to the East? There is a merchant selling berries some distance ahead. I would gladly share with you a basket.”

“That would be splendid.”

She offered her arm, and he accepted it forthwith as they began to stroll again about the river.

“Tell me, Ezra,” Raz said. “Do you spend all your days walking the river?”

He laughed. “I would it might be so, but alas I do not have the luxury.”

Mirth persisted between them. “Then what is your more frequent occupation?”

“I am the apprentice now to my father, the tailor in Jenaff.”

“A tailor! How lucky are those who know you. They need never fear going unclothed.”

“Certainly not.” He smiled at her. “Not if they do not wish it.”

She smiled back. “Ah, skilled and generous of heart. I begin to regret not knowing you sooner.”
“As do I. Tell me of you, then. You must surely spend each day on the river, considering how perfect is the sight of you beside it.”

“Merely good fortune, I assure you, kind sir. I reside in Helod. My father is the smith there.”

“An honorable occupation. Do you apprentice him?”

Ezra saw her gaiety wilt although Raz maintained an easy air.

“Forgive me,” he said. “If you prefer to speak of other matters—”

“No.” She placed a kind hand on his arm. “This is a fine matter to speak of; yet, I do confess the answer to your query is not what I would prefer it to be. My father will not permit me to apprentice him, nor allow me to apprentice anyone else.”

“Oh, is he especially devout?”

“Yes, and incredibly proud to be so.”

Ezra waited, then prompted her further. “I gather you are not?”
“I love and honor the Spirit,” she quickly clarified. “I only question if It truly makes different demands of Its daughters as It does Its sons. Were the five commandments not the same for all?”

“I quite agree with you,” he said. “My mother and father are both insistent I spend my every hour in studies or practice so I might one day support a family, but all I really wish to do is seek out a person who will love me for who I am, not what I do. I imagine it would be equally tiresome to be forced into that search if you would rather study.”

Raz smiled. “You do understand.”

“I do. Do you wish to follow your father into smithing?”

“Not exactly. I revel in the environs of my father’s shop, but instead of metal I have always wished to work with glass; not stained, but entirely transparent. To mold something so clear is like to create a new piece of the sky itself.”

He marveled at her words. “That is so beautiful.”

“Perhaps it will come to be one day.”

“Of course it will! If you wish it.”

“That is kind of you, but I know I will not so much as step within a workshop until I am wed, for only then will I be released from my father’s order.”

Both of their gazes fell to the path before them.

“Do you truly wish to wed?” Ezra inquired.

Raz laughed. “Of course I do. Is there anyone who truly does not?”

Ezra smiled. “Perhaps not.”

They walked some paces in silence. Suddenly, he stopped and turned to face Raz, holding her hand. She looked to him expectantly, and he froze, gazing upon her. He broke from her gaze before he managed to speak, and now pointed to a tent ahead of them.

“The merchant is just there. Would you care for the red or violet berries, my lady?”

“I see no reason not to have both.”

He grinned brightly. “Certainly.”

When Ezra returned with the fruit, the pair circled back on the path and forgot any interest in serious talk. They turned entirely to the berries, their shapes and colors, the juices as they ran down each of their chins. Ezra wiped a dark red drip from the corner Raz’s lip and offered her the escaped juice on his finger. She licked it from him as they giggled. Raz then took a berry from the basket and giggled more, running some paces ahead. She stopped, turned, and tossed the berry toward him. He caught it by the tongue, and they were each so amazed and amused that they burst into cheers and ran into a celebratory embrace. They each tried the same trick several more times with no success, but each blunder brought them closer – in an effort to make easier throws – until their palms touched down at their sides and they passed the berries to one another with their lips alone.

When their lips first touched, they both smiled but moved quickly away, running into new games with new laughter to accompany them. The games brought them to the riverbed and the laughter chipped away at their balance until they gasped and held each other close as they toppled into the water. Raz regained her balance first and took Ezra’s hand, bringing his chin above the water with hers. They swam a moment until their feet discovered a large rock which, standing upon it now, allowed their shoulders to peek above the water. Even the lost berries which floated around them now did nothing to lessen the glow of their happy countenances. The shade from the Wall was reaching across the river now with the setting sun and making Raz shiver, but she hardly took notice. Ezra did, however, and he held her close.

Their eyes met and stayed with one another for a time. Each knew the touch of the other’s lips from the berry games, but neither would dare to seek it again while they were unwed. They remained so, in one another’s arms, for several breaths without a word.

“The river is calm tonight,” Ezra noticed.

Raz grinned. “Perhaps it does not wish to see us drowned.”

They shared another silent smile.

“It does seem the Spirit wishes us well.”

“It does,” Raz agreed.

“I wonder why.”

She gently wiped a drop of river water from his cheek and let her palm fall upon his chest. “The Spirit has always been mysterious,” she said.

His palm found the small of her back and brought her nearer. He breathed out a meek moment of laughter.

“Raz, I believe I may have fallen in love with you today.”

She reciprocated the laughter, but responded genuinely, “I believe I may have done the same.”

Laughter faded and smiles fell.

“Will you marry me?” he asked.

She nodded, returning them to smiles, and kissed him at last.

*****

They waited several weeks, first introducing one another to their families, then their families to one another, until at last all were agreed and arrangements were made.

The wedding was an intimate and beautiful affair. The families assembled at Dagan’s Shrine and gathered round the circular courtyard, filling its every edge. The parents and two Mashivallite sages stood as their inner circle and spoke the ceremony. Ezra and Raz swore to love one another for all their days; then, later, the couple gratefully – and impatiently – consummated their new marriage in the night.

*****

The sun filtered through sheer curtains behind the bed and softly urged Raz to awaken. She smiled before opening her eyes and reached out to touch her new husband, but she unclosed them now, realizing she lay in the bed alone. Upon sitting up, she found Ezra sitting at their little table, holding a cup of tea. He looked up as she stirred. From where he sat, she appeared like a spirit silhouetted against the window light. She was beautiful, but he could not smile. She rose and moved to meet him, pulling a robe around herself.

“Are you alright, Ezra?”

He was still and silent. All he could manage was to look at her.

“What is it?” she asked.

He began to weep.

“Ezra!” Raz knelt before him, and he took her hands, weeping into them only more. “What has happened?” she queried.

“I am broken, Raz. Something is wrong with me.”

Thinking of the last night, Raz nearly laughed in confusion and shook her head. “What could you possibly mean?”

“I am so sorry.” He curled and gave his head into Raz’s hands, but she sternly gripped his shoulder and straightened him again.

“You have nothing for which to apologize.”

“I do,” he sobbed. “I have lied to you.”

She shook her head. “Of what?”

“I am so sorry.”

“Tell me.”

“I was certain it would come like it had before, in time, and certainly after the wedding, but it is not there!”

“Talk clearly. What are you speaking of?”

“I do not love you, Raz!”

She was taken aback and searched through her memories. “I do not understand,” she said.

“Neither do I. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever known. Your mind is sharp, and your heart is warm. I did love you, that first day. I loved you more than anything, and I have every reason to love you still, and yet I do not. I cannot explain it, except it feels as though part of my heart vanished suddenly weeks ago and I have been powerless to revive it.”

A heartless cloud moved in front of the sun, throwing the room into darkness. Through the window glass, the cloud watched the scene it had been waiting for.

Raz stood in confusion and paced toward the window, opening the curtain on reflex to allow in more light. She turned to Ezra. “I still cannot understand,” she said. “Do you wish me well?”

“Of course!”

“You respect me?”

“Yes!”

“You enjoy our time together?”

“Effortlessly!”

“Then, is that not love?”

Now it was Ezra’s time to be taken aback.

“No,” he said. “No, love is more.”

She squinted, unsure. “You have felt this ‘more’ in the past?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

She raised a brow. “With women?”

He sighed, nodding. “Yes.”

Then she sat at the table across from him filled with genuine curiosity. “What is it?”

“What is love?”

She nodded, and Ezra was stunned.

“Have you never been in love?”

“I thought I was in love with you!”

His vacant heart filled with pain. “You weren’t?”

“I suppose I don’t know anymore.”

He began to take on a look of pity, but Raz sat taller and stopped him. “I am happy, Ezra,” she assured him genuinely. “Whatever this greater ‘love’ is, I do not require it; nor, I now suppose, might I be capable of offering it. Is what we do have not sufficient for a partnership?”

He again approached the verge of weeping. “That is not the life I intended for myself, Raz. I wanted to be in love. I was in love! It is all passion.”

“Do you suspect your feeling of love for me will return?”

Ezra looked deep into his wife’s eyes. “I do not know what has gone missing from my heart, but if it does return, it would only be for thee.”

She gazed around their little home, then turned back to Ezra.

“I may never experience this sensation of passionate love of which you speak,” she said. “Being with me, knowing that, could you ever be happy?”

He was silent several moments, deeply uncertain. “I do not know.”

She placed her hand on his atop the table.

“I want you to be happy,” she said.

He sat silent, stunned, and grasped her hand tightly as a tear began to form in his eye. She brought her other hand to warmly cover his, and she allowed him to weep.

*****

Dear Reader, perhaps you think it odd to have included a tale of two people who seem to never have encountered our legendary heroine nor who presume to hold any significance to the history of their larger land. I too thought it odd to find a series of letters between Ezra and Raz – no surnames ever recorded – contained within my grandfather’s archival collection. He once told me that certain items had been literally dropped in his hands by the wind while he was making his way across the Infinite Wood. I imagine the letters containing this tale must have been an example of that.

I have chosen to include their story here principally because I believe Leanna personally handed it to my grandfather with her winds and thus must have wished it to be shared with you, Reader, for I also believe she knew precisely whither the Woods would lead him.

I have now in my possession letters that were sent between Ezra and Raz sometime after the period of which I have just now told. It is through their later writings that I deduced their original tale. Ezra’s early letters spoke of a full return of his capacity for a passionate love, and alluded to an interest in rekindling with Raz. Interestingly, I believe these private letters may actually contain the first written record of the rumors about The Yfellan that had begun to spread between common folk of the land, for Ezra names the creature’s hunger directly in attempting to offer an apologetic reason for the sudden emptying of his heart which was sometime later refilled.

In the letters, Raz seems to accept the idea that the Yfellan had fed upon Ezra as likely fact, but denies his suggestion that perhaps she had been similarly affected. Having separated from one another sometime before the beginning of their paper correspondence, she – as of the time of writing – had gone on quite contentedly without a romantic partner of any kind. Understanding now that her experience was somewhat unique, she goes on at length endeavoring to explain to Ezra her feelings – or her lack of the same, perhaps – that evidently made the couple incompatible. I believe in our time we have simpler language for what Raz took several pages to say: The same way we understand some to be romantically orientated toward men or toward women or toward anyone, Raz instead – I believe – was simply one of those people who are romantically orientated toward no one at all.

Due to their marriage, regardless of its brevity, Raz was permitted entrance into social adulthood and found herself able to live quite as she pleased all on her own. Ezra one day found new love and married a new wife with which he raised a loving family. They were both quite happy for one another.

The Legend of Leanna Page VOLUME ONE: A Beginning is NOW AVAILABLE in print and e-book! Buy the paperback or e-book from any major retailer, or visit the website of the publisher → ForElenvia.org ← to order your paperback for 20% off.

Order Volume One Today!

Please note, all material released on Substack is from the unedited manuscript. The official text can be acquired through the website of the publisher: ForElenvia.org.

At the beginning of the 10^th century, Masorian thought was centered on a single matter: The Alqumans, as they came to be called, a combination of Alquorian and human. They were each wildly dissimilar, perhaps appearing of the human shades and yet sprouting wings, or perhaps developing in a hue that would match any gem, be it emerald, sapphire, amethyst, garnet, or topaz, and yet have no wings at all. Of those that did grow wings, they were not strictly on one’s back but on occasion behind one’s ear or adorning a heel. Not all these sorts of winged Alqumans were capable of flight, but each possessed a refined power in the place of their wings, be it a superior sense or speed. They were the children of a human and a fairy combined, and they were unique and unpredictable as a dandelion on the wind.

All throughout Masor there arose a variety of unpleasant thoughts about these new types of children, soon grown, who walked among them. They could hardly be definitively categorized; how could they be controlled? The lagifs in the West found it best to keep them visible and recorded, assuring them they were to be welcomed the same as any regardless of place or circumstance, and the people of the Western cities Charit and Agoshany followed suit, having felt much the same in the first. To do violence upon an Alquman was outlawed, the same as to do violence on anyone.

It was not so in the East.

Fairiton was a wealthy city in East Masor. It was much larger than Agoshany, although it was peopled far less. The land was taken instead by massive workshops and the mansions of those who owned them. Here, the fairies were being put to task in the workshops, assured by the humans in the mansions that it would be impossible for human hands to craft so finely, and likewise impossible for a fairy to manage a company – as initiatives were known in Masor – as wisely as a human who, none of them would argue, had existed longer than the winged children of the River. The Alqumans fit nowhere in the Easts’ centuries old narrative, and it was feared their existence would threaten the harmony that the people of the East had come to enjoy. The lagifs of Fairiton and Ritahest – the latter just south of the former – agreed that it should be strictly forbidden to engage in any interpersonal venture that had the potential to result in the birth of one of these half-human, half-fairy types, and if such a person was born despite the law they would be subject to exile or execution upon discovery.

Tension grew with the times, and now all throughout Masor riot was breaking loose in the streets. Feelings like those in the East found their way to many in the West, leading to an endless cycle of crime, discipline, fury, and crime. The East found that, whether it be love or lust, the force drawing certain humans and fairies to mate with one another was not so easily quelled, and the knowledge of hidden Alqumans among them caused the people of the East as much panic as did the violence for the people in the West. The lagifs of the East and West alike sent pleas to the castle for assistance, and it was granted in the form of two exceptional knights who would scour the land and return it to order. The Rose Knight was sent to the East; The Lion Knight was sent to the West. They departed Masor City together, having never yet been so far from one another, and swore on each new moon they would reunite on the central hills to ensure that each was still well.

By this time, the Yfellan had taken an interest in Masor. The Sky above the southern nation was often darkened by the cloud.

When The Lion Knight reached the West, she was welcomed into the home of First Lagif Hoobush of Agoshany. She was lifted by a small mechanical room to the top of a large tower and asked to step inside.

“Lion Knight, you are most welcome,” Lagif Hoobush began. “We in the West are dearly thankful for your arrival.”

“It is my duty and my honor,” said The Lion Knight.

“You must help me. I have people who are going mad! They attack the Alqumans without cause and are then outraged there might be penalty for such action. The aggressors assure our enforcers that the castle would not permit them such treatment. I beg you demonstrate to them the truth.”

The Lion Knight nodded. “I understand, and it shall be done.”

When The Rose Knight arrived in the East, she was guided by magic lights into the meeting chamber of First Lagif Silverdrit of Fairiton.

“Rose Knight,” Lagif Silverdrit stood gracefully with dainty hand outstretched. “You are most welcome. We in the East are dearly thankful for your arrival.”

“It is my duty and my honor,” said The Rose Knight, kissing the lagif’s hand.

“You must help me. I have people who are going mad. Not only do certain fairies and humans continue to propagate their mixed descendants against the Spirit’s every intent, but these impure persons hide from our enforcers, and we are certain they mean to revolt against our peace! When caught, they often claim the castle would not permit them such treatment; I beg you demonstrate to them the truth.”

The Rose Knight nodded. “I understand, and it shall be done.”

*****

A moon passed, and the knights were settled in their work as the lagifs had hoped. As the new moon arrived, each took leave of her post and eagerly set out to meet her sister in the hills. Neither were pleased to discover how the other was conducting her mission.

“You protect them?” The Rose Knight was astounded. “But do you not see it is these Alqumans who disrupt the peace? If it were not for the disobedience of them and their forebearers, all would still be well.”

“It was no act of disobedience to create a child, nor now is it disobedience that they wish to live,” The Lion Knight objected. “If it were not for the others who unduly riot against them, there would be no trouble at all.”

The Rose Knight shook her head, and it was clear between them that neither mind had shifted.

“You believe this strongly?” They asked each other, and both sighed, knowing it was true. “Very well,” they both conceded. “I will study the people more closely and see if I can come to better understand.”

*****

Throughout the next month, the knights, Rose and Lion both, supplemented their enforcement work with interviewing those they served around. The Rose Knight met first with a fairy who served in the First Lagif’s workshop.

“I find it sincerely disturbing,” the fairy answered to the knight’s query. “You see, Knight, among my kind I am called a Nachovy, and we above all the others understand the necessity of laws and societal order. I, myself, can only hope one day these outlaws will come to respect the order given us by the Spirit that, while we may interact and aid one another, we are meant as separate peoples. The Alqumans were created by neither Spirit, River, nor Sky; there is nothing left in them that is holy.”

“But are you certain they are dangerous?”

“Oh, yes,” the fairy said, most seriously. “Anything that so threatens the sanctity of the Spirit’s realm must certainly be a danger to us all.”

The Rose Knight nodded, but kept stoic. “Gramercy, good one. I shall keep you no longer.”

*****

The Lion Knight politely stopped an Alquman on the carriage road between Charit and Agoshany. He had waves of blonde hair, clear blue eyes, and a light crimson countenance. There was clearly a great amount of strength in him, accentuated by the two slivers of crimson wings which adorned the back of his arms.

“Pardon me,” The Lion Knight called to him as he sat atop his wagon. “Might I ask of you an inquiry or two?”

The Alquman assented and stopped the cart, leaning down upon his knees.

“You have heard, I suspect, of the disapproval some feel for your kind. Do you understand its cause?”

“They think we are something we are not. They think us some abomination, but we are merely people, same as they. We merely wish to live and work and care for one another, same as they. Can there be a comprehendible reason to despise someone since the day they were born?”

“Do you not think it likely you pose a threat to their way of life?”

“Any way of life that would feel as such deserves to be threatened.”

The Lion Knight nodded, but kept stoic. “Of course, good one, forgive the intrusion on your day. I will keep you no longer.”

Came the next new moon, and the knights returned to the hills, certain the other would have come to agree with their understanding. Both were severely disappointed; still, each loved the other dearly and hoped to reconcile.

But the Yfellan was ravenous, and chose to devour its fill. The Dreamer saw what the cloud had done only when it was too late.

The sister knights looked upon the other and, in a sudden instant, could no longer see the kin they once adored, nor even the knight they respected. Before them stood only a mask that concealed the enemy. Rage burned within and reminded them of their loyalty to Masor. Each sister thought of her assignment, to keep order, and now recognized that very order was being ripped at its seams by the wicked knight before her. She had only been assigned to one side of the kingdom, but true peace could never prevail unless both sides were in agreement.

They each drew their swords, and the clashing of steel rang out over the empty hills. The Lion Knight and The Rose Knight fought until dawn and were several times injured each, but they were matched in might and could neither destroy the other. They retreated to their own corners of the kingdom and swore, for the honor of Masor, they would return.

Indeed, the following moon saw each knight return, now at the front of a vast force of arms built up of the lagifs’ militias and flanked by the rageful people of the East and West. As the knights had been, their forces were matched in size and determination. The battle continued many days.

*****

In the castle of Masor, Queen Isolda Oxbien III lounged in the recreational reading hall when her king, now Gregor Oxbien, entered upon her in a huff.

“The war continues on the hills,” he told her.

The queen sighed and closed her book. “We have already spent two castle knights on the issue; are we meant to expend more? The lagifs cannot truly expect that, for they know our primary forces must be fighting to end the war at Aldorfall. Really, this domestic squabble is such a bore. Whatever prevails, all the land will remain the domain of Masor. I see no reason to intervene.”

The king sat beside her. “Of course, my love, I intended nothing of the kind. Only, I ordered a set of rings from Gemland, and they are now so dreadfully delayed. I fear they will never come at all.”

“Darling.” The queen smiled and kissed him. “Patience is a crown’s most virtuous quality.”

*****

The war continued several days more. The sun rose with the summer solstice, and, despite its early call, battle began at dawn and was not suspended until the sun was set once more. That day, a pigeon reached the queen at the royal altar. She gasped, having never before received word from an ancestor. She was in terrible shock to now find the note attached to the bird’s leg. Trembling, she untied it and read the words:

Those who fight beside the Alqumans are of better mind; those who fight against them are fools. Cease your idiocy, and do not sully our name. Aid the West.

Isolda, the FIRST.

On the eleventh day of war, the royal arms marched upon the hills. Fighting stilled at the sight of them, each side certain the castle came to aid their cause. When it was clear they fought for the West, the East raged louder and battled with greater might, but still they were defeated before dusk. The eastern lagifs were scolded for the misdeeds and made to swear they would permit the Alqumans to live freely and commit crime in their own true time, with the same opportunity for justice as anyone else.

To answer for the chaos, The Rose Knight and The Lion Knight were brought as one to the castle and kept in a cell to await judgement from the crowns; but, when the queen and king arrived in the dungeons, they found both knights had died by the other’s blade. The sisters were buried, side by side, in a single grave.

The Legend of Leanna Page VOLUME ONE: A Beginning is NOW AVAILABLE in print and e-book! Buy the paperback or e-book from any major retailer, or visit the website of the publisher → ForElenvia.org ← to order your paperback for 20% off.

Order Volume One Today!

Please note, all material released on Substack is from the unedited manuscript. The official text can be acquired through the website of the publisher: ForElenvia.org.

The capital city of Huyane was abuzz with the news. The Jester travelled the country round and round, performing in mansions, drink-rooms, and even upon the corners of streets when she liked, but – though she held constant invitation – she had not visited the courts of the crown in several a year, and before her last incredibly brief visit, she had not been to the city at all since running away as a young girl. She was born in the capital and, as rumor told, did not much care for the old familiar sights; thus, as this new moon approached, every fresh banner was hung, storefronts and houses were painted anew in bright alternating vivids, and jugglers were ordered out to start joyous commotion throughout city so that when Iddy the Jester returned, she might so little recognize the place that she would never wish to leave again.

Of course, as rumor failed to mention, Iddy would not be arriving on the new moon. In fact, she had been a resident of the littlest inn already for over a week, disguised, as she was wont to do before a large show, so she might travel about unnoticed and hear the natural gossip currently blowing through the locals. Here in the capital, she would be forced to maneuver amidst the barriers imposed by those social hierarchies which intensified near the castle. Luckily, she had several disguises to armor herself with, even clothes of nobles. You see, Reader, she had garnered particular fame for her penultimate act at the end of which she kissed a member of her audience and made butterflies rise from behind them. People of all kinds had taken to throwing her pieces of their clothing during her earlier acts in hopes of winning the kiss at the end. She only ever kissed a single woman from the crowd – always a woman – but she kept all the clothes regardless. She may have been a jester, but she was no fool.

She now wore a short white wig that concealed her famously long black hair, and a dazzling dark blue gown – so different from her famous pants of jester’s motley – that would gain her admittance to any of the social rooms she had interest in attending. In this, as in all her disguises, she took on the name of Indigo. Before tonight, she had not utilized any but her most basic costume, nor yet traversed outside the inn, as she wished to prolong the peace she found in the least wealthy corners of the city, but the time had come when she had to perform her duties of social study. Tonight, she would begin in Lady Madani’s Room. The lady herself was rarely ever in attendance, as was common for the owners of these rooms; still, her portrait hung on every wall, and her personal sentiments strongly directed the discourse.

As Iddy – or, pardon – Indigo, now skipped up the steps leading to the large doors of the room, she took note of a sturdy guard standing to the right of them. He did not so much as meet her eye, nor certainly make any indication he meant to prevent her entrance, so to thank him she kissed the tip of her fingers and lightly tapped them to his lips. She could feel him shudder as she passed by.

The room was much as she remembered these types to be: decked out with lavish sitting cushions and golden bowls of fruit resting on pedestals between. Indigo found the top of the room where the highest in class sat amongst themselves. She walked gaily toward them and sat easily down between two. The first lady – for each of them was a lady; in fact, so were all in the room – halted her speech and gawked at Indigo as she glided onto the seat.

“My, you are a glory! I don’t believe I know your name,” This first lady said, seeing her from straight across.

“Wouldn’t you know it is Indigo?” she replied, mirroring their haughty demeanor. (You see, what had begun years ago in a respect for sociological research had quickly devolved into a personal challenge of wit. So long as Iddy was in disguise, she was determined to only speak in questions.)

“A lovely name, indeed,” said the second woman who sat beside Indigo’s left.

“Do you like it?” She feigned a blush.

“We were speaking of Iddy, The Jester,” the third woman said, returning them eagerly to the subject.

Indigo fluttered her brow in intrigue. “Were we?” She smiled.

“I am simply dying with impatience for the performance,” agreed the first.

The second turned bashful. “I confess, I do hope to be kissed.”

“Why else will any of us be there?” retorted the third, and Indigo then thought that might have been a splendid line for her to say, if only she’d thought of it first.

Lady One, as Indigo considered her, then turned to the disguised jester. “Are you gaily anticipating the show?”

She laughed and answered heartily. “Aren’t we all?”

“‘Tis ever so lucky she will kiss no one but a woman,” said Lady Three. “Men in every corner of the country despair over it.”

“In regards to that,” Indigo began, “what – if I may ask – has happened to the men of the capital?”

“Whatever do you mean?” asked Lady Two.

“Have they all perished? Why are there none here?”

Each of the other ladies took slightly aback, fascinated by the newcomer’s confusion.

“They merely socialize in their own rooms,” Lady One explained.

“It is forbidden that we share a room,” Lady Two went on.

“The only exception will be for Iddy, the Jester,” Lady Three added.

“And only that because Iddy insists on female audience!”

Indigo giggled away her surprise. “Would you believe I actually grew up here?” she told them. “When did things change so?”

“It has been this way many years now,” quoth Lady One in an incredibly serious manner.

“The emperor found it to be best,” said Lady Three.

“Men and woman do not mix,” explained Lady Two.

“Don’t they?” Indigo asked her. “Tell me, how then are new men and women meant to be born?”

Lady Two laughed. “Marriage takes care of that!”

“All by itself?”

Lady One interrupted the exchange. “Lady Madani is a great supporter of the emperor and would not wish to hear dissent on his rulings.”

Indigo’s hand flew to her breast, and she took on a visage of shock and apology. “Did I state a negative opinion on the matter?”

Lady One squinted at her, then merely said, “I think we should alter the course of our discussion.”

Mirroring the lady’s dour expression, Indigo nodded in agreement and popped a grape between her newly sealed lips.

Lady Two returned to her prior musings. “Perhaps if Iddy were to kiss me, one of the men might think me desirable enough to marry. It is becoming truly an inconvenience not to have a husband.”

Indigo nearly choked on her grape.

“Do you have a husband, Indigo?” Lady One inquired.

She shook her head. “What if I wished to take a wife?”

“You could not do so in the capital.”

Indigo’s countenance fell gravely severe. “Since when?”

Lady Three spoke now: “The emperor understands that to allow such things would encourage promiscuity amongst the women’s circles.”

“Would it?”

“Certainly!” laughed Lady Two. “Consider what Iddy alone causes us to ponder. Frankly, I am shocked we are still allowed that!”

Indigo allowed herself to smile in response.

“All the same,” Lady Three began, “I too wonder who the Jester shall choose, presuming it will not be you, my dear.”

Lady Two regretfully consented to taking up the assumption.

“Under other circumstances, I might expect her to choose the princess,” – she placed particular emphasis on the term – “but I cannot imagine anyone choosing to kiss that creature,” continued Lady Three.

“Wherefore? Is she ill?” Indigo inquired.

Lady One answered, “Perhaps in the mind.”

“But moreso,” Lady Three went on, “Iddy the Jester will only kiss a true woman.”

“Ah,” Indigo remembered now some whispers she had heard of the emperor’s child – once ‘the prince’ – having realigned herself with a title and presentation more accurate to her sensibilities. Iddy had largely forgotten the issue, not often thinking of the princess, but when occasion arose she thought of her as simply that: a princess. “Do we have reason to suspect this jester would not consider the princess amongst her qualified female candidates?”

“Well, Iddy has never kissed someone of that kind before,” said Lady Two.

“Can you be sure?”

“I am not certain the emperor would even allow it,” said Lady One. “His patience with his heir certainly only goes so far.”

“Thank goodness the royalty sit together at the top of the room,” said Lady Three. “Else, during Iddy’s performance, what side would this princess sit on? Surely the men would not take her any more than we would.”

Indigo made a sound of squeamish delight, then began to rise.

“Hasn’t it been wonderous speaking with you ladies?” she said. “Won’t I be just devasted not to see you more?”

Lady One thought it soon to be departing. “Are you leaving?”

“Doesn’t it seem?” Indigo widened her tantalizing eyes at each of the ladies then, stealing another grape, trotted from the room.

That afternoon, a different Indigo, who wore jeweled trousers and a dark moustache, tramped through the entrance of Lord Fawzi’s Room. It looked very much like that of Lady Madani, though the cushions were a different hue and the walls were hung with portraits of war heroes, that of Lord Fawzi naturally being centered among them.

Indigo stood at the front of the hall and bellowed deeply, “Which men among you would a foreign prince be right to sit beside?” He was quickly led to the back and sat with the men most grandly dressed.

“Welcome, good man,” said a lord (We shall think him ‘Lord One’). “What castle are you the heir of?”

“Did I say I was a prince?” Indigo asked innocently, maintaining a low cadence.

Lord One stumbled over his confusion. “I thought— Well, no matter. You are clearly a man of high fashion. Do sit.”

Indigo graciously settled himself beside Lord Two, facing a Lord Three. “Aren’t you kind?” he said.

“We were discussing Iddy, The Jester.” Lord Two spoke with disdain.

“Is she that famous fool?” Indigo replied.

“Indeed.” Lord One now launched into a verbose report of his opinions on the matter. It began with speculations on lust, and from thence traversed the topics of acceptable love, righteous marriage, useful art, and by some stretch managed to find itself exploring treachery and war, from where it then concluded with a variety of ideas about the reasons for human creation. It was ages long and quite dreadful and, Reader, as you are dear to me, I shall not bore you with it. Nor shall I next bore you with Lord Three’s equally loquacious response which, although utilizing some different vocabulary, only succeeded in saying much the same as what did the first.

“If it were only not for that jester…” lamented Lord Two, as though all that had been previously said legitimately related to the subject.

“My dear lords,” Indigo inquired, “Whyever have we then asked her to perform?”

Lord One sighed. “Not to do so would make us bigger fools than she. The number of substantial foreign dignitaries – including a select few from Serenity and Edrin – who are sojourning with us to see the performance will maintain Huyane’s international standing for decades to come, even while we continue the hundred-year war at Aldorfall.”

Indigo smirked. “Could Iddy the Jester really be so beloved?”

Lord Two sighed. “I am afraid so.”

“Isn’t it dreadful?” Indigo played at sympathy, then turned to a subject that greater interested him. “Do we think it more or less dreadful than the matter of the emperor’s child?”

The three lords groaned.

“The matter of this princess is more dreadful indeed,” said Lord Three. “For despite how any of noble heart must necessarily abhor the sight of her, one of us will still be expected to lower ourselves to marry her!”

“Moreover,” added Lord Two, “the circumstance is worsened by how it taints the image of the emperor. If he were not so sentimental over his sired thing, he surely would mete some punishment to her for her behavior, as he most certainly would to any of us men if we were to dress as she does and impose ourselves upon the women’s rooms.”

“I only know that I shall not be the one to marry her,” Lord One declared.

“Nor I,” agreed Two.

“Nor I.”

“Would we consider this differently if Iddy were to choose the princess as the one she kissed during her performance?” Indigo offered.

The lords laughed.

“I do not think that event is so much as a possibility!” Lord Two replied.

“What if it was?”

“Why?” Lord One turned suspiciously to Indigo. “Would you marry her in that case?”

“Did I say I would?”

“I suppose not.”

“If it did occur…” Lord Three scoffed. “No, I cannot so much as imagine it.”

“Surely under that veil of hers she is more hideous than you!” Lord Two said to Three.

“Precisely!” was Three’s playful reply.

Indigo did not share in the mirth. “Fellow men,” he said, “Do any of you suppose it possible that we are each acting as only slight variations on an ass?”

“Not in the least!” One remarked.

Indigo shook his head – “Why would we?” – and proffered a polite smile.

There was some further monologuing Indigo sat through as a matter of maintaining his disguise, but as quickly as opportunity arose, so did he. He took up a nearby hat and tipped it to his companions.

“Isn’t it time I be taking my leave?” he said.

“So soon?” Lord Three was just about to begin a speech.

Indigo lifted his hands, helpless. “Might I have princely duties to attend to?”

Lord One was all confusion. “I thought—”

“Salutations?”

The lords let it pass out of precaution.

“Of course,” said Lord One, bowing. “Good day.”

*****

The day of the performance arrived, and Iddy now danced through the streets to the tune of adoring masses chanting for a kiss. Her tail of black hair waved freely from its post at the crown of her head and bounced behind her as she skipped. Jugglers sparred with her, tossing her their rings and catching them again in glee after she proved her skill and tossed them back. Despite standing on opposite sides of the road, the women and men were swooning alike; only, some worked to conceal it more than others. Motely flags with every combination of hue decorated the air, and flower petals were thrown amongst them, falling endlessly around.

When she reached the castle, she was led to the grand ballroom and instantly had the doors swung wide so she was stunningly framed when she struck her beginning pose.

The gentry went wild.

“Greetings, all!” Iddy shouted over their cheers and slowly they began to quiet. “I must say, I have never before received so grand a welcome as I have in this fine city. It makes me wonder how I ever might—” She spun and flung wide her arms, leaning back as if to fall, then tumbled into a role, rising onto a knee only paces before the emperor, and holding out in her palm a small treat “—have left it in the first.”

The emperor as yet had held on to an unaffected manner, but he chuckled now as he saw that dry, disliked cracker which was instantly recognizable as what had been all too common in the marketplace many years ago.

“Huyane welcomes your return, Jester,” he said, taking up the gift and keeping it in his lap.

Before rising, Iddy looked to the princess that sat beside him, wearing a veil and thus impossible to see with any clarity. She winked at her from kneeling, then leapt up to continue her show.

The hour passed by mercilessly quick, and now, nearing the end of it, all in the hall, men’s side and women’s alike, were near in tears from their laughter. The playing space was littered with props, be it ribbons, cherries, juggling sticks, flowers, and even a smattering of cooing doves, all of which must have been stored beneath Iddy’s jester costume, for they otherwise appeared miraculously. The room fell silent (save for the cooing doves) at a firm gesture of Iddy’s palm, and the anticipation grew tenfold as it became clear the famed penultimate act would be next.

“My wondrous friends,” Iddy said passionately. “I have now the terrible concern I might have butterflies in my stomach.”

The crowd burst into roaring applause, and Iddy snickered as she silenced them once more.

“It is a wicked affliction, I tell you,” she went on. “It curses one to agony!” To accentuate the truth of it, she gagged and pulled from her collar a puppet of herself with painted tears and the smallest of wooden knives plunged through its heart. “Worse yet,” she said, dropping the puppet, “There is no cure. None, but one! Alas, it is surely too much to ask.”

All the spectators cheered, assuring her no cost could possibly be too high.

“Are you certain?” she asked, exaggerating feigned humility. “You see, if I am to live but one more day, it will only be by the honor of kissing the most beautiful woman in the room.”

Each of the women – aside from the more noble princess – leapt to their feet and pleaded with the jester to use their lips as her medicine.

“Oh, Huyane!” cried out the jester. “You offer me too high a privilege; and yet,” Iddy smiled. “I accept.”

The women’s cheers were deafening. Iddy swept her tantalizing eyes through the crowd then turned to face the head of the room where sat the emperor with the princess.

“Forgive me any imprudence,” Iddy began, “but might I ask that the princess unveil herself, merely for the purpose of accurate competition?”

The emperor stopped her. “It would be better that she does not.”

Iddy crumpled to her knees in distress. “Oh, I beg you, Emperor. The butterflies will not release me if I kiss a woman with anything but the utmost beauty.”

At the sight of the foreign dignitaries who clearly wished to see it done, the emperor folded his hands and nodded, allowing it. The princess rose with graceful celerity and lifted her veil, allowing it to fall behind her. Iddy stood, stunned. No woman she yet had the privilege of kissing had been so beautiful as the one that stood before her now. Her perfect dark eyes were each framed by a luscious lash and shone in the torchlight as though golden. Her painted lips highlighted the warm color of her cheeks, and the firm jaw that closed her oval face gave the entire visage an essence of strength that gleamed with regality. A soft wind drafted through the hall and swept back her thick ringlets of shiny curls, revealing her lustrous collar, and amplifying her sweeping glory.

Iddy thought perhaps to choose someone uglier out of kindness, but smiled, seeing the bashful eagerness in the princess’s eye, and decided to allow herself the pleasure. Men murmured as the jester strode definitively across the room and held out her hand for the princess to accept. When she had, Iddy placed her other hand under the princess’s chin, drawing her near, and kissed her most gently as butterflies now rose all around them. To Iddy’s giddy surprise, the princess kissed her back, and they remained like so for some time after the butterflies had dispersed.

Suddenly, a shout came from the crowd of men: “Distance yourself, fiend! You sully the princess with your female touch.”

Another cried, “Worry not, Princess! I would marry you and wipe clean those lips with my own!”

“Or I would!”

“Or I!”

Separating now, Iddy and the princess chuckled with one another at the state of the men.

“Thank you, Jester,” said the princess.

Iddy stepped back, boasting a prideful grin, and said to the princess, “Perhaps I may have to marry you!”

It was then she heard the sound of swords unsheathed.

The princess could not entirely conceal her excitement but managed to force her expression into sufficient severity. “It may be wise for you to run,” she said to Iddy.

The jester turned round and now saw a half-dozen swords, at least, lunging towards her. She dropped to the ground, and a great cloud of brightly colored smoke arose around her. When it dissipated, the jester was gone.

*****

Rather, she was running through the halls of the castle, desperately trying to remember the way out. She could hear the men in pursuit, certainly not far behind. Turning a new corner, she found a storeroom and ducked within, concealing herself behind the wash buckets. The men could be heard shouting for her head.

“I may have to run farther than I thought.” She spoke to a nearby broom.

The broom fell upon her now as a wind drifted into the closet through a newly noticeable opening in the wall. It led deep into darkness. Iddy looked awestruck at the broom as she heard a foreign voice speak in her mind.

Deep in the northwest Wood you will find a band of players. You’ll like them. Follow the ivy.

“Ivy? Oh!” Iddy saw now an ivy leaf that was swirling in a small wind, dancing on the air, pointing into the darkness. She looked skeptically at the broom. “This cannot possibly be trustworthy.”

The men’s shouts exploded in her ear as they now pounded upon the closet door.

“I heard her!”

“The fiend is within!”

Iddy looked back to the leaf. “Ah, well. Ivy it is then.”

*****

Shortly did the men succeed in entering the room, but all they discovered was a couple of cooing doves.

*****

Dear Reader, Iddy the Jester famously went missing after her infamous performance at the emperor’s castle. The search for her continued for many moons after her disappearance, and the story of the chase dominated the social rooms.

As for the princess, her royal wedding never quite took place. You see, the politics of Huyane were not entirely stable, and the end of that emperor’s reign came with the overthrowing of his dynasty. I am pleased to report, however, that so far as I can tell it seems the princess escaped to La Moore during the coup and went on to live a safe and quite contented life.

Stories later were told of Iddy’s theatrical accomplishments among the Woodbound Players. I have little doubt she became a beloved star among them.

The Legend of Leanna Page VOLUME ONE: A Beginning is NOW AVAILABLE in print and e-book! Buy the paperback or e-book from any major retailer, or visit the website of the publisher → ForElenvia.org ← to order your paperback for 20% off.

Order Volume One Today!

Please note, all material released on Substack is from the unedited manuscript. The official text can be acquired through the website of the publisher: ForElenvia.org.

Dear Reader, I wish we had time to so thoroughly recollect all the significant events of Elenvian history, but such would take as long as did the histories themselves. I now move us through to the beginning of the 7^th century, when each major mythic tradition is fully founded. By then, the assimilation of Alquorian weaponry into the coffers of human kingdoms was wholly underway, for although Crown Lykomenides was wary of it, it had been too far begun before he took the throne for the trade to be entirely prevented. With caution at the forefront, he managed to withhold the weapons until treaties of peace were signed, and to ensure these would hold he utilized the principles of trust Queen Kennedy had founded. He told the human nations he had reason to suspect their ill-intent, and if they wished to receive the breadth of weapons they expected, it would cost them now far more than the prior crown had stated (an amount none could conceivably pay). Still, in good faith, he offered that they could receive a quarter of the shipment immediately without making any payment at all if they would swear to begin regularly making smaller payments that, after many years, would equal the full amount. If this was done successfully for the first few years, they would slowly receive the rest of the offered stock. In time, even Crown Lykomenides had to confess that this new economic understanding with the other nations brought Alquoria more prosperity than he might have dreamed, and his successors followed his example through the centuries by striking similar agreements with all the new nations that later gained sovereignty in the north. Alquorians themselves, traveling with the nation’s wears, soon came to be assimilated more directly into some of these human nations as well.

Sylveity, the faith of Johanna, began as a small cult in the early 40s PV, but was officially founded as a recognizable religion in the second century. Under the guide of Lady Mother Soenrena, the first to scribe and publish their full sacred text, Sylvatians won themselves a country called Edrin out of what had been northeast Pavoline. Throughout the second and third century, different sects of Sylveity made names and countries for themselves as well, each winning their own land along the wall. These smaller Sylvatian countries – Stamen, Damland, and Reen – still took cultural cues from the religious authority at Soendean in Edrin, and thus followed suit in making the assimilation and conversion of any woodland folk a point of pride. In these countries, fairies stood among humans as brethren, wearing the same closed-back robes, and walking the same, exclusively, on their feet. For any Sylvatian fairy to release or, Spirit-forbid, utilize their wings was considered heinously unseemly. Only in forbidding themselves such premature access to the higher realms, it was said, would they be accepted into them after their death.

It was in the middle of the 400s PV that the Prophet Grecca founded Aralideram and subsequently conquered the Pavoline citadel, creating from it the country of Huyane and forcing the Ranzetines to move their castle west on the other side of the Forest of Beasts. About 75 years after that, a second sect of Aralideram too took up its own land south of Pavoline’s new citadel. In honor of their prophet, Hederas in what then was western Pavoline rose up and secured Grecca’s homeland for themselves under the national name of Yane. In following Grecca’s word, who said she would only walk, those with the power of flight were not well accepted into the two Aralideric nations, although they were occasionally present for the purposes of trade.

Pavoline itself, smaller now, took up a more secular form of Sylveity as a national faith. Its crowns would speak of their religious principles in order to persuade the nation to quietly adopt certain changes, but at large the people of Pavoline maintained their original superstitions while shrouding them in the language of religion. Understandably then, magic was not well met in Pavoline, and neither were the fairies who carried it.

The country of La Moore, alone among the northern nations, purposefully followed none of the faiths. Although worship was welcome in the small borders, it was uncommon and, when present, often took on a less formal and more spiritual approach. They were governed by an elected senate who based their laws on a philosophy of art-centered community and secular rehabilitation methods. Fairies were welcomed here, and their integration took a much different form. Here, they were encouraged to spread their wings. The sport of Grasscloud – which utilizes both ground and air positions – came to be a nationally celebrated symbol of the Moortian motto “All Shall Play as One.” The Moortian people were largely content and, as a national strategy, kept very much to themselves.

At the time of our next tale, around the year 632 PV, the land of Serenity, now bordered by La Moore to the East, Yane to the North, and – of course – the Wall and Woods to the South and West respectively, was still a controlled colony of Pavoline. There was not yet active war, but tensions there were growing as increasingly all the Vallum faiths laid claim to it as their rightful spiritual home.

The land south of the Wall managed to remain unified as Masor. Although its borders did not change, Masor’s inner landscape shifted quite significantly, albeit slowly and peaceably, when they became Alquoria’s most active trading partner. As centuries passed, most nations kept trade with the fairies to the royalty alone, and only for military acquisitions, but in Masor it was open to all, for any type of ware. This allowed their economic philosophy to be traded as well and drastically shifted the culture of Masor to one far more akin to the modern Alquoria. Many villages started to disappear as the population began to consolidate into working cities. Too, here, with an absence of superstition, fairies found decent welcome and companionship. This fact came to be utilized by Sylvatians who made Forest-guides of converted fairies and, with them, spread the faith into Masor.

Ah, dear Reader, see what I meant about too long histories? Let us now go on.

****

The city of Agoshany in western Masor was a wonderous sight, with buildings tipped in gold that rose stories above even the crown’s castle in the southern citadel. Every walkway in this city had been paved in elaborately carved stone and was stretched wide enough that two full carriages might pass through it simultaneously. The central Agoshany marketplace had grown from its former carts and wagons, each merchant now boasting their own individual storefronts with glass-paned windows, offering any viewer an eye of the carefully placed wares within. As the heart of Masor’s central trading city, this marketplace was kept pristine, with city servants sweeping through to clean on every hour. The entire place truly sparkled.

Iloren, however, had seen it plenty and now cared little for the sight. Upon arriving today, he had not so much as stepped within the marketplace, opting instead for the dimmer, less frequented streets where, despite lacking crowds, it was still easier to go unnoticed into the often-empty taverns. After all these years, he felt he had been noticed enough. He used to walk proudly through the market, in the beginning, with the hood of his Brotherhood robe draped carelessly down his back and his Daughter’s-Jewel displayed around his arm. That was before he came to be recognized as the madman with an impossible ambition, but their jeers and taunts had done nothing to dim his dream. Whispers of The First Torch blazed on bright in his mind and kept him steadfast on his course.

“Shall I mix you something strong, my friend? Looks as though you’ve been to the end of Wood and back.”

This barkeep was new and did not yet know him. Iloren worked his chin into a polite smile and shook his head.

“Merely a soft wine, if you would,” he told her.

She shrugged and reached into the shelves below the counter for the appropriate glass.

“What’s the robe about?” she asked, sliding the drink to him.

“It is the cloth of the Brotherhood.”

She nodded, though clearly did not understand. He did not feel inclined to explain.

“Live in these parts?”

He tilted his brow, considering the correct response. “My home is near,” he said. “But I am hardly within it.”

“Ah, a traveler.”

He only nodded and sipped his wine.

“Is that of Sylveity then, the ‘Brotherhood’?” she asked, insistent to keep the conversation. She must have been more recently employed than he first thought.

“Indeed.”

“My. I’ve yet to meet someone so devout, but I too was raised Sylvatian, further South near Keifston.”

He could see plain what she was doing, utilizing similarities to encourage his openness. It was working.

“I have stopped there on occasion to pray at the lake. It is a pleasant town.”

“I do think so.” She smiled, taking a drying rag to a clean tumbler, then turned inquisitive. “Strange though,” she said. “I don’t believe I’ve yet to hear of the Brotherhood. Is it a new development in the faith?”

“It is older than the faith itself.”

“Oh.” She set down the dry cup and held it there a moment, sheepish. Eventually, she shrugged and moved to cleaning the next. “I must confess, there are a great number of important facets of the faith that, while my parents surely taught them to me, I still managed not to learn. That may have been one of them.”

Despite himself, his belly contracted in a small chuckle. “Possibly.”

“I was more entranced with the facets my parents tried to keep me from.” She leaned across the counter, drawing near and speaking low. “Have you heard tell of The First Torch?”

His heart jumped. “I have.”

She jolted back to standing with a jovial shrug and continued wiping a glass. “I like to believe it exists.”

“As do I.” He kept perfectly still.

Her smile widened and her eye gleamed. “It is said whoever can retrieve it from its depths will be ever the righteous crown of all the World Within the Woods. Even if it is later stolen from them, the Spirit Itself would defend their rule.” She stretched her brow with a discouraged smirk. “I confess, it seems unlikely.”

“Do you know there are other Vallum faiths north of the wall? It is said we all share whispers of the torch.”

“Really? Then it must be true!”

Now it was he who leant closer, enlivened by his choice subject. “I have spent near my life entire in search of it—”

“Oh! A traveler indeed!”

“—and in my study I have learned that those depths in which the torch resides are thought to be the bottom of a Woodland pool. It is sunk into water, and yet it burns with life!”

“Remarkable,” she gawked.

“The torch lies further down into the depths than one could survive, but they say the mystic pool itself would heal you as you dive, maintaining your life until you could return to the surface.”

Some stools to the right, there sat a page boy who was more intoxicated with drink than he had expected to become. He grumbled now and said to his melting ice, “Sounds as though they speak of the waterfall.”

Iloren stiffened and went silent, turning slow to the boy beside. The barkeep had hardly heard, but at the man’s new maddened demeanor she stepped some paces back.

“What was that you said?” He asked, slow and clear.

The boy was finishing an empty sip and only now understood that he had been heard outside the confines of his cup. He froze with his glass still raised and looked to Iloren, feigning incomprehension. He swallowed.

“Pardon?”

“You spoke of a waterfall.”

The boy looked round as though certain the man referred to someone else. Returning to Iloren, he shook his head. “I said nothing.”

“Do not test me, boy.”

The page placed down his glass and took on an exaggerated scowl. “That’s Renolorph to you, sir.”

Iloren pounded the bar. “Do not test me!”

Renolorph swallowed once more. “Sorry, sir.”

“What is this waterfall?”

“I am certain, yes, quite certain, surely, I said nothing, no, nothing, of any such thing.”

“You are no one of significance, yet you conceal this from me. On whose behalf?”

“No behalf.”

“You will reveal this to me.”

Renolorph rose, near falling from his stool in the attempt, and steadied himself with the bar, placing some coins atop it for the keep. “You see, good sir, I in fact know nothing of which you speak, good sir, and while to be of assistance to a good sir – as yourself must be – would be a great honor, I think I must be taking my leave, so good day, good sir.”

Iloren charged forward and placed an arm of steel – so it seemed to Renolorph – against the boy’s chest, forcing him into the bar. Renolorph hiccupped as he hit the counter.

“Fie!” Renolorph shouted when his hiccup had cleared. “Thou art not so good a sir!”

“What is this waterfall?”

“Nowhere you’ll ever find it!”

“Who do you serve?”

He spit his pride in the man’s face, declaring, “The Keeper.” Iloren did not flinch.

“Who is that?”

“Nowhere you’ll ever find her!”

“How does she know of this waterfall?”

“She keeps knowledge.”

Iloren drew up his lip in contempt. “How did you come to serve her?”

“I’ll inherit my father’s position when he dies.”

“What position is that?”

“He has the most precious duty of all.”

“How honorable. What might that be?”

Pride loosened his tongue. “He brings the Keeper water from the pool.”

“There’s a pool?”

Renolorph scoffed at the foolish question. “Where else would a waterfall end?”

“What does she use it for?”

The page spit once more at the man, and Iloren flicked his fingers, spinning a hidden dagger into usable form just beside Renolorph’s eye.

“What does she use it for?” he repeated.

“It heals her.”

The dagger drew nearer. Renolorph tried to wrench himself free but only managed to blink, releasing a tear.

“Where is the pool?”

“N- No where you’ll—”

Iloren pushed him harder against the bar. “Where is the pool?”

Renolorph spat out the truth – exposing the precious waterfall in the Infinite Wood, just off the western shore of the World Within – and in a flash, the dagger was gone. Iloren kissed the boy on his brow.

“Thank you, Renolorph,” he said, then dashed out into the darkening eve.

Renolorph turned to the barkeep, new desperation in his eye.

“Another, please,” he said.

She nodded.

*****

Word of the pool began to spread. Certain of the torch’s reality and armed with an idea of its location, Iloren organized a mighty search composed of Sylvatian brethren who hailed from both north and south of the wall. When they heard of this in Huyane, Empress Adia sent her specialized fleet of trackers to discover the pool and secure the torch’s power for the followers of Aralideram and when this was spoken of to the most devout Mashivallites, they too gathered themselves into a force to head into the Wood and win the torch. Even the warriors of Alquoria could not prevent the sudden intrusion of humans into the Wood and their leader of the time, Crown Grissmeral, ordered them to change focus, finding what they knew to be the Aldorian Waterfall and, if such a torch did exist, winning it for themselves.

The search alone outlasted a decade, and the Western Wood became as much active battle ground as scouting land. As war torn years passed upon it, the land took the additional weight of being a disseminated graveyard; still, the search went on.

At last, eleven years after his reinvigorated search began, it was Iloren who first cut through the overgrown thicket of ivy that blockaded entrance to the bank of the pool and stepped underneath the thick canopy that kept it concealed. He whooped and wailed in success when he saw the waterfall and called all his fellows to enter behind him. They each knelt beside the pool and placed their hands within. Even with only the shadowed light of the moon, they could watch as it healed their scars.

Their relief was short lived, however, for the Hederas had heard their shouts from the crest of the fall and leaned out over it now, showering arrows down upon them. The Hederas were then fired upon by Mashivallites who next found the mythic battleground from their hidden place in the upper Trees, and Alquorians too now emerged and began to fire upon the rest. The Sylvatians on the ground who survived the first attack readied their magic-enhanced spears.

The battle on the shores of the pool went on for only a short time, for before long all were closing in upon it, hoping to catch their opportunity to leap within. Fighting reached its very edge and some nearly forced their opponent into it in error, but before so much as another heel entered the water, a vicious, tunneling wind swept around the pool and blew endlessly with such force that every fighter was lurched away, flattened into thickets and against Trees. Battle ceased for but half a breath as each warrior soon rose again, fighting both the wind and their enemies.

The war ground entire saw the wind as an obstacle, but Iloren alone suddenly saw his opportunity. He laid down his weapons, knelt to the Forest floor, and pushed through the wind, crawling at a near imperceptible speed, yet ever persistent, on toward the pool. When he began to be noticed, he was shot at from every angle. The wind threw most of the attacks off course; still, he was hit by a great many, and bled terribly, but none yet took his life. So long as he was living, he crawled toward the pool, knowing it would save him and end both his physical suffering as well as his lifelong yearning.

Hours passed, and he struggled through the wind, certain he had lost his hearing beneath its raging against him, until at long last, he again could touch the water of the pool. He groped for plant life within and found a sturdy vine, gripping it and tossing himself into the pool with its strength. The battle and wind persisted, but all those sounds from above faded away. He turned down and swam with wild vigor, never more eager for anything, and found the pool was indeed deeper than he might have guessed from its surface. Between the night and the depth, he was soon shrouded in darkness, and he was certain that any moment he would rely on the pool’s magic to keep him living.

It was then his hands found earth. He tried to keep on, now forcing all of himself into the soft conglomerate of plant and dirt that ended his path. At length, he floated and stood upon the ground, looking round into the darkness, straining against his held breath. Sudden pressure consumed him, and the water began to swirl as a new force of wind moved through the depths. Though he could not see with any clarity, he became abruptly certain that a liquid beast had risen before him, the water taking form and appearing as a furious old hag. He could hear her with him.

You have reached the end, Iloren. Are you proud?

He nearly choked. Are you The First Torch?

No! I am entirely of this world. Your torch is a myth.

That isn’t so. You lie! He tried to swim away but the force of the water held him still.

Look around you, fool. You stand upon the bottom of the pool you have sought for so long, and all is darkness. Would you not see a blazing flame beside you?

You are hiding it from me.

Pity entered the woman’s voice. I do no such thing.

Are you The Keeper? He asked.

Who?

Never mind it. He pulled out his knife. I am the victor of The First Torch. Relinquish it to me or I shall slash you through!

You mean to make the water bleed before it drowns you?

I cannot drown here.

Perhaps not, the woman said, her pity conceding to the strength of her vexation. But surely you can freeze.

He forced his knife through the pressure of the water and pulled it through the beast’s belly. It vanished, as did the force of its wind, but before Iloren could celebrate his success he shivered at a sudden cold. He turned upward and, through the light of the moon, saw the surface of the pool harden into ice. The ground slipped him when he went to launch up from it, only further solidifying his doom. He was only three meters from the surface when the water hardened around him, and he was never to move again.

Above the pool, everyone stilled. Alquorians, Hederas, Mashivallites, and Sylvatians alike ceased their fighting to brace themselves against the inconceivably sudden freeze. When the cold softened, they remained sometime as statues, staring in disbelief at the frozen object of their endless journeys. A lone Alquorian flew out above the center of the ice and the full battleground watched with bated breath. She landed at its center and stood upon what was now solid ground. With a twirl of her bolt-spear, she pierced the ice and then instantly fell, a Mashivallite arrow having pierced her heart. Battle cries rang out as every side of the ice was run over with fighters, battle-spirits renewed.

*****

Leanna held her head in her hands, vision returning now to her cell within the wall. She had made every effort to stop the fighting, but with all her abilities, she remained powerless. It would take a being even stronger than herself to end the war now. Could someone so powerful exist?

She remembered Iloren… Are you The Keeper?

Who else would he suppose her mystical watery visage could have been?

She closed her eyes once more and sought the world, sifting through dreams and prayers. It did not take long before she discovered this Keeper’s disparate following, and from them she followed swiftly into the mind of The Keeper herself. She stepped slowly into the dream, not believing her own eyes.

“Hello, Leanna,” The Keeper said. “I wondered when you would come and find me.”

The dreamer felt every old fear return to her as she gazed onto this ancient visage. Her countenance twisted in discontent and the pounding of her heart nearly lifted off the confines of her chest as she named the woman before her: “Isolda?”

“My dear, you look older than I do.”

Leanna was as stone. “You died.”

“Did I?”

“How have you not?”

She flicked a dainty hand as though the fact of her living several centuries was a simple trifle. “A mere cup from the pool every few years seems to suffice,” she said.

“How can you speak so gaily?” Leanna felt her innards constrict as long suppressed rage boiled its way back into her mind. “Do you feel no remorse for the things you have done?”

Isolda scoffed. “Are the likes of you and I really to squabble about the past?”

“You killed Madrick!”

“Are you still angry over that?”

“I was preoccupied with denying my circumstances in the early days so that I did not have space to feel anger over it then, but I assure you I am finding plenty of space for fury about it now!”

Isolda’s voice remained infuriatingly calm. “Can I avoid this scene if I tell you I regret that particular choice of mine?”

Leanna spent several breaths working to reach a level of calm that might allow her to appropriately respond. “Is that true?” she finally asked.

“Quite so,” the old queen nodded. “I have read enough differing philosophies now to suspect Masor might have been done good to see him as king a bit longer.”

“You are cold, as ever.”

“That is the best I can offer you, Leanna – you know I was never one for sentimentality. Besides, it is the truth.”

The dreamer nodded, straightening with a scowl. “Is that the only thing you regret? You know, not all of your victims are as at peace as the brother you slayed.”

“Oh, please, Leanna, you are no victim.”

“I have been trapped—!”

“Yes, I am well aware of your circumstances. You can dispense with the dramatics.”

Leanna stared at her, wide-eyed and stupefied in shock. Then, quite against herself, she suddenly cracked into enormous laughter. After a time, she worked it into a smaller chuckle then guffawed, relenting to the release. Isolda patiently allowed her the moment, waiting, and watching with a small smile. At last, Leanna regained control of herself and shook her head in dismay.

“As much as I despise you, Isolda, I must confess: Arguing with you returns me to a pleasant sense of home.”

Isolda Oxbien smiled. “It pleases me to see you as well, Leanna.”

In a brief exchange of glances, ages old grievances seemed to fall away.

“Why have you lived so long?” Leanna asked her. “I would not do so if I had choice in the matter.”

“Oh, I adore immortality. My every historical curiosity has been satiated.” She grumbled the caveat, “It took nearly 400 years for my servants to acquire the answer to one of my initial queries, but nonetheless even that was done in time.”

“You became immortal out of mere curiosity?”

A shadow hung over Isolda’s eye. “Not exactly, I confess. The day we trapped you, Guiomar gave me cause to fear you would one day escape the wall. I became obsessed with ensuring that never came to pass. Some years later, I began hearing rumors of ‘the dreamer’! It seemed you were indeed still alive and would continue to be so for quite some time. I knew if I was to ensure your indefinite captivity, I would have to live as long as you did, even if that was forever.”

Leanna turned grave. “So we are still enemies then?”

“Still!” Isolda laughed. “Goodness, no. I left that ambition behind ages ago.”

“Is that when you supposedly passed?”

“Oh, no. I pretended to die at a reasonable age so I could retire. It was still some centuries yet before my obsession lifted.”

“How did you mean to ensure my captivity from retirement?”

A glint of scheming pride entered Isolda’s eye. “Pigeons,” she said.

“Pigeons?”

She nodded. “Once I intended to drink regularly from the pool, I made sure to imbue my child with an overly grand reverence of her ancestors. Every summer solstice, I told her, if she entreated well enough, the ancestors would speak to her, and it was vital to dutifully obey their every command.” Her smile was brimming with glee. “The royal family of Masor practices that to this day.” She chuckled. “I still send them a pigeon now and again, signing as a different expired Oxbien each time, of course.”

“Of course.”

“I actually wrote to them as Madrick once and – you’ll appreciate this – I told them to make the gentry pay more in taxes. Worked like a charm.”

Leanna scoffed, then turned sour upon a realization. “Isolda, could you not then have been a dear and told them to take the wall down?”

Isolda turned grimly serious. “I would never dream of such a thing.”

“I thought you said we were no longer enemies.”

“We aren’t. I have an incredible respect for you, but—” Isolda looked to her sincerely. “—Leanna, do you know what you are? What that wall has turned you into?”

The dreamer turned down in dismay. “Myth.”

“Legend!” Isolda corrected. “Look here…” The old queen turned and gazed out where now a grand library shimmered into view around the dreamscape. The vast rows of shelving were packed with scrolls and bound manuscripts. Isolda turned to Leanna with a grin. “This is my personal collection,” she said. “Every one of the volumes was either brought to me by passionate servants over the ages or were mine to begin with, and every one of them is about you.”

Leanna was struck to see them all together but could not feign surprise at her influence.

Isolda went on. “I grant you, most of them are entirely inaccurate (and in fairness, I wrote a fair number of those), but still they all are entirely indebted to you and that wall for their very existence.”

“You have an impressive collection, Isolda, but I hope you do not intend to use these books as your reason not to have me unburied from this tomb.”

“But that is the reason precisely! What an uninteresting development in the tale that would be.”

Leanna jammed a pointed finger into her own chest. “Is my life then only the stage for your collectible dramas?”

Isolda was firm. “You say that as though it is not a great honor to be recognized as a dramatic subject. I do you a service in refusing your release, and even did you a service by entrapping you at the start.”

“A service! Isolda, if we were not both so old, I might strangle you in your sleep.”

“Peace, Leanna. I do not mean to minimize your suffering; I am sure it is great indeed. Still, look what you have done in the face of it,” she held out a hand to her many shelves. “Suffering is what builds heroes, Leanna. If I had not become your villain, and later forced you into that wall, even you yourself would never have known what a magnanimous heart beats in your chest. Now, the world entire sings of it!”

Leanna raised a brow. “Do you mean me to thank you?”

Isolda shrugged. “I suppose you could, if you wished.”

“I think I would prefer my freedom.”

“Do you think you won’t achieve it?” The question was genuine and took Leanna by surprise. Isolda went on in her silence. “I, myself, have lost any doubt that you shall one day escape from that wall; I just also know it cannot occur by any simple pigeon from an old, changed nemesis. You, Leanna, I am entirely certain, will manage to release yourself from that wall in due time, and when you do, you will become more infinite than yet even you can imagine. My only ambition now is to be alive to watch. Oh, and you need not worry for me regarding the war around Aldorfall. I have dozens of barrels of the precious healing liquid built up in my cellar; more, I actually find it to be more potent when aged.”

Leanna could only laugh, then she shook her head, gazing around the library.

“Is this why they call you The Keeper?” she asked.

“Indeed. Those who have come through to study the collection see some volumes that are so old they assume I must be some type of magic to have acquired them.” She chuckled. “If only they knew those had been crafted for me personally by our royal scribes.”

The dreamer paused, wondering. “How did you discover the pool?”

“Madrick wrote a lengthy journal throughout his time as my prisoner. He was very thorough and, as a reader, so was I.”

“Do you ever regret it? Finding immortality?”

“Not for single day.”

With a sad sigh, Leanna said, “I think I might have preferred my peace.”

Isolda was quick to respond. “Fortune does not like to provide its heroes with such an option.” She smirked and looked sidelong at her companion. “Why do you think it came so easily to me?”

Leanna laughed again then settled into a stoic appreciation of her current sight. “I am glad of your library, Isolda,” she confessed. “Does it have a name?”

“Yes, the followers of The Keeper have taken to calling it The Immortal Library. I had suggested it be The Immortal’s Library, but that didn’t quite stick.”

The dreamer nodded sympathetically. “Names can be difficult.”

Isolda laughed. “Yes, I suppose you would know something of that.”

The library faded into cerulean as the two women came to face each other.

“I hope I really do manage some good in time,” Leanna said. “You shall hear of it soon I am sure, but I can tell you the war at ‘Aldorfall,’ as they call it, is now truly unending. They found the pool, and it is now frozen, yet they continue to wage war on top of the ice. I fear I can make nothing but errors.”

“My, that is astounding!” At Leanna’s glare, she added, “And unfortunate, of course. If it really bothers you, I think you could reasonably blame the war on me instead of yourself. If it were not for the drunken rambling of my servant, they never would have gone looking for the pool. So, really, I suppose, you should blame him.”

“How generous of you, Isolda,” Leanna replied. “But no, they battle over stories of me. If I merely had not spoken of myself, none of this could have started.”

“Oh, I do not believe that in the slightest,” said the old queen. “You know very well of the present, but I know far better of the past – the last 600 years not withstanding – and I can assure you, when people find they have the desire to fight, they too will find a reason to do so, even if they must invent a legend to battle over. You cannot hold yourself responsible for others’ misuse of your words.”

“Thank you, Isolda, but I am not certain I agree with that last sentiment.”

She shrugged. “Ah, well. Perhaps that is why you are the hero, and I live in a beautiful mansion with a lovely library.”

Leanna laughed once more. “You do know how to comfort an old friend, Isolda.”

“I try now and again.” She smiled, then a thought occurred to her. “I find I have the urge to wake up and read a book.”

“Of course,” Leanna granted. “I shall leave you.”

As the dreamer began to fade, Isolda called out, “Oh, Leanna.” When she had the dreamer’s gaze, she smiled. “Do keep in touch.”

Leanna mirrored the grin. “I’ll send a pigeon,” she said, and the dreamscape faded into the dark.

The Legend of Leanna Page VOLUME ONE: A Beginning is NOW AVAILABLE in print and e-book! Buy the paperback or e-book from any major retailer, or visit the website of the publisher → ForElenvia.org ← to order your paperback for 20% off.

Order Volume One Today!

Please note, all material released on Substack is from the unedited manuscript. The official text can be acquired through the website of the publisher: ForElenvia.org.

Then she heard it. That rumbling laughter which vibrated through one’s every pore.

Oh, no. It said, dripping in facetious displeasure. The Dreamer has found me at last. How ever shall I go on?

Where are you?

I would ask the same of you if I thought you might reply. Can it be you have less wit than a cloud?

She scowled and wished the water-wart could see. It has to end.

What? Me?

It cannot be that it is necessary to your living that you change them so. Let them be as they are!

Hmmm. I admit I have no requirement to feed unsubtly, but it is all such a greater degree of entertainment if I know it will make The Dreamer squirm.

I have no quarrel with you. Why do you insist on inventing one?

The cloud bobbed, the creature’s nearest gesture to a shrug. What else is a cloud to do?

You are entirely wickedness!

I am not.

Then explain yourself. Why should I not put every effort into ending you?

It would be a waste of your time, for one matter.

Yfellan!

There was silence. You intrigue me, Dreamer. You are evidently infinite, and so you must be wise; still, with all your years of pondering, does it never occur to you that the wickedness lies within them, and not me?

They can be faulted for many a wicked act, but they are not to blame so long as you rip from their souls the very feeling that points them toward a better path.

Hmmm. Another bob. Then I suppose you must destroy me.

Fie on you, Yfellan! You insist on war between us?

I insist on nothing but my entertainment. If this means you shall war with me, so be it.

I promise you, creature, my sight and power go beyond yours. Continue as you are, and I will find a way to end you.

A dark laughter echoed through the air. Best wishes to your endeavor, Dreamer.

Leanna slashed out a piercing wind that scraped every crevice of the Sky. The Yfellan, once more, was nowhere to be found, but its existence in the world was palpable and it sent the Dreamer’s fury blazing.

The Legend of Leanna Page VOLUME ONE: A Beginning is NOW AVAILABLE in print and e-book! Buy the paperback or e-book from any major retailer, or visit the website of the publisher → ForElenvia.org ← to order your paperback for 20% off.

Order Volume One Today!

Please note, all material released on Substack is from the unedited manuscript. The official text can be acquired through the website of the publisher: ForElenvia.org.

Kennedy.

Leanna’s voice in her head broke her composure and in an instant her tears began to fall. Still, she could not respond.

A warm breeze picked up around, striking up a cloud of needles and leaves, manipulating the material of the Forest floor into an airborne shape. It took the form of a body, then of a face: a familiar face, a beloved face. The wind filtered through a throat made of dust and gave itself the ability to speak. Kennedy knew the leaves which swirled in and out of the wind-form’s eyes needed no special design for the visage to have the power of sight, and too she was aware that to look into them was to gaze at nothing but earth and air, yet she was incapable of looking away.

“Kennedy, speak to me, please.” The form spoke with Leanna’s voice. It was all a mastery of power that Kennedy had never before seen, but she was depleted of her capacity for surprise.

“Art thou happy, my love?” Kennedy asked in a whisper, darting an eye to Zabeth to see she still slept. “I am offed my throne. Was that thy wish?”

The wind swirled within Leanna’s form, silent a moment. “There was no other choice,” she finally said.

“Alquoria– Anwansi– That pool is all I have ever known. How am I meant to go on?”

“Thou art not banished, Kennedy. Thou couldst return.”

“To what life? I know not who I am there if not the queen. I know not what I am at all.”

An extension of the wind gently brushed Kennedy’s cheek. “Thou art thyself again,” Leanna said.

Greif soured Kennedy’s countenance. “And what art thou? The wind, a sound? Thou wert meant to live beside me. We were meant to be happy.”

Kennedy could feel the wind sulk away.

“Thou hast Zabeth now,” the wind said.

“Yes,” Kennedy agreed, “and I love her deeply. My care for her is a special kind that I shall share with no one else. My love for thee, too, is a special sort that could never be replicated, not for Zabeth, not for anyone. All my first memories are of thee. I always thought my last might be the same.”

“Some things cannot be.”

“It could have. It could have been. Thou didst not have to leave. Thy hand was not forced to run from our wedding and lose thyself in the Woods for a decade. Thy hand was not forced to attack King Guiomar, to steal the Jewel of Nebulous, to be trapped—to be entombed alive! All of this was a choice, a broken promise. Dost thou even so much as regret it?”

“The world needed something from me. The Jewel needed me.”

“No, I needed thee, Leanna!” Kennedy’s voice rose and woke Zabeth, but the companion chose to keep silent, only watching from afar as her love, shaking in woe, at last spoke true to her love long lost. “I needed thee. What have I become? I was alone for so many years; young, afraid, alone, and a queen. Never did I wish to blame thee for it, and yet canst thou imagine what it was to go from having thee beside me, whether in my mind or in my bed, at all hours to suddenly not knowing whether thou wert dead or alive, and to know it was thine own choice! Oh, so desperately did I wish to hate thee. I had never felt like that before. Upon thy return, thou spokest only of the joy and meaning thou hadst found with the Woodbound Players, and I did not wish to taint that, but, Leanna, all I knew from that time was pain. Something died in me the day thou walked away from Anwansi, and I do not believe it ever returned. I can only wonder now what Alquoria might be if from the beginning of my reign thou hadst been by my side, if I had known the true touch of thy hand. Perhaps my people would not despise me.” Kennedy scanned Leanna’s form before her. It was perfectly still except for the swirling of its inner winds. “Hath it been worth the cost, choosing the Jewel over me?”

“I am sorry, Kennedy. I wish nothing in this world had any consequence above my love for thee. All the choices would have been easier.”

Kennedy allowed her head to fall back against the Tree trunk. “What choice are we meant to make now?” she asked.

“I think thou shouldst find the Woodbound Players.”

With twisted brow, Kennedy looked into the empty eyes ahead of her. “When one of us is so far into the Wood, we can no longer speak to each other.”

“They enabled me to find happiness, Kennedy, even if for a short while. Perhaps they can do the same for thee.”

“I am old, Leanna. Thou mayst live for eternity, but I shall not. Are my last hours to be without thee completely?”

“One cannot be certain of such things as hours and eternities while among the Woodbound Players. Go to them, and perhaps at the end of what eternity we are in, we shall find a way to meet again.”

“Until then?”

Far away, within her tomb, the dreamer in the wall wept enough to fill the River. The winds she controlled, however, spoke calmly and clear.

“Be with Zabeth. Be happy.”

Crickets chirped and night birds sang but, for a moment, neither Kennedy nor the wind made any sound. There was a small rustle of leaves as Zabeth sat up and met Kennedy’s eyes. Zabeth’s countenance was too kind and too lovely for Kennedy to object. She turned back to Leanna’s form.

“Dost thou realize that every time we have parted it has been without saying goodbye?”

The winds grew still and the form of needles and leaves fell apart and floated away. Kennedy closed her eyes and heard that beloved voice embrace her mind for a final time.

Goodbye, Kennedy.

Zabeth flew to join her as Kennedy began to cry. They tightly embraced, wings overlapping, blue over purple over blue. The pair remined there, still as stone, until the rise of the sun.

The Legend of Leanna Page VOLUME ONE: A Beginning is NOW AVAILABLE in print and e-book! Buy the paperback or e-book from any major retailer, or visit the website of the publisher → ForElenvia.org ← to order your paperback for 20% off.

Order Volume One Today!

Please note, all material released on Substack is from the unedited manuscript. The official text can be acquired through the website of the publisher: ForElenvia.org.

Previously, Leanna told Jude the story of Lykomendies, the transgender boy who was mysteriously and mystically chosen as the heir to the Queen of Alquoria. We learned how Lyko had worked with Leanna and Zabeth, Queen Kennedy’s lover, to overcome the queen’s baser capitalistic inclinations and successfully lead a revolution, bringing Alquoria to a bright and newly democratic day.

Just joining us? Volume 2 start here: VOLUME TWO: Author's Second Epistle - by Cedar Flyte

JUDE: Now, that is simply an insult.

LEANNA: In what way?

JUDE: I know better than to believe the extreme Unionist lie that the great Lykomenides was a cross-sex.

LEANNA: Oh. That was not the important element of that story. I forgot how many of you denied the facts of his beginnings.

JUDE: It is no fact; it is madness.

LEANNA: Jude, I was there. Wouldn’t I know?

JUDE: I have seen the images of him; it is impossible. The changing magic they use today was not yet so advanced.

LEANNA: You have seen paintings. The artists favored their subject in the ways he requested of them.

JUDE: He would not have been able to do everything he did if he had not been born a man.

LEANNA: He was only able to be everything he was because he had not been born a man.

JUDE: It’s preposterous.

LEANNA: It’s the truth.

(Jude scoffs.)

Why does it matter to you how he was born?

JUDE: Regardless of his wings, Lykomenides was a model of manhood. His name is invoked whenever a boy needs to grow up and take responsibility. He can’t have been a woman. He just couldn’t have been.

LEANNA: He wasn’t. Still, I suppose, he wasn’t exactly what you would consider to be a man, either. Does that make his achievements any less marvelous? His courage any less profound?

JUDE: I don’t know. If it were true—

LEANNA: It is.

JUDE: If it were— It would mean he was some creature of evil.

LEANNA: Why?

JUDE: He denied the Spirit! He became something he was not intended to be.

LEANNA: He was chosen by mystical forces of nature to be the ruler of Alquoria. How can you say his path was any other than what was intended for him?

JUDE: Maybe it was supposed to be different.

LEANNA: Oh, Jude, you begin to tire me. There is no “supposed to,” there is only what is.

JUDE: No, there is only what the Spirit has willed.

LEANNA: But in the case of Lykomenides you believe the will of a cross-sex was able to circumvent the will of the Spirit?

JUDE: No!

LEANNA: What then?

JUDE: It is not for me to explain the Spirit!

LEANNA: It is only for you to explain! It is only for us. The Spirit, the Sky, the Woods, whatever you wish to call the willful energy in the world around us, it is as much made of us as it is the air and the Trees. The only way for it to ever be described is for us to describe ourselves – our largest selves. When you separate the Spirit from yourself, you are creating a work of fiction, and only you are capable of explaining what you have created.

JUDE: That is nonsense.

LEANNA: I beg you to reconsider. You are uniquely situated to bring about a greater understanding if only you were willing to do so within yourself to begin.

JUDE : I am content with my understandings.

LEANNA: Are you? Think of everything your way of understanding the world has brought about. Think of the wars, the death, the confusion, the rage. I have tried so hard in all my years to encourage love between the people. I exerted effort to a fault. It led to naught for so long because the people refused to encourage love within themselves. Now, finally, two thousand and sixty-eight years after I was buried in this wall, just enough people have learned to love with intention and defiance, to love purposefully without condition, and – finally – it has led to collective action. Still, you look at their efforts and see the work of evil. You look at what they have built, and you want to tear it down. As much as I try, Jude, forgive me, but I cannot understand why.

(Pause. There is silence.)

Do you think the world is right as it is?

JUDE: The world is as the Spirit made it and thus is exactly how it should be.

LEANNA: You don’t think, as a society, we could do better?

JUDE: Of course we could.

LEANNA: How would you change things?

(A beat.)

JUDE: Forget it. You wouldn’t like my answer.

(Silence.)

The Legend of Leanna Page, VOLUME ONE: A Beginning is available now in paperback and e-book! Available at all major retailers. Visit the website of the publisher → ForElenvia.org ← to learn more.

Order Volume One Today!

Please note, all material released on Substack is from the unedited manuscript. The official text can be acquired through the website of the publisher: ForElenvia.org.

I am so excited to share with you that today is Leanna’s birthday! As of today, The Legend of Leanna Page, Volume One: A Beginning is officially available to order in Paperback and Ebook at all major - and many smaller - retailers. (Also, if you read the book, you’ll see March 21st is literally Leanna’s birthday 🥳 )

Please help me spread the word. Early reviews show that people other than me are finding this story to be really something special, and I want to share that with as many people as possible.

Here’s what critics are saying:

“Flyte’s well-paced story is full of creative worldbuilding concepts and intriguing characters, and it features some thoughtfully timed twists and turns along the way. ... The narrative as a whole—in which Leanna and Kennedy grow and explore their world and work to encourage peace and understanding among their respective peoples and kingdoms—is exciting and skillfully delivered, and it’s sure to keep aficionados of the genre invested. An immersive and well-constructed adventure tale.”

– Kirkus Reviews - Read Full Review

“If you are looking for an epic fantasy flavored with mythical lore, adventure, a splash of drama and romance, plot twists, and suspense, The Legend of Leanna Page by Cedar Flyte is a perfect pick. ... The poetic prose unfolds at a deliberate pace, allowing readers to connect with the well-crafted cast. ... The cinematic depictions vividly captured the medieval setting and made me feel as if I were next to the cast, experiencing every moment. ... This page turner is an amazing debut in the Elenvian Adventures series, and I can’t wait to read the next installment.”

– Keith Mbuya for Readers’ Favorite (FIVE STARS) - Read Full Review

“The Legend of Leanna Page blends epic fantasy, political themes, and moral challenges in a single connected story. ... Flyte’s captivating writing sounds like a tale handed down through generations, giving it a lasting sense of history ... Family, loyalty, and bridging divides are central themes, and the story shows how understanding and cooperation matter in a divided world.”

– David Jaggart for Readers’ Favorite (FIVE STARS) - Read Full Review

“Reminiscent of classic fantasy, the rich, vivid prose and expertly crafted dialogue breathe into the book airs of intrigue, mysticism, and magic. I liked how the book shifted in the beginning from seemingly being focused on the royal families to landing on Esta, Byrdon, and then Leanna and Kennedy, as the focal points. It sets the book apart from the countless fantasy novels about warring Kings, Princes and Princesses by bringing the action down to the level of the common man and woman (and fairy!). [...] The Legend of Leanna Page is a must read for epic fantasy fans.”

– Megan Weiss for Reedsy Discovery (FIVE STARS) - Read Full Review

“Cedar Flyte builds a secondary world whose most arresting feature is not its marvels but its moral weight ... Flyte writes with patience for the process and consequences, showing how borders are strengthened by ink and ceremony before a stone is ever laid. ... A spectacular entry into the series.”

– Jamie Michele for Readers’ Favorite (FIVE STARS) - Read Full Review

And readers are loving it:

“Everyone who knows me dearly now knows about this book, and anyone who will get to know me will eventually get to know it too. I genuinely did not want this book to end once I started it. ... This book has everything for everyone; romance, betrayal, found family — and in my opinion the most important part, a courageous, compelling heroine in Leanna. As the author has said, she is the kind of character that stays with you even after you close the book, and I find that to be true. I loved both the poetry and the prose in this book, it was such a fun time throughout.”

– Terezija Meštrović, Reviewer on NetGalley, Five Stars - Read Full Review

“This book was a pleasant surprise. I wasn’t sure what to expect out of it, but I felt captivated by the story and always excited to pick it back up. I’m not a usual reader of books with fairies and things of that nature, but I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I enjoyed reading it.”

– Alyssa Woodley, Reviewer on NetGalley

“I really enjoyed this book a lot. I like that it was a general fiction with a sci-fi and fantasy aspect but also a literary fiction also. I like the setting, the writing style, the plot and plot twist…. I like how the story played out throughout the book. I like how the story evolved through out the book. I would definitely read more from this author in the future. I would definitely recommend this to anyone who likes general fiction with literary fiction and sci-fi and fantasy aspects.”

– Nicole Bannister, Reviewer on NetGalley

“This story feels like a quiet opening, right from the first page. Not loud or flashy - instead, it leans into mood, pulling you through questions of self and purpose. There is room here, space for growth, especially as Leanna steps further into who she might become. What stands now may shift later, quietly building toward something deeper.
Lastly, I really like the book cover; it is the art that sparks my interest to read this book. I would love to recommend this to fantasy readers.”

– anzel liyi, Reviewer on NetGalley

How to get your copy!

The coolest way to go about getting a copy of this book would be to walk into your favorite independent bookstore, ask if they have any in stock (they probably don’t), and then ask them to order it for you. You’ll support a cool indie store, and you’ll show the store there is interest in the book which may lead to them to stocking it on their shelves which would be super cool for me.

This may also work at libraries and wouldn’t cost you a thing!

Otherwise, you can visit the book’s page on the publisher website to see all the places you can order your copy online: https://forelenvia.org/the-legend-of-leanna-page

Thank you for supporting this story!

Their weapons were being sold to the humans.

He flew to the Queen’s Chambers and found only Zabeth within.

“She’s done it,” he panted when Zabeth opened the door. “I cannot begin to imagine what comes next.”

She beckoned him inside and shut the door behind them, a brief worried eye to the hall. “What has happened?” she asked.

“Do you not know?”

“Tell me!”

Grieved to have to speak it aloud, he at last said, “Trade with the humans has begun, and it begins with weapons.”

Zabeth’s countenance turned from azure to ashen. “She did not tell me.”

Lykomenides began to pace in a huff. “Does she have any remembrance of how the humans are feared by our people? How many of us have gone missing, or been found murdered!, at their hand? I would think Elder Bianid might remember his own misfortune at their hand, but perhaps he no longer considers it as such.” He shook the thought from his mind. “Alquoria has remained secure these many ages because we have power of which the humans could never dream. Now we are handing it to them direct, and for what! All this could possibly invite upon us is war. How could the Elders and Queen alike be so foolish?”

Breaking only slight from her resemblance to stone, Zabeth turned a stoic eye to Lyko and uttered, “It is not foolish. Not if war is their intent.”

He stopped his pacing. “You believe that?”

“I wish I did not.”

“Then they are more foolish than I feared.” His pacing resumed, along with his racing mind. “I might have expected this from a Council of Elders,” he went on, “but we have long understood the queen is meant to check the Elders when they stray from the nation’s spirit; instead, Queen Kennedy is at the head of their charge!”

“Would you be different?”

“Of course!” He spun to her, quickening his pacing. “If I were queen, I would take pains to hear from the people and act on their true interest! I know too well that Anwansi itself is capable of error, so I would not dream to presume my wings alone could give me cause to think my every inclination was good. Still, I have studied enough history to understand how I might steer us away from cruelty, and I have forethought enough to see we are now charging down a dangerous path. The present is chaos, but it is not the quietness of the past I would have us return to, it is a future that no one has yet to dream. Alas, Queen Kennedy remains strong at her ancient age and I fear by the time my reigns begins hope may be lost.”

“What if it could begin sooner?” Zabeth now entirely reanimated, and Lykomenides looked to her in shock.

“Do you suggest…”

“No! Nothing of kind, but Lykomenides—” she smirked. “Now, you must forgive the musings of one in my ‘ancient age’—”

“Sorry…”

“But I think it is possible that Anwansi did not choose you in error. Perhaps you were chosen because the time of the Queen has reached an end, and it is time for something new to begin; something that could only start with you.”

“Like what?”

She shrugged. “I was not the one chosen, how am I to know?” He laughed, and she turned sincere. “Do understand, I love Kennedy as much as I ever have, and I will not see her harmed; still, I wonder if one leader may not have to die for the next to take their place.”

“You suggest she would step down?”

“I suggest you do not her offer a choice.”

“I have nothing to use against her.”

“You speak for the people.”

“In her mind, so does she!”

Zabeth thought a moment; then, there was an idea.

“What if the people spoke for you?” Zabeth asked.

He considered a moment as he worked to understand.

“You speak of revolution,” he said.

She nodded.

“I would not know where to begin with such a task.”

“I don’t think anyone does until they have begun it.”

“Do you think it would work?”

“I think we have to try.”

Lykomenides began to pace again. “I have spent so many years in the dark with my studies, the people hardly know me.”

Zabeth remembered Leanna and explained, “I have a friend who could reach them all.”

He stilled and waited to hear more.

“Just answer me this, Lykomenides. If I could build you the beginnings of a revolution, would you lead it?”

“Yes,” he swore.

Despite the apprehension in their eyes, they both smiled.

*****

Zabeth dreamed that night and reached again for Leanna. When at first the Dreamer appeared to her friend, she began to weep.

“I did all I could, Zabeth, but I could not stop her. She will not let me reach her any longer.”

“I know.” Zabeth welcomed Leanna into her arms, and they held one another. “She is beyond any of us now.”

Leanna pulled away and held Zabeth’s shoulders, speaking sternly. “It will not be safe for thee soon. Pavoline swears the weapons are only for defense for now, but Masor conspires to attack as soon as they are received. Surely it will not be long before Anwansi is finally found, but there is refuge thou canst take in the Woods. Fly northwest long enough and thou wilt find—”

“I am not leaving, Leanna. Not yet, and not without Kennedy.”

“Please, I will not see thee lost to violence.”

“I mean to ask thee for aid now of a different kind. Wilt thou hear it?”

Leanna sighed, then acquiesced. “What is it?”

“I have spoken with the heir, Lykomenides, and he has agreed to take charge of a revolution. I am insistent there will be no violence or harm, but at the end of it, Kennedy will lose the throne and Lykomenides will take it in her place. Perhaps then, indeed, Kennedy and I may fly northwest as thou dost wish and complete our lives in peace while brave Lyko leads Alquoria to a better day.”

“Might Kennedy be furious? Might she never forgive you?”

“Kennedy’s love for me is true, I know it is. Supposing she were no longer the queen, she would not have me fly away alone.”

The Dreamer felt a pang of grief at the thought of her dearest love disappearing so deep into the Woods, but – for Zabeth – she smiled. “What is the plan?”

Zabeth gave another of her shrugs. “To ask thee for help.”

Leanna laughed – “I see.” – then remembered, “Whispers of discontent are spreading among the poor and working class, but they mostly think they are alone in their laments. I can tell them of their power. If there was a place I could tell them to assemble, a place they could see their size and unity for themselves, perhaps Lykomenides could speak to them there and inspire them toward larger action.”

Zabeth nodded, and contributed, “Nienst is sympathetic to our cause. She would allow us access to her workshop, I am certain, and half Alquoria could likely fit within it.”

“In a week’s time, I’ll have half Alquoria in that workshop.”

“Sublime.” Zabeth nodded, then cocked her head in concern. “I only hope Lykomenides can manage the task.”

Leanna smiled, a hint of sadness concealed behind as she recalled Kennedy’s youth and her own days on the pool. “I will speak to him as well,” she said. “Perhaps there are some intelligences I might impart.”

With a sigh of awe, Zabeth breathed out, “If ever there was a gift from the River, it would truly be thee, Leanna.”

The Dreamer shook her head. “Say not so. Whispering into dreams is all I am good for.”

Zabeth furrowed her brow. “It is an important thing, my friend. Do not forget that.”

“Thank thee, Zabeth.” She took her hands and kissed them graciously. “‘Til we meet again.”

She faded from Zabeth’s dream and moved on toward the mind of Lykomenides.

“Who are you?” he said, seeing the Dreamer for the first time, disconcerted by the stranger’s calm demeanor.

“A friend. Zabeth sent me.”

“But, you are human.”

“Am I?” She looked at herself, then shrugged. “I must be over a hundred and ten years old, yet I am more spry than your oldest fairy Elder. How human can I be?”

He gawked. “Are you real?”

“I don’t believe that’s of any import now.”

“I know you are no simple dream.”

She smiled.

“Why have you come to me?” He asked.

“I am here to help.”

“With the revolution?”

She nodded, and he let out a breath he had been holding.

“I fear I will not be able to succeed. Surely it is impossible to so alter an institution such as the Queen of Alquoria. I’ll be thrown under the pool again, and this time without any recourse for rescue.”

“Perhaps.”

He paused, bewildered. “I do not mean to insult your wisdom, but that is not a particularly helpful thing to say.”

“I will not lie to you and promise that this will be easy, but I can supply you with something that Kennedy will not expect you to have.”

“What?”

“My memories.”

“You knew her?”

Leanna laughed. “I know her story better than anyone. Let me share it with you.”

“Please!” The historian within him grew incredibly eager and he kneeled before her to hear the tale. She soon joined him and brought him to the beginning.

When she completed her telling, Lykomenides remained still for a time, considering it all. At last, he looked up at her.

“I think I know what I must do.”

*****

The following week was met, and Lykomenides now sat alone in contemplation, gazing around him at the empty workshop. As he had requested, neither Zabeth nor Nientz would be present at the assembly; he wished to speak to his people on his own. He rose now from a work-station and strode toward a wall which had been etched in and marked upon by several a creator in their struggle to break through a blockaded thought. Grazing his finger across the markings, he wondered now what many thoughts might have been buried throughout the ages. Was it possible his work here today could excavate them?

A flicker of anxiety began beneath his ribs and he continued on in his amble through the workshop. The ceiling was striped with panes of glass, flooding the space with warmth and light. Upon seeing them in the first, Lyko feared the transparency could lead to premature discovery, one that could endanger his aims, but after the hour he had sat gazing upon the glass, and upon the light it proffered, he had convinced himself to be glad of it. Perhaps the assembly might be seen by one flying overhead, but he intended them to be seen soon enough, and he remembered that a righteous force is only of use to history when it can be taken note of. On this day, he decided it was best he speak to his people in the light.

He heard the door creak and stifled a jump, accepting a calm breath into his chest and turning towards the newcomer with a confident grin.

“Welcome,” he said.

An older Kesk stood half in the doorframe. They glanced to every corner of the wide-open room then turned their awestruck eyes to the heir.

“Seems I’m the first,” they said.

Lykomenides smiled. “So it seems. May I ask your name?”

“Tonham. I’m an instructor for little ones with an interest in battle.”

“Wonderful. I may need some tips.”

Tonham allowed a cautious chuckle and fully entered into the room.

“Please,” Lyko said, flying forth and pulling out a chair. “Feel free to relax. I am certain others will be joining us shortly.”

“Considering I managed it, I have no doubt others will arrive as well. I’ll admit, I was not truly certain I would find even you here, Lykomenides. I thought perhaps I dreamed…”

“I believe we all dreamed it,” he said. “That is why I believe we will all come together today.”

“Such certainty.”

“Such hope,” Lykomenides corrected.

“We really mean to speak of revolution?” They asked.

He nodded.

“If we are to take such drastic measures, why are we to respect Anwansi’s choice at all? What makes you so sure you are the best to replace the queen?”

“I am sure of no such thing,” the heir replied, wings shifting down and out of sight. “If there is another who is willing to stand up for what our people deserve, I will gladly stand behind them. In fact, I would be happy to discuss that very issue today, for I reject the idea that Anwasni’s trust alone should give me the right to rule; rather, I would earn it from you.”

“Not exactly a stunning display of conviction and authoritativeness.”

“The truth is far more important than displays of authority.” Then Lyko smirked, “How’s that for conviction?”

Tonham chuckled. “I’ve witnessed worse.”

“In all sincerity, I have seen years tortured by intellectual battle in which the opponent certain of their authority was doubly the unjust as a result. I have no interest in following after their models.”

The older fairy felt as though to smile, but they resisted it, remaining stoic, “If we gave you our trust – our real trust – what would you do with it?”

“I would return it to you every day to see it was being honored.”

“Would you reinstate the eldergifts?”

“I would attempt it, although I fear the current Elders would not allow it in full. Even still, they must be moveable in some regard, and I would see that they at least agree to return some such security to those in need on an individual basis.”

“Would you keep Anwansi hidden from human violence?”

“Due to recent actions by the castle, I believe we have passed the era in which our complete isolation is the best path to our safety, but when strengthened with full knowledge of our current standing, I will discover that path of safety and follow it swiftly.”

“Do you swear you could confront the Elders, even when they speak the River’s words, and refute them when they forget their people?”

“I have a vast record in that regard and, I confess, I even take pleasure in it.”

At this, Tonham smiled, but their countenance soon darkened once more.

“I remember when my parents spoke of Queen Kennedy the way I begin to hope I may speak of you, and yet their trust in her did nothing to stop her change,” they said. “If we put you on the throne, what is to prevent you betraying us?”

Lykomenides’ eye turned away as he pondered the query. His gaze wandered the wall, up and up, until it landed on one of the transparent ceiling panes. He returned to Tonham.

“That is a brilliant quandary,” he said, “One that, as yet, I have no answer for. Perhaps you could help me imagine one.”

A spark flew from Tonham’s wing, and they spun to face a group of newcomers who now meekly entered the workshop. Tonham stepped aside and gestured proudly to Lykomenides.

“This young man is going to be the best leader Alquoria has yet to know.”

The heir glowed.

*****

“Your majesty!” Lead Warrior Pip, young and newly appointed, barged clumsily into the throne room then attempted to recover her pride, standing tall and as stoic as she could manage.

“What is it?” Queen Kennedy asked from her seat.

“There is a disturbance on the pool.”

The queen stood at this, concerned. “Is there violence?”

“Not so, but there is a great mass of anger.”

“Speak clearly, Pip. What goes on?”

“It is the people, Your Majesty. They are singing in vicious harmonies against you.”

“Against me? Who leads them?”

Pip swallowed and summoned the truth…

“Heir Lykomenides.”

Kennedy’s wings turned down and propelled her through the twisting castle caves, dark grey sparks showering in her wake. When she reached the gem encrusted opening, the queen stopped and halted still, hidden behind the waterfall, as she listened to her people’s cries. Had they forgotten so easily the wonders she had wrought for them? She stepped out now, onto the rainbow bridge that held back the great splash from the Gwahanu’s waterfall, and stood glowering mere paces behind Lykomenides, watching as he pounded his fist against the air, leading the people in the traitorous songs. Looking out to them now, she saw they had, unpermitted, pushed every peer and marketplace storefront aside, revealing the gaping clarity of the pool over which they were all assembled. Half the nation, at least. Seeing her, they only sang louder. How could Lykomenides have twisted them so?

She bellowed to be heard over the booming crowd. “Lykomenides! Do you so little revere Anwansi that you would use its pool to protest its sacred appointments?”

Lykomenides turned to her and lowered his hand, silencing the crowd in an instant.

“A ruler should revere their people,” he rejoined. “Not the land – or water – those people live upon.”

Kennedy scoffed and spoke in softer tones. “What is it you mean to accomplish here, Lyko?”

He retained his magisterial volume. “You have been told of your people’s suffering and yet you have refused to hear it. You have, with such haste, drastically changed the ways of our nation; yet, not once did you take care to see that those who live within it were content to forge on in your path. Now, you will hear it whether or not you wish. Their answer is no, and your time as their queen is finished.”

“You have no such authority,” Kennedy growled.

“I have authority vested from the people direct. You once believed Anwansi spoke for them. Well, now they speak for themselves. Why do you not revere them the way you do the mystic pool?”

“Everything I have done in all my life has been for them!”

“I contest that, and I have a nation of witnesses to support my claim.”

The queen looked to her people. “Whence has gone your gratitude? Do you remember all I have done?”

Shouts erupted from the crowd:

“Lost me my home!”

“Lost me my son!”

“Stole me away from my children!”

Queen Kennedy shook her head in dismay. “I am the reason no one need fear the theft of their child! I am the reason for new homes, new prosperity!”

“Not for the many,” Lyko corrected her. “Only the few.”

“This is madness,” the queen guffawed. “Who will lead the nation? I am queen!”

Lykomenides stood tall. “I will take your place,” he said, and the people bellowed the name of their champion.

She scoffed once more. “You have no wish to be queen, Lykomenides. All your life you have desecrated the very tradition.”

A voice interrupted from the crowd. “He will be a greater queen than you ever were!”

Kennedy ignored it. “Could you not merely wait for me die, young one? Must you ruin me at the end of my reign?”

Lyko shook his head, childhood ideals of philosophy filling his elated breast. “Think of it not as ruin, but as a new type of progress. I was gifted the idea that a leader need not die for the next to take their place, instead, when appropriate, one may peacefully step down from power. Kennedy, the people do not have time to wait for your end if you will not see to what is right, but hither you may take charge of your memory and be ever written of as the first in our history to live to see the nation live on beyond you! If not, I can be sure to take your place in that as well, for I dream the same for my own rule.”

“The Elders will not stand for this,” she swore. “Lykomenides, you may have years yet of peace. Why would you relinquish it to take up this charge with such haste?”

“Because, Queen, I would rather lead a difficult life if it is in pursuit of one that is just.” Kennedy recoiled, retreating at the recollection of her own words from so long ago. Lyko advanced toward her. “I am told you once said the same. Do you find your life still honors that principle, Your Majesty?”

Kennedy stared at this young heir in all his surety and suddenly felt a lack of it within herself. She looked to her people and at last saw truly the great many that now despised her. In all her days, she ever did only what was best, she was sure of that, even now, but in all that time, had she too done always what was right? She had thought the two the same, and still she could not be certain where she erred. She restrained a tear, watching now as her dear Zabeth emerged above the crowd, flying to the bridge.

“Thou hast so long been a queen, my love,” Zabeth said on landing. “I fear thou hast forgotten what it is to live without duties or vanities. Let me remind thee, I beg. We can live by love alone and find more riches in that than thou hast known in all thy royal days.”

The queen felt she needed to explain, “My destiny was here, Zabeth. I merely followed whither it led.”

“I know,” Zabeth answered, taking up Kennedy’s hands, “but now follow me. Destiny cannot have many more pages written in our books. Let us do away with them and find more glory in our own happy ends.”

Kennedy looked into her beloved’s eyes and at last allowed tears to fall. She brought Zabeth’s hands to her lips and nodded. “For thee.”

The people now began to whisper and gawk as they watched Old Kennedy’s wings transform from a blazing white, to a soft and contented lavender. She wiped her eyes and turned to the young leader beside her.

“So, Lyko, the time comes. Are you ready to be Queen?”

He smiled. “No,” he said softly. “I want no such thing.” Then he broadened his voice so his nation might hear. “I will lead these people only so long as, year after year, they continue to choose me. When the time comes that they do not, I will gratefully step aside and return to my books. Until then, I am theirs.”

Kennedy nodded and found a small amount pleasantness ease into her visage. “I remember thinking,” she told him, coming near in soft kindness, “when I read the journals of queens past, that each successor seemed a modicum nearer to righteousness than who she had replaced. I am glad to see the tradition continue.”

“I am truly honored to succeed one as great and historic as you, Queen Kennedy.”

Together, they took a breath and smiled. Then, Kennedy turned out toward the pool.

“Alquoria, I bid thee goodbye. May my people remember me, despite any failings, as one who loved them to a fault, and may happiness grow where I have caused desperation to root.” She looked to the people and grew contented to witness their thankful respect. “My dearest people, may you welcome with pride he who takes up my charge:” She lifted her arm to him beside her in grand ceremony. “Your Crown! Lykomenides.”

The sparks from Lyko’s wings rained so wide as to mingle with the mist of the waterfall. As the people of Alquoria erupted into wild cheer, Kennedy took Zabeth by the hand and nodded, flying off with her now, northwestward, into the Infinite Wood.

VOLUME ONE: A Beginning is coming TOMORROW in print (March 21st)! Visit the website of the publisher → ForElenvia.org ← to order your paperback copy today.

Order Volume One Today!

Please note, all material released on Substack is from the unedited manuscript. The official text can be acquired through the website of the publisher: ForElenvia.org.